The private to the public guilt keeps pace ;Gold, the first object deem'd, and penury The greatest shame. Tho' fraud, tho' rapine raise To wealth, by all its owner is caress'd. Whilst poverty doth genius, beauty hide, And renders all perfection void. 'Tis wealth Our people worship. To wealth all classes, Both rich and poor, now bend the suppliant knee. When proud Nebuchadnezzar once set up The golden image for his people's god, The fiery furnace to obedience forc'd ;But here with zeal unbounded all adore; And prostrate to their darling idol fall.

Hence, gaming reigns triumphant o'er the land, Detested source of almost every vice!

For it the wretched wife neglected lives-
The child untutor'd, and the home forgot.
For it, the tenant is oppress'd-the poor
Unaided-honest industry unpaid.

For it, the love of country is withdrawn,
And every duty both to GoD and man.
In its foul train are suicide and theft-
Murder and robb'ry its followers are-
And, in the settl'd gamester, we may view
A damn'd epitome of human guilt.

Instead of gentle love-connubial love-
Parent of happiness and bliss below-
Unbounded lust and gallantry prevail-
Destroy domestic peace-and in its room,
Malice and rage, reproach and scorn arise.
From gallantry, however soft in form,
Heart rending grief and sickness amply flow.
Ask of the jealous what they feel? Ask her
Who fell into the snare of artful lust

The feelings of her breast? Ask of the youth,
Whose giddy steps the harlot has decoy'd,
Struck with disease, and blasted ere his prime?
For these, in wretchedness, can tell the woes
That ever must await unhallowed love.

What is the crime that thrives not in this land? GOD's holy name blasphem'd, and sacred oaths A mock'ry made. Envy and calumnyLying and falsehood-all the little arts Of low ambition prosper here. Our youth Dissimulation taught, as the best path To fame and honour-whilst ambition, true, With singleness of heart, is found no more.

Say, then, what virtues are to those oppos'd? No virtues, but their semblance. Manners new—

Civility and formal words-mere sounds :--
Whilst in the heart 'tis selfish all. To self
Is ev'ry look applied. For this the feast,
The sparkling bowl, and all attentions paid.
For this each artful bow-each fawning smile----
And all the catalogue of base deceit.

A thing call'd honour, takes religion's place(True honour and religion are the same,) This honour in the sword and pistol lies. If wife, or sister, or a daughter fall

To base design a prey-the villain, who

Has practis❜d on their guileless hearts, and there
Planted distress-and ev'ry poignant grief

That rends their peace for ever,-let him draw
His sword and plunge it in the husband's heart,
Or boldly th'infuriate brother meet

On what's call'd honours field- then, then, indeed,
He's honourable nam'd. If at the dice

The gamester makes th'unwary feel his skill,
And plunders under forms-if he but dare,
With loaded pistol, to support his claim,
And send the whizzing messenger of death
Thro' his heart whom he robb'd—thus adding
crime-

Ah, murder black! he's honourable deem'd.

L

No vice-no villainy-its name retains,
If he who dares do them-but dares do more,-
Dares to attack the life of him that's wrong'd :-
And dares, with loaded guilt, to brave his GOD.
Such are the substitutes of virtuous deeds-
And such the manners of our British Isles.

ཡ

No doubt, in every clime, there are a few Who practice Virtue and who rev'rence Truth :And stand exceptions-living-bright and fair :— Yet who can doubt the fulness of these times ? Behold, Messiah comes! But, stop, my muse Whilst I, in silent pray'r, address the throne Of pow'r Omnipotent. Haply, one ray Of Light Divine, may brighten this my song.

END OF THE FIRST BOOK

BOOK II.

THE awful day's with darkness overcast, The earth's suspended from its wonted course. The Sun witholds its light-and the huge clouds With torrents big, another deluge pour.

The flame fork'd lightning darts from Pole to PoleWhilst the loud thunder, upon thunder heap'd, Peal after peal,-in long succession roars ;(7) Proclaiming to the world-THE LIVING GOD.

When mighty monarchs earthly thrones ascend, The paltry noise of cannon notice gives To all the subjects of his state-and there The noisy tidings end-not even heard Beyond the narrow limits of the place, Where the poor pageant of the day's perform'd. But here the firmament doth to the earth Re-echo earth to its unfathom'd depths—