Now, had we time, we'd stop and tell,
How nobly Nelson fought and fell,
Describe the fight, in terms so furious,
'Twould be admir'd by all the curious ;-
But we'll lay up our true sublime,
To treat you with some other time.
Besides, our publick prints will rattle,
For six months hence about this battle,
Since victory's annals can't show one
In which more mighty deeds were done,
They'll make it thunder, loud and louder,
'Till each newspaper smells of powder !

Now, would our Pegasus but stop, To Africk's coast we'd take a hop, Would to posterity bequeath

For Eaton's brow a laurel wreath :

But sure a humble carrier's praise,

Can't add one sprig to Eaton's bays.

We next o'er Europe "tramp! tramp! tramp!"

As far as Buonaparte's camp,

But still keep out of cannon shot

Of Buonapart' and Bernadotte ;

Would glut the jaws of an hyena,

Ere we'd approximate Massena;

We therefore keep at decent distance,

And pray that by kind heaven's assistance,
The continental powers allied

May humble haughty France's pride,
And that they'll muster troops and talents,
In Europe, to preserve the balance.

Now, after these our flights amazing We'll turn our Pegasus a grazing,

But hope, your honour, some small change May go to recompense our range,

For, though we neatly through the air go,

Still money makes the poet's mare go.

LINES

WRITTEN AFTER A VIEW OF PASSAICK FALLS, IN A

BOOK CALLED THE ALBUM, KEPT AT

THE INN OF MAJOR GODWIN.

HENCEFORTH may the muses,

Sans any excuses,

Enliven the landscape surrounding;

May the lyre of Apollo

Be heard in each hollow,

And dryads the thickets abound in.

The beautiful scenery

And cotton machinery,

And delicate paper-mill lasses,

And fine cataract

Make it matter of fact

That Patterson rivals Parnassus.

AN ODE

FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE MASSACHUSSETTS

CHARITABLE FIRE SOCIETY.

SUNG BY MR.

FOX OF THE THEATRE BOSTON,
JUNE 21ST, 1806.

O'ER the wild Atlantick wave,

Lo the fiends of discord rave;

Battle's bray is heard from far,

Battle's bray is heard from far,
To Bellona's blood-stain'd car,
Yok'd the madding steeds of war :—
But no fiend of battle roars

Round Columbia's happy shores;
Peace and plenty, hand in hand,
Join to bless her happy land.

CHORUS.

Laud we then the God of Heav'n,
At whose behest fair peace is giv❜n,
The God, who led our fathers o'er
To Columbia's happy shore.

Where th' embattled hosts of France,

To the kindling war advance,

There shall heroes bite the dust,

There shall heroes bite the dust,
Blood shall tinge the rubrick waves
Where the fiend of battle raves.

Sons of honour, "Sons of soul,"
Whom no tyrants can control,
Patriotick myriads join,

Round fair freedom's sacred shrine.

Ever laud the God of Heav'n,

At whose behest fair peace is giv❜n,
The God, who led our fathers o'er,
To Columbia's happy shore.

Where Britannia's sons unite

To provoke the distant fight,

There shall countless heroes fall,

There shall countless heroes fall,

When the din of battle join'd,

Hurtles in the hollow wind.

Fiends of horrour flit around,

Dying heroes strow the ground,