Thus I fung when CHLOE's eyes Made my vanquish'd heart their prize, Where's my paffion now to range, Love of Freedom, love of Change. Ere SOL difpels the wintry cold, And with thy filver leaves display'd Spread luftre through the dreary glade.— Tincturing the ZEPHYR as it blows, Thy humble flowers from earth exhale To scent the pinions of the gale; What though no hues of gaudy dye Strike with their dazzling charms the eye, Nor does thy fober foliage fhew Each blended tint of IRIS' bow; Yet in thy meek unfullied grace Imagination's eye fhall trace And jocund Summer's cloudlefs fkies, Written in the Year 1779, when the COMBINED FLEETS were off PLYMOUTH. W HEN the keen axe remorfelefs laid The woods of EDGECOMBE low, Left now their leafy skreen should aid The approaches of the foe; Aftonish'd from their dark retreats The frantic DRYADS rove, And ECHO fhrieks of woe repeats Through all the wafted grove: • Muft we,' they cry, fo long who dwelt • On this wave-cinctur'd fteep, . Who each rude blaft unfhrinking felt • That heaves the ATLANTIC deep, • Muft • Muft we forfake thefe folemn fhades • To diftant regions driven, 'Or view expos'd our foreft glades • To every beam of heaven? But ah! what horrid fcenes are thefe! LO BOURBON'S hoftile train Here fpread their canvas to the breeze, And darken half the main: BRITANNIA's bloody crofs no more Aloft triumphant flies, For fee by this infulted fhore The GALLIC lilies rife! Speed then, oh fpeed your eager toil! And on this lofty steep Tear every fapling from the foil ← And launch them on the deep. 3 ed • To |