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But if the goddess, in whose charming eyes,

More clearly written than in Fate's dark book, 1705.

My joy, my grief, my all of future fortune, lies; JANUS! 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

friendly powers.

FOR 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.

Phæbus, acceptusque novem Camoenis, Thus far from great misfortunes free,

Qui salutari levat arte fessos Contented, I my lot endure,

Corporis artus ; Nor Nature's rigid laws arraign,

Alterum in lustrum, meliúsque semper
Nor spurn at common ills in vain,

Proroget ærum.
Which Folly cannot shun, nor wise Reflection cure.
But, oh!-more anxious for the year to come, Begin, 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. Tu Gloriana this below,

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With joy renew the destin'd race,

To deathless Fame adopted, rest ; And let the mighty Months begin ;

Nor wants there to complete her woe, Let no ill omen cloud thy face,

Plac'd with respectful love below, Through all thy circle smile serene.

The star that beam'd on Gloucester's breasle While the stern ministers of Fate

O Phæbus ! all thy saving power employ, Watchful o'er pale Lutetia wait,

Long let our vows avert the distant woe, To grieve the Gaul's perfidious head;

Ere Gloriana re-ascends the sky, The Hours, thy offspring, heavenly fair,

And leaves a land of orphans here below! Their whitest wings should ever wear,

But when (so Heaven ordains ) her smiling ray And gentle joys on Albion shed.

Distinguish'd o'er the balance shall preside, When Iia bore the future fates of Rome, Whilst future kings her ancient sceptre sway, And the long bonours of her race began,

May her mild influence all their councils guide s Thus, to prepare the graceful age to come,

To Albion ever constant in her love, They from thy stores in happy order ran.

Of sovereigns here the best, the brightest star Heroes, elected to the list of Fame,

Fix'd the sure columns of her rising state;
Till the loud triumphs of the Julian name

For lawless power, reclaim'd to right,
Render'd the glories of her reign complete, And virtue rais'd by pious arms,
Each year advanc'd a rival to the rest,

Let Albion be thy fair delight,
In comely spoils of war, and great achievements, And shield her safe from threaten'd harms

With flowers and fruit her hosom till,

Let laurel rise on every bill, Say, Phoebus, for thy searching eyg

Fresh as the first on Daphne's brow: Saw Rome, the darling child of Fate,

Instruct her tuneful sons to'sing, When nothing equal here could vie

And make each vale with Pæans ring, In strength with her imperious state;

To Blenheim and Ramilia due. Say, if high virtues there did reign

Secure of bright eternal, fame,
Exalted in a nobler strain,

With happy wing the Theban swan,
Than in fair Albion thou hast seen ;
Or can her demi-gods compare

Towering from Pisa's sacred stream,

Inspir'd by thee, the song began :
Their trophies for successful war,
To those that rise for Albion's queen!

Through deserts of unclouded night,

When he harmonious took' his flight, When Albion first majestic show'd,

The gods constrain’d the sounding spheres : High o'er the circling seas, her head,

Still Envy darts her rage in vain, Her the great Father smiling view'd,

The lustre of his worth to stain, And thus to bright Victoria said:

He growing whiter with his years. “ Mindful of Phlegra's happy plain, On which, fair nymph, you fix'd my reign,

But, Phæbus, god of numbers, high to raise

The honours of thy art, and heavenly lyre,
This isle to yor shall sacred be ;;
Her hand shall hold the'rightful scale,

What Muse is destin'd to our sovereign's praise,
And crowds be vanquish'd, or prevail,

Worthy her acts, and thy informing fire?

To him for whom this springing laurel grows, As Gloriana shall decree.”

Eternal on the topmost heights of fame, Victoria, triumph in thy great increase !

Be kind, and all thy Helicon disclose; With joy the Julian stèm the Tyber claims; And all intent on Gloriana's name, Young Ammon's might the Granic waves confess :

Let Silence brood o'er ocean, earth, and air, The Heber had a Mars, a Churchill Thames.

As when to victor Jove thou sung'st the giant's Roll, sovereign of the ptreams! thy rapid tide, And bid thy brother foods revere the queen, Whose voice the hero's happy hand employ'd To save the Danube, and subdue the Svine;

In sure records each shining deed, And, boldly just to Gloriana's fame,

When faithful Clio sets to view, Exalt thy silver urn, and duteous homage claim. Posterity will doubting read,

And scarce believe her annals true: Advanc'd to thy meridian height,

The Muses toil with art to raise On Earth, great god of Day, look down:

Fictitious monuments of praise, Let Windsor entertain thy sight,

When other actions they rehearse : Clad in fair emblems of renown:

But half of Gloriana's reign, And whilst in radiant pomp appear

That so the rest may credit gain, 'The names to bright Victoria dear,

Should pass unregister'd in verse. Intent the long procession view:

High on its own establish'd base Confess none wortbier ever wore

Prevailing Virtue's pleas'd to rise ; Her favours, or was deck'd with more,

Divinely deck'd with native grace, Than she confers on Churchill's brow.

Rich in itself with solid joys; But oh! withdraw thy piercing rays,

Ere Gloriana on the throne, The nymph anew begins to moan,

Quitting for Allion's rest her own, Viewing the much-lamented space,

In types of regal power was seen : Where late her warlike William shone :

With fair pre-eminence confest, There fix'd by her officious hand,

It triumph'd in a private breast, His sword and sceptre of command,

And made the princess more than queen.







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O Phæbus! would thy godhead not refuse

With deeper wrath thy victor lion roars, This humble incense, on thy altar laid;

Wide o'er the subject world diffusing fear, Would thy propitious ear attend the Muse,

Whilst Gallia weeps her guilt, and peace implores ; That suppliant now invokes thy certain aid ;

So Earth, transfix'd by fierce Minerva's spear, With Mantuan force I'd mount a stronger gale,

A gentler birth obedient did disclose,

And sudden from the wound eternal olives rose. And sing the parent of her land, who strove T'exceed the transports of her people's zeal, With acts of mercy, and majestic love;

When with establish'd freedom bless'd, By Fate, to fix Britannia's empire, given

The globe to great Alcides bow'd,
The guardian power of Earth, and public care of

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:
Then, Churchill, should the Muse record

Where Hebe crown'd his blooming joys; The conquests by thy sword achiev'd;

Garlands the willing Muses wove, Quiet to Belgian states restor'd,

And each with emulation strove
And Austrian crowns by thee retriev'd.

T'adorn the Churchill of the skies.
Imperious Leopold confess'd
His hoary majesty distress'd;

For Albion's chief, ye sacred Nine !

Your harps with generous ardour string, To arms, to arms, Bavaria calls

, Nor with less tertour shook his throne,

With Fame's immortal trumpet join,

And safe beneath his laurel sing :
Than when the rising crescent shone
Malignant o'er his shatter'd walls.

When clad in vines the Seine shall glide,

And duteous in a smoother tide, The warrior led the Britons forth,

To British seas her tribute yield; On foreign fields to dare their fate,

Wakeful at Honour's shrine attend, Distinguish'd souls of shining worth,

And long with living beams defend
In war unknowing to retreat :

From night, the warrior's votive shield.
Thou, Phæbus, saw'st the hero's face,
When Mars had breath'd a purple grace,

And, Woodstock, let his dome exalt thy fame, And mighty fury, fill'd his breast :

Great o'er thy Norman ruins be restor'd; How like thyself,' when to destroy

Thou that with pride dost Edward's' cradle claim, The Greeks thou didst thy darts employ,

Receive an equal hero for thy lord : Fierce with thy golden quiver drest!

Whilst every column, to record their toils,

Eternal monuments of conquest wears, Sudden, whilst banish'd from his native land,

And all thy walls are dress'd with mingled spoils, Red with dishonest wounds, Bavaria mourn'd,

Gather'd on fam'd Ramilia and Poictiers, The chief, at Gloriana's high command,

High on thy tower the grateful flag display, Like a rous'd lion, to the Maes return'd;

Due to thy queen's reward, and Blenheim's glorious With vengeful speed 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 morning 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,

Ask not the cause why all the tuneful swains, And, whilst lamenting mothers fear,

Who us'd to fill the vales with tender strains, On high her signal torch displays ;

In deep despair neglect the warbling reed, But when thy sword is sheath'd, again

And all their bleating flocks refuse to feed. Obsequious she receives thy chain,

Ask not why greens and flowers so late appear And sinootbs her violence of face.

