The melancholy patriots round it wait,
And mourn the royal hero's timeless fate.
Disconsolate they move, a mournful band!
In solemn pomp they march along the strand:
The noble chief, interr'd in youthful bloom,
Lies in the dreary regions of the tomb.

Adown Augusta's pallid visage flow
The living pearls with unaffected woe:
Discons'late, hapless, see pale Britain mourn,
Abandon'd isle! forsaken and forlorn!

With desp'rate hands her bleeding breast she beats;
While o'er her, frowning, grim Destruction threats.
She mourns with heart-felt grief, she rends her hair,
And fills with piercing cries th' echoing air.
Well may'st thou mourn thy patriot's timeless cnd,
Thy Muse's patron, and thy merchant's friend.
What heart shall pity thy full-flowing grief?
What haud now deign to give thy poor relief?
Tencourage arts, whose bounty now shall flow,
And learned science to promote, bestow?
Who now protect thee from the hostile frown,
And to the injur'd Just return his own?
From us'ry and oppression who shall guard
The helpless, and the threat'ning ruin ward?
Alas! the truly noble Briton's gone,
And left us here in ceaseless woe to moan!
Impending Desolation hangs around,
And Ruin hovers o'er the trembling ground:
The blooming Spring droops her eunmeil'd head,
Her glories wither, and her flow'rs all fade:
The sprouting leaves already drop away;
Languish the living herbs with pale decay:
The bowing trees, see! o'er the blasted heath,
Depending, bend beneath the weight of death:
Wrapp'd in th' expansive gloom, the lightnings play,
Hoarse thunder mutters through th' aërial way:
All Nature feels the pangs, the storms renew,
And sprouts, with fatal haste, the baleful yew.

Some pow'r avert the threat'ning horrid weight,
And, godlike, prop Britannia's sinking state!
Minerva, hover o'er young George's soul;
May sacred wisdom all his deeds control!
Exalted grandeur in each action shine,
His conduct declare the youth divine.

Methinks I see him shine a glorious star, Gentle in peace, but terrible in war! Methinks each region does his praise resound, And nations tremble at his name around! His fame, through ev'ry distant kingdom rung, Proclaims him of the race from whence be

ODE

ON THE DUKE OF YORK'S SECOND DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND AS REAR ADMIRAL.

WRITTEN ABOARD THE ROYAL GEORGE.

AGAIN the royal streamers play!
To glory Edward hastes away;
Adieu, ye happy silvan bowers,

Where Pleasure's sprightly throng await!
Ye domes, where regal Grandeur towers
In purple ornaments of state!

Ye scenes where Virtue's sacred strain
Bids the tragic Muse complain!
Where Satire treads the comic stage,
To scourge and mend a venal age;
Where music pours the soft, melodions lay,
Aud melting symphonies congenial play!
Ye silken sons of Ease, who dwell
In flowery vales of Peace, farewell!

In vain the goddess of the myrtle grove
Her charms ineffable displays;

In vain she calls to happier realms of love,
Which Spring's unfading bloom arrays:
In vain her living roses blow,
And ever-vernal pleasures grow;
The gentle sports of youth no more
Allure him to the peaceful shore:
Arcadian ease no longer charms,

For war and fame alone can please.
His throbbing bosom beats to arms,

[seas

To war the hero moves, through storms and wintry

Though Danger's hostile train at pears

To thwart the course that Honour steers;
Unmov'd he leads the rugged way,
Despising peril and dismay :

His country calls; to guard her laws,
Lo! every joy the gallant youth resigns;

Th' avenging naval sword he draws,

And o'er the waves conducts her martial lires:
Hark! his sprightly clarions play;
Follow where he leads the way!
The piercing fife, the sounding drum,
Tell the deeps their master's come.

CHORUS.

Hark his sprightly clarions play,
Follow where he leads the way!
The piercing fife, the sounding drum,
Tell the deeps their master's come.

