His son was born the ravish'd prey to claim,
And France still trembles at a Harley's name.
A fort so dreadful to our English shore,
Our fleets scarce fear'd the sands or tempests more,
Whose vast expenses to such sums amount,

That the tax'd Gaul scarce furnish'd out the' ac

count,

Whose walls such bulwarks, such vast towers re

strain,

Its weakest ramparts are the rocks and main.
His boast great Louis yields, and cheaply buys
Thy friendship, Anna! with the mighty prize.
Holland repining, and in grief cast down,
Sees the new glories of the British crown.
Ah! may they ne'er provoke thee to the fight,
Nor foes more dreadful than the Gaul invite;
Soon may they hold the olive, soon assuage
Their secret murmurs, nor call forth thy rage
To rend the banks, and pour, at one command,
Thy realm, the sea, o'er their precarious land.

Henceforth be thine, Vicegerent of the skies!
Scorn'd worth to raise, and vice in robes chastise,
To dry the orphan's tears, and from the bar
Chase the brib'd judge, and hush the wordy war;
Deny the curst blasphemer's tongue to rage,
And turn God's fury from an impious age.
Blest change! the soldier's late destroying hand
Shall rear new temples in his native land;
Mistaken zealots shall with fear behold,
And beg admittance in our sacred fold;
On her own works the pious queen shall smile,
And turn her cares upon her favourite isle.
So the keen bolt a warrior angel aims,
Array'd in clouds and wrapt in mantling flames;

He bears a tempest on his sounding wings,
And his red arm the forky vengeance flings:
At length, Heaven's wrath appeas'd, he quits the
war,

To roll his orb and guide his destin❜d star,
To shed kind fate and lucky hours bestow,
And smile propitious on the world below.
Around thy throne shall faithful nobles wait:
These guard the church, and those direct the state.
To Bristol, graceful in maternal tears,

The Church her towery forehead gently rears;
She begs her pious son to' assert her cause,
Defend her rights, and reinforce her laws;
With holy zeal the sacred work begin,
To bend the stubborn and the meek to win.

Our Oxford's Earl in careful thought shall stand,
To raise his queen and save a sinking land.
The wealthiest glebe to ravenous Spaniards known
He marks, and makes the golden world our own;
Content with hands unsoil'd to guard the prize,
And keep the store with undesiring eyes.

So round the tree that bore Hesperian gold, The sacred watch lay curl'd in many a fold; His eyes uprearing to the' untasted prey, The sleepless guardian wasted life away. Beneath the peaceful olives, rais'd by you, Her ancient pride shall every art renew, (The arts with you fam'd Harcourt shall defend, And courtly Bolingbroke, the Muse's friend.) With piercing eye some search where Nature plays, And trace the wanton through her darksome maze; Whence health from herbs, from seeds how groves begun,

How vital streams in circling eddies run;

Some teach, why round the sun the spheres advance
In the fix'd measures of their mystic dance;
How tides when heav'd by pressing moons o'erflow,
And sun-born Iris paints her showery bow.
In happy chains our daring language bound,
Shall sport no more in arbitrary sound;
But buskin'd bards henceforth shall wisely rage,
And Grecian plans reform Britannia's stage.
Till Congreve bids her smile, Augusta stands
And longs to weep when flowing Rowe commands.
Britain's Spectators shall their strength combine
To-mend our morals and our taste refine;
Fight virtue's cause, stand up in wit's defence,
Win us from vice, and laugh us into sense.
Nor, Prior! hast thou hush'd the trump in vain ;
Thy lyre shall now revive her mirthful strain;
New tales shall now be told: if right I see,
The soul of Chaucer is restor❜d in thee.
Garth, in majestic numbers, to the stars
Shall raise mock heroes and fantastic wars.
Like the young spreading laurel, Pope! thy name
Shoots up with strength, and rises into Fame.
With Philips shall the peaceful vallies ring,
And Britain hear a second Spenser sing.

That much-lov'd youth whomUtrecht's walls confine,
To Bristol's praises shall his Strafford's join:
He too, from whom attentive Oxford draws
Rules for just thinking and poetic laws,
To growing bards his learned aid shall lend,
The strictest critic and the kindest friend.
Ev'n mine, a bashful Muse, whose rude essays
Scarce hope for pardon, not aspire to praise,
Cherish'd by you, in time may grow to fame,
And mine survive with Bristol's glorious name.

Eir'd with the views this glittering scene displays,
And smit with passion for my country's praise,
My artless reed attempts this lofty theme
Where sacred Isis rolls her ancient stream;
In cloister'd domes, the great Philippa's pride,
Where learning blooms while fame and worth pre-
side;

Where the fifth Henry arts and arms was taught,
And Edward form'd his Cressy yet unfought;
Where laurel'd bards have struck the warbling
strings,

The seat of sages, and the nurse of kings.
Here thy commands, O Lancaster! inflame
My eager breast to raise the British name,
Urge on my soul with no ignoble pride
To woo the Muse whom Addison enjoy'd;
See that bold swan to Heav'n sublimely soar,
Pursue at distance, and his steps adore.

THE

ROYAL PROGRESS.*

WHEN Brunswick first appear'd, each honest heart,
Intent on verse, disdain'd the rules of art;
For him the songsters in unmeasur❜d odes
Debas'd Alcides and dethron'd the gods;
In golden chains the kings of India led,
Or rent the turban from the Sultan's head.
One in old fables and the Pagan strain,

With nymphs and Tritons wafts him o'er the main ;
Another draws fierce Lucifer in arms,
And fills the' infernal region with alarms;
A third awakes some druid to foretel
Each future triumph from his dreary cell.
Exploded fancies! that in vain deceive,

While the mind nauseates what she can't believe.
My Muse the' expected hero shall pursue
From clime to clime, and keep him still in view;
His shining march describe, in faithful lays,
Content to paint him, nor presume to praise :

* Written as a compliment to George the First, on his arrival in the British dominions.