More noble than the spoils that battles yield,
Or all the empty triumphs of the field.
'Tis less to conquer, than to make war cease,
And without fighting, awe the world to peace :
For proudeft triumphs from contempt arise;
The vanquish'd first the conqueror's arms despise :
Won enfigns are the gaudy marks of scorn,
They brave the victor first, and then adorn.
But peaceful monarchs reign like gods: while none
Dispute, all love, bless, reverence their throne.
Tigers and bears, with all the savage host,
May boldness, strength, and daring conquest boast;
But the sweet passions of a generous mind
Are the prerogative of human-kind;
The god-like image, on our clay imprest,
The darling attribute which heaven loves best:
In Charles fo good a man and king, we fee
A double image of the deity.
Oh! had he more resembled it! Oh, why
Was he not still more like, and could not die?
Now do our thoughts alone enjoy his name,
And faint ideas of our blessing frame !
In Thames, the Ocean's darling, England's pride,
The pleasing emblem of his reign does glide :
Thames the fupport and glory of our ifle,
Richer than Tagus, or Ægyptian Nile :
Though no rich sand in him, no pearls are found,
Yet fields rejoice, his meadows laugh around;
Less wealth his bosom holds, less guilty stores,
For he exhausts himself, t'enrich the fores.
Mild and ferene the peaceful current flows,
No angry foam, no raging furges knows;
No dreadful wrecks upon his banks appear,
His crystal stream unstain'd by widows tear,
His channel strong and easy, deep and clear.
No arbitrary inundations sweep
The plowman's hopes, and life into the deep;
His even waters the old limits keep.
But oh! he ebbs, the smiling waves decay,
For ever, lovely stream, for ever stay !
To the black sea his filent course does bend,
Where the best streams, the longest rivers, end.
His spotless waves there undiftinguish'd pass,
None fee, how clear, how bounteous, sweet, he was.
No difference now, though late fo much, is feen,
'Twixt him, fierce Rhine, and the impetuous Seine.
But lo! the joyful tide our hopes restores,
And dancing waves extend the widening shores.
James is our Charles in all things but in name :
Thus Thames is daily lost, yet ftill the fame.
ODE on the Marriage of the Princess ANNE and Prince GEORGE of DENMARK.
WHILST black defigns (that direful work of Fate)
Distract the labouring state;
Whilft (like the fea) around loud difcords roar,
Breaking their fury on the frighted shore;
And England does like brave Vienna stand,
Besieg'd by Infidels on either hand;
What means this peaceful train, this pompous fight?
What means this royal beauteous pair?
This troop of youths and virgins heavenly fair,
That does at once astonish and delight;
Great Charles, and his illustrious brother here,
No bold affaffinate need fear;
Here is no harmful weapon found,
Nothing but Cupid's darts and Beauty here can wound.
How grateful does this scene appear
To us, who might too justly fear
We never should have feen again
Aught bright, but armour on the plain !
Ne'er in their chearful garb t' have feen the fair,
While all, with melting eyes and wild dishevel'd hair,
Had mourn'd their brothers, fons, and husbands flain.
These dusky shadows make this scene more bright;
The horror adds to the delight.
This glorious pomp our fpirits chears; from hence
We lucky omens take, new happiness commence.
Thus when the gathering clouds a storm prepare,
And their black force afsociate in the air;
(Endeavouring to eclipse the bounteous light,
Who, with kind warmth, and powerful rays,
Them to that envy'd height
From their mean native earth did raife.)
A thoughtful fadness sits on all,
Expecting where the full-charg'd clouds will fall :
Deck'd like a gaudy bride appears,
And all her various robes displays,
Painted by th' conquering fun's triumphant rays,
It mortals drooping spirits chears ;
Fresh joy, new light, each visage wears :
Again the feaman trusts the main,
The jocund swains their coverts leave again;
Again, in pleasant warbling notes,
The chearful poets of the wood extend their tuneful
Then, then, my Muse, raise with the lyre thy voice, And with thy lays make fields and woods rejoice :
For lo! the heavenly pledge appears,
And in bright characters the promise bears :
The factious deluge shall prevail no more;
In vain they foam, in vain they rage,
Buffet in vain the unmov'd shore,
Her charms, and Charles's power, their fury shall asswage.
See! fee! how decently the bashful bride
Does bear her conqueft; with how little pride
She views that prince, the captive of her charms,
Who made the North with fear to quake,
And did that powerful empire shake;
Before whose arms, when great Gustavus led,
The frighted Roman Eagles fled.
Whatever then was his defire,
His cannons did command in fire :
Now he himself for pity prays,
His love in timorous sighs he breathes,
While all his spoils, and glorious wreaths
Of laurel, at her feet the vanquish'd warrior lays.
Great prince! by that fubmiffion you'll gain more
Than e'er your haughty courage won before;
Here on your knees a greater trophy gain,
Than that you brought from Lunsden's famous plain;
Where, when your brother, fired with success,
Too daringly upon the foe did prefs,
And was a captive made, then you alone
Did with your single arm support the throne :
Your gen'rous breast, with fury boiling o'er,
Like lightning through their scatter'd troops you flew,
And from th' amazed foe the royal prize in triumph bore.
You have your ancestors in this one act out-done, Though their fuccessful arms did this whole isle o'er-run. They, to revenge a ravish'd lady, came,
You, to enjoy one spotless as your fame : Before them, as they march'd, the country fled,
And back behind them threw
Their curses as they flew;
On the bleak shore, expecting you, they stand,
And with glad shouts conduct to land :
Through gaping crowds you 're forc'd to press your way,
While virgins figh, the young men shout, and old ones
|