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I Ask no talisman to shield from harm
My form, for lo! encircled close, I bear

A far more noble, far more potent charm,

Than e'er was wrought by wise enchanter's care. While on my breast reclines this treasur'd hair,

Not one of all the dark and busy swarm

Of imps unholy, fraught with wild alarm,
Shall, foolishly-presuming, ever dare,
With wily arts, to seek an entrance there,

But vanish all, like phantoms of the night;
For, not near aught of one so pure, so fair,

Can rest the troublous phantoms of affright:
There, must soft Pity breathe her tender spell,
There, spotless Love and Virtue only dwell.

R. A. P.


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Macrum arbitrium opimo bello potius,

Her baneful torch when civil fury hurl'd Wide o'er the wondering and the weeping world, While frantic Foes in blood their footsteps dy'd, And earth and heaven with impious rage defy'd;Reluctant Britain, but unus'd to fear, Stretch'd her broad shield and grasp'd the fatal spear;

Her conquering banners on the Atlantic spread, Through Asia's plains triumphant armies led."Her threats in vain the indignant * Saib braves,"Nor walls protect him, nor surrounding slaves,"'Reft of his crown, his wealth the Victor's prize,"'Mid heaps of vulgar slain the Sultan lies,"His captive progeny their woes relate,"And silent vassals weep their Master's fate f."

• Tippoo is a word, in English ears, of so undignified and unpoelical sound, that the less appropriate one of Saib, has been adopted as sufficiently so, in this country, to describe the person it is here intended to represent.

t The lines in these two pieces inclosed between inverted commas were not intended for recitation.

Her thunders aw'd the north's conspiring powers,
Her mercy spar'd their fanes, and nodding towers }
Last, by her arms deliver'd, Afric saw
The Foe, that gave to sluggish Egypt law,
By fire and waves oppress'd like Pharaoh's host,
While his proud navy strew'd the blazing coast;
The tawny tribes in ransom'd cities smile,
And vanquish'd Conquerors quit the trembling Nile;
There, Britain's fame her brightest plumes expands,
Her dearest blood bedews the desert sands;
There on her Abercrombie's hallow'd bier,
Drooping she sits, and pours the fondest tear;
But while her heart the mournful tribute gives,
Is proud that Smith, exults that Nelson lives,
Lo! to his triumphs Hutchinson succeeds,
Immortal triumphs! though the Hero bleeds;
Though Howe's fresh laurels could not stay his doom,
That wave, and ne'er shall wither, on his tomb,
Keith's, Vincent's, Duncan's suns unclouded shine,
And still, Cornwallis, beam the rays of thine,
Still grace the Statesman wise, the soldier brave,
Thy skill to conquer, and thy love to save.
Warriors, who weep your brave companions dead,
And living glories round your country shed,
Your toils her wealth, her power, her realms increase,
And your victorious arms shall guard her peace.
Peace! be thy bands rever'd, ador'd thy name,
Dearer than richest spoils, or loudest fame;
Peace bids the marble breathe, the canvas teem,
While fearless Commerce pours her golden stream;
Peace the proud march of scenic pomp arrays,
She swells the note, she crowns the Poet's lays:
Turn'd from the bitter source of real woe,
Now may the tear for feigned sorrow flow,

Heart-easing mirth no smother'd sighs alloy,
Nor, laughing Comedy, thy harmless joy;
Peace, to the hungry peasant deal thy bread,
Peace, smooth the pillow for the Monarch's head;
Forbid the orphan's and the widow's tears,
The trembling virgin's, and the matron's fears.
Parent of Plenty, Justice, Learning, Arts,
Calm the vext world, and tame ambitious hearts,
Nor sheathe the jealous sword in mockery vain,
But crown'd by valour, and by mercy reign!


Spoken at the Theatre Royal, Cheltenham,

NOVEMBER 7, 1801.


race! Pace! Pace!

Of English words, (the tender heart can tell,)
Not one so hard to utter as —Farewell;
Spite of the midnight watch, or morning bell,
What jovial soul can bear to hear Farewell?
Ill-ompn'd spell! that casts a baleful cloud
O'er the gay scenes where youth and beauty crowd;
In the last dance it's lingering pause is found,
In the last song, it's faint and fatal sound.
Say, for ye know, ye lovers fond and true,
What pain it is to part, and bid adieu,
That cruel word would poison every bliss,
If never soften'd by the parting kiss.

Yon blessed pair who kindly vow to sever

Ten times a day, for ever, and for ever,

Should Jove but hear, and bid them separate dwell,

Would mutter love, and hesitate Farewell.

"Thus while in garrets vile dull volumes swell,

"The starving Poet bids the Muse farewell."

Farewell! sad sound to Courtiers in disgrace,

Farewell to power, to pension, and to place!

The Veteran sighs it at the last review,

Pride, pomp, and circumstance of war, to you;

Britons, with wealth reward him, and renown,

Bind up his wounds, ye fair, his labours crown;

Of war, and all its pomps, and horrors fell,

O, may we take a long and last farewell,

To heaven-born Peace our plighted vows renew,

And never, never rashly, bid adieu!

Is the poor Player then, who from the stage

Reflects the feelings of the passing age,

Deck'd with the robe, the sceptre and the sword,

Now a proud Warrior, now a supple Lord,

Is he alone exempt from what he shews,

And acts the passion that he never knows?

Believe it not; our secret I'll reveal,

They feign the best, most tenderly who feel *;

But I, the humblest of my tribe, must live,

A sad exception to the rule I give:

To night I find how little is my art,

Indeed I feel, yet cannot play, this part,

But mar the tale my faultering tongue should tell,

Actor no more, I scarce can say—Farewell.

* our secret I'll reveal, They feign the best most tenderly who feel; "Here lies the golden secret, learn to feel,"

Aciob, a Poem by Robert Lloyd.

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