Still may the world, distinguish'd pair, behold
What bliss your country to this union owes!
Still to the winds her conqu'ring flags unfold,
And pour her strength collected on her foes!
And oh in glory's radiance tho' the flies.

Of envy float, on brisk but transient wing,
Their harmless rage regard with scornful eyes,
Nor heed their buzz,-you cannot fear their sting.
CRITO.

Ο

An Ode to Mr. PITT.

UR pray'rs unbrib'd, unpension'd, rise
For thee the fav'rite of the skies,
The guardian of the land:

For thee, defender of the laws,
The foremost in fair Freedom's cause,
The chief of Virtue's band.

Long may thy light thy country chear!
Thou minister without a peer,
Long may thy wisdom warm!
For, like the spring thy genial ray
Improves the sun, adorns the day,
And guards us all from harm.

Behold the ox in safety feeds,
And Ceres scatters all her seeds,
And Plenty smiles around.
Each ship triumphant rides the main,
Bright Honour dreads black Slander's stain,
And dances glad the ground.

Britannia now for battle burns,
Behold her genius now returns,

Her foes dismay'd with fear;

Her vengeance shall affright the brave,
Reduce the proud, and crush the slave,
If Pitt but points her spear.
Auspicious Pitt! thy glory beams
On Missisippi's silver streams,
And Ohio's savage shores;
It dazzles Afric's tawny race,
Inspires the noble, scares the base,
And ev'ry heart explores.

Now blest, and free, each Briton roves
Along his hills, or thro' his groves,

Nor fears the frowns of kings:
Enjoys himself (that bliss divine)
Or to the elm he joins the vine,

Or clears the bubbling springs.

Then

Then social quaffs the chearful bowl,
While gratitude inflames his soul,
And Pitt employs his praise;
In solemn pomp he crowns his bust,
Amidst the great, the good, and just,
With laurels, palms, and bays.

Oh! be it thine at last to close
The scene of war, of Europe's woes,
And hush the world to rest:
Bid Peace advance with placid mien,
Proclaim her sports on ev'ry green,
And let each land be blest.

This is our pray'r, when cool we rise,
Ere morning blushes streak the skies,
Or Phoebus sips the dew:
This is our pray'r, when thee we toast,
Auspicious Pitt! as Britain's boast,
And ev'ning joys renew.

ODE for his MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, Nov. 10, 1759.
By WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, Esq; Poet Laureat.

Strophe.

Bend whom liberty inspires
EGIN the song-Ye subject choirs,

Wakes into willing voice th' accordant lays.-
Say, shall we trace the hero's flame
From the first fost'ring gale of fame,
Which bade th' expanding bosom pant for praise?
Or hail the star, whose orient beam

Shed influence on his natal hour,
What time the nymphs of Leyna's stream,
Emerging from their wat'ry bower,

Sung their soft carols thro' each osier shade,
And for the pregnant fair invok'd Lucinda's aid?

Antistrophe.

No. Haste to Scheld's admiring wave,
Distinguish'd amidst thousands brave,
Where the young warrior flesh'd his eager sword;
While Albion's troops with rapture view'd
The ranks confus'd, the Gaul subdu'd,
And hail'd, prophetic hail'd, their future lord,

Waiting

Waiting the chief's maturer nod,

On his plum'd helmet Vict'ry sate,
While suppliant nations round him bow'd,

And Austria trembled for her fate,

Till, at his bidding, slaughter swell'd the Mayne,
And half her blooming sons proud Gallia wept in vain.

Epode.

But what are wreaths in battle won?
And what the tribute of amaze
Which man too oft mistaken pays
To the vain idol shrine of false renown?
The noblest wreath the monarch wears
Are those his virtuous rule demands,
Unstain'd by widows, or by orphan's tears,
And woven by his subjects' hands.
Comets may rise, and wonder mark their way
Above the bounds of nature's sober laws,
But 'tis th' all-chearing lamp of day,
The permanent, th' unerring cause,

By whom th' enliven'd world its course maintains,
By whom all nature smiles, and beauteous order reigns.

ODE for the NEW YEAR 1759.

Written by WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, Esq; Poet Laureat, and set by Dr. Boyce, master of his Majesty's band of music,

Strophe.

E guardian powers, to whose command,
At nature's birth, th' Almighty mind
The delegated task assign'd

To watch o'er Albion's favour'd land,
What time your hosts with choral lay,
Emerging from its kindred deep,
Applausive hail'd each verdant steep,

And white rock, glittering to the new-born day!
Angelic bands, where'er ye rove,

Whilst lock'd in sleep creation lies,
Whether to genial dews above

You melt the congregated skies,
Or teach the torrent streams below
To wake the verdure of the vale,
Or guide the varying winds that blow
To speed the coming or the parting sail;
Where'er you bend your roving flight,
Whilst now the ardent lord of light

Go, then, ye faithful guides
Of her returning steps, Angelic band,
Explore the sacred seats where Peace resides,
"And waves her olive wand.
Bid her the wastes of war repair.
-O'southward seek the flying fair.

For not on poor Germania's harass'd plain,

Nor where the Vistula's proud current swells,

Nor on the borders of the frighted Seine,

Nor in the depths of Russia's snows she dwells,

Yet O, where'er, deserting freedom's isle,

་

She gild's the slave's delusive toil,

Whether on Ebro's banks she strays,
Or sighing traces Taio's winding ways,
Or soft Ausonia's shores her feet detain,

O bring the wanderer back, with glory in her train.

FRIE

To the Rev. Mr. HURD. An Elegy.

RIEND of my youth, who, when the willing Muse Stream'd o'er my breast her warm poetic rays, Saw'st the fresh seeds their vital power diffuse,

And fed'st them with the fost'ring dew of praise!

Whate'er the produce of th' unthrifty soil,

The leaves, the flowers, the fruits, to thee belong: The labourer earns the wages of his toil;

Who form'd the poet, well may claim the song.

Yes, 'tis my pride to own, that taught by thee
My conscious soul superior flights essay'd;
Learn'd from thy lore the poet's dignity,

And spurn'd the hirelings of the rhyming trade.

Say, scenes of Science, say, thou haunted stream!
(For oft my muse-led steps did'st thou behold)
How on thy banks I rifled every theme,
That fancy fabled in her age of gold.

How oft I cry'd, "O come, thou tragic queen!
"March from thy Greece with firm majestic tread!
"Such as when Athens saw thee fill her scene,
"When Sophocles thy choral Graces led:

"Saw thy proud pall its purple length devolve,
"Saw thee uplift the glitt'ring dagger high,
"Ponder with fixed brow thy deep resolve

Prepar'd to strike, to triumph, and to die.

"Bring then to Britain's plain that choral throng, "Display thy buskin'd pomp, thy golden lyre, "Give her historic forms the soul of song,

"And mingle Attic art with Shakespear's fire." "Ah what, fond boy, dost thou presume to claim?" The Muse replied. "Mistaken suppliant, know, "To light in Shakespear's breast the dazzling flame "Exhausted all Parnassus could bestow.

"True; art remains; and, if from his bright page

Thy mimic power one vivid beam can seize,

"Proceed; and in the best of tasks engage,

"Which tends at once to profit, and to please."

She spake; and Harewood's towers spontaneous rose;
Soft virgin warblings echo'd thro' the
grove;

And fair Elfrida pour'd forth all her woes,
The hapless pattern of connubial love.

More