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FOR THE NEW-YEAR.
“ Hail, all hail,” the woods reply'd,
Ere freedom yet on ocean's breast And Echo on her airy tide
Had northward fix'd her halcyon nest; Roll'd the long murmurs down the mountain's side. Or Albion's oaks descending to the main
Had rolld her thunders wide, and claim'd the The voice resum'd again: “ Proceed,
But now each Briton's glowing tongue
Proclaims the truths the Genius sung,
On Brunswick's name with rapture dwells, Nor glowing suns, are worth thy care:
And, hark! the general chorus swells: New realms await thee in a harsher sky,
May years on happy years roll o'er, Thee and thy chosen race from Azo's nuptial tie. Till glory close the shining page,
And our ill-fated sons deplore “ 'T is glory wakes; her active flame
The shortness of a Nestor's aget! Nor time shall quench, nor danger tame;
Hail, all hail! on Albion's plains Nor Boia's ? amplest range confine,
The friend of man and freedom reigns ! Though Guelpho reigns, the Guelphic line,
Echo, waft the triumph round,
Till Gallia's utmost shores rebound,
And all her bulwarks tremble at the sound.”
And many a wreath shall victory weave,
1759. And vast Visurgis spreads his golden sands.
Ya guardian powers, to whose command, “ Nor rest they there. Yon guiding fire
At Nature's birth, th’ Almighty mind Still shines aloft, and gilds the main !
The delegated task assign'd Not Lion Henry's 3 fond desire
To watch o'er Albion's favour'd land, To grasp th' Italian realms again,
What time your hosts with choral lay, Nor warring winds, nor wintry seas,
Emerging from its kindred deep, Shall stop the progress Fate decrees ;
Applausive hail'd each verdant steep, For lo! Britannia calls to happier coasts, And white rock, glittering to the new-born day ! And vales more verdant far than soft Atesté boasts. Angelic bands, where'er ye rove
Whilst lock'd in sleep creation lies: “ Behold, with euphrasy I clear
Whether to genial dews above Thy visual nerve, and fix it there,
You melt the congregated skies, Where, crown'd with rocks grotesque and steep, Or teach the torrent streams below The white isle rises o'er the deep!
To wake the verdure of the vale, There glory rests. For there arrive
Or guide the varying winds that blow Thy chosen sons; and there attain
To speed the coming or the parting sail : To the first title Fate can give,
Where'er ye bend your roving flight, The father-kings of free-born men!
Whilst now the radiant lord of light Proceed; rejoice; descend the vale,
Winds to the north his sliding sphere, And bid the future monarchs hail !"
Avert each ill, each bliss improve, “ Hail, all hail," the hero cried ;
And teach the minutes as they move And Echo on her airy tide
To bless the opening year. Pursued him, murmuring down the mountain's side.
Already Albion's lifted spear, 'T was thus, 0 king, to heroes old
And rolling thunders of the main, The mountains breath'd the strain divine,
Which justice' sacred laws maintain, Ere yet her volumes Fame unrollid
Have taught the haughty Gaul to fear. To trace the wonders of thy line;
On other earths, in other skies,
Beyond old Ocean's western bound,
Though bleeds afresh th' eternal wound, ? Bavaria.
Again Britannia's cross triumphant flies. 3 Henry the Lion, duke of Bavaria, Saxony, &c. To British George, the king of isles, was one of the greatest heroes of the twelfth century. The tribes that rove th’ Arcadian snows, He united in his own person the hereditary do Redeem'd from Gallia's polish'd wiles, minions of five families. His claims upon Italy bin
Shall breathe their voluntary vows: dered him from joining with the emperor Frederic
Where Nature guards her last retreat,
Though Farne, with all her wreaths, attend
4 Nestoriæ brevitas senectæ. descended.
On bleeding war's tremendous sway,
FOR THE NEW-YEAR. 1760.
AGAIN the Sun's revolving sphere
Wakes into life th' impatient year,
The white-wing'd minutes haste:
And, spite of Fortune's fickle wheel,
Th' eternal Fates have fix'd their seal
Upon the glories of the past. -O southward seek the flying fair,
Suspended high in memory's fane, For not on poor Germanja's harass'd plain,
Beyond ev'n envy's soaring rage, Nor where the Vistula's proud current swells,
The deeds survive, to breathe again Nor on the borders of the frighted Seine,
In faithful history's future page; Nor in the depths of Russia's snows she dwells.
