Thus far my mufe, tho' rudely, has defign'd
Some faint resemblance of his godlike mind:
But neither pen nor pencil can exprefs
The parting brothers' tenderness:

Tho' that's a term too mean and low;

The bleft above a kinder word may know :
But what they did, and what they said,
The monarch who triumphant went,

The militant who ftaid,

Like painters, when their heightning arts are fpent, I caft into a fhade.

That all-forgiving King,
The type of him above,
That inexhaufted fpring
Of clemency and love;

Himself to his next felf accus'd,

And af'd that pardon which he ne'er refus'd:

For faults not his, for guilt and crimes

Of godlefs men, and of rebellious times:
For an hard exile, kindly meant,

When his ungrateful country fent

Their best Camillus into banishment:

And forc'd their fovereign's act, they could not his confent.

Oh how much rather had that injur'd chief

Repeated all his fufferings paft!

Than hear a pardon begg'd at laff,

Which giv'n could give the dying no relief:
He bent, he funk beneath his grief:

His dauntless heart would fain have held
From weeping, but his eyes rebell'd.
Perhaps the god-like hero in his breat
Difdain'd, or was afham'd to show

So weak, fo womanish a woe,

Which yet the brother and the friend foplenteoufly confeff.

IX. Amida

IX.

Amidst that filent fhower, the royal mind. An eafy paffage found,

And left its facred earth behind :

Nor murmuring groan expreft, nor labouring found, leaft tumultuous breath;

Nor

any

Calm was his life, and quiet was his death.
Soft as thofe gentle whispers were,

In which th' Almighty did appear ;

By the ftill voice the prophet knew him there.

That peace which made thy profperous reign to shine,
That peace thou leaveft to thy imperial line,
That peace, oh happy fhade, be ever thine!

X.

For all thofe joys thy restoration brought,
For all the miracles it wrought,

For all the healing balm thy mercy pour'd
Into the nation's bleeding wound,

And care that after kept it found,
For numerous bleffings yearly fhower'd,
And property with plenty crown'd;
For freedom, still maintain'd alive,

Freedom which in no other land will thrive,
Freedom, an English fubject's fole prerogative,
Without whose charms even peace would be
But a dull quiet slavery :

For thefe and more, accept our pious praise;
"Tis all the fubfidy

The prefent age can raise,

The reft is charg'd on late pofterity.

Pofterity is charg'd the more,

Because the large abounding store

To them and to their heirs, is ftill entail'd by thee.

Succeffion of a long defcent

Which chastely in the channels ran,
And from our demi-gods began,
Equal almost to time in its extent,
Thro' hazards numberlefs and great,

Thou haft deriv'd this mighty bleffing down,

And fixt the faireft gem that decks th' imperial crown:

Not faction, when it fhook thy regal feat,

Not fenates, infolently loud,

Thofe echoes of a thoughtless croud,
Not foreign or domeftic treachery,

Could warp thy foul to their unjust decree.
So much thy foes thy manly mind miftook,
Who judg'd it by the mildness of thy look:
Like a well-temper'd fword it bent at will;
But kept the native toughness of the fteel.

XI.

Be true, O Clio, to thy hero's name!
But draw him ftrictly fo,

That all who view, the piece may know;
He needs no trappings of fictitious fame:
The load's too weighty: thou may'st chuse
Some parts of praise, and fome refuse:

Write, that his annals may be thought more lavish than the mufe.

In fcanty truth thou haft confin'd
The virtues of a royal mind,

Forgiving, bounteous, humble, just, and kind:

His converfation, wit, and parts,

His knowledge in the nobleft ufeful arts,

Were fuch, dead authors could not give;
But habitudes of thofe who live;

Who, lighting him, did greater lights receive:
He drain'd from all, and all they knew;
His apprehenfion quick, his judgment true:

That

That the most learn'd, with fhame, confefs
His knowledge more, his reading only lefs.
XII.

Amidft the peaceful triumphs of his reign,
What wonder if the kindly beams he shed
Reviv'd the drooping arts again,

If fcience rais'd her head,

And foft humanity that from rebellion fled:
Our ifle, indeed, too fruitful was before;
But all uncultivated lay

Out of the folar walk and heaven's high way;

With rank Geneva weeds run o'er,

And cockle, at the best, amidst the corn it bore:
The royal husbandman appear'd,

And plough'd, and fow'd, and till'd,

The thorns he rooted out, the rubbish clear'd,

And bleft the obedient field.

When ftrait a double harvest rose;

Such as the fwarthy Indian mows;
Or happier climates near the line,

Or paradife manur'd, and dreft by hands divine,

XIII.

As when the new-born Phoenix takes his way,
His rich paternal regions to furvey,
Of airy chorifters a numerous train
Attends his wondrous progrefs o'er the plain ;
So, rifing from his father's urn,

So glorious did our Charles return;
The officious mufes came along,

A gay harmonious quire like angels ever young:
The mufe that mourns him now his happy triumph fung,
Even they could thrive in his auspicious reign;
And fuch a plenteous crop they bore

Of pureft and well winow'd grain,

As Britain never knew before.

Tho' little was their hire, and light their gain,

T 4

Yet

Yet fomewhat to their fhare he threw ;
Fed from his hand they fung and flew,

Like birds of Paradife that liv'd on morning dew.
Oh never let their lays his name forget!
The penfion of a prince's praise is great.
Live then, thou great encourager of arts,
Live ever in our thankful hearts;

Live bleft above, almost invok'd below;
Live and receive this pious vow,

Our patron once, our guardian angel now.
Thou Fabius of a finking state,

Who didft by wife delays divert our fate,
When faction like a tempeft rose,

In death's moft hideous form,
Then art to rage thou didst oppose,
To weather out the storm:

Not quitting thy fupreme command,
Thou heldft the rudder with a steady hand,
Till fafely on the fhore the bark did land:
The bark that all our bleffings brought,

Charg'd with thyself and James, a doubly royal fraught.
XIV.

Oh frail eftate of human things,

And flippery hopes below!

Now to our coft your emptiness we know,

For 'tis a leffon dearly bought,

Affurance here is never to be fought,

The beft, and beft belov'd of Kings,

And beft deferving to be so,

When scarce he had efcap'd the fatal blow

Of faction and confpiracy,

Death did his promis'd hopes destroy:

He toil'd, he gain'd, hut liv'd not to enjoy.
What mifts of Providence are these

Thro' which we cannot fee!

So faints, by fupernatural power fet free,