WILLIAM HINCHLIFFE.

Southwark, 1692-1742.

66

A bookseller in London, who presented an Ode to George the First, on his arrival at Greenwich, collected a volume of Poems, 1718, and published another, consisting entirely of his own productions, entitled Poems Amorous, Moral, and Divine. These, as he himself says, were composed in that season of life when the Passions generally retain a dominion over Reason; when the mind is a novice in Reflection." This he gives as an excuse for the "little levities and amorous liberties of some of the Love Poems."-Perhaps none is more pre-eminent in nonsense. than the following Ode.

As a specimen of the divine the 98th Psalm will serve.

Upon seeing Philesia at her Window, viewing a Wedding.

A PINDARICK ODE.

Now blessings on you both, ye happy pair,

Smooth be your days, and blissful all your nights,

Let sweet content crown every circling year,
And Hymen pour on you profuse delights!
Be thou, O bridegroom, long

Thus comely, sprightly, gay, and strong,
And be thy spouse still beautiful and young,
And both for ever burn with mutual deathless love!
Cease your surprize to hear a stranger bless
Your nuptials; I can do no less!

Since it admits debate,

Whether they now create,

To you, or me more happiness,

For 'tis to them I owe the mighty bliss I prove.

When Hymen trims his sacred lamp at night, And animates himself your amorous fires; Those joys will not exceed this heavenly sight, Nor raise such fervour, nor such high desires. For sure a flame like mine,

Oh !

So pure, so bright, and so divine,

Within no human breast did ever shine: my Philesia's eyes dart strong exalted love. This blissful view of her is more to me,

Than to you love's enjoyments be :

I feel my raptured heart

Pierced thro' with pleasing smart ;

And gaze with more felicity

Than the compleated vows of other lovers move.

To Philesia, the day before her coming to Town.

A SONG.

As the fond Turtle mourns his absent mate,
And sadly seeks his little love,

Amid the silent sprays regrets his fate,
And flutters, lonely, through the grove;

So droops my soul, thus banish'd from my fair,
For the sweet influence of thy eye!
Joyless, oppress'd with melancholy care,
I sigh, I languish, pine, and die.

In vain, alas! to sooth my am'rous pain,
I softly strike the speaking strings;
To lull my woes, attempt some pleasing strain,
And chant a thousand tender things.

In vain, alas!-For while thy absence lasts,
The speaking strings, ungrateful, sound:
No pleasing strain my sicken'd Fancy tastes;
And tender things inflame my wound.

But tho' black Night o'ershades the mournful skies, And in dark sable clothes the spheres;

Yet, radiant Morn beholds the sun arise,
And with triumphant beams appear.

So thou, to-morrow, wilt return, my love,
Again to bless my ravish'd sight:
Then all my gloomy sorrows shall remove,
And yield to joy, and gay delight.

A Song of Thanksgiving, or Part of the 98th Psalm paraphrased.

REJOICE, thou world and all that dwell therein!
Ye numerous sons of Adam, first begin
This universal song; do you confess

Your Saviour's love, his boundless bounties bless :
Let his amazing acts your breasts inspire

With high poetick thoughts, and sacred fire.
He Death and Hell with his strong arm assail'd;
And o'er them both victoriously prevail'd:
The wine-press of his father's wrath he trod,
And, singly, bore the vengeance of a God:
While floods of ire upon his soul were hurl'd,
He stood, and saved (himself!) a sinking world!
Yield then the tribute of your noblest praise,
New songs like his unheard-of mercies raise:

"For wondrous things has our Redeemer done; "And with his own Right-Hand the conquest won."

Ye shining orbs who in bright circles roll,
And spread your chearing rays from pole to pole;
His praises in your silent course declare,

And to each distant zone and climate bear;
By him your radiant spheres at first were form'd,
And with gay beams of streaming light adorn'd;
You saw him from the vanquish'd grave arise,
And mount triumphant thro' the spangled skies.
Ye blustering winds, to him your homage pay,
Whose dread command both winds and storms obey:
Boreas, begin and with thy hoarser voice

Roar a loud bass; whilst others shall rejoice
In shriller strains, and whistle as they pass
Thro' the tall trees, or brush the bending grass :
"For wondrous things has our Redeemer done,
"And with his own Right-Hand the conquest won."

*

Ye beasts, who range for prey the lonesome wood;
And ye, who graze the springing herb for food;
From fury now, and trembling terror free
Forget awhile your native enmity: