Heav'n ne'er, in mercy to the wretched, gave
More tender feelings to a soul more brave;
For his was mild benevolence, that forth
From dark concealment call'd retiring worth;
To secret wants supplied th' unask'd relief,
Of all its pangs disarm'd ingenuous grief;

While scarce the wretch he freed from anguish found
What gentle hand pour'd balm into his wound.
The Champion of his Country's injur'd right

He foremost stood, and led the thickest fight.
Desert like his the public voice repays,

It lives recorded in his Country's praise.

Thou, gen'rous Youth, thy Father's fame must hear,
The pleasing sound must sooth thy wakeful ear.
When fond reflection shall thy grief compose,
And lenient time beguile thee of thy woes,
If o'er thy bosom, midst the frequent sigh,
Breaks forth some gleam of momentary joy,
Cherish the kindling spark-be bold to tell
The world, in thee thy Father's virtues dwell.

ON READING

"THE LIFE OF THOMAS PAINE,

Staymaker, Grocer, Swindler, Exciseman, Tobacconist, &c. &c. and author of The Rights of Man.”

1791.

O, fam'd to uphold by needle and by pen

The shapes of Women, and the rights of Men!
Whatever title swells your pompous list,

Exciseman, Grocer, or Tobacconist;

What tongue your many-colour'd life can trace?

What eye pursue you

your lawless race?

thro' your

Hence urg'd by swindling penury to fly,

You seek fresh troubles in the Western sky;

There all the ties of civil life unbind,

And mar the social compact of mankind,

Till gen'rous FRANKLIN spurns your proffer'd aid, And your base labours are with scorn repaid.

Next

Next France receives you on her stormy coast,
Her helm deserted, and her rudder lost:
There tumult's flame from town to town is caught,
And practice perfects what your precepts taught.
But fiercer zeal still fires your patriot breast,
And kindred Zealots hail their welcome guest;

From your own hearth you light Alecto's brand,
To scatter frenzy o'er your Native Land;

In vain-the fit of mad'ning rage

is o'er,

And Peace and Freedom guard this favour'd Shore.
Go! wretch accurs'd of every clime, and fly
From the just terrors of your Country's eye;
But know, where'er you hide your dastard head,
And the dark paths of hopeless exile tread,
Attendant Justice slowly moves behind,

And owes some great example to mankind.

HYMN TO CHARITY.

HERE Virtue fixes her eternal shrine,

On Truth its firm foundations stand,

Hope bids the lofty structure rise
Beneath her auspices divine,

And rears its stately columns to the skies:
But 'tis thine all-effecting hand,

O Charity, that gives it to endure
Stedfast, and to eternity secure.

Had I an angel's ever-tuneful tongue,
And with a seraph's fire could glow,
To Charity would flow

Sacred, my unpremeditated song;

Else were the raptures of my heav'nly strain

But as a tinkling cymbal vain.

Could I with Reason's more enlighten'd beam,

Nature through all her various works descry,
Or read the book of dark Futurity,

And yet to Charity were blind;

My knowledge would but perish as a dream,
And leave no trace of memory behind.

Each art at length shall stoop its tow'ring wing, With drooping head fair Science shall decline; But thou, O Charity,

That flow'st from Virtue's unexhausted spring,

Eternal, and of origin divine,

Thou only shalt be free

From the hard laws of frail mortality.

High as the Heav'n of Heav'ns thy throne is rais'd,

When thou, the first of that celestial throng,

By loud angelic trump art prais'd,

Immortal theme of their triumphant song;

Yet