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Though like Flora thou array thee,
Finer than the painted bow ;
Carolina shall repay thee
All thy sweetness, all thy show.
She herself a glory greater
Than thy golden sun discloses ;
And her smiling offspring sweeter
Than the bloom of all thy roses.
ODE FOR THE NEW YEAR, 5717.
INTER! thou hoary venerable fire,
All richly in thy furry mantle clad ;
"What thoughts of mirth can feeble age inspire,
To make thy careful wrinkled brow so glad !
Now I see the reason plain,
Now I see thy jolly train :
Snowy-headed Winter leads,
Spring and Summer next succeeds ;
Yellow Autumn brings the rear,
Thou art father of the year.
While from the frosty mellow'd earth
Abounding plenty takes her birth,
The conscious fire exulting sees
The seasons spread their rich increase ;
So dusky night and chaos smild
On beauteous forin their lovely child.
O fair variety !
What bliss thou dost supply!
The foul brings forth the fair
To deck the changing year.
When our old pleasures die,
Some new one still is nigh ;
Oh! fair variety!
Our passions, like the seasons, turn;
And now we laugh, and now we mourn.
Britannia late oppress’d with dread,
Hung her declining drooping head:
A better visage now she wears,
And now at once she quits her fears :
Strife and war no more she knows,
Rebel fons nor foreign foes.
Safe beneath her mighty master,
In security se sits ;
Plants her loose foundations faster,
And her forrows paft forgets.
Happy ille! the care of heaven,
To the guardian hero given,
Unrepining still obey him,
Still with love and duty pay him.
Though he parted from thy shore,
While contesting kings attend him;
Could he, Britain, give thee more
Than the pledge he left behind him ?
ODE TO PEACE, FOR THE YEAR 1718.
HOU fairest, sweetest daughter of the skies,
Indulgent, gentle, life-restoring Peace!
With what auspicious beauties dost thou rise,
And Britain's new-revolving Janus bless!
Hoary winter smiles before thee,
Dances merrily along :
Hours and seasons all adore thee,
And for thee are ever young :
Ever, goddess, thus appear,
Ever lead the joyful year.
In thee the night, in thee the day is blest;
In thee the dearest of the purple east :
'Tis thine immortal pleasures to impart,
Mirth to inspire, and raise the drooping heart:
To thee the pipe and tuneful string belong,
Thou theme eternal for the poet's song.
Awake the golden lyre,
Ye Heliconian choir;
Swell every note still higher,
And melody inspire
At heaven and earth's desire.
Hark, how the sounds agree,
With due complacency!
Sweet Peace, 'tis all by thee,
For thou art harmony.
Who, by nature's fairest creatures,
Can describe her heavenly features ?
What comparison can fit her ?
Sweet are roses, she is sweeter ;
Light is good, but Peace is better.
Would you see her such as Jove
Form'd for universal love,
Bless'd by men and gods above?
you every feature trace, Every sweetly smiling grace ? Seek our Carolina's face.
Peace and the are Britain's treasures;
Fruitful in eternal pleasures :
Still their bounty fall increase us,
Still their smiling offspring bless us.
Happy day, when each was given
By Cæfar and indulging Heaven.
Hail, ye celestial pair!
Still let Britannia be your care,
And Peace and Carolina crown the year.
ODE FOR THE KING'S BIRTH-DAY, 1718.
H touch the string, celestial Muse, and say,
Why are peculiar times and seasons bleft ?
Is it in Fate, that one diftinguish'd day
Should with more hallow'd purple paint the Eak?
Look onl ife and nature's race!
How the careless minutes pafs,
How they wear a common face :
One is what another was !
Till the happy hero's worth
Bid the festival stand forth;
Till the golden light he crown,
Till he mark it for his own.
How had this glorious morning been forgot,
Unthought-of as the things that never were ;
Had not our greatest Cæsar been its lot,
And call'd it from amongst the vulgar year!