On ocean's waste who chace the royal flag
Stop not to take the privateer;
Who mean to seize the steed, neglect the nag;
No squirrel-hunter kills a deer.
Reptile! your venom ever spits in vain—
To honour's coat no drop adheres:—
To court!—return to Britain's tyrant reign,
White-wash her king, and scowr her peers.
Some scheming knaves, that strut in courtly guise,
May vile abuse, through you, impart—
But they that on no Treasury lean, despise
Your venal pen—your canker'd heart.
[91] The only trace I can find of this poem is in the 1795 edition. From the last stanza it is evident that it was aimed at Hamilton.
HERMIT'S VALLEY[92]
With eastern[93] winds and flowing sail
To these sequestered haunts we came,
Where verdant trees and chrystal streams
Adorn the sloping, winding vale;
Where, from the breezy grove we claim,
Our heaven on earth—poetic dreams.
These simple scenes have pleasures more
Than all the busy town can show—
More pleasure here Philanthus took,
And more he prized this lonely shore,
His pen, his pencil, and his book,
Than all the groves Madeira bore:
Here still is seen a hermit's cell,
Who, fond the haunts of men to fly,
Enjoyed his heaven beneath this shade:
In mouldering caves so blest to dwell,
He sought not from the flowers that die,
A verdure, that would never fade.