O'er Britain's plains, the Muse delighted roves, Delighted wanders o'er the banks of Thames, Or rests secure in Clifden's rural groves. "There by the dawn, elate with lightsome glee, The joyous shepherd and the hind are seen, The voice of mirth, when ev'ning shades the lea, Heard loud and nat'ral o'er the village-green, "No tyrant there the peasant's field invades, Secure the fold, his labour's all his own; No ravisher profanes his osier shades, His labours wealth and independence crown." 'T was thus the chorus struck the Muse's ear "'T was not in vain thy dictates swell'd his breast, "T was not in vain he vow'd his heart to thee; Fair, midst thy heroes, stands his name confess'd, The friend of men, the patron of the free. "Though cypress now his lowly bed adorns, Though long ere eve at life's bright noon he fell, Yet shall the song, oft as this day returns, At freedom's shrine his happy labours tell, "The drooping spirit of a downward age, Beneath his smile with ancient splendour rose, Corruption blasted, fled his virtuous rage, And Britain triumph'd o'er her bosom foes.— "Oh! whether, sportive o'er the cowslip beds, You through the haunted dells of Moua glide, Or brush the upland lea when Cynthia sheds Her silver light on Snowdon's hoary side. "Hither, ye British Muses, grateful come, And strew your choicest flow'rs on Fred'ric's bier! 'T is Liberty's own nymphs that raise the tomb, While o'er her son the goddess drops a tear. "Fair to his name your votive altars raise; Your bow'rs he rear'd, to him your strains belong; Ev'n virtue' joins to gain the Muse's praise, Him loves the Muse whose deeds demand the song!" ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS DOWAGER OF WALES. ASPERS'D by malice and uumanly rage, Warm from the heart these honest numbers flow, Which honour, truth, and gratitude bestow. EPITAPH ON GENERAL WOLF. BRITON, approach with awe this sacred shrine, What future Hannibal's shall England see EPITAPH ON MR. MORTIMER. O'ER Angelo's proud tomb no tear was shed; 1 Guadet enim virtus testes sibi jungere musas; Carmen amat quisquis carmine digna geri. Ovid. What visions rose!-Fair England's patriots old," TO THE MEMORY OF COMMODORE JOHNSTONE. "Your note relative to the intelligence sent me in 1761, I think is not full enough. The intelligence was of that consequence, that without it every Spanish province in the West Indies had been prepared, as I did not receive orders from England till Martinique was taken, and I had sailed to attack St. Domingo; in which time my cruizers had taken every Spanish packet that had sailed from Spain with their declaration of And the very day I received Mr. Johnstone's dispatches, I sent them to Jamaica, desiring the governor to lay an embargo, and the admiral to seize all Spanish ships; which was done accordingly, and the Spanish governors totally ignorant of war, till sir George Pococke and the British fleet came in sight some months after off the Havannah. Mr. Johnstone, therefore, may be properly said to have taken the Havannah. war. "With infinite pleasure I beg you will put me down as a subscriber to your works, and beg you will do me the honour of calling upon me when you come to town. I am, with real truth and sincerity, yours, &c. RODNEY." Thy course to steer, yet still preserv'd by Heav'n; George Johnstone was one of the younger sons of sir William Johnstone, bart. Dumfriesshire, and early devoted himself to the sea service. After passing through the subordinate stations, he was, on the 6th of February, 1760, appointed master and commander; and on the 11th of August, 1762, was advanced to be a captain in his majesty's service. On the peace, which soon after succeeded, he was nominated governor of West Florida, where he resided for some time. Re-THROUGH life's tempestuous sea to thee 't was giv’n turning to England, he took a very active part in the affairs of the East-India Company, particularly in opposition to lord Clive. in 1766 he | was supposed to have contributed very materially to a pamphlet, entitled, A Letter to the Proprietors of East-India Stock, from John Johnstone, esq. late one of the Council at Calcutta, Bengal, 8vo.; and in 1771 he is known to have written Thoughts on our Acquisitions in the East Indies, particularly respecting Bengal, 8vo. In 1773 he was a candidate for the directorship, in which he did not succeed. He was chosen into parliament, through the interest of sir James Lowther, for Cockermouth, and in 1774 for Appleby. In the course of his parliamentary duty, he threw out some reflections on lord George Germaine, which occasioned a duel between them on the 17th of December, 1770. He afterwards was named one of the commissioners | to treat with America, and went there, but without success. In 1779 he resumed his naval employment, and distinguished himself by his bravery and conduct. He died May 24, 1787. When Mr. Mickle had composed the following poem, he sent a copy of it to lord Rodney, begging his lordship's opinion and correction of the first note, to which he received the following answer: "My dear sir, Albemarle-street, May 16, 1788. "Nothing can give me more real pleasure than the affection and gratitude shown by you to the memory of our worthy friend, George Johnstone. It is impossible for me not to approve of the verses of the translator of The Lusiad, which, without flattery, in my poor opinion, are equal, if not superior, to Pope's translation of the Iliad. It is impossible not to be pleased with both. Both instil in our minds the glorious idea of doing our duty to our country, and that life without honour is but a burden. When filial strife unsheath'd the ruthless brand, The commodore was remarkably happy in procuring intelligence. He sent the first notice of the