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Whose heart must every strong emotion know,
Inspir'd by Nature, or by Fortune taught;
That he, if haply some presumptuous foe,
With false ignoble science fraught,

Shall spurn at Freedom's faithful band;
That he their dear defence will shun,

Or hide their glories from the Sun,

Or deal their vengeance with a woman's hand!


I care not that in Arno's plain,
Or on the sportive banks of Seine,
From public themes the Muse's quire
Content with polish'd ease retire.

Where priests the studious head command,
Where tyrants bow the warlike hand
To vile Ambition's aim,

Say, what can public themes afford,
Save venal honors to an hateful lord,

Reserv'd for angry Heaven, and scorn'd of honest

But here, where Freedom's equal throne
To all her valiant sons is known;
Where all are conscious of her cares,
And each the power, that rules him, shares ;
Here let the Bard, whose dastard tongue
Leaves public arguments unsung,

Bid public praise farewell:

Let him to fitter climes remove, Far from the hero's and the patriot's love, And lull mysterious monks to slumber in their cell.

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To watch the state's uncertain frame,
And baffle Faction's partial aim:
But chiefly, with determin'd zeal,
To quell that servile band, who kneel
To Freedom's banish'd foes;

That monster, which is daily found

Expert and bold thy country's peace to wound; Yet dreads to handle arms, nor manly counsel knows.

"Tis highest Heaven's command,

That guilty aims should sordid paths pursue; That what ensnares the heart should maim the


And Virtue's worthless foes be false to Glory too
But look on Freedom. See, through every age
What labors, perils, griefs, hath she disdain'd!
What arms, what regal pride, what priestly rage,
Have her dread offspring conquer'd or sustain'd!
For Albion well have conquer'd. Let the strains
Of happy swains,
Which now resound
Where Scarsdale's cliffs the swelling pastures


Bear witness. There, oft let the farmer hail The sacred orchard which embowers his gate, And show to strangers passing down the vale, Where Ca'ndish, Booth, and Osborne sate; When, bursting from their country's chain, Even in the midst of deadly harms, Of papal snares and lawless arms, They plann'd for Freedom this her noblest reign.


This reign, these laws, this public care,
Which Nassau gave us all to share,
Had ne'er adorn'd the English name,
Could Fear have silenc'd Freedom's claim
But Fear in vain attempts to bind
Those lofty efforts of the mind

Which social Good inspires;

Where men, for this, assault a throne, Each adds the common welfare to his own; And each unconquer'd heart the strength of all acquires.

Say, was it thus, when late we view'd
Our fields in civil blood imbrued?

When Fortune crown'd the barbarous host,
And half the astonish'd isle was lost?

Did one of all that vaunting train,
Who dare affront a peaceful reign,
Durst one in arms appear?

Durst one in counsels pledge his life?
Stake his luxurious fortunes in the strife?

Or lend his boasted name his vagrant friends to cheer?

Yet, Hastings, these are thev

Who challenge to themselves thy country s love; The true; the constant: who alone can weigh What Glory should demand, or Liberty approve! But let their works declare them. Thy free powers, The generous powers of thy prevailing mind, Not for the tasks of their confederate hours, Lewd brawls and lurking slander, were design'd Be thou thy own approver. Honest praise Oft nobly sways Ingenuous youth:

But, sought from cowards and the lying mouth,

Praise is reproach. Eternal God alone
For mortals fixeth that sublime award.
He, from the faithful records of his throne,
Bids the historian and the bard
Dispose of honor and of scorn;
Discern the patriot from the slave;

And write the good, the wise, the brave
For lessons to the multitude unborn.




The kindred powers, Tethys, and reverend Ops,
And spotless Vesta; while supreme of sway
Remain'd the cloud-compeller. From the couch
Of Tethys sprang the sedgy-crowned race,
Who from a thousand urns, o'er every clime,
Send tribute to their parent: and from them
Are ye, O Naiads: Arethusa fair,

And tuneful Aganippe; that sweet name,
Bandusia; that soft family which dwelt
With Syrian Daphne; and the honor'd tribes
Belov'd of Pæon. Listen to my strain,
Daughters of Tethys: listen to your praise.

