THE DESPERATE WISH, OR MELANCHOLY EXTRAVAGANCE. A. D. 1760. I. Tell me, ye Furies, where to find Some subterranean cave, Dark as the horrour of my mind, And silent as the grave. II. Where none but melancholy things Possess the dreary plains; Where darkness spreads her raven-wings, And night perpetual reigns. III. Near some vast heap of ruins be The desolate abode; Like those astonish'd trav❜lers see, Where ancient Babylon stood. IV. Rubbish should all deform the ground, And make a rueful show; Wild brambles all the place surround, And nettles rampant grow. V. Dragons should there their stations keep, And wave their ragged wings; There vipers hiss, foul lizards creep, And scorpions dart their stings. VI. Voracious monsters there should stray, In quest of human gore; There savage tigers howl for prey, And hungry lions roar. VII. There, perch'd on each dry blasted oak, Should nest each rav'nous fowl; There should the om'nous raven croak, There scream the odious owl. VIII. No arbours drest in living green, No groves should there be found! Without a leaf each tree be seen, Without a flow'r the ground. IX. The yew alone and cypress there, In melancholy state, Should flourish sacred to despair, The emblems of my fate. F Or sparkle in mine eyes; But putrid lakes lie stagnant there, And noxious vapours rise. XIII. Hard by a spot with hillocks spread, And monumental stones, Should lie devoted to the dead, And guard their mould'ring bones. XIV. There mystick groans should pierce my ear, Prophetick of my doom; There frowning spectres should appear, And stalk amid the gloom. XV. No place should such fair objects gain As suit a jovial taste; But ghastly desolation reign, Through all the dismal waste. XVI. In these sad regions, I'd employ My life's remaining span; There live exil'd from social joy, And shun the face of man. XVII. No sprightly, gay idea there Should e'er admittance find; No pleasing scene, with smiling air, Should entertain my mind. XVIII. But gloomy thoughts should break my rest, And through my fancy roll; Despair should swell my anxious breast, And overwhelm my soul. XIX. There would I make my doleful moan, There solitary sigh; There spend my days, unseen, unknown, And unlamented DIE. F* A SONG FOR THE SONS OF LIBERTY IN NEW-YORK. COMPOSED AT THE TIME OF THE STAMP-ACT. 1. In story we're told, How our fathers of old Brav'd the rage of the wind and the waves; And cross'd the deep o'er, To this desolate shore, All because they were loath to be slaves;-Brave boys, All because they were loath to be slaves. 2 Yet a strange scheme of late, Has been form'd in the state, By a knot of political knaves; Who in secret rejoice, That the Parliament's voice, Has resolv'd that we all shall be slaves;-Brave boys, 3 But if we should obey This vile statute, the way To more base future slavery paves; Nor in spite of our pain, Must we ever complain, If we tamely submit to be slav es ;--Brave boys, |