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To the Right Honourable CHARLES Lord
HALIFAX, one of the Lords Justices appointed
by his Majesty. 1714.
PATRON of verse, o Halifax, attend,
The Muse's favourite, and the Poet's friend !
Approaching joys my ravish'd thoughts inspire:
I feel the transport; and my soul 's on fire!
Again Britannia rears her awful head :
Her fears, transplanted, to her foes are fled.
Again her standard she displays to view;
And all its faded lilies bloom anew.
Here beauteous Liberty falutes the fight,
Still pale, nor yet recover'd of her fright,
Whilst here Religion, smiling to the skies,
Her thanks expresses with up-lifted eyes.
But who advances next, with chearful grace,
Joy in her eye, and plenty in her face?
A wheaten gailand does her hearl adorn,
O Property! O goddess, English-born!
Where hast thoư been? How did the wealthy mourn !
The bankrupt nation figh’d for thy return,
Doubtful for whom her spreading funds were fillid,
Her fleets were freighted, and her field were tillid.
No longer now shall France and Spain combin'd,
Strong in their golden Indies, awe mankind.
Brave Catalans, who for your freedom strive,
And in your shatter'd bulwarks yet.survive,
For you alone, worthy a better fate,
Li Q, may this happy change not come too late !
Great in your sufferings ! But, my Muse, forbear;
Nor damp the public gladness with a tear :
The hero has receiv’d their just complaint,
Grac'd with the name of our fam'd patron-saint:
Like him, with pleasure he foregoes his rest,
And longs, like him, to-fuccour the distress’d.
Firm to his friends, tenacious of his word,
As justice calls, he draws or sheaths the sword:
Matur'd by thought, his councils shall prevail;
Nor shall his promise to his people fail.
He comes, desire of nations! England's boast!
Already has he rcach'd the Belgian coast.
Our great deliverer comes! and with him brings
A progeny of late-Gucceeding kings,
Fated to triumph o'er Britannia's foes
In distant years, and fix the world's repose.
The floating squadrons now approach the shore;
Lost in the sailors shouts, the cannons roar: 44
And now, behold, the fovereign of the main,
High on the deck, amidst his shining train,
Surveys the subject flood. An eastern gale
Plays through the shrouds, and swells in every fail : 48'
Th' obsequious waves his new dominion own, 2
And gently waft their monarch to his throne.
Now the glad Britons hail their king to land,
Hang on the rocks, and blacken all the strand :
But who the silent extasy can sow,
The passions which in nobler boloms glow?
Who can describe the godlike patriot's zeal ?
Or who, my Lord, your generous joys reveal ?
Ordain’d, once more, our treasure to advance,
Retrieve our trade, and sink the pride of France,
Once more the long-neglected arts to raise,
And form each rising genius for the bays.
Accept the present of a grateful song;
This prelude may provoke the learned throng:
To Cam and Ifis shall the joyful news,
By me convey'd, awaken every Muse.
Ev'n now the vocal tribe in versè conspires;
And I already hear their founding lyres :
To them the mighty labour I resign,
up the Theme, and quit the tuneful Nine.
So when the spring first smiles among the trees,
And blossoms open to the vernal breeze,
The watchful nightingale, with early strains,
Summons the warblers of the woods and plains,
But drops her musick, when the choir appear,
And listens to the concert of the year.
To the Honourable JAMES CRAGGS, Esq; Secre
tary at War, at Hampton-Court. 1717.
MHOUGH Britain's hardy troops demand your care,
And chearful friends your hours of leisure share ; O, Craggs, for candour known! indulge awhile My fond desire, and on my labour smile : Nor count it always an abuse of time To read a long epiftle, though in rhyme.
To you I send my thoughts, too long confin'd,
And ease the burden of a loyal mind;
To you my secret transports I disclose,
That rise above the languid powers of prose.
But, while these artless numbers you peruse,
Think 'tis my heart that dictates, not the Muse;
My heart, which at the name of Brunswick fires,
And no assistance from the Muse requires.
Believe me, Sir, your breast, that glows with zeal
For George's glory, and the public weal,
Your breast alone feels more pathetic heats;
Your heart alone with stronger raptures beats.
When I review the great examples past,
And to the former ages join the last;
Still, as the godlike heroes to me rise,
In arms triumphant, and in councils wife,
The king is ever present to my mind;
His greatness, trac'd in every page, I find:
The Greek and Roman pens his virtues tell,
And under shining names on Brunswick dwell.
At Hampton while he breathes untainted air,
And seems, to vulgar eyes, devoid of care;
The British Muses to the grove will press,
Tune their melodious harps, and claim access :
But let them not too rafhly touch the strings;
For fate allows no solitude to kings.
Hail to the shades, where William, great
Retir'd from conquest to Maria’s charms !
Where George serene in majesty appears,
And plans the wonders of succeeding years!
Threre, as he walks, his comprehensive mind
Surveys the globe, and takes-in all mankind :
While, Britain, for thy fake he wears the crown;
To spread thy power as wide as his renown :
To make thee umpire of contending states,
And poise the balance in the world's debates.
From the smooth terrass as he cafts his eye,
And sees the current sea-ward rolling by;
What schemes of commerce rise in his designs !
Pledges of wealth! and unexhausted mines !
Through winds and waves, beneath inclement skies,
Where stars, distinguish'd by no name, arise,
Our feets fhall undiscover'd lands explore,
And a new people hear our cannons roar.
The rivers, long in ancient story fam’d, Shall flow obscure, nor with the Thames be nam’d: Nor shall our poets copy from their praise, And Nymphs and Syrens to thy honour raise ;. Nor make thy banks with Tritons shells. resound, Nor bind thy brows with humble sedges round: But paint thee as thou art; a peopled stream! The boast of merchants, and the failors theme ! Whose spreading floods unnumber'd ships sustain,
whole towns afloat into the main ; While the redundant seas waft
fresh stores, The daily tribute of far-distant shores.
Back to thy source I try thy silver-train,
That gently winds through many a fertile plain ;.
Where flocks and lowing herds in plenty fced,
And shepherds tune at ease the vocal reed: