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Resigning now each hope of bright success,
The daring Maiden sought the battle's press;
Now on the right, now left impetuous pour'd
The swift destruction of her slaughtering sword,
With novel ardour fir'd the sable force,
And checkt her rival in her deadly course.

Their loosen'd files the scatter'd warriors close,
Fiercer and fiercer still the battle grows;
Thick flights of arrows rush along the sky,
And hurl'd from nervous arms the lances fly;
The snorting courser with remorseless tread,
Crushes alike the dying and the dead;

Heaps fall on heaps: while tides of gushing blood,
Dye all the plain, and roll a purple flood.

At length a Knight, on whose refulgent cone,
Floating in air, a snowy plumage shone,
Attacks the Monarch and his Consort true,
Who rule the nations of the swarthy hue;
With full-orb'd shields, whole legions interpose,
And strive to guard their leaders from his blows:
Alas! in vain! as Destiny requires

To save her King, the warrior nymph expires
How sweet a fate, how envied such a death,
With glory crown'd she yielded up her breath!

Nor did the Conqueror long survive the deed—
Spite of his prowess, and his vaulting steed,
Beneath the King's avenging arm he fell,

And snatch'd from triumphs, sought the shades of hell.

The sable host, dejected and forlorn,
Their chief defence, their mighty bulwark gone,

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To hostile fury fall an easy prey,

As o'er the board in wild despair they stray;
Encompassing their Prince a chosen train,
*A dying kind of combat still maintain ;
Like as when life has left each other part,
The blood yet rallies round the struggling heart:
On these the whole collected battle turns,
On every side an iron circle burns,

As when at fam'd Thermopylæ, the band
Of patriot heroes made their glorious stand,
Long they oppos'd proud Persia's countless might,
And long undaunted wag'd the desperate fight;
At length stretch'd lifeless on th' ensanguin'd field,
The contest only with their lives they yield:
Thus the dark Legions at their Monarch's side,
Like them fought nobly and like them too nobly
died.

The haughty King, each faithful subject slain,
Flies struck with terror o'er the fatal plain;
+As when Aurora with her radiant car,

From heav'n's blue firmament has chas'd each star,
Venus still lingers with her circlet bright,
Then disappears, last in the train of night.

'Where'er he moves, the persevering foe Hangs on his footsteps, and insults his woe

* Shakespeare.

+ Medio rex æquore inermis

Constitit amissis sociis: velut æthere in alto
Expulit ardentes flammas ubi lutea bigis
Luciferis Aurora, tuus pulcherrimus ignis
Lucet adhuc Venus et cœlo mox ultimus exit.

VIDA, line 604.

Milton.

With frantic gaze o'er all the chequer'd plain,
He looks for succour, but he looks in vain ;
Each haughty warrior 'shines in armour white,
No sable banner glads his aching sight-
At length encircled round, 'tis vain to fly,
Check fills the valleys, Check the vaulted sky :
The Queen who long with secret joy had' view'd
The fallen Prince ingloriously pursued,
Now rushes on him with unceasing hate,

And lays him prostrate with a stern Check-mate. OXFORD, JAN. 31, 1805.

ASIB.

MARTIAL AD LIBRUM SUUM.

IN the bookseller's windows you long to be shewn,
Little book! tho' my desk is entirely your own.
You know not, our critics have nice-judging eyes;
And, believe me, the town is prodigiously wise.
Men are loud both their censure and scorn to disclose;
Young, and old, even children, all turn up the nose.
While you fondly expect on Fame's pinions to rise,
'Tis a Blanket, will toss you, my book, to the skies.
But you, that your master may cease to condemn,
Nor your sallies be quench'd any more by his phlegm,
Are ambitious to leave me, and largely to roam;
Go, fly; but you might have been safer at home.

V. D'A.

THE SPIRIT OF ALBION.

BY PROFESSOR RICHARDSON.

I SAW, as in the times of old,
Albion's heroic Spirit bold,
And vigorous: And from afar,

Heard his loud summons to the marshal'd war.-
Skiddaw! between thee and the sky

The mighty Genius on thy summit stood :
I mark'd the light'ning of his eye
Flash on the fury of th' Atlantic flood,
That saw his navies speed their urgent way
Arm'd with the power of his imperial sway.
His golden tresses floating on the wind,
His purple raiment loosely flow'd behind;
Afar his shield's effulgent radiance gleam'd;
And wide his sable crest terrific stream'd.
The mountain trembled as his spear he shook:
And Gallia shrunk beneath his with'ring look.

The tumult of the briny main,
The golden culture of the southern plain,
And Scotia's mountainous array,
Around in ample prospect lay.

Nor less esteem'd green Erin's kindred isle
Met the mild rapture of his lenient smile:
A transient smile! for thund'ring from afar
Roll'd the black hurricane of impious war.-

1

I saw, as in the times of old,
Albion's heroic Spirit bold;

And heard, as with indignant pride,
"To arms! my gallant Sons !" he cried.

"With you what nation may compare
"For freedom and impartial laws?

"Ye know your rights, and knowing dare
"Be valiant in a righteous cause.

"Ye will, with ready heart and hand,
"Immediate to your shores descend:
"Ye will, your rights and native land,
"Your altars, and your roofs defend.
"From every
hill and dale around,
"My Britons! heirs of endless fame!
"I hear your martial clangor sound;
"I hear with joy, your loud acclaim.

"My military ranks, behold!
"Whom no assailant shall dismay,
"How firmly-resolute, and bold!
"How graceful in their bright array!

"How graceful is the gallant Youth
"Whose heart with martial ardour glows!
"The champion of a nation's truth!
"Th' avenger of her wrongs and woes!

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