From Boston, in his best array,
Great 'Squire M'Fingal took his way,
And, grac'd with ensigns of renown,
Steer'd homeward to his native town.
His high decent our herals trace
To *Ossian's fam'd Fingalian race;
For though their name some part may
[lack,

Old Fingal spelt it with a Mac;
Which great M'Pherson, with sub-
[mission,
We hope will add the next edition.
His fathers flourish'd in the Highlands
Of Scotia's fog-benighted islands;
Whence gain'd our 'Squire two gifts by
[right

Rebellion and the Second-sight.
Of these the first, in ancient days,

Lexington. This allusion to the family renown of Chevy-Chase arose from the precipitate manner of his quitting the field of battle, and returning to Boston.

*"See Fingal, an ancient Epic Poem, published as the work of Ossian, a Caledonian Bard, of the third Century, by James McPherson, a Scotch ministerial scribbler.

Had gain'd the noblest palms of praise,
"Gainst Kings stood forth, and many a
[crown'd head
With terror of its might confounded;
Till rose a King with potent charm
His foes with goodness to disarm;
Whom ev'ry Scot and Jacobite
Straight fell in love with-at first sight;
Whose gracious speech, with aid of
[pensions,

Hush'd down all murmurs of dissensions, And with the sound of potent metal, =Brought all their blust'ring swarms to [settle; Who rain'd his ministerial mannas, Till loud Sedition sung Hosannas ; The good Lords-Bishops and the Kirk United in the public work; Rebellion from the northern regions, With Bute and Mansfield swore alle[giance,

And all combin'd to raze, as nuisance,
Of church and state, the constitutions;
Pull down the empire, on whose ruins
They meant to edify their new ones;
Enslave the American wildernesses,
And tear the provinces in pieces.

For these our 'Squire, among the va

[liant'st, Employ'd his time and tools and talents; And in their cause with manly zeal, Us'd his first virtue to rebel; And found this new rebellion pleasing As his old king-destroying treason. Nor less avail'd his optic sleight, And Scottish gift of second-sight. No ancient sybil, fam'd in rhyme, Saw deeper in the womb of time; No block in old Dodona's grove, Could ever more oracʻlar prove. Nor only saw he all that was, But much that never came to pass; Whereby all Prophets' far out-went he, Though former days produc'd a plenty: For any man with half an eye, What stands before him may espy; But optics sharp it needs, I ween, To see what is not to be seen. As in the days of ancient fame Prophets and poets were the same, And all the praise that poets gain Is but for what th' invent and feign: So gain'd our 'Squire his fame by seeing Such things as never would have being. Whence he for oracles was grown

The very tripod* of his town.
Gazettes no sooner rose a lie in,
But straight he fell to prophesying;
Made dreadful slaughter in his course,
O'erthrew provincials, foot and horse;
Brought armies o'er by sudden pressings,
Of Hanoverians, Swiss, and Hessians;
Feasted with blood his Scottish clan,
And hang'd all rebels to a man;
Divided their estates and pelf,
And took a goodly share himself.†
All this with spirit energetic,
He did by second-sight prophetic.
Thus stor'd with intellectual riches,

*" The tripod was a sacred three legged stool, from which the ancient priests uttere ed their oracles."

+ This prophecy, like some of the prayers of Homer's heroes, was but half accomplished. The Hanoverians, &c. indeed, came over, and much were they feasted with blood; but the hanging of the Rebels, and the dividing their estates, remain unfulfilled. This, however, cannot be the fault of our Hero, but rather the British Minister, who left off the war before the work was completed.

Skill'd was our 'Squire in making spee

[ches, Where strength of brains united centres With strength of lungs surpassing Sten

[tor's. But as some muskets so contrive it, As oft to miss the mark they drive at, And though well aim'd at duck or plover, Bear wide and kick their owners over: So far'd our 'Squire, whose réas'ning

[toil

Would often on himself recoil,
And so much injur'd more his side,
The stronger arg'ments he apply'd ;
As old war-elephants, dismay'd,
Trodd down the troops they came to aid,
And hurt their own side more in battle
Than less and ordinary cattle,

Yet at town meetings eve'ry chief,
Pinn'd faith on great M'Fingal's sleeve,
And, as he motioned all by rote
Rais'd sympathetic hand to vote.

The town, our Hero's scene of action,
Had long been torn by feuds of faction;
And as each party's strength prevails,
It turn'd up diff'rent heads or tails ;
With constant rattling, in a trice
Show'd various sides, as oft as dice: