« PreviousContinue »
When God was hated, Sin obey'd,
And man undone without thy aid,
From the seats of endless peace
They brought the Son, the Lord of Grace;
They taught him to receive a birth,
To cloath in flesh, to live on earth;
And after, lifted him on high,
And taught him on the cross to die.
Love celestial, ardent fire,
O, extreme of sweet desire!
Spread thy brightly raging flame
Through and over all my frame;
Let it warm me, let it burn,
Let my corpfe to ashes turn;
And, might thy flame thus act with me
To set the soul from body free,
I next would use thy wings, and fly
To meet my Jesus in the sky.
ON QUEEN ANNE'S PEACE.
(Written in December, 1712.) MOTHER of Plenty, daughter of the skies,
Sweet Peace, the troubled world's desire, arise;
Around thy Poet weave thy summer shades,
Within my fancy spread thy flowery meads ;
Amongst * This Poem received several corrections, in consequence of hints from Lord Bolingbroke and Dr. Swift. See the Dean's " Journal to Stella,” Deca 32, 1712; Jan. 31, and Feb. 19, 1712-13. N.
Amongst thy train soft Ease and Pleasure bring,
Anel thus indulgent footh me whilst I sing.
Great Anna claims the song ; no brighter name
Adorns the list of never-dying fame;
No fairer foul was ever form'd above;
None e'er was more the grateful nation's love,
Nor lov'd the nation more. I fly with speed
To fing such lines as Boling broke may read,
On war dispers’d, on faction trampled down,
On all the peaceful glories of the crown.
And, if I fail in too confin’d a flight,
May the kind world upon my labours write,
“ So fell the lines which strove for endless fame,
“ Yet fell, attempting on the noblest theme."
Now twelve revolving years has Britain stood,
With loss of wealth, and vast expence of blood,
Europa's guardian ; still her gallant arms
Secured Europa from impending harms.
Fair honour, full success, and just applause,
Pursued her marches, and adorn'd her cause;
Whilst Gaul, aspiring to erect a throne
O'er other empires, trembled for her own;
Bemoan'd her cities won, her armies lain,
And funk the thought of universal reign.
When thus reduc'd the world's invaders lie,
The fears which rack d the nations juftly' die :
Power finds its balance, giddy motions cease
In both the scales, and each inclines to peace.
This fair occasion Providence prepares,
To answer pious Anna's hourly prayers,
Which still on warm Devotion's wings arose, . And, reaching heaven, obtain’d the world's repose.
Within the vast expansion of the sky,
Where orbs of gold in fields of azure lie,
A glorious palace shines, whose filver ray,
Serenely flowing, lights the milky way;
The road of angels. Here, with fpeedy care,
The fummon’d guardians of the world repair.
When Britain's Angel, on the message sent,
Speaks Anna's prayers, and Heaven's supreme intents
That war's destructive arm Mould humble Gaul,
Spain's parted realms to different monarchs fall i
The grand alliance crown'd with glory cease,
And joyful Europe find the sweets of peace.
He spoke: the smiling hopes of man's repose,
The joy that springs from certain liopes arose,
Diffusive o'er the place; complacent airs,
Sedately sweet, were heard within the spheres;
And, bowing, all adore the sovereign mind,
And fly to execute the work design'd.
This done, the Guardian on the wing repairs,
Where Anna sate, revolving public cares
With deep concern of thought. Unseen he stood,
Presenting peaceful images of good ;
On Fancy's airy stage, returning Trade,
A sunk Exchequer fill'd, an Army paid :
The fields with men, the men with plenty bless'd,
The towns with riches, and the world with rest.
Such pleasing objects on her bosom play,
And give the dawn of glory's golden day;
When all her labours at their harvest shown
Shall, in her subjects' joy, complete her own.
Then breaking filence ; 'Tis enough, the cries,
That war has rag'd to make the nations wise.
Heaven prospers armies whilft they fight to save,
And thirst of further fame destroys the brave;
The vanquish'd Gauls are humbly pleas'd to live,
And but escap'd the chains they meant to give.
Now let the powers be stillid, and each possess'd
Of what secures the common safety best.
So spake the Queen; then, fill'd with warmth divine,
She call'd her Oxford to the grand design;
Her Oxford, prudent in affairs of state,
Profoundly thoughtful, manifestly great
In every turn, whose steddy temper steers
Above the reach of gold, or shock of fears;
Whom no blind chance, but merit understood,
By frequent trials, power of doing good ;
And will to execute, advanc'd on high,
Oh, soul created to deserve the sky!
And make the nation, crown'd with glory, see
How much it rais'd itself by raising thee !
Now let the fehemes which labour in thy breast,
The long Alliance, bleft with lafting reft :
Weigh all pretences with impartial laws,
And fix the separate interests of the cause.
These toils the graceful Bolingbroke attends,
A genius fashion'd for the greatest ends ;
Whose strong perception takes the swiftest flight,
And yet its swiftness ge'er obfcures its fight :
When schemes are fix'd, and each afsign'd a part,
None serves his country with a nobler heart ;
Just thoughts of honour all his mind control,
And expedition wings his lively soul.
On such a Patriot to confer the trust,
The Monarch knows it safe, as well as juft.
Then next proceeding in her Agents' choice,
And ever pleas'd that worth obtains the voice,
She, from the voice of high-distinguish'd fames,
With pious Bristol, gallant Strafford names :
One form'd to stand a Church's firm support,
The other fitted to adorn a Court :
Both vers'd in business, both of fine address,
By which experience leads to great success :
And both to distant lands the Monarch fends,
And, to their conduct, Europe's peace commends..
Now ships unmoor’d, to waft her Agents o’er,
Spread all their fail, and quit the flying More ;
The foreign Agents reach th' appointed place,
The Congress opéns, and it will be peace,
Methinks the war, like stormy winter, flies,
When fairer months unveil the bluish skies ;
A flowery world the sweetest season spreads,
And doves, with branches, Autter round their heads,
Half-peopled Gaul, whom numerous ills destroy,
With wishful heart, attends the promis'd joy.
For this prepares the Duke - ah, fadly slain,
'Tis grief to name him whom we mourn in vain :
No warmth of verse repairs the vital flame,
For verse can only grant a life in fame;