Sure every MUSE, and every GRACE, will join
With votive hands the faireft wreath to twine;
Cull with affiduous hand the choiceft flowers,
And hang the brighteft garland on her towers :
While grateful liberty thall love the shade.
Her guardian chief, where foftering virtue laid;
And BRITAIN'S Genius blefs the hallow'd earth
Which gave her patriot king, her ALFRED, birth.
That equal laws thefe happy regions share
Springs, glorious prince! from thy paternal care.
Through the dark mifts that error o'er mankind
Tenfold had fpread, and wrap'd the human mind;
At thy command fair Science fhot her light,
And chaced the horrid gloom of GOTHIC night;
To Isis brink the wandering MUSES led,
And taught each drooping art to rear her head:
Hence verdant while around thy victor brow,
The warrior laurel ever loves to grow,
MINERVA 'midst its branches interweaves
With grateful hand her olive's peaceful leaves.
Thine is the gift that here no alien crew,
To venal intereft more than justice true,
Judge with unpitying brow misfortune's caufe,
With cruel power, enforcing cruel laws,

But watchful THEMIS o'er each freeman rears

That facred fhield, THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS,
By which protected, BRITAIN's dauntless train
See factions rage, and tyrants frown in vain.
O dear-bought freedom! if thy holy flame
Burns in our fouls, nor refts an empty name!
If for thy fake the kindling warmth we feel,
Unwarp'd by felfifh views, or party zeal,
May we with wakeful, nay with jealous eye,
Regard this hallow'd fource of Liberty;
This once attack'd on which her rights depend,
May every breaft the guardian power defend,
Each patriot tongue affert our injur'd laws,
And pour refiitlefs founds in freedom's caufe :
Each patriot arm, fhould eloquence be vain,
Lift the dread falchion on the embattled plain;
May we with more than ancient zeal purfue
Rights, ROME and boasted SPARTA never knew:
Guard this PALLADIUM with our latest breath,
Or perish with it in a glorious death!

An ODE to a YOUNG GENTLEMAN of MERIT; but a VOTARY of PLEASURE.

By the Rev. Mr. WILLIAM JESSOr, of Lifmore, in Ireland.

TREPHON, indulge thy gen'rous flight,

STRE

The primrofe-paths of blithe delight,
And give dull fcruples to the wind:
Through ev'ry night and ev'ry day,
Let feftive pleasure guide thy way,

And o'er thy ev'ry thought maintain unrival'd sway.

Where Comus holds his jovial court
With fparkling nectar fill the bowl,
While the free fons of gladness fport,

And wit darts funbeams on the foul:
While loud the chearing carol rings,
Or harp refounds with fprightly ftrings,

}

}

'Till mirth in triumph foar with full expanded wings.

Hie thee anon to Celia's bow'r,

Clafp the dear charmer to thy breast,
And, rapt by love's exatic pow'r,
Confefs thy foul fupremely bleft;
Should Celia's luscious beauties cloy,
Let fresher charms thy heart employ,

}

And plunge a-new in gulphs of highly-feafon'd joy.

Thus folly chants her firen lay:

Yet, Strephon, paufe to fix thy choice,

"Till with attention thou fhalt weigh

The fober strains of Wisdom's voice.

She not a flatt'rer, but a friend,

Will point the perils, that attend,

And prove thefe brief delights in lafting woes must end.

Deluded rover, think in time,

Ere Pleasure's bane thy vitals feize,

To jocund youth, fweet hour of prime,
Succeeds a train of vulgar days.

Ere long thy lifeblood's fervid tide
In languid rounds will feebly glide,
And with it all thy glee and revelry fubfide.

Ah! truft not Youth; for Reason's eye,

Beneath his mafque of luring fmiles,

Can well difcern the traitor fly,

And in his fondness mark his wiles.

}

}

He

He foothes thee only to betray:

Clafp'd by the hand, in winning way,

He leads thee ftep by step to weakness and decay.

The river thus, that murmurs by,
Feeds a fair tree's luxuriant pride,
And bids its branches tow'r on high,

And spread their verdure o'er the tide;
While all the time th' infidious foe
Unnotic'd aims the certain blow,

}

}

"And gradual faps its root, and lays its beauties low.

The hours, that now fo gaily dance

With feather'd feet, will foon be past; Soon will the heavy days advance,

With doubts and bodings overcaft:

A low'ring gloom thy foul fhall fhroud,
While Confcience, feated in the cloud,

Shall lance her livid flash, and roll her thunders loud.

}

And keeneft anguish prove thy joys are dearly bought.

The more delay the fiegers found

Anon fhall ev'ry fence outbrave,

And burft, like torrents, on the foul.

Alas! 'tis then th' excluded thought

Shall rush with ten fold terror fraught,

Thus if a hoft has long affail'd

The walls of fome devoted town,

When at the laft its works have fail'd,

And all its tow'rs are batter'd down,

The harder toil to win the ground,

More fierce they mount the breach, and pour wild havock round.

What scenes thy thoughtless youth prepares

For the dull days of drooping age,

When totter'ing limbs, and hoary hairs,
The king of terrors near prefage.

This world no folace fhall fupply;

}

}

The next fhall fcowl with threat'ning eye;

And wearied out with life thy foul fhall dread to die.

}

So from a cliff's aerial brow

If flips perchance fome heedlefs fwain,

And midway meets a thorny bough,

He gripes it with an eager strain;

Hopeless and horrid is his ftate;

His anguish, while he clings, is great;

And fhould he part his grafp, perdition is his fate.

}

An ODE,

Written by WALTER MAPES Archdeacon of OXFORD, the ANACREON of the Eleventh Century.

I.

M Vinum ft appofitum morientis ori

IHI eft propofitum in Tabernâ mori:

Ut dicant cùm venerint Angelorum Chori,
Deus fit propitius huic Potatori !"

II.

Poculis accenditur animi Lucerna,

Cor imbutum Nectare volat ad fuperna;
Mihi fapit dulcius Vinum in Taberna
Quâm quod Aquâ mifcuit Præfulis Pincerna.

III.

Suum cuique proprium dat Natura Munus,
Ego nunquam potui fcribere jejenus;
Me jejunum vincere poffet Puer unus ;
Sitim et jejunium odi teanquàm Funus.

IV.

Tales verfus facio quale Vinum bibo,
Non poffum fcribere nifi fumpto Cibo;
Nihil valet penitùs quod jejunus fcribo,
Nafonem poft calices facilè præibo.

V.

Mihi nunquàm Spiritus Prophetiæ datur
Nifi cùm fuerit Venter benè fatur;
Cùm in Arce Cerebri Bacchus dominatur,
In me Phoebus irruit, ac miranda fatur.

THE SAME, attempted in English.

By Mr. DERBY, of FOR DINGBRIDGE, HANTS.

I.

I'M refolv'd in a Tavern with Honour to die:

At my Mouth place a full flowing Bowl,
That Angels, while round me they hover, may cry,
"Place, O God, Peace to this jolly foul !"

II.

By toping the Mind with fresh Vigour is fraught,
The Heart too foars up to the Skies;

Give me Wine that's unmix'd-not that watery Draught,
While the Prefident's Butler fupplies.

III.

To each Man his Gift Nature gives to enjoy

To pretend to write well is a Jeft

When I'm hungry; I yield, overcome by a Boy ;
And a Fatt like the Grave I deteft.

IV.

My Verfes all taste of the Wine that I ftow;
While I'm empty my Mufe is unkind;

But with Bumpers enliven'd how fweet does the flow!
Fam'd Ovid I leave far behind.

V.

Till my Belly's well fill'd Truths I ne'er can divine;
But when Bacchus prefides in my Pate,

The ftrong Impulfe I teel of the great God of Rhime,
And wonderful Things I relate.

ODE for the NEW YEAR.

January 1, 1774.

By WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, Efq; Poet Laureat.

"Pmperial Xerxes figh'd, and faid,

ASS but a few thort fleeting years,"

Whilft his fond eyes, fuffus'd with tears,
His numerous hofts furvey'd ;

"Pafs but a few fhort fleeting years,

And all that pomp which now appears

A glorious, living scene,

Shall breathe its laft: Shall fall, shall die,

And low in earth yon myriads lie,

As they had never been!"

True, tyrant: Wherefore then does pride,
And vain ambition urge thy mind,

To spread thy needlefs conquefts wide

And defolate mankind?

Say, why do millions bleed at thy command ?

If life, alas, is fhort, why fhake the hafty fand?

Not