But should the Sun again adorn the sky, And trees, erect, wave green along the whiten'd: walls. So when great BRUNSWICK yielded to his fate,. O'er-cast, and chearless was Britannia's state, Her cheeks to lose their bloomy hue begun, And all her roses vanish'd with the Sun: "Till a new BRUNSWICK, with an equal ray, Recall'd at once her beauties, and the day : Firm and unchanged, the spires and turrets stand! Religion, join'd with Liberty's fair hand, In triumph walk, and bless, with wonted smiles, the land! Hail, mighty Monarch! whose desert alone Would, without birth-right, raise Thee to a Throne! Thy Virtues shine peculiarly nice, Ungloom'd with a confinity to vice What strains shall equal to thy glories rise, First to the world, and borderer on the skies! How exquisitely great, who cans't inspire Such joys, that Albion mourns no more thy Sire! Imperial weight he bore with so much ease! But when a ftem, with fruitful branches crown'd, All heroes, and their country's fathers all; His great fore-runners when the last out-shone, Who could a brighter, hope, or ev'n as bright, a Son ? Old Rome with tears the younger Scipio view'd, Avaunt, degenerate grafts, or spurious breed! ELIJAH FENTON.. Shelton, Staffordshire, 1730. man. A Poet Minorite, whose productions are more characterised by indecency than wit. He is said to have been a moral What must have been the morality of an age when a moral man could write such poems, and Walter Harte, who certainly was a religious man, could present them to a young Lady, with commendatory verses in which the most obscene tales are recommended as " stories quaintto charm the hours away!" AN ODE To the Right Honourable John Lord Gower. Written in the Spring, 1716. O'ER winter's long inclement sway, Around him dance the rosy hours, And damasking the ground with flowers, By her awaked, the woodland choir Or if invoked, where Thames's fruitful tides Slow through the vales in silver volumes play; Now your own Phoebus o'er the month presides, Gives love the night, and doubly gilds the day. Thither indulgent to my prayer, Ye bright harmonious nymphs repair, To swell the notes I feebly raise : May Gower's propitious ear be charm'd, Beneath the pole on hills of snow, Like Thracian May, th' undaunted Swede From Volga's banks, the imperious Czar But here no clarion's shrilling note |