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Nor mourn thy banish'd Edwin's fate,

Though far remov'd from hope and thee; Nor pining view with vain regret

Unerring Wisdom's stern decree. Though filial love thy tenderest sorrows claim, And every virtue brighten Edwin's name.

While Wisdom sways thy Edwin's breast,

And fancy strews his path with flowers, Although by hopeless love deprest,

The pensive pleasures haunt his bowers. And where the myrtle and the willow twine, He rears a mossy seat, and fondly calls it thine.

When filial duty sway'd thy heart,

And bade thee Edwin's vows decline, With sad reluctance see him part,

And every tender wish resign: With weeping admiration I beheld, And sadly triumph'd while my friend excell’d.

Let Grecia boast the duteous dame

Whose breast sustain'd her captive sire ; The Muses consecrate her name,

And crowds her pictur'd form admire: With conscious pride, heroic maid, I see The Grecian daughter far outshone by thee !

The milky stream spontaneous flow'd,

No warring passions were at strife, Her being to her sire she ow'd,

And Nature cry'd—Preserve his life! But sure a more exalted meed is thine, Whose struggling heart has bled at duty's shrine !






By a concurrence of odd circumstances, partly owing to his

ignorance of the English language, the poor man who is the subject of this address, missed getting his certificata for the Chelsea pension when his regiment was disbanded; but being in pretty easy circumstances, he married, took a farm, and put up quietly with the privation. Growing, into years, however, and finding his cattle diminish in proportion as his family increased, he was advised set earnestly about obtaining the object here solicited. Twa officers were yet living who happened to be beisde him when he fell, in consequence of his wound, on the heights of Abram. They signed his Petition, and the Muse seconded it, just thirty years after that event took place, by the following poem sent inclosed to Her Royal Highness the DUCHESS OF YORK. The humane reader will be pleased to hear, that the application proved successful.

From the recesses of this wild domain, ,
Where artless truth and simple manners reign,

The blushing Muse conveys the humble plea
Of modest merit, Royal YORK, to thee:
Nor seeks by flattery base, or sordid art,
To soothe thy princely ear, or reach thy heart,
Tho' oft that Muse with kindling transport view'd
Thy laurels sprouting in the field of blood,
And joy'd to see, when glory's day begun,
The youthful eagle soar so near the sun.
By the slow Scheldt, or deep majestic Rhine,
The martial spirit of the BRUNSWICK line,
In ages past, as in the present days,
Has left rich trophies of undying bays:
Yet though they oft made hostile squadrons yield,
The heroes never view'd a brighter field,
Than where our wounded veteran prest the plain,
And Honour wept o'er WOLFE untimely slain !
When roughest warriors, all unus'd to melt,

rank the soft contagion felt :
And Britain's Genius saw with cheerless eye,
O'er Abram's heights victorious standards fly:
Nor deem'd the dear-won glories of the day
Could her young Hero's matchless loss

While Britain decks with martial wreaths thy brow,
What her lamented WOLFE was once-be thou !
The olive with the laurel garland blend,
The brave man's patron, and the good man's friend!

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Such GRANBY was, whose name to glory dear,
Still sweetly vibrates on the soldier's ear.
The Prince who made contending monarchs yield,
And Gallia’s lilies cropt on Cressy's field,
Tho' his bold arm laid countless warriors low,
Shed pity's balm o'er every human woe;
And when he saw the hostile tumult cease,
Each milder virtue exercis'd in peace :
Hence his fair fame with clear and radiant blaze,
“ Spreads and grows brighter with the length of days."

Think not the veteran, who with humble pray’r
Yields his just cause to your indulgent care,
Would hope to touch with sacrilegious hand
The valued treasure of his native land ;
Since his hard lot no earlier was discern'd,
He claims not all the meed so dearly earn'd;
But now by years and indigence opprest,
With modest patience forms this small request,
That he his aged limbs at peace may lay,
And calmly waste his fast declining day ;
And when his soul aspires where WOLFE is fled,
He'll leave a soldier's blessing on your head.
See at your feet no common object bend,
A tender parent, and a generous friend :
To independence once he could aspire,
And cherish'd Want sat smiling by his fire ;

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