Ah!-I could pity the exiled
From this secure retreat-
I would not lose it to be styled
The happiest of the great.
But thou canst taste no calm delight;
Thy pleasure is to show
Thy magnanimity in fight,
Thy prowess-therefore go
I care not whether east or north,
So I no more may find thee;
The angry muse thus sings thee forth,
And claps the gate behind thee
ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789.
Written in Commemoration of his Majesty's happy Recovery
I RANSACKED, for a theme of song,
Much ancient chronicle and long;
I read of bright embattled fields,
Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields,
Of chiefs whose single arm could boast
Prowess to dissipate a host;
Through tomes of fable and of dream
I sought an eligible theme,
But none I found, or found them shared
Already by some happier bard.
To modern times, with Truth to guide
My busy search, I next applied;
Here cities won and fleets dispersed,
Urged loud a claim to be rehearsed,
Deeds of unperishing renown,
Our fathers' triumphs and our own.
Thus, as the bee, from bank to bower,
Assiduous sips at every flower,
But rests on none, till that be found,
Where most nectareous sweets abound.
So I from theme to theme displayed
In many a page historic strayed,
Siege after siege, fight after fight,
Contemplating with small delight.
(For feats of sanguinary hue
Not always glitter in my view ;)
Till settling on the current year
I found the far-sought treasure near:
A theme for poetry divine,
A theme t' ennoble even mine,
In memorable eighty-nine.
The spring of eighty-nine shall be
An era cherished long by me,
Which joyful I will oft record,
And thankful at my frugal board
For then the clouds of eighty-eight,
That threatened England's trembling state
With loss of what she least could spare
Her sovereign's tutelary care,
One breath of Heaven, that cried-Restore!
Chased, never to assemble more:
And for the richest crown on earth,
If valued by its wearer's worth,
The symbol of a righteous reign
Sat fast on George's brows again.
Then peace and joy again possessed
Our Queen's long-agitated breast;
Such joy and peace as can be known
By sufferers like herself alone,
Who losing, or supposing lost,
The good on earth they valued most,
For that dear sorrow's sake forego
All hope of happiness below,
Then suddenly regain the prize,
And flash thanksgivings to the skies!
O Queen of Albion, Queen of isles! Since all thy tears were changed to smiles,
The eyes, that never saw thee, shine
With joy not unallied to thine,
Transports not chargeable with art
Illume the land's remotest part,
And strangers to the air of courts,
Both in their toils and at their sports,
The happiness of answered prayers,
That gilds thy features, show in theirs.
If they who on thy state attend,
Awe-struck before thy presence bend,
"Tis but the natural effect
Of grandeur that ensures respect;
But she is something more than Queen,
Who is beloved where never seen.
FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY.
HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and prayer,
In Heaven thy dwelling place,
From infants made the public care,
And taught to seek thy face.
Thanks for thy word, and for thy day
And grant us, we implore, Never to waste in sinful play
Thy holy sabbaths more.
Thanks that we hear,-but O impart
To each desires sincere,
That we may listen with our heart,
And learn as well as hear.
For if vain thoughts the minds engage
Of older far then we,
What hope, that, at our heedless age,
Our minds should e'er be free?
Much hope, if thou our spirits take
Under thy gracious sway,
Who canst the wisest wiser make,
And babes as wise as they.
Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows.
A sun that ne'er declines,
And be thy mercies showered on those
Who placed us where it shines.
Subjoined to the Yearly Bill of Mortality of the Parish of All-Saints, Nerta
ampton, Anno Domini, 1787.
Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,
Regumque turrés.
Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door
Of royal halls, and hovels of the poor.
WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run
The Nen's barge-laden wave,
All these, life's rambling journey done,
Have found their home, the grave.
Was man (frail always) made more frail
Than in foregoing years?
Did famine or did plague prevail,
That so much death appears?
No; these were vigorous as their sires,
Nor plague nor famine came;
This annual tribute Death requires,
And never waives his claim.
Like crowded forest-trees we stand,
And some are marked to fall;
The axe will smite at God's command,
And soon shall smite us all.
Green as the bay-tree, ever green,
With its new foliage on,
• Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampton.
The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen,
1 passed-and they were gone.
Read, ye that run, the awful truth,
With which I charge my page;
A worm is in the bud of youth,
And at the root of age.
No present health can health ensure
For yet an hour to come;
No medicine, though it oft can cure
Can always balk the tomb.
And O! that humble as my lot,
And scorned as in my strain,
These truths, though known, too much forgot,
I may not teach in vain.
So prays your clerk with all his heart,
And ere he quits the pen,
Begs you for once to take his part,
And answer all-Amen!
Quod adest, memento
Componere æquus. Cætera fluminis
Improve the present hour, for all beside
Is a mere feather on a torrent's tide.
COULD I, from heaven inspired, as sure presage
To whom the rising year shall prove his last,
As I can number in my punctual page,
And item down the victims of the past;
How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet,
On which the press might stamp him next to die;
And, reading here his sentence, how replete
With anxious meaning, heavenward turn his eye
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