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A WISH TO THE NEW YEAR, But if the goddess, in whose charming eyes, 705 More clearly written than in Fate's dark book, i \},O. My joy, my grief, my all of future fortune, lies; Jasps' great leader of the rolling year, If she must, with a less propitious look, Since all that's past no vows can e'er restore, Forbid my humble sacrifice, But joys and griefs alike, once hurried o'er, Or blast me with a killing frown; No longer now deserve a smile or tear; If, Janus, this thou seest in store, Close the fantastic scenes—but grace Cut short my mortal thread, and now With brightest aspects thy fore-face, Take back the gift thou didst bestow ! While Time's new offspring hasten to appear, Here let me lay my burthen down, With lucky omens guide the coming hours, And cease to love in vain, and be a wretch no more. Command the circling Seasons to advance, And form their renovated dance, -With flowing pleasures fraught, and bless'd by AN odE TO THE SUN, friendly powers. fon The New Year, Thy month, O Janus' gave me first to know 1707. A mortal's trifling cares below; Augur & fulgente decorus arcu My race of life began with thee. Phoebus, acceptusque novem Camoenis Thus far from great misfortunes free, Qui salutari levat arte fessos 2 Contented, I my lot endure, Corporis artus; Nor Nature's rigid laws arraign, Alterum in lustrum, meliusque semper Nor spurn at common ills in vain, Proroget aevum. Hor, Which Folly cannot shun, nor wise Reflection cure. I. But, oh!—more anxious for the year to come, Begis, celestial source of light, I would foreknow my future doom. To gild the new-revolving sphere; Then tell me, Janus, canst thou spy And from the pregnant womb of Night, Events that yet in embryo lie, Urge on to birth the infant Year. For me, in Time's mysterious womb Rich with auspicious lustre rise, Tell me—nor shall I dread to hear Thou fairest regent of the skies, A thousand accidents severe; Conspicuous with thy silver bow ! I'll fortify my soul the load to bear, To thee, a god, 'twas given by Jove If love rejected add not to its weight, To rule the radiant orbs above, To finish me in woes, and crush me down with fate. To Gloriana this below.

With joy renew the destin'd race, And let the mighty Months begin; Let no ill omen cloud thy face, Through all thy circle smile serene. While the stern ministers of Fate Watchful o'er pale Lutetia wait, To grieve the Gaul's perfidious head; The Hours, thy offspring, heavenly fair, Their whitest wings should ever wear, And gentle joys on Albion shed.

When Ilia bore the future fates of Rome,
And the long honours of her race began,
Thus, to prepare the graceful age to come,
They from thy stores in happy order ran.
Heroes, elected to the list of Fame,
Fix'd the sure columns of her rising state;
Till the loud triumphs of the Julian name
Render'd the glories of her reign complete,
Each year advanc'd a rival to the rest, -
In comely spoils of war, and great achievements,

drest. -

Say, Phoebus, for thy searching eyy
Saw Rome, the darling child of Fate,
When nothing equal here could vie
In strength with her imperious state;
Say, if high virtues ...! did reign
Exalted in a nobler strain,
Than in fair Albion thou, hast seen ;
Or can her demi-gods compare
Their trophies for successful war,
To those that rise for Albion's queen!

When Albion first majestic show'd, High o'er the circling seas, her head, Her the great Father o: view’d, And thus to bright Victoria said: ** Mindful of o: plain, On which, fair nymph, you fix'd my reign, This isle to you shall saqred be ; Her hand shall hold the 'rightful scale, And crowds be .# or prevail, As Gloriana shall decrbe.”

Victoria, triumph in thy great increase ! With joy the Julian stem the Tyber claims;

Young Ammon's might the Granic waves confess:

The Heber had a Mars, a Churchill Thames.
Roll, sovereign of the Streams! thy rapid tide,
And bid thy brother al. revere the queen,
Whose voice the o: happy hand employ”
To save the Danube, and subdue the Seine;
And, boldly just to Gloriana's fame,
Exalt thy silver urn, And duteous homage claim.
Advanc'd to thy meridian height,
On Earth, great god of Day, look down:
Let Windsor entertain thy sight,
Clad in fair emblems of renown:
And whilst in radiant pomp appear
The names to bright Victoria dear,
Intent the long procession view:
Confess none worthier ever wore
Her favours, or was deck'd with more,
Than she confers on Churchill's brow.
But oh! withdraw thy piercing rays,
The nymph anew begins to moan,
Viewing the much-lamented space,
Where late her warlike William shone:
There fix’d by her officious hand,
His sword and sceptre of command,

