O'er this new world, thus has Britannia's arms Reftor'd loft peace, and exil'd war's alarms; Again rich commerce crowns the merchant's toil, And fmiling Ceres paints the pregnant foil. Thus the good fhepherd, when he views from far The deadly wolves befet his fleecy care, Quick to their help his guardian crook he wields, And foon the prowling throng is fcatter'd o'er the fields. Yet not to us is Britain's care confin'd, Her fame is wafted to remotest Ind; By justice call'd, her chiefs, with matchlefs fwords, See the fad chance of all-deftructive war- Burfts from his ftand, to feize th' infulting flave; O'er Europe too, great George's arms prevail, And here, fubmiffive, kneel th' Hungarian foe; And vainly beat his adamantine fides! Now let our muse the Paphian trumpet blow, Beauty's the theme, and melting strains fhall flow. See Neptune, mounting with his nereid train, To fmooth the furface of the azure main; As confcious of his charge, he joys to please The beauteous CHARLOTTE, mistress of the feas! The The jovial failors ply their fhining oars, And now they reach fair Albion's white-cliff fhores; But here we fix, rejoic'd to see you bleft, N. B. The New-Year's Verses for 1763, are omitted, the fubstance of them being included in the Poem, entitled, HEROIC STANZAS on the fucceffes of 1762, p. 64, &c. On completing my One and Twentieth Year of Age. ATHER* of old oblivion, hail! FA Reftrain thy fwift-revolving glass; If foothing verfe can ought avail, When twenty-one quick fummers from me thou Adieu! amufements of my youth, My whistle sweet I blew, or cull'd the mufe's flow'rs! Then oft in Schuylkill's filver wave, Pleas'd to delude the finny fry, The perch with glittering scales, or trout of golden dye. Oft too, as Sol's refplendent ray With ardour beam'd thro' Cancer's fign, Would I the river's margent ftray, Or on its velvet brink recline. Then would Fancy ope her treasures, Pouring on the mind new pleasures, Unlocking all her fairy scenes Of gay enamell'd groves and fweet Elysian greens. How How would fhe then uncurtain fate, And fnatch the foul to yonder sky, Or, ages old revolving o'er, Their worthies place my eyes before; Hero or patriot, faint or fage, Or who e'er fmote the lyre with bold poetic rage. Flush'd with these glowing visions bright, What noble frenzy feiz'd the foul! How would I eye her ivy crown, And pant, in youthful heat, for deathlefs fair renown? But hence, ye dear delufions all, 'Tis time I tear you from my breast; Methinks! I hear fweet Reason call, "Be not with empty dreams poffeft!" Away, ye pleasing shades away, . I brook no longer fond delayReluctant still ye from me fly, Your airy forms I fee yet flit before my eye! But |