Your fearful profe-men here might doubt,
How beft to bring this match about,
For winds and waves are ill-bred things,
for queens
and kings;
But as the Gods affembled ftand,
And wait each youthful bard's command,
All fancy'd dangers they deride,
Of boift'rous winds, and fwelling tide;
Neptune is call'd to wait upon her,
And fea nymphs are her maids of honour;
Whilft we, instead of Eaftern gales,
With vows and praises fill the fails,
And when, with due poetic care,
They fafely land the royal fair,
They catch the happy fimile
Of Venus rifing from the fea.
Soon as the moves, the hill and vale,
Refponfive, tell the joyful tale ;
And wonder holds th' enraptur'd throng
To fee the goddess pass along,
The bowing forests all adore her,
And flow'rs fpontaneous fpring before her,
Where you and I all day might travel,
And meet with nought but fand and gravel;
But poets have a piercing eye.
And many pretty things can spy,
Which neither you nor I can fee,
But then the fault's in you and me.
The king aftonifh'd muft appear,
And find that fame has wrong'd his dear;
Then Hymen, like a bishop, ftands,
To join the lovers plighted hands;
Apollo and the Mufes wait,
The nuptial fong to celebrate;
But I, who rarely fpend my time,
In paying court or fpinning rhyme;
Who cannot from the high abodes
Call down, at will, a troop of gods,
Muft, in a plain profaic way,
The wishes of my foul convey.
May Heav'n our monarch's choice approve,
May he be bleft with mutual love,
And be as happy with his queen,
As with my Chloe I have been:
When wandering through the beechen grove,
She sweetly fmil'd and talk'd of love!
And oh! that he might live to fee
A fon as wife, and good as he;
And may his confort grace the throne
With virtues equal to his own!
Our courtly bards will needs be telling,
That fhe's like Venus or like Helen;
I wish that she may prove as fair
As Egremont and Pembroke are:
For tho' by fages 'tis confest,
That beauty's but a toy at beft;
Yet 'tis, methinks, in married life,
A pretty douceur with a wife:
And may the minutes as they fly,
Strengthen fill the nuptial tye,
While hand in hand thro' life they go,
Till love fhall into, friendship grow;
For tho' these bleffings rarely wait:
On regal pomp and tinfel'd state, o
Yet happiness is virtue's lot,
Alike in palace and in cot:
'Tis true, the grave affairs of ftate,
With little folks have little weight;
Yet I confefs my patriot heart
In Britain's welfare bears its part;
With transport glows at George's name,
And triumphs in its country's fame:
With hourly pleasure I can fit
And talk of Granby, Hawke, and Pitt;
And whilft I praife the good and brave,
Difdain the coward and the knave.
At growth of taxes others fret,
And fhudder at the nation's debt;
I ne'er the fancied ills bemoan,
No debts disturb me but my own.
What! tho' our coffers fink, our trade
Repairs the breach which war has made;
And if expences now run high,
Our minds must with our means comply.
Thus far my politics extend,
And here my warmeft wishes end,
May merit flourish, faction cease,
And I and Europe live in peace!
Humility exalted; or, the glorious transformation. A little Perfian fable, poetically paraphrafed from the Spectator. (Vol. iv. Numb. 239.)
Nobilitas fola eft atque unica Virtus.
NE cloudy day a drop of rain,
(As he hung hovering o'er the main)
Cry'd out with innate modefty,
What can I add, O flood, to thee?
When once upon thy furface tofs'd,
In thy immenfity I'm loft;
Of no importance to thy wave;
I feem, at laft, to meet my grave.
O! why fhould Jove, all-good, all-wife,
The leaft of all his creatures prize?
Why should his bleffings downwards fly
On fuch a worthlefs form as I ?
With pleasure Jove his ear inclin'd
To one fo humble, fo refign'd.
True merit claims his high regard,
And feldom lofes its reward.
This modeft, unambitious drop
Soon by an oyster's swallowed up;
Content within its fhell he lies,
And there to heav'n erects his eyes;
To Jove directs his daily pray'r,
And thanks the godhead for his care.
His praises, incenfe like, arise,
And, as they mount, perfume the skies.
Pleas'd with thy pray'rs and with thy praise,
I'll now, faid Jove, thy fortune raife.
Henceforth become (fo Heav'n fees good)
A pearl of the firft magnitude.
And thus transform'd with speed refort
To fair Britannia's fplendid court:
There all thy radiant luftre spread
Around my fav'rite Charlotte's head:
Tell her 'twas I, Jove, fent thee down
To ftand confpicuous on her crown:
Since well, I know, in her efteem,
Virtue's the brightest diadem.
