That glory to a mighty queen remains, Warr'd on the giants impious race, 405 And laid their huge demolish'd works, in fmoaky ruins low. Then Anne's fhall rival great Eliza's reign; And William's genius, with a grateful smile, Look down, and bless this happy ifle; And Peace, reftor'd, fhall wear her olive crown again. 410 "Vicem gerit illa Tonantis." The Motto on her Majefty's Coronation Medals. ODE O DE ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. A I. POLLO, god of founds and verse, Pathetic airs and moving thoughts inspire! Whilft we thy Damon's praise rehearse : Damon himself could animate the lyre. Apollo, god of founds and verse, Pathethic airs and moving thoughts inspire! Look down! and warm the song with thy celestial fire. II. Ah, lovely youth! when thou wert here, Young as that god, so fweet a grace, III. 10 But when thou didst th' obedient ftrings command, And join in confort thy melodious hand, Ev'n fate itfelf, fuch wondrous ftrains to hear, Fate had been charm'd, had Fate an ear. But what does mufic's skill avail? When Orpheus did his loss deplore, Trees bow'd attentive to his tale; 15 20 Hush'd were the winds, wild beasts forgot to roar ; But dear Eurydice came back no more. IV. Then ceafe, ye fons of harmony, to mourn; Since Damon never can return. See, fee! he mounts, and cleaves the liquid way! 25 Bright choirs of angels, on the wing, For the new gueft's arrival stay, And hymns of triumph fing. They bear him to the happy feats above, Where artful Purcell went before. Ceafe then, ye fons of mufic, ceafe to mourn; 30 ANACREON. A ODE THE THIR D. T dead of night, when mortals lofe I heard a knocking at my door: "Betray'd "Betray'd by night, and led aftray, My pretty angel! come, faid I, "Come to the fire, and do not cry!" I ftrok'd his neck and fhoulders bare, And squeez'd the water from his hair ; Then chaf'd his little hands in mine, And chear'd him with a draught of wine. Recover'd thus, fays he; "I'd know, "Whether the rain has spoil'd my bow; "Let's try"-then shot me with a dart, The venom throbb'd, did ake and finart, As if a bee had itung my heart. "Are these your thanks, ungrateful child, "Are these your thanks?"-Th' impoftor fmil'd: "Farewell, my loving hoft, fays he; "All's well; my bow 's unhurt, I fee; "But what a wretch I've made of thee!" 30 35 15 20 25 } } THE THE STORY OF PYRAMUS AND THIS BE, FROM THE FOURTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES WHERE Babylon's proud walls, erected high By fam'd Semiramis, afcend the sky, Dwelt youthful Pyramus, and Thisbe fair ; 5 Time nurs'd the growing flame; had Fate been kind, 20 15 Safe |