But sternly silent down he bow'd, and prov'd A calm, firm martyr to the cause he lov'd. 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, These ties, that bids him for his country fall. 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, She ne'er disdains the gentle vale of Peace, More pleas'd on Isis' silent marge to roam, And God the same in all his orbs descry; To lead forth Merit from her humble shade, That holds the freeborn soul in willing awe; CHRISTOPHER BUTSON, NEW COLLLge. |