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O true Plantagenet, О race divine,
(For beauty still is fatal to the line,)
Had Chaucer lived that angel-face to view,
Sure he had drawn his Emily from you ;
Or had you lived to judge the doubtful right,
Your noble Palamon had been the knight;
And conquering Theseus from his side had sent
Your generous lord, to guide the Theban govern-

ment.
Time shall accomplish that; and I shall see
A Palamon in him, in you an Emily.
Already have the Fates your path prepared,
And sure presage your future sway declared :
When westward, like the sun, you took your way,
And from benighted Britain bore the day,
Blue Triton gave the signal from the shore,
The ready Nereids heard, and swam before
To smooth the seas; a soft Etesian gale
But just inspired, and gently swelld the sail :
Portunus took his turn, whose ample hand*
Heaved up the lighten'd keel, and sunk the sand,
And steer'd the sacred vessel safe to land.
The land, if not restrain'd, had met your way,
Projected out a neck, and jutted to the sea.
Hibernia, prostrate at your feet, adored,
In you, the pledge of her expected lord ;

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Our author remembered his master Virgil :

Et Pater ipse, manu magna, Portunus euntem
Impulit.-

ÆNEIDOS, Lib. V. Our author is guilty of the same extravagant idea in the “ Astræa Redux :"

It is no longer motion cheats your view ;

As you meet it, the land approacheth you.
For which he is deservedly censured by Dr Johnson.

Due to her isle, a venerable name;
His father and his grandsire known to fame;
Awed by that house, accustom'd to command,
The sturdy kerns in due subjection stand,
Nor bear the reins in any foreign hand.
At your approach, they crowded to the port ;
And scarcely landed, you create a court:
As Ormond's harbinger* to you they run,
For Venus is the promise of the sun.
The waste of civil wars, their towns destroy'd,
Pales unhonour'd, Ceres unemploy'd,
Were all forgot; and one triumphant day
Wiped all the tears of three campaigns away:
Blood, rapines, massacres, were cheaply bought,
So mighty recompence your beauty brought.
As when the dove returning bore the mark
Of earth restored to the long-labouring ark,
The relics of mankind, secure of rest,
Oped every window to receive the guest,
And the fair bearer of the message bless’d.
So, when you came, with loud repeated cries,
The nation took an omen from your eyes,
And God advanced his rainbow in the skies,
To sign inviolable peace restored ;
The saints, with solemn shouts, proclaim'd the new

accord.
When at your second coming you appear,
(For I foretel that millenary year,)
The sharpen'd share shall vex the soil no more,
But earth unbidden shall produce her store ;
The land shall laugh, the circling ocean smile,
And heaven's indulgence bless the holy isle.

* The Duchess of Ormond went to Ireland in autumn 1697, according to Mr Malone, and was followed by the Duke.

† Alluding to the wars of the Revolution in Ireland.

6

Heaven, from all ages, has reserved for you
That happy clime, which venom never knew;
Or if it had been there, your eyes alone
Have power to chase all poison but their own.

Now in this interval, which fate has cast
Betwixt your future glories and your past,
This pause of power, 'tis Ireland's hour to mourn;
While England celebrates your safe return,
By which you seem the seasons to command,
And bring our summers back to their forsaken land.

The vanquish'd isle our leisure must attend, Till the fair blessing we vouchsafe to send ; Nor can we spare you long, though often we may

lend. The dove was twice employ'd abroad, before The world was dried, and she return'd no more.

Nor dare we trust so soft a messenger, New from her sickness,* to that northern air; Rest here a while your lustre to restore, That they may see you, as you shone before ; For yet, the eclipse not wholly past, you wade Through some remains, and dimness of a shade.

A subject in his prince may claim a right, Nor suffer him with strength impair'd to fight; Till force returns, his ardour we restrain, . And curb his warlike wish to cross the main.

Now past the danger, let the learn'd begin The inquiry, where disease could enter in ; How those malignant atoms forced their way; Whatin the faultless frame they found to make their

prey, Where every element was weigh'd so well, That heaven alone, who mix'd the mass, could tell Which of the four ingredients could rebel ;

* She seems to have just recovered from a fever. .

And where, imprison'd in so sweet a cage,
A soul might well be pleased to pass an age.

And yet the fine materials made it weak;
Porcelain, by being pure, is apt to break;
Even to your breast the sickness durst aspire,
And, forced from that fair temple to retire,
Profanely set the holy place on fire.
In vain your lord, like young Vespasian, mourn’d, *
When the fierce flames the sanctuary burn'd;
And I prepared to pay in verses rude
A most detested act of gratitude:
Even this had been your elegy, which now
Is offer'd for your health, the table of my vow.

Your angel sure our Morley'st mind inspired,
To find the remedy your ill required;
As once the Macedon, by Jove's decree,
Was taught to dream an herb for Ptolemy :
Or heaven, which had such over-cost bestow'd,
As scarce it could afford to flesh and blood,
So liked the frame, he would not work anew,
To save the charges of another you.
Or by his middle science did he steer,
And saw some great contingent good appear
Well worth a miracle to keep you here :
And for that end, preserved the precious mould,
Which all the future Ormonds was to hold ;
And meditated, in his better mind,
An heir from

you,
which

may

redeem the failing kind. Blest be the power, which has at once restored The hopes of lost succession to your lord ;

* Titus, who is said to have wept at the destruction of the Temple, during the storm of Jerusalem.

+ Dr Christopher Love Morley, a physician of eminence.

Joy to the first and last of each degree,
Virtue to courts, and, what I long'd to see,
To you the Graces, and the Muse to me.
O daughter of the rose, whose cheeks unite
The differing titles of the red and white;
Who heaven's alternate beauty will display,
The blush of morning, and the milky way;
Whose face is paradise, but fenced from sin;
For God in either eye has placed a cherubin.

All is your lord's alone; even absent, he
Employs the care of chaste Penelope.
For him you waste in tears your widow'd hours;
For him your curious needle paints the flowers :
Such works of old imperial dames were taught ;
Such, for Ascanius, fair Elisa wrought.
The soft recesses of your hours improve
The three fair pledges of your happy love :
All other parts of pious duty done,
You owe your Ormond nothing but a son ;*
To fill in future times his father's place,
And wear the garter of his mother's race.

* It was not the Duchess's fortune ever to pay this debt to the house of Ormond.

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