Fly swift to Heaven-and charge Apollo there,
Whofe oracle betray'd me-Ah! I faint;

My fpirits fink-Where am I now? Alas!
How have I left my bed?-how stray'd I hither ?
O-I perceive once more the raging waves
Have spent their force-and all is calin again-
My filter?-weeping too? Why dost thou turn
Thy face away, thus muffled in thy garment?
I grieve to think what I have made thee fuffer;
I know, my fickness bears too hard upon thee;
Yet weep not for my crimes, unhappy maid!
The deed was mine-Thou only didst consent :
Twas I that flew my mother-Phoebus himself
Advis'd that impious act—the guilt be his,
Whose words spoke comfort, but who now forfakes me.
But oh! Electra, had our father's fhade

Been present then-had I, before the god,
Afk'd his confent, to ftrike the murderefs dead,
The pitying manes sure had stop'd my hand,
Nor would have wifh'd for his own life again.
Redeem'd by guilt, fo horrid in a fon.

Now wipe away thy tears, lamenting maid;
Though we 're both wretched, tears are shed in vain ;
And when thou feeft again my faltering reafon,
Be ready thou to rule my broken sense,
And comfort my affliction-And when thou
Shalt fink beneath thy preffing woes, I'll ftrive
By foothing words to mitigate thy forrows.
Such offices become our fond affection.

But

But now, retiring to thy own apartment, Let gentle flumber clofe thy wakeful eyes; Then rife refresh'd; anoint thy wearied limbs, And with due nourishment recruit thy spirits. Such ceaseless watchings will exhauft thy ftrength, And make thy languid life a burden to thee. Thou feeft, all other friends are fled; thou art My only folace in this dire affliction.

Should't thou forfake me too, I'm loft indeed.

ELECTRA.

O no! thy fifter never will forfake thee;
Nor only will I live, but die with thee;
What joy could life afford a wretched woman,
Bereft of father, brother, every friend?-

But if you fo command, I will retire;
In the mean while, compofe thyfelf to rest,
Reclin'd upon thy couch; nor let vain terrors
Rouze thee again-Thy own upbraiding conscience
Is the revengeful fiend, that haunts thy breast!

ON

Ο Ν Τ Η Ε

BIRTHDAY

OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

THE LORD CHANCELLOR PARKER.

JULY XXIII, M DCC XIX.

A

S father Thames pours out his plenteous urn
O'er common tracts, with speed his waters flow;
But where fome beauteous palace does adorn
His banks, the river feems to move more flow;

As if he ftopp'd awhile, with conscious pride,
Nor to the ocean would purfue his race,
Till he reflect its glories in his tide,

And call the water-nymphs around to gaze.

So in Time's common flood the huddled throng
Of months and hours unheeded pafs away,
Unless fome general good our joy prolong,
And mark the moments of fome feftal day.

Not fair July, though Plenty clothe his fields,
Though golden funs make all his mornings fmile,
Can boast of aught that fuch a triumph yields,

As that he gave a Parker to our ifle.

Hail happy month! fecure of lasting fame!

Doubly diftinguish'd through the circling year:
In Rome a hero gave thee firft thy name;
A patriot's birth makes thee to Britain dear.

THE

XIVth OLYMPICK OF PINDAR.

TO

A SOPICUS OF ORCHOMENUS.

Y

I.

E heavenly Graces, who preside

O'er Minyæa's happy foil, that breeds,
Swift for the race, the fairest steeds;

And rule the land, where with a gentle tide
Your lov'd Cephifian waters glide!

To you' Orchomenus's towers belong,
Then hear, ye goddesses, and aid the fong.

II.

Whatever honours fhine below,

Whatever gifts can move delight,

Or footh the ravish'd foul, or charm the fight,
Το you their power of pleasing owe.
Fame, beauty, wisdom, you bestow;
Nor will the gods the facred banquet own,
Nor on the Chorus look propitious down,
If you your prefence have deny'd,
To rule the banquet, and the Chorus guide.

III. In

III.

In Heaven itself all own your happy Care;
Blefs'd by your influence divine,

There all is good, and all is fair:

On thrones fublime you there illustrious shine;
Plac'd near Apollo with the golden lyre,
You all his harmony infpire,

And warbled hymns to Jove perpetual fing,
To Jove, of Heaven the father and the king.

IV.

Now hear, Aglaia, venerable maid !
Hear thou that tuneful verfe dost love,
Euphrofyne! join your cœleftial aid,
Ye daughters of immortal Jove!
Thalia too be prefent with my lays;
Afopicus has rais'd his city's name,

And, victor in th' Olympic ftrife, may claim
From you his juft reward of virtuous praife.

V.

And thou, O Fame! this happy triumph spread; Fly to the regions of the dead,

Through Proferpine's dark empire bear the found,
There feek Cleodamus below,

And let the pleas'd paternal spirit know,
How on the plains of Pifa far renown'd,

His fon, his youthful fon, of matchlefs fpeed,

Bore off from all the victor's meed,

And with an olive wreath his envy'd temples crown'd.

THE