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They fight their quarrel, by themselves oppreft; The tyrant fmiles below, and waits the falling feaft.

Thus did the gentle Hind her fable end,

Nor would the Panther blame it, nor commend;
But, with affected yawnings at the close,
Seem'd to require her natural repose:
For now the streaky light began to peep;
And setting stars admonish'd both to fleep.
The dame withdrew, and, wishing to her guest
The peace of heaven, betook herself to rest.
Ten thousand angels on her flumbers wait,
With glorious vifions of her future state.

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A

POEM on the PRINCE,

Born on the Tenth of JUNE, 1688,

Ο

UR vows are heard betimes, and heaven

takes care

To grant, before we can conclude the

prayer:

Preventing angels met it half the way,
And fent us back to praise, who came to pray.
Juft on the day, when the high-mounted fun
Did fartheft in its northern progress run,
He bended forward, and even stretch'd the sphere
Beyond the limits of the lengthen'd year,
To view a brighter fun in Britain born;
That was the bufinefs of his longest morn;
The glorious object feen, 'twas time to turn.

Departing Spring could only stay to shed
Her gloomy beauties on the genial bed,
But left the manly fummer in her stead,
With timely fruit the longing land to chear,
And to fulfil the promise of the year.
Betwixt two feasons comes th' auspicious heir,
This age to bloffom, and the next to bear.

Last solemn sabbath faw the Church attend,
The Paraclete in fiery pomp descend;
But when his wond'rous octave roll'd again,
He brought a royal infant in his train.
So great a bleffing to fo good a king,
None but th' Eternal Comforter could bring.
Or did the mighty Trinity confpire,

As once in council to create our fire?
It feems as if they fent the new-born guest
To wait on the proceffion of their feast;
And on their facred anniverfe decreed
To ftamp their image on the promis'd feed.
Three realms united, and on one bestow'd,
An emblem of their myftic union show'd:
The mighty trine the triple empire fhar'd,
As every perfon would have one to guard.

Hail fon of prayers! by holy violence Drawn down from heaven; but long be banish'd thence,

And late to thy paternal skies retire:

To mend our crimes whole ages would require;
To change th' inveterate habit of our fins,
And finish what thy godlike fire begins.
Kind heaven, to make us Englishmen again,
No lefs can give us than a patriarch's reign.

3

The facred cradle to your charge receive,
Ye feraphs, and by turns the guard relieve;
Thy father's angel, and thy father join,
To keep poffeffion, and fecure the line
But long defer the honors of thy fate :
Great may they be like his, like his be late ;
That James his running century may view,
And give this fon an aufpice to the new.

Our wants exact at least that moderate stay:
For fee the dragon winged on his way,
To watch the travail, and devour the prey.
Or, if allufions may not rife fo high
Thus, when Alcides rais'd his infant cry,
The fnakes befieg'd his young divinity:

But vainly with their forked tongues they threat;
For oppofition makes a hero
great.

To needful fuccor all the good will run,
And Jove affert the godhead of his fon.

O ftill repining at your present state,
Grudging yourselves the benefits of fate,
Look up, and read in characters of light
A bleffing fent you in your own defpight.
The manna falls, yet that celeftial bread
Like Jews you munch, and murmur while you

.

feed.

May not your fortune be like theirs, exil'd,
Yet forty years to wander in the wild :
Or if it be, may Mofes live at least,

To lead you to the verge of promis'd rest.

Tho poets are not prophets, to foreknow

What plants will take the blight, and what will

grow,

By tracing heaven his footsteps may be found:
Behold! how awfully he walks the round!
God is abroad, and, wond'rous in his ways,
The rife of empires, and their fall surveys;
More, might I say, than with an ufual eye,
He fees his bleeding church in ruin lie,

And hears the fouls. of faints beneath his altar

cry.

Already has he lifted high the fign,

Which crown'd the conquering arms of Conftantine:

The moon grows pale at that presaging fight,

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And half her train of stars have lost their light.

Behold another Sylvefter, to blefs

The facred standard, and fecure fuccefs;
Large of his treasures, of a soul so great,
As fills and crowds his univerfal feat.
Now view at home a fecond Conftantine;
(The former too was of the British line)

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