You too, ye British dames, may share When discord, red with slaughter, issuing forth, Or pay th' insulting foe's demand. ■ Margaret de Waldemar, called the Semiramis of the north. In the year 1995, the ladies of Mecklenburgh, to support their duke Albert's pretensions to the crown of Sweden, and to redeem him when he was taken prisoner, gave up ali their jewels to the public; for which they afterwards received great emoluments and privileges, particularly the right of succession in fiefs, which had before been appropriated to males only. To her own softness join'd the manly heart, To her own ruin urge despair, 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, Say, could ye feel the generous call, And own the fair example here portray'd? Doubtless ye could. The royal dame Would plead her dear adopted country's cause, And each indignant breast unite its flame, To save the land of liberty and laws. ODE VIII. FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1762. "Go, Flora," (said th' impatient queen Who shares great Jove's eternal reign) "Go breathe on yonder thorn; Wake into bloom th' emerging rose, And let the fairest flower that blows The fairest month adorn. Sacred to me that month shall rise, Whatever contests' shake the skies To give that month a name: Her April buds let Venus boast, Let Maia range her painted host; But June is Juno's claim. "And goddess, know, in after times A human flower shall glad the Earth, O goddess of connubial love, On every tongue it dwells. Or from the fount of life that stream Alluding to the contention between the goddesses in Ovid's Fasti, about naming the month of June. Ar length th' imperions lord of war And frowning quits his toil: With heart of steel, and eyes of fire, To Stygian depths retire. Unholy shapes, and shadows drear, The pallid family of Fear, And Rapine, still with shrieks pursued, Close the dire crew.-Ye eternal gates, display Your adamantine folds, and shut them from the day! For lo, in yonder pregnant skies Whose presence breathes delight, And half her shades the night, Th' attendant Graces gird her round, And sportive Ease, with locks unbound, And every Muse to leisure born, And Plenty, with her twisted horn, ODE X. FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1763. COMMON births, like common things, Pass unheeded, or unknown: Time but spreads, or waves his wings, The phantom swells, the phantom's gone! Born for millions, monarchs rise Heirs of infamy or fame. When the virtuous, brave, or wise, Demand our praise, with loud acclaim, We twine the festive wreath, the shrines adorn, 'Tis not our king's alone, 't is Britain's natal morn. Bright examples plac'd on high Shine with more distinguish'd blaze; And grow virtuous as they gaze. Public is the monarch's care: If Titus smiles, the observant world is gay; A thousand busy tongues record Can they have a thought to hide? Wafts to some sublimer sphere: Blow as ye list, ye winds, the reign of Peace pre-Ev'n Malice learns to blush, and hides her stings. And lo, to grace that milder reign, The warrior's unrelenting rage, The storms and earthquakes of their age. To us be nobler blessings given: O teach us, delegates of Heaven, Future subjects, future kings, Shall bless the fair example shown, And from our character transcribe their own: VOL. XVII. On woven wings, To where, in orient clime, the grey dawn springs, Sheds its last blush, their course they steer, Led by the lord of day. Whate'er the frozen poles provide, Of herb, or root, or gem, or ore, And waft them all to Thames. When Spain's proud pendants wav'd in western skies, These sacred waves no keel shall rend, "Know, ye rash adventurous bands, To crush your high-blown pride, Not for yourselves, or native lands, And won the cherub Health to crown A nation's prayer, and ease that breast The Sun-beams mingle with the breeze, And his own month, which Health's gay livery wears, On the sweet prospect smiles of long succeeding years. ODE XIII FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1766. HAIL to the man, so sings the Hebrew bard, Whose numerous offspring grace his genial board: Heaven's fairest gift, Heaven's best reward, To those who honour, who obey his word. What shall he fear, though drooping age Unnerve his strength, and pointless sink his spear; In vain the proud, in vain the mad shall rage; He fears his God, and knows no other fear. Lo! at his call a duteous race Spring eager from his lov'd embrace, You brave the seasons, and you stem the tide. To shield the sire from whom their virtues rose; Nor Betis', nor Iberus' stream, Nor Tagus with his golden gleam, The dear-bought