GLEE for Five Voices. Dr. CALLCOTT.-Prize, 1792. FATHER of heroes! high dweller of eddying winds, where the dark-red thunder marks the troubled clouds; open thou thy stormy halls; let the bards of old be near. We sit at the rock, but there is no voice; no light but the meteor of fire. O! from the rock on the hill, from the top of the windy steep! O! speak, ye ghosts of the dead! O! whither are ye gone to rest? In what cave of the hill shall we find the departed? No feeble voice is on the gale; no answer half-drown'd in the storm! Father of heroes! The people bend before thee; thou turnest the battle in the field of the brave! thy terrors pour the blasts of death! Thy tempests are before thy face! But thy dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields of thy rest are pleasant. Ossian. FROM THE ODE TO LIBERTY. R. SPOFFORTH.-Prize, 1810. FILL high the grape's exulting stream, Senec. Hippolyt. Act II. Sc. 2. GLEE for Four Voices. C. EVANS.-Prize, 1812. FILL all the glasses, fill them high, Drink and defy all pow'r but Love; Wine gives the slave his liberty, But Love makes a slave of thundering Jove. Then drink, then drink away, Make a night of the day, 'Tis nectar, 'tis liquor divine; The pleasures of life, Free from anguish and strife, Are owing to Love, and good wine. Shakspeare's Henry the Fourth. GLEE for Five Voices. S. WEBBE.-Prize, 1778. GREAT Bacchus, O aid us to sing thy great glory, Thou chief of the gods we assemble before thee: Mankind's protector; Hail patron of social delights! we adore thee! All who confessing, No pow'r on earth can with thine be compar❜d. S. Webbe. REGNIER'S EPITAPH. GLEE for Four Voices. Dr. COOKE. GAILY I liv'd, as ease and nature taught, And spent my little life without a thought; GLEE for Four Voices. Dr. CALLCOTT.-Prize, 1789. Go, idle boy, I quit thy bow'r, Thy couch of many a thorn and flow'r, Merry. GLEE for Five Voices. R. SPOFFORTH. Good night, good rest;-Ah! neither be my share : Farewell, (quoth she,) and come again to-morrowW; Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, It may be again to make me wander thither. Were I with her, the night would post too soon, Yet not for me, shine sun—to succour flowers. H GLEE for Four Voices. GREAT Apollo, strike the lyre, Sure, no mortal sweeps the strings; Listen!-'tis Apollo sings! GLEE for Five Voices. S. WEBBE. H. Read, Dr. COOKE. GALES of ev'ning, while she slumbers, Fan my fair to soft repose; Now my lyre, in softest numbers, Dare my secret wish disclose. Should she wake, the song disdaining, I must lose my fleeting joy. Colier. |