Where distant times shall wond'ring read Yet O, where'er, deserting freedom's isle,
Of Albion's strength, of battles won, She gilds the slave's delusive toil;
Of faith restor'd, of nations freed; Whether on Ebro's banks she strays,
Whilst round the globe her conquests run, Or sighing traces Taio's winding ways,
From the first blush of orient day, Or soft Ausonia's shores her feet detain,
To where descend his noontide beams,
On sable Afric's golden streams,
So much already hast thou prov'd
Of fair success, O best belov’d,
O first of favour'd isles !
What whiter boon has Heaven in store,
To bless thy monarch's ceaseless toils ? Wakes into willing voice th' accordant lays.
Each rising season, as it flows,
Each month exerts a rival claim;
Each day with expectation glows,
Each fleeting hour demands its fame. Or hail the star whose orient beam
Around thy genius waiting stands Shed influence on his natal hour,
Each future child of anxious time: What time the nymphs of Leyna's stream,
See how they press in shadowy bands, Emerging from their wat'ry bower,
As from thy fleecy rocks sublime
He rolls around prophetic eyes,
And earth, and sea, and Heaven surveys :
“ O grant a portion of thy praise! No. Haste to Scheld's admiring wave,
O bid us all,” they cry, “ with lustre rise!” Distinguish'd amidst thousands brave,
Genius of Albion, hear their prayer, Where the young warrior flesh'd his eager sword:
O bid them all with lustre rise ! While Albion's troops with rapture view'd
Beneath thy tutelary care, The ranks confus'd, the Gaul subdu'd,
The brave, the virtuous, and the wise, And hail'd, prophetic hail'd, their future lord,
Shall mark each moment's winged speed Waiting the chief's maturer nod,
With something that disdains to die, On his plum'd helmet vict'ry sate,
The hero's, patriot's, poet's meed, While suppliant nations round him bow'd,
And passport to eternity!
Around thy rocks while ocean raves,
As Nature's friends, must wage illustrious war.
Then be each deed with glory crown'd, But what are wreaths in battle won ?
Till smiling Peace resume her throne; And what the tribute of amaze
Till not on Albion's shores alone Which man too oft mistaken pays
The voice of freedom shall resound, To the vain idol sbrine of false renown?
But every realm shall equal blessings find,
And man enjoy the birth-right of his kind.
And woven by his subjects' hands.
FOR THE NEW-YEAR. 1761.
With groans of death, and sounds of war?
O'er bleeding millions, realms opprest,
The wreaths, so late by glory won, The tuneful mourner sinks distrest,
Shall weave their foliage round his throne, Or breathes but notes of woe:
Till kings, abash'd, shall tremble to be foes, And cannot Gallia learn to melt,
And Albion's dreaded strength secure the world's Nor feel what Britain long has felt
repose. For her insulting foe? Amidst her native rocks secure,
Her floating bulwarks hovering round,
FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1761.
'T was at the nectar'd feast of Jove, And bids the storms engage;
When fair Alcmena's son Inferior foes are dash'd and lost,
His destin'd course on Earth had run, As breaks the white wave on her coast
And claim'd the thrones above, Consum'd in idle rage.
Around their king, in deep debate, For alien sorrows heaves her generous breast, Conven'd, the heavenly synod sate, She proffers peace to ease a rival's pain:
And meditated boons refin'd Her crowded ports, ber fields in plenty drest,
To grace the friend of human kind: Bless the glad merchant, and th’industrious swain. When lo, to mark th' advancing god, Do blooming youths in battle fall ?
Propitious Hermes stretch'd his rod, True to their fame the funeral urn we raise;
The roofs with music rung ! And thousands, at the glorious call,
For, from amidst the circling choir, Aspire to equal praise.
Apollo struck th' alarming lyre,
And thus the Musés sung:
Th’ adventurous chief with zeal pursues; Ye gods, unbend the studious bow,
The fruitless search give o'er, Presh subjects for the British Muse.
Whilst we the just reward assign, Tremendous as th' ill-omen'd bird
Let Hercules with Hebe join,
And youth unite with power !”
O sacred Truth, in emblem drest!
Again the Muses sing, And Canada is ours.
