7HENCE this unwonted tranfport in my breast?

W

Why glow my thoughts, and whither would the mufe

Aspire with rapid wing; Her country's caufe

Demands her efforts; at that facred call

She fummons all her ardor, throws afide
The trembling lyre, and with the warrior's trump
She means to thunder in each British car;
And if one fpark of honour or of fame,
Difdain of infult, dread of infamy,
One thought of public virtue yet furvive,

She means to wake it, roufe the gen'rous flame,
With patriot zeal infpirit ev'ry breast,
And fire each British heart with British wrongs.

Alas, the vain attempt! what influence now

Can'

Can the mufe boaft? Or what attention now
Is paid to fame or virtue? Where is now
The British spirit, generous, warm and brave,
So frequent wont from tyranny and woe
To free the fuppliant nations? Where, indeed!
If that protection, once to ftrangers giv'n,

Be now with-held from fons? Each nobler thought
That warm'd our fires, is loft and buried now
In luxury and av'rice. Baneful vice!

How it unmans a nation! Yet I'll try,
I'll aim to fhake this vile degen'rate floth;
I'll dare to roufe Britannia's dreaming fons
To fame, to virtue, and impart around
A generous feeling of compatriot woes.

Comé then the various powers of forceful speech!
All that can move, awaken, fire, tranfport;
Come the bold ardor of the Theban bard!
Th' aroufing thunder of the patriot Greek!
The foft perfuafion of the Roman fage!
Come all! and raise me to an equal height,
A rapture worthy of my glorious caufe!
Left my best efforts failing fhould debase
The facred theme; for with no common wing

The Mufe attempts to foar. Yet what need these?
My country's fame, my free-born British heart
Shall be my best infpirers, raife my flight
High as the Theban's pinion, and with more
Than Greek or Reman flame exalt my foul.

Oh!

Oh! could I give the vaft ideas birth
Expreffive of the thoughts that flame within,
No more fhould lazy luxury detain

Our ardent youth; no more fhould Britain's fons
Sit tamely paffive by, and carele's hear
The prayers, fighs, groans, (immortal infamy!)
Of fellow Britons, with oppreflion funk,
In bitterness of foul demanding aid,
Calling on Britain, their dear native land,
The land of Liberty; fo greatly fam'd
For juft redrefs; the land fo often dy'd
With her beft blood, for that aroufing caufe,
The freedom of her fors; thofe fons that now,
Far from the manly bleffings of her sway,
Drag the vile fetters of a Spanish lord.

And dare they, dare the vanquish'd fons of Spain
Enflave a Briton? Have they then forgot,
So foon forgot the great, th' immortal day,
When refcu'd Sicily with joy beheld
The fwift-wing'd thunder of the British arm
Difperfe their navies? When their coward bands
Fled, like the raven from the bird of Jove,
From swift impending vengeance fled in vain :
Are these our lords? And can Britannia fee
Her foes oft vanquish'd, thus defy her pow'r,
Infult her ftandard, and inflave her fons,

And not arife to juftice? Did our fires,
Unaw'd by chains, by exile, or by death,

Preferve

Preferve inviolate her guardian rights,

To Britons ever facred! that their fons

Might give them up to Spaniards ?-Turn your eyes,
Turn ye degen'rate, who with haughty boast
Call yourselves Britons, to that difmal gloom,
That dungeon dark and deep, where never thought
Of joy or peace can enter; fee the gates
Harfh-creaking open; what an hideous void,
Dark as the yawning grave! while, still as death
A frightful filence reigns: There on the ground.
Behold your brethren chain'd like beasts of prey :
There mark your num'rous glories, there behold
The look that fpeaks unutterable woe;

eye

The mangled limb, the faint, the deathful
With famine funk, the deep heart-bursting groan
Supprefs'd in filence; view the loathfome food,
Refus'd by dogs, and oh! the ftinging.thought!
View the dark Spaniard glorying in their wrongs,
The deadly prieft triumphant in their woes,
And thundering worfe damnation on their fouls:
While that pale form, in all the pangs of death,
Too faint to speak, yet eloquent of all
His native British spirit yet untam'd,
Raifes his head, and with indignant frowns
Of great defiance, and fuperior fcorn,
Looks up and dies- -Oh! I am all on fire!
But let me spare the theme, left future times
Should blush to hear that either conquer'd Spain

Durft offer Britain fuch outrageous wrong,
Or Britain tamely bore it

Defcend ye guardian heroes of the land!
Scourges of Spain, defcend! Behold your fons,
See! how they run the fame heroic race,
How prompt, how ardent in their country's caufe,
How greatly proud t' affert their British blood,
And in their deeds reflect their fathers fame!
Ah! would to heaven! ye did not rather fee
How dead to virtue in the public cause!
How cold, how carelefs, how to glory deaf,
They shame your laurels, and belye their birth!
Come, ye great spirits, Ca'endifh, Rawleigh, Blake!
And ye of later name your country's pride,

Oh! come, difperse these lazy fumes of floth,
Teach British hearts with British fires to glow!
In wakening whifpers roufe our ardent youth,
Blazon the triumphs of your better days,
Paint all the glorious fcenes of rightful war,
In all its fplendors; to their fwelling fouls
Say how ye bow'd the infulting Spaniards pride,
Say how ye thunder'd o'er their proftrate heads,
Say how broke their lines and fir'd their ports,

ye

Say how not death, in all its frightful shapes,
Could damp your souls, or shake the great resolve
For Right and Britain: Then difplay the joys
The patriot's foul exalting, while he views
Tranfported millions hail with loud acclaim

The