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Dangers and toils, and Juno's hate,
Ev'n o'er his cradle lay in wait,
And there he grappled first with Fate:
In his young hands the hissing snakes he press'd;
So early was the deity confess'd:
Thus by degrees he rose to Jove's imperial seat;
Thus difficulties prove a soul legitimately greato
Like his our hero's infancy was try'd;
Betimes the Furies did their snakes provide,
And to his infant arms oppose
His father's rebels, and his brother's foes;
The more oppress'd, the higher still he rose :
Those were the preludes of his fate,
That forma his manhood, to subdue
The hydra of the many-headed hissing crew.
As after Numa's peaceful reign
The martial Ancus did the sceptre wield,
Furbish'd the rusty sword again,
Resum'd the lang-forgotten shield,
And led the Latins to the dusty field:
So James the drowsy Genius wakes
Of Britain, long entranc'd in charms,
Restiff, and slumb'ring on its arms;
'Twas rous'd, and with a new-strung nerve the spear
No neighing of the warrior steeds, [already shakes.
No drum or louder trumpet needs
T' inspire the coward, warm the cold;
His voice, his sole appearance, makes them bold.
Gaul and Batavia dread th' impending blow:
Too well the vigour of that arm they know;
They lick the dust, and croych beneath their fatal foe,
Long may they fear this awful prince,
And not provoke his ling'ring sword;
Peace is their only sure defence,
Their best security his word.
In all the changes of his doubtful state,
His truth, like Heavin's, was kept inviolate:
For him to promise is to make it fate.
His valour can triumph over land and main:
With broken oaths his fame he will not stain, 489
With conquest basely bought, and withinglorious gain.
XVIII. For once, O Heav'n, unfold thy'adamantine book ; And let his wond'ring senate see, If not thy firm immutable decree, At least the second page of great contingency, Such as consists with wills originally free:
Let them with glad amazement look :. On what their happiness may be;
Let them not still be obstinately blind,
Still to divert the good thou hast design'd,
Or with malignant penury
500 To starve the royal virtues of his mind.
Faith is a Christian's and a subject's test;
Oh, give them to believe, and they are surely blest !
They do; and with a distant view I see
Th' amended vows of English loyalty :
And all beyond that object there appears
The long retinue of a prosp'rous reign.
A series of successful years,
In orderly array a martial manly train.
Behold even the remoter shores
A conqu’ring navy proudly spread;
The British cannon formidably roars,
While starting from his oozy bed,
Th’ asserted Ocean rears his rev'rend head,
To view and recognize his ancient Lord again,
And with a willing hand restores
The fasces of the main.
ON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL.
WRITTEN AFTER HIS FUNERAL.
ind now 'tis time; for their officious haste Who would before have borne him to the sky, Like eager Romans, ere all rites were past, Did let too soon the sacred Eagle fly.
Tho' our best notes are treason to his fame,
Join'd with the loud applause of publie voice;
Since Hear'n, what praise we offer to his name,
Hath render'd too authentic by its choice.
Tho' in his praise no arts can lib'ral be,
Since they, whose Muses have the highest flown, 10
Add not to his immortal memory,
But do an act of friendship to their own:
Yet 'tis our duty and our int’rest too,
Such monuments as we can build to raise,
Lest all the world prevent what we should do,
And claim a title in him by their praise.
How shall I then begin, or where conclude,
To draw a fame so truly circular?
STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF O. CROMWELL.
For in a round what order can be shew'd
Where all the parts so equal perfect are !
His grandeur he deriv'd from Hear'n alone;
For he was great ere Fortune made him so:
And wars, like mists that rise against the sun,
Made him but greater seem, not greater grow.
No borrow'd bays his temples did adorn,
But to our crown he did fresh jewels bring ;
Nor was his virtue poison'd soon as born
With the too early thoughts of being king.
Fortune, that easy mistress of the young,
But to her ancient servants coy and hard,
Him at that age her fav’rites rank'd among,
When she her best-lov'd Pompey did discard.
He private mark'd the fault of others' sway,
And set as sea-marks for himself to shun;
Not like rash monarchs, who their youth betray
By acts their age too late would wish undone.
And yet dominion was not his design;
We owe that blessing not to him but Heav'n,
Which 10 fair acts unsought rewards did join,
Rewards that less to him than us were giv'n.