To clothe the glebe, and deck the springing years Parent of arms! for ever stand

Why sounds the lawn with loud laments and cries,

And swoln with tears to floods the rivulets rise: With large increase of fame rever'd, Whilst arches to thy saving hand

The fair Florelio now has left the plain, (swain. On Danube's grateful banks are rear do

And is the grief, who was the grace, of every British Eugene, inspir'd to war by thee,

For thee, lov'd youth! on every vale and lawn, Ausonja's weeping states to free,

The nymphs and all thy fellow-shepherds moan.. Swift on th' Imperial eagle fies;

The little birds now cease to sing and love,

Silent they sit, and droop in every grore:
Whilst, bleeding, from his azure bed
Th' asserted Iber lifts his head,

No mounting lark now warbles on the wing,
And safe bis Austrian lord enjoys.

Nor linnets chirp to cheer the sullen Spring :

Only the melancholy turtles coo, lo Britannia! fix'd on foreign wars,

And Philomel by night repeats her woe.
Guiltless of civil rage extend thy name:
The waves of utmost ocean, and the stars,
are bounds but equal to thy sovereign's fame.

| The Black Prince.


0, charmer of the shades! the tale prolong, Thy head with thy own willow boughs adorn, Nor let the morning interrupt thy song:

And with thy tears supply the frugal urn. Or softly tune thy tender notes to mine,

The swains their sheep, the nymphs shall leave the Forgetting Tereus, make my sorrows thine.

lawn, Now the dear youth has left the lonely plain, And yearly on their banks renew their moan: And is the grief, who was the grace, of every British His mother, while they there lament, shall be swain.

The queen of love, the lov'd Adonis he:
Say, all ye shades, where late he us'd to rest, On her, like Venus, all the Graces wait,
If e'er your beds with lovelier swain were prest; And he too like Adonis in his fate!
Say, all ye silver streams, if e'er ye bore

For fresh in fragrant youth he left the plain,
The image of so fair a face before.

And is the grief, who was the grace, of every British But now, ye streams, assist me whilst I mourn,


(side, For never must the lovely swain return;

No more the nymphs, that o'er the brooks preAnd, as these flowing tears increase your tide, Dress their gay beauties by the crystal tide, 0, murmur for the shepherd, as ye glide: Nor fly the wintry winds, nor scorching Sun, Be sure, ye rocks, while I my grief disclose, Now he, for wbom they strove to charm is gone Let your sad echoes lengthen out my woes : Oft they beneath their reedy coverts sigh’d, Ye breezes, bear the plaintive accent on,

Ang look’d, and long'd, and for Florelio dy'd. And, whispering, tell the floo:ls Florelio's gone; Of him they sang, and with soft ditties strove For ever gone, and left the lonely plain,

To soothe the pleasing agonies of love. And is the grief, who was the grace, of every British But now they roain distracted with despair, swain.

And cypress, twind with mournful willows, wear. Ripe strawberries for thee, and peaches, grew, Thus, hand-in-hand, around his grave they go, Sweet to the taste, and tempting red to view. And saffron buds and fading lilies strow, For thee the rose put sweeter purple on,

With sprigs of myrtle mix'd, and scattering cry, Preventing, by her haste, the summer-sun. “ So sweet and soft the shepherd was! so soon deBut now the flowers all pale ana blighted lie,

creed to die!” And in cold sweats of sickly mildew die.

