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· Like Persians to the rising sun,

Respectful homage pay;
At George's birth our joys begun:

Salute the glorious day!'

ODE

FOR THÉ BIRTHDAY OF THE KING OF PRUSSIA.

Arma virumque cano.

VIRG.

MORE glorious than the comet's blaze,
That through the starry region strays;
From Zembla to the Torrid Zone,
The mighty name of Prussia's known.
Be banish'd from the books of fame,

Ye deeds in distant ages done;
Lost and inglorious is the name

Of Hannibal, or Philip's son: Could Greece or conquering Carthage sing A hero great as Prussia's king! Where restless envy can't explore,

Or flatter'd hope presume to fly;
Fate bade victorious Frederic soar,

For laurels that can never die.
Could Greece, &c.
His rapid bolts tremendous break

Through nations arm’d in dread array,
Swift as the furious blasts that shake

The bosom of the frighted sea. Could Greece, &c.

K

In vain, to shake the throne of Jove,

With impious rage the giants tried; 'Gainst Frederic's force the nations strove

In vain-their haughty legions died. Could Greece, &c. While prudence guides his chariot wheels,

Through virtue's sacred paths they roll; Immortal truth his bosom steels,

And guards him glorious to the goal.
Could Greece, &e.
The vengeful lance Britannia wields

In concert with her brave ally,
Saves her fair roses in the fields

Where Gaul's detested lilies die. Wreaths of eternal friendship spring, "Twixt mighty George and Prussia's king. The jocund bowl let Britons raise,

And crown the jovial board with mirth ; Fill-to great Frederic's length of days,

And hail the hero's glorious birthCould Greece or conquering Carthage sing A chieftain famed like Prussia's king!

COMPOSED FOR THE BIRTHDAY OF THE LATE

GENERAL LORD BLAKENEY. The Muses' harps, by concord strung!

Loud let them strike the festal lay,
Waked by Britannia's grateful tongue,

To hail her hero's natal day.
Arise, paternal glory! rise,
And lift your Blakeney to the skies!

Behold his warlike banners wave !

Like Britain's oak the hero stands : The shield- the shelter of the brave!

The guardian o'er the British bands ! Arise, paternal, &c. He wrests the wreath from Richelieu's' brows,

Which fraud or faction planted there;
France to the gallant hero bows,

And Europe's chiefs his name revere. .
Arise, paternal, &c.
With partial conquest on their side,

The sons of Gaul—a pageant crew!
Rank but inglorious in their pride,

'To Blakeney and his vanquish'd few. Arise, paternal, &c. Hibernia”, with maternal care,

His labour'd statue lifts on high:
Be partial, Time!--the trophy spare,

That Blakeney's name may never die.
Arise, paternal glory! rise,
And lift your Blakeney to the skies.

Commander of the expedition against Port Mahon. ? A statue was erected in Dublin to the memory of General Blakeney, who was a native of Ireland.

EPISTLES.

TO A YOUNG WIDOW.

LET bashful virgins, nicely coy,

Exalted rapture lose,
And, timid at untasted joy,

Through fearfulness refuse.
Will you—the pleasing conflict tried,

Though sure to conquer-fly?
If you—the sacred zone untied,

'Tis peevish to deny.
But if, my fair! the widow's name

Hold gracious with you still,
The God of Love has form’d a scheme

Obsequious to your will.
Take, take me to thy twining arms

(Oppress'd with warm desire), Where, conquer'd by such mighty charms,

A monarch might expire. Thou'lt be a widow every night

(Thy wondrous power confess'd!) And, as I die in dear delight,

My tomb shall be thy breast.

TO DELIA.

SAY, my charmer! right or wrong,
Say it from your heart or tongue:
Be sincere, or else deceive;
Say you love—and I'll believe.

TO CHLOE,

ON A CHARGE OF INCONSTANCY. How can Chloe think it strange, Time should make a lover change ? Time brings all things to an end, Courage can't the blow defend. See, the proud aspiring oak Falls beneath the fatal stroke: If on Beauty's cheek he preys, Straight the rosy bloom decays: Joy puts out his lambent fires, And, at Time's approach--expires.

How can Chloe think it strange, Time should make a lover change?

TO CHLOE,

IN AN ILL HUMOUR.

CONSIDER, sweet maid! and endeavour

To conquer that pride in thy breast; It is not a haughty behaviour Will set off thy charms to the best.

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