[186] James Dawson, a young Lancashire man. He was being educated at St. John's College, Cambridge; but having misbehaved, and fearing expulsion, ran away. Dreading his father's displeasure, he, on falling in with the Manchester regiment, joined it and was taken at Carlisle. He was tried at London and executed on Kennington Common. The day before his death his father visited him, and took his farewell of him in a most pathetic scene. ['History of the Rebellion,' _Scots Magazine_, pp. 294, 297.] As the fair martyr her dear lover saw Lie the pale victim of inhuman law, His gen'rous blood distilling all around, And life, swift ebbing, thro' each crimson wound; It seemed as if from mortal passion freed She blest his death, for honour doom'd to bleed. But when, high-raised, she saw the panting heart, Now let thy handmaid, Heav'n! she cried, depart Be Judge, O Thou, whose ballance sways above! Receive our souls to pardon and to love! At once she burst the feeble bonds of clay, And her free soul, exulting, springs away. To endless bliss, they issue, out of pain. One moment separates, and joins again. _The Contrast set in its proper light. Said to be done by a lady._ Fam'd were the bards of old untainted days, When only merit felt the breath of praise. When Heav'n-born muses taught the tuneful lay, The brave to honour and the good display, Virtue's fair form, tho' hid in rags, to sing, And loath the baneful court and sinful king. But now (sad change!) no more the poet's theme Tastes thy chaste waters, Hippocrenè's stream. His breast no more the sacred sisters urge, [Sidenote: _fol._ 408.] Of truth the patrons and of vice the scourge. Venal, he seeks the court, and shuns the lawn, On pride to flatter and on pow'r to fawn; Pour forth his incense at the country's shrine, And raise th' usurping race to race divine. He who would toil in Honour's ard'ous tract Must virtue seek alone for virtue's sake, For now to merit are unwonted things The breath of poets and the smiles of kings. See where the rhiming throng on William wait, And patch up ev'ry worth to make him great; Sing how he triumph'd on fair Clifton's Green, And how his mind is lovely as his mien; Call ancient heroes from their seat of joy, To see their fame outshadow'd by a boy; Rob ev'ry urn and ev'ry page explore, And tell now Cæsar's deeds are deeds no more; No more shall guide the war, nor fire the song, But William be the theme of ev'ry tongue, While Brunswick-kings Britannia's throne shall grace, And George's virtues live in George's race.