There, fresh in dear remembrance of their woes, Nor can the bees suck from the shrivel'd blooms His name the young anemonies disclose; Ethereal sweets, to store their golden combs. Nor strange they should a double grief avow, Oft on thy lips they would their labour leave, Then Venus wept, and Pastorella now. And sweeter odours from thy mouth receive: Breathe soft, ye winds! long let them paint the Sweet as the breath of Flora, whin she lies

plain, In jasmine shades, and for young Zephyr sighs. Unhurt, untouch'd, by every passing swain. But now those lips are cold; relentless Death And when, ye nymphs, to make the garlands gay, Hath chill'd their charms, and stopt thy baliny With which ye crown the mistress of the May, breath.

Ye shall these flowers to bind her temples take, Those eyes, where Cupid tipp'd his darts with fire, O pluck them gently for Florelio's sake! And kindled in the coldest nymphs desire,

And when through Woodstock's green retreats ye Robb’d of their beams, in everlasting night

stray, Are clos'd, and give us woes as once delight : Or Althrop's flowery vales invite to play ; And thou, dear youth, hast left the lonely plain, O’er which young Pastorella's beauties bring And art the grief, who wert the grace, of every Bri. Elysium early, and improve the spring: tish swain.

When evening gales attentive silence keep, As in his bower the dying shepherd lay,

And Heaven its baliny dew begins to weep, The shepherd yet so young, and once so gay! By the soft fall of every warbling stream, The nymphs that swim the strcam, and range the Sigh your sad airs, and bless the shepherd's name: wood,

There to the tender lute attune your woe, And haunt the flowery meads, around him stood. While hyacinths and myrtles round ye grow. There tears down each fair cheek unbounded fell, So may Sylvanus ever 'tend your bowers, and as he gasp'd, they gave a sad farewell. And Zephyr brush the mildew from the flowers ! “ Softly,” they cry'd, as sleeping flowers are Bid all the swans from Cam and Isis haste, clos'd

In the melodious choir to breathe their last.
By night, be thy dear eyes by Death compos'd : O Colin, Colin, could I there complain
A gentle fall may thy young beauties have,

Like thee, when young Philisides was slain!
And golden slumbers wait thee in the grave: Thou sweet frequenter of the Muses' stream!
Yearly thy hearse with garlands we'll adorn, Why have I not thy voice, or thou my theme?
And teach young nightingales for thee to mourn; Though weak my voice, though lowly be my lays,
Bees love the blooms, the fiocks the bladed grain, They shall be sacred to the shepheru's praise :
Nor less wert thou belov'el by every swain.

To him my voice, to him my lays, belong, Come, shepherds, come, perform the funeral due, And bright Myrtilla now must live unsung: For he was ever good and kind to you:

Even she, whose artless beauty bless'd me more On every smoothest beech, in every grove, Than ever swain was bless'd by nymph before ; In weeping characters record your love."

While every tender sigh, to seal our bliss, And as in memory of Adonis slain,

Brought a kind row, and every vow a kiss : When for the youth the Syrian maids complain, Fair, chaste, and kind, yet now no more can move, His river, to record the guilty day,

So much my grief is stronger than my love: With freshly bleeding purple stains the sea : Now the dear youth has left the lonely plain, Su tbou, dear Cam, contribute to our woe, And is the grief, who was the grace, of every Britisha And bid thy stream in plaintive murmurs dow :


Its gem,

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As when some cruel hind has borne away The shell of flesh pollutes with sin The turtle's nest, and made the young his prey,

the soul, just enter'd in; Sad in her native grove she sits alone,

And, by transmitted vice defil'd,
There hangs her wings, and murmurs out her moan; The fiend commences with the child.
So the bright shepherdess, who bore the boy,
Beneath a baleful yew does weeping lie;

In this dark region future fates are bred,

And inines of secret ruin laid : Nor can the fair the weighty woe sustain,

Hot feters here long kindling lie, But bends, like roses crush'd with falling rain ;

Prepar'd with flaming whips to rage, Nor from the silent earth her eyes removes,

And lash on lingering Destiny: That, weeping, languish like a dying dove's.

Whene'er excess has fir'd our riper age, Not such her look (severe reverse of fate!)

Here brood in infancy the gout and stone, When little Loves in every dimple sate;

Fruits of our fathers' follies, not our own. And all the Smiles delighted to resort

Ev'n with our nourishment we death receive, On the calm Heaven of her soft cheeks to sport: Soft as the clouds mild April evenings wear,

For here onr guiltless mothers give

Poison for food when first we live. Which drop fresh Mowrets on the youthful year.

