Supposed to have been written by
ELIJAH FENTON, 1705.
JANUS great leader of the rolling year,
Since all that's past no vows can e'er restore,
But joys and griefs alike, once hurried o'er,
No longer now deserves a smile or tear:
Close the fantastic scenes-but grace
With brightest aspects thy fore-face,
While Time's new offspring hasten to appear.
With lucky omens guide the coming hours,
Command the circling Seasons to advance,
And form their renovated dance,
With flowing pleasures fraught, and bless'd by friendly
Thy month, O Janus! gave me first to know
A mortal's trifling cares below:
My race of life began with thee.
Thus far, from great misfortunes free, Contented, I my lot endure,
Nor Nature's rigid laws arraign,
Nor spurn at common ills in vain,
Which Folly cannot shun, nor wise reflection cure.
But, oh!--more anxious for the year to come,
I would foreknow my future doom.
Then tell me, Janus, canst thou spy
Events that yet in embryo lie,
For me, in Time's mysterious womb ?
Tell me-nor shall I dread to hear
A thousand accidents severe;
I'll fortify my soul the load to bear,
If love rejected add not to its weight,
To finish me in woes, and crush me down with fate.
But if the Goddess, in whose charming eyes,
More clearly written than in Fate's dark book,
My joy, my grief, my all of future fortune lies;
If she must with a less propitious look
Forbid my humble sacrifice,
Or blast me with a killing frown;
If, Janus, this thou sees't in store,
Cut short my mortal thread, and now
Take back the gift thou didst bestow !
Here let me lay my burden down,
And cease to love in vain, and be a wretch no more.
BY WILLIAM HAMILTON OF BANGOUR, ESQ.
JANUS, who, with sliding pace,
Run'st a never-ending race,
And driv'st about, in prone career,
The whirling circle of the year,
Kindly indulge a little stay,
I beg but one swift hour's delay.
O! while th' important minutes wait,
Let me revolve the books of fate;
See what the coming year intends
To me, my country, kin, and friends.
Then mayst thou wing thy flight, and go,
To scatter, blindly, joys and woe;
Spread dire disease, or purest health,
And, as thou list, grant place or wealth.
This hour, with-held by potent charms,
Ev'n Peace shall sleep in Pow'r's mad arms;
Kings feel their inward torments less,
And for a moment wish to bless.
Life now presents another scene, The same strange farce to act again; Again the weary human play'rs
Advance, and take their several shares:
Clodius riots, Caesar fights,
Tully pleads, and Maro writes,
Ammon's fierce son controls the globe,
And Harlequin diverts the mob.
To Time's dark cave the year retreats,
These hoary unfrequented seats;
There from his loaded wing he lays
The months, the minutes, hours, and days;
Then flies, the seasons in his train,
To compass round the year again.
See there, in various heaps combin❜d, The vast designs of human kind;
Whatever swell'd the statesman's thought,
The mischiefs mad ambition wrought,
Public revenge and hidden guilt,
The blood by secret murder spilt,
Friendships to sordid interest given,
And ill-match'd hearts, ne'er paid in heav'n;
What Avarice, to crown his store,
Stole from the orphan and the poor;
Or Luxury's more shameful waste,
Squander'd on the unthankful feast.
Ye Kings, and guilty great, draw near;
Before this awful court appear:
Bare to the Muse's piercing eye
The secrets of all mortals lie;
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