Again in Britain's blooming king O potent queen of every breast
Alcides stands confest. Which aims at praise by virtuous deeds,
By temp'rance nurs'd, and early taught Where'er thy influence shines confest
To shun the smooth fallacious draught The hero acts, th' event succeeds.
Which sparkles high in Circe's bowl; Bnt ah! must Glory only bear,
To tame each hydra of the soul, Bellona-like, the vengeful spear?
Each lurking pest, which mocks its birth, To fill her mighty mind
And ties its spirit down to Earth, Must bulwarks fall, and cities flame,
Immers'd in mortal coil ; And is her amplest field of fame
His choice was that severer road
Which leads to virtue's calm abode,
And well repays the toil.
In vain ye tempt, ye specious harms, Must the mild Power who melts in vernal skies,
Ye flow'ry wiles, ye flatt'ring charms,
That breathe from yonder bower;
And Heav'n the just reward assigns,
For Hercules with Hebe joins,
And youth unites with power.
O, call'd by Heav'n to fill that awful throne,
Where Edward, Henry, William, George, have Whose polish'd brow and eye serene
shone, Proclaim him elder-born of peace?
(Where love with rev'rence, laws with power agree, Another George!-Ye winds convey
And 't is each subject's birthright to be free)
The fairest wreaths already won
Thy arduous task is now begun,
And, starting from a nobler goal,
Are thy compeers: extended high
The radiant lists before thee lie,
'T is time to urge thy daring flight,
FOR THE NEW-YEAR.
And heights untry'd explore:
To her own softness join'd the manly heart, O think what thou alone can'st give,
Sustain'd the soldier's drooping arms,
Confided in her genuine charms,
And yielded every ornament of art.
Should Gallia, obstinately vain,
And brave th' acknowledg'd masters of the main :
Should she through ling'ring years protract her fall,
Through seas of blood to her destruction wade, 1762.
Say, could ye feel the generous call, God of slaughter, quit the scene,
And own the fair example here portray'd ? Lay the crested belmet by;
Doubtless ye could. The royal dame Love commands, and beauty's queen
Would plead her dear adopted country's cause, Rules the power who rules the sky,
And each indignant breast unite its fame,
To save the land of liberty and laws.
And longs to close the gates of war.
FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1762.
“ Go, Flora,” (said th' impatient queen Receive the laws of love!
Who shares great Jove's eternal reign)
“ Go breathe on yonder thorn; Yet, if justice still requires
Wake into bloom th' emerging rose, Roman arts, and Roman souls,
And let the fairest flower that blows Britain breathes her wonted fires,
The fairest month adorn. And her wonted thunders rolls.
Sacred to me that month shall rise, Added to our fairer isle
Whatever contests' shake the skies Gallia mourns her bulwark gone:
To give that month a name: Conquest pays the price of toil,
Her April buds let Venus boast, Either India is our own.
Let Maia range her painted host;
But June is Juno's claim.
“ And goddess, know, in after times Each selfish, each contracted aim
(I name not days, I name not climes) To glory's more exalted claim
From Nature's noblest throes
A human flower shall glad the Earth;
Which bears the blushing rose.
Nations shall bless his mild command, If not the toils, and dangers of the war,
And fragrance fill th' exulting land, At least its glory. From the Baltic shore,
Where'er I fix his throne." From Runic virtue's native shore,
Britannia listend as she spok Fraught with the tales of ancient lore,
And from her lips prophetic broke, Behold a fair instructress come!
" The flower shall be my own.” When the fierce female tyrant of the north' Claim'd every realm her conquering arms could goddess of connubial love,
gain, When discord, red with slaughter, issuing forth,
Thou sister, and thou wife of Jove, Saw Albert struggling with the victor's chain;
To thee the suppliant voice we raise !
We name not months, we name not days, The storm beat high, and shook the coast,
For where thy smiles propitious shine, Th' exhausted treasures of the land
The whole prolific year is thine. Could scarce supply th' embattled host,
Accordant to the trembling strings, Or pay th' insulting foe's demand.
Hark, the general chorus swells, What then could beauty do 2? She gave
From every heart it springs, Her treasur'd tribute to the brave,
On every tongue it dwells.
