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And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn,
And Folly pays, resound at your return.
A calm succeeds-but Plenty, with her train
Of heart-felt joys, succeeds not soon again,
And years of pining indigence must show
What scourges are the gods that rule below.

Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees,
(Such is his thirst of opulence and ease,)
Plies all the sinews of industrious toil,
Gleans up the refuse of the gen'ral spoil,
Rebuilds the tow'rs, that smok'd upon the plain,
And the sun gilds the shining spires again.

Increasing commerce and reviving art Renew the quarrel on the conqu'ror's part; And the sad lesson must be learn'd once more, That wealth within is ruin at the door. What are ye, monarchs, laurell'd heroes, say, But Etnas of the suff'ring world ye sway? Sweet Nature, stripp'd of her embroider'd robe, Deplores the wasted regions of her globe; And stands a witness at Truth's awful bar, To prove you there destroyers as ye are.

O place me in some Heav'n-protected islc, Where Peace, and Equity, and Freedom smile: Where no volcano pours his fiery flood,

No crested warriour dips his plume in blood;
Where Pow'r secures what Industry has won ;
Where to succeed is not to be undone;
A land, that distant tyrants hate in vain,
In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign?

ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL, WHICH THE OWNER OF HIM SOLD AT THE AUTHOR'S INSTANCE

GO-thou art all unfit to share
The pleasures of this place
With such as its old tenants are,
Creatures of gentler race.

The squirrel here his hoard provides
Aware of wintry storms,

And wood-peckers explore the sides
Of rugged oaks for worms.

The sheep here smooths the knotted thorn
With frictions of her fleece;

And here I wander eve and morn,
Like her, a friend to peace.

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.
18

VOL. II.

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,
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 historick 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 era cherish'd long by me,
Which joyful I will oft record,
And thankful at my frugal board;

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

One breath of Heaven, that cried-Restore!

Chas'd, never to assemble more;

And far 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 possess'd
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 valu'd most,
For that dear sorrows' 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 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.

HYMN,

For the use of the Sunday School at Olney.
HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and pray r
In heav'n thy dwelling place,
From infants made the publick 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 than we,

What hope that at our heedless age,

Our minds should e'er be free?

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