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Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade,
And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade.
Oh bliss precarious, and unsafe retreats,
Oh charming paradise of short liv'd sweets '.
The self-fame gale that wafts the fragrance round,
Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound,
Again the mountain feels th' imprison'd foe,
Again pours ruin on the vale below,
Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore,
That only future ages can restore.

Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honour draws,
Who write in blood the merits of your cause,
Who strike the blow, then plead your own de-
fence, :. •
Glory your aim, but justice your pretence j
Behold in Ætna's emblematic fires
The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires.

Fast by the stream that bounds your just domain, ',: • And tells you where ye have a right to reign,

A a 4 A nation

A nation dwells, not envious of your throne,
Studious of peace, their neighbours and their own.
Ill-fated race! how deeply must: they rue
Their only crime, vicinity to you!
The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad,
Through the ripe harvest lies their destin'd road,
At ev'ry step beneath their feet they tread
The life of multitudes, a nation's bread j
Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress
Before them, and behind a wilderness;
Famine and pestilence, her first-born son,
Attend to finish what the sword begun,
And ecchoing praises such as fiends might earn,
And folly pays, resound at your return,
A calm succeeds—bus plenty with her train
Of heart-felt joys, succeeds not soon again,
And years of pining indigence must show
What scourges are the gods that rule below.
Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees,
{Such is his thirst of opulence and ease)

Plies all the finews of industrious toil,
Gleans up the refuse of the general spoil,
Rebuilds the towr's that smok'd upon the plain,
And the sun gilds the shining spires again.

Increasing commerce and reviving art
Renew the quarrel on the conqu'rors part,
And the fad lesson must be learn'd once more,
That wealth within is ruin at the door.

What are ye monarchs, laurel'd heroes, fay,
But Ætnas of the suffring world ye sway?
Sweet nature stripp'd of her embroider'd robe,
Deplores the wasted regions of her globe,
And stands a witness at truth's awful bar,
To prove you there, destroyers as ye are.

Oh place me in some heav'n-protected isle,
Where peace and equity and freedom smile*:
Where no Volcano pours his fiery flood,
No crested warrior dips his plume in blood,
Where pow'r secures what industry has won,
Where to succeed is not to be undone,

A land

A land that distant tyrants hate in vain,
In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign.

The POET, The OYSTER, And SENSITIVE
PLANT.

A N Oyster cast upon the shore
"Was heard, tho.ugh never heard before;
Complaining in a speech well worded,
And worthy thus to be recorded:

Ah hapless wretch! condemned to dwell
For ever in my native shell,
Ordain'd to move when others please,
Not for my own content or ease,
But toss'd and buffeted about,
Now in the water, and now out.
'Twere better to be born a stone
Of ruder shape and feeling none,.''

Than

Than with a tenderness like untie,
And sensibilities so finej . ..;; l',„„- z
I envy that unfeeling shrub, > ,'
Fast-rootdd against ev'ry ryb>..../: .;; - ;.
The plant he meant; grew not far-off; ,; •
And felt the fiieer with scorn enough,. -. -
Was hurt, disgusted, mortified,
And with asperity replied. .

When cry the botanists, and stare,
Did plants call'd sensitive grow there?
No matter when—a poet's muse is
To make them grow just where she chuses,

You shapeless nothing in a dish,
You that are but almost a fish,
I scorn your coarse insinuation,
And have most plentiful occasion
To wish myself the rock I view,
Or such another dolt as you..!
For many a grave and learned clqrk,
And many a gay unletter-d spark,

r • With

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