Above the frigid etiquette of form, With the same animated feelings warm, I come, fair maid, enamour'd of thy lays, With tribute verse to swell the note of praise; Nor let the gentle Julia's hand disdain The bold intrusion of an honest strain; Nor is it mine alone — 'tis the full voice Of such as honor with no vulgar choice; Of such as feel, each glowing line along, The tender impulse of thy tuneful song!
When Cook unfurl'd his enterprising sail, With eagle-pinion to the freezing gale, Thy muse attendant on his daring soul Through the bleak chambers of the southern pole, Amazement listen'd — doubtful most t' admire The Hero's spirit or the Poet's fire! And down her cheek the frequent tear wou'd stray While delicacy deck'd his lone morai; Soft sigh'd the heart of sympathy — but oh! 'Tis dumb distress, unutterable woe! While thy pathetic Genius hovers o'er The tragic horrors of the western shore; In holy numbers eloquent to tell, How gracefuly the gallant ANDRE fell; More pleasing to his dear departed shade, Than all the tears which grateful Britain paid— Shedding sweet honors on his hallow'd bier, Thy pen, more potent than Ithuriel's spear, Strips from the ruthless Chief his corselet's pride, And shews his heart of Nero's colour dy'd!
Oh, would that pen its guardian aid extend To grace the innocent, the fair befriend; Wou'd Julia's hand the generous task essay! (Once the bright subject of an humbler lay) The treasures of the female breast make known, By copying the soft movements of her own, Woman should walk, array'd in her own robe, The hope, the boast, the blessing of the globe! Shrewsbury.
