Ev'n then, when paufing mirth begins to fail,
'The converfe varies to the serious tale.
The tale pathetic speaks fome wretch that owes
To fome deficient law reliefless woes.
What inftant pity warms thy generous breast!
How all the legiflator ftands confefs'd!
Now fprings the hint! 'tis now improv'd to thought!
Now ripe! and now to public welfare brought! 170
New bills, which regulating means bestow,
Juftice preserve, yet softening mercy know :
Juftice fhall low vexatious wiles decline,
And ftill thrive moft, when lawyers most repine,
Justice from jargon fhall refin'd appear,
To knowledge through our native language clear.
Hence we may learn, no more deceiv'd by law,
Whence wealth and life their beft affurance draw.
The freed Infolvent, with induftrious hand,
Strives yet to fatisfy the juft demand:
Thus ruthless men, who would his powers restrain,
Oft what feverity would lose obtain.
These, and a thousand gifts, thy thought acquires,
Which Liberty benevolent infpires.
From Liberty the fruits of law increafe,
Plenty, and joy, and all the arts of peace.
Abroad the merchant, while the tempefts rave,
Adventurous fails, nor fears the wind and wave;
At home untir'd we find th' auspicious hand
With flocks, and herds, and harvests, blefs the land: 190
While there, the peafant glads the grateful foil,
Here mark the shipwright, there the mason toil,
Hew, fquare, and rear, magnificent, the stone,
And give our oaks a glory not their own!
What life demands by this obeys her call,
And added elegance confummates all.
Thus ftately cities, statelier navies rife,
And spread our grandeur under distant skies.
From Liberty each nobler fcience sprung,
A Bacon brighten'd, and a Spenfer fung:
A Clarke and Locke new tracks of truth explore,
And Newton reaches heights unreach'd before.
What Trade fees Property that wealth maintain,
Which Industry no longer dreads to gain;
What tender confcience kneels with fears refign'd, 205
Enjoys her worship, and avows her mind;
What genius now from want to fortune climbs,
And to fafe Science every thought fublimes;
What Royal Power, from his fuperior state,
Sees public happiness his own create;
But kens thofe patriot-fouls, to which he owes
Of old each fource, whence now each bleffing flows?
And if fuch spirits from their heaven descend,
And blended flame, to point one glorious end;
Flame from one breaft, and thence to Britain fhine, 215
What love, what praife, O Walpole, then is thine?
MAJESTY's BIRTH-DAY, 1731-2.
TWICE twenty tedious moons have roll'd away,
Since hope, kind flatterer! tun'd my penfive lay,
Whispering, that you, who rais'd me from despair,
Meant, by your fmiles, to make life worth my care;
With pitying hand an orphan's tears to skreen
And o'er the motherlefs extend the queen.
'T'will be-the prophet guides the poet's strain !
Grief never touch'd a heart like your's in vain :
Heaven gave you power, because you love to bless;
And pity, when you feel it, is redress.
Two fathers join'd to rob my claim of one!
My mother too thought fit to have no fon !
The senate next, whofe aid the helpless own,
Forgot my infant wrongs, and mine alone!
Yet parents pitylefs, nor peers unkind,
Nor titles loft, nor woes myfterious join'd,
Strip me of hope-by heaven thus lowly laid,
To find a Pharaoh's daughter in the shade.
You cannot hear unmov'd, when wrongs implore,
Your heart is woman, though your mind be more; 20
Kind, like the power who gave you to our prayers,
You would not lengthen life to sharpen cares;
They, who a barren leave to live bestow,
Snatch but from death to facrifice to woe.
Hated by her from whom my life I drew,
Whence should I hope, if not from heaven and
Nor dare I groan beneath affli&tion's rod,
My queen my mother, and my father—God.
The pitying Mufes faw me wit pursue ;
A baftard-fon, alas! on that fide too,
Did not your eyes exalt the poet's fire,
And what the Mufe denies, the queen infpire?
While rifing thus your heavenly foul to view,
I learn, how angels think, by copying you.
Great princess! 'tis decreed-once every year
I march uncall'd your Laureat Volunteer;
Thus fhall your poet his low genius raise,
And charm the world with truths too vakt for praise. Nor need I dwell on glories all your own,
Since furer means to tempt your fmiles are known; 40
Your Poet fhall allot your lord his part,
And paint him in his noblest throne-your heart.
Is there a greatness that adorns Him beft,
A rifing with, that ripens in his breast?
Has He foremeant fome diftant age to blefs,
Difarm oppreffion, or expel diftreis ?
Plans He fome fcheme to reconcile mankind,
People the feas, and bufy every wind?
H 3
Would he by pity the deceiv'd reclaim,
And smile contending factions into shame ?
Would his example lend his laws a weight,
And breathe his own foft morals o'er his state?
The Mufe fhall find it all, fhall make it feen,
And teach the world his praife, to charm his queen.
Such be the annual truths my verse imparts
Nor frown, fair favourite of a people's hearts!
Happy if, plac'd, perchance, beneath your eye,
My Mufe, unpension'd, might her pinions try ;
Fearless to fail, whilft you indulge her flame,
And bid me proudly boast your Laureat's name; 60
Renobled thus by wreaths my queen bestows,
I lofe all memory of wrongs and woes.
REAT princess, 'tis decreed ! once every year, I march uncall'd, your Laureat Volunteer." So fung the Mufe; nor fung the Muse in vain : My queen accepts, the year renews the strain.
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