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THE

POEMS

OF

CHRISTOPHER PITT.

AN EPISTLE TO

DR. EDWARD YOUNG,

AT EASTBURY, IN DORSETSHIRE, ON THE REVIEW AT SARUM, 1722.

[freed,

WHILE with your Dodington retir'd you sit,
Charm'd with his flowing Burgundy and wit;
By turns relieving with the circling draught,
Each pause of chat, and interval of thought:
Or through the well-glaz'd tube, from business
Draw the rich spirit of the Indian weed;
Or bid your eyes o'er Vanbrugh's models roam,
And trace in miniature the future dome
(While busy fancy with imagin'd power
Builds up the work of ages in an hour);
Or, lost in thought, contemplative you rove,
Through opening vistas, and the shady grove;
Where a new Eden in the wilds is found,
And all the seasons in a spot of ground:
There, if you exercise your tragic rage,
To bring some hero on the British stage;
Whose cause the audience with applause will crown,
And make his triumphs or his tears their own:
Throw by the bold design; and paint no more
Imagin'd chiefs, and monarchs of an hour;
From fabled worthies, call-thy Muse to sing
Of real wonders, and Britannia's king.

[train

Oh! had'st thou seen him, when the gathering Fill'd up proud Sarum's wide-extended plain! Then, when he stoop'd from awful majesty, Put on the man, and laid the sovereign by; When the glad nations saw their king appear, Begirt with armies, and the pride of war; More pleas'd his people's longing eyes to bless, He look'd, and breath'd benevolence and peace: When in his hand Britannia's awful lord, Held forth the olive, while he grasp'd the sword. So Jove, though arm'd to blast the Titan's pride, With all his burning thunders at his side, Fram'd, while he terrify'd the distant foe, His scheme of blessings for the world below.

This hadst thou seen, thy willing Muse would raise
Her strongest wing, to reach her sovereign's praise.
To what bold heights our daring hopes may climb?
The theme so great! the poet so sublime!
I saw him, Young, and to these ravish'd eyes,
Ev'n now his godlike figure seems to rise:
Mild, yet majestic, was the monarch's mien,
Lovely though great, and awful though serene,
(More than a coin or picture can unfold;
Too faint the colours, and too base the gold!)
At the blest sight, transported and amaz'd,
One universal shout the thousands rais'd,
And crowds on crowds grew loyal as they gaz'd.
His foes (if any) own'd the monarch's cause,
And chang'd their groundless clamours to applause;
Ev'n giddy Faction hail'd the glorious day,
And wondering Envy look'd her rage away.
As Ceres o'er the globe her chariot drew,
And harvests ripen'd where the goddess flew ;
So, where his gracious footsteps he inclin'd,
Peace flew before, and Plenty march'd behind.
Where wild affliction rages, he appears
To wipe the widow's and the orphan's tears:
The sons of misery before him bow,
And for their merit only plead their woe.
So well he loves the public liberty,
His mercy sets the private captive free.
Soon as our royal angel came in view,
The prisons burst, the starting hinges flew ;
The dungeons open'd, and resign'd their prey,
To joy, to life, to freedom, and the day:
The chains drop off; the grateful captives rear
Their hands unmanacled in praise and prayer.
Had thus victorious Cæsar sought to please,
And rul'd the vanquish'd world with arts like these;
The generous Brutus had not scorn'd to bend,
But sunk the rigid patriot in the friend;
Nor to that bold excess of virtue ran,
To stab the monarch, where he lov'd the man.
And Cato, reconcil'd, had ne'er disdain'd
To live a subject, where a Brunswick reign'd.
But I detain your nobler Muse too long,

From the great theme, that mocks my humble song,

A theme that asks a Virgil, or a Young.

ON THE APPROACHING

DELIVERY OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS,

IN THE YEAR 1721.

AN ODE.

Y angels, come without delay;
Britannia's genius, come away.
Descend, ye spirits of the sky;
Stand, all ye winged guardians, by;
Your golden pinions kindly spread,
And watch round Carolina's bed:
Here fix your residence on Earth,
To hasten on the glorious birth;
Her fainting spirits to supply,
Catch all the zephyrs as they fly.
Oh! succour nature in the strife,
And gently hold her up in life;
Nor let her hence too soon remove,
To join your sacred choirs above:
But live, Britannia to adorn
With kings and princes yet unborn.

Ye angels, come without delay;
Britannia's genius, come away.
Assuage her pains, and Albion's fears,
For Albion's life depends on her's.
Oh then! to save her from despair,
Lean down, and listen to her prayer.
Crown all her tortures with delight,
And call th' auspicious babe to light.
We hope from your propitious care,
All that is brave, or all that's fair.
A youth, to match his sire in arms;
Or nymph, to match her mother's charms;
A youth, who over kings shall reign,
Or nymph, whom kings shall court in vain.
From far the royal slaves shall come,
And wait from him or her their doom;
To each their different suits shall move,
And pay their homage, or their love.