VERSES on the King's marriage, taken from the Oxford and Cambridge collections prefented to his majesty on that occafion.
By Mr. SPENCE. From the Oxford Collection.
T length the gallant navy from afar
A Rifes in profpect, with expanded wings
Improving the kind gale, fo long delay'd;
And wings in pompous pride her eafy way
To Albion's fhore, charg'd with the precious freight
Of England's dearest hopes, and George's love.
Not fo defir'd, nor with fuch treasure fraught,
Arrives the wealthy convoy, from the coast
Of Ceylon or Golconda; laden deep
With spicy drugs, barbaric gems, and gold.
Nor he who circled in his daring courfe
The globe entire, old Ocean's utmost round,
Brought back fo rich a prize, though with the spoils
Of proud Iberia loaded he return'd;
Or captive in his halfers when he drag'd
The vanquish'd Gallic fleets; as now he brings,
More welcome, from Germania's friendly fhore.
Hail, kindred regions, dear parental foil,
Saxonian plains! where deep Vifurgis flows,
Where Leina's doubly honour'd waters glide,
Where mighty Albis draws his humid train!
England to you with grateful homage pays
Filial obeyfance meet: to you fhe owes
Her name, her tribes, her generous race; to you
Her first, her latest bleffings. Forth from you
Iffu'd our fires, old Woden's high-born fons ;
Great Woden deemed a god, with uncouth rites
By his rude offspring worship'd: they their course
Adventurous steer'd to thefe alluring fhores.
First Hengift, valiant chief; nor yet lefs wife
Than valiant: he the Cantian wold obtain'd,
His new domain; yielded by fecial league,
Or won by fair Rowena's conquering charms.
Next Ella, Cerdic, and th' intrepid race
O Anglians from Eydora's northern stream,
Pour'd in their numerous hofts: nor British prowess,
Nor Merlin's fpells, nor Arthur's puiffant sword
Hight Caliburn, fam'd in romantic tale,
Could long withstand th' impetuous onfet bold
Of our great fires in battle. Soon they rais'd
On Britain's ruins, feven imperial thrones;
Seven thrones conjoin'd at length in Cerdic's race:
From whofe high fource the ftream of regal blood,
Through the long line of English monarchs, flows
VOL. IV.
Down to th' illuftrious houfe of Lunenbourg,
From ancient Brunswic nam'd, (Brunswic, the feat
Primeval of Saxonian chieftains old)
To George, great heir of Anglo-Saxon Kings.
And thou, Saxonia's brighteft ornament
Erewhile, now England's boaft, and higheft pride,
Welcome to these congenial fhores! to this
Ambiguous land, another Saxony.
See thine own people, thy compatriot tribes,
With heart-felt joy, and zealous loud acclaim,
Thy bleft arrival hail. Tho' fever'd long
From their original foil, on foreign ftock
'Tho' grafted, not degenerate: ftill within
Works the wild vigour of the parent root.
Rough, hardy, brave; by force intractable,
Or lawless rule; patient of equal sway;
With civil freedom tempering regal pow'r.
Be this thy better country; nor regret
Thy natal plains, tho' dear: here thou shalt find
What largely fhall o'erpay thy lofs. Lo! here
Thy parent, brother, friend, all charities
Compriz'd in one, thy confort, with fond wish
Expects thee; fcepter'd George, with every grace
Adorn'd; yet more renown'd for virtue's praise,
Faith, honour, in green years wisdom mature;
True majefty with aweful goodness crown'd.
He fhall affuage thy grief: his thoughtful breast,
Studious of England's glory and Europe's weal,
Thou in return fhalt footh; with tender fmiles,
Endearing blandifhment, and equal love.
Nor fhall, heav'n's gift, fruit of the genial bed
Be wanting; pledge of public happiness
Secure; dear fource of long domestic joys.
Here thou shalt reign a fecond Caroline;
Diffufing from the throne a milder ray,
Soft beauty's unexpreffive influence sweet.
Prompt to relieve th' oppreft; to wipe away
The widow's tears; to call forth modeft worth;
To cherish drooping virtue: patronefs
Of fcience and of arts; friend to the Mufe,
Of every grateful Muse the favourite theme.
Hail, fov'rain lady, deareft dread! accept
Ev'n now this homage of th' officious muse,
That on the verge extreme of Albion's cliff
With gratulation thy firft fteps prevents,
'Tho' mean, yet ardent; and falutes thine ear
With kindred accents in Teutonic lays.
JOSEPH SPENCE, M. A.
Regius Profeffor of Modern Hiftory.
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