Sivut kuvina

On the monarch, standing by,

Shall to thee resign his place,
Still she bends her gracious eye,

[are nigh.

Thou shalt rule with better grace: Nor fears her foes' approach, while Heaven and he Time from thee shall wait his doom,

And thou shalt lead the year for every age to come.
Hence then with every anxious care!
Be gonę, pale Envy, and thou, cold Despair! Fairest month, in Cæsar pride thee,
Seek ye out a moody cell,

Nothing like him canst thou bring,
Where Deceit and Treason dwell;

Though the graces smile beside thee:
There repining, raging, still

Though thy bounty gives the Spring.
The idle air with curses fill; (thern hill;
There blast the pathless wild, and the bleak nor Though like Flora thou array thee,
There your exile vainly moan;

Finer than the painted bow;
There where, with murmurs horrid as your own,

Carolina shall repay thee
Peneath the sweeping winds, the bending forests

All thy sweetness, all thy show.
But thou, Hope, with smiling cheer, [groan, she herself a glory greater
Do thou bring the ready year;

Than thy golden sun discloses;
See the Hours! a chosen band !

And her smiling offspring swerter
See with jocund looks they stand,

Than the blourn of all thy roses.
All in their triın array, and waiting for command.

The welcome train begins to move,
Hope leads increase and chaste connubial lose:

Flora sweet her bounty spreads,
Smelling gardens, painted meads;

WINTER! thou hoary venerable sire,
Ceres crowns the yellow plain;

All richly in thy furry mantle clad;
Pan rewards the shepherd's pain;

What thoughts of mirth can feeble age inspire,
All is plenty, all is wealth,

To make thy careful wrinkled brow so glad! And on the balıny air sits rosy-colour'd health.

Now I see the reason plain,
I hear the mirth, I hear the land rejoice,
Like many waters swells the pealing noise,

Now I see thy jolly train :
While to their monarch, thus, they raise the pub-

Snowy-headed Winter leads, · “Father of thy country, hail !

[lic voice.

Spring and Summer next succeeds;

Yellow Autumn brings the rear,
Always every where prevail;

Thou art father of the year.
Pious, valiant, just, and wise,
Better suns for thee arise,

While from the frosty mellow'd earth
Purer breezes fan the skies,

Abounding plenty takes her birth,
Earth in fruits and flowers is drest,

The conscious sire exulting sces
Joy abounds in every breast,

The seasons spread their rich increase;
For thee thy people all, for thee the year is blest.” So dusky night and chaos smild

On beauteous form, their lovely child.

O fair voriety!

What bliss thou dost supply!

The fuul brings forth the fair FOR THE KING'S BIRTH-DAY, MAY 28, 1716.

To deck the changing year,

When our old pleasures die, LAY thy flowery garlands by,

Some new one still is nigh;
Ever-blooming gentle May !

Oh! fair variety;
Other honours now are nigh;
Other honours see we pay.

Our passions, like the seasons turn;
Lay thy flowery garlands by, &c.

And now we laugh, and now we mourn.

Britannia late oppress'd with dread, Majesty and great renown

Hung her declining drooping head: Wait thy beamy brow to crown.

A better visage now she wears, Parent of our hero, thou,

And now at once she quits ber fears: George on Britain didst bestow.

Strife and war no more she knows,
Thee the trumpet, thee the drum,

Rebel sons nor foreign foes.
With the plumy helm, become:
Thee the spear and shining shield,

Safe beneath her mighty master,
With every trophy of the warlike field.

In security she sits;

Plants her loose foundations faster,
Call thy better blessings forth,

And her sorrows past forgets.
For the honour of his birth:
Still the voice of loud commotion,

Happy isle! the care of Heaven,
Bid complaining murmurs cease,

To the guardian hero given, Lays the billows of the ocean ;

Unrepining still ovey him, And compose the land in peace.

Still with love and duty pay him. Call thy better, &c.

Though he parted from thy shore, Queen of odours, fragrant May,

While contesting kings attend him; For this boon, this happy day,

Could he, Britain, give thee more Janus with the double face

Than the pledge he left behind bim?


Till the happy hero's worth

Bid the festival stand forth;

Till the golden light he crown,
Trou fairest, sweetest daughter of the skies,

Till he mark it for his own. Indulgent, gentle, life restoring Peace!

How had this glorious morning been forgot, With what auspicious beauties dost thou rise,

Unthought-of as the things that never were; And Britain's new-revolving Janus bless!

Had not our greatest Cæsar been its lot, Hoary Winter smiles before thee,

And call'd it from amongst the vulgar year! Dances merrily along:

Now, Nature, be gay
Hours and seasons all adore thee,

In the pride of thy May,
And for thee are ever young:

To court let thy graces repair;
Ever, goddess, thus appear,

Let Flora bestow
Ever lead the joyful year. .

The crown from her brow,
In thee the night, in thee the day is blest;

For our brighter Britannia to wear. In thee the dearest of the purple east:

Through every language of thy peopled Earth, "Tis thine immortal pleasures to impart,

Far as the sea's or Cæsar's influence goes, Mirth to inspire, and raise the drooping heart:

Let thankful nations celebrate his birth, To thee the pipe and tuneful string belong,

Aud bless the author of the world's repose. Thou theme eternal for the poet's song.

Let Volga tumbling in cascades,
Awake the golden lyre,

And Po that glides through poplar shades,
Ye Hcliconian choir;

And Tagus bright in sands of gold,
Swell every note still higher,

And Arethusa, rivers old,
And melody inspire

Their great deliverer sing.
At Heaven and Earth's desire,

Not, Danube, thou whose winding flood

So long has blush'd with Turkish blood, Hark, how the sounds agree,

To Cæsar shall refuse a strain, With che complaceney!

Since now thy streams without a stain Sweet Peace, 'tis allby thee,

Run crystal as their spring. For thou art harmony.

CHORUS Who, by Nature's fairest creatures,

To mighty George, that heals thy wounds, Can describe her heavenly features?

That names thy kings and marks thy bounds, What comparison can fit her?

The joyful voice, O Europe, raise: Sweet are roses, she is sweeter;

In the great mediator's praise Light is good, but Peace is better.

Let all thy various tongues combine,
Would you see her such as Jove

And Britain's festival be thine.
Forni'd for universal love,
Bless'd by men and gods above?
Would you every feature trace,
Every sweetly smiling grace?

Seek our Carolina's face.

FOR THE YEAR 1719. Peace and she are Britain's treasures,

King of the floods, wbom friendly stars ordaia Fruitful eternal pleasures:

To fold alternate in thy winding train, Still their bounty shall increase us,

The lofty palace and the fertile rale; Still their smiling offspring bless us.

King of the floods, Britannia's darling, hail! Happy day, when each was given

Hail with the year so well begun, By Cæsar and indulging Heaven.

And bid his each revolving sun,

Taught by thy streams, in smooth succession run. CHORUS.

From thy never-failing urn Hail, ye celestial pair!

Flowers, bloom and fair increase Still let Pritannia be your care,

With the seasons take their turn;
And Peace and Carolina crown the year.

From thy tributary seas
Tides of various wealth attend thee;

Seas and seasons all befriend thee.

Here on thy banks, to mate the skies,

Augusta's hallow'd domes arise;

And there thy ample bosom pours

Her numerous souls and floating towers; [known, Ou touch the string, celestial Muse, and say, Whose terrours late to vanquish'd Spain

Why are peculiar times and seasons blest? And Etna shook with thunder not ber own. Is it in fate, that one distinguish'd day Should with more ballow'd purple paint the east?

Fullest flags thou dost sustain,

While thy banks confine thy course; Look on life and nature's race!

Emblem of our Cesar's reign, How the careless minutes pass,

Mingling clemency and force. Huw they wear a cominon fare:

' This cde was written for Rowe by Mr. Jeff One is what another was!

reys, and is claim'd by him in his works, p. 57...


So may'st, thou still, secur'd by distant wars, My birth, 'tis true, I owe to mortal race,
Ne'er stain thy crystal with domestic jars: And I myself but late a mortal was:
As Cæsar's reign, to Britain ever dear,

E'en then in seas, and seas alone, I joy'd;
Shall join with thee to bless the coming year.

The seas my hours, and all my cares, einploy'd.

In meshes now the twinkling prey I drew, On thy shady margin,

Now skilfully the slender line I threw,
Care its load discharging,

And silent sat the moving float to view.
Is lull'd to gentle rest:

Not far from shore, there lies a verdant mead,
Britain thus disarining,

With herbage half, and half with water spread: Nor no more alarming,

There, nor the horned heifers browsing stray,
Shall sleep on Cæsar's breast.

