Enlightening truth, adorning art. Thus musing in the solemn shade; At once the sounding breeze was laid: And Nature, by the unknown law, Shook deep with reverential awe. Dumb silence grew upon the hour; A browner night involv'd the bower: When issuing from the inmost wood, Appear'd fair Freedom's GENIUS good. O Freedom! sovereign boon of Heav'n; Great Charter, with our being given; For which the patriot, and the sage, Have plan'd, have bled thro' ev'ry age! High privilege of human race, Beyond a mortal monarch's grace: Who could not give, who cannot claim, What but from God immediate came! * * * * * THE EAGLE A N D ROBIN RED-BREAST. A FABLE.[10] BY MR. ARCHIBALD SCOTT. The Prince of all the feather'd kind, That with spread wings out-flies the wind, And tow'rs far out of human sight To view the shining orb of light: This Royal Bird, tho' brave and great, And armed strong for stern debate, No tyrant is, but condescends Oft-times to treat inferior friends. One day at his command did flock To his high palace on a rock, The courtiers of ilk various size That swiftly swim in chrystal skies; Thither the valiant Tarsels doup, And here rapacious Corbies croup, With greedy Gleads, and sly Gormahs, And dinsom Pyes, and chattering Dawes; Proud Peacocks, and a hundred mae, Brush'd up their pens that solemn day, Bow'd first submissive to my Lord, Then took their places at his board. Meantime while feasting on a fawn, And drinking blood from Lamies drawn, A tuneful ROBIN trig and young, Hard-by upon a burr-tree sung. He sang the EAGLE's royal line, His piercing eye, and right divine To sway out-owre the feather'd thrang, Who dread his martial bill and fang: His flight sublime, and eild renew'd, His mind with clemency endow'd; In softer notes he sang his love, More high, his bearing bolts for Jove. The Monarch Bird with blitheness heard The chaunting little silvan Bard, Call'd up a Buzzard, who was then His favourite, and chamberlain. Swith to my treasury, quoth he, And to yon canty ROBIN gie As muckle of our current gear As may maintain him thro' the year; We can well spar't, and it's his due; He bade, and forth the Judas flew, Straight to the branch where ROBIN sung, And with a wicked lying tongue, Said ah! ye sing so dull and rough, Ye've deaf'd our lugs more than enough, His Majesty has a nice ear, And no more of your stuff can bear; Poke up your pipes, be no more seen At court, I warn you as a frien. He spake, while ROBIN's swelling breast, And drooping wings his grief exprest; The tears ran hopping down his cheek, Great grew his heart, he could not speak, No for the tinsel of reward,