Such was the sacred Tetragrammaton.

Things worthy silence must not be reveal'd:

Thus the true name of Rome was kept conceal'd,

To shun the spells and sorceries of those
Who durst her infant Majesty oppose.

200

But when his tender strength in time shall rise
To dare ill tongues, and fascinating eyes;
This isle, which hides the little thunderer's fame,
Shall be too narrow to contain his name:

205

The artillery of heaven shall make him known; * Crete could not hold the god, when Jove was

grown.

As Jove's increase,† who from his brain was born, Whom arms and arts did equally adorn, Free of the breast was bred, whose milky taste Minerva's name to Venus had debas'd; So this imperial babe rejects the food That mixes monarch's with plebeian blood: Food that his inborn courage might control, Extinguish all the father in his soul, And, for his Estian race, and Saxon strain, Might reproduce some second Richard's reign.

215

* Candie, where Jupiter was born and bred secretly. Orig. ed.

+ Pallas, or Minerva, said by the poets to have been bred up by hand. Orig. ed.

197 the sacred Tetragrammaton] Jehovah, or the name God, unlawful to be pronounced by the Jews. Orig. ed.

199 Thus the true name of Rome was kept conceal'd] Some authors say, that the true name of Rome was kept a secret: Ne hostes incantamentis deos elicerent. Orig. ed.

Mildness he shares from both his parents' blood:
But kings too tame are despicably good:
Be this the mixture of this regal child,
By nature manly, but by virtue mild.

Thus far the furious transport of the news
Had to prophetic madness fir'd the Muse;
Madness ungovernable, uninspir'd,

Swift to foretell whatever she desir'd.
Was it for me the dark abyss to tread,

220

225

230

And read the book which angels cannot read?
How was I punish'd, when the sudden blast,*
The face of heaven, and our young sun o'ercast !
Fame, the swift ill, increasing as she roll❜d,
Disease, despair, and death, at three reprises told :
At three insulting strides she stalk'd the town,
And, like contagion, struck the loyal down.
Down fell the winnow'd wheat; but mounted high,
The whirlwind bore the chaff, and hid the sky.
Here black rebellion shooting from below,
(As earth's gigantic brood + by moments grow)
And here the sons of God are petrified with woe:
An apoplex of grief: so low were driven
The saints, as hardly to defend their heaven. 240

As, when pent vapours run their hollow round, Earthquakes, which are convulsions of the ground, Break bellowing forth, and no confinement brook, Till the third settles what the former shook;

* The sudden false report of the prince's death. Orig. ed. + Those giants are feigned to have grown fifteen ells every day. Orig. ed.

Such heavings had our souls; till, slow and late,
Our life with his return'd, and faith prevail'd on fate.
By prayers the mighty blessing was implor'd,
To prayers was granted, and by prayers restor❜d.

*

So ere the Shunamite a son conceiv'd, The prophet promis'd, and the wife believ'd. 250 A son was sent, the son so much desir'd; But soon upon the mother's knees expir'd. The troubled Seer approach'd the mournful door, Ran, pray'd, and sent his pastoral staff before, Then stretch'd his limbs upon the child, and mourn'd,

Till warmth, and breath, and a new soul return'd. Thus mercy stretches out her hand, and saves Desponding Peter sinking in the waves.

As when a sudden storm of hail and rain Beats to the ground the yet unbearded grain, 260 Think not the hopes of harvest are destroy'd On the flat field, and on the naked void; The light, unloaded stem, from tempest freed, Will raise the youthful honours of his head; And, soon restor❜d by native vigour, bear The timely product of the bounteous year.

265

Nor yet conclude all fiery trials past: For Heaven will exercise us to the last Sometimes will check us in our full career, With doubtful blessings, and with mingled fear; That, still depending on his daily grace His every mercy for an alms may pass, * In 2 Kings, iv. Orig. ed.

With sparing hands will diet us to good;
Preventing surfeits of our pamper'd blood.
So feeds the mother-bird her craving young
With little morsels, and delays them long.

275

True, this last blessing was a royal feast;
But, where's the wedding-garment on the guest?
Our manners, as religion were a dream,
Are such as teach the nations to blaspheme.
In lusts we wallow, and with pride we swell,
And injuries with injuries repel;

Prompt to revenge, not daring to forgive,
Our lives unteach the doctrine we believe.
Thus Israel sinn'd, impenitently hard,

280

285

And vainly thought the present ark* their guard;
But when the haughty Philistines appear,
They fled, abandon'd to their foes and fear;
Their God was absent, though his ark was there.
Ah! lest our crimes should snatch this pledge away,
And make our joys the blessings of a day!
For we have sinn'd him hence, and that he lives,
God to his promise, not our practice gives.
Our crimes would soon weigh down the guilty scale,
But James, and Mary, and the Church prevail.
Nor Amalek + can rout the chosen bands,
While Hur and Aaron hold up Moses' hands.

By living well, let us secure his days,
Moderate in hopes, and humble in our ways.
No force the free-born spirit can constrain,

300

But charity, and great examples gain. Forgiveness is our thanks for such a day, 'Tis godlike God in his own coin to pay.

310.

But you, propitious queen, translated here,
From your mild heaven, to rule our rugged sphere,
Beyond the sunny walks, and circling year :
You, who your native climate have bereft
Of all the virtues, and the vices left;
Whom piety and beauty make their boast,
Though beautiful is well in pious lost;
So lost, as starlight is dissolv'd away,
And melts into the brightness of the day;
Or gold about the regal diadem
Lost to improve the lustre of the gem.
What can we add to your triumphant day?
Let the great gift the beauteous giver pay
For should our thanks awake the rising sun,
And lengthen, as his latest shadows run, [done.
That, tho' the longest day, would soon, too soon be
Let angels' voices with their harps conspire,
But keep the auspicious infant from the quire;
Late let him sing above, and let us know
No sweeter music than his cries below.

Nor can I wish to you, great monarch, more
Than such an annual income to your store;
The day which gave this Unit, did not shine
For a less omen, than to fill the Trine.
After a Prince, an Admiral beget;

315

320

325

The Royal Sovereign wants an anchor yet.
Our isle has younger titles still in store,

330

And when the exhausted land can yield no more,