To deathless Fame adopted, rest;
Nor wants there to complete her woe,
Plac'd with respectful love below,
The star that beam'd on Gloucester's breast,
O Phoebus' all thy saving power employ,
Long let our vows avert the distant woe,
Ere Gloriana re-ascends the sky,
And leaves a land of orphans here below !
But when (so Heaven ordains) her smiling ray
Distinguish'd o'er the balance shall preside,
Whilst future kings her ancient sceptre sway, "
May her mild influence all their councils guide 1
To Albion ever constant in her love,
Of sovereigns here the best, the brightest star
For lawless power, reclaim'd to right,
And virtue rais'd by pious arms,
Let Albion be thy fair delight,
And shield her safe from threaten’d harms.
With flowers and fruit her orm fill,
Let laurel rise on every hils,
Fresh as the first on Popo brow:
Instruct her tuneful sons to 'sing,
And make each vale with Hasans ring,
To Blenheim and Ramilia

Secure of bright eternal, fame,
With happy wing the Thoban swan,
Towering from Pisa's sacred stream,
Inspir’d by thee, the song began :
Through deserts of uno night,
When he harmonious took his flight,
The gods constrain'd the sounding spheres:
Still Envy darts her rage in vain,
The lustre of his worth to stain,
He growing whiter with his years.

But, Phoebus, god of numbers, high to raise
The honours of thy art, . heavenly lyre,
What Muse is destin'd to our sovereign's praise,
Worthy her acts, and thy informing fire 2
To him for whom this springing laurel grows,
Eternal on the topmost heights of fame,
Be kind, and all thy Helicqn disclose;
And all intent on Gloriana's name,
Let Silence brood o'er ocean, earth, and air,
As when to victor Jove thbu sung'st the giant'a

v. .

In sure records each shining deed,
When faithful Clio sets to view,
Posterity will doubting read,
And scarce believe her annals true :
The Muses toil with art to raise
Fictitious monuments of praise,
When other actions they rehearse 1
But half of Gloriana's reign,
That so the rest may credit gain,
Should pass unregister'd in verse.

High on its own establish'd base
Prevailing Virtue's pleas'd te rise;
Divinely deck'd with native grace,
Rich in itself with solid joys;
Fre Gloriana on the throne,
Quitting for Albion's rest her own,
In types of regal power was seen:
With fair pre-eminence confest,
It triumph’d in a private breast,
And made the princess more than queen.

O Phoebus! would thy godhead not refuse
This humble incense, on thy altar laid;
Would thy propitious ear attend the Muse,
That suppliant now invokes thy certain aid;
With Mantuan force I'd mount a stronger gale,
And sing the parent of her land, who strove
To exceed the transports of her people's zeal,
With acts of mercy, and majestic love;
By Fate, to fix Britannia's empire, given
The guardian power of Earth, and public care of

* Heaven.

Then, Churchill, should the Muse record The conquests . thy sword achiev'd; Quiet to Belgian states restor'd, And Austrian crowns by thee retriev'd. Imperious Leopold confess'd His hoary majesty distress'd ; To arms, to army, Bavaria calls, Nor with less terhour shook his throne, Than when the rising crescent shone \\ Malignant o'er his shatter'd walls.

The warrior led the Britons forth, On foreign fields to dare their fate, Distinguish’d souls of shining worth, In war unknowing to retreat: Thou, Phoebus, saw'st the hero's face, When Mars had breath'd a purple grace, And mighty fury, fill'd his breast: How like thyself, when to destroy The Greeks thou didst thy darts employ, Wy Fierce with thy golden quiver drest!

. Sudden, whilst banish'd from his native land,
Red with dishonest wounds, Bavaria mourn'd,
The chief, at Gloriana's high command,
Like a rous'd lion, to the Maes return'd ;
With vengeful the British sword he drew,
Unus’d to grieve his host with long delay;
Whilst wing'd with fear the force of Gallia flew ;
As when the o star restores the day,
The wandering ghosts of twenty thousand slain
Fleet sullen to the shades from Blenheim's mourn-

ful plain.

