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What there has got possession.
See if thy unsuspecting heart,
In some for truth mistook not art,

For principle profession.
From these, the pests of humankind,
Whom royal bounty cannot bind,

Protect our parent king :
Unmask their treachery to his sight,
Drag forth the vipers into light,

And crush them ere they sting.

If such his trust and honours share,
Again exert thy guardian care,

Each venom'd heart disclose ;
On Him, on Him our all depends,
Oh, save him from bis treacherous friends,

He cannot fear his foes.

Whoe'er shall at the helm preside,
Still let thy prudence be his guide,

To stem the troubled wave;
But chiefly whisper in his ear,
“That George is open, just, sincere,

And dares to scorn a knave,'

No selfish views to’ oppress mankind,
No mad ambition fired thy mind,

To purchase fame with blood;
Thy bosom glow'd with purer heat;
Convinced that to be truly great

Is only to be good.
To hear no lawless passion's call,
To serve thy king yet feel for all,

Such was thy glorious plan!
Wisdom with generous love took part,
Together work thy head and heart,

The minister and man.
Unite, ye kindred sons of worth;
Strangle bold faction in its birth;

Be Britain's weal your view!
For this great end let all combine,
Let virtue link each fair design,

And Pelham live in you.

GARRICK.

ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE LEOPOLD, SON OF THE DUKE OF MECKLENBURGH SCHWERIN,

WHO WAS DROWNED IN THE RIVER ODER, DURING
THE INUNDATION IN 1785, IN ENDEAVOURING TO
RESCUE A FAMILY OF CHILDREN, WHOSE MOTHER
HAD INTREATED HIM TO GIVE ORDERS FOR THAT

PURPOSE.
LET praise the victor's act record,
And nations deify the sword

With human sacrifice impure ;
To such, when Fate has given the blow,
The service of external woe

Shall long-prescriptive right secure :
But ah! the tears, the sighs that part
Spontaneous from the deep-charged heart

The formal summons disobey; This envied meed from distant lands The name of Leopold commands,

And every friend of man shall pay.

Lamented youth! I never trod
The banks where rapid Oder flow'd,

Whose latest sons shall weep thy doom ;
Nor ever hail'd thy gracious form,
Whose promised worth the’ unkindly storm

Hath crush'd in manhood's opening bloom.

Yet, all confess’d to Fancy's eyes,
Thy gentle spirit seems to rise

With amaranthine splendour crown'd,
· And recent from their watery grave
The tender group thou died'st to save

On snowy pinions hover round. Though now to better worlds resign'd, Thy bright example left behind

Shall still to man extend thy care; Disclose the surer paths of Fame, And nobly point the social aim,

To save, to pity, and to spare.'

WARWICK.

ON SEEING A NEGRO FUNERAL.

MAHALI dies! o'er yonder plain
His bier is borne : the sable train

By youthful virgins led :
Daughters of injured Afric, say
Why raise ye thus the heroic lay,

Why triumph o'er the dead? No tear dews their fixed eye: 'Tis now the hero lives, they crym

Released from slavery's chain, Beyond the billowy surge he flies, And joyful views his native skies

And long-lost bowers again.

On Koromantyn's palmy soil,
Heroic deeds and martial toil

Shall fill each glorious day;
Love, fond and faithful, crown thy nights,
And bliss unbought, unmix'd delights,

Past cruel wrongs repay.

Nor lordly pride's stern avarice there
Alone shall Nature's bounties share;

To all her children free.
For thee the dulcet reed shall spring,
His balmy bowl the cocoa bring,

The' anana bloom for thee.

The thunder, hark! 'Tis Afric's God;
He wakes, he lifts the’ avenging rod,

And speeds the’ impatient hours : From Niger's golden stream he calls; Fair Freedom comes—Oppression falls;

And vengeance yet is ours !

Now, Christian, now, in wild dismay,
Of Afric's proud revenge the prey,

Go roam the affrighted wood ;-
Transform'd to tigers, fierce and fell,
Thy race shall prowl with savage yell

And glut their rage for blood !

But soft,beneath yon tamarind shade, Now let the hero's limbs be laid;

Sweet slumbers bless the brave: There shall the breezes shed perfume, Nor livid lightnings blast the bloom That decks Mabali's grave.

BRYAN EDWARDS.

TO HOPE.
THEY err who deem thee of celestial race,

Nymph of the ceaseless smile,

Thine is no angel face,
O treacherous Hope, who flatterest to beguile.
Thou wert, indeed, fair spirit, born in heaven;

But from the realm of bliss

Thy faithless form was driven
With those who plunged into the deep abyss.
So still thy dazzling lineaments display

The hue of heavenly birth;

And mortals own thy sway,
Deem'd the good angel of the sons of earth.
Thou, when the traveller of the moonless night

Gropes o'er the moor his way,

Showest the watery light
That tempts the wretched wanderer far astray.
The dear illusion makes his heart rejoice,

He hastens wildly on

And now he lifts his voice
And louder now—and now the light is gone.
Thou hearest him as to the water side

A wretched man he moves,

And when beneath the tide,
Groaning, he sinks, remembering all he loves.

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