Nor without envy can behold his height,
Whose conversation was their late delight.
So Semele, contented with the rape
Of Jove disguised in a mortal shape,
When she beheld his hands with lightning fill'd,
And his bright rays, was with amazement kill'd.
And though it be our sorrow, and our crime,
To have accepted life so long a time

Without you here, yet does this absence gain
No small advantage to your present reign;
For, having view'd the persons and the things,
The councils, state, and strength of Europe's kings,
You know your work; ambition to restrain,
And set them bounds, as Heaven does to the main.
We have you now with ruling wisdom fraught,
Not such as books, but such as practice, taught.
So the lost sun, while least by us enjoy'd,
Is the whole night for our concern employ'd;
He ripens spices, fruits, and precious gums,
Which from remotest regions hither comes.

This seat of yours (from th' other world removed)
Had Archimedes known, he might have proved
His engine's force, fix'd here; your power and skill
Make the world's motion wait upon your will.

Much suff'ring monarch! the first English born That has the crown of these three nations worn! How has your patience, with the barb'rous rage Of your own soil, contended half an age? Till (your tried virtue, and your sacred word, At last preventing your unwilling sword) Armies and fleets which kept you out so long, Own'd their great sov'reign, and redress'd his wrong; When straight the people, by no force compell'd, Nor longer from their inclination held,

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40

50

60

Break forth at once, like powder set on fire,
And, with a noble rage, their king require.

So th' injured sea, which from her wonted course,
To gain some acres, avarice did force,

If the new banks, neglected once, decay,
No longer will from her old channel stay;
Raging, the late got land she overflows,
And all that's built upon 't to ruin goes.
Offenders now, the chiefest, do begin
To strive for grace, and expiate their sin.
All winds blow fair, that did the world embroil;
Your vipers treacle yield, and scorpions oil.

1

If then such praise the Macedonian 1 got,
For having rudely cut the Gordian knot,
What glory's due to him that could divide
Such ravell'd interests; has the knot untied,
And without stroke so smooth a passage made,
Where craft and malice such impeachments laid?

But while we praise you, you ascribe it all
To His high hand, which threw the untouch'd wall
Of self-demolish'd Jericho so low;

His angel 'twas that did before you go,

Tamed savage hearts, and made affections yield,
Like ears of corn when wind salutes the field.

Thus, patience-crown'd, like Job's, your trouble
ends,

Having your foes to pardon, and your friends;
For, though your courage were so firm a rock,
What private virtue could endure the shock?
Like your Great Master, you the storm withstood,
And pitied those who love with frailty show'd.
Rude Indians, tort'ring all the royal race,
Him with the throne and dear-bought sceptre grace

1 Macedonian': Alexander.

That suffers best. What region could be found,
Where your heroic head had not been crown'd?

The next experience of your mighty mind
Is, how you combat Fortune, now she's kind.
And this way, too, you are victorious found;
She flatters with the same success she frown'd.
While to yourself severe, to others kind,
With pow'r unbounded, and a will confined,
Of this vast empire you possess the care,
The softer parts fall to the people's share.
Safety, and equal government, are things
Which subjects make as happy as their kings.
Faith, Law, and Piety, (that banished train!)
Justice and Truth, with you return again.
The city's trade, and country's easy life,
Once more shall flourish without fraud or strife.
Your reign no less assures the ploughman's peace,
Than the warm sun advances his increase;
And does the shepherds as securely keep
From all their fears, as they preserve their sheep.
But, above all, the Muse-inspired train
Triumph, and raise their drooping heads again!
Kind Heaven at once has, in your person, sent
Their sacred judge, their guard, and argument.

Nec magis expressi vultus per ahenea signa,
Quam per vatis opus mores, animique, virorum
Clarorum apparent.

...

HOR.

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120

TO A LADY,

FROM WHOM HE RECEIVED THE COPY OF THE POEM ENTITLED 'OF A TREE CUT IN PAPER,' WHICH FOR MANY YEARS HAD BEEN LOST.

NOTHING lies hid from radiant eyes;

All they subdue become their spies.
Secrets, as choicest jewels, are
Presented to oblige the fair;

No wonder, then, that a lost thought

Should there be found, where souls are caught.

The picture of fair Venus (that

For which men say the goddess sat)
Was lost, till Lely from your book
Again that glorious image took.

If Virtue's self were lost, we might
From your fair mind new copies write.
All things but one you can restore;
The heart you get returns no more.

TO THE QUEEN, UPON HER MAJESTY'S
BIRTHDAY,

AFTER HER HAPPY RECOVERY FROM A DANGEROUS SICKNESS. 1

FAREWELL the year! which threaten'd so

The fairest light the world can show.
Welcome the new! whose every day,
Restoring what was snatch'd away

'Dangerous sickness': the Queen of Charles II. These verses belong to the year 1663.

By pining sickness from the fair,
That matchless beauty does repair
So fast, that the approaching spring
(Which does to flow'ry meadows bring
What the rude winter from them tore)
Shall give her all she had before.

But we recover not so fast

The sense of such a danger past;

We that esteem'd you sent from heaven,
A pattern to this island given,

To show us what the bless'd do there,
And what alive they practised here,
When that which we immortal thought,
We saw so near destruction brought,
Felt all which you did then endure,
And tremble yet, as not secure.
So though the sun victorious be,
And from a dark eclipse set free,
The influence, which we fondly fear,
Afflicts our thoughts the following year.
But that which may relieve our care
Is, that you have a help so near
For all the evil you can prove,
The kindness of your royal love;
He that was never known to mourn,
So many kingdoms from him torn,
His tears reserved for you, more dear,

More prized, than all those kingdoms were!
For when no healing art prevail'd,

When cordials and elixirs fail'd,

On your pale cheek he dropp'd the shower,
Revived you like a dying flower.