Ah-I could pity thee exil'd

From this secure retreat

I would not lose it to be styl'd
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.

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ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789.

WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF HIS MAJESTY'S

HAPPY RECOVERY.

I RANSACK'D, 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 shar'd
Already by some happier bard.

To modern times, with Truth to guide
My busy search, I next applied;
Here cities won, and fleets dispers'd

Urg'd loud a claim to be rehears'd,

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Deeds of unperishing renown,

Our fathers' triumphs, and our own.
Thus, as the bee, from bank to bow'r,
Assiduous sips at ev'ry flow'r,

But rests on none, till that be found,
Where most nectareous sweets abound,
So I from theme to theme display'd
In many a page historic stray'd,
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 æra cherish'd long by me,
Which joyful I will oft record,

And thankful at my frugal board;

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For then the clouds of eighty eight,
That threaten'd England's trembling state
With loss of what she least could spare,

Her sov'reign's tutelary care,

One breath of Heav'n, that cried-Restore! Chas'd, never to assemble more;

And far the richest crown on Earth,

If valued by it's wearer's worth,

The symbol of a righteous reign,

Sat fast on George's brows again.
and joy again possess'd

Then peace

Our Queen's long agitated breast,

Such joy and peace as can be known

By suff'rers like herself alone.

Who losing, or supposing lost

The good on Earth they valu'd most,
For that dear sorrow's sake forego

All hope of happiness below,

Then suddenly regain the prize,

And flash thanksgivings to the skies!

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O Queen of Albion, queen of Isles!

Since all thy tears were chang'd 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 answer'd pray'rs,
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 belov❜d where never seen.

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