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The land returns, and, in the white it wears,
The marks of penitence and sorrow bears.
But you, whose goodness your descent doth shew,
Your heavenly parentage and earthly too;
By that same mildness which your father's crown
Before did ravish, shall secure your own.
Not tied to rules of policy, you find
Revenge less sweet than a forgiving mind.
Thus, when the Almighty would to Moses give
A sight of all he could behold and live;
A voice before his entry did proclaim
Long-suffering, Goodness, Mercy, in his name.
Your pow'r to justice doth submit your cause,
Your goodness only is above the laws;
Whose rigid letter, while pronounc'd by yoni,
Is softer made: so winds that tempests brew,
When through Arabian groves they take their flight,
Made wanton with rich odours, lose their spite:
And as those lees, that trouble it, refine
The agitated soul of generous wine;
So tears of joy, for your returning spilt,
Work out, and expiate our former guilt.
Methinks I see those crowds on Dover's strand,
Who, in their haste to welcome you to land,
Chok'd up the beach with their still-growing store,
And made a wilder torrent on the shore;
While, spurr'd with eager thoughts of past delight,
Those who had seen you court a second sight;
Preventing still your steps, and making haste
To meet you often wheresoe'er you past.
How shall I speak of that triumphaut day,
When you renew'd the' expiring pomp of May!
(A month that owns an interest in your name;
You and the flowers are its peculiar claim.)
That star that at your birth shone out so bright,
It stain'd the duller sun's meridian light,
Did once again its potent fires renew,
Guiding our eyes to find and worship you.
And now time's whiter series is begun,
Which in soft centuries shall smoothly run:
Those clouds, that overcast your morn, shall fly,
Dispell’d to farthest corners of the sky.
Our nation with united interest bless'd,
Not now content to poise, shall sway the rest.
Abroad your empire shall no limits know,
But, like the sea, in boundless circles flow.
Your much-lov'd fleet shall, with a wide command,
Besiege the petty monarchs of the land :
And as old Time his offspring swallow'd down,
Our ocean in its depths all seas shall drown.
Their wealthy trade from pirates' rapine free,
Our merchants shall no more adventurers be;
Nor in the farthest east those dangers fear,
Which humble Holland must dissemble here.
Spain to your gift alone her Indies owes;
For what the powerful takes not, he bestows:
And France, that did an exile's presence fear,
May justly apprehend you still too near.
At home the hateful names of party cease,
And factious souls are wearied into peace.
The discontented now are only they
Whose crimes before did your just cause betray:
Of those your edicts some reclaim from sin,
But most your life and bless'd example win.
Oh happy prince, whom Heav'n hath taught the way,
By paying vows, to have more vows to pay!
Oh happy age! oh times like those alone,
By fate reserv'd for great Augustus' throne!
When the joint growth of arms and arts foreshew
The world a monarch, and that monarch-You.
A PANEGYRIC ON HIS CORONATION.
In that wild deluge where the world was drown'd,
When life and sin one common tomb had found,
The first'small prospect of a rising hill
With various notes of joy the Ark did fill;
Yet when that flood in its own depths was drown'd,
It left behind it false and slippery ground;
And the more solemn pomp was still deferid,
Till new-born Nature in fresh looks appear'd.
Thus, royal Sir, to see you landed here,
Was cause enough of triumph for a year:
Nor would your care those glorious joys repeat,
Till they at once might be secure and great;
Till your kind beams, by their continued stay,
Had warm’d the ground, and call'd the damps away.
Such vapours, while your powerful influence dries,
Then soonest vanish when they highest rise.
Had greater baste these sacred rites prepar'd,
Some guilty months had in your triumphs shard:
But this untainted year is all your own;
Your glories may without our crimes be shown.
We had not yet exhausted all our store,
When you refresh'd our joys by adding more:
As Heav'n, of old, dispens'd celestial dew,
Yon gave us manna, and still give us new.
Now our sad ruins are remov'd from sight,
The season, too, comes fraught with new delight:
Time seems not now beneath his years to stoop,
Nor do his wings with sickly feathers droop:
Soft western winds waft o'er the gaudy Spring,
And open'd scenes of flowers and blossoms bring
To grace this happy day, while you appear
Not king of us alone, but of the year.
All eyes you draw, and with the eyes the heart;
Of your own pomp yourself the greatest part.
Loud shouts the nation's happiness proclain,
And Heav'n this day is feasted with your name.
Your cavalcade the fair spectators view
From their high standings, yet look up to you.
From your brave train each singles out a prey,
And longs to date a conquest from your day.
Now charg'd with blessings, while you seek repose,
Officious Slumbers haste your eyes to close;
And glorious Dreams stand ready to restore
The pleasing shapes of all you saw before.
Next, to the sacred temple you are led,
Where waits a crown for your more sacred head:
How justly from the Church that crown is due,
Preserv'd from ruin, and restor'd by you!
The grateful choir their harmony employ,
Not to make greater, but more solemn joy.
Wrapt soft and warm, your name is sent on high,
As flames do on the wings of incense fly:
Music herself is lost; in vaiu she brings
Her choicest notes to praise the best of kings :
Her melting strains in you a tomb have found,
And lie, like bees, in their own sweetness drown'd.