For fcience ftill is juftly fond to blend,
With thine, her practice, principles, and end.
'Tis not for her, by false connections drawn,
At fplendid flavery's fordid fhrine to fawn;
Each native effort of the feeling breast
To friends, to foes, in fervile fear, fuppreft:
"Tis not for her to purchase, or pursue
The phantom favours of the cringing crew:
More useful toils her ftudious hours engage,
And fairer leffons fill her fpotlefs page:
Beneath ambition, but above disgrace,
With nohler arts fhe forms the rifing race:
With happier tasks, and lefs refin'd pretence,
In elder times, fhe woo'd munificence
To rear her arched roofs in regal guife,
And lift her temples nearer to the skies;
Princes and prelates ftretch'd the social hand,
To form, diffufe, and fix her high command:
From kings fhe claim'd, yet fcorn'd to feek, the prize,
From kings, like George, benignant, just, and wise.
Lo, this her genuine lore!-Nor thou refuse
This humble present of no partial muse
From that calm bower, which nurs'd thy thoughtful
In the pure precepts of Athenian truth:
Where first the form of British liberty
Beam'd in full radiance on thy mufing eye;
That form, whofe mien fublime, with equal awe,
In the fame shade unblemish'd Somers faw:
Where once (for well she lov'd the friendly grove,
Which every claffic grace had learn'd to rove)
Her whispers wak'd fage Harrington to feign
The bleffings of her vifionary reign;
That reign, which now no more, an empty theme,
Adorns philofophy's ideal dream,
But crowns at last, beneath a George's fmile,
In full reality this favour'd ifle.
BY W. WHITEHEAD, ESQ. POET LAUREAT,
T length th' imperious lord of war
Yields to the fates their ebon car,
And frowning quits his toil:
Dash'd from his hand the bleeding spear
Now deigns a happier form to wear,
And peaceful turns the foil.
Th' infatiate furies of his train,
Revenge, and hate, and fell difdain,
With heart of steel, and eyes of fire,
Who ftain the fword which honour draws,
Who fully virtue's facred caufe,
To Stygian depths retire.
Unholy fhapes, and fhadows drear,
The pallid family of fear,
And rapine, ftill by fhrieks purfued,
And meagre famine's fqualid brood,
Close the dire crew.-Ye eternal gates, display Your adamantine folds, and fhut them from the day.
For lo, in yonder pregnant skies,
On billowy clouds the goddess lies,
Whose prefence breathes delight!"
Whofe power th' obfequious seasons own,
And winter lofes half his frown,
And half her shades the night;
Soft-fmiling Peace, whom Venus bore,
When, tutor❜d by th' enchanting lore
Of Maia's blooming son,
She footh'd the fynod of the gods,
Drove difcord from the bleft abodes,
And Jove refum'd his throne;
Th' attendant graces gird her round,
And sportive Eafe, with locks unbound,
every mufe to leifure born,
And Plenty with her twisted horn.
While changeful Commerce spreads her loosen'd fails, Blow, as ye lift, ye winds, the reign of Peace prevails.
And fee, to grace that milder reign,
Sweet Innocence adorns the train,
And deigns a human frame to wear,
In form and features Albion's heir,
A future George!-Propitious powers,
Ye delegates of heaven's high king,
Who guide the years, the days, the hours,
That float on time's progreffive wing,
Exert your influence, bid us know
From parent worth what virtues flow!
Be to lefs happy realms refign'd
The warrior's unrelenting rage,
We ask not kings of hero-kind,
The ftorms, and earthquakes of their age,
To us be nobler bleffings given:
O teach us, delegates of heaven,
What mightier blifs from union fprings !
Future fubjects, future kings,
Shall blefs the fair example fhown,
And from our character tranfcribe their own,
A people, zealous to obey
A monarch, whofe parental fway
Defpifes regal art,
His fhield, the laws which guard the land,
His fword, each Briton's eager hand,
His throne, each Briton's heart.
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