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When to her houfe her father came,
And thus addrefs'd the mournful dame :
My child,' faid he,
Think of the living,
enough of tears you've shed ;
and forget the dead.
• Another spouse-don't startle at the word,
• 'Tis but a fecond; you may have a third!
• As foon as decency permits,
• I have a husband to propose;
Young, handfome, rich, just one of those
That's form'd to cure a widow's fits.'
Ah, Sir! is this a father's part,
To wound afresh a bleeding heart?
• Shall I another husband wed?
• Oh, no! my only love is dead:
• Nor will I other wedding have,
Till I am bedded in his grave
The father left her to digeft
The wife and prudent things he faid;
He put the husband in her head,
And Time, he knew, would do the reft.
The cares of mourning next took place,
To dress her grief, and suit her face :
'Twas Cupid's thought; for what exceeds
A pretty widow in her weeds!
And now each looking-glafs could tell
That black became her vaftly well.
The fmiles and graces, that were scar'd away,
With all the band of little loves,
And Cytherea's doves,
Came dropping in each day.
The father, if report fays true,
Another visit made, ere mourning over;
I'm glad, my dear,' said he, so well to find you!'
But mention'd not a word of the new lover :
At which the blush'd- Muft I then, Sir, remind you?
The thing's too ferious to be made a joke of:
Where is the husband, pray, that once you spoke of įš
Wide is the difference, as you fee it here,
"Twixt widow of a day, and widow of a year.
All lenient Time expands his wings,
Away he flies with human cares ;
Then back, full fraught with joy, repairs,
And every balmy comfort brings.
Time checks the mourning husband's fighs ; 'Tis he congeals the falling tear,
To form the lovely lucid leer, Which sparkles in a widow's eyes.
ON OCCASION OF THE PEACE.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR M DCC LXII.
BY THE REV. MR. FRANCIS FAWKES.
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extends,
And white-rob'd Innocence from heaven defcends.
DIEU, the horrors of deftructive war,
And mad Bellona in her iron car!
But welcome to our fmiling fields again,
Sweet Peace! attended with thy jocund train,
Truth, Virtue, Freedom, that can never cloy,
And all the pleafing family of Joy.
Those schemes purfu'd, which Pitt fo wifely plann'd,
Conqueft has shower'd her bleffings on the land;
And Britain's fons more laurels have obtain'd,
Than all her Henry's, or her Edward's gain'd.
George faw with joy the peaceful period given,
And bow'd obedient to the will of Heaven :
Awful he rofe to bid diffention cease,
And all the warring world was calm'd to peace;
Thus did the roaring waves their rage compofe,
When the great father of the floods arose.
Then came Aftrea mild, our isle to bless,
Fair queen of virtue, and of happiness!
Then came our troops, in fighting fields renown'd,
And mark'd with many an honourable wound.
The tender fair one, long by fears opprefs'd,
Now feels foft raptures rifing in her breast,
The blooming hero of her heart to view,
And hear him bid the dangerous camp adiep.,
The widow'd bride, that long on grief had fed,
And bath'd with weeping the deferted bed,
Glad that the tumults of the war are o'er,
That terror, rage, and rapine are no more,
Greets her rough lord, fecure from hoftile harms,
And hopes an age of pleasure in his arms :
While he, with pompous eloquence, recites
Dire fcenes of castles ftorm'd, and defperate fights;
Or tells how Wolfe the free-born Britons led,
How Granby conquer'd, and the Houshold filed;
She, to the pleafing dreadful tale intent,
Now fmiles, now trembles, for the great event.
O curs'd ambition, foe to human good,
Pregnant with woe, and prodigal of blood!
Thou fruitful fource, whence ftreams of forrow flow,
What devastations to thy guilt we owe !
Where'er thy fury riots, all around
Confufion, havock, and dread deaths abound:
Where Ceres flourish'd, and gay Flora fmil'd,
Behold a barren, folitary wild!
To stately cedars, thorns and briars fucceed,
And in the garden fpreads the noxious weed;
Where cattle paftur'd late, the purple plain,
Sad fcene of horror! teems with heroes flain;
Where the proud palace rear'd it's haughty head,
Deep in the duft, fee crumbling columns spread;
See gallant Britons in the field expire,
Towns turn'd to afhes, fanes involv'd in fire!
Thefe deeds the guilt of rash Ambition tell,
And bloody Difcord, furious fiend of hell!
Ye baneful fifters, with your frantick crew,
Hence speed your flight, and take your last adieu,
Eternal wars in barbarous worlds to wage;
There vent your inextinguishable rage.
But come, fair Peace, and be the nation's bride,
And let thy fifter Plenty grace thy fide;
O come! and with thy placid presence chear
Our drooping hearts, and ftay for ever here.
Now be the fhrill ftrife-ftirring trumpet mute;
Now let us liften to the fofter lute :
The fhepherd now his numerous flocks fhall feed,
Where war relentless doom'd the brave to bleed;
On ruin'd ramparts fhall the hawthorn flower,
And mantling ivy clafp the nodding tower;
Unusual harvests wave along the dale,
And the bent fickle o'er the fword prevail.
No more fhall ftates with rival rage contend,
But Arts their empire o'er the world extend;
Ingenuous Arts, that humanize the mind,
And give the brightest polish to mankind!
Then shall our chiefs in breathing marble stand,
And life feem ftarting from the fculptor's hand;
Then lovely nymphs in living picture rife,
The fairest faces, and the brightest eyes:
There polifh'd Lane no lofs of beauty fears;
Her charms, ftill mellowing with revolving years,
Shall, e'en on canvas, youthful hearts engage,
And warm the cold indifference of age:
*The Hon. Mrs. Lane, daughter of the Right Hon. Lord Chancellor Henley, and wife to the Hon. Mr. Lane..
Then the firm arch shall stem the roaring tide,
And join thofe countries which the ftreams divide !
Then villas rife of true Palladian proof,
And the proud palace rear it's ample roof;
Then ftatelier temples to the skies afcend,
Where mix'd with nobles mighty kings may bend,
Where Poverty may send her fighs to Heaven,
And Guilt return, repent, and be forgiven.
Such are the fruits which facred Peace imparts,
Sweet nurfe of liberty and learned arts!
These fhe reftores-O! that fhe could restore
Life to thofe Britons who now breathe no more;
Who in th' embattled field undaunted stood,
And greatly perifh'd for their country's good;
Or who, by rage of angry tempefts tofs'd,
In whirlpools of the whelming main were loft.
Ye honour'd fhades of chiefs untimely flain!
Whose bones lie fcatter'd on fome foreign plain;
That now perchance by lonely hind are seen
In glittering armour gliding o'er the green;
Ye! that beneath the cold cerulean wave
Have made the watery element your grave,
Whofe wandering fpirits haunt the winding fhore,
Or ride on whirlwinds while the billows roar,
With kind protection ftill our ifle defend,
(If fouls unbodied can protection lend)
Still o'er the king your shadowy pinions spread,
And in the day of danger shield his head;
Your bright examples fhall our pattern be,
To make us valiant, and to keep us free.