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Ajovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's talk
As much as God or man can fairly ask ;
The reft he gives to loves and labours light,
To fields the morning and to feasts the night;
None better skill'd, the noisy pack to guide,

urge their chace, to cheer them or to chide :
Sure in his thot, his game he seldom mist,
And seldom fail'd to win his game at whist.
Then, while fuch honours bloom around his head,

Shall he fit fadly by the lick man's bed,
To raise the hope he feels not, or with zeal
To combat fears that even the pious feel?

ODE for his MA JEST Y's Birth-day, June 4, 1783.

By WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, Esq. Poet-Laureat.

T length the troubled waters rest,

And, naadowing Ocean's calmer breast,
Exulting Commerce spreads her woven wings:

Free as the winds that waft them o'er,

Her iffuing vessels glide from shore to shore.
And in the bending throuds the careless sea-boy fings.

Is Peace a blessing ? -As the mind
That glows with love of human kind,
That knows no guile, no partial weakness knows,

Contracted to no narrow sphere,

The world, the world at large, is umpire here,
They feel, and they enjoy, the blessings peace bestows
Then, oh! what bliss his bosom Mares,

Who, conscious of ingenuous worth,
Can nobly scorn inferior cares,

And send the generous edićt forth ;
To distant fighs of modest woe

Can lend a pitying list'ning ear,
Nor see the meanest forrows flow

Without a sympathising tear.
Tho' rapine with her fury train

Rove wide and wild o'er earth and main,
In act to strike, tho' flaughter cleave the air,

At his command they drop the sword,

And in their midway course his potent word
Arrests the shafts of death, of terror, of despair.
When those who have the power to bless


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Are readict to relieve dilt

Wher When private virtues dignify a crown,

The genuine fons of freedom feel

A duty which transcends a subject's zeal,
And dread the man's reproach more than the monarch's frown.
Then to this day be honours paid

The world's proud conqu’rors never knew ;
Their laurels fhrink, their glories fade,

Expos'd to reason's sober view.
But reason, justice, truth, rejoice,

When discord's baneful triumphs cease, And hail with one united voice

The friend of man, the friend of peace.”


[From AURELIA; or the Contest, an Heroi-comic Poem.]

A youth appears of more than mortal mould,
His yellow treffes o'er his shoulders stray,
Kiss the loose wind and negligently play ;
His fect like silver gleam, a taper wand
Of adamant sustains his better hand;
O'er his fair temples wreathing myrtles twing,
And all around him beaming glories Thine:
The scene is chang'd, the caverns melt in air,
Her well known roofs rise slowly round the fair ;

Then thus the Genius. “ Nymph, dismiss thy fear;
No evil can approach while I am near.
Behold the Guardian Power whose secret sway
The wiser females of the world obey ;
I bid them cait cach woman-toy behind,
And raise to nobler views th' aspiring mind;
'Twas I that gave to DUDLEY's beauteous wife,
Whom Mary's cruel hand depriv'd of life,
A nobler fortitude than heroes reach,
And virtue, greater than the sages tcach,
Sweetness of soul beyond what mortals thew,
And piety like that which seraphs know.
And now, in modern days, though rare to see,
Behold accomplish'd beauty led by me.
STREATFIELD, the learn'd, the gay, in blooming years
Forsakes the dance to dry a widow's tears :
When hoary Age her Tutor's brows o'erspread,
And Sickness bow'd his venerable head,
O'er the pałe couch she hung with filial care,
And pluck'd the thorn Disease had planted there,


My voice inspires the cultivated mind,
Whose poli'd page instructs and charms mankind;
'Twas I directed Carter's piercing eyes
To roll inquisitive through ftarry skies;
To her the lore of Grecian schools I brought,
And rooted in her heart the truths the taught.
1, to CHAPONE, th' inportant talk assign'd
To smooth the temper and improve the mind.
Through More I pointed to the paths of truth,
And rais'd her voice to guide unthinking youth:
That fenfibility, allied to Heaven,
That sacred pen she boasts, by me were given.
I stood, a favouring muse, at BURNEY'S Gide,
To lah unfeeling Wealth and stubborn Pride,
Soft Affectation, infolently vain,
And wild Extravagance with all her sweeping train;
Led her that modern Hydra to engage,
And point a HARREL to a mad'ning age:
Then bade the moralift, admir'd and prais'd,
Fly from the loud applause her talent rais'd.
Ev'n MONTAGU my aiding hand must own,
That plac'd her high on Learning's polith'd throne,
That taught her arm the critic spear to wield,
Foil'd the fly Gaul and drove him from the field :
I bade her liberal care receive, caress
That struggling merit which the proud depress;
That bashful want, which, bending to the grave,
Shrinks from the pitying hand held out to lave.