Thus Alcmena's warlike son The thorny course of Virtue run, When, taught by her unerring voice, He made the glorious choice: Severe, indeed, th' attempt he knew, Youth's genial ardours to subdue: For Pleasure, Venus' lovely form assum'd; Her glowing charms, divinely bright, In all the pride of beauty bloom'd,

And struck his ravish'd sight.

Transfix'd, amaz'd,
Alcides gaz'd:
Enchanting grace
Adorn'd her face,

And all his changing looks confest
Th' alternate passions in his breast:
Her swelling bosom half reveal'd,

Her eyes that kindling raptures fir'd,
A thousand tender pains instill'd,

A thousand flatt'ring thoughts inspir'd:
Persuasion's sweetest language hung
In melting accent on her tongue:
Deep in his heart, the winning tale
Infus'd a magic power;
She prest him to the rosy vale,

And show'd th' Elysian bower:
Her hand, that trembling ardours move,
Conducts him blushing to the blest alcove:
Ah! see, o'erpower'd by Beauty's charms,
And won by Love's resistless arms,
The captive yields to Nature's soft alarms!

CHORUS.

Ah! see, o'erpower'd by Beauty's charms,
And won by Love's resistless arms,
The captive yields to Nature's soft alarms!

Assist, ye guardian powers above!
From ruin save the son of Jove!
By heavenly mandate Virtue came,
And check'd the fatal flame:
Swift as the quivering needle wheels,
Whose point the magnet's influence feels,
Inspir'd with awe,
He, turning, saw
The nymph divine

Transcendent shine;

And, while he view'd the godlike maid, His heart a sacred impulse sway'd: His eyes with ardent motion roll, And love, regret, and hope, divide his soul. But soon her words his pain destroy,

And all the numbers of his heart, Return'd by her celestial art, Now swell'd to strains of nobler joy. Instructed thus by Virtue's lore, His happy steps the realms explore Where guilt and errour are no more: The clouds that veil'd his intellectual ray, Before his breath dispelling, melt away: Broke loose from Pleasure's glittering chain, He scorn'd her soft inglorious reign: Convinc'd, resolv'd, to Virtue then he turn'd, And in his breast paternal glory burn'd.

CHORUS.

Broke loose from Pleasure's glittering chain, He scorn'd her soft inglorious reign: Convinc'd, resolv'd, to Virtue then he turn'd, And in his breast paternal glory burn'd.

So when on Britain's other hope she shone,
Like him the royal youth she won:
Thus taught, he bids his fleet advance
To curb the power of Spain and France:
Aloft his martial ensigns flow,

And hark! his brazen trumpets blow!

For him your festive concerts breathe!
For him your flowery garlands wreathe!
Wake! O wake the joyful song!
Ye fauns of the woods,
Ye nymphs of the floods,
The musical current prolong!
Ye sylvans, that dance on the plain,
To swell the grand chorus accord!
Ye tritons, that sport on the main,

Exulting, acknowledge your lord!
Till all the wild numbers combin'd,
That floating proclaim
Our admiral's name,
In symphony roll on the wind!

CHORUS.

Wake! O wake the joyful song!
Ye sylvans, that dance on the plain,
Ye tritons, that sport on the main,
The musical current prolong!

O! while consenting Britons praise,
These votive measures deign to hear!
For thee my Muse awakes her lays,
For thee th' unequal viol plays,

The tribute of a soul sincere.
Nor thou, illustrious chief, refuse
The incense of a nautic Muse!

For ah! to whom shall Neptune's sons complain,
But him whose arms unrivall'd rule the main ?

Deep on my grateful breast

Thy favour is imprest:

No happy son of wealth or fame
To court a royal patron came!
A hapless youth, whose vital page
Was one sad lengthen'd tale of woe,

Where ruthless Fate, impelling tides of rage,
Bade wave on wave in dire succession flow,
To glittering stars and titled names unknown,
Preferr'd his suit to thee alone.