Britannia, wipe thy dusty brow,
And put the Bourbon laurels on;
To thee deliver'd nations bow,
And bless the spoils thy wars have won.
For thee Bellona points her spear,
And, whilst lamenting mothers fear,
On high her signal torch displays;
But when thy sword is sheath'd, again
Obsequious she receives thy chain, .
And smooths her violence of face.

Parent of arms 1 for ever stand
With large increase of fame rever'd,
Whilst arches to thy saving hand
On Danube's grateful banks are rear'd.
Eugene, inspir'd to war by thee,
Ausonia's weeping states to free,
Swift on th' Imperial eagle flies;
Whilst, bleeding, from his azure bed
Th’ asserted Iber lifts his head,
And safe his Austrian lord enjoys.

Io Britannia! fix'd on foreign wars,
Guiltless of civil rage extend thy name:
The waves of utmost ocean, and the stars,
Are bounds but equal to thy sovereign's faue.

With deeper wrath thy victor lion roars,
Wide o'er the subject world diffusing fear,
Whilst Gallia weeps her guilt, and peace implores;
So Earth, transfix’d by fierce Minerva's spear,
A gentler birth obedient did disclose,
And sudden from the wound eternal olives rose.
When with establish'd freedom bless'd,
The globe to great Alcides bow’d,
Whose happy power reliev'd th' oppress'd
From lawless chains, and check'd the proud;
Mature in fame, the grateful gods
Receiv'd him to their bright abodes:
Where Hebe crown'd his blooming joys;
Garlands the willing Muses wove,
And each with emulation strove
T'adorn the Churchill of the skies.

For Albion's chief, ye sacred Nine ! Your harps with generous ardour string, With Fame's immortal trumpet join, And safe beneath his laurel sing: When clad in vines the Seine shall glide, And duteous in a smoother tide, To British seas her tribute yield; Wakeful at Honour's shrine attend, And long with living beams defend From night, the warrior's votive shield.

And, Woodstock, let his dome exalt thy fame, Great o'er thy Norman ruins be restor'd; Thou that with pride dost Edward's' cradle claim, Receive an equal hero for thy lord: Whilst every column, to record their toils, Eternal monuments of conquest wears, And all thy walls are dress'd with mingled spoils, Gather'd on fam'd Ramilia and Poictiers, High on thy tower the grateful flag display, Due to thy queen's reward, and Blenheim's glorious



Ask not the cause why all the tuneful swains,
Who us’d to fill the vales with tenderstrains,
In deep despair neglect the warbling reed,
And all their bleating flocks refuse to feed.
Ask not why greens and flowers so late appear
To clothe the glebe, and deck the springing year;
Why sounds the lawn with loud laments and cries,
And swoln with tears to floods the rivulets rise:
The fair Florelio now has left the plain, [swain.
And is the grief, who was the grace, of every British
For thee, lov'd youth' on every vale and lawn,
The nymphs and all thy fellow-shepherds moan.
The little birds now cease to sing and love,
Silent they sit, and droop in every grove:
No mounting lark now warbles on the wing,
Nor linnets chirp to cheer the sullen Spring :
Only the melancholy tuitles coo,
And Philomel by night repeats her woe,

* The Black Prince.

