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For angry Juno, labour'd to destroy
The bated relics of confounded Troy:
His bold Æneas, on like billows tost
In a tall ship, and all his country lost,
Dissolves with fear; and both his hands upheld,
Proclaims them happy whom the Greeks had quell'd
In honourable fight: our hero, set
In a small shallop, Fortune in his debt,
So near a hope of crowns and sceptres, more
Than ever Priam, when he flourish'd, wore;
His loins yet full of ungot princes, all
His glory in the bud, lets nothing fall
That argues fear: if any thought annoys
The gallant youth, 'tis love's untasted joys,
And dear remembrance of that fatal glance,
For which he lately pawn’d his heart in France;
Where he had seen a brighter nymph than shie ?
That sprung out of his present foe, the sea.
That noble ardour, more than mortal fire,
The conquerd ocean could not make expire;
Nor angry Thetis raise her waves above
The heroic Prince's courage or his love:
'Twas indignation, and not fear he felt,
The shrine should perish where that image dwelt.
Ah, Love forbid! the noblest of thy train
Should not survive to let her know his pain;
Who, nor his peril minding nor his flame,
Is entertain’d with some less serious game,
Among the bright nymphs of the Gallic court,
All highly born, obsequions to her sport:
They roses seem, which in their early pride
But half reveal, and half their beauties hide;
She the glad Morning, which her beams does throw
Upon their smiling leaves, and gilds them so;
Like bright Aurora, whose refulgent ray
Foretels the fervour of ensuing day,
And warns the shepherd with his flocks retreat
To leafy shadows from the threaten'd heat.
From Cupid's string of many shafts, that fled Wing'd with those plumes which noble Fame had
As through the wondering world she flew, and told
Of his adventures, haughty, brave, and bold;
Some had already touch'd the royal maid,
But Love's first summons' seldom are obey'd:
Light was the wound, the Prince's care unknown,
She might not, would not, yet reveal her own.
His glorious name had so possest her ears,
That with delight those antique tales she hears
Of Jason, Theseus, and such worthies old,
As with his story best resemblance hold.
And now she views, as on the wall it hung,
What old Musæus so divinely sung;
Which art with life and love did so inspire,
That she discerns and favours that desire;
Which there provokes the adventrous youth to
And in Leander's danger pities him ;
Whose not new love alone, but fortune, seeks
To frame his story like that amorous Greek's.
For from the stern of some good ship appears
A friendly light, which moderates their fears:
New courage from reviving hope they take,
And, climbing o'er the waves, that taper make
On which the hope of all their lives depends,
As his on that fair Hero's hand extends.
The ship at anchor, like a fixed rock,
Breaks the proud billows which her large sides
Whose rage restrained, foaming higher swells,
And from her port the weary barge repels,
Threatening to make her, forced out again,
Repeat the dangers of the troubled main.
Twice was the cable hurl'd in vain; the Fates
Would not be moved for our sister states.
For England is the third successful throw,
And then the genius of that land they know,
Whose prince must be (as their own books devise)
Lord of the scene where now his danger lies.
Well sung the Roman bard, 'All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.' O see the then sole hope, and, in design Of Heav'n, our joy, supported by a line! Which for that instant was Heaven's care above, The chain that's fixed to the throne of Jove, On which the fabric of our world depends, One link dissolv'd, the whole creation ends.
ON HIS MAJESTY'S RECEIVING THE NEWS OF
THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM'S DEATH.
So earnest with thy God! can no new care,
No sense of danger, interrupt thy pray’r?
The sacred Wrestier, till a blessing giv'n,
Quits not his hold, but halting conquers Heav'n.
Nor was the stream of thy devotion stopp'd,
When from the body such a limb was lopp'd,
As to thy present state was no less maim,
Though thy wise choice has since repair’d the same.
Bold Homer durst not so great virtue feign
In bis best pattern': of Patroclus slain,
With such amazement as weak mothers use,
And frantic gesture, he receives the news.
Yet fell his darling by the' impartial chance
Of war, impos’d by royal Hector's lance;
Thine in full peace, and by a vulgar hand
Torn from thy bosom, left his high command.
The famous painter? could allow no place
For private sorrow in a prince's face:
Yet, that his piece might not exceed belief,
He cast a veil upon supposed grief.
'Twas want of such a precedent as this
Made the old Heathen frame their gods amiss.
Their Phæbus should not act a fonder part
For the fair boy }, than he did for his hart;
Nor blame for Hyacinthus' fate his own,
That kept from him wish'd death, hadst thou been
known. He that with thine shall weigh good David's deeds, Shall find his passion nor his love exceeds : He curs’d the mountains where his brave friend died, But let false Ziba with his heir divide; Where thy immortal love to thy blest friends, Like that of Heav'n, upon their seed descends. Sach huge extremes inhabit thy great mind, Godlike, unmov'd, and yet, like woman, kind! Which of the ancient poets had not brought Our Charles's pedigree from Heav'n, and taught How some bright dame, compress’d by mighty Jove, Produc'd this mix'd Divinity and Love?
OF Jason, Theseus, and such worthies old,
Light seem the tales Antiquity has told:
Such beasts and monsters as their force opprest,
Some places only, and some times infest.
Salle, that scorn'd all pow'r and laws of men,
Goods with their owners hurrying to their den,
And future ages threatening with a rude
And savage race, successively renew'd;
Their king despising with rebellious pride,
And foes profest to all the world beside;
This pest of mankind gives our hero fame,
And through the obliged world dilates his name.
The Prophet once to cruel Agag said,
As thy fierce sword has mothers childless made,
So shall the sword make thine; and with that word
He hew'd the man in pieces with his sword:
Just Charles like measure has return'd to these
Whose pagan hands had stain’d the troubled seas;
With ships they made the spoiled merchant moun;
With ships their city and themselves are torn.
One squadron of our winged castles sent,
O’erthrew their fort, and all their navy rent:
For not content the dangers to encrease,
And act the part of tempests in the seas,
Like hungry wolves, those pirates from our shore
Whole flocks of sheep, and ravish'd cattle bore.
Safely they might on other nations prey,
Fools to provoke the Sovereign of the sea!
Mad Cacus so, whom like ill fate persuades,
The herd of fair Alcmena's seed invades,