other Tufcans, who lived alfo at the clofe of the thirteenth century, by their elegant compofitions turned the scale in favour of the Tuscan dialect, and furpaffed all authors who had hitherto written in the common language. If we compare the fonnets of Guirtone d'Arezzo, the poems of Ugolino Ubaldini, and others, which tica Italiana, with the fpecimens are quoted in the Anthologia Pocof the Venetian and Milanefe dialects above cited, we cannot be furprized at the fuperiority which the Tufcan dialect acquired. Dante himself made ufe of no other dialect but that of Tufcany in his fmaller poems and profaic writings, and leems to have repented of his former neglect of his vernacular lan

Qui comenza il prologo del libro chiamado matical correctnefs to the Italian

POETRY.

ODE to the NEW YEAR.

By H. J. PYE, Efq. Poet Laureat.

Performed January 18, at St. James's.

I.

NCESSANT down the ftream of Time,

Speeding through Error's iron clime
To dark Oblivion's goal;

Loft in the gulf of night profound,
No

eye to mark their shadowy bound,
Unlels the deed of high renown,

The warlike Chief's illuftrious crown,
Shed o'er the darkling void a dubious fame,
And gild the paffing hour with fome immortal name.

II.

Yet, evanefcent as the fleeting cloud,

Driv'n by the wild winds o'er the varying skies,
Are all the glories of the great and proud,
On Rumour's idle breath that faintly rife.
A thousand garbs their forms affume,
Woven in vain Conjecture's loom;
Their dyes a thoufand hues difplay,
Sporting in Fancy's fairy ray;
Changing with each uncertain blast,
Till, melting from the eyes at last,

The fhadowy vapours fly before the wind,
Sink into viewless air, "nor leave a rack behind.”

III.

But if the raptur'd train, whom Heaven infpires
Of glory to record each deathlefs meed,

Tune to heroic worth their golden lyres,
And give to memory each godlike deed,

The above ftanzas are the first and concluding ones of Mr. Pye's Carmen Seculare

The

Then fhall th' eternal guerdon wait,
The actions of the wife and great;
While, as from black Oblivion's fway
They bear the mighty name away,
And waft it, borne on pinion high,
With joyful carol to the fky,
Sage Hiftory, with eye fevere,
Tracing aloft their bold career,

Clears the rich tale from Fiction's fpecious grace,
And builds her facred lore on Truth's eternal base.

Glorious and godlike heirs of fame,

With finewy arm, with daring breast, who brave
The howling tempest and the heaving wave,
And hoftile vengeance pour'd in vollied flame,
Ocean, where'er his billows flow,
Records your conquefts o'er the foe;
Where by difgrac'd Iberia's fhore

Bifcaya's turbid waters roar;

Where by the Gaul's infulted coaft

Deftruction wrecks her fcatter'd hoft;

By Erin's rocks, Batavia's fand,

Hefperia's liberated ftrand,

Proudly ye ride, while round each sheltering cape
The adverse fleets inglorious (peed their way,
Cautious avoid the unequal fray,

Their proudest boaft to fly, their triumph to escape.

XXXII.

Spirits of warriors! who of yore,
By yellow Tiber's trophied fhore,
Saw heap'd on rich Campania's foil,
A conquer'd world's collected fpoil;
And thou, O Julius, whole embattled hoft
First shook Invafion's fcourge on Albion's coaft,
Say, when from Caffibellan's agile car,
Flash'd the juft vengeance of defenfive war;
Say, did ye deem that e'er the painted race,

In diftant times, your fhore remote should trace,
Chafe from your far fam'd towers Oppreffion's doom,
Reftore your wafted fields, protect the walls of Rome.

XXXIII.

Sire of the winter drear,

Who lead'ft the months in circling dance along,
May peace and concord claim the votive song,
That chants the glories of the rifing year;
For Albion longs around her generous brow
To bind the olive's fober bough,

Though unappall'd her laurel'd front defies
The fiery blaft that flashes through the skies.
Wooing, O Peace! thy halcyon ray,

Ready the ftands for war, nor fhuns the enfanguin'd fray;
But on Ierne's kindred ky

She cafts Affection's fondeft eye.

O! as the era paft faw Anna join

Each warrior nation of Britannia's line,

So may the aufpicious hours that now ascend,
The fifter ifles in ceaseless union blend-

While Ocean's guardian arms around them thrown,
Form to their coafts an adamantine zone;
There, proudly rifing o'er the circling main,
Lord of the waves, their patriot king fhall reign;
And fam'd through every clime, from pole to pole,
Long as the unfailing ftream of Time fhall roll,
Religion, Virtue, Glory, fhall adorn

The illuftrious age of George, the Monarch Briton born!

ODE for his Majefty's BIRTH-DAY, June 4, 1800. By H. J. Pye,
Poet Laureat.
I.

STILL the expecting Mufe in vain

Reluctant Peace impatient woos,

Still cruel War's deftructive train

O'er half mankind their vengeance loofe;
Still o'er the genial hours of Spring
Fell Difcord waves her crimson wing,
O'er bleeding Europe's ravag'd plains
The Fiend in state terrific reigns;
Nor oaten pipe, nor paftoral fong,
Refound her waving woods among,
But, floating on the burthen'd gale afar,

Rolls in tremendous peal the thund'ring voice of War.

II.

Yet far from Albion's tranquil fhores

The ftorm of defolation roars;

And while o'er fair Liguria's vales,

Fann'd by Favonius' rapid gales,

O'er

O'er Alpine heights that proudly rile
And throud their fummits in the skies,
Or by the Rhine's majestic fiream,
The hoftile arms of Gallia gleam;
Fenc'd by her naval hoits that ride
Triumphant o'er her circling tide,
Britannia, jocund, pours the feftive lay,

And hails with duteous voice her George's natal day.

Yet though her eye exulting fees
Valour her daring offspring crown,
And glory wafts on every breeze
The fwelling pæans of renown,
Not from the warrior laurel's leaves
The votive garland now the weaves,
Sweeter than Maia's balmy breath,
Concord perfumes the civic wreath
Of flowers, embued with dew divine,
Which Albion and Ierne twine,

To deck his brow whom each, with grateful fmiles,
Owns heir of Ocean's reign, lord of the British isles,

IV.

God of our fathers, rife,

And through the thund'ring skies

Thy vengeance urge,

In awful juftice red,

Be thy dread arrows sped,

But guard our monarch's head,

God fave great George!

V.

Still on our Albion smile,
Still o'er this favour'd ifle,
O fpread thy wing;
To make each bleffing fure,
To make our fame endure,
To make our rights fecure,
God fave our king!

VI,

To the loud trumpet's throat,
To the fhrill Clarion's note,
Now jocund fing;

From ev'ry open foe,
From ev'ry traitor's blow,
Virtue defend his brow,

God guards our king!