AIR.

Rise, youth-thy country calls thee from thy shade;

Behold her tears,

And hear her cries;
Religion fears,

And Freedom dies,

Amid the horrors of War's dreadful trade.

Thy country groans: forego thy shade-
'Tis Honor calls thee to her aid.

CHORUS.

Thy country groans: forego thy shade-
'Tis Honor calls thee to her aid.

RECITATIVE.

The youth awoke—and starting wide,
Sleep, with its vision, left his side.
His soul th' idea fill'd alone:

The heroic form, the piercing tone
Of Honor on his memory play'd,
And all his heart confess'd the heav'nly maid.

AIR.

Sweet object of my choice,

Adieu, thou calm recess !

My bleeding Country's voice
Tears me from thy embrace.

From musing water-falls,

From shades and flow'ry meads,

'Tis virtuous Honor calls,

And princely WILLIAM leads.

From all a father's love,

From all a nation's care,

Behold where BRITAIN'S Jove

Sends forth his God of war:

'Gainst mountains cap'd with snows,

'Gainst foul Rebellion's rage

The willing Hero goes

Gigantic war to wage.—

The gen'rous heart what flow'ry scenes can please, Or tempt to waste his youth in useless ease!

CHORUS.

The gen'rous heart what flow'ry scenes can please, Or tempt to waste his youth in useless ease!

CANTATA II.

THE POET.

AIR.

GIVE me, indulgent Muse, to rove
The mazes of thy laurell'd grove,

To chuse a wreath for WILLIAM's brow
Above Sybilla's golden bough.

RECITATIVE.

I walk-I wander here and there-
How can I chuse, where all is fair?
This I prefer, and that refuse-
Guide me, my still-inspiring Muse,
I said, and pluck'd the chosen wreath :
Large drops of blood distill'd beneath;
A sigh now shook the weeping tree,
And thus a vocal sound

Brake from the recent wound,
And set the form of beauteous Daphne free.

AIR.

Coy Daphne you behold in me;
For William's sake I willing bleed.
No wreath but this from Phoebus' tree
Is worthy him who Britain freed.

Less fair was Phoebus' chace for unsought fame,
Be his the wreath, who woo'd and won the dame.

CANTATA III.

THE PAINTER.

AIR.

SWEET mimic thou of Nature's face,

Thy pencil take, thy color spread;
On thy canvas curious trace

Every virtue, every grace,

That hovers round our WILLIAM's head.

RECITATIVE.

Let Victory before him fly,

And Fortitude with stedfast eye;

Let Prudence with her mirror haste,
Studious of future by the past;
With Industry in vigor blooming,

And Science knowing much, yet less assuming.
To group the piece, and swell the train,
With Hydra heads Rebellion draw,

Spouting at every vein

The blood of thousands slain;

Thousands too few to glut her rav'nous maw: Paint her panting, sinking, dying,

Paint her sons at distance flying:

Paint Britannia full of smiles,

Scarce recover'd from her toils:

Paint Justice ready to avenge her pain,

Dragging the monster in her massy chain.

Near her paint Mercy crown'd: soft-smiling let her stand,

With arm out-stretch'd to stop her just, determin'd

hand.

AIR.

Cease to declaim, the artist cries,

Of every virtue, every grace,-
See, by degrees the features rise:

Behold them all in WILLIAM's face.