And leagued, a Briton's birth-right to restore,

From John's reluctant grasp the roll of freedom bore.

When lo, the king that wreathed his shield,

With lilies pluck'd on Cressy's field,

Heaved from its base the mouldering Norman

frame!

New glory clothed th' exulting steep,
The portals tower'd with ampler sweep ;

And valour's soften'd genius came,

Here held his pomp, and trail'd the pall

Of triumph through the trophied hall; And war was clad awhile in gorgeous weeds; Amid the martial pageantries,

While beauty's glance adjudged the prize, And beam'd sweet influence on heroic deeds. Nor long, ere Henry's holy zeal, to breathe A milder charm upon the scenes beneath, Rear'd in the watery glade his classic shrine,'

And call'd his stripling-choir to woo the willing Nine.

To this imperial seat to lend

Its pride supreme, and nobly blend British magnificence with Attic art;

Proud castle, to thy banner'd bowers,

Lo! picture bids her glowing powers
Their bold historic groups impart:
She bids th' illuminated pane,
Along thy lofty-vaulted fane,

Shed the dim blaze of radiance richly clear.

Still such arts of peace engage
may

Their patron's care! but should the rage
Of war to battle rouse the new-born year,

Britain arise, and wake the slumbering fire,
Vindictive dart thy quick rekindling ire!

Or, arm'd to strike, in mercy spare the foe;

And lift thy thundering hand, and then withhold the

blow!

DEAR Cloe, while the busy crowd,

The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,

In folly's maze advance;

Though singularity and pride

Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside,

Nor join the giddy dance.

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs ;
No noisy neighbour enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,
To spoil our heartfelt joys.

If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies,

And they are fools who roam;

The world hath nothing to bestow,

From our own selves our bliss must flow,

And that dear hut our home.

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left

That safe retreat, the ark;

Giving her vain excursions o'er,

The disappointed bird once more

Explored the sacred bark.

Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers,

We, who improve his golden hours,

By sweet experience know,

That marriage, rightly understood,

Gives to the tender and the good,

A paradise below.

Our babes shall richest comforts bring;

If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring

Whence pleasures ever rise:

We'll form their minds with studious care,

To all that's manly, good, and fair,

And train them for the skies.

While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,
And crown our hoary hairs;

They'll grow in virtue every day,

And thus our fondest loves repay,

And recompense our cares.

No borrow'd joys! they're all our own,
While to the world we live unknown,

Or by the world forgot:

Monarchs! we envy not your state,

We look with pity on the great,

And bless our humble lot.

VOL. I.