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Now by swiftest Zephyrs drawn,
Urge thy chariot o'er the lawn,
In yon gloomy grotto laid,
* PALEMON asks thy kindly aid ;
If goodness can that aid engage,
O hover round the virtuous sage:
Nor let one figh for his own fuff rings rise;
Each human fuff'ring fills his sympathizing eyes.
Venus. from Æneas' fide
With successful efforts try'd
To extract th' envenom'd dart,
That baffled wise lapis' art,
If thrus, Hygeia, thou couldst prove
Propitious to the queen of love,
Now on thy favour'd HeBeRDEN bestow
Thy choiceft healing pow'rs, for Pallas aks them now.
What tho', banish'd from the fight,
To the hero's troubled fight;
Ranks on ranks tumultuous rose
Of flying friends and conqu’ring foes;
He only panted to obtain
A laurel wreath for thousands slain;
On nobler views intent, the Sage's mind
Pants to delight, instruct, and humanise mankind.
Sent to his Grace the Lord Archbishop of Can
TERBURY, March 12, 1754.
By FRANCIS FAWKES, A. M.
RIGHT God of day, whose genial power
Revives the buried feed,
That spreads with foliage every bower,
With verdure every mead,
Bid all thy vernal breezes fly,
Diffusing mildness thro' the sky;
Give the soft season to our drooping plains,
Sprinkled with rosy dews, and falutary rains.
Enough ha's Winter's hand fevere
Hurl'd all his terrors, round,
Chill'd the fair dawning of the year,
And whiten'd all the ground:
Give but thy vital beams to play,
The frozen scenes will melt away ;
And, mix in sprightly dance, the blooming Hours'
Will’wake the drowsy Spring, and Spring awake the flowers.
Let Health, gay daughter of the kies,
On Zephyr's wings descend,
And scatter pleasures as she flies
Where Surry's downs extend;
There Herring wooes her friendly power,
There may she all her roses shower,
To heal that shepherd all her balms employ,
So will the footh our fears, and give a nation joy.
Ah me! that Virtue's godlike friends
So soon are claim'd by Fate !
Lo! * PELHAM to the
The bulwark of the state :
When will fair Truth his equal find
Among the best of human kind?
Long be the fatal day with mourning kept !
AUGUSTUS figh'd fincere, and all the worthy wept.
Thy delegate, kind heaven restore
To health, and safely keep ;
Let good Augustus figh no more,
No more the worthy weep :
And still upon the royal head
The riches of thy blessing shed :
Establish'd with his counsellors around,
Long be his profp'rous reign, and all with glory crown'd.
* The Right Honourable Henry Pelham, Esq; died on the 6th of March 1754.
ET once more, glorious God of day,
While beams thine orb ferene,
o let me warbling court thy fay
To gild the fading scene!
Thy rays invigorate the Spring,
Bright Summer to perfection bring;
The cold, inclement days of Winter chear,
And make th’ Autumnal months the mildest of the year,
Ere yet the raffet foliage fall,
I'll climb the mountain's brow,
My friend, my Hayman, at thy call,
To view the scene below:
How sweetly pleasing to behold
Forests of vegetable gold !
How mix'd the many checker'd shades between
The tawny mellowing hue, and the gay vivid green!
How fplendid all the sky! how still!
How mild the dying gale! »
How soft the whispers of the rill
That winds along the date !
So tranquil Nature's works appear,
It seems the Sabbath of the year ;
As if, the Summer's Labour paft, she chose
This season's sober calm for blandishing repose.
Such is of well-spent life the time,
When busy days are paft,
Man verging gradual from his prime,
Meets facred Peace at laft:
His flowery Spring of pleasures o'er,
And Summer's full-blown pride no more,
He gains pacific Autumn, meek and bland,
And dauntless braves the stroke of Winter's palsy'd hand.
For yet awhile, a little while,
Involv'd in wint'ry gloom,
And lo! another Spring shall smile,
A Spring eternal bloom;
Then shall he shine, a glorious guest,
In the bright manfions of the bleft,
Where due rewards on Virtue are bestow'd,
And reap the golden fruits of what his Autumn fow'd.