Fair Virtue's flame no more her bosom warm'd,
Immers'd in softness, pleasure still she craves,
And makes her ally-islanders her slaves;
Till heaven's red bolt from an avenging hand,
Launched by Lysander, scathed the oppressive land:
So we, renowned to the most distant climes,
For rapine, tyranny, and glaring crimes;
Who boast of freedom, yet enthral the free,
Are never selfish, yet engross the sea;
Void of religion, though afraid of shame,
Whose barren faith is but an empty name;
By God forsaken, whom each lordling braves,
Are mocked and baffled by our outcast slaves.
The circumstances which gave rise to his principal works, and the eras of their composition, are unknown. The fragments found among his remaining papers, seem chiefly to have been rapid effusions on temporary subjects, or juvenile paraphrases of passages of Scripture with which he had been struck. Among the latter may be enumerated, Translations of Buchanan's 104th Psalm, of the Song of Moses, Exodus XV., the Song of Habbakuk, Habbakuk III., and a Poetical Version of the Apologue of the Prodigal Son, the versification of which is executed in a correct and accurate manner. The reputation of his poetical versions of Scripture, induced a member of the committee appointed by the General Assembly in 1775, for preparing a collection of Scriptural
