A PASTORAL HYMN

TO JANUS.

On the Birth of the Queen.

Te primum pia thura rogent....te vota sautent,
.....te colat omnis honos.

MART. AD JANUM.

I.

To

o Janus, gentle Shepherds! raise a shrine; His honours be divine!

And as to mighty Pan with homage bow:
To him the virgin troop shall tribute bring;
Let him be hail'd like the green-livery'd Spring,
Spite of the wint'ry storms that stain his brow.

II.

The pride, the glowing pageantry of May,
Glides wantonly away:

But January, in his rough-spun vest,
Boasts the full blessings that can never fade;
He that gave birth to the illustrious maid,

Whose beauties make the British Monarch blest!

III.

Could the soft Spring, with all her sunny showers,
The frolick nurse of flowers!

*This little poem was written on supposition that Her Majesty's Birth-day was really in the month of January.

K

Or flaunting Summer, flush'd in ripen'd pride, Could they produce a finish'd piece so rare? Or from his golden stores a gift so fair,

Say, has the fertile Autumn e'er supply'd?

IV.

Henceforward let the hoary month be gay
As the white-hawthorn'd May!

The laughing goddess of the Spring disown'd,
Her rosy wreath shall on his brows appear:
Old Janus, as he leads, shall fill the year,
And the less fruitful Autumn be dethron'd.

V.:

Above the other months supremely blest
Glad Janus stands confest!

He can behold, with retrospective face,
The mighty blessings of the year gone by;
Where, to connect a monarch's nuptial tie,
Assembled ev'ry glory, ev'ry grace!

VI.

When he looks forward on the flatt'ring year
The golden hours appear,

As in the sacred reign of Saturn, fair:

Britain shall prove, from this propitious date,
Her honours perfect, victories complete,
And boast the brightest hopes, a British Heir.

FABLES.

THE ANT AND CATERPILLAR:

A FABLE.

As an Ant, of his talents superiourly vain, Was trotting with consequence over the plain, A Worm, in his progress remarkably slow, Cry'd---" Bless your good worship wherever you go! "I hope your great Mightiness won't take it ill "I pay my respects with an hearty good-will." With a look of contempt and impertinent pride, "Begone, you vile reptile!" his Antship reply'd; "Go---go and lament your contemptible state, "But first---look at me---see my limbs how complete! "I guide all my motions with freedom and ease, "Run backward and forward, and turn when I please. "Of nature (grown weary) you shocking essay ! "I spurn you thus from me---crawl out of my way." The reptile insulted, and vex'd to the soul, Crept onwards, and hid himself close in his hole; But Nature, determin'd to end his distress, Soon sent him abroad in a Butterfly's dress.

Ere long the proud Ant, as repassing the road, (Fatigu'd from the harvest, and tugging his load) The beau on a violet bank he beheld,

Whose gesture in glory a monarch's excell'd;
His plumage expanded---'twas rare to behold
So lovely a mixture of purple and gold.

The Ant, quite amaz'd at a figure so gay,

Bow'd low with respect, and was trudging away: "Stop, friend," says the Butterfly---" don't be surpris'd;

"I once was the reptile you spurn'd and despis'd; "But now I can mount, in the sun-beams I play, "While you must for ever drudge on in your way."

MORAL.

A wretch, tho' to-day he's o'erloaded with sorrow, May soar above those that oppress'd him---to-morrow.

THE ROSE AND BUTTERFLY:

A FABLE.

3

Ar day's early dawn a gay Butterfly spy'd
A budding young Rose, and he wish'd her his bride:
She blush'd when she heard him his passion declare,
And tenderly told him---he need not despair.

Their faith was soon plighted, as lovers will do;
He swore to be constant, she vowed to be true.

It had not been prudent to deal with delay,
The bloom of a Rose passes quickly away,
And the pride of a Butterfly dies in a day.

When wedded, away the wing'd gentleman hies,
From flow'ret to flow'ret he wantonly flies;
Nor did he revisit his bride till the sun

Had less than one fourth of his journey to run.

The Rose thus reproach'd him---" Already so cold! "How feign'd, O you false one! the passion you told! "'Tis an age since you left me." She meant a few hours; But such we'll suppose the fond language of flow'rs. "I saw when you gave the base violet a kiss: "How---how could you stoop to a meanness like this? "Shall a low little wretch, whom we Roses despise, "Find favour, O Love! in my Butterfly's eyes? "On a tulip, quite tawdry, I saw your fond rape, "Nor yet could the pitiful primrose escape; "Dull daffodils too were with ardour address'd, "And poppies, ill-scented, you kindly caress'd."

The coxcomb was piqu'd, and reply'd with a sneer, "That you're first to complain, I commend you, my dear!

"But know, from your conduct my maxims I drew, "And if I'm inconstant, I copy from you.

"I saw the boy Zephyrus rifle your charms;

I saw how you simper'd and smil'd in his arms; "The honey-bee kiss'd you, you cannot disown; "You favour'd besides---O dishonour !---a drone: