VOL. I.

VII.

How mufic charms!

How metre warms!

Parent of actions, good and brave !
How vice it tames!

And worth inflames!

And holds proud empiré o'er the grave!

VIII.

Jove mark'd for man
A scanty span,

But lent him wings to fly his doom;
Wit fcorns the grave;

.

To Wit he gave

The life of gods! immortal bloom!

IX.

Since years will fly,
And pleasures die,

Day after day, as years advance;

Since, while life lafts,

Joy fuffers blafts

From frowning Fate, and fickle Chance;

X.

Nor life is long;

But foon we throng,

Like autumn leaves, death's pallid shore;

We make, at least,

Of bad the best,

If in life's phantom, Fame, we foar.

.

XI.

Our strains divide

The laurel's pride;

With those we lift to life, to live;
By fame enroll'd

With heroes bold,

And share the bleffings which we give.

XII.

What hero's praise
Can fire my lays,

Like His, with whom my lay begun?

Justice fincere,

"And courage clear,

"Rife the two columns of his throne.

XIII.

"How form'd for fway!
"Who look, obey;

They read the monarch in his port:
"Their love and awe

66

Supply the law;

"And his own luftre makes the court:"

XIV.

On yonder height,

What golden light

Triumphant fhines? And fhines alone?
Unrivall'd blaze!

The nations gaze!

"Tis not the Sun; 'tis Britain's throne.

XV. Our

XV.

Our Monarch, there,
Rear'd high in air,

Should tempefts rife, difdains to bend ;
Like British oak,

Which leads from great to greater things:
Men doubt no more,

But gods adore,

When fuch resemblance fhines in kings.

M 2

EPISTLES