Ye angels, come without delay;
Britannia's genius, come away.
When the soft powers of sleep subdue
Those eyes, that shine as bright as you;
With scenes of bliss, transporting themes!
Prompt and inspire her golden dreams :
Let visionary blessings rise,
And swim before her closing eyes.
The sense of torture to subdue,
Set Britain's happiness to view;
That sight her spirits will sustain,
And give her pleasure from her pain.

Ye angels, come without delay;
Britannia's genius, come away.
Come, and rejoice; th' important hour
Is past, and all our fears are o'er ;
See! every trace of anguish flies,
While in her lap the infant lies,
Her pain by sudden joy beguil'd,
She hangs in rapture o'er the child,
Her eyes o'er every feature run,
The father's beauties and her own.
There, pleas'd her image to survey,
She melts in tenderness away;
Smiles o'er the babe, nor smiles in vain,
The babe returns th' auspicious smile again.

Ye angels, come without delay;
Britannia's genius, come away.

Turn Heaven's eternal volume o'er,
And look for this distinguish'd hour;
Consult the page of Britain's state,
Before you close the books of Fate:
Then tell us what you there have seen,
What eras from this birth begin,

What years from this blest hour must run,
As bright and lasting as the Sun.
Far from the ken of mortal sight,
These secrets are involv'd in night:
The blessings which this birth pursue,
Are only known to Heaven and you.

ON THE

MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF ORANGE,

AND THE PRINCESS Royal of ENGLAND',

WHEN Nassau ey'd his native coasts no more,
And first discern'd fair Albion's whitening shore;
In that blest moment, while the friendly gales
Wait on his course, and stretch the swelling sails,
The deeps divide; and, as the waves unclose,
The genius of the British occan rose.
Loose to the wind his sea-green mantle flow'd,
And in his eyes unusual pleasure glow'd.
Awile he paus'd, to mark on Nassau's face
The well-known features of the godlike race;
Whose swords were sacred to the generous cause
Of truth, religion, liberty, and laws :
Then spoke; the winds a still attention keep,
And awful silence hush'd the murmuring deep:
"Proceed, great prince, to our lov'd coast repair,
Where Anna shines the fairest of the fair :
For thy distinguish'd bed the Fates ordain
The royal maid, whom kings might court in vain ;
The royal maid, in whom the Graces join'd [mind.
Her mother's awful charms, and more than female
The merits of thy race, the vast arrear
That Britain owes, shall all be paid in her;
In her be paid the debt for laws restor❜d,
For England sav'd by William's righteous sword.
Immortal William!-At thy sacred name
My hearts beats quick, and owns its ancient flame.
Still must I call to mind the glorious day,
When through these floods the hero plough'd his
To free Britannia from the tyrant's chain,
And bid the prostrate nations rise again.
Well-pleas'd I saw his fluttering streamers fly,
And the full sails that hid the distant sky.
High on the gilded stern, majestic rode
The world's great patriot, like a guardian god.
This trident aw'd the tumults of the sea,
And bade the winds the hero's nod obey:
Fond of the task, with this officious hand
I push'd the sacred vessel to the land;
The land of Liberty, by Rome enslav'd;
He came, he saw, he vanquish'd, and he sav'd.
"O may that hero, and thy Anna's sire
To noblest deeds thy generous bosom fire,
And with their bright transmissive virtues grace
The great descendants of thy princely race!

1

[way,

Originally printed in the Epithalamia Oxeniensia, Oxonii, 1734, in the name of Mr. Spence; but now reclaimed as Mr. Pitt's on the authority of Bishop Lowth. N.

Aill may they all their great example draw From her Augustus, and thy own Nassau! May the fair line cach happy realu: adorn, Bless future states, and nations yet unborn!"

ON THE

Soon shall thy eyes a brighter scene survey
(Lo, the fleet hours already wing their way!)
When, to thy native soil in peace restor'd,
Once more shall Gotha see her lawful lord.
True to religion, each successive son

Shall aid the cause their generous sires begun. Even now I look through fate. O glorious sight!

I see thy offspring as they rise to light.

What benefits to man! what lights divine!

MARRIAGE OF FREDERIC PRINCE OF What heroes, and what saints adorn the line!

