(seq. 3)

Written on the death of {General} Wolfe
While Raptur'd Bards, from every corn'r spring,
And strive to paint the Hero that they sing,
Shall Harvard's song alone their praise deny,
Nor crown his marble tomb with one tender poetic sigh;
Shall you the muses fav'rite seat forbeat,
With the wide world your mournful lays to share
Rouse up for shame, imbibe your native fire,
Nor unlamented let the youth expire. ---
This stern rebuke Apollo sends from high
Each muse transports it thro the echoing sky.
Yet none attempts the Task; 'till [frantiek?] [people?]
urg'd my bold pen the glorious theme engage,
Tho' older heads can't equal his [Disert,?]
Yet a Young Bard demands a tender part,
In pity to his Youth excuse his lays
Tho' his faint voice but lisps the Hers's Praise. --
'Tis Wolfe inspires, 'Tis Wolfe that I [rehearse;?]
Not Mars alone could rival Wolfe's Renown,
Unless Apollo lent his laurel Crown;
The Gods of War & Wisdom both combin'd
To form the greatness of the Hero's mind.
Tho' he was Brave yet Brav'rys but a part,
conduct & Brav'ry and conduct both posess his Heart,
Honour be fought for, Honour he acquir'd
*Wise to project and steady to perform
To strike himself or shun the impending [Victory?]
No due delays could check his caged Soul
It its active arm no pladding sches control*
Honor & Victory his Bosom [fird?]