3 The blackbird has fled to another retreat,

Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat, And the scene where his melody charm'd me before Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.

4 My fugitive years are all hasting away, And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,

With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head, Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.

5 "Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can,
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ;
Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see,
Have a being less durable even than he.1

LILIUM ATQUE ROSA.

1 HEU inimicitias quoties parit æmula forma,
Quam raro pulchræ pulchra placere potest!
Sed fines ultra solitos discordia tendit,
Cum flores ipsos bilis et ira movent.

2 Hortus ubi dulces præbet tacitosque recessus. Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas ; Hic sibi regales Amaryllis candida cultus, purpureo vindicat ore Rosa.

Illic

'Cowper afterwards altered this last stanza in the following manner :

The change both my heart and my fancy employs;

I reflect on the frailty of man, and his joys:
Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see,
Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we.

3 Ira Rosam et meritis quæsita superbia tangunt,
Multaque ferventi vix cohibenda sinu,
Dum sibi fautorum ciet undique nomina vatum,
Jusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat.

4 Altior emicat illa, et celso vertice nutat, Ceu flores inter non habitura parem, Fastiditque alios, et nata videtur in usus

Imperii, sceptrum, Flora quod ipsa gerat.

5 Nec Dea non sensit civilis murmura rixæ,
Cui curæ est pictas pandere ruris opes.
Deliciasque suas nunquam non prompta tueri,
Dum licet et locus est, ut tueatur, adest.

6 Et tibi forma datur procerior omnibus, inquit,
Et tibi, principibus qui solet esse, color,
Et donec vincat quædam formosior, ambas,
Et tibi reginæ nomen, et esto tibi.

7 His ubi sedatus furor est, petit utraque nympham, Qualem inter Veneres Anglia sola parit ;

Hanc penes imperium est, nihil optant amplius, hujus Regnant in nitidis, et sine lite, genis.

THE LILY AND THE ROSE.

1 THE Nymph must lose her female friend,
If more admired than she;

But where will fierce contention end,
If flowers can disagree?

2 Within the garden's peaceful scene
Appear'd two lovely foes,
Aspiring to the rank of queen,
The Lily and the Rose.

3 The Rose soon redden'd into rage,
And, swelling with disdain,
Appeal'd to many a poet's page
To prove her right to reign.

4 The Lily's height bespoke command,
A fair imperial flower;

She seem'd design'd for Flora's hand,
The sceptre of her power.

5 This civil bickering and debate
The goddess chanced to hear,
And flew to save, ere yet too late,
The pride of the parterre.

6 Yours is, she said, the nobler hue,
And yours the statelier mien;
And, till a third surpasses you,
Let each be deem'd a queen.

7 Thus soothed and reconciled, each seeks The fairest British fair;

The seat of empire is her cheeks,
They reign united there.

IN SUBMERSIONEM NAVIGII, CUI GEORGIUS REGALE NOMEN INDITUM.

1 PLANGIMUS fortes. Periêre fortes,
Patrium propter periêre littus
Bis quatèr centum; subitò sub alto
Æquore mersi.

2 Navis, innitens lateri, jacebat,
Malus ad summas trepidabat undas,
Cùm levis, funes quatiens, ad imum
Depulit aura.

3 Plangimus fortes. Nimis, heu, caducam
Fortibus vitam voluêre parcæ,

Nec sinunt ultrà tibi nos recentes
Nectere laurus,

4 Magne, qui nomen, licèt incanorum,
Traditum ex multis atavis tulisti!
At tuos olim memorabit ævum
Omne triumphos.

5 Non hyems illos furibunda mersit,
Non mari in clauso scopuli latentes,
Fissa non rimis abies, nec atrox
Abstulit ensis.

6 Navitæ sed tum nimium jocosi
Voce fallebant hilari laborem,
Et quiescebat, calamoque dextram im-
pleverat heros.

7 Vos, quibus cordi est grave opus piumque,
Humidum ex alto spolium levate,
Et putrescentes sub aquis amicos
Reddite amicis !

8 Hi quidem (sic Dîs placuit) fuêre:
Sed ratis, nondum putris, ire possit
Rursus in bellum, Britonumque nomen
Tollere ad astra.

ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.

WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED.

To the March in Scipio.

1 TOLL for the brave,

The brave that are no more!
All sunk beneath the wave,
Fast by their native shore!

2 Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel,

And laid her on her side.

3 A land-breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset ;

Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete.

4 Toll for the brave!

Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His last sea-fight is fought;
His work of glory done.