treasures of these worlds unknown. By me conducted, shall exert their claims, ODE XII. FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, June 4, 1765. HAIL to the rosy morn, whose ray Now wears its brightest bloom; On wings that breathe perfume. The lark in air that warbling floats, The wood-birds with their tuneful throats, The streams that murmur as they flow, The flocks that rove the mountain's brow, The herds that through the meadows play, Proclaim 't is Nature's holiday! And shall the British lyre be mute, Nor thrill through all its trembling strings, With oaten reed, and pastoral flute, Whilst every vale responsive rings? Who makes the season doubly gay: And fly at each rever'd command, So Edward fought on Cressy's bleeding plain, Who now with prattling infancy relieves To guard the monarch's right, and people's weal; But sung the truths you feel. At every step the breezes blew Soft and more soft: the lengthen'd view Did fairer scenes expand: Unconscions of approaching foes, Not Britain so. For nobler ends From cultur'd fields, from fleecy downs, From vales that wear eternal bloom, From peopled farms, and busy towns, Where shines the ploughshare, and where sounds To sandy deserts, pathless woods, [the loom, Impending steeps, and headlong floods, She sends th' industrious swarm : To where self-strangled Nature lies, Till social art shall bid her rise From chaos into form. Thus George and Britain bless mankind.→ And lest the parent realm should find Her numbers shrink, with flag unfurl'd She stands, th' asylum of the world. From foreign strands new subjects come, New arts accede a thousand ways, For here the wretched finds a home, And all her portals Charity displays. From each proud master's hard command, From tyrant Zeal's oppressive hand, What eager exiles fly! "Give us," they cry, "'t is Nature's cause, O give us liberty and laws, Beneath a harsher sky!" Thus George and Britain bless mankind.- Britannia from each rocky height Afar, impatient for the freight, See! the whole western world expecting stands! The woodman's stroke the forests feel, ODE XV. FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, June 4, 1767. FRIEND to the poor!-for sure, O king, And bend at Mercy's shrine. In vain had Nature deign'd to smile Emerging from the main : In vain the genial source of day For Britain's fertile plain : Their fost'ring dews distill'd: And crown'd the laughing field: Strong panic terrours shook the land; Th' obdurate breast, the griping hand Were almost taught to spare ; For loud misrule, the scourge of crimes, Whilst real Want, with sigh sincere, FOR THE NEW-YEAR. 1768. LET the voice of Music breathe, And promis'd the return of May. Yon ruffian blasts, whose pinions sweep Impetuous o'er our northern deep, Shall cease their sounds of war: Poets should be prophets too,- Amidst his flocks, whom Nature leads Let the voice of Music breathe! Regardless of the peasant's tear, No more shall George, whose parent breast Or hear one sigh of real woe: And in his people's joy, the monarch too be blest. ODE XVII. FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1768. PREPARE, prepare your songs of praise, To her own monarch of the main. Whence Commerce first her wings essay'd, To that imaginary deity, Who bade him boldly seize the empire of the sea. His front with snow-white fillets bound; Nor Libanus, nor Carmel's brow, We too have herds, and steeds, beside the rills That feed and rove, protected, o'er a thousand hills. Secure, while George the sceptre sways, ODE XVIII. FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1769. Judgment shall frame each chaste design, The sportive artist roam : Whether the breathing bust he forms, To own severer laws : Through osier twigs th' Acanthus rose: But 't was his skill to please, When great Apelles, pride of Greece, Despairing to succeed, What though the missile vengeance pass'd From his rash hand, the random cast Might dash the foam, but skill had form'd the steed. Nor less the Phidian arts approve Labour, and patient care, Whate'er the skilful artists trace, Laccoon's pangs, or soft Antinous' face. By skill, with that diviner air The Delian god does all but move; 'T was skill gave terrours to the front of Jove, To Venus every grace. -And shall each sacred seat, The vales of Arno, and the Tuscan stream, No more on sweet Hymettus' summits dream Trace with awe the dear remains Of mould'ring urns, and mutilated fanes ? [flame. (Whom will, whom int'rest, and whom duty And Albion gladly own from whence she caught the draws Still shall her studious youth repair, To every clime which art has known; |