Copenhagen, March 9, 1709.
FROM frozen climes and endless tracks of snow,
From streams which northern winds forbid to flow,
What present shall the Muse to Dorset bring,
Or how so near the pole attempt to sing?
The hoary winter here conceals from sight
All pleasing objects which to verse invite:
The hills and dales; and the delightful woods,
The flow'ry plains and silver-streaming floods,
By snow disguis'd in bright confusion lie,
And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye.
No gentle-breathing breeze prepares the spring,
No birds within the desert region sing.
The ships unmov'd, the boist'rous winds defy,
While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly.
The vast Leviathan wants room to play
And spout his waters in the face of day.✨
The starving wolves along the main sea prowl,
And to the moon in icy vallies bowl.
O'er many a shining league the level main
Here spreads itself into a glassy plain ;
There solid billows of enormous size,
And yet but lately have I seen ev'n here dress appear.
The winter in a lovely
Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd snow,
Or winds begun thro' hazy skies to blow,
At ev'ning a keen eastern breeze arose,
And the descending rain unsully'd froze.
Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,
The ruddy Morh disclos'd at once to view
The face of Nature in a rich disguise,
And brighten'd ev'ry object to my eyes,
For ev'ry shrub and ev'ry blade of grass,
And ev'ry pointed thorn, seem'd wrought in glass.
In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show,
While thro' the ice the crimson berries glow.
The thick-sprung reeds which wat'ry marshes yield
Seem'd polish'd lances in a hostile field.”
The stag in limpid currents with surprise
Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise.
The spreading oak, the beech, and tow'ring pine,
Glaz'd over, in the freezing ether shine;
The frighted birds the rattling branches shun,
Which wave and glitter in the distant sun.
When, if a sudden gust of wind arise,
The brittle forest into atoms flies,
The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends,
And in a spangled show'r the prospect ends;
Or if a southern gale the region warm,
The traveller a miry country sees,
And jouneys sad beneath the dropping trees:
Like some deluded peasant, Merlin leads
Thro' fragrant bow'rs and thro' delicious meads,
While here enchanted gardens to him rise,
And airy fabrics there attract his eyes,
His wand'ring feet the magic paths pursue,
And while he thinks the fair illusion true,
The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear; 60 A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And as he goes, the transient vision mourns.
CHARLES LORD HALIFAX, One of the Lords Justices appointed by his Majesty, 1714.
PATRON of verse, O Halifax! attend,
The Muse's fav'rite 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 filed:
Again her standard she displays to view,
And all its faded lilies bloom anew.
Here beauteous Liberty salutes the sight,
Whilst here Religion, smiling, to the skies
Her thanks expresses with uplifted eyes.
But who advances next with cheerful grace,
Joy in her eye and plenty in her face?
A wheaten garland does her head adorn:"
O Property! O goddess English born!
Where hast thou been? How did the wealthy mourn!
The bankrupt nation sigh'd for thy return,
Doubtful for whom her spreading funds were fill'd,
Her fleets were freighted and her fields were till'd. zo
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,
O may this happy change not come too
Great in your suff'rings!---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; 30
Like him with pleasure he foregoes his rest,
And longs, like him, to succour the distrest.
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'ful.
He comes, desire of nations! England's boast!
Our great deliv❜rer comes! and with him brings
A progeny of late-succeeding 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.
And now behold the Sov'reign of the main,
High on the deck, amidst his shining train,
Surveys the subject flood. An eastern gale
Plays thro' the shrouds and swells in ev'ry sail;
Th' obsequious 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 strand.
But who the silent ecstacy can show,
The passions which in nobler bosoms glow?
Who can describe the godlike patriot's zeal ?
Or who, my Lord, your gen'rous 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 Isis shall the joyful news,
By me convey'd, awaken ev'ry Muse.
Ev'n now the vocal tribe in verse conspires,
And I already hear their sounding lyres:
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