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(A month that owns an interest in your name;
You and the flowers are its peculiar claim.)
That star that at your birth shone out so bright,
It stain'd the duller sun's meridian light,
Did once again its potent fires renew,
Guiding our eyes to find and worship you.
And now time's whiter series is begun,
Which in soft centuries shall smoothly run:
Those clouds, that overcast your morn, shall fly,
Dispell❜d to farthest corners of the sky.
Our nation with united interest bless'd,
Not now content to poise, shall sway the rest.
Abroad, your empire shall no limits know,
But, like the sea, in boundless circles flow.
Your much-lov'd fleet shall, with a wide command,
Besiege the petty monarchs of the land:
And as old Time his offspring swallow'd down,
Our ocean in its depths all seas shall drown.
Their wealthy trade from pirates' rapine free,
Our merchants shall no more adventurers be;
Nor in the farthest east those dangers fear,
Which humble Holland must dissemble here.
Spain to your gift alone her Indies owes;
For what the powerful takes not, he bestows:
And France, that did an exile's presence fear,
May justly apprehend you still too near.
At home the hateful names of party cease,
And factious souls are wearied into peace.
The discontented now are only they

Whose crimes before did your just cause betray:
Of those your edicts some reclaim from sin,
But most your life and bless'd example win.

Oh happy prince, whom Heaven hath taught the


By paying vows, to have more vows to pay!

Oh happy age! oh times like those alone,

By fate reserv'd for great Augustus' throne! When the joint growth of arms and arts foreshew The world a monarch, and that monarch-You.





IN that wild deluge where the world was drown'd, When life and sin one common tomb had found, The first small prospect of a rising hill

With various notes of joy the ark did fill;

Yet, when that flood in its own depths was drown'd,
It left behind it false and slippery ground;
And the more solemn pomp was still defer'd,
Till new-born Nature in fresh looks appear'd.
Thus, royal Sir, to see you landed here,
Was cause enough of triumph for a year:
Nor would your care those glorious joys repeat,
Till they at once might be secure and great;
Till your kind beams, by their continued stay,
Had warm'd the ground, and call'd the damps away.
Such vapours, while your powerful influence dries,
Then soonest vanish when they highest rise.
Had greater haste these sacred rites prepar'd,
Some guilty months had in your triumphs shar'd :

But this untainted year is all your own;
Your glories may without our crimes be shown.
We had not yet exhausted all our store,
When you refresh'd our joys by adding more:
As Heaven, of old, dispens'd celestial dew,
You gave us manna, and still give us new.

Now our sad ruins are remov'd from sight,
The season, too, comes fraught with new delight:
Time seems not now beneath his years to stoop,
Nor do his wings with sickly feathers droop:
Soft western winds waft o'er the gaudy Spring,
And open'd scenes of flowers and blossoms bring
To grace this happy day, while you appear
Not king of us alone, but of the year.

All eyes you draw, and with the eyes the heart;
Of your own pomp yourself the greatest part.
Loud shouts the nation's happiness proclaim,
And Heaven this day is feasted with your name.
Your cavalcade the fair spectators view
From their high standings, yet look up to you.
From your brave train each singles out a prey,
And longs to date a conquest from your day.
Now charg'd with blessings, while you seek repose,
Officious Slumbers haste your eyes to close;

And glorious Dreams stand ready to restore
The pleasing shapes of all you saw before.
Next, to the sacred temple you are led,

Where waits a crown for your more sacred head:
How justly from the Church that crown is due,
Preserv'd from ruin, and restor❜d by you!
The grateful choir their harmony employ,
Not to make greater, but more solemn joy.
Wrapt soft and warm, your name is sent on high,
As flames do on the wings of incense fly:

Music herself is lost; in vain she brings

Her choicest notes to praise the best of kings:
Her melting strains in you a tomb have found,
And lie, like bees, in their own sweetness drown'd.
He that brought peace, all discord could atone;
His name is music of itself alone.

Now while the sacred oil anoints your head,
And fragrant scents, begun from you, are spread
Through the large dome, the people's joyful sound,
Sent back, is still preserv'd in hallow'd ground;
Which, in one blessing mix'd, descends on you,
As heighten'd spirits fall in richer dew.
Not that our wishes do increase your store;
Full of yourself, you can admit no more
We add not to your glory, but employ
Our time, like angels, in expressing joy,
Nor is it duty, or our hopes, alone
Create that joy, but full fruition:

We know those blessings which we must possess,
And judge of future by past happiness.

No promise can oblige a prince so much
Still to be good, as long to have been such.
A noble emulation heats your breast,

And your own fame now robs you of your rest.
Good actions still must be maintain'd with good,
As bodies nourish'd with resembling food.
You have already quench'd Sedition's brand;
And Zeal, which burnt it, only warms the land.
The jealous sects, that dare not trust ther cause
So far from their own will as to the laws,
You for their umpire and their synod take,
And their appeal alone to Cæsar make.
Kind Heaven so rare a temper did provide,
That Guilt, repenting, might in it confide.

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Among our crimes oblivion may be set;
But 'tis our King's perfection to forget.

Virtues, unknown to these rough northern climes, From milder heavens you bring, without their crimes.



Your calmness does no after-storms provide,
Nor seeming patience mortal anger hide
When empire first from families did spring,
Then every father govern'd as a king;
But you, that are a sovereign prince, allay
Imperial power with your paternal sway.
From those great cares when ease your soul un-
Your pleasures are design'd to noble ends:
Born to command the mistress of the seas,
Your thoughts themselves in that blue empire
Hither in summer evenings you repair
To take the fraicheur of the purer air:
Undaunted here you ride, when Winter raves,
With Cæsar's heart, that rose above the waves.
More I could sing, but fear my numbers stays;
No loyal subject dares that courage praise.
In stately frigates most delight you find,
Where well-drawn battles fire your martial mind.
What to your cares we owe is learn'd from hence,
When ev'n your pleasures serve for our defence.
Beyond your court flows in the' admitted tide,
Where in new depths the wondering fishes glide:
Here in a royal bed the waters sleep;

When tir'd at sea, within this bay they creep:
Here the mistrustful fowl no harm suspects,
So safe are all things which our King protects.
From your lov'd Thames a blessing yet is due,
Second alone to that it brought in you;

A queen, near whose chaste womb, ordain'd by Fate,
The souls of kings unborn for bodies wait.

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