Than late, when George bade gird on ev'ry thigh
The myrtle-braided sword of Liberty a?

Say, when the high-born Druid's magic strain
Rous'd, on old Mona's top, a female train
To madness, and with more than mortal rage
Bade them, like furies, in the fight engage;

Frantic when each unbound her bristling hair,
And shook a flaming torch, and yell'd in wild despair;
Or when, in Cressy's plain, the sable might

Of Edward dar'd four monarchs to the fight;
Say, holy Shades, did patriotic heat

In your big hearts with quicker transport beat

Than in your sons, when forth like storms they pour'd,

In Freedom's cause, the fury of the sword;

Who rul'd the main, or gallant armies led,

With Hawke who conquer'd, or with Wolfe who

bled?

• Vide 'Αρμοδία μέλος.

Poor is his triumph, and disgrac'd his name,
Who draws the sword for empire, wealth, or fame:
For him though wealth be blown on ev'ry wind,
Though Fame announce him mightiest of mankind,
Though twice ten nations crouch beneath his blade,
Virtue disowns him, and his glories fade :

For him no pray'rs are pour'd, no pæans sung,
No blessings chaunted from a nation's tongue :
Blood marks the path to his untimely bier ;
The curse of widows, and the orphan's tear,
Cry to high Heav'n for vengeance on his head :
Alive detested, and accurst when dead.

Indignant of his deeds, the Muse who sings

Th' undaunted truth, and scorns to flatter kings,
Shall shew the Monster in his hideous form,

And mark him as an earthquake, or a storm.
Not so the patriot Chief, who dar'd withstand

The base invader of his native land;

Who made her weal his noblest, only end; Rul'd, but to serve her; fought, but to defend ; "Her voice in council, and in war her sword; "Lov'd as her father, as her God ador'd;"

Who, firmly virtuous, and severely brave,

Sunk with the freedom that he could not save!

On worth like his the Muse delights to wait,
Reveres alike in triumph or defeat ;

Crowns with true glory, and with spotless fame,
And honours PAOLI's more than Frederick's name.

Here let the Muse withdraw the blood-stain'd veil, And shew the boldest sons of public zeal :

Lo! SYDNEY, bending o'er the block! his mien,
His voice, his hand, unshaken, clear, serene :
Yet no diffuse harangue, declaim'd aloud,
To gain the plaudit of a wayward crowd;
No specious vaunt death's terrors to defy,
Still death delaying, as afraid to die.

But sternly silent down he bow'd, and prov'd

A calm, firm martyr to the cause he lov'd.
Unconquer'd Patriot! form'd by ancient lore

The love of ancient freedom to restore ;
Who nobly acted what he boldly thought,
And seal'd, by death, the lesson that he taught.
Dear is the tie, that links the anxious sire

To the fond babe that prattles round his fire;
Dear is the love, that prompts the grateful youth
His sire's fond cares and drooping age to sooth:
Dear is the brother, sister, husband, wife;
Dear all the charities of social life :

Nor wants firm friendship holy wreaths to bind
In mutual sympathy the faithful mind :

But not th' endearing springs that fondly move

To filial duty, or parental love;

Not all the ties that kindred bosoms bind,

Nor all in friendship's holy wreaths entwin'd,

Are half so dear, so potent to controul
The gen'rous workings of the patriot soul,
As is that holy voice, that cancels all

These ties, that bids him for his country fall.
At this high summons, with undaunted zeal
He bares his breast, invites th' impending steel,
Smiles at the hand that deals the fatal blow,
Nor heaves one sigh for all he leaves below.

Nor yet doth Glory, though her port be bold, Her aspect radiant, and her tresses gold,

Guide through the walks of death alone her car,
Attendant only on the din of war;

She ne'er disdains the gentle vale of Peace,
Or olive shades of philosophic ease,

More pleas'd on Isis' silent marge to roam,
Than bear in pomp the spoil of battles home.
To read, with Newton's ken, the starry sky,

And God the same in all his orbs descry;