Has tempted freedom's son to share

These perils; searching with an angel's care

Each cell of dire disease, each cavern of despair?"

No monarch's word, nor lucre's lust,

Nor vain ambition's restless fire,

Nor ample power, that sacred trust,

His life-diffusing toils inspire:

Rous'd by no voice, save that whose cries

Internal bid the soul arise

From joys, that only seem to bless,

From low pursuits which little minds possess,
To nature's noblest aim, the succour of distress!
Taught by that God, in mercy's robe,
Who his celestial throne resigned,

To free the prison of the globe

From vice, the oppressor of the mind,

For thee, of misery's rights bereft,

For thee, captivity! he left

Inviting ease, who, in her bower,

Bade him with smiles enjoy the golden hour,

While fortune deck'd his board with pleasure's festive

flower.

While to thy virtue's utmost scope

I boldly strive my aim to raise

As high as mortal hand may hope

To shoot the glittering shaft of praise;

Say! HOWARD, say! what may the muse,

Whose melting eye thy merit views,

What guerdon may her love design?

What may she ask for thee, from power divine,
Above the rich rewards which are already thine?
Sweet is the joy when science flings
Her light on philosophic thought;
When genius, with keen ardour, springs
To clasp the lovely truth he sought:
Sweet is the joy, when rapture's fire
Flows from the spirit of the lyre;

When liberty and virtue roll

Spring tides of fancy o'er the poet's soul,

That waft his flying bark through seas above the pole.
Sweet the delight, when the gall'd heart
Feels consolation's lenient hand

Bind up the wound from fortune's dart,
With friendship's life supporting band?
And sweeter still, and far above
These fainter joys, when purest love
The soul his willing captive keeps!
When he in bliss the melting spirit steeps,

Who drops delicious tears, and wonders that he weeps!
But not the brightest joy which arts,

In floods of mental light, bestow;

Nor what firm friendship's zeal imparts,
Blest antidote of bitterest wo!

Nor those that love's sweet hours dispense,

Can equal the extatic sense,

When, swelling to a fond excess,

The grateful praises of reliev'd distress,

Re-echoed through the heart, the soul of bounty bless:

These transports, in no common state,

Supremely pure, sublimely strong,

Above the reach of envious fate,
Blest HOWARD! these to thee belong :
While years increasing o'er thee roll,
Long may this sunshine of the soul

New vigour to thy frame convey!

Its radiance through thy noon of life display,
And with serenest light adorn thy closing day!
And when the power, who joys to save,
Proclaims the guilt of earth forgiven;
And calls the prisoners of the grave

To all the liberty of heaven;

In that bright day, whose wonders blind
The eye of the astonish'd mind;

When life's glad angel shall resume

His ancient sway, announce to death his doom,
And from existence drive that tyrant of the tomb.
In that blest hour, when seraphs sing

The triumps gain'd in human strife:
And to their new associates bring
The wreaths of everlasting life :
May'st thou, in glory's hallowed blaze,
Approach the eternal fount of praise,
With those who lead the angelic van,
Those pure adherents to their Saviour's plan,
Who liv'd but to relieve the miseries of man.

APPENDIX.

[From Clarke's Travels in Tartary, &c.]

LET me now, therefore, direct the reader's attention to a more interesting subject; to a narrative of the last days, the death, and burial of the benevolent Howard; who, with a character forcibly opposed to that of Potemkin, also terminated a glorious career at Cherson. Mysterious Providence, by events always remote from human foresight, had wonderfully destined that these two men, celebrated in their lives by the most contrasted deeds, should be interred nearly upon the same spot. It is not within the reach of possibility to bring together, side by side, two individuals more remarkably characterized by every opposite qualification; as if the hand of destiny had directed two persons, in whom were exemplified the extremes of vice and virtue, to one common spot, in order that the contrast might remain a lesson for mankind. Potemkin, bloated and pampered by every vice, after a path through life stained with blood and crimes, at last the victim of his own selfish excesses; Howard, a voluntary exile, enduring the severest privation for the benefit of his fellow creatures, and labouring, even to his latest breath, in the exercise of every social virtue. The particulars of Mr. Howard's death were communicated to me by his two friends, Admiral Mordvinof, then Chief Admiral of the Black Sea fleet, and Admiral Priestman, an English officer in the Russian

service; both of whom were eyewitnesses of his last moments. He had been entreated to visit a lady about twenty-four miles" from Cherson, who was dangerously ill. Mr. Howard objected, alieging that he acted only as physician to the poor; but hearing of her imminent danger, he afterwards yielded to the persuasion of Admiral Mordvinof, and went to see her. After having prescribed that which he deemed proper to be administered, he returned, leaving directions with her family to send for him again if she got better; but adding, that if, as he much feared, she should prove worse, it would be to no purpose. Some time after his return to Cherson, a letter arrived, stating that the lady was better, and begging that he would come without loss of time. When he examined the date, he perceived that the letter, by some unaccountable delay, had been eight days in getting to his hands Upon this he resolved to go with all possible expedition. The weather was extremely tempestuous, and very cold, it being late in the year, and the rain fell in torrents. In his impatience to set out, a conveyance not being immediately ready, he mounted an old dray horse, used in Admiral Mordvinof's family to carry water, and thus proceeded to visit his patient. Upon his arrival he found the lady dying; this, added to the fatigue of the journey, affected him so much that it brought on a fever. His clothes, at the same time, had been wet through; but he attributed his fever entirely to another cause. Having administered something to his patient to excite perspiration, as soon as the symptoms of it appeared, he put his hands beneath the bedclothes to feel her pulse, that she might not be chilled by removing them, and believed that her fever was thus communi

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