Nor shaggy kids nor wanton lambkins play ;
Sweet to distress is balmy sleep,

There, nor the sounding bees their nectar cull,
To sleep auspicious dreams,

Nor rural swains their genial chaplets pull;
Thy meadows, Thames, to feeding sheep,

Nor flocks, nor herds, nor mowers, haunt the place, To thirst, thy silver streams :

To crop the flowers, or cut the bushy grass : More sweet than all, the praise

Thither, sure first of living race came I,
Of Cæsar's golden days:

And sat by chance, my dropping nets to dry.
Cæsar's praise is sweeter;

My scaly prize, in order all display'd,
Britain's pleasure greater ;

By number on the green-sword there I lay'd,
Still may Cæsar's reign excel ;

My captives, whom or in my nets I took,
Sweet the praise of reigning well.

Or hung unwary on my wily hook.

Strange to behold! yet what avails a lie?

I saw them bite the grass, as I sat by ;-
Gentle Janus, ever wait,

Then sudden darting o'er the verdant plain, As now, on Britain's kindest fate;

They spread their fins, as in their native main; Crown all our vows, and all thy gifts bestow;

I pausd, with wonder struck, while all my prey Till Time no more renews his date,

Left their new master, and regain'd the sea.
And Thames forgcts to flow.

Amaz'd, within my secret self I sought,
What god, what herb, the miracle had wrought:
" But sure no herbs have power like this,' I cry'd;
And straight I pluck'd some neighbouring herbs,

and try'd. THE STORY OF GLAUCUS AND SCYLLA. Scarce had I bit, and pror'd the wondrous taste, FROM OVID'S METAMORPROSES, BOOK XIII.

When strong convulsions shook my troubled breast;

I felt my heart grow fond of something strange, Here ceas'd the nymph; the fair assembly broke; And my whole nature labouring with a change. The sea-green Nereids to the waves betook: Restless I grew, and every place forsook, While Scylla, fearful of the wide-spread main, And still upon the seas I bent my look. Swift to the safer shore returns again.

'Farewell, for ever! farewell, land!' I said ; There o'er the candy margin, unarray'd,

And plung'd amidst the waves my sinking head, With printless footsteps flies the bounding maid; The gentle powers, who that low empire keep, Or in sore winding creek's secure retreat

Receiv'd me as a brother of the deep; She bathes her weary limbs, and shuns the noon- To Tethys, and to Ocean old, they pray, day's heat,

To purge my mortal earthy parts away. Her Glaucus saw, as o'er the deep he rode, The watery parents to their suit agreed, New to the seas, and late receiv'd a god.

And thrice nine times a secret charm they read, He saw, and languish'd for the virgin's love, Then with lustrations purify my limbs, With many an artful blandishment he strove And bid me bathe beneath a hundred streams: Her fight to hinder, and her fears remove.

A hundred streams from various fountains run, The more he sues, the more he wings his flight, And on my head at once come rushing down. And nimbly gains a neighbouring mountain's Thus far each passage I remember well, height,

And faithfully thus far the tale Itell; Steep shelving to the margin of the food,

But then oblivion dark on all my senses fell. A neighbouring mountain bare and woodless stood; Again at length my thought reviving came, Here, by the place secur'd, her steps she stay'd, When I no longer found myself the same; And, trembling still, her lover's form survey'd. Then first this sea-green beard I felt to grow, His shape, his hue, her troubled sense appall, And these large honours on my spreading brow, And dropping locks that o'er his shoulders fall; My long-descending locks the billows sweep, She sees his face divine and manly brow

And my broad shoulders cleave the yielding deep; End in a fish's wreathy tail below:

My fishy tail, my arms of azure hue,
She sees, and doubts within her anxious mind, And every part divinely chang'd, I view.
Whether he comes of god or monster kind.

But what avail these useless honours now? This Glaucus soon perceiv'd; and, “Oh! forbear" | What joys can immortality bestow ? (His hand supporting on a rock lay ncar) (fear. What, though our Nereids all my form approve? · Forbear,” he cry'd, “ fond maid, this needless What boots it, while fair Scylla scorns my love?" Nor fish am I, nor mönster of the main,

Thus far the god; and more he would have said; But equal with the watery gods I reign;

When from his presence flew the ruthless maid. Nor Proteus nor Palainon me excel,

Stung with repulse, in such disdainful sort,
Nor be whose breath inspires the sounding shell. He seeks Titauian Circe's horrid court






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