When (as good Marius, 'mid Minturnæ's bogs,
in filent anguifh fraterniz'd with frogs.)
Quick o'er Ferrara's marshy plains I hied,
No wine to cheer me, and no moon to guide.
Around me, French, Cifalpines, Piedmontele,
(Alas! we've found no claffic name for thefe,)
Ligurians, Romans, Spaniards, Poles, and Swifs,
Confcription volunteers, both Trans and Cifs.+
(Like Babel's bricklayers,) from Suwarrow's van,
O'er the communes in gay confufion ran.
Quick march'd the Ruffian through the track of blood,
And each department groan'd, and melted where he ftood,
Awhile we gaze on Lodi, but no more
With bloody rampart, barricade her fhore;
That fhore where Gallia, prodigal of blood,
Swept her own conquering legions down the flood,
Her vaunting hofts refolv'd in pride, to drown,
For one fhort breath of pitilefs renown!
Yet happy deem I, who, in Adda's urn,
Were fated, not, 'midft Egypt's fands to burn,
Nor in Sarmatia's proud Battiles to mourn
Their trophies wrefted, and their banners torn,
Next, through Milan we pafs, and pafling grieve,
Then fighing leave her, perhaps for ever leave,
Ill-fated city! Commerce fhall defile
Thy crouded streets, and joy and plenty fmile:
The bufy murmur through thy marts fhall grow,
And English ftuffs in warehoufes o'erflow!
No more the keen-eyed Murder shall be seen,
To revel deftly on the guillotine.
But fober Juftice on thy bench fhall fit,
Throned by the Ruffian's fteel, and gold of Pitt.
Delays were death, while wafted from my rear
Loud blafts of tranfports pall my ficken'd ear;
Proclaim the victor, and confirm their choice,
By each apoftate renegado's voice:
While freedom, jilted by her votaries, fees
Her fanes reverfed, erafed her fage decrees;
Fanatic crouds their exi'd priefts recall,
Old dukedoms rife, and new republics fall.
Ah! then diftill'd, through grief, through pain, through fear,
Salt down my cheek the patriotic tear;
Nor ceafed, 'till Cenis' topmaft ridge I gain,
And figh reluctant o'er the proftrate plain,
+ Exemplified in proper names, and alluding to the republican verbal energy, as Tranfihenane, Cilpadane, Tranfpadane, &c.
It is notorious that a delure of empty glory alone, caufed the useless bloodhed on the bridge of Lodi.
Here while I pace with bloodftain'd steps and flow
Joy unexpeted mitigates my woe.
For in a public houfe, where loftier rofe
Rough Alpine cliffs amidit eternal fnows,'
Where wrapt beneath, did never clouds afpire,
Sat two Directors by the kitchen fire.
Their oaken board, with frugal fare was fpread,
A meagre meal of bacon, cheefe, and bread.*
('Twas thus our pious fires were wont to fast,)
And mountain fnow diluted the repaft..
Around their chiefs right hungry ancients fat,
Munching bread o'erbaked, and bacon overfat.
Happy we meet, embrace, and joy to fee
Each other landed in fecurity;
Where, fafe intrench'd on nature's barrier mound,
Nor war-horse fnorts, nor yells of carnage found.
Soon, though no juice of generous grape infpir'd,
Dreams of futurity our bofoms fir'd:
And as, by drink, more confident we grew,
Times fled for aye, our prattling tongues renew,
Here first I learn, how follow'd from behind,†
Directors twain in fpeed outvie the wind:
And how the fifth, with directorial gold,
His private fafety bought, his country's fold!
We drink fuccefs to retrograde Moreau,
And toaft old murders in a pint of fnow:
Till fir'd with converfe, and the mad'ning bowl,
A reeling ancient, thus breath'd out his foul.
"Ye reprefentatives of focial man!
Glad liberty's expiring fparks to fan.
Ye fading relics of your nation's pride,
Who, 'reft of her Creator, ftruggling died.
O'er that Creator pour the forrowing ftrain,
Nor may the fun'ral dirge refound in vain.
"Farewell, great Architect of Liberty,
No more fhall maidens deck the poplar tree,
In gay coftumes, and idle wantonness,
When each decade demands the Sabbath's drefs.
Farewell great architect ! to whom 'twas given,
T'annul the high behefts and rights of Heaven,
While we obfequious as we kifs'd this rod,
Form'd and reform'd our nation at thy nod.
"Farewell! wheree'er thou art, if right we read
In Egypt's catacombs we mourn'd thee dead.
Vide the fublime Epiftle of Eymer, Ex. Comm. from Turin, to the Directory
on croffing the Alps.
+ Vide Eymer's Letter.
Again, that near Aboukir's fatal Ifle,
Thou flept'ft with Pompey, at the Mouth of Nile.
Now that thou lyeft on Syria's fultry fands,
The fcorn of Turkey's parricidal bands.
Yet, tho' our hero ftill draws vital breath,
Falfe, though each rumour, feign'd each tale of death.
