ODE XV.

ON

THE DAY OF THE PUBLICATION

OF

MR. GIBBON's CONTINUATION OF HIS HISTORY;

WHICH WAS ALSO HIS BIRTH-DAY.

BY WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ;

GENII of England and of Rome!
In mutual triumph here assume
The honours each may claim!
This social scene with smiles survey!
And consecrate the festive day
To friendship and to fame !

Enough, by desolation's tide,
With anguish, and malignant pride,
Has Rome bewail'd her fate;

And mourn'd that time in havock's hour,
Defac'd each monument of power

To speak her truly great.

O'er maim'd Polybius, just and sage,
O'er Livy's mutilated page,

How deep was her regret

Touch'd by this queen, in ruin grand, See! Glory, by an English hand, Now pays a mighty debt.

Lo! sacred to the Roman name,

And rais'd, like Rome's immortal fame, By genius and by toil,.

The splendid work is crown'd to-day, On which oblivion ne'er shall prey, Nor envy make her spoil!

England, exult! and view not now
With jealous glance each nation's brow,
Where History's palm has spread!
In every path of liberal art,

Thy sons to prime distinction start,
And no superior dread.

Science for thee a Newton rais'd;
For thy renown a Shakspere blaz'd,
Lord of the drama's sphere!
In different fields to equal praise
See History now thy GIBBON raise
To shine without a peer 1

Eager to honour living worth,
And bless to-day the double birth,
That proudest joy may claim;
Let artless truth this homage pay,
And consecrate the festive day
To friendship and to fame.

ODE XVI.

ΤΟ

MR. ELLIS,

OCCASIONED BY A BEAUTIFUL PAINTING

OF

THE HON. GEORGE WALPOLE,

ONLY SON TO LORD WALPOLE, 1741.
(And late Earl of Orford.)

BY THE REV. THOMAS NEWCOMB, M. A.

WHILE Princes give thy art applause,
The royal eye which oft beguiles;
While Frederick on thy canvas awes,

And in thy frames Augusta smiles

;

Blush not, fam'd Artist, to descend
To forms as fair though born less high;
And the same colors nicely blend,

For William's and for Walpole's eye.

Though beauty's self from thy soft draught, We view more soft and beauteous still;

Once let the poet's humble thought

Direct the painter's forming quill.

His heart inflam'd with love of praise,

Thy pencil, artist, cannot swell; Then leave him to his poet's lays, When fir'd, and panting to excel.

Each outward charm thy color shews, Beauties less seen his thoughts employ; Who the kind friend and patriot views Just form'd, and opening in the boy.

Those looks the virgin's eye that bless
Thy hand may reach-but say whose art,
What pencil, can those gifts express,

Which please and touch a parent's heart?

'Tis thine to paint youth's native fire, On beauty's cheek the blush to raise; 'Tis ours each virtue to inspire,

To lend the gift, and after, praise.

Mankind may own the piece entire,

The Muses' skill, and thine admit; Beauty with sense could they admire, Good-nature join'd with manly wit.

When thus the sister-arts unite,

And make some favorite form their care,

Each eye the image must delight,

By turns presented kind and fair,