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ODE for his Majesty's Birth-DAY, 1801. By the Same.

I.
AS
S the blest Guardian of the British Isles,

Immortal Liberty, triumphant stood,
And view'd her gallant sons, with favouring smiles,

Undaunted heroes of the field or flood;
From Inverary's rocky shores,
Where loud the Hyperborean billow roars,
To where the surges of the Atlantic wave
Around Cornubia's Western borders rave,
While Erin's valiant warriors glow
With kindred fire to crush the injurious foe,

From her bright lance the flames of Vengeance stream,
And in her eagle eye shines Glory's radiant beam.

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II.
Why sink those smiles in Sorrow's sigh?
Why Sorrow's tears suffuse that eye?
Alas! while weeping Britain sees
The baleful fiends of pale Disease
Malignant hovering near her throne,
And threat a Monarch all her own--
No more from Anglia's fertile land,
No more from Caledonia's strand,
From Erin's breezy hills no more
Thę panting legions crowd the shore;
The buoyant barks, the vaunting host
That swarm on Gallia's hostile coast,
The anxious thought no longer share,

Lost in a nearer, dearer care,
And Britain breathes alone for George's life her prayer.

III.
Her prayer is heard— Th’ Almighty Power,

Potent to punish or to save,
Bids Ilealth resume again her happier hour;-

And, as across the misty wave
The fresh’ning breezes sweep the clouds away
That hid awhile the golden orb of day,
So from Hygeia’s balmy breath
Fly the drear shadow's of Disease and Death
Again the manly breast beats high,
And flames again the indignant eye,
While, from the cottage to the throne,

This generous sentiment alone
Vos. XLVI.

3 KI

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Lives

T.

Lives in each heart with patriot ardour warm,
Points every sword, nerves every Briton's arm,
“ Rush to the field where George and Freedom Jead,

Glory and fame alike the warrior's meed,
Brave in their Country's cause, who conquer or who bleed.”

An Address to their MAJESTIES, on entering the Yacht at the Féte giden

on board, at Weymouth, on the 29th of September, 1804, in Honour of the Birth-Day of her Royal Highness the Duchess of Wirtemburg.

Spoken by Mr. Elliston and Miss De Cump, in the Characters of a Sailor

and his Wife.

The Sailor breaks from his Companions, and says to them,
I TELL you I will speak, so stand aside,

And let a Sailor, who has long defy'd
His country's toes, for once approach his King,
The humble tribute of respect to bring.
He, God preserve him! loves an English tar,
Nurs’d amid tempests, and the din of war;
And hears, well-pleas'd, an honest tongue impart
The plain effusions of a single heart.

[Turning to the King.
Then trust me, Sir, there's not a bosom here,
Nor one that breathes a thought, to Britons dear,
Which does not feel the gen'rous glow of pride
To see his Friend, his Monarch by his side.
Ah! could you but conceive the general grief,
The look, which mock'd all comforts' cold relief,
Whenc'er a transient cloud of illness spread
Its chilling vapour o'er your honour'd head,
I need not now proclaim your subjects joy,
Most marked by what we felt, when fears alloy
To ev'ry fond anxiety gave birth,
“And taught the value of our jewel's worth."*
If thus your people feel, what tongues can tell
The raptrous joy that must the bosom swell,
Of those who add, to ties like ours, the call
Which Nature's sympathies impress on all,
Whether they feel a Monarch's scepter'd lot,
Or dwell the peasant of the poorest cot:
But chiefly her's, who, in a foreign land,
Far from her father, and his shelt'ring hand,

• Cowper's Task.

Who now,

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In absence felt that doubled cause of woe,
Which all who taste suspense too keenly know;

perhaps, the while her health goes round,
And the deck echoes to the festive sound,
In fond imagination views the scene,
And sighs to think what barriers intervene
To stop the thanks, that hang upon her tongue
Intent on him, from whom her being sprung,
“Oh! may he live," she cries, with mingled tears,
" Longer than I have time to tell his years :*
And, while the dews of sleep his brows o’erspread,
May all good angels guard his nightly bed!”

