No pow'rful charms can they impart, SONG 755. Written by Mr. LEMOINE. 'TWAS near a purling river fide, Where bending willows kifs the tide; Her bofom heav'd with throbbing fighs, Till grief at laft gave such a stroke, Her eye-iids clos'd, her heart-rings broke. Farewel, ye meads; farewel, ye bow`rs; And a flame, without fortune's rich gifts on it's lide, The grave ones will fcorn, and a mother muft chide.. Afraid of rebuke. he his vifits forbore, For envy has eyes, and a tongue that will tell; more, But to tarry with patience a feafon more kind; So I put the dear fhepherd quite out of my mind. But love breaks the fences I vairly had made, Grows deaf to all cenfure, and will be repaid; If we figh for each other, ah! quit not your care Condemn the god Cupid, but bleís the fond pair. SONG 758. His fortune was eafy, his manner polite, The monarch, fill jealous of plots and designs, Who fighs at his heart while in fplendor he ihines, With pity I trace through the infome Levee, And bleis my kind ftars for the Banks of the Dec. The mifer, how wretched, amidft & His flore! What he has, he can't tafte, yet he fighs to have more; While I with a little am happy and free, Let Tom, without paffion, ftill figh for the fair, Affe & their fuft manner, and mimick their air, Supply them with fcandal o'er green and bohea, Give me a retreat on the Banks of the Dee. No duns to moleft me, no cares to harraís, In pleasing fucceffion the moments will rafs; At peace with the world, contented and free, I'll live and I'll die on the Banks of the Dee. SONG 760. Written by J. B. WHEN merit is sterling that claims our attention, The object we eagerly wish to purfue; Like a magnet poffefs'd of fuperior attraction, We wish to be grac'd with it's influence too: From a hope to be bleft with fach powers to pleafe, As are found in the lafs on whofe virtues Pil awell; And truft me you'll not find another, with eafe, Whose charms can compare to the charms of my Neil. O! aid me, kind truth, to paint her perfections, To declare all the charms of my lovely dear Her mind, foreplete with virtue's endearments, Not prudish, but affable, lively, and gay; And chearful, tho' arm'd with proper oficern ments To quash ev'ry hope that hou'd mean to be trav. Her friendship fo great, has been ever sincere, And her pride it is only in truth to excel; Examples like her's may her fex still revere, And endeavour to vie with my lovely dear Nell! CYMON AND IPHIGENIA; A CANTATA. RECITATIVE. NEAR a thick grove, whofe deep embow`ring fhade Seem'd most for love and contemplation made, He trudg'd along, unknowing what he fought, AIR. The fream that glides in murmurs by, Compleats the rural scene; Now, proud to be conquer'd, he fighs for the fair, Grows dull to all pleasure, but being with her, He's mute, till his heart-ftrings are ready to break; For fear of offending forbids him to speak; And wanders a willing example to prove That friendship with woman is fifter to love. A lover thus conquer'd can ne'er give offence; Nota dupe to her fmiles, but a flave to her fenfe; His paffion nor wrinkles nor age can allay, Since founded on that which can never decay; And time, that fhall beauty's fhort empire re move, Increafing her reafon, increafes his love. SONG 765. A NAVAL ODE. Written by Mr. HEYWOOD. EASE, ye tinkling cymbals! ceafe! Ye lighter trains be ftill! CE Now let the trumpet's fhrill alarms, Hence green-ey'd envy, pallid fear; And difcord, with Gorgonian front: Let fhouts triumphant fill the sky, Now Britons, now your glorious crofs difplay, Let concord now unite each heart and nand; So fhall you fill with Neptune rule the fea, While Gallia trembles on her frighted strand. What tho' Chatham be no more, For council form'd, or field: Conqueft crown thee, matchiefs chief, Every pain, and every ill : Britain's thunder-bolt of war. But lo! I fee th' approaching navy move; Mark on the deck the godlike chief appears; Fierce and refiftless as the bolt of Jove, Hardy and honeft as the fword he wears: And to! before him, o'er the bounding tide, High in their fhells, the fea-green Nereids ride; Beneath their cars the foaming billows roars And thus the virgins fing, flow moving to the fhore: Hail, virtuous brother, hail! Brother, bid the world farewel; Then bade the charmer name her want, Grant, (nor let me ask in vain) She fpoke, and blush'd; the love-fick god Confents, and gave the fealing nod. Go, the faithless race chaffifing, Thus to her fon the beav'nly goddess fpoke, When now nine changing moons were o'er, Fame faw the train, and o'er the murm'ring The goddefs on the falt-fea fhore, The godhead faid; and, ere he left the strand, So fung the blue-ey'd fifters of the main, Melodious, o'er the wide Cerulean wafte; Before them Triton founds his twisted shell, The cliffs and cavern'd rocks rebellow to the blaft. High on a rock reclin'd, Black louring o'er the fea, Her plumage dancing in the wind, Welcome, mighty conqueror, With Neptune, guards our facred strand, And hails thy conqu'ring fword. Still o'er yon detefted band, And all their boafts defy; Let them but thy face behold, (As at immortal Talbot's old) They tremble, and they fly. waves High-rais'd her trump, and spread the news around; And foon, too foon, the fated land of flaves Heard the tremendous blaft, and trembled at the found! SONG 766. AN OLD BRITON'S COMPLAINT. POOR England! how hard is thy lot, That once waft the pride of the world! Thy honours are all gone to pot, And thy commerce far diftant is hurl'd! The French and the Spaniards unite, While Dutchmen (by stealth) aid their cause And Britons may now bid good night To their trade, to their freedom, and laws. How diff'rent in good Befs's days, When Englishmen valiant and fout, They liv'd upon beef and strong beer; Proceeded from that fatal root. Then let us, ere yet 'tis too late, And refolve with no woman to mate, Who'll not change it for ale and good beef. So fhall we, as formerly, find The world will a Briton revere; Nor dare any treaty unbind With a people in arms they must fear. Our men will all then be robust, And our women all free from the spleen; While each to the other'll be juft, And liberty heighten the scene. SONG 767. WHEN fiit Vaneffa's blooming face I wish'd, I figh'd, view'd ev'ry grace |