Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Poetry.
POETRY .
FOR THE FREEMASONS' MAGAZINE . "
ODE FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY WRITTEN BY HENRY JAMES PYE , ESQ ^ POET
LAUREATPERFORMED AT ST . JAMES S , JUNE 4 , 1 794 '
ROUS'D from the gloom of transient death , Reviving Nature ' s charms appear , Mild Zephyr wakes , with balmy breath , The beauties of tbe youthful year . The fleecy storm that froze the plain , The winds that swept the billowy main . The chilling bhst , the icy sbow ' r ,
That oft obscur'd the vernal hour , And half deform'd th' etherial grace That bloom'd on Maia ' s lovely face , Are gone—and o ' er the fertile glade , In manhood's riper form array'd , Bright June appears , and from his bosom . throws , Blushing with hue divine , his own ambrosial rose-Yet there are climes where Winter hoar ,
Despotic still usurps the plains , Where the loud surges lash the shore , And dreary desolation reigns- — While , as the shivering swain descries The drifted mountains round him rise , Thro' the dark mist and howling blast , Full many a longing look is cast To northern realms , whose happier sides detain The lingering car of day ; and check his golden rein .
Chide not his stay—tbe roseate Spring Not always flies on halcyon wing ; Not always strains of joy and love » . Steal sweetly thro' the trembling grove—Reflecting Sol's refulgent beams , The falchion oft terrific gleams ; And louder than the wintry tempests roar , The battle ' s thunder shakes th' affrighted shore . — .
Chide not his stay—for in the scenes Where Nature boasts her genial pride , Where forests spread their leafy skreens , And lucid streams the painted vales divide ; Beneath Europa's mildest clime , In glowing Summer's verdant prime , The frantic sons of Rapine tear The golden wreath from Ceres' hair ;
And trembling Industry , afraid To turn the war-devoted ' glade , Exposes wild to Famine ' s haggard eyes , Wastes where no hopes of future harvests rise , While floating corses choke th' empurpled flood , And ev ' ry dewy sod is stain'd with civic blood .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Poetry.
POETRY .
FOR THE FREEMASONS' MAGAZINE . "
ODE FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY WRITTEN BY HENRY JAMES PYE , ESQ ^ POET
LAUREATPERFORMED AT ST . JAMES S , JUNE 4 , 1 794 '
ROUS'D from the gloom of transient death , Reviving Nature ' s charms appear , Mild Zephyr wakes , with balmy breath , The beauties of tbe youthful year . The fleecy storm that froze the plain , The winds that swept the billowy main . The chilling bhst , the icy sbow ' r ,
That oft obscur'd the vernal hour , And half deform'd th' etherial grace That bloom'd on Maia ' s lovely face , Are gone—and o ' er the fertile glade , In manhood's riper form array'd , Bright June appears , and from his bosom . throws , Blushing with hue divine , his own ambrosial rose-Yet there are climes where Winter hoar ,
Despotic still usurps the plains , Where the loud surges lash the shore , And dreary desolation reigns- — While , as the shivering swain descries The drifted mountains round him rise , Thro' the dark mist and howling blast , Full many a longing look is cast To northern realms , whose happier sides detain The lingering car of day ; and check his golden rein .
Chide not his stay—tbe roseate Spring Not always flies on halcyon wing ; Not always strains of joy and love » . Steal sweetly thro' the trembling grove—Reflecting Sol's refulgent beams , The falchion oft terrific gleams ; And louder than the wintry tempests roar , The battle ' s thunder shakes th' affrighted shore . — .
Chide not his stay—for in the scenes Where Nature boasts her genial pride , Where forests spread their leafy skreens , And lucid streams the painted vales divide ; Beneath Europa's mildest clime , In glowing Summer's verdant prime , The frantic sons of Rapine tear The golden wreath from Ceres' hair ;
And trembling Industry , afraid To turn the war-devoted ' glade , Exposes wild to Famine ' s haggard eyes , Wastes where no hopes of future harvests rise , While floating corses choke th' empurpled flood , And ev ' ry dewy sod is stain'd with civic blood .