O, charmer of the shades! the tale prolong,
Nor let the morning interrupt thy song:
Or softly tune thy tender notes to mine,
Forgetting Tereus, make my sorrows thine.
Now the dear youth has left the lonely plain,
And is the grief, who was the grace, of every British
Say, all ye shades, where late he us’d to rest,
If e'er your beds with lovelier swain were prest;
Say, all ye silver streams, if e'er ye bore
The image of so fair a face before.
IBut now, ye streams, assist me whilst I mourn,
For never must the lovely swain return;
And, as these flowing tears increase your tide,
O, murmur for the shepherd, as ye glide:
Be sure, ye rocks, while I my grief disclose,
Let your sad echoes lengthen out my woes:
Ye breezes, bear the plaintive accent on,
And, whispering, tell the floo's Florelio's gone;
For ever gone, and left the lonely plain,
And is the grief, who was the grace, of every British
Ripe strawberries for thee, and peaches, grew,
Sweet to the taste, and tempting red to view.
For thee the rose put sweeter purple on,
Preventing, by her haste, the summer-sun.
But now the flowers all pale and blighted lie,
And in cold sweats of sickly mildew die.
Nor can the bees suck from the shrivel'd blooms
Ethereal sweets, to store their golden combs.
Oft on thy lips they would their labour leave,
And sweeter odours from thy mouth receive:
Sweet as the breath of Flora, whom she lies
In jasmine shades, and for young Zephyr sighs.
But now those lips are cold; relentless Death
Hath chill'd their charms, and stopt thy baliny
Those eyes, where Cupid tipp'd his darts with fire,
And kindled in the coldest nymphs desire,
Robb'd of their beams, in everlasting night
Are clos'd, and give us woes as once delight :
And thou, dear youth, hast left the lonely plain,
And art the grief, who wert the grace, of every Bri.
tish swain.
As in his bower the dying shepherd lay,
The shepherd yet so young, and once so gay!
The nymphs that swim the stream, and range the
And haunt the flowery meads, around him stood.
There tears down each fair cheek unbounded fell,
And as he gasp'd, they gave a sad farewell.
“Softly,” they cry’d, “as sleeping flowers are
By night, be thy dear eyes by Death compos'd :
A gentle fall may thy young beautics have,
And golden slumbers wait thee in the grave:
Yearly thy hearse with garlands we'll adorn,
And teach young nightingales for thee to mourn;
Bees love the blooms, the flocks the bladed grain,
Nor less wert thou belov’d by every swain.
Come, shepherds, come, perform the funeral due,
For he was ever good and kind to you :
On every smoothest beech, in every grove,
In weeping characters record your love.”
And as in memory of Adonis slain,
When for the youth the Syrian maids complain,
His river, to record the guilty day, -
With freshly bleeding purple stains the sea:
So thou, dear Cam, contribute to our woe,
And bid thy stream in plaintive murmurs flow :

Thy head with thy own willow boughs adorn,
And with thy tears supply the frugal urn.
The swains their sheep, the nymphs shall leave the
lawn, -
And yearly on their banks renew their moan:
His mother, while they there lament, shall be
The queen of love, the lov'd Adonis he:
On her, like Venus, all the Graces wait,
And he too like Adonis in his fate '
For fresh in fragrant youth he left the plain,
And is the grief, who was the grace, of every British
swain [side,
No more the nymphs, that o'er the brooks pre-
Qess their gay beauties by the crystal tide,
Nor fly the wintry winds, nor scorching Sun,
Now he, for wbom they strove to charm is gone.
Oft they beneath their reedy coverts sigh'd,
And look'd, and long'd, and for Florelio dy'd.
Of him they sang, and with soft ditties strove
To soothe the pleasing agonies of love.
But now they roam distracted with despair,
And cypress, twin'd with mournful willows, wear.
Thus, hand-in-hand, around his grave they go,
And saffron buds and fading lilies strow,
With sprigs of myrtle mix’d, and scattering cry,
“So sweet and soft the shepherd was so soon de-
creed to die!”
There, fresh in dear remembrance of their woes,
His name the young anemonies disclose;
Nor strange they should a double grief avow,
Then Venus wept, and Pastorella now.
Breathe soft, ye winds! long let them paint the
Unhurt, untouch'd, by every passing swain.
And when, ye nymphs, to make the garlands gay,
With which ye crown the mistress of the May,
Ye shall these flowers to bind her temples take,
O pluck them gently for Florelio's sake!
And when through Woodstock's green retreats ye
Or Althrop's flowery vales invite to play;
O'er which young Pastorella's beauties bring
Flysium early, and improve the spring:
When evening gales attentive silence keep,
And Heaven its balmy dew begins to weep,
By the soft fall of every warbling stream,
Sigh your sad airs, and bless the shepherd's name:
There to the tender lute attune your woe,
While hyacinths and myrtles round ye grow.
So may Sylvanus ever 'tend your bowers,
And Zephyr brush the mildew from the flowers 1
Bid all the swans from Cam and Isis haste,
In the melodious choir to breathe their last.
O Colin, Colin, could I there complain
Like thee, when young Philisides was slain!
Thou sweet frequenter of the Muses' stream!
Why have I not thy voice, or thou my theme *
Though weak my voice, though lowly be my lays,
They shall be sacred to the shepherd's praise :
To him my voice, to him my lays, belong,
And bright Myrtilla now must live unsung:
Even she, whose artless beauty bless'd me more
Than ever swain was bless'd by nymph before;
While every tender sigh, to seal our bliss,
Brought a kind vow, and every vow a kiss:
Fair, chaste, and kind, yet now no more can move,
So much my grief is stronger than my love:
Now the dear youth has left the lonely plain,
And is the grief, who was the grace, of every British

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