He liv'd the guardian of the laws; Dear LIBERTY! round ALBION's ille THE TEARS AND TRIUMPH That bid'ft eternal sunshine smile, OF PARNASSUS: A NO DE, Who now will guard your facred cause? CHORUS. Dear liberty, &c. ATE gave the word the deed is done; AUGUSTUS is no more ; FATE His great career of fame is run, And all the lofs deplore. See! where BRITANNIA ftands With close-infolded hands, On yonder fea-beat shore ! Behold her languid air! To! her difhevell'd hair! Majestic now no more ? Still on the fullen wave her eye is bent, The TRIDENT of the MAIN thrown idle by {The Mujes tear off their laurels. OLD THAMES, his fea-green mantle rent, CALLIOPE. Well, fifters of the sacred spring, Well may you rend your golden hair ; Well may you now your dirges fing, And pierce with cries the troubled air. CHORUS. Fate gave the word, &c. CLI • Founded in juftice was his sway; CALLIOPE. Unless the beft ambition that can fire APOLLO. Yes, Virgins, yes; that wish fublime Drink Nectar with Olympian Jove. Oh! TRUTH! fair daughter of the sky. Near the OMNIPOTENT do'st ftand ; And, when mankind provoke his rage, Do'ft clafp his knees, his wrath affuage, And win the thunder from his hand! CL 1 0. Oh! white-rob'd FAITH! cæleftial maid! Twin-born with JUSTICE! by whofe aid MERCURY descends. No more, harmonious Progeny of Jove, The great, the good AUGUSTUS reigns above, CLIÒ. No more for my hiftoric page CALLIOPE. No more for my great epic rage- Will by the hero now be done- His great career of fame is run, Enter MARS. Lo? Mars, from his beloved land, And again the laurel wear: For fee! BRITANNIA rears her drooping head; Proclaims the people's choice. CHORUS, within the Scenes. He is our liege, our rightful lord! Long live the king! He is our liege!-he!-he alone! With BRITISH HEART he mounts the throne; [The Mufes rife and put on their laurels. CALLIOPE. The mufes now their heads fhall raise ; The arts to life shall spring; Virgins, we'll trim our wither'd bayes, And wake each vocal string; Now fhall the fculptor's happy skill Touch the rude stone to life; The painter fhall his canvass fill, Pleas'd with his mimic ftrife. CLIO. Sweet MERCY! FAITH! CELESTIAL TRUTH! Now by your aid the royal youth Shall live the guardian of the laws; Dear LIBERTY! round ALBION's ifle That bid'ft eternal funshine smile, He now will guard your facred caufe. Nothing mortal will I found; Big fwells my breast! In vifrons rapt, before my fight appears A brighter order of increafing years. MARS. I fee the Rhine devolve his flood Deep-crimson'd with the Gallic blood! I hear, I hear the diftant roar Of ruin on yon hoftile fhore! I fee, young Prince, to thee I fee The favage Indian bend the knee! Lo! AFRIC from her fable kings Her richest stores in tribute brings! And fartheft IND, beneath the rifing day Lays down her arms, and venerates thy fway CALLIOPE. I fee Bellona banish'd far! I fee him close the gates of war, While purple rage within And rolling his terrific eyes, Where round him heaps of arms arife, Bound with a hundred brazen chains, In vain shall foam, and thirst for fanguine plains: CLIO. Sweat peace returns ; O'er Albion's fons She waves her dove-like wing: On ev'ry plain The fhepherd train Their artless loves fhall fing, Pale DISCORD fhall fly From the light of the sky. But praife is fcanty to reveal DAMON. True, all muft feel-but thankless too? AIR. That I go where I lift, that I fing what I please, That my labour's the price of contentment and eafe, That no care from abroad my retirement annoys, That at home I can taite the true family joys, That my kids wanton fafely o'er meadows and rocks, That my fheep graze fecure.from the robber or fox ; Thefe are bleffings I fhare with the reft of the fwains, For it's Thyrfis who gave them, and Thyrfis maintains. DAMÆTAS. RECITATIVE. Perish my voice, if e'er I blame The generous youth forgets his own; The virtues which their fire hath shews. AIR. With joy the parent loves to trace While active fons, with eager flame, SYLVI A. O prudent Sage forgive the zeal Of thoughtless youth. With thee I feel, Oh mighty Pan! attend Arcadia's voice, Infpire, direct, and fanctify his choice. AIR. So may all thy fylvan train, Trip it o'er the ruffet lawn! Of which, to give an explanation, His verfe, like cloaths, was made to fit him, Though I have mention'd Prior's name, Think not I aim at Prior's fame. Tis the refult of admiration To fpend itself in imitation; If imitation may be said, And you have better proofs than these, Who, but a madman, would engage A Poet in the prefent age? Write what we will, our works befpeak us Imitatores, jervum Pecus. Tale, Elegy, or lofty Ode, We travel in the beaten road: Ere Milton foar'd in thought fublime, The moon ftill fhines with borrow'd light, Methinks there is no better time To fhew the ufe I make of rhyme, Than now, when I, who from beginning Was always fond of couplet-finning, Prefuming on good nature's fcore, Thus lay my bantling at your door. The first advantage which I fee, Is, that I ramble loofe and free: The Bard indeed full oft complains, That rhymes are fetters, links, and chairs, And when he wants to leap the fence, Still keep him pris'ner to the fenfe. Howe'er in common place he rage, Rhyme's like your fetters on the ftage, Which when the player once hath wore, It makes him only ftrut the more, While, raving in pathetic ftrains, He shakes his legs to clank his chains. 2 A 2 |