The tale your sacred pity mov'd; You felt, consented, and approv'd. Then touch my strings, ye blest Pierian quire! Exalt to rapture every happy line! My bosom kindle with Promethean fire! And swell each note with energy divine. No more to plaintive sounds of woe Let the vocal numbers flow! Perhaps the chief to whom I sing

May yet ordain auspicious days,
To wake the lyre with nobler lays,
And tune to war the nervous string.
For who, untaught in Neptune's school,
Though all the powers of genius he possess,
Though disciplin'd by classic rule,

With daring pencil can display
The fight that thunders on the watery way,
And all its horrid incidents express?

To him, my Muse, these warlike strains belong!
Source of thy hope, and patron of thy song.

CHORUS.

To him, my Muse, these warlike strains belong! Source of thy hope, and patron of thy song.

THE FOND LOVER,

A BALLAD.

A NYMPH of ev'ry charm possess'd,
That native virtue gives,
Within my bosom all confess'd,
In bright idea lives.

For her my trembling numbers play
Along the pathless deep,
While sadly social with my lay
The winds in concert weep.

If beauty's sacred influence charms
The rage of adverse Fate,

Say why the pleasing soft alarms
Such cruel pangs create?
Since all her thoughts by sense refin'd,
Unartful truth express,

Say wherefore sense and truth are join'd
To give my soul distress?

If when her blooming lips I press,
Which vernal fragrance fills,
Through all my veins the sweet excess
In trembling motion thrills;

Say whence this secret anguish grows,
Congenial with my joy?

And why the touch, where pleasure glows,
Shou'd vital peace destroy?

If when my fair, in melting song,
Awakes the vocal lay,

Not all your notes, ye Phocian throng,
Such pleasing sounds convey;

Thus wrapt all o'er with fondest love,
Why heaves this broken sigh?
For then my blood forgets to move,
I gaze, adore, and die.

Accept, my charming maid, the strain
Which you alone inspire;
To thee the dying strings complain
That quiver on my lyre.
O! give this bleeding bosom ease,
That knows no joy but thee;
Teach me thy happy art to please,
Or deign to love like me.

THE DEMAGOGUE.

BOLD is th' attempt, in these licentious times,
When with such towering strides Sedition climbs,
With sense or satire to confront her power,
And charge her in the great decisive hour:
Bold is the man, who, on her conquering day,
Stands in the pass of Fate to bar her way:
Whose heart, by frowning Arrogance unaw'd,
Or the deep-lurking snares of specious Fraud,
The threats of Giant-faction can deride,
And stem, with stubborn arm, her roaring tide.
For him unnumber'd brooding ills await,
Scorn, malice, insolence, reproach, and hate:
At him, who dares this legion to defy,
A thousand mortal shafts in secret fly:
Revenge, exulting with malignant joy,
Pursues th' incautious victim to destroy:

To guard some needy royal plunderer's throne,
And sent to fall in battles not their own.

Th' enormous debt at home, though long o'ercharg'd,

With grievous burthens annually enlarg'd: Crush'd with increasing taxes to the ground, That suck, like vampires, every bleeding wound: Ground with severe distress th' industrious poor, Driven by the ruthless landlord to the door.

While thus our land her hapless fate bemoans In secret, and with inward sorrow groans; Though deck'd with tinsel trophies of renown, All gash'd with sores, with anguish bending down, Can yet some impious parricide appear, Who strives to make this anguish more severe ? Can one exist, so much his country's foe, To bid her wounds with fresh effusion flow? There can; to him in vain she lifts her eyes, His soul relentless hears her piercing sighs! Shameless of front, impatient of control, He spurs her onward to Destruction's goal! Nor yet content on curst Westphalia's shore With mad profusion to exhaust her store, Still Peace his pompous fulminations brand, As pirates tremble at the sight of land: Still to new wars the public eye he turns, Defies all peril, and at reason spurns; Till prest with danger, by distress assail'd, That baffled courage, and o'er skill prevail'd; Till foundering in the storm himself had brew'd, He strives at last its horrours to elude. Some wretched shift must still protect his name, And to the guiltless head transfer his shame: Then hearing modest Diffidence oppose His rash advice, that golden time he chose; And while big surges threaten'd to o'erwhelm The ship, ingloriously forsook the helm.

