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Hence, avaunt ! ye savage traiu,
That drench the earth and dye the main

With the tides of hostle gore:
Who joy in war's terrific charms,
To see the steely gleam of arms,

And hear the cannon's roar;
Unknown the god-like virtue how to yield,

To Cressy's or to Blenheim's deathful field; Begone, and sate your Pagan thirst of blood;

Edward, fell homicide, awaits you there,

And Anna's hero, both unskill’d to spare
Whene’er the foe their slaught’ring sword withstood.

The pious George to white-steled peace alone
His olive sceptre yields, and palm-encircled throne.

Or if his high degree

On the perturbed sea
The bloody Aag unfurls ;

Or o'er the embatu'd plain

Ranges the martial train ;
On other heads his bolts he hurls.
Haughty subjects, wail and wecp,
Your angry master ploughs the deep.
Haughty subjects, swoľn with pride,
Tremble at his vengeful stride.

While the regal command
Desp’rate ye withstand,
He bares his red right hand.

As when Eloim's pow'r,
I In Judah’s rebel hour,

Let fall the fiery show'r
That o'er her parch'd hills desolation spread,
And heap'd her vales with mountains of the dead.
O'er Schuylkill's cliffs the tempest roars ;
O'er Rappahanock’s recreant shores;
Up the rough rocks of Kipps's-bay ;
The huge Anspachar wins his way;

Or scares the falcon from the fir-cap'd side
Of each high hill that hangs o’er Hudson's haughty tide.

Matchless victor, mighty lord !
Sheath the devouring sword !
Strong to punish, mild to save,
Close the portals of the grave.

Exert thy first prerogative,
Ah! spare thy subject's blood, and let them live;

Our tributary breath,
Hangs on thine for life or death.
Sweet is the balmy breath of orient morn,

Sweet are the honied treasures of the bee ;
Sweet is the fragrance of the scented thorn,

But sweeter yet the voice of royal clemency,
He hears, and from bis wisdom's perfect day
He sends a bright effulgent ray,
The nations to illumine far and wide,
And feud and discord, war and strife, subside.
His moral sages, all unknown t'untie
The wily rage of human policy,
Their equal compasses expand,
And mete the globe with philosophic hand.
No partial love of country binds

In selfish chains the lib'ral minds,
O gentle Lansdown! ting'd with thy philanthropy,

Let other monarchs vainly boast
A lengthen'd line of conquer'd coast,
Or boundless sea of tributary flood,
Bought by as wide a sea of blood

Brunswick, in more saint-like guise
Claims for his spoils a purer prize,

Content at every price to buy
A conquest o'er lrimself, and o'er his progeny.

His be domestic glory's radient calm
His be the sceptre wreath'd with many a palm

His be the throne with peaceful emblems hung,
And mine the laurel'd lyre, to those mild conquests strung!

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Of Castle Morres, of the Kingdom of Ireland, &c. &c.

Awake, Hibernian lyre, awake,
To harmony thy strings attune,

O tache their trembling tongue to spake
The glories of the fourth of June.

Auspicious morn!

When George was born
To grace (by deputy) our Irish throne,

North, south, aiste, west,

Of Kings the best, 'Sure now he's aquall'd by himself alone; Throughout the astonish'd globe so loud his fame shall Sons of Fadruig *, strain your throats,

ring, The dif themselves shall hare the strains the dumb shall

sing

In your native Irish lays,
Sweater than the screach owl's notes,

Howl aloud your soy'reign's praise.
Quick to his hallow'd fane be led
A milk-white Bull, on soft potatoes fed:
His curling horns and ample neck
Let wreaths of verdant shamrock deck,
And perfum'd flames, lo rache the sky,

Let fuel from our hogs supply,
Whilst we to George's health, a'en till the bowl runs

o2er Rich strames of usquebaugh and sparkling whiskey pour.

III.
Of dithless fame imınortal heirs,

A brave and patriotic band,
Mark where Ierne’s Voluntares,

Array'd in bright disorder stand.
The Lawyer's corps, red fac'd with black,
Here drive the martial merchants back;

Here Sligo's bold brigade advance,
There Lim’rick legions sound their drum;

Here Gallway's gallant squadrons prance,
And Cork Invincibles are overcome!

The Union firm of Coleraine,

Are scatter'd o'er the warlike plain,
While Tipperary infantry pursues
The Clognikelty horse, and Ballyshannon blues.

* Ancient Irish name given to St. Patrick,

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