In types of regal power was seen :
With fair pre-eminence confeft
It triumph'd in a private breaft,

And made the Princess more than Queen,

III.

O Phœbus! would thy godhead not refuse
This humble incense, on thy altar laid;
Would thy propitious ear attend the Muse,
That fuppliant now invokes thy certain aid;
With Mantuan force I'd mount a stronger gale,
And fing the parent of her land, who strove
T' exceed the transports of her people's zeal,
With acts of mercy, and majestic love;
By fate, to fix Britannia's empire, given

The guardian power of earth, and public care of heaven.

I.

Then, Churchill, should the Muse record

The conquests by thy sword atchiev'd;
Quiet to Belgian states restor'd,
And Austrian crowns by thee retriev'd.
Imperious Leopold confefs'd
His hoary majesty distress'd;
To arms, to arms, Bavaria calls,
Nor with lefs terror fhook his throne
Than when the rifing crefcent shone
Malignant o'er his shatter'd walls.

II.

The warrior led the Britons forth On foreign fields to dare their fate; Diftinguish'd fouls of shining worth, In war unknowing to retreat :

Thou,

Thou, Phœbus, faw'ft the hero's face,
When Mars had breath'd a purple grace,

And mighty fury fill'd his breast :

How like tayfelf, when to destroy

The Greeks thou didst thy darts employ,
Fierce with thy golden quiver drest !

Sudden, whilft banish'd from his native land, Red with dishonest wounds Bavaria mourn'd, The Chief, at Gloriana's high command, Like a rouz'd lion to the Maes return'd; With vengeful speed the British sword he drew, Unus'd to grieve his host with long delay; Whilft wing'd with fear the force of Gallia flew; As when the morning star restores the day, The wandering ghosts of twenty thousand flain Fleet fullen to the shades from Blenheim's mournfulplain.

I.

Britannia, wipe thy dusty brow,

And put the Bourbon laurels on;
To thee deliver'd nations bow,

And bless the spoils thy wars have won.
For thee Bellona points her spear,
And whilst lamenting mothers fear,
On high her fignal torch displays;
But when thy sword is sheath'd, again
Obfequious she receives thy chain,

And fmooths her violence of face.

II. Parent

II.

Parent of arms! for ever stand

With large increase of fame rever'd,
Whilft arches to thy faving hand
On Danube's grateful banks are rear'd.
Eugene, inspir'd to war by thee,
Aufonia's weeping states to free,
Swift on th' imperial eagle flies;
Whilft, bleeding, from his azure bed
Th' afferted Iber lifts his head,
And fafe his Austrian lord enjoys.

I Britannia! fix'd on foreign wars,
Guiltless of civil rage extend thy name :
The waves of utmost ocean, and the stars,
Are bounds but equal to thy fovereign's fame.
With deeper wrath thy victor lion roars,
Wide o'er the fubject world diffusing fear,
Whilst Gallia weeps her guilt, and peace implores;
So Earth, transfix'd by fierce Minerva's spear,
A gentler birth obedient did difclose;

And fudden from the wound eternal olives rofe.
I.

When with establish'd freedom bless'd,
The globe to great Alcides bow'd,

Whose happy power reliev'd th' oppress'd
From lawless chains, and check'd the proud;

Mature in fame, the grateful gods
Receiv'd him to their bright abodes :

Where

!

Where Hebe crown'd his blooming joys;
Garlands the willing Muses wove,
And each with emulation strove
T' adorn the Churchill of the skies.

II.

For Albion's Chief, ye facred Nine !
Your harps with generous ardour string,
With Fame's immortal trumpet join,
And fafe beneath his laurel fing :
When clad in vines the Seine shall glide,
And duteous in a smoother tide

To British Seas her tribute yield;
Wakeful at Honour's shrine attend,
And long with living beams defend
From night, the warrior's votive shield.

III.

And, Woodstock, let his dome exalt thy fame,
Great o'er thy Norman ruins be reftor'd;
Thou that with pride doft * Edward's cradle claim,

Receive an equal hero for thy lord:
Whilft every column to record their toils
Eternal monuments of conquest wears,
And all thy walls are dress'd with mingled spoils,
Gather'd on fam'd Ramillia and Poictiers,
High on thy tower the grateful flag display,

Due to thy Queen's reward, and Blenheim's glorious day.

*The Black Prince.

FLORE

A

SK not the cause why all the tuneful swains,
Who us'd to fill the vales with tender strains,

In deep despair neglect the warbling reed,
And all their bleating flocks refuse to feed.
Afk not why greens and flowers so late appear
To cloath the glebe, and deck the springing year;
Why founds the lawn with loud laments and cries,
And fwoln with tears to floods the rivulets rife:
The fair Florelio now has left the plain,

And is the grief, who was the grace, of every British swain.
For thee, lov'd youth! on every vale and lawn,
The nymphs and all thy fellow-fl.epherds moan.
The little birds now cease to fing and love,
Silent they fit, and droop on every grove :
No mounting lark now warbles on the wing,
Nor linnets chirp to chear the fullen spring:
Only the melancholy turtles coo,
And Philomel by night repeats her woe.
O, charmer of the shades! the tale prolong,
Nor let the morning interrupt thy fong:

Or