It round thee fair has cast
Thy virtue pure.
Thus richest joy is thine;--
Increase of corn and wine,
And every gift divine,
Abundant, sure.
Heaven shields and sets thee fast.
From it thou goodness hast;
Right are thy ways.
Its choicest gifts 'twill pour,
That last for evermore,
Nor time exhaust the store
Through endless days.
Heaven shields and sets thee fast,
Makes thine endeavor last
And prosper well.
Like hills and mountains high,
Whose masses touch the sky;
Like streams aye surging by;
Thine increase swell!
With rite and auspice fair,
Thine offerings thou dost bear,
And son-like give,
The season's round from spring,
To olden duke and king,
Whose words to thee we bring:--
"Forever live,"
The spirits of thy dead
Pour blessings on thy head,
Unnumbered sweet.
Thy subjects, simple, good,
Enjoy their drink and food.
Our tribes of every blood
Follow thy feet.
Like moons that wax in light;
Or suns that scale the height;
Or ageless hill;
Nor change, nor autumn know;
As pine and cypress grow;
The sons that from thee flow
Be lasting still!
~An Ode of Congratulation~
The russet pear-tree stands there all alone;
How bright the growth of fruit upon it shown!
The King's affairs no stinting hands require,
And days prolonged still mock our fond desire.
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