Oh let not then waste luxury impair
That manly foul of toil, which strings your nerves,

And your own proper happiness creates !

Oh let not the soft, penetrating plague

250

Creep on the free-born mind; and working there,
With the sharp tooth of many a new-form'd want,

Endless, and idle all, eat out the heart
Of Liberty; the high conception blast;
The noble fentiment, th' impatient scorn
Of base subjection, and the swelling with
For gen'ral good, erazing from the mind :
While nought fave narrow selfishness succeeds,
And low design, the sneaking paffions all
Let loofe, and reigning in the rankled breast.
Induc'd at last, by scarce-perceiv'd degrees,
Sapping the very frame of government,
And life, a total dissolution comes;

Sloth, ignorance, dejection, flatt'ry, fear.
Oppreffion raging o'er the waste he makes;
The human being almost quite extinct;
And the whole state in broad corruption finks.
Oh shun that gulf: that gaping ruin shun !
And countless ages roll it far away
From you, ye heav'n-belov'd! may liberty,
The light of life! the fun of human-kind !

Whence heroes, bards, and patriots borrow flame,
Ev'n where the keen depressive north defcends,
Still spread, exalt, and actuate your pow'rs!
While flavish southern climates beam in vain.

255

260

265

270

275

And may a public spirit from the throne,

Where ev'ry virtue fits, go copious forth
Live o'er the land! the finer arts inspire;
Make thoughtful Science raise his penfive head,
Blow the fresh bay, bid Industry rejoice,
And the rough fons of lowest Labour smile.
As when, profuse of spring, the loosen'd West
Lifts up the pining year, and balmy breathes
Youth, life, and love, and beauty o'er the world.

But haste we from these melancholy shores,
Nor to deaf winds, and waves, our fruitless plaint
Pour weak; the country claims our active aid;

280

285

That let us roam; and where we find a spark

Of public virtue, blow it into flame.
Lo! now my fons, the fons of freedom! meet
In awful senate; thither let us fly;
Burn in the patriot's thought, flow from his tongue
In fearless truth; myself, transform'd, preside,

290

And shed the spirit of Britannia round.

This faid; her fleeting form, and airy train, Sunk in the gale; and nought but ragged rocks Rush'd on the broken eye; and nought was heard But the rough cadence of the dashing wave.

295 :