Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires,

And rockets flew, self-driven,

To hang their momentary fires

Amid the vault of Heaven.

So fire with water to compare,
The ocean serves, on high

Up-spouted by a whale in air,
T'express unwieldy joy.

Had all the pageants of the world

In one procession join'd,

And all the banners been unfurl'd
That heralds e'er design'd,

For no such sight had England's Queen

Forsaken her retreat,

Where, George recover'd made a scene

Sweet always, doubly sweet.

Yet glad she came that night to prove,

A witness undescried,

How much the object of her love

Was lov'd by all beside.

Darkness the skies had mantled o'er
In aid of her design-

Darkness, O Queen! ne'er call'd before
To veil a deed of thine!

On borrow'd wheels away she flies,

Resolv'd to be unknown,

And gratify no curious eyes

That night, except her own.

Arriv'd, a night like noon she sees,
And hears the million hum;

As all by instinct, like the bees,

Had known their sov'reign come.

Pleas'd she beheld aloft pourtray'd

On many a splendid wall,

Emblems of health, and heav'nly aid, And George the theme of all.

Unlike the ænigmatic line,

So difficult to spell,

Which shook Belshazzar at his wine,

The night his city fell.

Soon, wat❜ry grew her eyes

and dim,

But with a joyful tear,

None else, except in pray'r for him, George ever drew from her.

It was a scene in every part

Like those in fable feign'd,

And seem'd by some magician's art

Created and sustain❜d.

But other magic there, she knew,

Had been exerted none,

To raise such wonders in her view,
Save love of George alone.

That cordial thought her spirits cheer'd, And through the cumb'rous, throng,

Not else unworthy to be fear'd,

Convey'd her calm along.

So, ancient poets say, serene

The sea-maid rides the waves,

And fearless of the billowy scene
Her peaceful bosom layes.

With more than astronomic eyes

She view'd the sparkling show; One Georgian star adorns the skies,

She myriads found below.

Yet let the glories of a night

Like that, once seen, suffice,

Heav'n grant us no such future sight,
Such previous woe the price!

THE

COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND.

[MAY, 1789.]

MUSE-Hide his name of whom I sing,
Lest his surviving House thou bring

For his sake into scorn,

Nor speak the School from which he drew The much or little that he knew,

Nor Place where he was born.

That such a man once was, may seem
Worthy of record (if the theme

Perchance may credit win)