Whose cause the audience with applause will crown, And make his triumphs or his tears their own : Throw by the bold defign; and paint no more Imagin'd chiefs, and monarchs of an hour; From fabled worthies, call thy Mufe to fing Of real wonders, and Britannia's king.
Oh! hadft thou seen him, when the gathering train Fill'd up proud Sarum's wide-extended plain! Then, when he stoop'd from awful majesty, Put on the man, and laid the fovereign by; When the glad nations faw their king appear, Begirt with armies, and the pride of war; More pleas'd his people's longing eyes to bless, He look'd, and breath'd benevolence and peace: When in his hand Britannia's awful Lord,
Held forth the olive, while he grasp'd the sword. So Jove, though arm'd to blast the Titan's pride, With all his burning thunders at his side, Fram'd, while he terrify'd the distant foe, His scheme of bleffings for the world below. This hadft thou seen, thy willing Mufe would raise Her ftrongest wing, to reach her fovereign's praise. To what bold heights our daring hopes may climb ? The theme fo great! the Poet so sublime ! I faw him, Young, and to these ravish'd eyes, Ev'n now his godlike figure feems to rife: Mild, yet majestic, was the monarch's mein, Lovely though great, and awful though ferenc. (More than a coin or picture can unfold; Too faint the colours, and too base the gold!)
At the bleft fight, transported and amaz'd, One universal shout the thousands rais'd, And crowds on crowds grew loyal as they gaz'd. His foes (if any) own'd the monarch's cause, And chang'd their groundless clamours to applause; Ev'n giddy Faction hail'd the glorious day, And wondering Envy look'd her rage away. As Ceres o'er the globe her chariot drew, And harvests ripen'd where the goddess flew So, where his gracious footfteps he inclin'd, Peace flew before, and plenty march'd behind. Where wild affliction rages, he appears
To wipe the widow's and the orphan's tears: The fons of mifery before him bow, And for their merit only plead their woe. So well he loves the public liberty, His mercy fets the private captive free. Soon as our royal angel came in view, The prifons burft, the starting hinges flew ; The dungeons open'd, and refign'd their prey, To joy, to life, to freedom, and the day : The chains drop off; the grateful captives rear Their hands unmanacled in praise and prayer. Had thus victorious Cæfar fought to please, And rul'd the vanquish'd world with arts like these ; The generous Brutus had not fcorn'd to bend, But funk the rigid patriot in the friend;
Nor to that bold excefs of virtue ran,
To ftab the monarch, where he loved the man.
And Cato, reconcil'd, had ne'er difdain'd To live a subject, where a Brunfwick reign'd. But I detain your nobler Mufe too long,
From the great theme, that mocks my humble fong, A theme that asks a Virgil, or a Young.
On the approaching Delivery of Her Royal Highnefs, in the Year 1721.
E angels, come without delay; Britannia's genius, come away.
Defcend, ye fpirits of the sky; Stand, all ye winged guardians, by; Your golden pinions kindly spread, And watch round Carolina's bed: Here fix your refidence on earth, To haften on the glorious birth ; Her fainting fpirits to fupply, Catch all the Zephyrs as they, fly. Oh! fuccour nature in the ftrife, And gently hold her up in life; Nor let her hence too foon remove, To join your facred choirs above: But live, Britannia to adorn With kings and princes yet unborn.
Ye angels, come without delay; Britannia's genius, come away.
Affuage her pains, and Albion's fears, For Albion's life depends on her's. Oh then to fave her from defpair, Lean down, and listen to her prayer. Crown all her tortures with delight, And call th' auspicious babe to light. We hope from your propitious care, All that is brave, or all that 's fair. A youth, to match his fire in arms; Or nymph, to match her mother's charms: A youth, who over kings fhall reign, Or nymph, whom kings fhall court in vain. From far the royal flaves fhall come, And wait from him or her their doom; To each their different fuits fhall move, And pay their homage, or their love.
Ye angels, come without delay; Britannia's genius, come away.
When the foft powers of fleep fubdue Thofe eyes, that shine as bright as you; With fcenes of blifs, transporting themes! Prompt and infpire her golden dreams: Let vifionary bleffings rife,
And fwim before her clofing eyes. The fenfe of torture to fubdue, Set Britain's happiness to view; That fight her fpirits will sustain, And give her pleasure from her pain.
Ye angels, come without delay; Britannia's genius, come away.
Come, and rejoice; th' important hour Is paft, and all our fears are o'er: See! every trace of anguish flies, While in her lap the infant lies, Her pain by fudden joy beguil'd, ' She hangs in rapture o'er the child, Her eyes o'er every feature run, The father's beauties and her own. There, pleas'd her image to survey, She melts in tenderness away;
Smiles o'er the babe, nor fmiles in vain, The babe returns th' aufpicious fmile again. Ye angels, come without delay; Britannia's genius, come away.
Turn heaven's eternal volume o'er, And look for this distinguish'd hour; Confult the page of Britain's state, Before you clofe the books of fate: Then tell us what you there have seen, What æra's from this birth begin. What years from this bleft hour must run, As bright and lasting as the fun. Far from the ken of mortal fight, Thefe fecrets are involv'd in night: The bleffings which this birth pursue, Are only known to heaven and you.
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