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204  ANNUAL REGISTER  For the YEAR 1772.  205

My Laura's voice in many a soothing note
Floats through the yielding air, or seems to float.
  "Why fill thy sighs, she says, this lonely bow'r?
"Why down thy bosom flows this endless show'r?
"Complain no more; but hop erelong to meet
"Thy much-lov'd Laura in a happier seat.
"Here fairer scenes detai my parted shade,
"Suns that ne'er set, and flow'rs that never fade:
"Through crystal skies I wing my joyous flight,
"And revel in eternal blaze of light,
"See all thy want'rings in that vale of tears,
"And smile at all thy hopes, at all thy fears;
"Death wak'd my soul, that slept in life before,
"And o'd these brighten'd eyes to sleep no more."
  She ends: the fates, that will no more reveal,
Fix on her closing lips their sacred seal.
"return, sweet shade! I wake, and fondly say,
"O, cheer my gloom with one far-beaming ray!
"Return: thy charms my sorrow will dispel,
"And snatch my spirit from her mortal cell;
"Then, mix'd with thine, exulting she shall fly,
"And bound enraptur'd through her native sky."
She comes no more: my pangs more fierce return;
Tears gush in streams, and sighs my bosom burn.
Ye banks, that oft my weary limbs have born,
Ye murm'ring brooks, that learnt of me to mourn,
Ye irds, that tune with me your plaintive lay,
Ye groves, where love once taught my steps to stray,
You, ever sweet and ever fair, renew
Your strains melodious, and your blooming hue;
But not in my sad heart can bliss remain,
My heart, the haunt o never-ceasing pain!
  Henceforth, to sing in smoothly warbled lays
The smiles of youth, and beauty's heav'nly rays;
To see the morn her early charms unfold,
Her cheeks of roses, and her curls of gold;
Led by the sacred Muse at noon to rove
O'er tufted mountain, vale, or shady grove;
To watch the stars, that gild the lucid pole,
And view yon orbs in mazy order roll;
To hear the tender nightingale complain,
And warble to the woods her am'rous strain;
No more shall these my pensivesoul delight,
Bur each gay vision melts in endless night.
  Nymphs, that in glimm'ring glades by moonlight dance,
And ye, that through the liquid crystal glance,
That oft have heard my sadly-plesing moan,
Behold me now a lifeless marble grown.
    Ah!

Ah! lead me to the tomb where Laura lies:
Clouds, fold me round, and, gather'd darkness, rise!
Bear me, ye gales, in death's soft slumber lay'd,
And, ye bright realms, receive my fleeting shade!

ODE for the New Year, Jan. 1. 1772, as performed before their Majesties and the Royal Family.  Written by William Whitehead, Esq; and set to Music by Dr. Boyce.

AT length the fleeting year is o'er,
And we no longer are deceiv'd;
The ward, the tumults are not more,
  Which Fancy form'd, and Fear believ'd.
Each distant object of distress,
Each phantom of uncertain guess
  The busy mind of man could raise,
Had taught ev'n Folly to beware;
At fleets and armies in the air,
  The wond'ring crowd has ceas'd to gaze,
And shall the same dull cheats again
  Revive, in stale succession roll'd?
 Shall sage Experience warn in vain,
Nor the new Year be wiser than the old?
  Forbid it, ye protecting pow'rs,
  Who guide the months, the days, the hours,
   Which now advance on rapid wing!
  May each new spectre of the night
  Dissolve at their approaching light,
As fly the wintry damps the soft return of Spring!
  True to herself if Britain prove,
    What foreign foes has she to dread?
  Her sacred laws, her sovereign's love,
    Her virtuous pride, by Freedom bred,
  Secure at once domestic ease,
And awe  th' aspiring nations into peace.
  Did Rome e'er court a tyrant's smiles,
Till Faction wrought the civil frame's decay?
  Di Greece submit to Philip's wiles,
Till her ow faithless sons prepar'd the way?
  True to herself if Britain prove,
    The warring world will league in vain.
  Her sacred laws, her sovereign's love,
    Her empire boundless as the main,
  Will guard at once domestic ease,
And awe th' aspiring nations into peace.

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