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PHILADELPHIA,
RINTED FOR B. JOHNSON, 31, & J. JOHNSON, 147, MAR-
KET STREET, & R, JOHNSON, 2, N. THIRD STREET,

BY THOMAS GEORGE PALMER.

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Et tantas audetis tollere molles?
Quos egosed motos præstat componere Auctus.
Post, mihi non simili pæna commissa luetis.
Maturate fugam, regique hæc dicite vestro:
Non illi imperium pelagi, sævumque tridentem,
Sed mihi sorte datum.-

VIRGIL.

As on the sea-beat shore Britannia sat,
Of her degenerate sons the faded fame
Deep in her anxious heart revolving sad,
Bare was her throbbing bosom to the gale,
That hoarse and hollow from the bleak surge blew; 5
Loose flow'd her tresses, rent her azure robe.
Hung o'er the deep, from her majestic brow
She tore the laurel, and she tore the bay ;
Nor ceas'd the copious grief to bathe her cheek,
Nor ceas'd her sobs to murmur to the main.

10
Peace discontented nigh, departing, stretch'd
Her dove-like wings; and War, tho' greatly rous'd,
Yet mourns his fetter'd hands; while thus the queen
Of nations spoke, and what she said the muse
Recorded, faithful, in unbidden verse.

15

“ E'en not yon sail, that from the sky-mixť wave
Dawns on the sight, and wafts the royal youth*,
A freight of future glory to my shore;
E’en not the flattering view of golden days,
And rising periods yet of bright renown,

20
Beneath the parents, and their endless line
Thro' late revolving time, can sooth my rage,
While, unchastis'd, th' insulting Spaniard dares
Infest the trading flood, full of vain war,
Despise my navies, and my merchants seize, 25
As, trusting to false peace, they fearless roam
The world of waters wild, made by the toil
And liberal blood of glorious ages mine ;
Nor bursts my sleeping thunder on their head.
Whence this unwonted patience? this weak doubt ? 50
This tame beseeching of rejected peace?
This meek forbearance? this unnative fear,
To generous Britons never known before?
And sail'd my feets, for this, on Indian tides
To float, unactive, with the veering winds ?

35 The mod ery of war! while hot Disease, And Sloth distemper'd, swept off burning crowds, For action ardent, and amid the deep Inglorious sunk them in a watery grave. There now they lie beneath the rolling flood,

40 Far from their friends and country, unaveng'd, And back the drooping war-ship comes again, Dispirited, and thin : her sons asham'd Thus idly to review their native shore, With not one glory sparkling in their eye,

45 One triumph on their tongue. A passenger, The violated merchant comes along, That far-sought wealth, for which the noxious gale He drew and sweat beneath equator suns,

* Frederick, prince of Wales, then lately arrived.

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