Nor think that fic alone my aid acquires,
Whom Learning tutors or whom Genius fires,
On all the finile of favour I bestow,
Who fly from fashion, vanity, and show.

The EMIGRANT'S DESCRIPTION of his Former State.

[From Dr. Coombe's Peasant of Auburn; or the Emigrant.]

Y in

ET witness heaven, tho' such thy chang'd decrees,
Ne'er did thy blessings prompt a wish to stray,
Health nerv'd my limbs, and virtue bless'd iny day.
Constant at dawn to hardy toils I rose,
Brav'd the bleak winds, and defolating fnaws;
Whilft sweet Contentment lent her magick power,
Soften'd the gale, and warm’d the frozen iwwer.
Still fad remembrance fondly calls to view
The field where once the branching poplar grew.



'Twas there, when spring renew'd the ploughman's toil,
My long-drawn furrow turn'd the rugged soil ;
There, with my fickle, thro' long summer days,
I work’d, regardless of the noontide blaze;
And there the labouring band, as leisure sway'd,
The bough-crown'd reaper, and the village maid,

up their sports along the bordering green, Whilft

age look'd on, and bless'd the harmless scene.
Such were my toils, in days too bright to last,
Such joys were mine, but all those joys are past !

Mean tho’ I was, and circled too with care,
Yet, bleft with little, I had still to spare.
No neighbour's forrows, but affail'd my breast,
No poorer brother left my door unbleit.
To all my mite, to fome, more singly dear,
I gave the tender tribute of a tear.
Oft times, returning from the task of day,
I hail'd the weary trav'ller on his way,
Remark'd the hour of rest was nearly come,
And press'd the stranger to my focial home.
Heedless of future ills, the playful train,
To meet their fire, came shouting o'er the plain,
With eager joy their little news convey'd,
Or round the green their mimick dance display'd.
Perhaps, some neighbouring swain of genial foul
Would lift the latch, and join our fober bowl ;
And, whilft his soothing tales engag'd the guest,
Of fighted love, or modest worth distrest,
Whate'er our dairy, or our fields afford,
In frugal plenty smil'd upon the board.
Blest social home! and ye dear diftant bowers !
Scenes of my youth, and all my blissful hours,
Where'er by Fortune's hand neglected thrown,
This heart, this faithful heart, is all your own.
E'en now, weak nature, rous'd to keener pain,
Dwells on your charms, and bleeds in every vein.“


[From Mr. Irwin's Occasional Epiftles.)
TOT that with jaundic'd, or with Gothic eye,

Thy worth o'erlooking thy defects I spy ;
Not that, with thought profane, I fight the crown,
Which Neptune yielded to thy just renown.
No-beauteous empress of th' Italic main!
Great was thy cause, and gallant were thy train.


Drawn here by Freedom from their native land,
Thine islands cherishi'd Rome's expiring band ;
Who, worthy of the fountain whence they sprung,
Oft on the rear of frighted Othman hung;
Till of her turban'd-tyrants ridding Greece,
Like Rome, they gave her liberty and peace.
Great as Æmilius, in that hallow'd hour
When wond'ring nations blest the victor's pow'r;
When Glory hail'd him at th' Olympic game,
And rescu'd Freedom twin'd his wreath of fame.

These were the records of thine earlier days,
When Arts confpir'd to spread the hero's praise :
When to his mem'ry sculptur'd trophies rose
To seal his triumphs o'er his country's foes.
There Palma's pencil for the laurel itrives,
And Morofini in bis art survives !
There cime beholds the Candian chief with joy,
The siege sustain which doubled that of Troy :
Beholds him, happier still in manhood's pride,
Annex Morea to his country's side.
Arrizo, glorying in a cruel death,
In marble here again religns his breath.
Suspended by falle Mustapha on high,
Still brave Antonio may his fate defy:
What tho' his body raint the wholesome gale,
Ne'er shall thy incense, Public Virtue! tail.
Yet at his name the Turk aghaft is thrown,
Nor dares to challenge Cyprus as his own.
Shades of renown! and Patriots ever dear!
Whose wayward end awakes the foreign tear,
Permit a stranger friendly to your fhore,
T'allay the value of no common ore,

Long prov'd thy itate a barrier to the Turk,
And foundest policy upheld the work.
Envy to calm, flae trusted to intrigue,
And, artful, broke the force of Cambray's league.
This Europe faw, and trembled for her date,
When priests and potentates confpir'd her fate :
But vain those fears--to Julius she apply'd,
And fapp'd the mischief by the pontiff's pride.

Tho' Venice now with faded fplendor shine,
She Ahews, like Athens, beauteous in decline:
And ages hence, when crumbling to a waste,
Her ruins shall attract the eye of caste.
Then, as the traveller roves in thoughtful mood,
Where Marco's tower, or San Benètto stood,

O 3


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