But chief in Europe, and in Europe's pride,

My Albion's favour'd realms, I rofe ador'd; And pour'd my wealth to other climes deny'd, From Amalthea's horn with plenty stor❜d.

Ah me! for now a younger rival claims
My ravish'd honours, and to her belong
My choral dances, and victorious games,
To her my garlands and triumphal song.

O fay what yet untafted bounties flow,
What purer joys await her gentler reign?
Do lillies fairer, vi'lets fweeter blow?

And warbles Philomel a fofter strain ?

Do morning funs in ruddier glory rife?
. Does ev'ning fan her with ferener gales?
Do clouds drop fatness from the wealthier skies?
Or wantons Plenty in her happier vales?

Ah! no the blunted beams of dawning light
Skirt the pale orient with uncertain day;
And Cynthia, riding on the car of night,
Thro' clouds embattled faintly wins her way.

Pale, immature, the blighted verdure fprings,
Nor mounting juices feed the fwelling flow'r;
Mute all the groves, nor Philomela fings

When Silence liftens at the midnight hour.

Nor

Nor wonder, man, that Nature's bashful face,
And op'ning charms her rude embraces fear :
Is fhe not sprung of April's wayward race,
The fickly daughter of th' unripen'd year?

With fhow'rs and funfhine in her fickle eyes,
With hollow fmiles proclaiming treach❜rous peace;
With blushes, harb'ring in their thin disguise
The blaft that riots on the Spring's increase.

Is this the fair invested with my fpoil

By Europe's laws, and Senates' ftern command? Ungen'rous Europe, let me fly thy foil,

And waft my treasures to a grateful land:

Again revive on Asia's drooping shore

My Daphne's groves, or Lycia's ancient plain ; Again to Afric's fultry fands reftore

Embow'ring fhades, and Lybian Ammon's fane :

Or hafte to northern Zembla's favage coaft,

There hush to filence elemental ftrife;

Brood o'er the region of eternal Frost,

And fwell her barren womb with heat and life.

Then Britain

here fhe ceas'd. Indignant grief,

And parting pangs her fault'ring tongue fuppreft ; Veil'd in an amber cloud, fhe fought relief,

And tears, and filent anguifh told the rest,

SONG

Y

SONG for RANELAGH.

By Mr. W. WHITEHEAD.

I.

E belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things,
Who trip in this frolick fome round,

Pray tell me from whence this indecency springs,
The fexes at once to confound:

What means the cock'd hat, and the masculine air,
With each motion defign'd to perplex ?

Bright eyes were intended to languish, not stare,
And foftnefs the teft of your fex.

II.

The girl who on beauty depends for support,
May call ev'ry art to her aid:

The bofom display'd, and the petticoat short,
Are famples fhe gives of her trade.

But you, on whom Fortune indulgently smiles,
And whom Pride has preferv'd from the snare;
Should flily attack us, with coynefs and wiles,
Not with open and infolent air.

-III. The

III.

The Venus whofe ftatue delights all mankind
Shrinks modeftly back from the view,
And kindly fhou'd seem by the artist design'd
To serve as a model for you.

Then learn with her beauties to copy her air,
Nor venture too much to reveal;

Our fancies will paint what you cover with care,
And double each charm you conceal.

IV.

The blushes of Morn, and the mildnefs of May,
Are charms which no art can procure;

Oh! be but yourselves, and our homage we pay,.
And your empire is folid and fure.

But if Amazon like you attack your gallants,

And put us in fear of our lives,

You

may do very

well for fifters and aunts,

But believe me you'll never be wives.

The BENEDICITE Paraphrafed.

By the Rev. Mr. MERRICK.

E works of God, on him alone,

YE his

In earth his footstool, heaven his throne,
Be all your praise beftow'd;

Whofe hand the beauteous fabrick made,

Whofe eye the finish'd work furvey'd,

And faw that all was good,

II.

Ye angels, that with loud acclaim
Admiring view'd the new-born frame,
And hail'd th' eternal King;
Again proclaim your Maker's praise,
Again your thankful voices raife,
And touch the tuneful ftring.
III.

Praise him, ye blefs'd ætherial plains,
Where, in full majefty, he deigns
To fix his aweful throne:

Ye waters, that above him roll,
From orb to orb, from pole to pole,
Oh! make his praises known!

IV.

Ye thrones, dominions, virtues, pow'rs,

Join ye your joyful fongs with ours,

With us your voices raise;

From age to age extend the lay,

To heav'n's eternal Monarch pay

Hymns of eternal praise.

V.

Cœleftial orb!-whofe pow'rful ray

Opes the glad eyelids of the day,

Whose influence all things own ;

Praise him, whofe courts effulgent fhine

With light, as far excelling thine,

As thine the paler moon.