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Old winter halting o'er the mead,

Bids me and Mary mourn,

But lovely spring peeps o'er his head,

And whifpers your return.

V.

Then April with her fifter May,
Shall chafe him from the bow'rs,
And weave fresh garlands ev'ry day,
To crown the smiling hours.

VI.

And if a tear that speaks regret
Of happier times appear,

A glimpse of joy that we have met

A

Shall fhine, and dry the tear.

TRAN S

TRANSLATION OF PRIOR'S
CHLOE AND EUPHELIA.

1.

MERCATOR, vigiles oculos ut fallere poffit,
Nomine fub ficto trans mare mittit opes;
Lené fonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis,
Sed folam exoptant te, mea vota, Chlöe.

II.

Ad fpeculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines,

Cum dixit mea lux, heus, cane, fume lyram. Namque lyram juxtà pofitam cum carmine vidit, Suave quidem carmen dulcifonamque lyram,

III.

Fila lyræ vocemque paro, fufpiria furgunt,

Et mifcent numeris murmura mæsta meis,

Dumque tuæ memoro laudes, Euphelia, forma,
Tota anima intereà pendet ab ore Chlöes.

VOL. I.

A a

Subrubet

VI.

Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem,
Me torquet mea mens confcia, pfallo, tremo;
Atque Cupidineâ dixit Dea cincta corona,

Heu! fallendi artem quam didicere parum.

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WHEN the British warrior queen,

Bleeding from the Roman rods,

Sought with an indignant mien,

Counsel of her country's gods,

II.

Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief,
Ev'ry burning word he spoke,

Full of rage and full of grief.

Princefs!

III.

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Princefs! if our aged eyes

Weep upon thy matchlefs wrongs,

'Tis because refentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.

IV.

Rome fhall perish-write that word
In the blood that she has spilt;

Perish hopeless and abhorr'd,

Deep in ruin as in guilt.

V.

Rome for empire far renown'd
Tramples on a thousand states,

Soon her pride fhall kifs the ground

Hark! the Gaul is at her gates.

Other Romans fhall arife,

VI.

Heedlefs of a foldier's name,

Sounds, not arms, hall win the prize,

Harmony the path to fame.

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From the forefts of our land,

Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings,

Shall a wider world command.

VIII.

Regions Cæfar never knew,

Thy pofterity fhall fway,

Where his eagles never flew,

None invincible as they.

IX.

Such the bard's prophetic words,

Pregnant with celestial fire,

Bending as he swept the chords

Of his sweet but awful lyre.

X.

She, with all a monarch's pride,

Felt them in her bofom glow, Rufh'd to battle, fought and died,

Dying, hurl'd them at the foe.

Ruffians,

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