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Woodstock her lov’d Plantagenet no more
Laments, when Marlborough shall her state restore;
She for whom Chaucer's tuneful lyre was strung,
And Wilmot's Muse in softer transport Sung, 2.,
From lonely bowers her lofty head shall rear,
And chearful, like her conquering Lord, appear.
Through her cool glades, on every verdant plain,
Eternal Plenty, Peace, and Pleasure reign :
High on her walls, Imperial Eagles tell, -
By bolder hands how fierce Bavarians fell; ar
Here we behold, by Verrio's pencil wrought,
The numerous spoils from Swabian conquests brought;
How o'er th’ opposing Schellenberg he run,
Which none before but great Gustavus won. 3e

Here, camps assaulted, and a city storm'd ;

There, on expanded plains, the battle form'd ;
Through seas of blood the fiery coursers fly,
And rapid streams and thundering brass defy;
While echoing cliffs and sylvan heights around
With groans and shouts alternately resound. To
Surrendering squadrons with their lillies torn,
And haughty chiefs before his prowess born;
In exile One, and One beneath his chain,
Strive for a Crown and Liberty in vain. 4°

Gild his vićtorious car, bold Artist; draw
Albion rejoicing, and the World in awe;
Paint in full splendor all his acts, that claim



Triumphant laurels and immortal fame. or
Make him Gaul’s glittering flowers in homage yield,

To fix them faster in Britannia's shield;
Let Austria's sacred branch in state descend,
To view the Vićtor and applaud the Friend;
Let your great genius on the canvass show,
How the swift Rhine, and how the Danube flowes,
How eastward this, in streaming purple strays,
How that, his captives to our coasts conveys;
How thus the trophies, he at once has won,
Haste to the rising and the setting sun.

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John whaley, M. A.
* -
journer To HouchTON.

Sweet Nymphs, that dwell on Pindus' verdant side,
And o'er the woods without a blush preside,
Celestial Muses, deign your Bard a lay,
As on the winding banks of Yare I stray.
Yet if the Nymphs from Pindus scorn to bow,
Nor deign to listen to a voice so low;
Their pride I will repay, and in despite,
While such my theme, of all the Muses write.

Recall we then, for still 'twill please, to mind The morn we left dull Norwich smoke behind, zo When, as the lofty spire just sunk from view, To a fair verdant water'd vale we drew; Where 'midst fair Liberty's all joyous plains Popery still seems to hug her galling chains,

The dragon in Hesperian gardens old –
Thus slumbering lay, and tasted not the gold ;
Thus, 'midst th' eternal spring Judea keeps,
The lazy poison of Asphaltus sleeps.

Bend then, my Muse, thy flight to Weston's plains (No verse can flow where papal Slavery reigns), ze, Weston whose groves not envy Pindus’ shade, Nor, blest with Ridley, want Apollo's aid. Here Virtue reigns, and o'er the fruitful land Religion walks, with Freedom hand in hand; His little flock the pious priest informs, ~ And every breast with heaven-born doctrine warms; Soft flows his stream of eloquence along, And truths divine come mended from his tongue. Here the known bounty of the place we blest, And to our number join'd the chearful priest. 3,

Through ancient Elmham next our way we take, Andgravely nodding wise reflections make ; How strongest things destructive Time o’erturns, And the waste town its ravish’d mitre mourns; “Mitre I repeats the priest with simpering leer, *Twill fit at Norwich full as well as here.”

But now, my Muse, in blushes hide thy face, Nor deign the next vile town in verse a place; Unless thou canst indite in Blackmore's strain, And say, we call'd full hungry at the Swan, 4° “But found not hay for horse, nor meat for man.”

Dire hunger! that with meagre visage stalks,
And never fails to cross the poet's walks:
But three short miles soon brought us bounteous aid,
And Mileham’s fulness Brisley's want o'erpaid.
See the gay Unicorn the wood adorn, -
Fair sign of plenty, with his ivory horn 1
Here Ceres spread her fruits with lavish hand, .
And Bacchus laughing waited our command.

Hence pleas'd and satisfy’d we take our road, 3e And sometimes laugh and talk, but oftner nod." Yet this soft indolence not long we kept, But wak'd to see where others faster slept; Where Coke's remains beneath the marble rot, His cases and distinctions all forgot; -His body honor’d and to Fame consign'd, For yirtues flowing from th’ immortal mind. What would avail this sumptuous mass of stone, Were he not from his works for ever known Let the survivors of such great men's dust, 4. Ne'er think to add to Virtue by a bust; -If false, posterity will find the lye, If true, without it, it will never die, But through succeeding ages shine the same,

. Or from some Leicester catch a brighter flame.

~~ But farewell death, and tombs, and moldering urns, Our eye with joy on neighb’ring Raynham turns; Where pleasures undecaying seem to dwell, Such as the happy in Elysium feel,

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