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Poems on Several Occasions

By Samuel Boyce
Boyce, Samuel
  
[epigraph]
  
[dedication]

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[section]
  
GLORY AN ODE;
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PARIS;
 I. 
CANTO I.
 II. 
CANTO II.
  
AN ODE,
  
AN Occasional PROLOGUE SPOKEN By Mrs. WOFFINGTON,
  
Written in VAUX-HALL GARDENS.
  
FORTUNE and the LOVER.
  
On attending the Lectures of Mr. HENRY WATSON, Surgeon.
  
SONG.
  
Address'd to the laudable Association of ANTI-GALLICANS,
  
On viewing the Curiosities, in the Repository of the late Dr. MEAD.
  
The PHYSICIANS,
  
SONG.
  
On the intended Academy for the Encouragement of GENIUS,
  
To the Memory of Mr. WILLIAM BAKER.
  
The SHEPHERD's Evening.
  
To Mr. LAMBERT
  
EPIGRAM.
  
Written Extempore On a young Lady in Mourning.
  
AN EPILOGUE,
  
A CANTATA.
  
On Sight of a young Lady's Picture, executed by a female Artist, from Abroad.
  
On Sight of the Boat, built by John Rich, Esq;
  
The 148th PSALM Paraphras'd.
  
On reading Dr. Hill's Thoughts concerning God and Nature,
  
The Animal COMEDIANS, A FABLE.
  
SONG.
  
To CONTENTMENT.
  
For OUR COUNTRY. An ODE,
  
SONG.
  
EPIGRAM.
  
TO THE Author of the Earl of Essex.
  
Consolatory Verses to James Steere, Esq; Architect, on the death of his Lady.
  
To LOVE.
  
Invitation to the CHACE.
  
The STATUES, A FABLE.
  
A Parting Dialogue between a Sea Officer and his Lady.
  
To CELIA in the Country.
  
EPIGRAM.
  
To Mrs. Margaret Woffington.
  
SONG.
  
On receiving a Print of the Section of St. PAUL's Cathedral.
  
To the MUSE.
  
The TROUT, A FABLE.
  
Written extempore, on seeing Mr. GARRICK,
  
The CONVERT.
  
SONG.
  
The CONFESSION.
  
The HAPPY MINUTE.
  
A TRIO

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To CONTENTMENT.

Fount of comfort! heav'nly bright!
Offspring of the realms of light!
Void of thee what's pomp or pow'r?
Phantoms of the faithless hour.
163

Lo, yon humble swains advance,
Beat the ground in jocund dance!
Hark, the merry milkmaids sing!
All beneath thy gladsome wing.
From what source art thou our claim?
Grandeur, glory, wealth, or fame?
Can the heroe's conq'ring sword,
Can the treasures misers hoard,
Can the jovial, or the fair,
Kill, or chace intruding care?
No:—Then, in life's giddy round,
Where shall happiness be found?
Wide beams forth th'eternal ray;
All who wou'd be happy, may;
In the cott, or moss-grown cell,
Thou with poverty canst dwell;
And, howe'er we change the name,
Virtue and content's the same.
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