SONG LXXXVIII. A Favorite SONG

Goddess, forsake thy fav'rite Shades, The sacred Mount, th' Aonian Glades, And hither wing thy Way: Thy Voice unheard, has ceas'd too long, Whilst A**** demands the Song, Whilst C**** claims the Lay.

Now Hymen bids thee strike the Lyre, With chearful Accents swell the Quire, Which Nuptial Tapers guide: Where Mirth and sportive Dance resound, And smiling Damsels hast around, To hail the welcome Bride.

The Roman Eagle o'er her Head, With Azure Crest and Plumage spread. Displays his conscious State: Triumphant o'er the Rival Band, Who vainly hop'd and strove to stand, Against superior Fate.

With unknown gentle Flames inspir'd, Her Lover's Form the Nymph admir'd But more his gen'rous Mind: Then to the soft perswasive Art Of native Eloquence, her Heart, A willing Prize resign'd.

Hence may the Years auspicious flow, And on each blissful Hour bestow Peace, Harmony, and Love: Hence may a num'rous happy Race Their Parents bright Example trace, And ev'ry Joy improve.