POE M S

B Y

RICHARD DU K E, M. A.

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"Longa eft injuria, longæ

"Ambages; fed fumma fequar faftigia rerum." Virg.

HOW have we wander'd a long difinal night,

Led through blind paths by each deluding light! Now plung'd in mire, now by sharp brambles torn, With tempefts beat, and to the winds a fcorn! Loft, weary'd, fpent! but fee the Eastern star And glimmering light dawns kindly from afar : Bright goddess, hail! while we by thee survey The various errors of our painful way; While, guided by fome clew of heavenly thread, The labyrinth perplex'd we backward tread, Through rulers' avarice, pride, ambition, hate, Perverfe cabals, and winding turns of state,

The fenate's rage, and all the crooked lines
Of incoherent plots and wild designs;
Till, getting out where first we enter'd in,
A new bright race of glory we begin.

As, after Winter, Spring's glad face appears,
As the bleft fhore to ship-wreck'd mariners,
Succefs to lovers, glory to the brave,
Health to the fick, or freedom to the flave;
Such was great Cæfar's day! the wondrous day,
That long in Fate's dark bosom hatching lay,
Heaven to abfolve, and fatisfaction bring,
For twenty years of misery and fin!

What shouts, what triumph, what unruly joy,
Swell'd every breast, did every tongue employ,
With rays direct, whilst on his people fhone
The King triumphant from the martyr's throne!
Was ever prince like him to mortals given ?
So much the joy of earth and care of heaven!
Under the preffure of unequal fate,

Of fo erect a mind, and foul fo great!
So full of meeknefs, and fo void of pride,
When borne aloft by Fortune's highest tide!
Mercy, like heaven, 's his chief prerogative,
His joy to fave, and glory to forgive.
All ftorms compos'd, and tempests rage asleep,
He, Halcyon like, fat brooding o'er the deep.
He faw the royal bark fecurely ride,

No danger threatening from the peaceful tide;
And he who, when the winds and feas were high,
Oppos'd his skill, and did their rage defy,

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No diminution to his honour thought,

T'enjoy the pleasure of the calm he brought.
(Should he alone be fo the people's flave
As not to fhare the bleffings that he gave?)
But not till, full of providential care,
He chofe a pilot in his place to steer :
One in his father's councils and his own
Long exercis'd, and grey in business grown;
Whofe confirm'd judgment and fagacious wit
Knew all the fands on which rash monarchs split;
Of rifing winds could, ere they blew, inform,
And from which quarter to expect the storm.
Such was, or fuch he feem'd, whom Cæfar chofe,
And did all empire's cares in him repose;
That, after all his toils and dangers past,
He might lie down and tafte fome ease at laft.
Now ftands the statesman of the helm poffeft,
On him alone three mighty nations rest;

Byrfa his name, bred at the wrangling bar,
And fkill'd in arms of that litigious war;
But more to Wit's peacefuller arts inclin'd,
Learning's Mæcenas, and the Mufes' friend;
Him every Muse in every age had sung,
His eafy flowing wit and charming tongue,
Had not the treacherous voice of power infpir'd
His mounting thoughts, and wild ambition fir'd
Difdaining lefs alliances to own,

He now fets up

for kinfman of the throne;

*Earl of Clarendon.

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