Spanish declaration of war in 1761 to admiral Rodney, then commanding in the West Indies, in consequence of which the Havannah was taken. He sent also the first account of the sailing and destination for the West Indies of the grand Spanish fleet in 1780 to admiral Rodney, then also commander on that station. Both messages were carried from Lisbon by the same person, captain M Laurin. In consequence of this intelligence, many of the Spanish transports were taken, and the operations of the combined force of France and Spain in the West Indies retarded for that season. ODES. Of proud Iberia's castles; Belgia mourn'd And rescu'd honour on thy death-bed smil❜d 3, Hails thee, and blesses Heav'n that heard her pray'r. AN INSCRIPTION ON AN OBELISK AT LANGFORD, IN WILTS, WHILE O'er these lawns thine eye delighted strays, As by the menials taunted from the door; He roll'd his dying eyes.-Ah! what compare By his mad revels, by the gilded snare, SACRED TO THE HEIRS OF RADNOR CASTLE. O THOU, whose hopes these fair domains inspire, What time rapt fancy's shadowy forms descend. 2 Alluding to the French and Dutch prizes he 3 Alluding to the sentence against him in the cause of captain Sutton, being reversed by the house of lords, the account of which he received about twenty-four hours before his death. By the base menials taunted from the door, Unknowing where, on trembling knees and slow: Till here, beneath an aged elm's bleak shade, By his mad revels, by his last heart-sigh, ODES. ODE I. KNOWLEDGE. S. ANN. ÆT. AUCTOR 18. Ducit in errorem variorum ambage viarum. HIGH on a hill's green bosom laid, The nibbling flocks around me bleat; Along the clover'd dale; "Hail, Knowledge, gift of Heaven!" I cried, "How mean the short-liv'd joys of sense; Of wisdom's sacred lore! In Death's deep shades what nations lie, "She sees the little Spartan band, The Asian world in arms; "The wonders of the spacious sky And marks the planets roll: 524 "How matter takes ten thousand forms "Hark! Bolingbroke his God arraigns; Hobbes smiles on vice; Descartes maintains A godless passive cause: See Bayle, oft slily shifting round, And change, O Truth, thy laws. "And what the joy this lore bestows? Above what bestials claim: Is all its hope, its aim. "Not Afric's wilds, nor Babel's waste, A scene where virtue sickening dies, "Wisdom, you boast, to you is giv❜n; At night then mark the fires of Heav'n, And let thy mind explore; Swift as the lightning let it fly Still, still are millions more. "Th' immense ideas strike the soul With pleasing horrour, and control Thy wisdom's empty boast: What are they?-Thou canst never say: Then silent adoration pay, And be in wonder lost. "Say how the self-same roots produce "Why, growling to his den, retires "Instinct directs-But what is that? But this at once is all. "A trunk first floats along the deep, "That down the steep the waters flow, "For still the more thou knowest, the more Shalt thou the vanity deplore Of all thy soul can find. This life a sickly woeful dream, A burial of the soul will seem, "A palsy of the mind. "Though knowledge scorns the peasant's fear, Alas! it points the secret spear Thy delicacy dips the dart In rankling gall, and gives a smart "How happy then the simple mind "The stings neglected merit feels, Heav'n guards his humble state. "Knowledge or wealth to few are given, But mark how just the ways of Heaven; True joy to all is free: Nor wealth, nor knowledge, grant the boon; "T is thine, O conscience, thine alone, It all belongs to thee. "Bless'd in thy smiles the shepherd lives; Gay is his morn; his evening gives Content and sweet repose: Without them-ever, ever cloy'd, To sage or chief, one weary void Is all that life bestows. "Then would'st thou, mortal, rise divine, Let innocence of soul be thine, With active goodness join'd: My heart shall then confess thee bless'd, The pleasures of the mind." So spake the sage- -my heart reply'd, "How poor, how blind, is human pride; All joy how false and vain; But that from conscious worth which flows, Which gives the death-bed sweet repose, And hopes an after reign!" ODE II. ODES. MAY-DAY; OR, THE DRUIDICAL FESTIVAL, "AWAKE, my sons, the milky dawn Steals softly gleaming o'er the eastern lawn: Already from their oaken bowers, Scattering magic herbs and flowers, That scent the morning gale, With white and purple blossoms crown'd, From every hill and dell around, The druids hasten to the sacred vale." "T was thus the hoary Cadwell rais'd the strain; "Awake, my sons!" he cried, and struck his lyre: And now the mutter'd spell And soon the dark dispersing shades And o'er the thyme-clad mountain boar with dew, When hastening to the sacred grove, With white and purple blossoms crown'd, Their mystic staves with wreaths of oak enwove, The choral bands their sov'reign chief surround. "T was thus while yet Monasses liv'd, While hoary Cadwell yet surviv'd, ' Their solemn feasts the blameless druids held: Ere human blood their shrines distain'd, Ere Hell-taught rites their lore profan'd, 'T was thus o'er Snowdon's brow their saered anthems swell'd. Their chief, Monaeses, march'd before; Monaeses, sprung from Heber's line, Who, leaving Midian's fertile shore, When scepter'd Belus challeng'd rites divine, When tyranny his native fields defac'd, Far to the peaceful west His kindred led- -Phoenicia spread the sail, And now the sacred morn appears, The morn that gave the Heavens their birth, That saw the green, the beauteous Earth, All blooming rise beneath the smiles of May. "Then loud the hallow'd anthem raise, And on the mountain-tops far round, May-day by the druids, according to Dr. Stukeley, was observed as the day of the creation; and on that morn they kindled what they called holy fires on the tops of the mountains. |