You, Nymphs, the winged offspring, which of ole
Aurora to divine Astræus bore,

Owns; and your aid beseecheth. When the mig1. Of Hyperion, from his noontide throne The nymphs, who preside over springs and rivulets, Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you are addressed at day-break, in honor of their They ask: Favonius and the mild South-west several functions, and of the relations which they From you relief implore. Your sallying streams bear to the natural and to the moral world. Their Fresh vigor to their weary wings impart. origin is deduced from the first allegorical deities, Again they fly, disporting; from the mead or powers of Nature; according to the doctrine of Half-ripen'd and the tender blades of corn, the old mythological poets, concerning the gene- To sweep the noxious mildew; or dispel ration of the gods and the rise of things. They Contagious steams, which oft the parched Earth are then successively considered, as giving motion Breathes on her fainting sons. From noon to eve to the air and exciting summer-breezes; as nour- Along the river and the paved brook, ishing and beautifying the vegetable creation; as Ascend the cheerful breezes: hail'd of bards contributing to the fullness of navigable rivers, Who, fast by learned Cam, the Æolian lyre and consequently to the maintenance of com- Solicit; nor unwelcome to the youth merce; and, by that means, to the maritime part Who on the heights of Tibur, all inclin'd of military power. Next is represented their O'er rushing Anio, with a pious hand favorable influence upon health, when assisted by The reverend scene delineates, broken fanes, rural exercise: which introduces their connexion Or tombs, or pillar'd aqueducts, the pomp with the art of physic, and the happy effects of mineral medicinal springs. Lastly, they are celebrated for the friendship which the Muses bear them, and for the true inspiration which temperance only can receive: in opposition to the enthusiasm of the more licentious poets.

O'ER yonder eastern hill the twilight pale
Walks forth from darkness; and the god of day,
With bright Astrea seated by his side,
Waits yet to leave the ocean. Tarry, Nymphs,
Ye Nymphs, ye blue-ey'd progeny of Thames,
Who now the mazes of this rugged heath

Of ancient Time; and haply, while he scans
The ruins, with a silent tear revolves
The fame and fortune of imperious Rome.

You too, O Nymphs, and your unenvious aid
The rural powers confess; and still prepare
For you their choicest treasures. Pan commands
Oft as the Delian king with Sirius holds
The central heavens, the father of the grove
Commands his Dryads over your abodes
To spread their deepest umbrage. Well the god
Remembereth how indulgent ye supplied
Your genial dews to nurse them in their prime.
Pales, the pasture's queen, where'er ye stray,

Trace with your fleeting steps; who all night long Pursues your steps, delighted; and the path

Repeat, amid the cool and tranquil air,
Your lonely murmurs, tarry: and receive
My offer'd lay. To pay you homage due,
I leave the gates of Sleep; nor shall my lyre
Too far into the splendid hours of morn
Engage your audience: my observant hand
Shall close the strain ere any sultry beam
Approach you. To your subterranean haunts
Ye then may timely steal; to pace with care
The humid sands; to loosen from the soil
The bubbling sources; to direct the rills
To meet in wider channels; or beneath
Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon
To slumber, shelter'd from the burning heaven.
Where shall my song begin, ye Nymphs? or end?
Wide is your praise and copious-First of things,
First of the lonely powers, ere Time arose,
Were Love and Chaos. Love the sire of Fate;
Elder than Chaos. Born of Fate was Time,
Who many sons and many comely births
Devour'd, relentless father: till the child
Of Rhea drove him from the upper sky

