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On the Marriage of the Right Hon. Francis Hastings
Rawdon, Earl of Moira, Commander in Chief of his
Majesty's Forces in Scotland, with the Right Hon.
Flora Campbell, Countess of Loudoun.


From Holstein to Almada's heights*

The tuneful Maids are mute and still, Nor Pindus now the Muse invites,

Nor Fiesole's f romantic hill; Damp fears the general bosom chill,

Whilst Indignation burns to hear The hireling rhymer deftly trill

His sonnets to a tyrant's ear.

There let him tune, with heart forlorn,
And faltering hand, the slavish lyre;

Not thus beneath the brows of Mourne
The Patriot wakes the Poet's fire.

* In Portugal. t Florence.


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Though meanest of the Muses choir,

The meanest such a theme might warm;

Worth, Honour, Friendship, all conspire,
And Gratitude's ethereal charm.

Hail to the hymeneal star

That breaks thro' Danger's darkest shade,
Tho' Mars in fury mounts his car,

Beneath Bellona's flag display'd,
Dire signal of the bloody trade;

The dauntless Warrior leads along,
In Glory's van, the plighted maid,

And shews her to th' admiring throng.

0! not for nought the generous tide

Of Bourbon, Hastings, and Navarre (a),
And the Twin Roses summer pride, Which fortune menac'd oft to mar,
Were mixt by heaven's peculiar care

In thee, and heaven a Pledge bestows
(Foretold by many an omen fair) Of triumph to the Blended Rose.

Hail Caledon, which oft beheld

Thy spearmen by his kindred led (b),
Invasion fled the trembling field,

When thund'ring down wui mcasur'd tread,
With Bruce and Freedom at their head,

From Scotia's hills they swept the plain,
And native streams, with slaughter fed,

Ran purple to the subject main.

Like meteors from a low hung cloud,
What spirits light on Arthur's Seat!

With Wallace in his airy shrowd,
The Campbells and Montoomeries meet,

And Douglas scorning Gallia's threat;

Then, circling round Edina's towers, Adown the long-drawn vales they fleet

To rouse the Caledonian powers.

With softer notes another choir

To spousal warblings tune their lays, When Beauty fans the Warrior's fire,

And Valour wakes the song of praise, Twining the myrtle with his bays;

And viewless Minstrels sing the Line, Whose growing splendors Hope surveys,

'Till Phoebus' self forgets to shine.

No, while a son of Charlemagne (c)

Survives, by heaven's protecting hand, The cruel Corsican in vain

Halloos his mercenary band To slaught'rous deeds, and lines the strand

With crazy hulls that dread the deep; Britannia's sons the fight demand

On level shore or beacon'd steep.

No trivial cause inspires the flame,

No trivial pledge the realm secures, Combin'd with Freedom's antient claim,

Religion's aid our strength assures. Whether upon the rolling floors

Of England's barques, they mount the tide, Or discipline her files enures

By land, to check the Invader's pride.

When mimic royalty, forlorn

Of Heaven and Fortune, disappears

Like yonder cloudy crown of Mourne
Disperst, by Sol, in pearly tears—

Long as he leads the dance of years,
May manly worth and female grace, Whatever silver'd Age reveres,

Or Youth admires, exalt your race.

(a B C) Lineally descended from the Emperor Charlemagne long before the Imperial title was difgraced. The Earl of Mom A is consequently allied to the House of Bourbon, and more immediately by his descent from the antient Kings of Navarre. ,

It is well known, that the families of Hastings and Bruce were nearly related, and both derived from the royal stem of Scotland. It is almost unnecessary to add, that his Lordship numbers in his pedigree the Houses of York and Lancaster, the white and red rofe. See the English and Scots Peerage, &c. &c.



Others to marble may their glory owe,
And boast those honours sculpture can beftow;
Short-liv'd renown!—that every moment must
Sink with its emblem, and consume to dust.
But Thomson needs no artist to engrave,
From dumb oblivion no device to save;
Such vulgar aids let names inferior ask,
Nature for him assumes herself the task;
The Seasons are his monuments of fame,
With them to flourish, as from them it came.


Oh thou, renown'd in classic lore,
Whom sages love and bards adore,
Accept my votive lays;
And grant me, soft in sylvan bow'rs,
To grace thy sainted shrine with flowers,
With garlands, and with bays.

For there in tranquil shades withdrawn,
Unskill'd to cringe, unus'd to fawn,

Thy smile enchants the soul;
Where Truth, ethereal seraph, reigns,
And Peace, from courts expell'd, maintains

A soft serene controul.

Where, form'd to raise, exalt the mind,
By Virtue's chast'ning laws refin'd,

The Muse instinctive glows;
The Muse, where Petrarch 'plain'd and stray'd,
That grac'd with softest charms the shade, And, list'ning, wept his woes.

'Tis thus, ordain'd o'er earth to rise,
The soul her destin'd seat, the skies, In prospect fair surveys;
While Peace extends her fost'ring arms,
And Hope, with fairy hand, the charms Of future bliss pourtrays.

A a *


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