But, above all, the Muse-inspired train Triumph, and raise their drooping heads again : Kind Heaven, at once, has, in your person, sent Their sacred judge, their guard, and argument.
Nec magis expressi vultus per ahenea signa,
Quam per vatis opus mores, animique, virorum
Clarorum apparent ****
UPON HER MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, AFTER HER HAPPY
RECOVERY FROM A DANGEROUS SICKNESS.
FAREWELL the year which threaten'd so
The fairest light the world can show.
Welcome the new! whose eyery day,
Restoring what was snatch'd away
By pining sickness from the fair,
That matchless beauty does repair
So fast, that the approaching spring
(Which does to flowery meadows bring
What the rude winter from them tore)
Shall give her all she had before.
But we recover not so fast
The sense of such a danger pass'd:
We that esteem'd you sent from Heaven,
A pattern to this island given,
To show us what the bless'd do there,
And what alive they practised here,
When that which we immortal thought,
We saw so near destruction brought,
Felt all which you did then endure,
And tremble yet as not secure :
So though the sun victorious be,
And from a dark eclipse set free,
The influence, which we fondly fear,
Afflicts our thoughts the following year.
But that which may relieve our care
that you have a help so near
For all the evil you can prove,
The kindness of your Royal love :
He that was never known to mourn,
So many kingdoms from him torn,
His tears reserved for you, more dear,
More prized, than all those kingdoms were !
For when no healing art prevail'd,
When cordials and elixirs fail'd,
On your pale cheek he dropp'd the shower,
Revived you like a dying flower.
TO THE DUCHESS OF ORLEANS,
WHEN SHE WAS TAKING LEAVE OF THE COURT AT
DOVER.
THAT Sun of beauty did among us rise;
England first saw the light of your fair eyes:
In English, too, your early wit was shown;
Favour that language, which was then your own.
When, though a child, through guards you made
your way:
What fleet or army could an angel stay?
Thrice happy Britain! if she could retain
Whom she first bred within her ambient main.
Our late burnt London, in apparel new,
Shook off her ashes to have treated you :
But we must see our glory snatch'd away,
And with warm tears increase the guilty sea:
No wind can favour us; howe'er it blows,
We must be wreck'd, and our dear treasure lose!
Sighs will not let us half our sorrows tell-
Fair, lovely, great, and best of nymphs, farewell!
FROM WHOM HE RECEIVED THE COPY OF THE POEM ENTITLED, OF A TREE CUT IN PAPER,' WHICH FOR MANY YEARS HAD BEEN LOST.
NOTHING lies hid from radiant eyes;
All they subdue become their spies.
Secrets, as choicest jewels, are
Presented to oblige the fair;
No wonder, then, that a lost thought
Should there be found where souls are caught.
The picture of fair Venus (that For which men say the goddess sat) Was lost, till Lely from your look Again that glorious image took.
If Virtue's self were lost, we might From your fair mind new copies write. All things but one you can restore ; The heart you get returns no more.
UPON HIS ALTERING HIS PLAY, PANDORA, FROM A TRAGEDY INTO A COMEDY, BECAUSE NOT APPROVED ON THE STAGE.
SIR! should rather teach our age
you the way Of judging well, than thus have changed your play, You had obliged us by employing wit
Not to reform Pandora, but the Pit :
For as the nightingale, without the throng
Of other birds, alone attends her song,
While the loud daw, his throat displaying, draws
The whole assembly of his fellow-daws;
So must the writer whose productions should
Take with the vulgar be of vulgar mould;
Whilst nobler fancies make a flight too high
For common view, and lessen as they fly.
TO A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR,
A PERSON OF HONOUR, WHO LATELY WRIT A RELIGIOUS BOOK, ENTITLED, HISTORICAL APPLICATIONS, AND OCCASIONAL MEDITATIONS, UPON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.'
BOLD is the man that dares engage
For piety is such an age!
Who can presume to find a guard
From scorn, when Heaven's so little spared?
Divines are pardon'd; they defend
Altars on which their lives depend;
But the profane impatient are,
When nobler pens make this their care;
For why should these let in a beam
Of divine light to trouble them,
And call in doubt their pleasing thought,
That none believes what we are taught?
High birth and fortune warrant give
That such men write what they believe;
And, feeling first what they indite,
New credit give to ancient light.
Amongst these few, our author brings
His well-known pedigree from kings.
'George, Earl of Berkeley.
This book, the image of his mind,
Will make his name not hard to find:
I wish the throng of great and good
Made it less easily understood!
UPON HIS INCOMPARABLE, INCOMPREHENSIBLE POEM,
ENTITLED, THE BRITISH PRINCES.'
SIR! you've obliged the British nation more
Than all their bards could ever do before,
And at your own charge monuments as hard
As brass or marble to your fame have rear'd:
For as all warlike nations take delight
To hear how their brave ancestors could fight,
You have advanced to wonder their renown,
And no less virtuously improved your own;
That 'twill be doubtful whether you do write
Or they have acted at a nobler height.
You of your ancient princes have retrieved
More than the ages knew in which they lived;
Explain'd their customs and their rights a-new,
Better than all their Druids ever knew;
Unriddled those dark oracles as well
As those that made them could themselves foretell.
For as the Britons long have hoped, in vain,
Arthur would come to govern them again,
You have fulfill'd that prophecy alone,
And in your poem placed him on his throne.
1 The Hon. Edward Howard.
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