When such their leader, can the brave despair?
Freedom the cause, and PAOLI the chief!

Success to your fair hopes! a British Muse,

Tho' weak and powerless, lifts her fervent voice,
And breathes a prayer for your success. Oh could

She scatter blessings as the morn sheds dews,
To drop upon your heads! but patient hope
Must wait th' appointed hour; secure of this,
That never with the indolent and weak

Will freedom deign to dwell; she must be seiz'd
By that bold arm that wrestles for the blessing:
'Tis heaven's best gift, and must be bought with
blood.

When the storm thickens, when the combat burns,

And pain and death in every horrid shape

That can appal the feeble, prowl around,

Then virtue triumphs; then her tow'ring form
Dilates with kindling majesty; ber mien
Breathes a diviner spirit, and enlarg'd
Each spreading feature, with an ampler port
And bolder tone, exulting, rides the storm,
And joys amidst the tempest. Then she reaps
Her golden harvest; fruits of nobler growth
And higher relish than meridian suns
Can ever ripen; fair, heroic deeds,}

And godlike action. 'Tis not meats, and drinks,
And balmy airs, and vernal suns, and showers
That feed and ripen minds; 'tis toil and danger;
And wrestling with the stubborn gripe of fate;
And war, and sharp distress, and paths obscure
And dubious. The bold swimmer joys not so
To feel the proud waves under him, and beat
With strong repelling arm the billowy surge;
The generous courser does not so exult
To toss his floating mane against the wind,
And neigh amidst the thunder of the war,
As virtue to oppose her swelling breast
Like a firm shield against the darts of fate.
And when her sons in that rough school have learn'd.
To smile at danger, then the hand that rais'd
Shall hush the storm, and lead the shining train
Of peaceful years in bright procession on.
Then shall the shepherd's pipe, the muse's lyre,
On CYRNUS' shores be heard: her grateful sons
With loud acclaim and hymns of cordial praise
Shall hail their high deliverers; every name
To virtue dear be from oblivion snatch'd
And plac'd among the stars: but chiefly thine,
Thine, PAOLI, with sweetest sound shall dwell
On their applauding lips; thy sacred name,

Endear'd to long posterity, some Muse,

More worthy of the theme, shall consecrate
To after-ages; and applauding worlds

Shall bless the godlike man who sav'd his country.

So vainly wish'd, so fondly hop'd the Muse: Too fondly hop'd. The iron fates prevail, And CYRNUS is no more. Her generous sons, [crush'd, Less vanquish'd than o'erwhelm'd, by numbers Admir'd, unaided fell. So strives the moon In dubious battle with the gathering clouds, And strikes a splendour thro' them; till at length Storms roll'd on storms involve the face of heaven And quench her struggling fires. Forgive the zeal 'That, too presumptuous, whisper'd better things, And read the book of destiny amiss.

Not with the purple colouring of success

Is virtue best adorn'd: th' attempt is praise.
There yet remains a freedom, nobler far
Than kings or senates can destroy or give;
Beyond the proud oppressor's cruel grasp
Seated secure, uninjur'd; undestroy'd;

Worthy of Gods: The freedom of the mind.

THE INVITATION.

TO MISS B*****.

Hic gelidi fontes, hic mollia prata, Lycori,
Hic nemus hic ipso tecum consumerer aevo.

VIRGIL.

HEALTH to my friend, and long unbroken years,
By storms unruffled and unstain'd by tears.
Wing'd by new joys may each white minute fly;
Spring on her cheek, and sunshine in her eye :
O'er that dear breast, where love and pity springs,
May peace eternal spread her downy wings :

Sweet beaming hope her path illumine still,

And fair ideas all her fancy fill.

From glittering scenes which strike the dazzled sight

With mimic grandeur and illusive light,

From idle hurry, and tumultuous noise,

From hollow friendships, and from sickly joys,

Will DELIA, at the Muse's call, retire

To the pure pleasures rural scenes inspire?
Will she from crowds and busy cities fly,

Where wreaths of curling smoke involve the sky,
To taste the grateful shade of spreading trees,
And drink the spirit of the mountain breeze?

When winter's hand the rough'ning year deforms, And hollow winds fortel approaching storms, Then Pleasure, like a bird of passage, flies To brighter climes, and more indulgent skies : Cities and courts allure her sprightly train, From the bleak mountain and the naked plain; And gold and gems with artificial blaze, Supply the sickly sun's declining rays. But soon, returning on the western gale, She seeks the bosom of the grassy vale: There, wrapt in careless case, attunes her lyre To the wild warblings of the woodland quire: The daisied turf her humble throne supplies, And early primroses around her rise. We'll follow where the smiling goddess leads, Thro' tangled forests or enamel'd meads; O'er pathless hills her airy form we'll chase, In silent glades her fairy footsteps trace: