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Fair Honour, next in beauty and in grace,
Shines in her turn, and claims the second place;
She fills the well-born soul with noble fires,
And generous thoughts and godlike acts inspires.
Then Honesty, with native air, succeeds,
Plain is her look, unartful are her deeds;
And, just alike to friends and foes, she draws

The bounds of right and wrong, nor errs from equal laws.

From Heaven this scale of virtue thus descends
By just degrees, and thy full choice defends.
So when, in visionary trains, by night
Attending angels bless'd good Jacob's sight,
The mystic ladder thus appear'd to rise,
Its foot on earth, its summit in the skies.

HYMN.

SUNG BY THE CHILDREN OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL, at the ENTRY OF KING GEORGE

HFAR US,

INTO LONDON, 1714.

O God, this joyful day!

Whole nations join their voice, To thee united thanks to pay,

And in thy strength rejoice.

For led by thee, O King of Kings!
Our sovereign George we see;
Thy hand the royal blessing brings,
He comes, he reigns, by thee!
Plenteous of grace, pour from above

Thy favours on his head;
Truth, Mercy, Righteousness, and Love,
As guards around him spread.

With length of days, and glory crown'd,

With wealth and fair increase, Let him abroad be far renown'd, Still blest at home with peace.

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Yet stone and brass our hopes betray,
Age steals the mimic forms and characters awaya
In vain, O Egypt, to the wondering skies,
With giant pride, thy pyramids arise;
Whate'er their vast and gloomy vaults contain,
No names distinct of their great dead remain.
Beneath the mass confus'd, in heaps thy monarchs
Unknown, and blended in mortality. [lie,

To Death ourselves and all our works we owe.
But is there nought, O Muse, can save
Our memories from darkness and the grave,
And some short after-life bestow?
"That task is mine," the Muse replies,
And, hark! she tunes the sacred lyre!
Verse is the last of human works that dies,
When Virtue does the song inspire.

Then look, Eliza, happy saint, look down!
Pause from immortal joys awhile
To hear, and gracious, with a smile,
The dedicated numbers own;

Say, how in thy life's scanty space,

So short a space, so wondrous bright,

Bright as a summer's day, short as a summer's night,
Could'st thou find room for every crowded grace?
As if thy thrifty soul foreknew,
Like a wise envoy, Heaven's intent,
Soon to recall whom it had sent,

And all its task resolv'd at once to do.

Or wert thou but a traveller below,

That hither didst awhile repair,

Curious our customs and our laws to know?
And, sickening in our grosser air,
And tir'd of vain repeated sights,
Our foolish cares, our false delights,
Back to thy native seats would'st go?
Oh! since to us thou wilt no more return,
Permit thy friends, the faithful few,
Who best thy numerous virtues know,
Themselves, not thee, to mourn.

Now, pensive Muse, enlarge thy flight! ·
(By turns the pensive Muses love
The hilly heights and shady grove)
Behold where, swelling to the sight,
Balls, a fair structure, graceful stands!
And from yon verdant rising brow

Sees Hertford's ancient town, and lands, Where Nature's hand, in slow meanders, leads The Lee's clear stream its course to flow Through flowery vales, and moisten'd meads, And far around in beauteous prospects spreads Her map of plenty all below.

'Twas here--and sacred be the spot of earth! Eliza's soul, born first above,

Descended to an humbler birth,

And with a mortal's frailties strove.

So, on soine towering peak that meets the sky,
When missive Seraphs downward fly,

They stop, and for awhile alight,

Put off their rays celestial-bright,

Then take some milder form familiar to our eye.

Swiftly her infant virtues grew :
Water'd by Heaven's peculiar care,
Her morning bloom was doubly fair,
Like Summer's day break, when we see
The fresh-dropp'd stores of rosy dew
(Transparent beauties of the dawn)
Spread o'er the grass their cobweb-lawn,

Or hang moist pearls on every tree.
Pleas'd with the lovely sight, awhile
Her friends behold, and joyful smile,
Nor think the Sun's exhaling ray

WiH change the scene ere noon of day,

Dry up the glistering drops, and draw those dews

away.

