II.

The keenest frost that binds the stream,

The wildest wind that blows,

Are neither felt nor fear'd by them,
Secure of their repose.

III.

But man, all feeling and awake,

The gloomy scene surveys;

With present ills his heart muft ake,
And pant for brighter days.

IV.

Old winter, halting o'er the mead,

Bids me and Mary mourn;
But lovely spring peeps o'er his head,

And whispers 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 fpeaks regret

Of happier times, appear,

A glimpse of joy, that we have met,
Shall fhine, and dry the tear.

TRANSLATION OF PRIOR'S CHLOE AND EUPHELIA.

I.

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, formæ,
Tota anima intereà pendet ab ore Chlöes.

IV.

Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem,
Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo;
Atque Cupidineâ dixit Dea cineta corona,
Heu! fallendi artem quam didicere parum.

BOADICEA:

AN OD E.

I.

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.

III.

Princess! 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!

VI.

Other Romans fhall arife,

Heedlefs of a foldier's name;

Sounds, not arms, fhall win the prizeHarmony the path to fame.

VII.

Then the progeny that springs
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 celeftial fire,
Bending, as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.