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Of airy choristers a numerous train
Attends his wondrous progress o'er the plain ;
So, rising from his father's urn,
So glorious did our Charles return.
The officious Muses came along,
A gay, harmonious quire, like angels, ever young :
The Muse, that mourns him now, his happy triumph

sung.
E'en they could thrive in his auspicious reign,
And such a plenteous crop they bore
Of purest and well-winnow'd grain,
As Britain never knew before.
Though little was their hire, and light their gain,
Yet somewhat to their share he threw;
Fed from his hand, they sung and flew,
Like birds of Paradise, that liv’d on morning dew.
Oh, never let their lays his name forget!
The pension of a prince's praise is great.
Live then, thou great Encourager of arts,
Live ever in our thankful hearts;
Live blest above, almost invok'd below,
Live and receive this pious vow,
Our patron once, our guardian-angel now.
Thou Fabius of a sinking state,
Who didst, by wise delays, divert our fate,
When Faction, like a tempest, rose
In Death's most hideous form,
Then art to rage thou didst oppose,
To weather out the storm:
Not quitting thy supreme command,
Thou heldst the rudder with a steady hand,
Till safely on the shore the bark did land;
The bark that all our blessings brought, (fraught.
Charg'd with thyself and James, a doubly royal

Oh frail estate of human things, And slippery hopes below! Now to our cost your emptiness we know; (For 'tis a lesson dearly bought) Assurance here is never to be sought. The best and best belov'd of kings, And best deserving to be so, When scarce he had escap'd the fatal blow Of faction and conspiracy, Death did his promis'd hopes destroy : He toil'd, he gain'd, but liv'd not to enjoy. What mists of Providence are these Through which we cannot see! So saints, by supernatural power set free, are left at last in martyrdom to die; Such is the end of oft-repeated miracles.Forgive me, Heaven, that impious thought, 'Twas grief for Charles, to madness wrought, That question'd thy supreme decree! Thou didst his gracious reign prolong, Even in thy saints' and angels' wrong, His fellow-citizens of immortality; For twelve long years of exile borne. Twice twelve we number'd since his blest return: So strictly wert thou just to pay, Even to the driblet of a day, Yet still we murmur, and complain The quails and manna should no longer rain : Those miracles 'twas needless to renew; The chosen flock has now the Promis'd land in view.

A warlike prince ascends the regal state,
A prince long exercis'd by Fate :
Long may he keep, though he obtains it late !

Heroes in Heaven's peculiar mould are cast;
They, and their poets, are not form'd in haste :
Man was the first in God's design, and man was made
False heroes, made by Aattery so, (the last.
Heaven can strike out, like sparkles, at a blow;
But, ere a prince is to perfection brought,
He costs Omnipotence a second thought.
With toil and sweat,
With hardening cold, and forming heat,
The Cyclops did their strokes repeat,
Before the impenetrable shield was wrought.
It looks as if the Maker would not own
The noble work for his, ,
Before 'twas tried and found a masterpiece.

View then a monarch ripen'd for a throne!
Alcides thus his race began,
O’er infancy he swiftly ran;
The future god, at first, was more than man:
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 prest;
So early was the deity confest:
Thus, by degrees, he rose to Jove's imperial seat;
Thus difficulties prove a soul legitimately great.
Like his, our hero's infancy was tried;
Betimes the Furies did their snakes provide,
And to his infant arms oppose
His father's rebels, and his brother's foes;
The more opprest, the higher still he rose:
Those were the preludes of his fate,
That form’d 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 long-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 slumbering on its arms :
'Tis rous'd, and with a new-strung nerve the spear

already shakes.
No neighing of the warrior-steeds,
No drum, or louder trumpet, needs
To’inspire the coward, warm the cold;
His voice, his sole appearance, makes them bold.
Gaul and Batavia dread the impending blow;
Too well the vigour of that arm they know;
They lick the dust, and crouch beneath their fatal

foe. Long may they fear this awful prince, And not provoke his lingering sword, Peace is their only sure defence, Their best security his word. In all the changes of his doubtful state, His truth, like Heaven's, was kept inviolate: For him to promise is to make it fate. His valour can triumph o'er land and main : With broken oaths his fame he will not stain, With conquest basely bought, and with inglorious

gain.

For once, O Heaven! unfold thy adamantine Book,
And let his wondering senate see,
If not thy firm immutable decree,
At least the second page of strong 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
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
The amended vows of English loyalty:
And all beyond that object there appears
The long retinue of a prosperous reign,
A series of successful years,
In orderly array, a martial, manly train.
Behold e'en to remoter shores
A conquering navy proudly spread;
The British cannon formidably roars,
While, starting from his oozy bed,
The asserted Ocean rears his reverend head,
To view and recognize his ancient Lord again,
And, with a willing hand, restores
The faces of the main.

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