With living verdure clothes. Around your haunts
The laughing Chloris, with profusest hand,
Throws wide her blooms, her odors. Still with you
Pomona seeks to dwell: and o'er the lawns,
And o'er the vale of Richmond, where with Thames
Ye love to wander, Amalthea pours
Well-pleas'd the wealth of that Ammonian horn,
Her dower; unmindful of the fragrant isles
Nysæan or Atlantic. Nor canst thou,
(Albeit oft, ungrateful, thou dost mock
The beverage of the sober Naiad's urn,
O Bromius, O Lengan) nor canst thou
Disown the powers whose bounty, ill repaid,
With nectar feeds thy tendrils. Yet from me,
Yet, blameless Nymphs, from my delighted lyre,
Accept the rites your bounty well may claim,
Nor heed the scoffings of the Edonian band.
For better praise awaits you. Thames, your sire
As down the verdant slope your duteous rills
Descend, the tribute stately Thames receives,
Delighted; and your piety applauds;
And bids his copious tide roll on secure,

And quell'd his deadly might. Then social reign'd | For faithful are his daughters; and with words

Auspicious gratulates the bark which, now
His banks forsaking, her adventurous wings
Yields to the breeze, with Albion's happy gifts
Extremest isles to bless. And oft at morn,
When Hermes, from Olympus bent o'er Earth
To bear the words of Jove, on yonder hill
Stoops lightly-sailing; oft intent your springs
He views and waving o'er some new-born stream
His blest pacific wand, " And yet," he cries,
"Yet," cries the son of Maia, "though recluse
And silent be your stores, from you, fair Nymphs,
Flows wealth and kind society to men.
By you, my function and my honor'd name
Do I possess; while o'er the Boetic vale,
Or through the towers of Memphis, or the palms
By sacred Ganges water'd, I conduct
The English merchant: with the buxom fleece
Of fertile Ariconium while I clothe
Sarmatian kings; or to the household gods
Of Syria, from the bleak Cornubian shore,
Dispense the mineral treasure which of old
Sidonian pilots sought, when this fair land
Was yet unconscious of those generous arts
Which wise Phoenicia from their native clime
Transplanted to a more indulgent Heaven."
Such are the words of Hermes: such the praise,
O Naiads, which from tongues celestial waits
Your bounteous deeds. From bounty issueth power:
And those who, sedulous in prudent works,
Relieve the wants of nature, Jove repays
With noble wealth, and his own seat on Earth,
Fit judgments to pronounce, and curb the might
Of wicked men. Your kind unfailing urns
Not vainly to the hospitable arts

Of Hermes yield their store. For, O ye Nymphs,
Hath he not won the unconquerable queen
Of arms to court your friendship? You she owns
The fair associates who extend her sway
Wide o'er the mighty deep; and grateful things
Of you she uttereth, oft as from the shore
Of Thames, or Medway's vale, or the green barks
Of Vecta, she her thundering navy leads
To Calpe's foaming channel, or the rough
Cantabrian surge; her auspices divine
Imparting to the senate and the prince
Of Albion, to dismay barbaric kings,
The Iberian, or the Celt. The pride of kings
Was ever scorn'd by Pallas: and of old
Rejoic'd the virgin, from the brazen prow
Of Athens o'er Ægina's gloomy surge,

To drive her clouds and storms; o'erwhelming all
The Persian's promis'd glory, when the realms
Of Indus and the soft Ionian clime,
When Libya's torrid champain and the rocks
Of cold Imaus join'd their servile bands,
To sweep the sons of Liberty from Earth.
In vain: Minerva on the bounding prow
Of Athens stood, and with the thunder's voice
Denounc'd her terrors on their impious heads,
And shook her burning ægis. Xerxes saw:
From Heracléum, on the mountain's height
Thron'd in his golden car, he knew the sign
Celestial; felt unrighteous hope forsake
His faltering heart, and turn'd his face with shame.
Hail, ye who share the stern Minerva's power;
Who arm the hand of Liberty for war;
And give to the renown'd Britannic name
To awe contending monarchs: yet benign,
Yet mild of nature; to the works of peace
More prone,
and lenient of the many ills

Which wait on human life. Your gentle aid
Hygeia well can witness; she who saves
From poisonous cates and cups of pleasing bane
The wretch devoted to the entangling snares
Of Bacchus and of Comus. Him she leads
To Cynthia's lonely haunts. To spread the toils,
To beat the coverts, with the jovial horn
At dawn of day to summon the loud hounds,
She calls the lingering sluggard from his dreams:
And where his breast may drink the mountain breeze,
And where the fervor of the sunny vale
May beat upon his brow, through devious paths
Beckons his rapid courser. Nor when ease,
Cool ease and welcome slumbers have becalm'd
His eager bosom, does the queen of health
Her pleasing care withhold. His decent board
She guards, presiding; and the frugal powers
With joy sedate leads in: and while the brown
Ennæan dame with Pan presents her stores;
While changing still, and comely in the change,
Vertumnus and the Hours before him spread
The garden's banquet; you to crown his feast,
To crown his feast, O Naiads, you the fair
Hygeia calls: and from your shelving seats,
And groves of poplar, plenteous cups ye bring,
To slake his veins: till soon a purer tide
Flows down those loaded channels; washeth off
The dregs of luxury, the lurking seeds
Of crude disease; and through the abodes of life
Sends vigor, sends repose. Hail, Naiads: hail,
Who give, to labor, health; to stooping age,
The joys which youth had squander'd. Oft your


Will I invoke; and, frequent in your praise,
Abash the frantic Thyrsus with my song.

For not estrang'd from your benignant arts
Is he, the god, to whose mysterious shrine
My youth was sacred, and my votive cares
Belong; the learn'd Pæon. Oft, when all
His cordial treasures he hath search'd in vain ;
When herbs, and potent trees, and drops of balm
Rich with the genial influence of the Sun,
(To rouse dark Fancy from her plaintive dreams,
To brace the nerveless arm, with food to win
Sick appetite, or hush the unquiet breast
Which pines with silent passion, he in vain
Hath prov'd; to your deep mansions he descends,
Your gates of humid rock, your dim arcades,
He entereth; where empurpled veins of ore
Gleam on the roof; where through the rigid mine
Your trickling rills insinuate. There the god
From your indulgent hands the streaming bowl
Wafts to his pale-ey'd suppliants; wafts the seeds
Metallic, and the elemental salts


Wash'd from the pregnant glebe. They drink: and
Flies pain; flies inauspicious care: and soon
The social haunt or unfrequented shade
Hears Io, lo Pæan; as of old,

When Python fell. And, Oh propitious Nymphs,
Oft as for helpless mortals I implore
Your salutary springs, through every urn
Oh shed your healing treasures. With the first
And finest breath, which from the genial strife
Of mineral fermentation springs like light
O'er the fresh morning's vapors, lustrate then
The fountain, and inform the rising wave.

My lyre shall pay your bounty. Scorn not ye
That humble tribute. Though a mortal hand
Excite the strings to utterance, yet for themes
Not unregarded of celestial powers,

I frame their language; and the Muses deign
To guide the pious tenor of my lay.
The Muses (sacred by their gifts divine)
In early days did to my wondering sense
Their secrets oft reveal: oft my rais'd ear
In slumber felt their music: oft at noon,
Or hour of sun-set, by some lonely stream,
In field or shady grove, they taught me words
Of power, from death and envy to preserve

The good man's name. Whence yet with grateful mind,

And offerings unprofan'd by ruder eye,
My vows I send, my homage, to the seats

Of rocky Cirrha, where with you they dwell:
Where you their chaste companions they admit
Through all the hallow'd scene: where oft intent,
And leaning o'er Castalia's mossy verge,
They mark the cadence of your confluent urns,
How tuneful, yielding gratefullest repose
To their consorted measure: till again,
With emulation all the sounding choir,
And bright Apollo, leader of the song,
Their voices through the liquid air exalt,

