ODE FOR THE QUEEN'S BIRTH-DAY,

MAY 19, 1796.

WAK'D by the rosy-bosom'd hours,

From her soft couch bestrew'd with flowers,

Ambrosial Maia rose;

While from her brow the blooming wreath,
Perfum'd by Zephyr's fragrant breath,
Her hand indignant throws.

" 'Twas in my genial reign," she cried,
"A Monarch's love, a Nation's pride,
"First saw the light of day:

"Yet January's frozen arm,`、

"Hostile to Nature's fairest charm,

"Usurps the rights of May.

"Say,-Can his wintry storms compare
"With sweets that through the baliny air

66

My fingers lavish fling?

"Say, Can the glittering gems that grace,

--

"On his dark morn, the Courtly Race,

"Vie with the bloom of Spring?

VOL. III.

"Yet

"Yet while on his high-honour'd morn,
"As gold and gems the Court adorn,
"Loud swells the choral lay;
"My groves and roseate bowers among,
"No Muses hail with votive song

"Her real Natal Day."

Sweet glory of the vernal year!

Cease, cease thy plaints, for thou shalt hear

The votive numbers float;

Thy hours shall share the heartfelt praise
To Charlotte's worth that Virtue pays
In true though humble note.

How high in rank, in honours plac'ď,
By power how guarded and how grac'd,

Let January hear:

Each milder charity of life,

The Mother fond, the faithful Wife,
Shall greet thy listening ear.

For Merit that with native rays,
Superior to the dazzling blaze
By royal splendor shown,

In bright unborrow'd lustre drest,
Beams forth from purest Virtue's breast
Gives lustre to a Throne.

ODE

ODE

TO THE

RIGHT HON. HENRY ADDINGTON,

SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS,

ON THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER.

How faint of human joys the bloom!
How soon misfortune's baleful gloom
Can cloud our fairest morn;

Her freshest wreath though Virtue weaves,
Fell Sorrow 'mid the roseate leaves
Can plant her sharpest thorn.

While Senates with thy praise resound,
While by those nobler praises crown'd
Which conscious Worth bestows,
The fatal shaft, alas! was sped,

The Patriot droops his mournful head,
And filial sorrow flows.

For not the Stoic's marble breast,
Trick'd in Philosophy's proud vest,
Immures thy feeling heart:
To thee Affection's genial glow
And Human-kindness' milky flow

Their better charms impart.

Yet

Yet while a Parent's loss you mourn,
And o'er his monumental urn

The tears of sorrow shower;
Remember, e'en the setting ray
Of life beam'd forth meridian day
To cheer his parting hour.

For full of years, of worth, of fame,
Though Heaven at length his virtues claim,

It gave him first to see

Britain her civic garland twine

From flowers that bloom round Freedom's shrine,

And give the wreath to thee.

Long, long around thy honour'd brow

Fresh may its blushing glories blow,

Rich with perennial bloom;

Long with increasing lustre shed
Its honours round thy living head,
Then blossom o'er thy tomb.

TO A LADY.

WEEP not that Scandal's baleful art

Has tried to injure thee;

For when from Rancour's pois'nous dart
Were Wit and Beauty free?