Page:A poetic survey round Birmingham - James Bisset - 1800.pdf/41

 Nor Wives nor Children shall behold them more; They've breath'd, perhaps, their last on * * * 's shore, Or cros th' Atlantic, willing victims led, In field of battle, unlamented, bled.

Oh! ruthles, enfuriate—madd'ning sense, The Poor Man's scourge, Ambition's vain Pretence, O sheath thy, let rude clamors cease, O let us, once again, enjoy sweet Peace! Then Trade and Commerce will again revive, And, once more, be seen alive.

O! could I say, with truth, each Lib'ral Art, Alike was patroniz'd in ev'ry part; O! could I say that such was here the case, It would, with pleasure, this my esay grace; But truth must ever guide my humble strain, To praise, 'twould grateful be, to censure, pain; My wish alone, is for the gen'ral weal, And for the helples poor I would appeal:

How many youths of Genius oft you'll see Depres'd, neglected, chilled by poverty; Their Parents scarcely can supply them bread, Whilst want and famine fills the mind with dread. 's a spur to Genius, true, But sometimes goads thro' and thro; It lacerates its side, inflicts a wound, And Genius, oft, lies bleeding on the ground; Nipp'd in the bud, the blosoms fade away, They droop, they sink, they languish and decay.