Tho' nether Afia to his cannon bow,
And Perfian bays adorn the conqueror's brow,
Yet, can we hope from fuch a long fojourn,
His triumphs laiting, and his fafe return?"-
More perhaps he fung, but I, with fleep oppreft,
Snor'd dully on the bench, nor heard the reft.
Amazed next morning, when inclin'd to pay,
To find my purfe purloin'd, my friends away.
My friends!-Avaunt ye traitors from my heart,
Directors ftooping to the robbers
part!
Not as of old in freedom's tortur'd name,
Ye robb'd in wholefale for your tutor's dame.*
Avaunt-may hunger gripe, may dire disease,
May confcience haunt ye, or may Barras feize,
And Seine, the grave of all that once was good,
Roll your ftabb'd corpfes down his purple flood.
Where now to go, the mad conjecture preft;
To France? Where liberty ftill warms the breaft ?
No, for will there the reasoning atheift throw
The blafting glance on poverty and woe.
And verfed in Rouffeau's philofophic lore,
Clofe 'gainst the suppliant friend, his felfifh door.
To England's plains to tail in fly difguife,
And truft for fafety from mine enemies?
Yes, there alone can freedom condefcend
To rear the brave and charitable friend;
The pleafing contraft to her foes to prove,
Of hoftile vengeance melting into love.
And there, (ah me! I fhudder as I own,)
Good faith and virtue prop a Monarch's throne.
Lift, Cifalpina, lift thy drooping head,
And hear how I will honour thee when dead.
For lo! in fpite I confecrate this isle,
A noble victim to thy fun'ral pile.
Then as thy grinning manes hover round,
The crush of Britain through their ears fhall found.
When perhaps, if fo, fhall fovereign chance ordain,
They'll flesh to life, reorganize again.
Meanwhile, from nightly inquifition free,
I weave the tiffues of confpiracy.
* Madame Buonaparte, who returned to France laden with the fpoils of Italy.
Point the quaint joke, invent the dark furmife,
Committees plan, unite Societies:
All foft emotions of the foul fuppreft,
I'll fting the hand that squeez'd me to her breast:
Till fubtle poifon through each vein fhall dart,
Unnerve the frame, and fefter at the heart;
Till duped to death, her Islanders rebel,
And rue the day that Cifalpina fell.
LINES ON THE FIRST OF AUGUST, 1798.
WHEN Popish plots, by furious bigots hatched,
Endanger'd England's Crown and England's realm;
A watchful Providence, intent to fave,
Confounding their vile arts, preferv'd the state.
When too, in later times, a tyrant King
Forg'd the bafe fetter for the free. born mind,
Striving to reinftate, in all its pow'r,
A faith idolatrous, intolerant;
The nation rouz'd indignant at th' attempt,
And call'd from foreign climes a stranger Prince.---
The double bleffing fanctified the day,*
And in our annals bade it fhine for aye.
Thus, when in diftant feas on Egypt's coaft,
A furious foe, infulters of their God,
Outrageous mockers of humanity,
Dar'd to unfurl their Jacobinic flag;
A watchful providence that rules o'er all,
To whom belongeth vengeance, thither led
A chriftian hero with his gallant crew,
To deeds of victory unknown before,
In execution of his juft revenge.
When too, at home, domeftic traitors (leagu'd
With foreign foes,) who long had rul'd the prefs,
The key of learning, fciences, and arts,
And would that none should govern but themselves;
Lords of mif-rule, who burft the focial tie,
Gave to fell anarchy, a troubled world,
And with their deadly poifon ftrove to taint
The faith and morals of the wife and good;
Up rofe a patriot band, and with ftrong arm,
(An arm well nerv'd and braced for fuch a deed.)
The 6th of November. The difcovery of the Popish plot, and the landing of King William III,
Affum'd, and o'er th' ufurping critic's heads,
Themfelves the rod of criticifm shook;
Reviewing in their turn, the bold Reviewers,
Diftinctly criticizing their critiques,
And analyzing their Analysis;
And, with the torch of heav'n-defcended truth,
Beaming into the dark and difmal cave,
The hiding-place of Jacobin retreat,
Straight dragg'd the hideous monster forth to light.
Let then the double vict'ry hail this day,*
And its bright worth to future times difplay!
* The first of August, 1798, rendered famous by Lord Nelfon's Victory.
We are obliged to our Correspondent from Efher, for his hint, refpecting the Gospel Magazine.
Juvenis's Comments on Pizarro will be rendered unnecessary by our own Review of that Play, which will appear in our next number.
"Obferver," has our beft Thanks for his friendly Suggeftions. The work to which he alludes was confided to a Gentleman, of the Steadiness of whofe Principles we entertained not a doubt; but he may reft affured that there will be no relaxation of vigilance on our part.
Our Readers are requefted to correct the following Errors in the Quotation from Horace, in our last Number, P. 212.
In the firft line for ut read in.
In the fecond for Pifces et quicquid, read Piper et quidquid.
In r. 25, (of the last Number but one) line 19, for differtations read obfervation: and in line 34, of the fame page, for texts read tests.
Our Summary of Politics for the present Month is unavoidably omitted, from `the fudden Illaefs of the Editor.
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