Like Johnson, in Herculean might,
Bid some philologist arise,—
Some Milton, with seraphic flight,
Or Newton, pupil of the skies.
And should some tyrant's sceptred hand
Menace the rights our fathers won,
Or danger cloud our native land,
Send forth a future Washington.
Star of Virginia!—pure and free!—
Thy beams shall gild that Sage's way,
Who touch'd the kindling torch to thee,
And shines in thy reflected ray.
WINTER.
In imitation of a passage from J. B. Rousseau.
Hail thou,—of leisure sweet the sire!—
Who, round the bright, domestic fire,
Dost link fond hearts in strongest ties,
And kindle hopes, and mingle sighs,
Or 'neath the taper's glancing light
Convoke the banquet's festive rite.
More beauteous seasons deck the scene
With smiling vales, and skies serene,
But they with weary toil are prest,
And thou dost bring the boon of rest.—
Fair Flora vaunts her painted flowers,
Gay Ceres sports in fragrant bowers,
