The New Hampshire Gazette

THE VISION.
An ODE on her Majesty's happy Delivery

LOSE Dover's cliffs, washed by the briny flood,
Methought this morn I stood ;
On the smooth sea green as I cast my eyes,
At distance England's Genius seem'd to rise
Forth from the parting waves in coral carr,
Her tower crowned head ascending to the skies,
Smiling she pointed to our men of war.
Loud bursts of thunder from their broadsides roar'd,
Re-ecchoing rocks, the peals rebound,
France trembled at the sound.
And vain, in vain, her fear bound fleets implor'd.
With laurels crowned, & joyful band.
Quick I behold approach the land,
And march in long procession, o'er our wave-worn
strond.
England's standard, Freedom bore;
London's arms, Britannia wore ;
Her train by smiling Commerce borne
Within whose hand shone plenty's horn.
Honor rose as she spoke,
In chariot formed from Heart of Oak.
Held high a portrait framed in gold.
And pointing, loudly cried, Behold
The man to England just:
Truth pluck'd a quill from wide-wing'd Fame
Lest Flattery should forge his name,
Wrote Pitt beneath the bust.
Instant I heard a silver sounding voice.
Which sweetly sung. Rejoice, rejoice,
Britons rejoice :
A son, a son, to George is born ;
Hail, hail, this happy, this auspicious morn!
Sea nymphs, each in pearl lin'd shell.
(Moved by the tide-made swell)
From their moss bed tritons sprung.
With ev'ry flower from Ocean's bed,
With ev'ry gem from chrystals bred,
In honor of the Royal Heir, to crown the infant's
head.
Their chorus shook the circling air.
To George and Charlotte, happy pair,
A son, a son, is born,
On this auspicious morn ;
A son, a son, a son, they sing ;
A joy, the shores rebound ;
Their shell wreath'd trumps the Tritons ring,
And Echo swells the sound.
CHORUS.
A son, a son, to George is born,
Hail, hail, the happy, happy morn!