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ON THE

PROSPECT OF PEACE,

A PO E M.

By THOMAS TICKELL, Efq; *

To the LORD PRIVY-SEA L. b

Sacerdos

Fronde fuper MITRAM, et fælici comptus olivá.

Contending kings, and fields of death, too long

Have been the subject of the British fong. Who hath not read of fam'd Ramilia's plain, Bavaria's fall, and Danube choak'd with flain?

VIRG.

Exhaufted

a Mr. Tickell was born in the year 1686, at Bridekirk in Cumberland, where his father, a clergyman, then lived. He became a member of Queen's College, Oxford, in April 1701. On the 22d of February,

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Exhaufted themes! A gentler note I raise,
And fing returning Peace in fofter lays.
Theirfury quell'd, and martial rage allay'd,
I wait our heroes in the fylvan fhade.
Difbanding hofts are imag'd to my mind,

And warring pow'rs in friendly leagues combin'd;

1708, he took the degree of M. A. and two years afterwards was chofen Fellow of his College. During his refidence at the University, the Opera of Rofamond was performed, and on its appearance, Mr. Tickell addreffed a Poem to Mr. Addison, the Author, which was fo well received, that it laid the foundation of an intimacy between the two friends, and proved of the greateft advantage to Mr. Tickell's future fortune. When Mr. Addison went to Ireland as Secretary to Lord Sunderland, Mr. Tickell accompanied him, and was employed in public business. In 1717, he became Under Secretary of State, and about 1725, was appointed Secretary to the Lords Juftices of Ireland, a place of great honour, in the enjoyment whereof he continued until his death, which happened at Bath, on the 23d of April 1740.

b This was Dr. John Robinson, then Bishop of Bristol, but afterwards of London. He was born near Richmond in Yorkshire, and refided fome years at Oriel College, Oxford, where he took the degree of M. A. March 5, 1683, and of D. D. by diploma, 7th of August 1710. He had lived many years in Sweden, first as Chaplain to the Ambassador, and afterwards in the quality of Ambassador himself. In both these stations he conducted himself with great credit and advantage to the government. On his return home, he was preferred to a Prebend at Canterbury, then to the Deanry of Windfor, and afterwards to the Bishoprick of Bristol. In 1711, the cuftody of the Privy Seal was given to him, and he was nominated one of the Plenipotentiaries to negotiate the treaty of Utrecht. On the 13th March, 1713, he was tranflated to the See of London, and died 11th of April 1723.

While ease and pleasure make the nations fmile,
And heav'n and ANNA blefs Britannia's ifle.

Well fends our Queen her mitred BRISTOL forth,
For early counfels fam'd, and long-try'd worth,
Who, thirty rolling years, had oft with-held
The Suede and Saxon from the dufty field;

Compleatly form'd, to heal the Christian wounds,
To name the kings, and give each kingdom bounds;
The face of ravag'd nature to repair,

By leagues to foften earth, and heav'n by pray'r;
To gain by love, where rage and flaughter fail,
And make the crofier o'er the fword prevail.

So when great Mofes, with JEHOVAH's wand,
Had fcatter'd plagues o'er ftubborn Pharaoh's land,
Now spread an host of locufts round the shore,
Now turn'd Nile's fatt'ning ftreams to putrid gore;
Plenty and gladnefs mark'd the prieft of God,
And fudden almonds fhot from Aaron's rod.

O thou, from whom these bounteous bleffings flow,
To whom, as chief, the hopes of peace we owe,
(For next to thee, the man whom kings contend
To ftile companion, and to make their friend,
Great STRAFFORD, rich in every courtly grace,
With joyful pride accepts the fecond place,)
From Britain's ifle, and Ifis' facred spring,
One hour, oh! liften while the Mufes fing,

c Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, joint Plenipotentiary with Bishop Robinfon. He died in the year 1739.

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Though minifters of mighty monarchs wait,
With beating hearts, to learn their masters' fate,
One hour forbear to speak thy Queen's commands,
Nor think the world, thy charge, neglected ftands;
The blissful profpects, in my verse display'd,
May lure the ftubborn, the deceiv'd perfuade;
Ev'n thou to peace fhalt speedier urge the way,
And more be haften'd by this fhort delay.

The haughty Gaul, in ten campaigns o'erthrown,
Now ceas'd to think the Western world his own,
Oft had he mourn'd his boafting leaders bound,
And his proud bulwarks fmoaking on the ground;
In vain with pow'rs renew'd he fill'd the plain,
Made tim'rous vows, and brib'd the faints in vain ;
As oft his legions did the fight decline,

Lurk'd in the trench, and fkulk'd behind the line.
Before his eyes the fancy'd javelin gleams;
At feafts he starts, and feems dethron'd in dreams;
On glory past reflects with fecret pain,

On mines exhaufted, and on millions flain.

To Britain's Queen the fcepter'd fuppliant bends,
To her his crowns and infant race commends;
Who grieves her fame with chriftian blood to buy,
Nor afks for glory at a price fo high.

At her decree the war fufpended stands,

And Britain's heroes hold their lifted hands:
Their open brows no threat'ning frowns difguife,

But gentler paffions fparkle in their eyes.

The

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The Gauls, who never in their courts could find
Such temper'd fire with manly beauty join'd,
Doubt if they're thofe, whom dreadful to the view
In forms fo fierce their fearful fancies drew,
At whofe dire names ten thousand widows press'd
Their helpless orphans clinging to the breast.
In filent rapture each his foe furveys,

They vow firm friendship, and give mutual praise.
Brave minds, howe'er at war, are fecret friends,
Their gen'rous difcord with the battle ends;
In peace they wonder whence diffention rose,
And ask how fouls fo like could e'er be foes.

Methinks I hear more friendly fhouts rebound,
And focial clarions mix their sprightly found;
The British flags are furl'd, her troops difband,
And scatter'd armies feek their native land.
The hardy veteran, proud of many a scar,
The manly charms and honours of the war,
Who hop'd to share his friend's illuftrious doom,
And in the battle find a foldier's tomb,

Leans on his fpear to take his farewel view,

And fighing bids the glorious camp adieu.

Ye generous fair, receive the brave with smiles,
O'erpay their fleepless nights, and crown their toils;
Soft beauty is the gallant foldier's due,

For you they conquer, and they bleed for you.

In vain proud Gaul with boastful Spain confpires,
When English valour English beauty fires;

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