Quin nunc requiris tecta virentia Nini ferocis, nunc Babel arduum, Immane opus, crefcentibúsque

Vertice fideribus propinquum. Nequicquam: Amici difparibus fonis Eludit aures nefcius artifex,

Linguáfque miratur recentes In patriis peregrinus oris. Veftitur hinc tot fermo coloribus, Quot tu, PocoCKI, diffimilis tui Orator effers, quot viciffim

Te memores celebrare gaudent. Hi non tacebunt quo Syriam fenex Percurrit æftu raptus, ut arcibus

Non jam fuperbis, et verendis

Indoluit Solimæ ruinis.

Quis corda pulfans tunc pavor hauferat
Dolor quis arfit non fine gaudio,
Cum bufta Chrifti provolutus

Ambiguis lacrymis rigaret!
Sacratur arbos muita PocoCKIO,
Locólque nonftrans inquiet accola.
Hæc quercus Hoseam fupinum,

Hæc Britonem recreavit ornus. Hic audierunt gens venerabilem Ebræa Mofen, inde PocockIUM

Non ore, non annis minorem,

Atque fuam didicere linguam.
Ac ficut albens perpetuâ nive
Simul favillas, et cineres finu

Eructat ardenti, et pruinis

Contiguas rotat Ætna flammas; Sic te trementem, te nive candidum Mens intus urget, mens agit ignea Sequi reluctantem loëlem

Per tonitru, aëreáfque nubes Annon pavefcis, dum tuba pallidum Ciet Sionem, dum tremulum polo Caligat aftrum, atque incubanti

Terra nigrans tegitur fub umbrâ? Quod agmen heu qua turma fequacibus Tremenda flammis! quis ftrepitantium Flictus rotarum eft! O PocockI Egregie, O animofe Vatis Interpres abftrufi, O fimili ferè Correpte flammâ, te, quot imagine Crucis notantur, te, fubacto

Chrifticole gravis Ottomannus Gemens requirit, te Babylonii Narrant poétæ, te pharetris Arabs Plorat revullis, et fragofos

Jam gravior ferit horror agros. Quà Gefta nondum cognita Cæfaris, Quà nec Matronis fcripta, PocoCKIUS Plorator ingens, et dolenda Neftoreæ brevitas fenecta.

O DE,

FOR THE YEAR 1705.

1.

JANUS, did ever to thy wondering eyes, So bright a scene of triumph rife?

Did ever Greece or Rome fuch laurels wear, As crown'd the last aufpicious year? When first at Blenheim ANNE her eng Spread,

And Marlborough to the field the fhoin fquadrons led.

In vain the hills and ftreams oppofe, In vain the hollow ground in faithless hillocksri To the rough Danube's winding thore, His fhatter'd foes the conquering hero bore.

11.

They fee with flaring haggard eyes The rapid torrent roll, the foaming billows rif; Amaz'd, aghast, they turn, but find, In Marlborough's arms, a furer fate behind. Now his red fword aloft impends, Now on their fhrinking head defcends: Wild and distracted with their fears, They juftling plunge amidst the founding deep; The flood away the struggling fquadron (weeps And men, and arms, and hories, whirling bers The frighted Danube to the sea retreats, The Danube foon the flying ocean meets, Flying the thunder of great ANNA's fleets.

Mighty George f, the Senate's care,
The people's love, great Anna's prayer!
While the ftroke of fate we dread
Impending o'er thy facred head,
The British youth for thee fubmit to fear,
For her the dames in cloudy grief appear!

Let the noise of war and joy
Rend again the trembling sky;

Great George revives to calm our fears, With profpect of more glorious years: Deriv'd from Anne's aufpicious fmiles, More cheerful airs refresh the British Isles.

1

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Sound the trumpet; beat the drum; Tremble France; we come, we come! Almighty force our courage warms; We feel the full, the powerful charms

Myriads of fpirits, forms divine,

The Seraphim, with the bright hoft

Of Angels, Thrones, and Heavenly Powers,
Worfhip before th' Eternal Shrine;

Their happy privilege in hymns and anthems

boast,

In love and wonder pass their blissful hours.
Nor let the lower world repine
The maffy orb in which we fluggards move
As if fequefter'd from the arts divine:
Here's Mufic too,

As ours a rival were to th' world above.

Chorus, Five Voices.

Hark, how the feather'd choir their mattins chant, And purling ftreams foft accents vent,

And all both time and measure know.

ODE IN PRAISE OF MUSIC.

COMPOSED BY MR. CHARLES KING,
In Five Parts,

FOR THE DEGREE OF BATCHELOR OF MUSIC;

Performed at the Theatre in Oxford, on Friday the 11th of July 1707.

[yield.

The wondrous magic of his art, Taught trees and forests how to move, All Nature has a general concert held, Each creature strives to bear a part; And all but Death and Hell to conquering Mufic Bat ftay, I hear methinks a motley crew, A peevish, odd, eccentric race,

The glory of the art debase; Perhaps because the facred emblem 'tis Of Truth, of Peace, and Order too; So dangerous 'tis to be perverfely wife.

But be they ever in the wrong, Who fay the Prophet's harp e'er spoil'd the Poet's fong!

Grand Chorus, Five Parts.
To Athen's now, my Mufe, retire,
The refuge and the theatre of wit;
And in that fafe and sweet retreat,

Amongst Apollo's fons inquire,
And see if any friend of thine be there :

But fure fo near the Thefpian fpring
The humblest Bard may fit and fing:
Here reft my Mufe, and dwell for ever here.