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[Page 3]
1785 Morning Herald.
Ye are to me Parnassus' MOUNT !
In you, I find an Aganippe FOUNT !
I venerate your muffs,
I bow and kiss your ruffs.
Inspire me, O ye Sisters of the Srill,
And teach your votarist how to quill!
For oh ! - 'tis true indeed,]That he can scarcely read ! -
Teach him to flounce, and disregard all quippery,
As crapes and blonds, and such like frippery ;
Teach him to trim and whip from side to side,
And puff, as long as puffing can be tried.
In Crimping metaphor, he'll dash on,
For point you know is out of fashion.
O crown with bay his tete,
Delpini arbiter of fate !
Nor at the trite conceit, let witlings sport,
A Page shou'd be a Dangler at the court.
June 4. P O E T R Y.
O D E
For his MAJESTY's BIRTH-DAY, June 4, 1785.
Written by Mr. WARTON, Poet - Laureat, and set to Music
by Mr. STANLEY, Master of the King's Band.
I.
AMID the thunder of the war,
True glory guides no echoing ear,
Nor bids the sword her bays bequeath,
Nor stains with blood her highest wreath:
No plumed host her tranquil triumphs own ;
Nor spoils of murder'd multitudes she brings,
To swell the state of her distinguish'd kings,
And deck her chosen throne.
On that fair throne, to Britain dear,
With the flowering olive twin'd,
High she hangs the he o's spear ;
And there, with all the palms of peace combin'd,
Her unpolluted hands the milder trophy rear.
To kings like these, her genuine theme,
The Muse a blameless homage pays ;
To GEORGE, or kings like these supreme,
She wishes honor'd length of days,
Nor prostitute the tribute of her lays.
II.
"Tis his to bid neglected genius glow,
And teach the regal bounty how to flow.
His tutelary scepter's sway
The vindicated arts obey,
And hail their patron king :
'Tis, his, to judgment's steady line
Their flights fantastic to confine
And yet expand their wing :
The fleeting forms of fashion to restrain,
And bind capricious taste in truth's eternal chain.
Sculpture, licentious now no more,
From Greece her great example takes,
With nature's warmth the marble wakes,
And spurns the toys of modern lore :
In native beauty simply plann'd.
Corinth, thy tufted shafts ascend ;
The Graces guide the painter's hand
His magic mimicry to blend.
III.
While such the gifts his reign bestows,
Amid the proud display,
Those gems around the throne he throws
That shed a softer ray ;
While from the summits of sublime renown
He wafts his favour's universal gale ;
With those sweet flowers he binds a crown ,
That bloom in Virtue's humble vale :
With rich munificence, the nuptial tye
Unbroken, he combines :
Conspicuous, in a nation's eye,
The sacred pattern shines !
Fair Science to reform, reward, and raise,
To spread the lustre of domestic praise ;
To Softer emulation's holy flame,
To build Society's majestic frame ;
Mankind to polish and to teach
Be this the monarch's aim ;
Above ambition's giant - reach
The monarch's meed to claim.
______________________________
PROBATIONARY ODES 4. June
for the LAUREATSHIP No.X
The Ode by Sir Gregory Page Turner, which appeared in the HERALD of yesterday, should have stood under the head of PROBATIONARY ODES, No. IX, but inadvertently it was omitted. The following Ode is of such supreme merit, that in defiance of a Debate, and the Official ODE, we give it early insertion.
IRREGULAR ODE.
By Major JOHN SCOTT, M.P. &c. &c.
I.
WHY does the loitering fun retard his wain,
When this glad hour demands a fiercer ray?
Not so he pours his fire on Delhi's plain,
To hail the Lord of Asia's natal day.
There is a mute pomp and cross-legg'd state,
The Raja Poets MOHAMMED SHAH await.
There Malabar,
There Bisnagar,
There Oade and proud Babar, in joy confederate ! -
II.
Curs'd be the clime, and curs'd the laws, that lay
Insulting bonds, on George's sovereign sway.
Arise, my soul, on wings of fire,
To God's anointed, tune the lyre ;
Hail, George, thou all - acomplish'd King !
Just type of him who rules on high !Hail ! inexhausted, boundless spring
Of sacred truth and Holy Majesty !
Grand is thy form, - 'bout five feet ten,
Thou well-build, worthiest, best of men !
Thy chest is stout, thy back is broad, -
Thy Pages view thee, and are aw'd
Lo ! how thy white eyes roll !
Thy whiter eye-brows stare !
Honest soul !
Thou'rt witty, as thou'rt fair !
III.
North of the Drawing-Room, a closet stands ;
The sacred nook, St. James Park commands !
Here in sequester'd State, great GEORGE receives,
Memorials, Treaties, and long lists of thieves !
Here all the force of sov'reign thought is bent,
To fix Reviews, or change a Government !
Heav'ns ! how each word with joy Caermartben takes !
Gods ! how the lengthen'd chin of Sidney shakes !
Bessing and bless'd the sage associates see,
The proud, triumphant league of incapacity.
With subtle smiles,
With innate wiles,
How do thy tricks of state, great George, abound?
So in thy Hampton's mazy ground,
The path that wanders
In Meanders,
Ever bending,
Never ending,
Winding runs the eternal round.
Perplex'd, involv'd, each thought bewilder'd moves,
In short, quick turns the gay confusion roves '
Contending themes the embarrass'd listener baulk,
Lost in the labyrinths of the devious talk !