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ODES.

AN

IRREGULAR ODE ON MUSIC.

CEASE, gentle sounds, nor kill me quite
With such excess of sweet delight!
Each trembling note invades my heart,
And thrills through every vital part;

A soft, a pleasing pain
Pursues my heated blood through every vein;

What, what does the enchantment mean?
Ah! give the charming magic o'er,
My beating heart can bear no more.

Now wild with fierce desire,

My breast is all on fire!
In soften'd raptures now I die!
Can empty sound such joys impart!
Can music thus transport the heart

With melting ecstasy!
O art divine! exalted blessing!
Each celestial charm expressing!
Kindest gift the gods bestow!
Sweetest good that mortals know!
When seated in a verdant shade
(Like tuneful Thyrsis) Orpheus play’d;

The distant trees forsake the wood,
The listening beasts neglect their food,

To hear the heavenly sound;

The dryads leave the mountains,

The naiads quit the fountains,
And in a sprightly chorus dance around.
To raise the stately walls of ancient Troy,
Sweet Phæbus did his tuneful harp employ:

See what soft harmony can do!
The moving rocks the sound pursue,

Till in a large collected mass they grew:
Had Thyrsis lived in these remoter days,
His were the chaplet of immortal bays!

Apollo's harp unknown,
The shepherd had remain'd of song

The deity alone.

BIRTHDAY ODE.

PERFORMED AT THE CASTLE OF DUBLIN.

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HARK-how the soul of Music reigns,

As when the first great birth of Nature sprung, When Chaos burst his massy chains,

'Twas thus the cherubs sung-
Hail-hail, from this auspicious morn

Shall British glories rise!
Now are the mighty treasures born,
That shall Britannia's fame adorn,

And lift her to the skies.
• Let George's mighty banners spread,

His lofty clarions roar;
Till warlike echo fills with dread

The hostile Gallic shore.

· Mark-how his name with terror fills!
The magic sound Rebellion kills,
And brightens all the northern hills,

Where pallid treasons dwell;
The monster shall no more arise,
Upon the ground she panting lies!
Beneath his William's foot she dies,

And now she sinks to hell.

• Haste-let Ierne's harp be newly strung, And after mighty George be William sung. • Talk no more of Grecian glory, William stands the first in story: He, with British ardour glows:

See--the pride of Gallia fading!

Seė- the youthful warrior leading Britons vengeful to their foes! • Fair is the olive branch Hibernia boasts, Nor shall the din of war disturb her coasts; While Stanhope smiles, her sons are bless'd, In native loyalty confess'd!

• See-O see, thrice happy isle !

See what gracious George bestow'd ; Twice' have you seen a Stanhope smile,

These are gifts become a god! • How the grateful island glows!

Stanhope's name shall be revered; Whilst by subjects and by foes

Sacred George is loved and fear'd.

1 Earls of Chesterfield and Harrington, both saccessively Lords Lieutenants of Ireland.

· Like Persians to the rising sun,

Respectful homage pay;
At George's birth our joys begun :

Salute the glorious day!'

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ages done;

MORE glorious than the comet's blaze,
That through the starry region strays;
From Zembla to the Torrid Zone,
The mighty name of Prussia's known.
Be banish'd from the books of fame, ,

Ye deeds in distant
Lost and inglorious is the name

Of Hannibal, or Philip's son:
Could Greece or conquering Carthage sing
A hero great as Prussia's king!
Where restless envy can't explore,

Or flatter'd hope presume to fly;
Fate bade victorious Frederic soar,

For laurels that can never die.
Could Greece, &c.
His rapid bolts tremendous break

Through nations arm’d in dread array,
Swift as the furious blasts that shake

The bosom of the frighted sea. Could Greece, &c.

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In vain, to shake the throne of Jove,

With impious rage the giants tried; 'Gainst Frederic's force the nations strove

In vain-their haughty legions died. Could Greece, &c. While prudence guides his chariot wheels,

Through virtue's sacred paths they roll; Immortal truth his bosom steels,

And guards him glorious to the goal.
Could Greece, &e.
The vengeful lance Britannia wields

In concert with her brave ally,
Saves her fair roses in the fields

Where Gaul's detested lilies die. Wreaths of eternal friendship spring, 'Twixt mighty George and Prussia's king. The jocund bowl let Britons raise,

And crown the jovial board with mirth ; Fill-to great Frederic's length of days,

And hail the hero's glorious birthCould Greece or conquering Carthage sing A chieftain famed like Prussia's king!

COMPOSED FOR THE BIRTHDAY OF THE LATE

GENERAL LORD BLAKENEY.. The Muses' harps, by concord strung!

Loud let them strike the festal lay,
Waked by Britannia's grateful tongue,

To hail her hero's natal day.
Arise, paternal glory! rise,
And lift your Blakeney to the skies!

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