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Bat chief in Europe, and in Europe's pride,
My Albion's favour'd realms, I rose ador’d; And pour'd my wealth, to other climes denyd,
From Amalthea's horn with plenty for'd. Ah me! for now a younger rival claims
My ravish'd honours, and to her belong My choral dances, and victorious games,
To her my garlands and triumphal fong. O say what yet untaited bounties now,
What purer joys await her gentler reign! Do lillies fairer, vi'lets sweeter blow?
And warbles Philomel a fofter strain?
Do morning suns in ruddier glory rise?
Does ev'ning fan her with serener gales?
Or wantons Plenty in her happier vales ?
Skirt the pale orient with ancertain day;
Thro'clouds embattled faintly wins her way. Pale, immature, the blighted verdure springs,
Nor mounting juices feed the swelling flow'r; Mute all the groves, nor Philomela sings
When Silence liftens at the midnight hour.
Nor wonder, man, that Nature's bashful face,
And op’ning charms her rude embraces fear: Is she not sprung of April's wayward race,
The fickly daughter of th' unripen'd year? With show'rs and sunshine in her fickle eyes,
With hollow smiles proclaiming treach'rous peace; With blushes, harb'ring in their thin disguise,
The blast that riots on the Spring's encrease. Is this the fair invested with my spoil
By Europe's laws, and Senates' stern command ? Ungen'rous Europe, let me fly thy foil,
And waft my treasures to a grateful land: Again revive on Afia's drooping shore
My Daphne's groves, or Lycia's ancient plain: Again to Afric's sultry fands restore
Embow'ring shades, and Lybian Ammon's fane: Or hafte to northern Zembla's savage coast,
There hush to filence elemental strife; Brood o'er the region of eternal Frost,
And swell her barren womb with heat and life. Then Britain here the ceas'd. Indignant grief,
And partings pangs her fault’ring tongue supprest : Veil'd in an amber cloud, she fought relief,
And tears, and filent anguish told the rest.
E belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things,
Who trip in this frolickfome round,
The sexes at once to confound :
With each motion design'd to perplex?
May call ev'ry art to her aid :
Are famples she gives of her trade.
And whom Pride has preserv'd from the fnare;
Not with open and infolent air.
Shrinks modestly back from the view,
To serve as a model for you.
Nor venture too much to reveal ;
Are charms which no art can procure ;
And your empire is solid and fure.
And put us in fear of our lives,
well for fifters and aunts, But believe me you'll never be wives. osoofotod
oincioalook The BENEDICIT E Paraphrased.
By the Rev. Mr. MERRICK.
In earth his footstool, heaven his throne,
II. Ye angels, that with loud acclaim Admiring view'd the new-born frame,
And hail'd th' eternal King; Again proclaim your Maker's praise, Again your thankful voices raise, And touch the tuneful tring.
To fix his aweful throne :
With us your voices raise ; From age to age extend the lay, To heav'n's eternal Monarch pay Hymns of eternal praise.
V. Cæleftial orb!--whose pow'rful ray Opes the glad eyelids of the day,
Whose influence all things own ; Praise him, whose courts effulgent shine With light, as far excelling thine,
As thine the paler moon.