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BRITANNIA REDIVIVA:

A POEM ON THE PRINCE,

BORN JUNE 10. 1688.

OUR Vows are heard betimes, and Heav'n takes care
To grant before we can conclude the pray'r;
Preventing angels meet it half the way,
And sent us back to praise who came to pray.
Just on the day when the high-mounted sun
Did farthest in its northern progress run,
He bended forward, and ev'n stretch'd the sphere
Beyond the limits of the lengthen'd year,

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To view a brighter sun in Britain born;
That was the bus'ness of his longest morn;
The glorious object seen, 'twas time to turn.
Departing Spring could only stay to shed
Her gloomy beauties on the genial bed,
But left the manly Summer in her stead,
With timely fruit the longing land to cheer,
And to fulfil the promise of the year.

Betwixt two seasons comes th' auspicious heir,
This age to blossom, and the next to bear.

Last solemn Sabbath saw the church attend,
The Paraclet in fiery pomp descend;
But when his wond'rous octave roll'd again,
He brought a royal infant in his train.

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So great a blessing to so good a King
None but th' eternal Comforter could bring.
Or did the mighty Trinity conspire,

As once in council, to create our sire?
It seems as if they sent the new-born guest
To wait on the procession of their feast,
And on their sacred anniverse decreed
To stamp their image on the promis'd seed.
Three realms united, and on one bestow'd,
An emblem of their mystic union show'd;
The mighty Time the triple empire shar'd,
As ev'ry person would have one to guard.
Hail Son of pray'rs! by holy violence

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Drawn down from heav'n; 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 sins,
And finish what thy godlike sire begins.
Kind Heav'n, to make us Englishmen again,
No less can give us than a patriarch's reign.

The sacred cradle to your charge receive,
Ye Seraphs! and by turns the guard relieve,
Thy father's angel and thy father join
To keep possession, and secure the line;
But long defer the honours of thy fate;
Great may they be like his, like his be late,
That James his running century may view,
And give this son an auspice to the new.

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Our wants exact at least that moderate stay;
For see the Dragon winged on his way

To watch the travail and devour the prey.
Or, if allusions may not rise so high,
Thus, when Alcides rais'd his infant cry,
The snakes besieg'd his young divinity;

But vainly with their forked tongues they threat,
For opposition makes a hero great.

To needful succour all the good will run,
And Jove assert the godhead of his son.

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O still repining at your present state, Grudging yourselves the benefits of Fate, Look up, and read, in characters of light, A blessing sent you in your own despight. The manna falls, yet that celestial 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 Moses live at least

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

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Tho' poets are not prophets, to foreknow What plants will take the blight, and what will grow, By tracing heav'n his footsteps may be found: Behold! how awfully he walks the round! God is abroad, and wond'rous in his ways, The rise of empires and their fall surveys: More (might I say) than with an usual eye, He sees his bleeding church in ruin lie,

And hears the souls of saints beneath his altar cry.

Volume I.

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Already has he lifted high the sign

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Which crown'd the conqu'ring arms of Constantine;

The moon grows pale at that presaging sight,
And half her train of stars have lost their light.

Behold another Sylvester, to bless

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The sacred standard, and secure success;
Large of his treasures, of a soul so great,
As fills and crowds his universal seat.
Now view at home a second Constantine;
(The former too was of the British line)
Has not his healing balm your breaches clos'd,
Whose exile many sought, and few oppos'd?
O! did not Heav'n, by its eternal doom,
Permit those evils that this good might come?
So manifest, that e'en the moon-ey'd sects
See whom and what this Providence protects.
Methinks, had we within our minds no more
Than that one shipwreck on the fatal ore,
That only thought may make us think again
What wonders God reserves for such a reign.
To dream that chance his preservation wrought, ico
Were to think Noah was preserv'd for nought;
Or the surviving eight were not design'd

To people earth, and to restore their kind,
When humbly on the royal Babe we gaze,
The manly lines of a majestic face
Give awful joy: 'tis paradise to look

On the fair frontispiece of Nature's book:

If the first op'ning page so charms the sight,
Think how th' unfolded volume will delight!
See how the venerable infant lies

In early pomp! how thro' the mother's eyes
The father's soul, with an undaunted view
Looks out, and takes our homage as his due.
See on his future subjects how he smiles!
Nor meanly flatters, nor with craft beguiles;
But with an open face, as on his throne,
Assures our birth-rights, and assumes his own.
Born in broad day-light, that th ́ ungrateful rout
May find no room for a remaining doubt.
Truth, which itself is light, does darkness shun,
And the true eaglet safely dares the sun.

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Fain would the fiends have made a dubious birth, ↑ Loath to confess the Godhead cloth'd in earth; But sicken'd after all their baffled lies, To find an heir-apparent in the skies: Abandon'd to despair, still may they grudge, And, owning not the Saviour, prove the judge. Not great Æneas ‡ stood in plainer day, When the dark mantling mist dissolv'd away; He to the Tyrians shew'd his sudden face, Shining with all his goddess-mother's grace,

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For she herself had made his count'nance bright, Breath'd honour on his eyes, and her own purple light.

Alluding to the temptations in the wilderness.

Virg. Eneid. 1.

Dryden.]

Kij

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