_The following ODE, addressed to Sir WALTER BLACKETT, Bart. was wrote by the Author, on the very Day that the Building of HEXHAM BRIDGE was undertaken._ BY JAMES WILSON. Ye sacred nine descend, Aid to my muse O lend, Whilst I rehearse: Bind round my head the bays, My humble genius raise, And teach me how to praise BLACKETT, in verse. Hard is the task impos’d, Glorious the end propos’d; Hark! it succeeds: Heaven would surely frown, And with contempt look down, Should we forget to own His noble deeds. _Hexham_ no more shall weep, At Tyne’s redundant sweep, And pregnant shore; _Blackett_ the path will pave, Which scorns the threat’ning wave, Where all with joy will have Safe passage o’er. See him with ev’ry age, Soft’ning the bitter rage, Of Poverty: As he approaches nigh, Ope the strong bolts do fly, To set, with heart-felt joy, The wretched free. Titus the great did say, Gods! I have lost a day: Fatal mistake; _Blackett_ more great than he, Never that day can see, But numbers chearfully, Sing for his sake. May Heaven his life prolong, To swell the Poet’s song Till there arise, One that’s as good as he, Then let him wafted be, To spend eternity, Above the skies. _The following Lines, written on laying the Foundation-stone of HEXHAM BRIDGE, the Author had the Honour to read at the Head of the Table, at the sumptuous Entertainment given by Sir WALTER BLACKETT, on the Occasion_. BY JAMES WILSON. Unsullied mirth attend this feast, Let joy shine forth in every guest, And ev’ry face look gay: Let not a cloud depress the scene, But all look chearful and serene, ’Tis our rejoicing day. Come, Joy, with all thy smiling train, Here take thy rest, securely reign, See Phœbus shines more bright; Here will we this great day adorn, Till Cynthea with her silver horn, Illuminates the night. A bridge o’er Tyne! our joy’s complete, With rapture we its author greet, Our breasts exult and sing; This bliss consummates all our care. Now Hexham and Elysium are, But two words for one thing. A SONG, _Composed by MR JAMES WILSON, of Cawsey Park, on Mr Coughron[57] and Family, leaving Hebron Hill_. (Dated 4th May, 1784.) To fertile soil, and fragrant air, Be it, great God, thy will To guard, with thy parental care, My friends of Hebron Hill. In some luxuriant calm retreat, Where nature may instil Her choicest charms--there make a seat For those of Hebron Hill. Bestow, by thy all-bounteous hand, The richest turf to till; And crops increase at thy command, To those of Hebron Hill. May providence protect them, there, And virtue’s vest their will: And copious comforts ever share, With those of Hebron Hill.