WALES,

AND PRINCESS AUGUSTA OF SAXE-GOTHA',

WHEN pious frauds and holy pride no more
Could hold that empire which so long they bore;
From fair Germania's states the truth began
To gleam, and shed her heavenly light on man;
To Frederic' first, the Saxon prince, 'twas given,
To nurse and cherish this blest gift of Heaven.
Its growth, whilst young and tender, was his care,
To guard its blossoms from th' inclement air,
And dying, "May'st thou flourish !" was his

prayer.
Again, when fair Religion now had spread
Her influence round, and rais'd her captiv'd head;
When Charles and Rome their impious forces join'd
To quench its light, and re-enslave mankind;
Another Frederic' first appear'd in arms,
To guard th' endanger'd blessing from alarms.
Ye Heavens! what virtues with what courage join'd!
But join'd in vain!-See, vanquish'd, and confin'd
In the deep gloom, the pious hero lies,
And lifts to heaven his ever-streaming eyes.
There, spent with sorrows, as he sunk to rest
(The public cause still labouring in his breast),
Behold, in slumber, to his view display'd,
Rose the first Frederic's venerable shade!
His temples circled with a heavenly flame;
The same his flowing robe, his look the same.
"And art thou come?" (the captive warriour cries)
"What realms so long detained thee from our eyes?
After such wars, such deaths and honours past,
Is our great guardian chief return'd at last?
Say, from your Heaven, so long desir'd in vain,
Descends our hero to our aid again?
Now when proud Rome, her standard wide unfurl'd,
Pours like a deluge o'er the trembling world;
Fierce, her disputed empire to restore,
And scourge mankind for ten dark ages more?
Like me, Religion wears the Tyrant's chain;
Prostrate like me, she bleeds at every vein :
Oh! must we never, never rise again?"
"Dismiss thy fears," (the reverend shade replies)
"Be firm, be constant, and absolve the skies.
Dark are the ways of Heaven: let man attend:
Soon will the regular confusion end.

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And oh to crown the scene, my joyful eyes
Behold from far a princely virgin rise!
This, this is she, the smiling Fates ordain
To bring the bright primeval times again!
The fair Augusta!-grac'd with blooming charms;
Reserv'd to bless a British prince's arms.
Behold, behold the long-expected day!
Fly swift, ye hours, ye minutes, haste away;
To wed the fair, O favour'd of the skies,
Rise in thy time, thou destin'd hero, rise!
For through this scene of opening fate, I see
A greater Frederic shall arise in thee!
Then let thy fears from this blest moment cease,
Henceforth shall pure religion reign in peace.
Thy royal race shall Albion's sceptre sway,
And son to son th' imperial power convey:
All shall support, like thee, the noble cause
Of truth, religion, liberty, and laws."

This said, the venerable shade retir'd:
The wondering hero, at the vision fir'd,
With generous rapture glows; forgets his pains,、
Smiles at his woes, and triumphs in his chains.

THE FIRST HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS TO
JUPITER.

WHILE trembling we approach Jove's awful shrine,
With pure libations, and with rites divine;
What theme more proper can we chuse to sing,
Than Jove himself, the great, eternal king!
Whose word gives law to those of heavenly birth;
Whose hand subdues the rebel sons of Earth.
Since doubts and dark disputes thy titles move,
Hear'st thou, Diotaan or Lycæan Jove?
For here thy birth the tops of Ida claim,
And there Arcadia triumphs in thy name.
But Crete in vain would boast a grace so high,
Whose faithless sons through meer complexion lie;
Immortal as thou art in endless bloom,
To prove their claim, they build the thunderer's
Be then Arcadian, for the towering height [tomb.
Of steep Parrhasia welcom'd thee to light;
When pregnant Rhæa, wandering through the wood,
Sought out her darkest shades, and bore the god;
The place thus hallow'd by the birth of Jove,
More than religious horrour guards the grove:
The gloom all teeming females still decline,
From the vile worm, to woman, form divine.
Soon as the mother had discharg'd her lord,
She sought a spring to bathe the recent god;
But sought in vain: no living stream she found,
Though since, the waters drench the realms around.
Clear Erymanthus had not learn'd to glide,
Nor mightier Ladon drove his swelling tide,
At thy great birth, where now läon flows,
Tall towering oaks, and pathless forests rose.
The thirsty savages were heard to roar,
Where Cario softly murmurs to the shore;

Where spreading Melas widely floats the coast,
The flying chariot rais'd a cloud of dust.
With drowth o'er Cratis and Menope curst,
The fainting swain, to aggravate his thirst,
Heard from within the bubbling waters flow,
In close restraint, and murmur from below.
"Thou too, O Earth," (enjoin'd the power divine)
"Bring forth; thy pangs are less severe than mine,
And sooner past;" she spoke, and as she spoke
Rear'd bigh her scepter'd arm and pierc'd the rock..
Wide to the blow the parting mountain rent,
The waters gush'd tumultuous at the vent,
Impatient to be freed; amid the flood

She plung'd the recent babe; and bath'd the god.
She wrapp'd thee, mighty king, in purple bands,
Then gave the sacred charge to Neda's hands,
The babe to nourish in the close retreat,
And in the safe recess, of distant Crete.
In years and wisdom, of the nymphs who nurst
The infant thunderer, Neda was the first;
Next Styx and Phylire; the virgin shar'd
For her great trust discharg'd a great reward:
For by her honour'd name the flood she calls,
Which rolls into the sea by Leprion's walls;
To drink her streams the sons of Arcas crowd,
And draw for ever from the ancient flood.

