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Servat adhuc, hominumque fidem, curamque Deorum.
Dec. 25. We have been favoured with a Translation of the Latin
Verses inserted in our last Number. We have little doubt that our Readers will agree with us, in hoping that this may not be the last contribution which we shall receive from the same hand.
Parent of countless crimes, in headlong rage,
Behold ! she pours her Monarch's guiltless blood, And quaffs with savage joy the crimson flood; Then proud the deadly trophies to display Of her foul crime, resistless bursts away,
Unaw'd by justice, unappallid by fear,
Where'er her banners float in barbarous pride,
Nor yet can hope presage th’ auspicious hour, When Peace shall check the rage of lawless Power ; Nor yet th’insatiate thirst of blood is o'er, Nor yet has Rapine ravaged every shore. Exhaustless Passion feeds th'augmented flame, And wild Ambition mocks the voice of shame; Revenge, with haggard look and scowling eyes, Surveys with horrid joy th' expected prize; Broods o'er each remnant of monarchic sway, And dooms to certain death his fancied prey.
For midst the ruins of each falling state,
Her simple manners, midst surrounding crimes
Just Heav'n! how Envy kindles at the sight!
Far hence the unmanly thought-The voice of Fame Wafts o'er the applauding deep her Duncan's name. What tho' the Conqueror of th’Italian plains Deem nothing gain’d, while this fair Isle remains, Tho' his young breast with rash presumption glow, He braves the vengeance of no vulgar foe: Conqueror no more, full soon his laurel'd pride Shall perish-whelm'd in Ocean's angry tide ; His broken bands shall rue the fatal day, And scatter'd fleets proclaim BRITANNIA's sway.
Jan. 1st, 1798. A Correspondent has adapted the beautiful poem of the Battle of Sabla, in “ Carlyle’s Specimens of Arabian Poetry,” to the circumstances of the present moment. We shall always be happy to see the poetry of other times and nations so successfully engaged in the service of our Country, and of the present order of Society.
(FROM THE BATTLE OF SABLA, IN CARLYLE'S
SPECIMENS OF ARABIAN POETRY.)
In fancied triumphs crown’d?
These empty threats around?
“Desponding Britons, hear!
“ Or in your hearts the spear.”
Can we forget our old renown;
Resign the empire of the sea;
Our ancient Laws and Liberty?