And sweep their lofty strings: those powerful strings
That charm the mind of gods: that fill the courts
Of wide Olympus with oblivion sweet
Of evils, with immortal rest from cares:
Assuage the terrors of the throne of Jove;
And quench the formidable thunderbolt
Of unrelenting fire. With slacken'd wings,
While now the solemn concert breathes around,
Incumbent o'er the sceptre of his lord

Sleeps the stern eagle; by the number'd notes,
Possess'd; and satiate with the melting tone:
Sovereign of birds. The furious god of war,
His darts forgetting, and the winged wheels
That bear him vengeful o'er the embattled plain,
Relents, and soothes his own fierce heart to ease,
Most welcome ease. The sire of gods and men,
In that great moment of divine delight,
Looks down on all that live; and whatsoe'er
He loves not, o'er the peopled earth, and o'er
The interminated ocean, he beholds
Curs'd with abhorrence by his doom severe,
And troubled at the sound. Ye Naiads, ye
With ravish'd ears the melody attend,
Worthy of sacred silence. But the slaves
Of Bacchus with tempestuous clamors strive
To drown the heavenly strains; of highest Jove
Irreverent, and by mad presumption fir'd
Their own discordant raptures to advance
With hostile emulation. Down they rush
From Nysa's vine-empurpled cliff, the dames
Of Thrace, the Satyrs, and the unruly Fauns,
With old Silenus, reeling through the crowd
Which gambols round him, in convulsions wild
Tossing their limbs, and brandishing in air
The ivy-mantled thyrsus, or the torch
Through black smoke flaming, to the Phrygian pipe's
Shrill voice, and to the clashing cymbals, mix'd
With shrieks and frantic uproar. May the gods
From every unpolluted ear avert
Their orgies! If within the seats of men,
Within the walls, the gates, where Pallas holds
The guardian key, if haply there be found
Who loves to mingle with the revel-band
And hearken to their accents; who aspires
From such instructors to inform his breast

With verse; let him, fit votarist, implore
Their inspiration. He perchance the gifts
Of young Lyæus, and the dread exploits,
May sing in aptest numbers: he the fate
Of sober Pentheus, he the Paphian rites,
And naked Mars with Cytherea chain'd,
And strong Alcides in the spinster's robes,
May celebrate, applauded. But with you,
O Naiads, far from that unhallow'd rout,
Must dwell the man whoe'er to praised themes
Invokes the immortal Muse. The immortal Muse
To your calm habitations, to the cave
Corycian, or the Delphic mount, will guide
His footsteps; and with your unsullied streams
His lips will bathe: whether the eternal lore
Of Themis, or the majesty of Jove,
To mortals he reveal; or teach his lyre
The unenvied guerdon of the patriot's toils,
In those unfading islands of the bless'd,
Where sacred bards abide. Hail, honor'd Nymphs;
Thrice hail. For you the Cyrenaïc shell
Behold, I touch, revering. To my songs
Be present ye with favorable feet,
And all profaner audience far remove.




FOR toils which patriots have endur'd,
For treason quell'd and laws secur'd,
In every nation Time displays
The palm of honorable praise.
Envy may rail; and Faction fierce
May strive; but what, alas! can those
(Though bold, yet blind and sordid foes)
To gratitude and love oppose,

To faithful story and persuasive verse!

O nurse of Freedom, Albion, say,
Thou tamer of despotic sway,
What man, among thy sons around,
Thus heir to glory hast thou found?
What page in all thy annals bright,
Hast thou with purer joy survey'd

Than that where Truth, by Hoadly's aid,
Shines through Imposture's solemn shade,
Through kingly and through sacerdotal night?

To him the Teacher bless'd,

Who sent Religion, from the palmy field

By Jordan, like the morn to cheer the west, And lifted up the veil which Heaven from Earth conceal'd,

To Hoadly thus his mandate he address'd:
"Go thou, and rescue my dishonor'd law
From hands rapacious, and from tongues impure
Let not my peaceful name be made a lure
Fell Persecution's mortal snares to aid:
Let not my words be impious chains to draw
The free-born soul in more than brutal awe,
To faith without assent, allegiance unrepaid'


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