To the Right Honourable CHARLES Lord HALIFAX, one of the Lords Juftices appointed by his Majesty. 1714.
PATRON of verfe, O Halifax, attend,
The Mufe's favourite, and the Poet's friend!
Approaching joys my ravish'd thoughts infpire:
I feel the transport; and my foul 's on fire!
Again Britannia rears her awful head:
Her fears, tranfplanted, to her foes are fled.
Again her standard fhe difplays to view;
And all its faded lilies bloom anew.
Here beauteous Liberty falutes the fight,
Still pale, nor yet recover'd of her fright,
Whilft here Religion, fmiling to the skies,
Her thanks expreffes with up-lifted eyes.
But who advances next, with chearful grace,
Joy in her eye, and plenty in her face?
A wheaten garland does her head adorn,
O Property! O goddefs, English-born!
Where haft thou been? How did the wealthy mourn !
The bankrupt nation figh'd for thy return,
Doubtful for whom her spreading funds were fill'd,
Her fleets were freighted, and her field were till'd.
No longer now fhall France and Spain combin'd,
Strong in their golden Indies, awe mankind.
Brave Catalans, who for freedom ftrive,
your
And in your shatter'd bulwarks yet.furvive,
For you alone, worthy a better fate,
O, 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-faint:
Like him, with pleasure he foregoes his reft,
And longs, like him, to fuccour the diftrefs'd.
Firm to his friends, tenacious of his word,
As juftice calls, he draws or fheaths the sword:
Matur'd by thought, his councils shall prevail;
Nor fhall his promise to his people fail.
He comes, defire of nations! England's boaft!
Already has he reach'd the Belgian coaft.
Our great deliverer comes and with him brings
A progeny of late-fucceeding kings,
Fated to triumph o'er Britannia's foes
In diftant years, and fix the world's repofe..
The floating fquadrons now approach the shore;
Loft in the failors fhouts, the cannons roar :
And now, behold, the fovereign of the main,
High on the deck, amidst his shining train,
Surveys the fubject flood. An eastern gale
Plays through the shrouds, and fwells in every fail: 48' Th' obfequious waves his new dominion own,
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 ftrand :
But who the filent extafy can show,
The paffions which in nobler bosbms 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 fink the pride of France,
Once more the long-neglected arts to raise,
And form each rising genius for the bays.
Accept the prefent of a grateful fong;
This prelude may provoke the learned throng:
To Cam and Ifis fhall the joyful news,
By me convey'd, awaken every Mufe.
Ev'n now the vocal tribe in verfe confpires;
And I already hear their founding lyres:
To them the mighty labour I refign,
Give up the Theme, and quit the tuneful Nine.
So when the fpring first smiles among the trees,
And bloffoms open to the vernal breeze,
The watchful nightingale, with early strains,
Summons the warblers of the woods and plains,
But drops her mufick, when the choir appear,
And liftens to the concert of the year.
To the Honourable JAMES CRAGGS, Efq; Secretary at War, at Hampton-Court. 1717.
HOUGH Britain's hardy troops demand your care,
And chearful friends your hours of leisure share ;
O, Craggs, for candour known! indulge awhile
My fond defire, and on my labour smile :
Nor count it always an abuse of time
To read a long epiftle, though in rhyme.
To you I fend my thoughts, too long confin'd,
And eafe the burden of a loyal mind;
To you my fecret transports I disclose,
That rife above the languid powers of profe.
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 afsistance from the Muse requires.
Believe me, Sir, your breaft, that glows with zeal
For George's glory, and the public weal,
Your breaft 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 greatnefs, 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 feems, to vulgar eyes, devoid of care;
The British Muses to the grove will press,
Tune their melodious harps, and claim accefs :
But let them not too rafhly touch the strings;
For fate allows no folitude to kings.
Hail to the fhades, where William, great in arms,
Retir'd from conqueft to Maria's charms!
Where George ferene in majefty appears,
And plans the wonders of fucceeding years!
There, as he walks, his comprehensive mind
Surveys the globe, and takes-in all mankind:
While, Britain, for thy fake he wears the crown;
To fpread thy power as wide as his renown:
To make thee umpire of contending states,
And poife the balance in the world's debates.
From the fmooth terrafs as he cafts his eye,
And fees the current fea-ward rolling by;
What schemes of commerce rife in his defigns!
Pledges of wealth! and unexhausted mines !
Through winds.and waves, beneath inclement skies,
Where stars, distinguish'd by no name, arise,
Our fleets fhall undiscover'd lands explore,
And a new people hear our cannons roar.
The rivers long in ancient story fam'd,
Shall flow obfcure, nor with the Thames be nam'd:
Nor fhall our poets copy from their praise,
And Nymphs and Syrens to thy honour raise ;
Nor make thy banks with Tritons shells refound,
Nor bind thy brows with humble fedges round:
But paint thee as thou art; a peopled stream!
The boast of merchants, and the failors theme!
Whofe fpreading floods unnumber'd ships sustain,
And pour whole towns afloat into the main;
While the redundant feas waft up fresh ftores,
The daily tribute of far-diftant fhores..
Back to thy fource I try thy filver-train,
That gently winds through many a fertile plain;.
Where flocks and lowing herds in plenty feed,
And fhepherds tune at eafe the vocal reed:
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