OVERTURE. A solemn Dirgė.
Air.-Trio.

ARISE, ye sons of worth, arise,

And waken every note of woe! When truth and virtue reach the skies, 'Tis ours to weep the want below.

Chorus.

When truth and virtue, &c.

MAN Speaker.

The praise attending pomp and power,
The incense given to kings,

Are but the trappings of an hour-
Mere transitory things:

The base bestow them; but the good agree

To spurn the venal gifts as flattery.
But when to pomp and power are joined
An equal dignity of mind;

When titles are the smallest claim;
When wealth and rank and noble blood
But aid the power of doing good;
Then all their trophies last-and flattery
turns to fame.

Blest spirit thou, whose fame, just born to bloom,

Shall spread and flourish from the tomb;
How hast thou left mankind for Heaven!
Even now reproach and faction mourn,
And, wondering how their rage was born,
Request to be forgiven!
Alas! they never had thy hate;
Unmoved in conscious rectitude,
Thy towering mind self-centred stood,
Nor wanted man's opinion to be great.

In vain, to charm thy ravished sight,
A thousand gifts would fortune send ;
In vain, to drive thee from the right,
A thousand sorrows urged thy end:
Like some well-fashioned arch thy patience
stood,

And purchased strength from its increasing load:

Pain met thee like a friend that set thee free;

Affliction still is virtue's opportunity!

SONG. By a MAN. Virtue, on herself relying, Every passion hushed to rest, Loses every pain of dying,

In the hopes of being blest. Every added pang she suffers

Some increasing good bestows, And every shock that malice offers Only rocks her to repose.

WOMAN Speaker.

Yet, ah! what terrors frowned upon her fate

Death with its formidable band,
Fever, and pain, and pale consumptive

care,

Determined took their stand.
Nor did the cruel ravagers design
To finish all their efforts at a blow;
But, mischievously slow,

They robbed the relic and defaced the shrine.

With unavailing grief,
Despairing of relief,

cross,

Where all the humble, all the great,
Promiscuously recline;

Where, wildly huddled to the eye,
The beggar's pouch and prince's purple lie,
May every bliss be thine!

And, ah! blest spirit, wheresoe'er thy flight,

Through rolling worlds or fields of liquid light,

Not to assist, but to bewail

The inevitable loss.

Relentless tyrant, at thy call

How do the good, the virtuous fall!

Truth, beauty, worth, and all that most

SONG. By a WOMAN.

Lovely, lasting Peace below,
Comforter of every woe,
Heav'nly born, and bred on high,
To crown the favourites of the sky;
Lovely, lasting Peace appear:
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden blest,
And man contains it in his breast.

WOMAN Speaker.

Our vows are heard! long, long to mortal

eyes,

Her soul was fitting to its kindred skies;
Celestial-like her bounty fell,
Where modest want and patient sorrow
dwell;

Want passed for merit at her door,
Unseen the modest were supplied,
Her constant pity fed the poor,
Then only poor, indeed, the day she died.
And, oh! for this, while sculpture decks
thy shrine,

And art exhausts profusion round,
The tribute of a tear be mine,

A simple song, a sigh profound.
There Faith shall come, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the tomb that wraps thy clay;
And calm Religion shall repair
To dwell a weeping hermit there.
Truth, Fortitude, and Friendship shall
agree,

To blend their virtues while they think

of thee.

Air.-Chorus.

Let us, let all the world agree, To profit by resembling thee.

In decent dress and coarsely clean,
The pious matron next was seen;
Clasped in her hand a godly book was
borne,

By use and daily meditation worn;
That decent dress, this holy guide,
Augusta's care had well supplied.

46

And ah!" she cries, all woe-begone,
"What now remains for me?
Oh! where shall weeping want repair
To ask for charity?

Too late in life for me to ask,
And shame prevents the deed,
And tardy, tardy are the times
To succour, should I need.

But all my wants, before I spoke,
Were to my Mistress known;
She still relieved, nor sought my praise,
Contented with her own.

But every day her name I'll bless,
My morning prayer, my evening song;
I'll praise her while my life shall last,
A life that cannot last me long.”

SONG. By a Woman.

Each day, each hour, her name I'll bless, My morning and my evening song; And when in death my vows shall cease, My children shall the note prolong.

But every danger felt before,
The raging deep, the whirlwind's roar,
Less dreadful struck me with dismay,
Than what I feel this fatal day.
Oh, let me fly a land that spurns the brave,
Oswego's dreary shores shall be my grave;
I'll seek that less inhospitable coast,
And lay my body where my limbs were
lost."

SONG. By a MAN.

Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield,
Shall crowd from Cressy's laurelled field
To do thy memory right;

For thine and Britain's wrongs they feel,
Again they snatch the gleamy steel,
And wish the avenging fight!

WOMAN Speaker.

In innocence and youth complaining,
Next appeared a lovely maid,
Affliction o'er each feature reigning,
Kindly came in beauty's aid;
Every grace that grief dispenses,
Every glance that warms the soul,

In sweet succession charmed the senses,
While pity harmonised the whole.
"The garland of beauty" ('tis this she
would say),

"No more shall my crook or my temples adorn ;

I'll not wear a garland-Augusta's away, I'll not wear a garland until she return; But alas! that return I never shall see, The echoes of Thames shall my sorrows proclaim,