That glory to a mighty queen remains, 405 And laid their huge demolish'd works, in smoaky ruins low. Then Anne's fhall rival great Eliza's reign; And William's genius, with a grateful smile, Look down, and bless this happy isle; And Peace, reftor'd, shall wear her olive crown again. 410 "Vicem gerit illa Tonantis." The Motto on her Majefty's Coronation Medals. APOLLO, god of founds and verse, Pathetic airs and moving thoughts infpire! Whilft we thy Damon's praise rehearse:: Damon himself could animate the lyre. Apollo, god of founds and verfe, Pathethic airs and moving thoughts inspire! Look down! and warm the fong with thy celestial firë, II. Ah, lovely youth! when thou wert here, Thyself a young Apollo did appear } Young as that god, fo fweet a grace, 10 But when thou didst th' obedient strings command, Ev'n fate itfelf, fuch wondrous ftrains to hear, Fate had been charm'd, had Fate an ear. But what does mufic's fkill avail? When Orpheus did his lofs deplore, Trees bow'd attentive to his tale; 15 20 Hufh'd were the winds, wild beasts forgot to roar ; But dear Eurydice came back no more. IV. Then ceafe, ye fons of harmony, to mourn; Since Damon never can return. See, fee! he mounts, and cleaves the liquid way! 25 Bright choirs of angels, on the wing, For the new guest's arrival stay, And hymns of triumph fing. They bear him to the happy feats above, Where artful Purcell went before. Ceafe then, ye fons of mufic, ceafe to mourn; No, never, never more! 30 AN ACRE O N A T dead of night, when mortals lofe Their various cares in soft repose, I heard a knocking at my door: 10 " Betray'd Betray'd by night, and led aftray, "I've loft-alas! I've loft my way." Mov'd with this little tale of fate, I took a lamp, and op'd the gate; When fee! a naked boy, before The threshold; at his back he wore A pair of wings, and by his fide A crooked bow and quiver ty’d. "My pretty angel! come, faid I, "Come to the fire, and do not cry!" I ftrok'd his neck and fhoulders bare, And fqueez'd the water from his hair; Then chaf'd his little hands in mine, And chear'd him with a draught of wine. Recover'd thus, fays he; "I'd know, "Whether the rain has spoil'd my bow; "Let's try"-then fhot me with a dart. The venom throbb'd, did ake and smart, As if a bee had ftung my heart. "Are thefe your thanks, ungrateful child, "Are these your thanks ?"-Th' impoftor smil'd: "Farewell, my loving hoft, fays he; "All's well; my bow 's unhurt, I fee; "But what a wretch I've made of thee!" 35 THE THE STORY OF PYRAMUS AND THIS BE FROM THE FOURTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHUSES. WHERE Babylon's proud walls, erected high By fam'd Semiramis, afcend the sky, Dwelt youthful Pyramus, and Thisbe fair i 1 10 Tine nurs'd the growing flame; had Fate been kind, 20 Safe |