No. IX.

Jan. 8.

ODE TO ANARCHY.

BY A JACOBIN.

(BEING AN IMITATION OF HORACE, ODE 25, BOOK 1.)

O Diva, gratum quæ regis Antium !
Goddess, whose dire terrific power
Spreads, from thy much-loved Gallia's plains,

Where'er her blood-stain’d ensigns lower, Where'er fellRapine stalks,or barb'rous Discord reigns!

Thou, who canst lift to fortune's height
The wretch by truth and virtue scorn'd,

And crush, with insolent delight,
All whom true merit raised, or noble birth adorn'd!

Thee, oft the murd'rous band implores,
Swift darting on its hapless prey:

Thee, wafted from fierce Afric's shores
The Corsair chief invokes to speed him on his way.

Thee, the wild Indian tribes revere ;
Thy charms the roving Arab owns ;

Thee, kings, thee tranquil nations fear,
The bane of social bliss, the foe to peaceful thrones

For soon as thy loud trumpet calls,
To deadly rage, to fierce alarms,

Just order's goodly fabric falls,
Whilst the mad people cries, “ to arms, to arms!”

With thee Proscription, child of strife,
With death's choice implements, is seen,

Her murderer's gun, assassin's knife,
And,“ last not least in love,” her darling Guillotine.

Fond hope is thine,-the hope of spoil,
And faith,--such faith as ruffiaps keep :

They prosper thy destructive toil,
That makes the widow mourn, the helpless orphan

weep.

Then false and hollow friends retire,
Nor yield one sigh to soothe despair :

Whilst crowds triumphant vice admire,
Whilst harlots shine in robes that deck'd the great and

fair.

Guard our famed chief to Britain's strand I
Britain, our last, our deadliest foe

Oh, guard his brave associate band !
A band to slaughter train’d, and “ nursed in scenes

of woe."

What shame, alas ! one little Isle
Should dare its native laws maintain ?

At Gallia's threats serenely smile, And, scorning her dread power, triumphant rule the

main.

For this have guiltless victims died
In crowds at thy ensanguined shrine !

For this has recreant Gallia's pride
O’erturn’d religion's fanes,and braved the wrath divine.

What throne, what altar have we spared
To spread thy power, thy joys impart ?

Ah then, our faithful toils reward ?
And let each falchion pierce some loyal Briton's heart.

The following Song is recommended to be sung at all convi

vial Meetings, convened for the purpose of opposing the Assessed Tax Bill. The Correspondent who has transmitted it to us, informs us that he has tried it with great success among many of his well disposed neighbours,who had been at first led to apprehend that the 120th part of their income was too great a sacrifice,

for the preservation of the remainder of their property from French Confiscation.

You have heard of Rewbell,
That demon of hell,

And of Barras, his brother Director ;

Of the canting Lepaux,
And that scoundrel Moreau,

Who betray'd his old friend and protector.

Would you know how these friends,
For their own private ends,

Would subvert our religion and throne ?
Do you doubt of their skill
To change laws at their will ?-

You shall hear how they treated their own.

'Twas their pleasure to look,
In a little blue book,

At the code of their famed legislation,
That with truth they might say,
In the space of one day

They had broke every law of the nation.

The first law that they see,
Is“ the press shall be free ;'

The next is “ the trial by jury:"
Then“ the people's free choice ;"
Then“ the members' free voice”-

When Rewbell exclaim'd in a fury

« On a method we'll fall
“ For infringing them all-

“ We'll seize on each printer and member: “ No period so fit “ For a desperate hit, “ As our old bloody month of September

« We'll annul each election
66 Which wants our correction,

" And name our own creatures instead.
“ When once we've our will,
“ No blood we will spill.

“ (Let Carnot be knock'd on the head.)

“ To Rochefort we'll drive “ Our Victims alive,

“ And as soon as on board we have got 'ein, “ Since we destine the ship « For no more than one trip,

“ We can just make a hole in the bottom.

“ By this excellent plan,
« On the true Rights of Man,

When we've founded our fifth Revolution, “Though England's our foe, “ An army shall go

“ To improve HER corrupt Constitution.

« We'll address to the nation “ A finc proclamation,

“ With offers of friendship so warm“ Who can give Buonaparte " A welcome so hearty