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ODE for the KING'S BIRTH-DAY, June 4, 1776; written by William Whitehead, Efq; Poet Laureat.

YE

E western gales, whofe genial breath
Unbinds the glebe, till all beneath
One verdant livery wears :

You foothe the fultry heats of noon,
Add softness to the fetting fun,

And dry the morning's tears.

This is your feafon, lovely gales,
Thro' æther now your power prevails;
And our dilated breafts fhall own
The joys which flow from you alone.

Why, therefore, in yon dubious sky,
With out-fpread wing, and eager eye,
On diftant fcenes intent,

"Sits expectation in the air"-
Why do alternate hope and fear
Sufpend some great event?

Can Britain fail?-The thought were vain!
The powerful emprefs of the main
But ftrives to fmooth th' unruly flood,
And dreads a conqueft ftain'd with blood.

While yet, ye winds, your breezy balm
Thro' nature spreads a general calm,
While yet a paufe tell difcord knows;
Catch the foft moment of repose,

Your genuine powers exert ;
To pity melt the obdurate mind,
Teach every bofom to be kind,
And humanize the heart.

Propitious gales, O wing your way!
And while we hail that rightful fway

Whence temper'd freedom springs,
The blifs we feel to future.times
Extend, and from your native climes

Bring peace upon your wings!

ARISTOTLE's

ARISTOTLE's HYMN to VIRTUE, in MEMORY of HERMIAS.

Tranflated from the Greek. By Dr. BURNEY.

IRTUE! thou fource of pure delight,
Whofe rugged mien can ne'er affright
The man with courage fir'd;

For thee the fons of Greece have run
To certain ills, which others shun,
And gloriously expir'd.

Whene'er thy facred feeds take root,
Immortal are the flow'rs and fruit,
Unfading are the leaves;
Dearer than fmiles of parent kind,
Or balmy fleep, or gold refin'd,
The joys thy triumph gives.

For thee the twins of mighty Jove,
For thee divine Alcides ftrove,
From Vice the world to free;
For thee Achilles quits the light,
And Ajax plunges into night,
Eternal night for thee.

Hermias, the darling of mankind,
Shall leave a deathlefs name behind,
For thee untimely flain;

As long as Love's bright altars blaze,
His worth fhall furnish grateful praise
To all the Mufes train.

AMERICA.

Addreffed to the Rev. Dean TuCKER.

Said to be written by SOA ME JENYNS, Esq.

C

ROWN'D be the man with lafting praise,

Who first contriv'd the pin

To loofe mad horses from the chaise,

And fave the necks within.

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Picture of the domeftic Life and Manners of the Antient Knights; being the Opening of a most ingenious elegant Poem, entitled, SIR ELDRED of the BowER, a Legendary Tale, by Mifs HANNAH MOORE.

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Tho' kind and gentle as the dove,
As free from guile and art,
And mild, and foft as infant-love,
The feelings of his heart;

Yet if diftruft his thoughts engage,
Or jealousy inspires,

His bofom wild and boundless rage
Inflames with all its fires:

Not Thule's waves fo wildly break
To drown the northern fhore;
Not Etna's entrails fiercer fhake,
Or Scythia's tempests roar.

As when in fummer's sweetest day,
To fan the fragrant morn,
The fighing breezes foftly stray
O'er fields of ripen'd corn;

Sudden the lightning's blaft defcends,
Deforms the ravag'd fields;

At once the various ruin blends,
And all refiftless yields.

But when to clear his stormy breaft,
The fun of reason fhone,
And ebbing paffions funk to reft,
And fhew'd what rage had done :

O then what anguish he betray'd!
His shame how deep, how true!
He view'd the wafte his rage had made,
And fhudder'd at the view.

The meek-ey'd dawn, in faffron robe,
Proclaim'd the opening day;
Up rofe the fun to gild the globe,
And hail the new-born May ;

The birds their amorous notes repeat,
And glad the vernal grove,

Their feather'd partners fondly greet
With many a fong of love;

When pious ELDRED walk'd abroad
His morning vows to pay,

And hail the univerfal Lord
Who gave the goodly day.

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