Tho' prompt at Honour's call to brave
The hoftile clime, the adverse wave,
Their thunder 'neath the burning zone
Shook the proud Defpot on his throne;
Yet while aloft in orient skies

Conqueft's triumphant banner flies,

The generous Victor bids the conflict ceafe,

And 'midft his laurels twines the nobler wreaths of peace.

Bleft Peace! O may thy radiance mild

Beam kindly on the opening year!
Yet fhould with frantic vengeance wild

The fiends of Discord urge their rash career,
Not cold in Freedom's facred caufe,

Not flow to guard her holy Laws,

Faithful to him their hearts approve,

The MONARCH they revere, the MAN they love,
BRITANNIA'S Sons fhall arm with patriot zeal,
Their Prince's caufe their own-his rights the general

weal.

LINES

1 INES

ADDRESSED TO

STATES ME N.

Verba animi preferre et vitam impendere vero.

WHILE thanklefs England, by her fears misled,

To truth, to reason, and to virtue dead,

Fawns on the men who undermine her laws,
And flights the champions who defend her cause;
While the fame truths which hurt the country's ear,
Corruption hates, and guilt revolts to hear.
Unmoved by intereft, undismayed by ill,

power:

You keep your post and are a patriot still.
'Tis true, your conduct may the crowd inflame,
To curfe your counfels and revile your name;
May prompt the mean to feize the lucky hour,
And quit your standard for the fmiles of
But, if ftill fedfaft to your manly part,
You boldly fpeak the dictates of your heart,
In spite of all the ftorms around you spread,
Which seem e'en now to burft upon your head,
Yet you fhall reap rewards to honour due;
Rewards beyond all price, and worthy you.

Not

Not fuch as vulgar admiration claim;
A riband, place, a fortune, or a name :
But fuch as niggard fate beftows on few,
E'en fuch as Sydney, or as Cato knew.
A foul, in its own probity secure,
A confcience, in its laft recesses pure,
A mind, which in unequal fortune's spite,
E'en in the combat whifpers, you are right.
The world's applauses are no trifling meed,
But to deserve them is a prize indeed!
And he who gains that prize, fecures a joy,
No times can alter, no events destroy!
Still with fuch joy, O Statesman! first and best;
Still with fuch comfort may thy foul be bleft,
And fill more bleft, when curft by angry fate,
As then, more firm, more virtuous, and more great.

FINIS.