75

Though poets are not prophets, to foreknow
What plants will take the blight, and what will grow,
By tracing heaven his footsteps may be found:
Behold! how awfully he walks the round!
God is abroad, and, wondrous in his ways,
The rise of empires, and their fall surveys;
More (might I say) than with a usual eye,
He sees his bleeding Church in ruin lie,
And hears the souls of saints beneath his altar cry.
Already has he lifted high the sign,* [tine:
Which crown'd the conquering arms of Constan-
The moon + grows pale at that presaging sight,
And half her train of stars have lost their light.
Behold another Sylvester,‡ to bless

The sacred standard, and secure success;
Large of his treasures, of a soul so great,
As fills and crowds his universal seat.
Now view at home a second Constantine; §
(The former too was of the British line)

The cross. Orig. ed.

The crescent which the Turks bear for their arms.

85

Orig. ed. The pope in the time of Constantine the Great, alluding

to the present pope. Orig. ed.

King James the Second. Orig. ed.

84 Behold another Sylvester, &c.] The pope, in James the Second's time, is here compared to him who governed the Romish Church in the time of Constantine, to whom the king s likened a little lower down.

D.

89 The former too was of the British line] St. Helen, mother of Constantine the Great, was an Englishwoman; and Archbishop Usher affirms, that the emperor himself was born in this kingdom. D.

Has not his healing balm your breaches clos'd, go
Whose exile many sought, and few oppos'd?
Or, did not heaven by its eternal doom

Permit those evils, that this good might come?
So manifest, that e'en the moon-ey'd sects

See whom and what this Providence protects. gs
Methinks, had we within our minds no more
Than that one shipwreck on the fatal ore,
That only thought may make us think again,
What wonders God reserves for such a reign.
To dream that chance his preservation wrought,
Were to think Noah was preserv'd for nought;
Or the surviving eight were not design'd
To people earth, and to restore their kind.
When humbly on the royal babe we gaze,
The manly lines of a majestic face
Give awful joy: 'tis paradise to look

On the fair frontispiece of Nature's book:
If the first opening page so charms the sight,
Think how the unfolded volume will delight!
See how the venerable infant lies

105

110

In early pomp; how through the mother's eyes
The father's soul, with an undaunted view,
Looks out, and takes our homage as his due.
See on his future subjects how he smiles,
Nor meanly flatters, nor with craft beguiles; 115

97 that one shipwreck on the fatal ore] The sandbank, on which the Duke of York had like to have been lost in 1682, on his voyage to Scotland, is known by the name of Lemman

ore.

D.

But with an open face, as on his throne,
Assures our birthrights, and assumes his own.
Born in broad daylight, that the ungrateful rout
May find no room for a remaining doubt;
Truth, which itself is light, does darkness shun,
And the true eaglet safely dares the sun.

125

*Fain would the fiends have made a dubious birth, Loth to confess the godhead cloth'd in earth: But sicken'd, after all their baffled lies, To find an heir apparent of the skies: Abandon'd to despair, still may they grudge, And, owning not the Saviour, prove the judge. Not great Æneas stood in plainer day, When, the dark mantling mist dissolv'd away, He to the Tyrians show'd his sudden face, Shining with all his goddess mother's grace: For she herself had made his countenance bright, Breath'd honour on his eyes, and her own purple

130

If our victorious Edward,† as they say, [light. Gave Wales a prince on that propitious day, 135 Why may not years revolving with his fate Produce his like, but with a longer date? One, who may carry to a distant shore The terror that his fam'd forefather bore. But why should James or his young hero stay For slight presages of a name or day? We need no Edward's fortune to adorn

* Alluding to the temptations in the wilderness. Orig.ed. Edward the Black Prince, born on Trinity Sunday.

Orig, ed.

That happy moment when our prince was born: Our prince adorns his day, and ages hence Shall wish his birthday for some future prince.

Great Michael,* prince of all the ethereal hosts, And whate'er inborn saints our Britain boasts; And thou, the adopted patron of our isle, With cheerful aspects on this infant smile: The pledge of Heaven, which, dropping from above, Secures our bliss, and reconciles his love.

Enough of ills our dire rebellion wrought,
When, to the dregs, we drank the bitter draught;
Then airy atoms did in plagues conspire,
Nor did the avenging angel yet retire,

But purg'd our still increasing crimes with fire.
Then perjur'd Plots, the still impending Test,
And worse-but charity conceals the rest:
Here stop the current of the sanguine flood;
Require not, gracious God, thy martyrs' blood;
But let their dying pangs, their living toil,
Spread a rich harvest through their native soil:
A harvest ripening for another reign,

155

Of which this royal babe may reap the grain.
Enough of early saints one womb has given;
Enough increas'd the family of heaven:
Let them for his and our atonement go;
And reigning bless'd above, leave him to rule below.
Enough already has the year foreslow'd
His wonted course, the sea has overflow'd,

The motto of the poem explained. Orig. ed.

+ St. George. Orig. ed

170

The meads were floated with a weeping spring,
And frighten'd birds in woods forgot to sing:
The strong-limb'd steed beneath his harness faints,
And the same shivering sweat his lord attaints.
When will the minister of wrath give o'er?
Behold him, at Araunah's threshing-floor:
He stops, and seems to sheath his flaming brand,
Pleas'd with burnt incense from our David's hand.
David has bought the Jebusite's abode,

And rais'd an altar to the living God.

175

180

Heaven, to reward him, makes his joys sincere ; No future ills nor accidents appear,

185

To sully and pollute the sacred infant's year.
Five months to discord and debate were given :
He sanctifies the yet remaining seven.
Sabbath of months! henceforth in him be bless'd,
And prelude to the realms perpetual rest!

Let his baptismal drops for us atone;
Lustrations for offences + not his own.

Let Conscience, which is Interest ill disguis'd, In the same font be cleans'd, and all the land baptiz'd.

Unnam'd as yet; at least unknown to fame: Is there a strife in heaven about his name? Where every famous predecessor vies, And makes a faction for it in the skies? Or must it be reserv'd to thought alone?

195

* Alluding to the passage in 1 Kings, xxiv. 20. Orig. ed. + Original sin. Orig. ed.

The prince christened, but not named. Orig. ed.