APPENDIX.

I.

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO GEORGE WASHINGTON:

FROM A NATIVE OF THE PROVINCE OF MARYLAND.

1778.

Ille Deum vitam accipiet, divisque videbit
Permistas Heroas, et ipse videbitur illis.*

Virgil.

TO THE READER.

THE reader may depend upon the following lines being the genuine production of a native of America. The author is not vain enough to flatter himself that they will throw any fresh lustre on the character of General Washington; or entitle his untutored muse to the smallest share of poetical fame. His sole view in penning this Epistle was to express, in the best manner he was able, the warm feelings of a grateful individual towards that best of men, to whom he, and every American, will, in all likelihood, be principally indebted for the establishment of the independence and commercial prosperity of his country.

While many a servile muse her succour lends
To flatter tyrants, or a tyrant's friends,

While thousands slaughtered at Ambition's shrine
Are made a plea to court the tuneful Nine;

Another manuscript copy has this motto:

On his aspect shines

Sublimest virtue and desire of fame,

Where Justice gives the laurel; in his eye
The unextinguishable spark, which fires
The souls of patriots; while his brow supports
Undaunted valour, and contempt of death.

Glover's Leonidas.

Whilst Whitehead lifts his hero to the skies,
Foretells his conquests twice a year, and lies;
Damns half-starved rebels to eternal shame,
Or paints them trembling at Britannia's name :
Permit an humble bard, great Chief, to raise
One truth-erected trophy to thy praise.
No abject flattery shall these numbers seek,
Nor raise a blush on virtue's modest cheek;
Call forth to view no great or generous deed
But foes must own, and WASHINGTON may read.
Here, while beside yon venerable wood

My native streamt swells thy Potomac's flood,
These artless lines shall usher in the song
Which future bards in rapture shall prolong.

Hail, happy man, crowned with immortal bays,
Before whose glory sink the fading rays
Of royal pageantry! Thy generous heart
To Freedom's sons shall still its warmth impart,
Teach them their native dignity to scan,
And scorn the wretch who spurns his fellow man.

Great without pomp, without ambition brave,
Proud, not to conquer fellow-men, but save;
Friend to the weak, to none a foe but those
Who plan their greatness on their brethren's woes ;
Awed by no titles, faithless to no trust,
Free without faction, obstinately just;
Warmed by Religion's pure and heavenly ray,
That points to future bliss the certain way,-
Such be my country! What her sons should be,
O, may they learn, great WASHINGTON, from thee!

*Poet Laureat to his Britannic Majesty, and obliged from his office to find

praise for his royal patron twice a year.

+ The river Wicomico.

AN ELEGY

TO THE

MEMORY OF MRS. MARY WHARTON,

Who died at Philadelphia, on the second day of June, 1798;

DULL roll the hours, and heavy hangs the day, Oppress'd with wo my broken spirit lies,

Since my poor heart, to wretchedness a prey, Heav'd its last sigh o'er Mary's closing eyes.

I I

Stretch'd on the rack of thought, my tortured mind Recalls each image of the doleful scene;

Nor in the range of nature can it find One transient ray that borders on serene.

III

Creation's glories, once my keenest joys,

On contemplation's eye unseemly pall,

Ev'n friendship's balm my loathing bosom cloys, For she is gone who once gave zest to all.

I V

Flow on, ye tears; pour forth, my wo-worn breast,

O'er the cold clay your unavailing grief;

For nought but sorrow now can yield me rest, In nought but tears my heart can find relief,

V

O ye, who fann'd by Hymen's choicest gales

Once floated gaily down the stream of life,

While love's soft breath fill'd all your flowing sails,

And all was harmony, unmix'd with strife: