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FLOWERS from PARNASSUS. Ex Musæo nostro, primo Junii, 1727.
A Panegyrick on the Noble Company of Bow-men, upon their solemn Parade and Exercise, 11 May, 1726.
Et vos, O Lauri, carpam, & te proxima Myrte,
Sic positæ, quoniam suaves miscetis odores.
Virg.
Sic positæ, quoniam suaves miscetis odores.
Virg.
When we the awful Voice of Thunder hear,
'Tis Jove's keen Arrows whistling thro' the Air,
Whose Bolts, with rapid Force, strike Cedars dead,
Or spend their Fury on fome destin'd Head.
For Gods ne'er shoot at Rovers in the Dark,
When they design to kill, they never miss the Mark.
Ev'n little Cupid, when his Arrow flies,
Deep Wounds the Heart, tho' blind of both the Eyes.
The Archers Art was taught us from above,
The Warriour learn'd it from the God of Love.
On yon transparent Rainbow cast your Eyes,
Chequer'd with all the Tartans of the Skies,
Lo Heav'n hangs out the Bowmans Coat of Arms,
'Twas quarter'd by a God, and mantal'd o'er with Charms.
'Tis Jove's keen Arrows whistling thro' the Air,
Whose Bolts, with rapid Force, strike Cedars dead,
Or spend their Fury on fome destin'd Head.
For Gods ne'er shoot at Rovers in the Dark,
When they design to kill, they never miss the Mark.
5
Deep Wounds the Heart, tho' blind of both the Eyes.
The Archers Art was taught us from above,
The Warriour learn'd it from the God of Love.
On yon transparent Rainbow cast your Eyes,
Chequer'd with all the Tartans of the Skies,
Lo Heav'n hangs out the Bowmans Coat of Arms,
'Twas quarter'd by a God, and mantal'd o'er with Charms.
Hail! Albions Sons, Professors of the Bow,
Your Fame shall faster than your Arrows go,
This Day celestial Pow'rs divide the Clouds,
To look with Pleasure on our Demi-gods.
Whilst Stars, these lucid Light-boys of the Night,
Peep thro' the radiant Sun's superior Light,
To view our Warriours ready for the Fight,
Dread these stong Arms will force their Arrows fly,
Until they climb the Clouds, and pierce the painted Sky.
No brainless Bard should sing in artless Notes,
Their Fame is fitter for the Angels Throats.
Your Fame shall faster than your Arrows go,
This Day celestial Pow'rs divide the Clouds,
To look with Pleasure on our Demi-gods.
Whilst Stars, these lucid Light-boys of the Night,
Peep thro' the radiant Sun's superior Light,
To view our Warriours ready for the Fight,
Dread these stong Arms will force their Arrows fly,
Until they climb the Clouds, and pierce the painted Sky.
No brainless Bard should sing in artless Notes,
Their Fame is fitter for the Angels Throats.
Wallace awake, start from your Iron Sleep,
Nor let the Barrs of Death our Conqueror keep,
These Heroes lead, in warlike Plaid's array'd,
Resent a Nations Wrongs so long betray'd:
And when you've led them thro' the purple Flood,
And bath'd your Arrows in the Traitors Blood,
Return again to Heav'n, where Glory reigns,
Make glad the hymning Hall that Britons free from Chains.
May ev'ry Rogue, who wounds Britannia, fall
Before the Archers, like to sinful Saul.
Nor let the Barrs of Death our Conqueror keep,
These Heroes lead, in warlike Plaid's array'd,
Resent a Nations Wrongs so long betray'd:
And when you've led them thro' the purple Flood,
And bath'd your Arrows in the Traitors Blood,
Return again to Heav'n, where Glory reigns,
Make glad the hymning Hall that Britons free from Chains.
May ev'ry Rogue, who wounds Britannia, fall
Before the Archers, like to sinful Saul.
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