But all th' events collected to relate, Let us his actions recapitulate.

He first assum'd, by mean perfidious art,
Those patriot tenets foreign to his heart:
Next, by his country's fond applauses swell'd,
Thrust himself forward into power, and held
The reins on principles which he alone,
Grown drunk and wanton with success, could own;
Betray'd her interest and abus'd her trust;
Then, deaf to prayers, forsook her in disgust;
With tragic mummery, and most vile grimace,
Rode through the city with a woeful face,
As in distress, a Patriot out of place!
Insults his generous prince, and in the day
Of trouble skulks, because he cannot sway!
In foreign climes einbroils him with allies!
And bids at home the flames of Discord rise!
She comes! from Hell th' exulting Fury
springs!

With grim Destruction sailing on her wings!
Around her scream an hundred harpies fell!
An hundred demons shriek with hideous yell!
From where, in mortal venom dipt on high,
Full-drawn the deadliest shafts of Satire fly,
Where Churchill brandishes his clumsy club,
And Wilkes unloads his excremental tub,
Down to where Entick, awkward and unclean,
Crawls on his native dust, a worm obscene!
While with unnumber'd wings, from van to rear,
Myriads of nameless buzzing drones appear:
From their dark cells the angry insects swarm,
And every little sting attempt to arm.
VOL XIV.

Here Chaplains, Privileges 1, moulder round,
And feeble Scourges, rot upon the ground:
Here hungry Kenrick strives, with fruitless aim,
With Grub-street slander to extend his name:
At Bruin flies the slavering, snarling cur,
But only fills his famish'd jaws with fur.
Here Baldwin spreads th' assassinating cloke,
Where lurking Rancour gives the secret stroke;
While gorg'd with filth, around this senseless block,
A swarm of spider-bards obsequious flock :
While his demure Welch goat, with lifted hoof,
In Poet's-Corner hangs each flimsy woof;
And frisky grown, attempts, with awkward prance,
On Wit's gay theatre to bleat and dance.
Here, seiz'd with iliac passion, mouthing Leech,
Too low, alas! for Satire's whip to reach,
From his black entrails, Faction's common sewer,
Disgorges all her excremental store.

With equal pity and regret the Muse

The thundering storms that rage around her views;
Impartial views the tides of Discord blend,
Where lordly rogues for power and place contend;
Were not her patriot-heart with anguish torn,
Would eye th' opposing chiefs with equal scorn.
Let Freedom's deadliest foes for freedom bawl,
Alike to her who govern or who fall!

Aloof she stands, all unconcern'd and mute,
While the rude rabble bellow, "Down with Bute!"
While villany the scourge of Justice bilks,
Howl on, ye ruffians "Liberty and Wilkes."
Let some soft mummy of a peer, who stains
His rank, some sodden lump of ass's brains,
To that abandon'd wretch his sanction give;
Support his slander, and his wants relieve!
Let the great hydra roar aloud for Pitt,
And power and wisdom all to him submit!
Let proud Ambition's sons, with hearts severe,
Like parricides, their mother's bowels tear!
Sedition her triumphant flag display,
And in embodied ranks her troops array!
While coward Justice, trembling on her seat,
Like a vile slave descends to lick her feet!
Nor here let Censure draw her awful blade,
If from her theme the wayward Muse has stray'd!
Sometimes th' impetuous torrent, o'er its mounds
Redundant bursting, swamps th' adjacent grounds;
But rapid, and impatient of delay,

Through the deep channel still pursues its way.

Our pilot now retir'd, no pleasure knows, But every man and measure to oppose; Like Æsop's cur, still snarling and perverse, Bloated with envy, to mankind a curse, No more at council his advice will lend, But with all others who advise contend: He bids distraction o'er his country blaze, Then, swelter'd with revenge, retreats to Hayes 2: