The Goddess comes they vanish from the wall,
Their lances shiver, and their heroes fall :
For fraud can ne'er elude, nor force withstand
The itroke of Liberty's victorious hand *.

She smiles ; her smiles perpetual joys diffuse;
A shouting nation where she turns pursues ;
Their heart-felt Pæans thunder to the sky,
And echoing Appenines from far reply:
Such wreaths their temples crown as Greece entwin'd
Her hero's brows at Marathon † to bind;
Such wreaths the fons of freedom hold more dear
Than circling gold and gems that crown the peer,
Than the broad hat which shades the Pontiff's face,
Or the cleft mitre's venerable grace.
Insulting grandeur, in gay tinsel dreft.
Shows here no ftar embroider'd on the breast,
No tissued ribbon on the shoulder tied,
Vain gift implor'd by Vanity from Pride!
Nor here ftern Wealth, with supercilious eyes,
The faltering prayer of weeping want denies;
Here no false Pride at honeit labour sneers,
Men here are brothers, equal but in years;

a

* The duke of Savoy once attempted to surprise Geneva, and take it in the night by escalade, but the first man that mounted the wall was discovered by a woman, who courageousy knocked him down, and alarmed the Genevese, who drove off the assailants, and fallying after them, made a great Naughter.

+ At Marathon, Miltiades, with 10,000 Athenians, defeated an army of more than 100,000 Persians, and delivered his country from a foreign yoke.

Here heaven, O Liberty! has fix'd thy throne,
Fill'd, glorious Liberty! by thee alone.

Rome fees thy face, fince Brutus fell, no more,
A ftranger thou on many a cultur'd fhore:
The Polish lord, of thy embraces vain,
Pricks his proud courfer o'er Sarmatia's plain;
Erects his haughty front in martial pride,
And spurns the burgher, grovelling at his fide;
The grovelling burgher burns with fecret fires,
Looks up, beholds thee, fighs, despairs, expires.
Britain's rough fons in thy defence are bold,
Yet fome pretend at London thou art fold;
I heed them not, to fell too proud, too wife,
If blood must buy, with blood the Briton buys.
On Belgic bogs, 'tis faid, thy footsteps fail,
But thou fecure may'ft fcorn the whifper'd tale;
To latest times the race of great
Nassau,

Who rais'd feven altars* to thy facred law,
With faithful hand thy honours fhall defend,
And bid proud factions to thy fafces bend.

Thee Venice keeps, thee Genoa now regains;
And next the throne thy feat the Swede maintains; .
How few in fafety thus with kings can vie!

If not fupreme, how dangerous to be high!
O! ftill prefide where'er the law's thy friend,
And keep thy ftation, and thy rights defend:
But take no factious League's + reproachful name,
Still prone to change, and zealous ftill to blame,

*The Union of the Seven Provinces.

+ The author alludes to the famous League formed against Henry of France.

Cloud

Cloud not the sunshine of a conquering race,
Whom wisdom governs, and whom manners grace;
Fond of their fovereign, of subjection vain,
They wish no favours at thy hands to gain,
Nor need fuch vaftals at their lord repine,
Whose easy sway they fondly take for thine.

Thro' the wide East leís gentle is thy fate,
Where the dumb murderer guards the fultan's gate ;
Here pale and trembling, in the duft o'erturn'd,
With chains difhonour'd, and by eunuchs spurn'd,
The sword and bow.string piac'd on either side
Thou mourn'st, while slaves of life and death decide.

Spoild of thy cap thro' all the bright Levant
Tell* gave thee his, and well supply'd the want,
O! come my Goddess, in thy chosen hour,
And let my better fortune hail thy power ;
Fair friendship calls thee to my green retreat,
O! come, with friendship, share the mosiy feat :
Like thee she flies the turbulent and great,
The craft of business, and the farce of fate;
To you, propitious powers, at last I turn,
To

you my vows ascend, my altars burn;
Let me of each the pleasing influence share,
My joys now heighten’d, and now footh'd my care;
Each ruder paffion banish'd from my breat,
Bid the short remnant of my days be bleit.

* William Tell was the means of restoring liberty and independence to Switzerland by killing Griller, the tyrant who governed it for the emperor Albert.

THE

WINTER'S WALK.

BY SAMUEL JOHNSON, L. L. D.

BEHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove,

What dreary profpects round us rife,

The naked hill, the leaflefs grove,

The hoary ground, the frowning skies!

Nor only through the wafted plain,
Stern Winter, is thy force confefs'd,
Still wider spreads thy horrid reign,
I feel thy power ufurp my breaft.

Enlivening hope and fond defire

Refign the heart to spleen and care,
Scarce frighted love maintains her fire,
And rapture faddens to despair.

In groundless hope and caufelefs fear,
Unhappy man! behold thy doom,
Still changing with the changeful year,
The flave of funshine and of gloom.

Tir'd with vain joys, and falfe alarms,
With mental and corporeal ftrife,

Snatch me, my Stella, to thy arms,
And screen me from the ills of life.

EPI

EPITAPH ON CLAUDIUS PHILLIPS.

BY THE SAME.

HILLIPS! whofe touch harmonious could remove

The pangs of guiltless power or hapless love,

Reft here oppress'd by poverty no more,
Here find that calm thou gav'ft fo oft before:
Reft undisturb'd within this humble shrine,
Till angels wake thee with a note like thine.

AM

The counfels lab'ring in thy patriot foul,
Tho' Europe from thy voice expect her fate,
And thy keen glance extends from pole to pole:

O Chatham! nurs'd in antient virtue's lore,
To these fad ftrains incline a fav'ring ear;

Think on the God whom thou and I adore,
Nor turn unpitying from the Poor Man's Prayer.