Vulcan presides o'er all who bear the mass,
Bend the tough steel, and shape the tortur'd brass.
Diana those adore who spread the toils;
To Mars the warrior dedicates his spoils.
The bard to Phoebus strikes the living strings,
Jove's royal province is the care of kings;
For kings submissive hear thy high decree,
And hold their delegated powers from thee.
Thy name the judge and legislator awes,
When this enacts, and that directs the laws :
Cities and realms thy great protection prove;
These bend to monarchs, as they bend to Jove.

Though to thy scepter'd sons thy will extends,
The proper means proportion'd to their ends;
All are not favour'd in the same degree,
For power supreme belongs to Ptolemy;
What no inferior limitary king,

Could in a length of years to ripeness bring,
Sudden his word performs: his boundless power
Compleats the work of ages in an hour:
While others labour through a wretched reign,
Their schemes are blasted, and their counsels vain.
Hail Saturn's mighty son, to whom we owe
Life, health, and every blessing here below!
Who shall in worthy strains thy name adorn?
What living bard? what poet yet unborn?

Thee, Jove, the careful nymph to Cnossus bore, Hail and all hail again; in equal shares
(To Cnossus seated on the Cretan shore)
With joyful arms the Corybantes heav'd,

And the proud nymphs the glorious charge receiv'd.
Above the rest in grace Adraste stood,
She rock'd the golden cradle of the god;
On his ambrosial lips the goat distill'd
Her milky store, and fed th' immortal child:
With her the duteous bee presents her spoils,
And for the god repeats her flowery toils.

The fierce Curetes too in arms advance,
And tread tumultuously their mystic dance:
And, lest thy cries should reach old Saturn's ear,
Beat on their brazen shields the din of war.

Full soon, almighty king, thy early prime
Advanc'd beyond the bounds of vulgar time.
Ere the soft down had cloth'd thy youthful face,
Swift was thy growth in wit and every grace.
Fraught was thy mind in life's beginning stage,
With all the wisdom of experienc'd age:
Thy elder brothers hence their claims resign,
And leave the unbounded Heavens by merit thine;
For sure those poets fable, who advance
The bold assertion, that capricious chance
By equal lots to Saturns sons had given
The triple reign of Ocean, Hell, and Heaven.
Above blind chance the vast division lies,
And Hell holds no proportion to the skies.
Things of a less, and equal value, turn
On the blind lot of an inverted urn.

Not chance, O Jove, attain'd Heaven's high abodes,
But thy own power advanc'd thee o'er the gods,
Thy power, that whirls thy rapid chariot on,
Thy power, the great assessor of thy throne.
Dismist by thee, th' imperial eagle flies
Charg'd with thy signs and thunders through the
To me and mine glad omens may she bring, [skies:
And to the left extend her golden wing.

Thou to inferior gods hast well assign'd
The various ranks and orders of mankind :
Of these the wandering merchants claim the care;
Of those the poets, and the sons of war:
Kings claim from thee their titles and their reign
O'er all degrees, the soldier and the swain.

Give wealth and virtue, and indulge our prayers.
Hear us, great king, unless they meet combin'd,
Each is but half a blessing to mankind.
Then grant us both, that blended they may prove
A doubled happiness, and worthy Jove.

THE

SECOND HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS TO
APOLLO.

HA! how Apollo's hallow'd laurel's wave?
How shakes the temple from its inmost cave?
Fly, ye profane; for lo; in heavenly state
The power descends, and thunders at the gate.
See, how the Delian palms with reverence nod!
Hark! how the tuneful swans confess the god!
Leap from your hinges, burst your brazen bars,
Ye sacred doors; the god, the god appears.
Ye youth, begin the song; in choirs advance;
Wake all your lyres, and form the measur'd dance.
No impious wretch his holy eyes have view'd,
None but the just, the innocent, and good.
To see the power confest your minds prepare,
Refin'd from guilt, and purify'd by prayer.
So may you mount in youth the nuptial bed,
So grace with silver hairs your aged head;
So the proud walls with lofty turrets crown,
And lay foundations for the rising town.

Apollo's song with awful silence hear;
Ev'n the wild seas the sacred song revere:
Nor wretched Thetis dares to make her moan,
For great Apollo slew her darling son.
When the loud lö Pæans ring around,
She checks her sighs, and trembles at the sound.
Fixt in her grief must Niobe appear,
Nor through the Prygian marble drop a tear;
Still, though a rock, she dreads Apollo's bow,
And stands her own sad monument of woe.

Sound the loud lös, and the temple rend,
With the blest gods 'tis impious to contend.

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