[Sailor's Wife interrupts the Suilor.
My worthy friend, have you forgot the fame
Of old St. Michael, of goose-killing name?
How, ev'ry year, on this auspicious day
Our vows to him with grateful teeth we pay,
When cackling animals by instinct feel
A sort of tremor through the bosom steal?
You surely have; but pr’ythee say no more,
For, if you are not mute, I must implore
My Sovereign himself his aid to lend.
He, to all just prerogative the friend,
Will never see a female, fair and young,
Robb’d of her best prerogative, her tongue.
And now, forsooth, when ladies ride a race,
And vie with men in ev'ry manly grace;
Oh! could our grandmothers on earth arrise,
How would such thoughts astound their wond'ring eyes!
They, who the Decalogue in cross-stich wrought,
Or good morality in samplers taught,
Who never rode but on some festive day,
When behind John, upon a long-tail'd grey ;
Strapp'd to a modest pillion's sober side,
My good aunt Deborah came out a bride,
She a long-waisted Joseph proudly wore,
And on her head an ample bonnet bore.
What would she say to see the modern maid,
With jockey sleeves and velvet cap array'd,
Dashing thro' thick and thin to win the post,
And swearing when she finds her wishes crost !

But how can I one thought to censu re give,
When here, collected in this vessel, live
Whatever virtues dignify our kind,
Or stamp with excellence the fema le mind !

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Shakespeare's Hevry the VIIIth.

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Here

Here the soft maid, whose plighted vow is past
To him she fondly loves, with whom at last
She hopes to pass her happiest hours of life,
May read each duty which adorns a wife

[Turning to the Queen.
Reflected from the throne, where rank and birth
Shed the soft lustre of domestic worth.
Or would a daughter's heart enquire the way
llow best she may a parent's care repay,

[Turning to the Princesses:
Believe me, ladies, when I turn to you,
Το

pay the tribute to your virtues due,
I am no actress here, it from its lid
The tear of admiration start unbid;
There are rewards a King may call his own,
Brighter than all the jewels of his throne;
Bought by a life in deeds of virtue spent,
Which, firm as adamant, on Heaven intent,
Was never from its course of duty bent.
Forgive my tongue thus prattling out of time,
Like sweet bells jingling on unmeasur'd chime;
Since 'tis the fulness of my joy that speaks,
The heart thro’ forms of ceremony breaks;
For who can see a King whose virtues blend,
Which deck the Father, Monarch, and the Friend,
And not, by Nature's magic sympathy,
Recall at once some fond congenial tie?
Then trust me, Sir, henceforth, when tempests roar,
And the winds whistle through my cottage door,
While in my solitary bed I'm laid,
And fears for Tom my anxious soul invade,
The thought that 'tis for you my sailor braves
The battle's danger, and the stormy waves,
Shall make my heart with patriot ardour burn,
And hope anticipate his glad return.

So now farewell; but oh, may all, next year,
Again with merry hearts assemble here,
Once more to view their happy Sovereign prove
His Queen's, his Children's, and his People's love!

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ODE

To the People of Great Britain, on the threatened Invasion.

By Dr. CHARLES BURNEY.

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ARM, Britons, armon

Your Country's cause,
Religion, wives, and infant train,
Now call to arms !-nor let their call be vain !
No:-tread the path which erst your fathers trod :

The stake is England! Britons, rise:

Your foes are Gauls! Those foes chastise:
Focs to your King, your Country, and your God!

;

Shall he, with virtues amply known,
Our King, be hurl'd from Britain's throne

By Gauls, embrued in royal gore,
Who menace death or slavery round our shore?
No: tread the path which erst your fathers trod :

Nor let the foes' licentious pride

Your Monarch's lawful power deride:
Foes to your King, your Country, and your God!

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Shall we, who boast a Briton's name,
Renounce our Constitution's claim ?

King, Lords, and Commons, levelled low,-
And, tamely crouching, court the threaten'd blow ?
No:

-tread the path which erst your fathers trod :
No foes in arms, with treacherous hate,

Shall shake your church, shall change your state,
Foes to your King, your Country, and your God!

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Shall we, whose laws our rights secure,
Protecting all,-or rich or poor,-.

Those laws abandon :-fram'd of old
By sires whose souls were stamp'd in Freedom's mould ?
No:- tread the path which erst your fathers trod :

No proud dictator Britain knows :

Nor brook the rule of tyrant foes :
Foes to your King, your Country, and your God!

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Shall we Religion's voice neglect :
Her duties spurn, her word reject :

While priests by ruthless steel expire,
And temples sink, involv'd in Atheist fire ?

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No:

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