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408 THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON.
"Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares
Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires,
So fire with water to compare,
Had all the pageants of the world
For no such sight had England's Queen
Where, George recovered made a scene
Yet glad she came that night to prove,
How much the object of her love
Was loved by all beside.
Darkness the skies had mantled o'er
In aid of her design----
Darkness, O Queen! ne'er called before
On borrowed wheels away she flies,
Arrived, a night like noon she sees,
Had known their sovereign come.
Pleased she beheld aloft pourtrayed
On many a splendid wall,
Emblems of health and heavenly aid,
Unlike the enigmatic line,
Which shook Belshazzar at his wine
The night his city fell.
Soon watery grew her eyes and dim,
None else, except in prayer for him,
It was a scene in every part
And seemed by some magician's art
But other magic there, she knew,
To raise such wonders in her view,
That cordial thought her spirits cheered,
And through the cumberous throng, Not else unworthy to be feared,
Conveyed her calm along.
So, ancient poets say, serene
With more than astronomic eyes
Yet let the glories of a night
Like that, once seen, suffice,
Heaven grant us no such future sight,
THE ENCHANTMENT DISSOLVED.
BLINDED in youth by Satan's arts,
So in the desert's dreary waste,
Castles, and groves, and music sweet,
But while he listens with surprise,
At first we start, and feel distrest,
But He whose mercy breaks the charm,
And bids us seek his face.
Then we begin to live indeed,
When from our sin and bondage freed
By this beloved Friend:
We follow him from day to day,
Assured of grace through all the way,
And glory at the end.
O LORD, my best desire fulfil,
Life, health, and comfort to thy will,
Why should I shrink at thy command,
No, let me rather freely yield
Thy favour, all my journey through.
Wisdom and mercy guide my way
A poor blind creature of a day,
And crushed before the moth!
But ah! my inward spirit cries,
Else the next cloud that veils my skies,
THE JUDGMENT OF THE POETS. 1791.
TWO nymphs, both nearly of an age,
A warm dispute once chanced to wage,
The worth of each had been complete,
But one, although her smile was sweet,
And in her humour, when she frowned,
The other was of gentler cast,
To poets of renown in song
The nymphs referred the cause, Who, strange to tell, all judged it wrong, And gave misplaced applause.
They gentle called, and kind and soft,
And though she changed her mood so oft,
No judges, sure, were e'er so mad,
Or so resolved to err--
In short, the charms her sister had
Then thus the god whom fondly they
Was heard one genial summer's day,
"Since thus ye have combined," he said,
"The Minx shall, for your folly's sake, "Still prove herself a shrew,
"Shall make your scribbling fingers ache,
"And pinch your noses blue."