Hence noisome humours sweat thro' every pore', The fountain's fall can't lull her wakeful woes,

Aud blot us with an undistinguislı'd sore:
Nor poppy-garlands give the nymph repose :
Through prickly brakes, and unfrequented groves,

Nor, mov'd with beanty, will the dire disease

Forbear on faultless forms to seize; O'er hills and dales, and craggy cliffs, she rores.

But vindicates the good, the gay, And when she spies, beneath some silent shade,

The wise, the young,

its common prey. The daisies priss'd, where late his limbs were laid, To the cold print there close she joins her face,

Had all, conjoin'd in one, had power to save, And all with gushing tears bedews the grass. (skies, The Muses had not wept o'er Blandford's grave: There with loud plaints she wounds the pitying The spark of pure ethereal light “ And, oh! return, my lovely youth,” she cries; That actuates this fleeting frame,

Return, Florelio, with thy wonted charms Darts through the cloud of tiesh a sickly flame, Fill the soft circle of my longing arms.”

And seems a glow-worm in a winter-night. Cease, fair AMiction, cease! the lovely boy

But inan would yet look wondrous wise, In Death's cold arms must pale and breathless lie. And equal chains of thought devise; The Fates can never change their first decree,

Intends his mind on mighty schemes, Or sure they would have chang'd this one for thee. Refutes, defines, confirins, declaims; Pan for his Syrinx makes eternal moan,

And diagrams he draws, t explain Ceres her daughter lost, and thou thy son.

The leari'd chimeras of his brain ; Thy son for ever now has left the plain,

And, with imaginary wisdom proud, And is the grief, who was the grace, of every British | Thinks on the goddess while he clips the cloud.

swain. Adieu, ye mossy caves, and shady groves,

Through Errour's mazy grove, with fruitless toil, Once happy scenes of our successful loves :

Perplex'd with puzzling doubts, we roam; Ye hungry herds, and bleating flocks, adjeu !

False images our sight beguile, Flints be your beds, and browze the bitter yew.

But still we stuinble through the gloom, Two lambs alone shall be my charge to feed,

And science seek, which still deludes the mind For yearly on his giave two lambs shall bleed.

Yet, more enamour'd with the race, This pledge of lasting love, dear shade, receive;

With disproportion'd speed we urge the chase : Tis all, alas, a shepherd's love can give !

In vain! the various prey no bounds restrain; Biit grief from its own power will set me free,

Fleeting it only leaves, t' increase our pain, Will send me soon a willing ghost to thee :

A cold unsatisfying scent bebind. Cropt in the flowery spring of youth, I'll go

Yet, gracious God! presumptuous man, With hasty joy to wait thy shade below:

With random guesses, makes pretence In ever-fragrant meads, and jasmine-bowers,

To sound thy searchless providence, We'll dwell, and all Elysium shall be ours.

From which he first began : Where citron groves ethereal odours breathe,

Like hooded hawks we blindly tower, And streams of flowing crystal purl beneath ; And circumscribe, with fancy'd laws, thy power, Where all are ever young, and heavenly fair,

Thy will the rolling orbs obey,
As here above thy sister Graces are.

The Moon, presiding o'er the sea,
Governs the waves with equal sway:
But man perverse, and lawless still,
Boldly runs counter to thy will;

Thy patient thunder he defies;

Lays down false principles, and moves What art thou, Life, whose stay we court?

By what his vicious choice approves; What is thy rival Death we fear?

And, when he's vainly wicked, thinks he's wise. Since we're but fickle Fortune's sport,

Return, return, too long misled! Why should we wish t' inhabit here,

With filial fear adore thy God: And think the race, we find so rough, too short?

Ere the vast deep of Heaven was spread, While in the womb we forming lie,

Or body first in space abode,
While yet the lamp of life tisplays

Glories ineffable adorn'd his head.
A doubtful dawn with feeble rays,
New issuing from non-entity ;

· The small-poxa

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