The tender fair one, long by fears oppreft,
Now feels foft raptures rifing in her breast,
The blooming hero of her heart to view,
And hear him bid the dangerous camp adieu.
The widow'd bride, that long on grief had fed,
And bath'd with weeping the deferted bed,
Glad that the tumults of the war are o'er,
That terror, rage, and rapine are no more,
Greets her rough lord, fecure from hoftile harms,
And hopes an age of pleasure in his arms :
While he, with pompous eloquence, recites.
Dire fcenes of caftles ftorm'd, and defperate fights;
Or tells how Wolfe the free-born Britons led,
How Granby conquer'd, and the Household fled;
She, to the pleafing dreadful tale intent,
Now finiles, now trembles, for the great event.
O curft ambition, foe to human good,
Pregnant with woe, and prodigal of blood!
Thou fruitful fource, whence ftreams of forrow flow,
What devaftations to thy guilt we owe!
Where-e'er thy fury riots, all around
Confufion, havoc, and dread deaths abound:
Where Ceres flourish'd, and gay Flora smil❜d,
Behold a barren, folitary wild!
To ftately cedars thorns and briars fucceed,
And in the garden fpreads the noxious weed ;
Where cattle pastured late, the purple plain,
Sad scene of horror! teems with heroes flain;
I
Where the proud palace rear'd its haughty head,
Deep in the duft, fee! crumbling columns fpread;
See gallant Britons in the field expire,
Towns turn'd to afhes, fanes involv'd in fire!
These deeds the guilt of rash ambition tell,
And bloody difcord, furious fiend of hell!
Ye baneful fifters, with your frantic crew,
Hence speed your flight, and take your last adieu,
Eternal wars in barbarous worlds to wage;
There vent your inextinguishable rage.
But come, fair Peace, and be the nation's bride,
And let thy fifter Plenty grace thy fide,
O come! and with thy placid presence cheer
Our drooping hearts, and stay for ever here.
Now be the fhrill, ftrife-ftirring trumpet mute;
Now let us liften to the fofter lute:
The shepherd now his numerous flocks fhall feed,
Where war relentless doom'd the brave to bleed;
On ruin'd ramparts fhall the hawthorn flower,
And mantling ivy clasp the nodding tower,
Unusual harvests wave along the dale,
And the bent fickle o'er the fword prevail.
No more fhall ftates with rival rage
contend,
But arts their empire o'er the world extend;
Ingenuous arts, that humanize the mind,
And give the brightest polish to mankind!
Then shall our chiefs in breathing marble ftand,
And life seem starting from the fculptor's hand;
Then lovely nymphs in living picture rise,
The fairest faces, and the brighteft eyes:
There polish'd Lane no lofs of beauty fears;
Her charms, ftill mellowing with revolving years,
Shall, ev'n on canvas, youthful hearts engage,
And warm the cold indifference of age:
Then the firm arch shall stem the roaring tide,
And join thofe countries which the ftreams divide;
Then villas rife of true palladian proof,
And the proud palace rear its ample roof;
Then ftatelier temples to the skies afcend,
Where mix'd with nobles mighty king's may bend,
Where poverty may send her fighs to heaven,
And guilt return, repent, and be forgiven.
Such are the fruits which facred peace imparts,
Sweet nurse of liberty and learned arts!
These she restores-O! that fhe could restore
Life to those Britons who now breathe no more,
Who in th' embattled field undaunted stood,
And greatly perish'd in their country's good;
Or who, by rage of angry tempefts toft,
In whirlpools of the whelming main were loft.
Ye honour'd shades of chiefs untimely flain!
Whose bones lie scatter'd on some foreign plain;
* The hon. mrs. Lane, daughter of the right hon. lord chancellor Henley, and wife to the hon. mr. Lane.
That now perchance by lonely hind are feen
In glittering armour gliding o'er the green ;
Ye! that beneath the cold cerulean wave
Have made the watery element your grave,
Whose wandering spirits haunt the winding fhore,
Or ride on whirlwinds while the billows roar,
With kind protection ftill our ifle defend,
(If fouls unbodied can protection lend)
Still o'er the king your fhadowy pinions spread,
And in the day of danger fhield his head;
Your bright examples fhall our pattern be
To make us valiant, and to keep us free.
IS now the dreary hour of night,
When darkness shuts the sense of fight:
Where sparkles now that florid grace,
That fat enthron'd on nature's face?
"That golden flood of glory where,
That ftream'd its luftre thro' the air?
That private, zephyr-quivering fhade,
Where Thyrfis woo'd his lovely maid?
Alas! the fun, alas! the fhade,
Where Thyrfis woo'd his lovely maid,
Are vanifh'd, and the watery dyke,
And flowery bank have charms alike.
The velvet lawn, the tree-topt hill,
The fertile mead, the neighb'ring rill,
And all, that lately pleas'd my eye,
In undiftinguifh'd darkness lie.
Oh, darkness! each extreme degree
Is reconcil'd alone by thee.
What now avail Lucinda's eyes,
That wont to dazzle and furprize?
Or what the captivating charms
Of Stella's lilly-colour'd arms?
Since none the difference can fee
'Twixt beauty and deformity.
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