Yet first, to fill her orb of life,

Behold, in each relation dear,
The pious saint, the duteous child appear,
The tender sister, and the faithful wife.
Alas! but must one circlet of the year
Unite in bliss, in grief divide

The destin'd bridegroom and the bride? Stop, generous youth, the gathering tear, That, as you read these lines or hear, Perhaps may start, and seem to say, "That short-liv'd year was but a day !" Forbear-nor fruitless sorrowings now employ, Think she was lent awhile, not given, (Such was th' appointed will of Heaven) Then, grateful, call that year an age of virtuous joy.

AN ALLUSION TO HORACE.

BOOK I. ODE XXII.

PRINTED AT THE BREAKING OUT OF THE REBELLION IN THE YEAR 1715.

THE man that loves his king and nation,

And shuns each vile association,

That trusts his honest deeds i' th' light,
Nor meets in dark cabals, by night,
With fools, who, after much debate,

Get themselves hang'd, and save the state,
Needs not his hall with weapons store;
Nor dreads each rapping at his door;
Nor sculks, in fear of being known,
Or hides his guilt in parson's gown;

Nor wants, to guard his generous heart,
The poniard or the poison'd dart;
And, but for ornament and pride,
A sword of lath might cross his side.
If o'er St. James's park he stray,
He stops not, pausing in his way;
Nor pulls his hat down o'er his face,

Nor starts, looks back, and mends his pace:

Or if he ramble to the Tower,

He knows no crime, and dreads no power,
But thence returning, free as wind,
Smiles at the bars he left behind.

Thus, as I loiter'd t' other day,
Humming-O every month was May-
And, thoughtless how my time I squander'd,
From Whitehall, through the Cockpit wander'd,
A messenger with surly eye

View'd me quite round, and yet pass'd by.
No sharper look or rougher mien
In Scottish highlands e'er was seen;
Nor ale and brandy ever bred

More pimpled cheeks, or nose more red;
And yet, with both hands in my breast,
Careless I walk'd, nor shunn'd the beast.

Place mne among a hundred spies,
Let all the room be ears and eyes;
Or search my pocket-books and papers,
No word or line shall give me vapours.

VOL. X

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Daphne, on Phoebus fix thy eye,
With meaner shapes deceiv'd no more!
Know, I thy beauteous form adore:

Wilt thou a god, a god that loves thee, fly?

[Apollo strikes his lyre, and Daphne turns back
as surprised at the sound.]

Fairest mortal! stay and hear,
Turn thee, leave thy trembling fear!
Cannot Love with Music join'd
Touch thy unrelenting mind?
Fairest mortal! stay and hear,
Turn thee, leave thy trembling fear.

Hark how the river-shores prolong
My soft complaints, and murmur to my song!
Thy father Peneus feels my pain;
See! how his osiers gently bow,
And seem my secret soul to know-
PAPH. [aside.] Alas! my rash, my fatal vow!
POL. Wilt thou alone unmov'd remain?

[As Daphne is going out, she stops and sings
the following air.

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He comes-the swift pursuer comes-O where
Shall I escape his piercing sight,

Where hide me from the god of light?
Ah! 'tis in vain-he's here.

[Daphne runs to the side of the river, and as
she sings the following air is transformed
into a laurel-tree.]

Father Peneus, hear me, aid me!
Let some sudden change invade me,'

Fix me rooted on thy shore.

Cease, Apollo, to persuade me,
I am Daphne now no more.-

[Apollo enters at the latter end of the air,
and is met by Pencus.]

APOLLO.

O fatal flight!—O curst disdain!

O Peneus, how shall we our loss deplore;

But see!

The trembling branches yet her shape retain! Though Daphne lives a nymph no more, She lives, fair verdant plant, in thee: Henceforth be thou Apollo's tree,

And hear what honours to thy leaves remain. No thunder e'er shall blast thy boughs, Prescrv'd to grace Apollo's brows, Kings, victors, poets, to adorn ; Oft in Britannia's isle thy prosperous green Shall on the heads of her great chiefs be seen, And by a Nassau, and a George, be worn.

PENEUS.

Still Peneus, with a father's care,
Shall feed thee from his flowing urn
With verdure ever fresh and fair,
Nor this thy destin'd change shall mourn.

CHORUS, OR DUETTO OF APOLLO AND PENEUS,
Nature alone can love inspire,

Art is vain to move desire.
If Nature once the fair incline,
To their own passion they resign
Nature alone can love inspire,

Art is vain to move desire.

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