No sense of glory fires the vet'ran's breast,
With horror chill'd, and heav'n-bred awe deprest.
As, where his fquadrons urg'd their course along,
Raging he travers'd the diforder'd throng,

Some British falchion fped the deathful wound,
And hew'd th' indignant chieftain to the ground;
Wedg'd in the rout the gasping hero lay,
And with faint murmur figh'd his foul away.
To fwifter flight the Gallic legions yield,

And trembling quit the long contested field;
Part haften to the stream whofe waves contain
Th' extenfive limits of the fatal plain;

Part to the bulwarks, from whofe lofty height
Their friends defponding view th' unequal fight.
Soon as the morrow's fun with genial ray
To the bleak climate gave returning day,
The victor's mercy Gallia's fons implore,

And truft the fickle chance of war no more;

Their ample gates unfold; along the ftrand
In filent forrow moves the vanquish'd band;
While, flufh'd with triumph, and of conqueft vain,

Pours tow'rd the captive walls the British train.

Thus from their toil the glorious heroes reft, And peaceful rapture fwells in ev'ry breaft; Save that as oft the glowing tale they tell Of fuch as bravely fought, or greatly fell, WOLFE's early fate their penfive mind employs,

And manly forrows check their rifing joys.

Illuftrious fhade! if artless hands like mine

Could for an hero's urn the chaplet twine,
The Mufe for thee should cull each op'ning bloom,
And with unfading garlands deck thy tomb:

For oh! what youth, whose rev'rent feet are led

To those fad manfions of the mighty dead,

Where martial trophies in rich sculpture show

The facred afhes that repose below,

But, kindling at the view, for glory burns,

As on thy name his sparkling eyes he turns?
Ages to come shall thy great story hear,

And pay

the pious tribute of a tear;

Thy wond'rous deeds fhall vet'ran fires recite,

Thy prudence in debate, thy toils in fight;
And ev'ry warrior to the tale reply,

Be mine like him to conquer, and to die."

MIDDLETON HOWARD,

WADHAM COLLEGE.