An ODE for the NEW-YEAR,
As it was Sung before
His MAJESTY.
…
Written by L. EUSDEN, Esq; Servant to His Majesty.
(London: Printed for Jacob Tonson, at Shakespear’s-Head, over-against Katherine-Street in the Strand. MDCCXXI.
An ODE for the NEW-YEAR.
RECITATIVO.
Say, gen’rous Parent of the Vine,
The Queen of Trees, delightful Leine,
Why do thy Waters sadly sound,
Thy Banks with beauteous Gardens crown’d?
Or say, where smiling Plenty reigns,
Why sigh the Nymphs, why droop the Swains
Along HANNOVERIAN Plains?
AIR.
Can’st thou yet desire more Pleasure?
Plutus yearly swells thy Treasure.
Yellow Harvests Ceres sends thee;
All her Fruit Pomona lends thee.
Flora ev’ry Mead is painting;
Pan preserves thy Flocks from fainting.
Old Sylvanus still is roving
In thy Woods, and still improving.
These are Blessings without Measure:
Can’st thou yet desire more Pleasure?
RECITATIVO.
Methinks, the list’ning Leine controls
His Course, nor rapid seeks the Sea;
No more in mournful Murmurs rouls,
But bids his silent waves obey.
Behold! How from his oozy Bed,
To the free View of th’azure Skies,
He lifts his venerable Head,
And answers thus with streaming Eyes.
AIR.
Would’st thou then know, why I repine,
Why I melancholy languish,
And proclaim aloud my Anguish?
‘Tis not Treasure
Without Measure
Can give Pleasure:
GEORGE is again, BRITANNIA, thine,
That GEORGE, who was once only mine.
Would’st thou then know, why I repine?
RECITATIVO.
O! envy’d Thames! of my lov’d GEORGE possest!
O! above Floods so eminently blest!
Their long-green Tresse thy glad Nymphs divide,
And in proud Triumph on thy Waters glide.
Well may thy Waters still untoubl’d flow
In easie Pomp majestically slow.
Vainly thou glow’st not with ambitious Fires,
Thine is the Heroe, whom each Land desires,
Thine is the Heroe, whom the World admires.
AIR.
But I will resign,
And no more repine:
Since, tho’ absent far,
I the Influence share
Of his Guardian Care.
Neptune in the Deep
Thus his Court may keep.
He, tho’ distant, still
All our Urns can fill.
From the Rise We run,
To the Set of Sun.
So I will resign,
And no more repine.
CHORUS.
JANUS! begin the happy Year,
And vanish Sorrows, vanish Fear;
Let Mirth on ev’ry Face appear:
For each British Boy
Is sprung from old Troy.
Secure we may sleep,
Nor Watches need keep,
None can us destroy,
While GEORGE, our Palladium, we safely enjoy.
FINIS.
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