BOOK II.

SACRED TO VIRTUE, HONOUR, AND FRIENDSHIP.

TO HER MAJESTY.

QUEEN of the northern world, whose gentle sway
Commands our love, and charms our hearts t' obey,
Forgive the nation's groan when WILLIAM died:
Lo. at thy feet, in all the royal pride
Of blooming joy, three happy realms appear,
And WILLIAM's urn almost without a tear [tongue
Stands; nor complains; while from thy gracious
Peace flows in silver streams amidst the throng.
Amazing balm, that on those lips was found
To sooth the torment of that mortal wound,
And calm the wild affright! The terrour dies,
The bleeding wound cements, the danger flies,
And Albion shouts thine honours as her joys arise.

The German eagle feels her guardian dead, Not her own thunder can secure her head; Her trembling eagles hasten from afar, And Belgia's lion dreads the Gallic war: All hide behind thy shield. Remoter lands, Whose lives lay trusted in Nassovian hands, Transfer their souls, and live; secure they play In thy mild rays, and love the growing day.

Thy beamy wing at once defends and warms
Fainting Religion, whilst in various forms
Fair Piety shines through the British isles:
Here at thy side, and in thy kindest smiles'
Blazing in ornamental gold she stands,

To bless thy councils, and assist thy hands,
And crowds wait round her to receive commands.
There at a humble distance from the throne"
Beauteous she lies; her lustre all her own,
Ungarnish'd; yet not blushing, nor afraid,
Nor knows suspicion, nor affects the shade:
Cheerful and pleas'd, she not presumes to share
In thy parental gifts, but owns thy guardian care.
For thee, dear sovereign, endless vows arise,
And zeal with earthly wing salutes the skies
To gain thy safety. Here a solemn form'
Of ancient words keeps the devotion warm,
And guides, but bounds our wishes: there the mind
Feels its own fire, and kindles unconfin'd
With bolder hopes: yet still beyond our vows,
Thy lovely glories rise, thy spreading terrour grows.

Princess, the world already owns thy name: Go, mount the chariot of immortal Fame,

* The established church of England. • The Protestant Dissenters.

VOL. XIIL

Nor die to be renown'd: Fame's loudest breath
Too dear is purchas'd by an angel's death.
The vengeance of thy rod, with general joy,
Shall scourge Rebellion and the rival-boy 3;
Thy sounding arms his Gallic patron hears,
And speeds his flight; nor overtakes his fears,
Till hard Despair wring from the tyrant's soul
The iron tears out. Let thy frown control
Our angry jars at home, till Wrath submit
Mad Zeal and Phrensy, with their murderous train,
Her impious banners to thy sacred feet;
Feel these sweet realms in thine auspicious reign,
Envy expire in rage, and Treason bite the chain.
Let no black scenes affright fair Albion's stage:
Thy thread of life prolong our golden age,
Long bless the Earth, and late ascend thy throne
Ethereal; (not thy deeds are there unknown,
Nor there unsung; for by thine awful hands
Heaven rules the waves, and thunders o'er the lands,
Creates inferiour kings 4, and gives them their com-
mands.

Legions attend thee at the radiant gates;
For thee thy sister-seraph, blest Maria, waits.

But oh! the parting stroke! some heavenly power Cheer thy sad Britons in the gloomy hour; Some new propitious star appear on high, The fairest glory of the western sky, And Anna be its name; with gentle sway To check the planets of malignant ray, Sooth the rude North-wind, and the rugged Bear, Calm rising wars, heal the contagious air,

And reign with peaceful influence to the southern sphere.

Note. This poem was written in the year 1705, in that honourable part of the reign of our late queen, when she had broken the French power at Blenheim, asserted the right of Charles the present emperor to the crown of Spain, exerted her zeal for the Protestant succession, and promised inviolably to maintain the toleration to the Protestant Dissenters. Thus she appeared the chief support of the Reformation, and the patroness of the liberties of Europe.