Goddess of connubial love, i Margaret de Waldemar, called the Semiramis Sister thou, and wife of Jove, of the north. · In the year 1395, the ladies of Mecklenburgh, On ether's all-pervading tide,
Bid the genial powers that glide to support their duke Albert's pretensions to the
Or from the fount of life that stream erown of Sweden, and to redeem him when he was
Mingling with the solar beam, taken prisoner, gave up all their jewels to the public; for which they afterwards received great emoluments and privileges, particularly the right of Alluding to the contention between the godsuccession in fiefs, which had before been appro- desses in Ovid's Fasti, about naming the month of priated to males only.
Bid them here at virtue's shrine,
“ A people zealous to obey; In coastest danas or union join.
A monarch whose parental sway Till many a George and many a Charlotte prove, Despises regal art: How much to thee we owe, queen of connubial love! His shield, the laws which guard the land;
His sword, each Briton's eager hand;
His throne, each Briton's heart."
FOR THE NEW-YEAR. 1763.
FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1763. And frowning quits his toil:
Common births, like common things, Dash'd from his hand the bleeding spear
Pass unbeeded, or unknown: Now deigns a happier form to wear,
Time but spreads, or waves his wings, And peaceful turns the soil.
The phantom swells, the phantom's gone! Th' insatiate Furies of his train,
Born for inillions, monarchs rise Revenge, and Hate, and fell Disdain,
Heirs of infamy or fame. With heart of steel, and eyes of fire,
When the virtuous, brave, or wise, Who stain the sword which honour draws,
Demand our praise, with loud acclaim, Who sully virtue's sacred cause,
We twine the festive wreath, the shrines adorn, To Stygian depths retire.
'Tis not our king's alone, 't is Britain's natal morn, Unholy shapes, and shadows drear,
Bright examples plac'd on high The pallid family of Fear,
Shine with more distinguish'd blaze; And Rapine, still with shrieks pursued,
Thither nations turn their eye, And meagre Famine's squalid brood,
And grow virtuous as they gaze. Close the dire crew.-Ye eternal gates, display Thoughtless ease, and sportive leisure, Your adamantine folds, and shut them from the Dwell in life's contracted sphere; day!
Public is the monarch's pleasure,
Public is the monarch's care: For lo, in yonder pregnant skies
If Titus smiles, the observant world is gay; On billowy clouds the goddess lies,
If Titus frowns, or sighs, we sigh and lose a day! Whose presence breathes delight,
Around their couch, around their board Whose power th' obsequious seasons own,
A thousand ears attentive wait, And winter loses half his frowy),
A thousand busy tongues record And half her shades the night,
The smallest whispers of the great. Soft-smiling Peace! whom Venus bore,
Happy those whom truth sincere When tutor'd by th' enchanting lore
And conscious virtue join to guide! Of Maia's blooming son,
Can they have a foe to fear, She sooth'd the synod of the gods,
Can they have a thought to hide? Drove Discord from the blest abodes,
Nobly they soar above th’admiring throng, And Jove resum'd his throne.
Superior to the power, the will of acting wrong. Th' attendant Graces gird her round,
Such may Britain find her king!And sportive Ease, with locks unbound,
Such the Muse' of rapid wing And every Muse to leisure born,
Wafts to some sublimer sphere: And Plenty, with her twisted horn,
Gods and heroes mingle there. While changeful Conimerce spreads his loosen'd Fame's eternal accents breathe, sails,
(vails! Black Cocytus howls beneath; Blow as ye list, ye winds, the reign of Peace pre- Ev'n Malice learns to blush, and hides her stings,
- such may Britain ever find her kings!
FOR THE NEW-YEAR.
1765. Ye delegates of Heaven's high king, Who guide the years, the days, the hours
Sacred to thee, That float on Time's progressive wing,
O Commerce, daughter of sweet Liberty, Exert your influence, bid us know
Shall flow the annual strain ! From parent worth what virtues flow!
Beneath a monarch's fostering care Be to less happy realms resign'd
Thy sails unnumber'd swell in air, The warrior's unrelenting rage,
And darken half the main. We ask not kings of hero-kind,
From every cliff of Britain's coasts The storms and earthquakes of their age. We see them toil, thy daring hosts To ns be nobler blessings given:
Who bid our wealth increase, O teach us, delegates of Heaven,
Who spread our martial glory far,
Of industry in peace.
1 Pindar. VOL. XVII.