The tooke 'on' on ethar hand
Be the lyght off the mone;
Many hade no ftrength for to ftande,
In Chyviat the hillys abone.

Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde
Went away but fifti and thre;

100

Of twenty hondrith fpear-men of Skotlonde, 105
But even five and fifti :

1

Tivvdale may carpe off care,

Northombarlond may mayk grat mone,
For towe fuch captayns, as flayne wear thear,
On the march perti fhall never be none.

Word ys commen to Edden-burrowe

To Jamy the Skottishe kyng,

135

140

That dougheti Duglas, lyff tenant of the Merches,
He lay flean Chyviot with-in.

Good Lord, yf thy will it be!

I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde, he fayd,

As good as ever was he:

But Perfe, and I brook my lyffe,

155

Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe,

Call it the Battell of Otterburn.

At Otterburn began this fpurne

Upon a monnyn day:

There was the dougghtè Doglas flean,

The Perfé never went away.

170

V. 136. mon. MS. V. 138. non. MS. V. 146. ye feth. MS. V. 149. cheyfftennante. MS.

Ther

Ther was never a tym on the march partes

Sen the Doglas and the Perfé met,

But yet was marvele, and the rede blude runne not, 175
As the reane doys in the ftret.

Jhefue Chrift our bayls bete,

And to the blys us brynge!

Thus was the hountynge of the Chevyat:

God fend us all good endyng.

180

The ftyle of this ballad is uncommonly rugged and uncouth, owing to its being writ in the very coarseft and broadeft northern dialect.

Moft of the furnames in this poem, as well as in the modern fong of Chery Chace, will be found either in the lifts belonging to the northern counties in Fuller's Worthies, or fubfcribed to treaties preferved in Nicholson's Laws of the Borders. See also Crawford's Peerage.

The battle of Hombyll-doron, or Hameldon, was fought Sept. 14, 1402. fanno 3 Henry IV.) wherein the English, under the command of the E. of Northumberland, and his fon Hotspur, gained a complete victory over the Scots.

ODE for the NEW YEAR, Jan. 1, 1765.

By WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, Efq; Poet Laureat,

When Spain's proud pendants wav'd in western skies,
When Gama's fleet on Indian billows hung,
In either fea did Ocean's genius rise,

And the fame truths in the fame numbers fung:
"Daring mortals, whither tend

These vain purfuits? forbear, forbear!
Thefe facred waves no keel fhall rend,
No ftreamers float on this fequefter'd air!
-Yes, yes, proceed, and conquer too;
Succefs be yours: but mortals, know,

Know, ye rash adventurous bands,

To crush your high-blown pride,
Not for yourselves, or native lands,
You brave the feafons, and you ftem the tide.
Nor Betis', nor Iberus' ftream,

Nor Tagus with his golden gleam,
Shall infolently call their own

The dear bought treasures of these worlds unknown.
A chofen race to freedom dear,

Untaught to injure, as to fear,

By me conducted, fhall exert their claims,

Shall glut my great revenge, and roll them all to Thames."

ODE for his MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY,
June 4, 1765.

H

By WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, Efq; Poet Laureat:

I.

AIL to the rofy morn, whofe ray
To luftre wakes th' aufpicious day,
Which Britain holds fo dear!
To this fair month of right belong
The feftive dance, the choral fong,
And paftimes of the year.
Whate'er the wint'ry colds prepar'd,
Whate'er the fpring but faintly rear'd,
Now wears its brighteft bloom;
A brighter blue enrobes the fkies,
From laughing fields the zephyrs rife,
On wings that breathe perfume.
The lark, in air that warbling floats,
The wood birds, with their tuneful throats,
The freams that murmur as they flow,
The flocks, that rove the mountain's brow,
The herds, that through the meadows play,
Proclaim 'tis nature's holiday!

II. And

II.

And fhall the British lyre be mute,

Nor thrill through all its trembling ftrings,
With oaten reed, and pastoral flute,
Whilft every vale refponfive rings?
To him we pour the grateful lay,
Who makes the season doubly gay:
For whom, fo late, our lifted eyes
With tears befought the pitying skies,
And won the cherub Health to crown
A nation's prayer, and ease that breaft
Which feels all forrows but its own,
And feeks, by bleffing to be blefs'd.
Fled are all the ghaftly train,

Writhing Pain, and pale Difeafe;
Joy refumes his wonted reign,

The fun-beams mingle with the breeze,

And his own month, which Health's gay livery wears,
On the sweet profpect fmiles of long fucceeding years.

ODE for his Majefty's Birth day; written by Benjamin Victor, Efq; and performed at the Caftle of Dublin.

Ε

RECITATIVE.

YE pow'rs, that on the virtuous wait,

Ye guardians of the good and great;
Propitious hear Britannia's pray'r,
And be her Monarch ftill your care.
SONG.

Be the day for ever fung,
When the Royal Hero fprung;
Let the hours which blefs the year,
In their whiteft robes appear!
And around them sportive move
Peace, and Liberty, and Love!
RECITATIVE.

Hark! already they proclaim

In welcome shouts great George's name.
Louder and louder the glad murmur grows;
Rifing in each bofom fwell

Martial transport, public zeal;
And joy in ev'ry afpect glows.

VOL. VIII.

SONG.

Bleflings with unfparing hand
Kindly fcatter'd thro' the land