The latter part of her reign was of a different colour, and was by no means attended with the accomplishment of those glorious hopes which we had conceived. Now the Muse cannot satisfy herself to publish this new edition without acknowledging the mistake of her former presages; and while she does the world this justice, she does herself the honour of a voluntary retractation. August 1, 1721.

I. W.

The Pretender.

+ She made Charles, the emperor's second son, king of S, ain, who was afterward- emperor of Germany.

PALINODIA.

BRITONS, forgive the forward Muse That dar'd prophetic seals to loose, (Unskill'd in Fate's eternal book) And the deep characters mistook.

George is the name, that glorious star; Ye saw his splendours beaming far; Saw in the East your joys arise, When Anna sunk in western skies, Streaking the heavens with crimson gloom, Emblems of tyranny and Rome, Portending blood and night to come. 'Twas George diffus'd a vital ray, And gave the dying nations day: His influence sooths the Russian bear, Calms rising wars, and heals the air; Join'd with the Sun his beams are hurl'd To scatter blessings round the world, Fulfil whate'er the Muse has spoke, And crown the work that Anne forsook. August 1, 1721.

Go, friend, and wait the prophet's flight,
Watch if his mantle chance to light,
And seize it for thy own;
Shute is the darling of his years,
Young Shute his better likeness bears;
All but his wrinkles and his hairs
Are copied in his son.

Reason at length submits to wear
The wings of Faith; and lo, they rear
Her chariot high, and nobly bear
Her prophet to the skies.

Frown on me, friend, if e'er I boast
O'er fellow-minds enslav'd in clay,
Or swell when I shall have engross'd
A larger heap of shining dust,
And wear a bigger load of earth than they.
Let the vain world salute me loud,
My thoughts look inward, and forget

The sounding names of High and Great,
The flatteries of the crowd.

5 The Interest of England, written by Mr. Shute.

We claim acquaintance with the skies,
Upward our spirits hourly rise,

And there our thoughts employ:
When Heaven shall sign our grand release,
We are no strangers to the place,
The business, or the joy.

FALSE GREATNESS.

MYLO, forbear to call him blest
That only boasts a large estate,
Should all the treasures of the West
Meet, and conspire to make him great.
I know thy better thoughts, I know
Thy reason can't descend so low.
Let a broad stream with golden sands
Through all his meadows roll,

He's but a wretch, with all his lands,
That wears a narrow soul.

He swells amidst his wealthy store, And proudly poizing what he weighs, In his own scale he fondly lays

Huge heaps of shining ore.

He spreads the balance wide to hold His manors and his farms,

And cheats the beam with loads of gold He hugs between his arms.

So might the plough-boy climb a tree, When Croesus mounts his throne, And both stand up, and smile to see

How long their shadow's grown. Alas! how vain their fancies be

To think that shape their own!

Thus mingled still with wealth and state,
Croesus himself can never know;
His true dimensions and his weight
Are far inferiour to their show.
Were I so tall to reach the Pole,
Or grasp the ocean with my span,
I must be measur'd by my soul :
The mind's the standard of the man.

TO SARISSA.

AN EPISTLE.

BEAR Up, Sarissa, through the ruffling storms
Of a vain vexing world: tread down the cares,
Those ragged thorns that lie across the road,
Nor spend a tear upon them. Trust the Muse,
She sings experienc'd truth: This briny dew,
This rain of eyes, will make the briers grow.
We travel through a desert, and our feet
Have measur❜d a fair space, have left behind
A thousand dangers, and a thousand snares
Well scap'd. Adieu, ye horrours of the dark,
Ye finish'd labours, and ye tedious toils
Of days and hours! The twinge of real smart,
And the base terrours of ill-boding dreams,
Vanish together, be alike forgot,
For ever blended in one common grave.

