42 
Not this the fane, sor ours the rite 
In which the fons of war delight 5 
Of hecatombs no flaughter’d ftore 
The marble altars float with gore; 
No prieft with bloody fing-rs dy’d 
Deep in the gafping vidtim’s fide, 
in life’s recefles curious pries 
To fearch the fecrets of the fkies 5 
ur lips no holy curfes breathe, 
Our hands no guilty laurels wreathe, 
And much ye mutt your banners low’r 
‘To enter thro” our arched door. 
Here ftands the font, in whofe pure wave 
From finful tamt our babes we lave: 
There heaves the turf, beneath whofe fod 
Our fainted fathers reft in God. 
Here peaceful broods the myftic dove; 
And brethren fhare the feaft of love 5 
The walls in ietter’d tablets teach, 
And monumental marbles preach: 
Low fighs from contrite breaits exhale, 
Inceffant pleadings heav’n allail 5 
Clear voice to voice refponfive calls, 
The dew of grace like manna falls, 
And when we clofe thefe hallow’d gates, 
Aloof each worldly paflion waits. 
Then what have we with war to do? 
Sons of earth, “tis made for you! 
; SOLDIER. 
O think not us, who here intrudes 
The nurfelings of Ambiticn’s brood: 
Of martial garb, but peaceful heartsy 
“The fons of inauftry and arts, 
No fordid hire pollures oyr hands, 
No thirft of plunder fires our bands 3 
The civic fword each Britcn wields, 
Defends his hearths, his altars, fields. 
If foes prefumptuous dare invade, 
To us our country cries for aid 5 
To us their hands our ehilacen’ {pread, 
We guard from wrong the nuptial bed 5 
From us, the joys of home who feel, 
Like lightning falls the vengeful fteel. 
Dejected, if a people mourn, 
Their trampled rights, their charters torn, 
And fecret {well with high difdain 
Beneath Oppreffion’s palling chain 5 
The murmur ftrikes our jealous ears, 
We feel their groans, we catch their fears 5 
To us aflli€ted Freedom calls, 
By us the crefted tyrant falls. 
?Tis ours the {wora alone to draw 
For order, liberty, and law, 
And well the hands that plow the foil 
Shall guard the produce of their toil. 
Then let us, while fuch vows we feal, 
Here on your hallow’d threfhold kneel 5 
And reverent thus’ our banners low’r, 
To enter thro’ your arched door. 
eS SSE ace 
LINES TO PEACE. 
Written when the Accounts of Sicknefs in the Weft 
Indies were frequently received. 
OME gentle Peace! from realms of end- 
lefs rett ! 
Bid the vex’d earth like thy own heav’n be 
blefs’d. 
©'give to panting millions balmy blifs, 
And greet fair nature with a friendly kifs. 
Original Poetry. 
Jan: 
Celeftial power! once more thy influence 
dend, 
Again with healing on thy wings defcend ; 
Bid wafteful‘ war his furious ravage ceafe, 
And plenty glad the world with new inereafe.. 
O bid deploying nations ceafe to mourn 5 
And guilty {words to {miling ploughtharee 
turn. 
Ah! long, too. long has death ufurp’d thy 
reign; 
And all the cruel family of pain. 
Not thirfy fteel alone has thin’d the world, 
Or man his artificial thunder hurld ; 
His far more fatal minifter difester” 
Glares in a thoufand fhapes, or latent preys. 
Exhaufted plenty, {mote by famine’s eye, 
Weeps low on earth, while all her children 
die. 
O’er nature’s lap in many a crimfon flood, 
Have torrents blufh’d, of fhameful brother’s 
blood. 
Too long the fcalding drops of grief have 
rain’d, 
,The wife’s, the virgin’s fading rofes ftain’d. 
Too long has fame with peftilential breath, 
Spread the {till growing tales of endlefs death. 
In vain the cheerful day with laughing eye, 
Pour’d fireams of gladnefs o’er the waking fky- 
In vain his golden banners light has fpread,. 
While fair creation lifts her imiling head. 
No more, in darknefs cloth’d, and fit array, 
Has wilful murder fought his fleeping prey. 
The fhameleis fiend his open deeds has done, 
And woes: eclipfe has veil’d th’ all-cheering 
: fun. 
Dark fits defpair oa friend fhip’s. fadden’d face, 
And mourning weeds bring gloom in every 
place. 
In all the fteps of joy fell woes advance 5 
Frown round the feftive board, and fhade the 
dance. 
Robb’d of its fplendour mourns the banquet 
room 3 
And fad aflemblies wear funereal gloom. 
Pants every breait, and fympathetic woe 
Meets in each eye, and clouds each fac 
brow. 
Full, on the trembling life, big drops com- 
plain ; 
And {peak ‘che child, the hufband, lover flain. 
Vhe cruel fate of fiehids, in diftant fhores, 
Of deareft friends diftra€ted grief deplores 5 
In fitence funk, without one tender tear, 
To foften ficknefs, or to grace the bier. 
Whofe clofing fight in vain, in foreign lands, 
One parting look, one friendly hand demands. 
There all by felfith pain, or fear exprefs’d, 
Can ill fupply a balm for other's breaft. 
In fickly ifles, beyond the Atlantic wafte, 
What thoufands down to death ingloricus 
hatte! 
Thee fever with infatiate fury feeds 5 
Ja every breeze, where foul infection breeds. ~ 
There e’en the few, whom fate is ples’a to 
fave, 
Scarce {teal an hour to dig the vi€tim’s grave. 
Dawns a new day, and kind enquiries find 
The fprightly friend of eve to death confign’d. 
And mantled night, in forrow’s dark array, 
Mourzs the waite delolatiog of the day. 
