But, conscious how unequal is the strain,
How weak her efforts, her attempts how vain,
Would, as she soars the unaccustom❜d height,
Bespeak indulgence to attend her flight;
And, ere she further her bold aim pursues,

Ask English candour for an English muse.

And say, ye Criticks, whence that angry frown?

My little volume why so soon throw down?

What tho' no learning dignify the lay,

No strokes of art a master's hand display,

One modest grace attends on ev'ry line;

In one fair view e'en my attempts may shine:
For, while untaught essays my feeble hand
To paint the blessings of my native Land,
While ENGLAND is my theme,-of that I boast
Which best will prompt the lay, adorn it most,

That, wanting all the meaner helps of art,

Warm and direct it comes from a right English heart.

Lives there the man, so despicably tame,

Whose heart ne'er bounded at its Country's name?

Caitiff! whom ne'er the patriot's ardour warm'd,
Whom never feeling's magick influence charm'd;
Rouse thy mean soul from its degrading sloth,
And gather virtue e'en of foreign growth:
From pois'nous weeds of foul Rebellion clear'd,

Go, cull the flow'r which WASHINGTON has rear'd!
Snatch the unfading laurels, as they bloom

In conscious pride round KOSCIUSKO's tomb!
Pluck the green palm, which, drench'd in patriot gore,

Still shoots its buds on LUSITANIA's shore!

Go, view-and, if thy cheek can harbour shame,

Oh blush to view-the growth of Spanish fame:

Mark bold IBERIA's sons still dare the field,

་

Grasp still the patriot lance, still rear the patriot shield;

Bid Gaul's proud Tyrant cease his haughty tone,

And tremble on his blood-cemented throne!

Nor, chosen Leader of th' intrepid band
Which rear'd its front againt the Despot's hand,
Which fill'd his vet'ran legions with alarm,
And warn'd them how to dread a peasant's arm,
Be thou forgotten! Freedom's true-born child,
Who, train'd amidst thy native mountains wild,
Associate with a noble dauntless few,

Didst teach the foe what Tyrolese could do,
Long shall thy grateful parent weeping tell
How HOFFER Conquer'd, and how HOFFER fell!

Now let the Muse from foreign themes desist; BRITANNIA Summons to her glorious list!

And, as she turns Fate's gloomy volume o'er

For MARLB'ROUGHS, CLINTONS, ELLIOTTS, now no

more,

Surveys with all the mother's painful pride

The spots on which a WOLFE, a MOORE have died!
Whilst mem'ry, swelling the illustrious band,
Now points to Alexandria's burning sand,

Where Gallia's vaunted Legion* long shall tell

How, crown'd with conquest, ABERCROMBIE fell!

Now bids her for a lost CORNWALLIS mourn;

Now twines a pious wreath round matchless NELSON'S urn!

But see! to chase the unavailing tears,

A brighter soul-enliv'ning scene appears:

*

Appropriately styled by the French "The Invincible!”

Alike in Honour's foremost ranks enroll'd,
A countless train of living Brave behold!
True son of Ocean, view the fearless Tar;

The Soldier vain of many an honest scar:
View, 'midst the crowd which press to danger's post,
A STRACHAN, SMITH, a SAUMAREZ, a HOSTE!
Prompt for the lists, and ardent for the prize,

On ev'ry side, lo! youthful heroes rise:

See future WARRENS, DUCKWORTHS brave the main;
BAIRDS, COOTES, and HUTCHINSONS, the hot campaign.
Crown'd with the trophies of a hard-fought day,

Lo! MAIDA's hero points to Glory's way!
While many a rising warrior's breast inspire

The zeal of BERESFORD, and GRAHAM's fire.
-But who is he that, seen above the rest,
Lifts high in martial pride his tow'ring crest?
He comes, the hero comes!-Ye chieftains dire,
Marshals of France, who set the world on fire!