Farewell, ye waxing and ye waning moons, That we have watch'd behind the flying clouds On night's dark hill, or setting or ascending, Or in meridian height! Then silence reign'd O'er half the world; then ye beheld our tears, Ye witness'd our complaints, our kindred groans,

(Sad harmony) while with your beamy horns
Or richer orb ye silver'd o'er the green
Where trod our feet, and lent a feeble light
To mourners. Now ye have fulfill'd your round,
Those hours are fled, farewell Months that are
[gone
Are gone for ever, and have borne away
Fach his own load. Our woes and sorrows past,
Mountainous woes, still lessen as they fly
Far off. So billows in a stormy sea,
Wave after wave (a long succession) roll
Beyond the ken of sight: the sailors, safe,
Look far a-stern till they have lost the storm,
And shout their boisterous joys. A gentler Muse
Sings thy dear safety, and commands thy cares
To dark oblivion; buried deep in night,
Lose them, Sarissa, and assist my song.

Awake thy voice, sing how the slender line Of Fate's immortal Now divides the past From all the future with eternal bars, Forbidding a return. The past temptations No more shall vex us; every grief we feel Shortens the destin'd number; every pulse Beats a sharp moment of the pain away, And the last stroke will come. By swift degrees Time sweeps us off, and we shall soon arrive At life's sweet period: O celestial point That ends this mortal story!

But if a glimpse of light with flattering ray Breaks through the clouds of life, or wandering fire Amidst the shades invite your doubtful feet, Beware the dancing meteor; faithless guide, That leads the lonesome pilgrim wide astray To bogs, and fens, and pits, and certain death! Should vicious Pleasure take an angel-form And at a distance rise, by slow degrees, Treacherous, to wind herself into your heart, Stand firm aloof, nor let the gaudy phantom Too long allure your gaze: The just delight That Heaven indulges lawful must obey Superior powers; nor tempt your thoughts too far In slavery to sense, nor swell your hope To dangerous size: If it approach your feet And court your hand, forbid th' intruding joy To sit too near your heart: Still may our souls Claim kindred with the skies, nor mix with dust Our better-born affections; leave the globe A nest for worms, and hasten to our home.

O there are gardens of th' immortal kind That crown the heavenly Eden's rising hills With beauty and with sweets; no lurking mischief Dwells in the fruit, nor serpent twines the boughs; The branches bend laden with life and bliss Ripe for the taste, but 'tis a steep ascent : Hold fast the golden chain 7 let down from Heaven, 'Twill help your feet and wings; I feel its force Draw upwards; fasten'd to the pearly gate It guides the way unerring: happy clue Through this dark wild! 'Twas Wisdom's noblest work, All join'd by Power Divine, and every link is love.

TO MR. THOMAS BRADBURY. PARADISE.

YOUNG as I am, I quit the stage, Nor will I know th' applauses of the age;

? The Gospel.

With pleasing reverence I behold The pearly portals wide unfold: Enter, my soul, and view th' amazing scenes;

Sit fast upon the flying Muse,

And let thy roving wonder loose O'er all th' empyreal plains. Noon stands eternal here: here may thy sight Drink-in the rays of primogenial light; Here breathe immortal air: Joy must beat high in every vein, Pleasure through all thy bosom reign; The laws forbid the stranger, Pain, And banish every care.

See how the bubbling springs of love
Beneath the throne arise;

The streams in crystal channels move,
Around the golden streets they rove,
And bless the mansions of the upper skies.
There a fair grove of knowledge grows,
Nor Sin nor Death infects the fruit;
Young Life hangs fresh on all the boughs,
And springs from every root;
Here may thy greedy senses feast,
While ecstasy and health attend on every taste.
With the fair prospect charm'd I stood;
Fearless I feed on the delicious fare,
And drink profuse salvation from the silver flood,
Nor can excess be there.

The dull unwinding of life's tedious thread,
But burst the vital chords to reach the happy dead."
And now my tongue prepares to join
The harmony, and with a noble aim
Attempts th' unutterable name,
But faints, confounded by the notes divine:
Again my soul th' unequal honour sought,

Again her utmost force she brought, [thought.
And bow'd beneath the burthen of th' unwieldy
Thrice I essay'd, and fainted thrice;
Th' immortal labour strain'd my feeble frame,
Broke the bright vision, and dissolv'd the dream :
I sunk at once, and lost the skies:

In vain I sought the scenes of light,
Rolling abroad my longing eyes,

For all around them stood my curtains and the night.