By LORD MULGRAVE.

STROPHE.

O for a Muse of Fire,
With blazing thumbs to touch my torpid lyre!
Now in the darksome regions round the Pole,
Tigers fierce, and Lions bold,
With wild affright would see the snow-hills roll,
Their sharp teeth chattering with the cold—
But that Lions dwell not there——
Nor beast, nor Christian—none but the White Bear!
The White Bear howls amid the tempest’s roar,
And list’ning Whales swim headlong from the shore!

ANTISTROPHE. (By Brother HARRY.)

Farewel awhile, ye summer breezes!
What is the life of man?
A span!
Sometimes it thaws, sometimes it freezes,
Just as it pleases!
If Heaven decrees, fierce whirlwinds rend the air,
And then again (behold!) ’tis fair!
Thus peace and war on earth alternate reign:
Auspicious GEORGE, thy powerful word
Gives peace to France and Spain,
And sheaths the martial sword!

STROPHE II. (By Brother CHARLES.)

And now gay Hope, her anchor dropping,
And blue-ey’d Peace, and black-ey’d Pleasures,
And Plenty in light cadence hopping,
Fain would dance to WHITEHEAD’s measures.
But WHITEHEAD now in death reposes,
Crown’d with laurel! crown’d with roses!
Yet we, with laurel crown’d, his dirge will sing,
And thus deserve fresh laurels from the KING.