Whilst constant to himself, secure of Fate,
Good David still maintains the royal state.
Though each in vain such various ills employs,
Firmly he stands, and ev'n those ills enjoys;
Firm as fair Albion, midst the raging main,
Surveys encircling danger with disdain.
In vain the waves assault the unmov'd shore,
In vain the winds with mingled fury roar,
Fair Albion's beauteous cliffs shine whiter than before.
Nor shalt thou move, though Hell thy fall conspire,
Though the worse rage of Zeal's fanatic fire;
Thou best, thou greatest of the British race,
Thou only fit to fill great Charles's place.

Ah, wretched Britons! ah, too stubborn isle!
Ah, stiff-neck'd Israel on blest Canaan's soil!
Are those dear proofs of Heaven's indulgence vain,
Restoring David and nis gentle reign?
Is it in vain thou all the goods dost know,
Auspicious stars on mortals shed below,
While all thy streams with milk, thy lands with honey
No more, fond isle! no more thyself engage
In civil fury, and intestine rage:

No rebel zeal thy duteous land molest,

[flow?

But a smooth calm soothe every peaceful breast.
While in such charming notes divinely sings
The best of poets, of the best of kings.

TO MR. DRYDEN,

J. ADAMS.

ON HIS RELIGIO LAICI.

THOSE gods the pious ancients did adore,
They learnt in verse devoutly to implore,
Thinking it rude to use the common way
Of talk, when they did to such beings pray.
Nay, they that taught religion first, thought fit
In verse its sacred precepts to transmit:
So Solon too did his first statutes draw,
And every little stanza was a law.
By these few precedents we plainly see
The primitive design of poetry;
Which, by restoring to its native use,
You generously have rescued from abuse.
Whilst your lov'd Muse does in sweet numbers sing,
She vindicates her God, and godlike king.
Atheist, and rebel too, she does oppose,
(God and the king have always the same foes).
Legions of verse you raise in their defence,
And write the factious to obedience;
You the bold Arian to arms defy,
A conquering champion for the Deity
Against the Whigs' first parents, who did dare
To disinherit God Almighty's heir.

And what the hot-brain'd Arian first began,
Is carried on by the Socinian,

Who still associates to keep God a man.
But 'tis the prince of poets' task alone

T'assert the rights of God's and Charles's throne.
Whilst vulgar poets purchase vulgar fame
By chaunting Chloris' or fair Phyllis' name;
Whose reputation shall last as long,

As fops and ladies sing the amorous song:
A nobler subject wisely they refuse,

The mighty weight would crush their feeble Muse.
So, Story tells, a painter once would try
With his bold hand to limn a deity:
And he, by frequent practising that part,
Could draw a minor god with wondrous art:

But when great Jove did to the workman sit,
The thunderer such horrour did beget,
That put the frighted artist to a stand,
And made his pencil drop from 's baffled hand.

TO MR. DRYDEN,

UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF THE THIRD BOOK OF VIRGIL'S GEORGICS.

A PINDARIC ODE.

BY MR. JOHN DENNIS.

WHILE mounting with expanded wings
The Mantuan swan unbounded Heaven explores,
While with seraphic sounds he towering sings,
Till to divinity he soars:

Mankind stands wondering at his flight,
Charm'd with his music, and his height:

Which both transcend our praise.
Nay gods incline their ravish'd ears,
And tune their own harmonious spheres,
To his melodious lays.

Thon, Dryden, canst his notes recite
In modern numbers, which express
Their music, and their utmost might:
Thou, wondrous poet, with success
Canst emulate his flight.

Sometimes of humble rural things,

Thy Muse, which keeps great Maro still in sight,
In middle air with varied numbers sings;
And sometimes her sonorous flight
To Heaven sublimely wings:
But first takes time with majesty to rise,
Then, without pride, divinely great,
She mounts her native skies;
And, goddess like, retains her state
When down again she flies.

Commands, which Judgment gives, she still obeys,
Both to depress her flight, and raise.
Thus Mercury from Heaven descends,
And to this under world his journey bends,

When Jove his dread commands has given:
But, still descending, dignity maintains,
As much a god upon our humble plains,
As when he, towering, re-ascends to Heaven.

UPON

THE DEATH OF LORD HASTINGS.

M

[UST noble Hastings immaturely die,
The honour of his ancient family,
Beauty and learning thus together meet,
To bring a winding for a wedding sheet?
Must Virtue prove Death's harbinger? must she,
With him expiring, feel mortality?

Is death, Sin's wages, Grace's now? shall Art
Make us more learned, only to depart?
If merit be disease; if virtue death;

To be good, not to be: who 'd then bequeath
Himself to discipline? who 'd not esteem
Labour a crime? study self-murther deem?
Our noble youth now have pretence to be
Dunces securely, ignorant healthfully.
Rare linguist, whose worth speaks itself, whose praise,
Though not his own, all tongues besides do raise:
Than whom great Alexander may seem less;
Who conquer'd men, but not their languages.
In his mouth nations spake; his tongue might be
Interpreter to Greece, France, Italy.
His native soil was the four parts o' th' Earth;
All Europe was too narrow for his birth.
A young apostle; and with reverence may
I speak it, inspir'd with gift of tongues, as they.
Nature gave him a child, what men in vain
Oft strive, by art though further'd, to obtain.
His body was an orb, his sublime soul
Did move on Virtue's, and on Learning's pole:
Whose regular motions better to our view,
Than Archimedes' sphere, the Heavens did shew.
Graces and virtues, languages and arts,
Beauty and learning, fill'd up all the parts.
Heaven's gifts, which do like falling stars appear
Scatter'd in others; all, as in their sphere,
Were fix'd, conglobate in his soul; and thence
Shone through his body, with sweet influence;
Letting their glories so on each limb fall,
The whole frame render'd was celestial.
VOL VIIL

Come, learned Ptolemy, and trial make,

If thou this hero's altitude canst take:
But that transcends thy skill; thrice happy all,
Could we but prove thus astronomical.

Liv'd Tycho now, struck with this ray which shone
More bright i' th' morn, than others beam at noon,
He 'd take his astrolabe, and seek out here
What new star 'twas did gild our hemisphere.
Replenish'd then with such rare gifts as these,
Where was room left for such a foul disease?
The nation's sin hath drawn that veil which shrouds
Our day-spring in so sad benighting clouds,
Heaven would no longer trust its pledge; but thus
Recall'd it; rapt its Ganymede from us.
Was there no milder way but the small-pox,
The very filthiness of Pandora's box?
So many spots, like næves on Venus' soil,
One jewel set off with so many a foil; [sprout
Blisters with pride swell'd, which through 's flesh did
Like rose-buds, stuck i' th' lily-skin about.
Each little pimple had a tear in it,
To wail the fault its rising did commit:
Which, rebel-like, with its own lord at strife,
Thus made an insurrection 'gainst his life.
Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin,
The cab'net of a richer soul within?
No comet need foretel his change drew on,
Whose corps might seem a constellation.
Oh! had he dy'd of old, how great a strife
Had been, who from his death should draw their life?
Who should, by one rich draught, become whate'er
Seneca, Cato, Numa, Cæsar, were?
Learn'd, virtuous, pious, great; and have by this
An universal metempsychosis.

Must all these aged sires in one funeral
Expire? all die in one so young, so small?
Who, had he liv'd his life out, his great fame
Had swol'n 'bove any Greek or Roman name.
But hasty Winter, with one blast, hath brought
The hopes of Autumn, Summer, Spring, to nought.
Thus fades the oak i' th' sprig, i' th' blade the corn;
Thus without young, this phenix dies, new-born.

K k

Must then old three-legg'd grey-beards with their
gout,
Catarrhs, rheums, aches, live three long ages out?
Time's offals, only fit for th' hospital!
Or to hang antiquaries' rooms withal!
Must drunkards, lechers, spent with sinning, live
With such helps as broths, possets, physic give?
None live, but such as should die? shall we meet
With none but ghostly fathers in the street?
Grief makes me rail; sorrow will force its way;
And showers of tears tempestuous sighs best lay.
The tongue may fail; but overflowing eyes
Will weep out lasting streams of elegies.

But thou, O virgin-widow, left alone,
Now thy beloved, heaven-ravish'd spouse is gone,
Whose skilful sire in vain strove to apply
Med'cines, when thy balm was no remedy,
With greater than platonic love, O wed
His soul, though not his body, to thy bed:
Let that make thee a mother; bring thou forth
Th' ideas of his virtue, knowledge, worth;
Transcribe th' original in new copies; give
Hastings o' th' better part; so shall he live
In 's nobler half; and the great grandsire be
Of an heroic divine progeny:

An issue, which t' eternity shall last,
Yet but th' irradiations which he cast.
Erect no mausoleums: for his best
Monument is his spouse's marble breast.

HEROIC STANZAS ON

THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL,

WRITTEN AFTER HIS FUNERAL.

AND now 'tis time; for their officious haste,
Who would before have borne him to the sky,
Like eager Romans, ere all rites were past,
Did let too soon the sacred eagle fly.

Though our best notes are treason to his fame,
Join'd with the loud applause of public voice;
Since Heaven, what praise we offer to his name,
Hath render'd too authentic by its choice.

Though in his praise no arts can liberal be,

Since they, whose Muses have the highest flown, Add not to his immortal memory,

But do an act of friendship to their own:

Yet 'tis our duty, and our interest too,

Such monuments as we can build to raise:
Lest all the world prevent what we should do,
And claim a title in him by their praise.

How shall I then begin, or where conclude,
To draw a fame so truly circular;
For in a round what order can be shew'd,
Where all the parts so equal perfect are?
His grandeur he deriv'd from Heaven alone;
For he was great ere Fortune made him so:
And wars, like mists that rise against the Sun,
Made him but greater seem, not greater grow.
No borrow'd bays his temples did adorn,

But to our crown he did fresh jewels bring;
Nor was his virtue poison'd soon as born,

With the too early thoughts of being king.

Nor was he like those stars which only shine,
When to pale mariners they storms portend:
He had his calmer influence, and his mien
Did love and majesty together blend.

'Tis true, his count'nance did imprint an awe;
And naturally all souls to his did bow,
As wands of divination downward draw,
And point to beds where sovereign gold doth grow.

When past all offerings to Feretrian Jove,
He Mars depos'd, and arms to gowns made yield;
Successful councils did him soon approve
As fit for close intrigues, as open field.

To suppliant Holland he vouchsaf'd a peace, Our once bold rival of the British main, Now tamely glad her unjust claim to cease,

And buy our friendship with her idol, gain.

Fame of th' asserted sea through Europe blown,
Made France and Spain ambitious of his love;
Each knew that side must conquer he would own;
And for him fiercely, as for empire, strove.
No sooner was the Frenchman's cause embrac'd,
Than the light Monsieur the grave Don outweigh'd:
His fortune turn'd the scale where'er 'twas cast;
Though Indian mines were in the other laid.

When absent, yet we conquer'd in his right:
For though some meaner artist's skill were shown
In mingling colours, or in placing light;

Yet still the fair designment was his own.

For from all tempers he could service draw; The worth of each, with its alloy, he knew, And, as the confident of Nature, saw

How she complexions did divide and brew.

Or he their single virtues did survey,

By intuition in his own large breast, Where all the rich ideas of them lay,

That were the rule and measure to the rest.

When such heroic virtue Heaven sets out,

The stars, like commons, sullenly obey; Because it drains them when it comes about, And therefore is a tax they seldom pay.

From this high spring our foreign conquests flow, Which yet more glorious triumphs do portend; Since their commencement to his arms, they owe, If springs as high as fountains may ascend.

He made us freemen of the continent,
Whom Nature did like captives treat before;
To nobler preys the English lion sent,

And taught him first in Belgian walks to roar.

That old unquestion'd pirate of the land,

Proud Rome, with dread the fate of Dunkirk heard; And trembling wish'd behind more Alps to stand, Although an Alexander were her guard.

By his command we boldly cross'd the line,

And bravely fought where southern stars arise;
We trac'd the far-fetch'd gold unto the mine,
And that which brib'd our fathers made our prize.

Such was our prince; yet own'd a soul above
The highest acts it could produce to show:
Thus poor mechanic arts in public move,
Whilst the deep secrets beyond practice go.

Nor dy'd he when his ebbing fame went less,
But when fresh laurels courted him to live:
He seem'd but to prevent some new success,
As if above what triumphs Earth could give.

His latest victories still thickest came,

As, near the centre, motion doth increase; Till he, press'd down by his own weighty name, Did, like the vestal, under spoils decease.

But first the Ocean as a tribute sent
The giant prince of all her wat'ry herd;
And th' Isle, when her protecting genius went,
Upon his obsequies loud sighs conferr'd.

No civil broils have since his death arose,
But Faction now by habit does obey;
And wars have that respect for his repose,
As winds for halcyons, when they breed at sea.
His ashes in a peaceful urn shall rest,
His name a great example stands, to show
How strangely high endeavours may be blest,
Where Piety and Valour jointly go.

ASTREA REDUX.

A POEM ON THE HAPPY RESTORATION AND RETURN OF HIS SACRED MAJESTY CHARLES II. 1660.

Jani redit et virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna.

Virg.

The last great age foretold by sacred rhymes Renews its finish'd course: Saturnian times Roll round again.

[skies,

Now with a general peace the world was blest,
While our's, a world divided from the rest,
A dreadful quiet felt, and worser far
Than arms, a sullen interval of war:
Thus when black clouds draw down the labouring
Ere yet abroad the winged thunder flies,
An horrid stillness first invades the ear,
And in that silence we the tempest fear.
Th' ambitious Swede, like restless billows tost,
On this hand gaining what on that he lost,
Though in his life he blood and ruin breath'd,
To his now guideless kingdom peace bequeath'd.
And Heaven, that seem'd regardless of our fate,
For France and Spain did miracles create;
Such mortal quarrels to compose in peace
As Nature bred, and Interest did increase.
We sigh'd to hear the fair Iberian bride
Must grow a lily to the lily's side,
While our cross stars deny'd us Charles's bed,
Whom our first flames and virgin love did wed.
For his long absence Church and State did groan;
Madness the pulpit, Faction seiz'd the throne:
Experienc'd Age in deep despair was lost,
To see the rebel thrive, the loyal crost:
Youth that with joys had unacquainted been,
Envy'd grey hairs that once good days had seen:
We thought our sires, not with their own content,
Had ere we came to age our portion spent.
Nor could our nobles hope their bold attempt
Who ruin'd crowns would coronets exempt:
For when by their designing leaders taught
To strike at power which for themselves they sought,
The vulgar, gull'd into rebellion, arm'd;
Their blood to action by the prize was warm'd.
The sacred purple then and scarlet gown,
Like sanguine dye, to elephants was shown.
Thus when the bold Typhous scal'd the sky,
And forc'd great Jove from his own Heaven to fly,
(What king, what crown, from treason's reach is free,
If Jove and Heaven can violated be?)
The lesser gods, that shar'd his prosperous state,
All suffer'd in the exil'd Thunderer's fate.
The rabble now such freedom did enjoy,
As winds at sea, that use it to destroy:
Blind as the Cyclop, and as wild as he,
They own'd a lawless savage liberty,