Yet say, my soul, can Richard dread Avaunt! not shallow Richmond's utmost power Can match the tortures of this midnight hour. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,* Shall British heroes give the combat o'er? On, on, my friends, be men indeed, And spurn the insulting foe; Know, glory is the warrior's meed, The height of bliss below. In peace let soft humanity Each fiercer thought assuage, While meek-eyed mild humility Shall mitigate your rage: But when the war-denouncing sound Let haughty Gallia know, While on the slaughter-reeking plain She views her noblest heroes slain, See, see, e'en now the Gallic warriors fly; On, on, my friends! St. George and victory! 'Twas thus in Fancy's airy cell The heaven-taught poet sweetly sung, While music flow'd like nectar from his tongue, And own'd his powerful spell. Then hail thou bard of endless praise, The wonder of our later days! United we behold in thee The glories of the tragic three,* ABRADATES AND PANTHEA. A SCHOOL EXERCISE. 1799. THE brazen trump, hoarse thund'ring from afar, Had rung the signal of approaching war; Her tender arms a pleasing burthen brought, And a rich belt whose texture flam'd with gold; Trembling she stretch'd, and kiss'd them as she gave; His manly bosom to her aching breast. "Go, Abradates, arm'd in virtue go, "Assert thy worth, and crush th' insulting foe; 66 May Heaven propitious on thy arms attend, "From dangers guard thee, and from wounds defend; "May this firm shield each hostile dart repel, "That lord protecting whom I love so well; "Whose form, more faithful than the sculptor's art, Impressive love has stamp'd upon this heart. "For O! where'er thy fates or fortune lead, "In life to flourish, or in death to bleed, My kindred spirit shall attend thy call, “With thee shall triumph, or with thee shall fall. "Then let thy love this parting pledge receive, 66 Perhaps the last Panthea e'er shall give; "And when thou sink'st oppress'd with toil and pain, 66 Say shall my image nerve thy arm again, Edge thy keen sword, inspire thy latest breath, "And point the way to conquest or to death? "For know this throbbing heart would less bemoan "Thy fall untimely, than thy honour gone; "Since fate, tho' adverse, grasps the meed of fame, "And death is glory, when to live is shame.” She ceas'd, and half suppress'd a rising sigh, While the big tear stood trembling in her eye. Thro' his bold heart the soft infection stole, And kindred feelings touch'd his manly soul. "Adieu," he cried, and raised her drooping head, Ah! hapless pair, your loves, your lives are o'er, And Fate exulting cries, "Ye meet no more!" E'en as the dauntless hero mov'd to war, Death shook his lance triumphant o'er the car; Funereal spirits stamp'd the warrior's doom, And Pity wept o'er Virtue's early tomb: For ah! no more shall fond Panthea's care For her lost lord the fragrant bath prepare: From his tir'd brow unbind the beaming crest, Or clasp the robe of triumph o'er his breast. E'en now, while trembling at some cause unknown, Pensive she mourns her Abradates gone, While oft her bosom heaves with anxious pain, While oft her eye starts wistful to the plain, And each low groan that strikes her wakeful ear Thrills thro' her heart, and speaks of danger near; E'en now, o'erthrown beneath the Egyptian sword, Lies the pale image of her bleeding lord, While the grim ruffian, ere his sense has flown, Stamps on his breast, and taunts his dying groan. |