By RICHARD WEST, Efq; Son to the Chancellor of Ireland, and Grandfon to Bishop BURNET.

I.

ING we no more of HYMENEAL lays,

SIN

Nor ftrew the land with myrtles and with bays:

The voice of joy is fled the BRITISH fhore,

For CAROLINE's no more:

And now our forrows ask a fadder string;
Come, plaintive goddess of the Cyrrhan fpring,
Pour thy deep note, and fhed thy tuneful tear,
And, while we lose the memory of pain

In thy oblivious strain,

Ah! drop thy cypress on yon mournful bier!

Begin :

Begin nor more delay

The facred meed of gratitude to pay :
Begin whate'er immortal fong can do,

To the dear name of CAROLINE is due :

Who loves the Muse, deserves the Mufe's love:
Then raise thy numbers high,

Sound out her glory to the throne of Jove,
Spread the glad voice through all the ambient sky,
From the dull marble vindicate her praise,

And waft it down to lighten future days.

II.

Ye bards to come, the fong of truth attend:
This, this is fhe, the Mufe's judge and friend!
The royal female! whofe benignant hand

Throughout fair ALBION's land

Dealt every useful, every decent part,

Each MEMPHIAN fcience, and each ATTIC art:

Within the Mufe's bower

She oft was wont to lose the vacant hour,
Or underneath the fapient grot reclin'd,

Her foul to contemplation fhe resign'd,
And for awhile laid down

The painful, envied burthen of a crown:
Mean time thy rural ditty was not mute,
Sweet bard of MERLIN's cave!

Though

Though rude, thy ditty was of her, who gave
Thy voice to fing, and tun'd thy oaten flute
In ftrains unwonted to the ear of fwain:
As when the lark, ambitious of the skies,
Quits the low harvest of the golden plain,
Taught by the fun's inspiring warmth to rise,
Sublime in air he fpreads his dappled wings,
Mounts the blue æther, and in mounting fings.
III.

But whither wanders the licentious fong?
Such joyous notes to happier days belong!
Ah me! our happier days are now no more : —
Return, fad Mufe: fee pale BRITANNIA Weep,
See all the fifters of the subject deep
Their fovereign's lofs deplore!

See fond IERNE gives her forrows vent,
And as the tunes her brazen lyre to woe,
Indulge her grief to flow ! -

See even the northern ORCADES lament!.

Nor ends the wailing here:

Where-e'er beneath our flag wild Ocean roars,
From fartheft ORIENT to HESPERIA'S fhores,
From torrid AFRIC to the world's cold end,
The BRITISH woes extend,

And every colony has dropt a tear.

IV. O ho

IV.

O honour'd flood! with reeds Pierian crown'd,
ISIS! whofe argent waters glide along

Fair BELLOSITE's Lycæan fhades renown'd,
Now aid my feeble fong;

And call thy chofen fons, and bid them bring
Their lays of DORIC air,

With lenient founds to fteal awhile from care
Th' inconfolable King:

O! footh his anguifh, and compose his pains
With artful unimaginable ftrains,

According fweetly to the golden lyre,

Such as might half inspire

The iron breast of HADES to refign

Our loft, lov'd CAROLINE.

V.

These are thy glorious deeds, almighty Death!
These are thy triumphs o'er the fons of men,
That now receive the miserable breath,
Which the next moment they refign again!
Ah me! what boots us all our boasted power,
Our golden treasure, and our purpled state?
They cannot ward th' inevitable hour,

Nor stay the fearful violence of Fate:

4

Virtue

Virtue herself shall fail:

Elfe now, if virtue ever could prevail,
Death had not dar'd to violate the throne,'
Nor had BRITANNIA heard her fovereign groan.
-Ye nymphs! recall the fong:

For heaven-born virtue does to heaven belong,
And scorns the meaneft of her fons fhould die,
But
opens him a paffage to the sky;

Her rod ay-pointing to th' eternal goal,

From the brute earth fhe frees the ardent foul;
Swift from the vulgar herd aloft fhe springs,
Spurns the moist clay, and foars on azure wings.
VI.

Then hence with forrows vain :

Ye Theban Mufes! elevate the strain :
Search o'er the records of immortal fame,
And high refulgent on the female line,
Imblaze in starry characters the name
Of BRITISH CAROLINE:

While facred story rings with SHEBA's praise,
While BERENICE's virtues ftill inspire

The CYRENEAN lyre,

And GLORIANA blooms in Spenfer's lays;

Thy