Here shall thy breast united transports prove
Of kindred fondness and connubial love.
O that amid the nuptial flowers we twine,
Our hands the olive's sober leaves might join,
Thy presence teach the storm of war to cease,
Disarm the battle's rage, and charm the world to peace.
IV.

Yet if the stern vindictive foe,
Insulting, aim the hostile blow,
Britain, in martial terrors dight,

Lifts high the avenging sword, and courts the fight.
On every side behold her swains
Crowd eager from her fertile plains!
With breasts undaunted, lo, they stand
Firm bulwarks of their native land,
And proud her floating castles round,
The guardians of her happy coast,
Bid their terrific thunder sound

Dismay to Gallia's scatter'd host,
While still Britannia's navies reign
Triumphant o'er the subject main.

ODE for His MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, 1795. By HENRY JAMES PYE, Esq. Poet Laureat.

:

O Sovereign of a people's choice,
Hear, in that people's general voice,

The noblest praise that waits a throne;
Their surest guard thy patriot zeal -
Thy public care their strength-they feel
Thy happiness their own.

III.

O royal youth! a king's, a parent's pride,
A nation's future hope!-again the tongue,
That join'd the choir, what time by Isis side

Her tuneful sons thy birth auspicious sung,
Now hails, fulfill'd by Hymen's hallow'd flame :
The warmest wish Affection's voice could frame:
For say, can Fame, can Fortune know
Such genuine raptures to bestow,

As from the smiles of wedded love arise,
When heavenly virtue beams from blushing Beauty's eyes?

IV.

Ne'er may the rapid hours that wing

O'er Time's unbounded field their ceaseless flight,

To grateful Britain's monarch bring,

A tribute of less pure delight

Ne'er may the song of duty soothe his ear

With strains of weaker joy, or transports less sincere.

EXTRACT from MR. MAURICE'S Elegiac Poem on Sir WM. JONES.

chase the tenfold gloom, my Jones, was thine,
To cheer the Brahmin, and to burst his chains;

To search for latent gems the Sanscreet mine,
And wake the fervour of her ancient strains.

For oh! what pen shall paint with half thy fire,
The power of music on the impassion'd soul,
When the great masters wak'd the Indian lyre,
And bade the burning song electric roll ?*

• The impressive title of one of the most ancient Sanscreet treatises on music is, "The Sea of Passions. See our author's animated account of the Indian music in the Asiatic Researches, vol. ii. p. 55.

[* K 2]

The

The mystic veil, that wraps the hallow'd shrines
Of India's deities, 'twas thine to rend;
With brighter fires each radiant altar shines,
To Nature's awful god those fires ascend.

Sound the deep conch; dread Veshnu's power proclaim,
And heap with fragrant woods the blazing urn;
I see, sublime Devotion's noblest flame

'Midst Superstition's glowing embers burn!

'Twas thine, with daring wing, and eagle eye,
To pierce Antiquity's profoundest gloom ;*
To search the dazzling records of the sky,
And bid the stars the sacred page illume.t

Nor did the instructive orbs of heav'n, alone,
Absorb thy soul 'mid yon ethereal fields;
To thee the vegetable world was known,

And all the blooming tribes the garden yields.

From the tall cedar on the mountain's brow,
Which the fierce tropic storm in vain assails,
Down to the humblest shrubs that beauteous blow :
And scent the air of Asia's fragrant vales.

But talents-fancy-ardent, bold, sublime-
Unbounded science-form'd thy meanest fame;
Beyond the grasp of death, the bound of time,
On wings of fire religion wafts thy name. ‡

And long as stars shall shine, or planets roll,
To kindred virtue shall that name be dear;
Still shall thy genius charm the aspiring soul,
And distant ages kindle at thy bier.

• See the two profound Dissertations on the Indian Chronology in Asiatic Researches, vol. ii. p. 111, and 389.

† Consult various astronomical passages in the treatises above-mentioned, and the discourse on the Lunar Year of the Hindus, in the same publication, vol. ii. p. 249. They are all made subservient to the cause of the national theology, and the illustration of the grand truths delivered in the sacred writings.

† Alluding to some circumstances of devotion, which occurred in the moments of sir William's dissolution.

ODE

ODE to JURYMEN, by PETER PINDAR.

SIRS, it may happen, by the grace of God,

That I, Great Peter, one day come before ye,
To answer to the man of wig, for ode,
Full of sublimity, and pleasant story.

Yes, it may so fall out that lofty men,
Dundas, and Richmond, Hawksb'ry, Portland, Pitt,
May wish to cut the nib of Peter's pen,
And, cruel, draw the holders of his wit;

Nay, Dame Injustice in their cause engage,
To clap the gentle poet in a cage;
And should a grimly judge for death harangue,
Don't let the poet of the people hang.

What are my crimes ? A poor tame cur am I,
Though some will swear I've snapp'd them by the heels;
A puppy's pinch, that's all, I don't deny;

But Lord! how sensibly a great man feels!

A harmless joke, at times, on kings and queens;
A little joke on lofty earls and lords;
Smiles at the splendid homage of court scenes,
The modes, the manners, sentiments, and words:

A joke on Marg'ret Nicholson's mad knights;
A joke upon the shave of cooks at court,
Charms the fair muse, and eke the world delights;
A pretty piece of inoffensive sport.

Lo, in a little inoffensive smile,

There lurks no lever to o'erturn the state,
And king, and parliament! intention vile !
And hurl the queen of nations to her fate.

No gunpowder my modest garrets hold,
Dark-lanterns, blunderbusses, masks, and matches;
Few words my simple furniture unfold;
A bed, a stool, a rusty coat in patches.

- Carpets, nor chandeliers so bright are mine;
Nor mirrors, ogling vanity to please;
Spaniels, nor lap-dogs, with their furs so fine:
Alas! my little live-stock are-my fleas!

AN ANTIENT CATCH.

From a MS. of the Time of Queen Elizabeth, in the British Museum. (Vespasian, A. 25.)

FYLL the cuppe, Phylyppe, and let us drynke a drame,

Ons or twyse abowte the howse and leave where we
began.

I drynke to yow, sweteharte, soo mutch as here is in,
Desyeringe yow to followe me, and doo as I begyn;
And yf yow will not pledge [me], yow shall bere the blame,
I drynke to yow with all my harte, yf yow will pledge me the

same.

VERSES

Written by the late Earl of CHATHAM. From "SEWARD'S ANICDOTES," in which Work it was for the first Time printed. To the Right Hon. Richard Grenville Temple, Lord Viscount Cobham. INVITATION TO SOUTH LODGE.* From "Tyrrhena Regum Progenios," &c.

F

ROM Norman princes sprung, their virtues heir,
Cobham, for thee my vaults inclose
Tokay's smooth cask unpierc'd. Here purer air,
Breathing sweet pink and balmy rose,

Shall meet thy wish'd approach. Haste then away,
Nor round and round for ever rove
The magic Ranelagh, or nightly stray

In gay Spring Gardens glittering grove.

Forsake the Town's huge mass, stretch'd long and wide,
Pall'd with Profusion's sickening joys;

Spurn the vain capital's insipid pride,
Smoke, riches, politics, and noise.

Change points the blunted sense of sumptuous pleasure;
And neat repasts in sylvan shed,
Where Nature's simple boon is all the treasure,
Care's brow with smiles have often spread.

Now flames Andromeda's refulgent sire,
Now rages Procyon's kindled ray,
Now madd'ning Leo darts his stellar fire,
Fierce Suns revolve the parching day.

*A Seat of Mr. Pitt on Enfield Chace.

The