The Works of the Late Aaron Hill ... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting |
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On Clio's Birth-day.
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
On Clio's Birth-day.
O'er the blue violet, while the amorous wind
Bends, and perfumes his wings, to fan this day;
Why has pale sickness winter'd o'er my mind,
And, with chill agues, check'd the warmth of May?
Bends, and perfumes his wings, to fan this day;
Why has pale sickness winter'd o'er my mind,
And, with chill agues, check'd the warmth of May?
Is it not Clio's birth-day?—Toil of thought!
Height, beyond all, that e'er ambition trod.
Sum of refin'd desire! by angels taught,
To look, and think, and act, a female god!
Height, beyond all, that e'er ambition trod.
Sum of refin'd desire! by angels taught,
To look, and think, and act, a female god!
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Oh! my rapt soul, sits trembling in my eyes,
Starting, impatient, at her pow'rful name:
Dearer, than life, to that sweet sound it flies,
And health rides rosy, on the living flame.
Starting, impatient, at her pow'rful name:
Dearer, than life, to that sweet sound it flies,
And health rides rosy, on the living flame.
Wak'd into sudden strength, I blaze again,
Love, the restorer, dress'd in Clio's smile,
Triumph'd o'er nature, gave delight to pain,
Sweeten'd affliction, and could death beguile.
Love, the restorer, dress'd in Clio's smile,
Triumph'd o'er nature, gave delight to pain,
Sweeten'd affliction, and could death beguile.
May joys un-number'd, as the charmer's sweets,
Bless this revolving day's eternal round;
'Till the proud world its dawn, with rapture greets,
Conscious of her, who made it first renown'd.
Bless this revolving day's eternal round;
'Till the proud world its dawn, with rapture greets,
Conscious of her, who made it first renown'd.
Long—let 'em say—long, e're our father's days,
Three thousand years ago, on this sweet day,
That Clio, whom contending nations praise,
Embloom'd, by her sweet birth, the first of May.
Three thousand years ago, on this sweet day,
That Clio, whom contending nations praise,
Embloom'd, by her sweet birth, the first of May.
Britain, illustrious by the starry lot,
Far, in the north, distinguish'd island, lies,
Now known by later names—oh, envy'd spot!
Why did she not in our warm climates rise?
Far, in the north, distinguish'd island, lies,
Now known by later names—oh, envy'd spot!
Why did she not in our warm climates rise?
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Sure, she was heav'nly grac'd! for, to this hour,
After such length of ages roll'd away!
Fame of her charms, augments her sex's pow'r,
And her thought's lustre gives our wits their sway.
After such length of ages roll'd away!
Fame of her charms, augments her sex's pow'r,
And her thought's lustre gives our wits their sway.
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |