The thick-fprung reeds, which watery marshes yield,
Seem'd polish'd lances in a hoftile field.
The ftag, in limpid currents, with furprize,
Sees cryftal branches on his forehead rife:
The fpreading oak, the beech, and towering pine,
Glaz'd over, in the freezing æther fhine.
The frighted birds the rattling branches fhun,
Which wave and glitter in the distant fun.
When if a fudden gust of wind arife,
The brittle foreft into atoms flies,
The crackling wood beneath the tempeft bends,
And in a spangled fhower the profpect ends :
Or, if a fouthern gale the region warm,
And by degrees unbind the wintery charm,
The traveller a miry country fees,
And journeys fad beneath the dropping trecs:
Like fome deluded peafant, Merlin leads
Through fragrant bowers, and through delicious meads,
While here inchanted gardens to him rife,
And airy fabricks there attract his eyes,
His wandering feet the magic paths purfue,
And, while he thinks the fair illufion true,
The tracklefs fcenes difperfe in fluid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear, 60
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the tranfient vifion mourns.
To the Right Honourable CHARLES Lord HALIFAX, one of the Lords Juftices appointed by his Majefty. 1714.
PATRON of verfe, O Halifax, attend,
The Mufe's favourite, and the Poet's friend!
Approaching joys my ravish'd thoughts inspire :
I feel the tranfport; 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 fields were till'd. 20
No longer now fhall 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,
Q, may this happy change not come too late!
Great in your fufferings !--But, my Mufe, 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 sheaths the fword:
Matur'd by thought, his councils fhall prevail;
Nor fhall his promife to his people fail.
He comes, defire of nations! England's boast!
Already has he reach'd the Belgian coast.
Our great deliverer comes! and with him brings
A progeny of late-fucceeding kings,
Fated to triumph o'er Britannia's foes
In distant 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 blofoms glow?
Who can defcribe 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 rifing 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 verse conspires;
And I already hear their founding lyres:
To them the mighty labour I refign,
Give the Theme, and quit the tuneful Nine.
So when the fpring first fmiles among the trees,
And bloffoms open to the vernal breeze,
The watchful nightingale, with early ftrains,
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 leifure fhare;
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 ease the burden of a loyal mind;
To you my fecret tranfports I difclofe,
That rife above the languid powers of profe.
But, while thefe artless numbers you perufe,
Think 'tis my heart that dictates, not the Muse;
My heart, which at the name of Brunswick fires,
And no affistance from the Muse requires.
Believe me, Sir, your breast, that glows with zeal
For George's glory, and the public weal,
Your breaft alone feels more pathetic heats;
Your heart alone with ftronger 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 fhining names on Brunswick dwell.
At Hampton while he breathes untainted air,
And feems, to vulgar eyes, devoid of care;
The British Mufes to the grove will prefs,
Tune their melodious harps, and claim access:
But let them not too rafhly touch the strings;
For fate allows no folitude to kings.
Hail to the shades, 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!
|