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On Zephyr's wings descend,
Where Surry's downs extend ;
There may the all her roses shower,
So soon are claim'd by Fate !
The bulwark of the ftate :
Among the best of human kind?
To health, and safely keep;
No more the worthy weep:
• The Right Honourable Henry Pelham, Esq; died on the 6th
of March 1754
And still upon the royal head
The riches of thy blessings shed: Establish'd with his counsellors around, Long be his prosp'rous reign, and all with glory crown'd.
An AUTUMNAL O D E.
By the Same,
While beams thine orb serene,
To gild the fading scene !
Bright Summer to perfection bring,
I'll climb the mountain's brow,
To view the scene below :
How mix'd the many-chequer'd shades between The tawny mellowing hue, and the gay vivid green!
How mild the dying gale !
That winds along the dale !
It seems the Sabbath of the year;
When busy days are past,
Meets facred Peace at laft:
And Summer's full-blown pride no more,
Involv'd in wint'ry gloom,
Then shall he shine, a glorious guest,
In the bright mansions of the blest, Where due rewards on Virtue are bestow'd, And reap the golden fruits of what his Autumn sow’d.
A S O N G.
My Winifreda, move thy fear,
grace our blood,
No mighty treasures we possess,
And be content without excess.
Still shall each kind returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give,
Shall sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke,
We'll hand in hand together tread,
Whilst round my knees they fondly clung,
Shall think to rob us of our joys,