ON THE

BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY

FROM SEA-BATHING,

IN THE YEAR 1789.

O SOVEREIGN of an isle renown'd

For undisputed sway Wherever o'er yon gulf profound

Her navies wing their way ;

With juster claim she builds at length

Her empire on the sea,
And well may boast the waves her strength

Which strength restored to Thee.

TO MRS. THROCKMORTON,

ON

HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE's Ode

AD LIBRUM SUUM.

FEBRUARY, 1790.

MARIA, could Horace have guess'd

What honour awaited his ode
To his own little volume address'd,
The honour which

you

have bestow'd,Who have traced it in characters here,

So elegant, even, and neat,
He had laugh'd at the critical sneer

Which he seems to have trembled to meet.

And sneer, if you please, he had said,

A nymph shall hereafter arise
Who shall give me, when you are all dead,

The glory your malice denies;
Shall dignity give to my lay,

Although but a mere bagatelle; And even a poet shall say,

Nothing ever was written so well.

INSCRIPTION

FOR A STONE ERECTED AT THE SOWING OF A GROVE OF OAKS

AT CHILLINGTON, THE SEAT OF T. GIFFARD, ESQ. 1790.

JUNE, 1790.

Other stones the era tell,
When some feeble mortal fell;
I stand here to date the birth
Of these hardy sons of Earth.

Which shall longest brave the sky,
Storm and frost-these Oaks or I?
Pass an age or two away,
I must moulder and decay ;
But the years that crumble me
Shall invigorate the tree,
Spread its branch, dilate its size,
Lift its summit to the skies.

Cherish honour, virtue, truth,
So shalt thou prolong thy youth.
Wanting these, however fast
Man be fix’d, and form'd to last,
He is lifeless even now,
Stone at heart, and cannot grow.

ANOTHER,

FOR A STONE ERECTED ON A SIMILAR OCCASION AT THE SAME

PLACE IN THE FOLLOWING YEAR.

JUNE, 1790.

READER! Behold a monument

That asks no sigh or tear,
Though it perpetuate the event
Of a great burial here.

Anno 1791.

HYMN

FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY.

JULY, 1790.
HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and prayer,

In heaven thy dwelling-place,
From infants, made the public care,

And taught to seek thy face!
Thanks for thy Word and for thy Day;

And grant us, we implore,
Never to waste in sinful play

Thy holy Sabbaths more.
Thanks that we hear,—but oh! impart

To each desires sincere,
That we may listen with our heart,

And learn as well as hear.
For if vain thoughts the minds engage

Of elder far than we,
What hope that at our heedless age

Our minds should e'er be free?

Much hope, if thou our spirits take

Under thy gracious sway,
Who canst the wisest wiser make,

And babes as wise as they.
Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows,

A sun that ne'er declines;
And be thy mercies shower'd on those

Who placed us where it shines '.

STANZAS

ON THE LATE INDECENT LIBERTIES TAKEN WITH THE REMAINS

OF THE GREAT MILTON,--ANNO 1790.

AUGUST, 1790.

“ Me too, perchance, in future days,

The sculptured stone shall show,
With Paphian myrtle or with bays

Parnassian on my brow.
“ But I, or ere that season come,

Escaped from every care,
Shall reach my refuge in the tomb,

And sleep securely there?."

| This Hymn was written at the request of the Rev. James Bean, then Vicar of Olney, to be sung by the children of the Sunday Schools of that town, after a Charity Sermon, preached at the parish church for their benefit, on Sunday, July 31, 1790.-J.

2 Forsitan et nostros ducat de marmore vultus

Nectens aut Paphia myrti uui Pernasside lauri
Fronde comus-- At ego secura pace quiescam.

Milton in Manso.

So sang, in Roman tone and style,

The youthful bard, ere long
Ordain’d to grace his native isle

With her sublimest song.
Who then but must conceive disdain,

Hearing the deed unblest
Of wretches who have dared profane

His dread sepulchral rest ?
Ill fare the hands that heaved the stones

Where Milton's ashes lay,
That trembled not to grasp his bones

And steal his dust away!
O ill-requited bard! neglect

Thy living worth repaid, And blind idolatrous respect

As much affronts thee dead.

TO MRS. KING,

ON HER KIND PRESENT TO THE AUTHOR, A PATCHWORK

COUNTERPANE OF HER OWN MAKING.

AUGUST 14, 1790.

The Bard, if e'er he feel at all,
Must sure be quicken’d by a call

Both on his heart and head,
To pay with tuneful thanks the care
And kindness of a lady fair

Who deigns to deck his bed.
A bed like this, in ancient time,
On Ida’s barren top sublime,