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(While at one foot their thronging gallies ride;
A whole hour's fail scarce reach the farther side)
Betwixt his brazen thighs, in loose array, '
Ten thousand streamers on the billows play. - .

By Harley's counsels Dunkirk now restor'd
To Britain's empire, owns her ancient lord.
In him transfus’d his godlike father reigns, ..
Rich in the blood which swell’d that patriot's veins,
Who boldly faithful met his sov’reign’s frown,
And scorn’d for gold to yield th' important town.
His son was born the ravish'd prey to claim,
And France still trembles at an Harley's name.
A fort fo dreadful to our English shore,
Our fleets scarce fear'd the sands or tempests more,
Whose vast expences to such sums amount,
That the tax'd Gaul scarce furnish'd out th' account:
Whose walls such bulwarks, such vast tow’rs restrain,
Its weakest ramparts are the rocks and main;
His boast great Louis yields, and cheaply buys
Thy friendship, Anna, with the mighty prize.
Holland repining and in grief cast down,
Sees the new glories of the British crown :
Ah! may they ne'er provoke thee to the fight,
Nor foes more dreadful than the Gauls invite,


Soon may they hold the olive, foon affuage
Their secret murmurs, nor call forth thy rage,
To rend their banks, and pour, at one command,
Thy realm the sea o'er their precarious land.
· Henceforth be thine, vice-gerent of the skies,
Scorn'd worth to raise, and vice in robes chastise;
To dry the orphan's tears, and from the bar
Chase the brib'd judge, and hush the wordy war;
Deny the curs’d blafphemer's tongue to rage,
And turn God's fury from an impious age.
Blest change the soldier's late destroying hand
Shall rear new temples in his native land;
Mistaken zealots shall with fear behold,
And beg admittance in our sacred fold;
On her own works the pious Queen shall smile,
And turn her cares upon her fav'rite isle.

So the keen bolt a warrior angel aims,
Array'd in clouds, and wrapt in mantling flames,
He bears a tempest on his sounding wings,
And his red arm the forky vengeance Aings;
At length, heav'n's wrath appeas'd, he quits the war,
To roll his orb, and guide his destin'd star,
To shed kind fate, and lucky hours bestow,
And smile propitious on the world below.


Around thy throne shall faithful nobles wait,
These guard the church, and those direct the state.
To BRISTOL, graceful in maternal tears,
The church her tow'ry forehead gently rears,
She begs her pious fon t' assert her cause,
Defend her rights, and reinforce her laws,
With holy zeal the sacred work begin,
To bend the stubborn, and the meek to win.

Our OXFORD's earl in careful thought shall stand,
To raise his Queen, and save a sinking land.
The wealthiest glebe to rav’nous Spaniards known
He marks, and makes the golden world our own :
Content with hands unfoild to guard the prize,
And keep the store with undesiring eyes.

So round the tree, that bore Hesperian gold,
The sacred watch lay curl'd in many a fold,
His eyes up-rearing to th' untasted prey,
The sleepless guardian wasted life away.

Beneath the peaceful olives, rais’d by you,
Her ancient pride shall ev'ry art renew;
(The arts with you, fam’d HARCOURT, shall defend,
And courtly BOLINGBROKE, the Muse's friend)
With piercing eye fome search where nature plays,
And trace the wanton through her darksome maze ;


Whence health from herbs; from seeds how groves begun,
How vital streams in circling eddies run.
Some teach, why round the sun the spheres advance,
In the fix'd measures of their mystic dance :
How tides, when heav'd by pressing moons, o'erflow,
And sun-born Iris paints her show'ry bow.
In happy chains our daring language bound,
Shall sport no more in arbitrary sound,
But buskin'd bards henceforth shall wisely rage,
And Grecian plans reform Britannia's stage :
'Till Congreve bids her smile, Augufta ftands,
And longs to weep when Aowing Rowe commands:
Britain's Spectators shall their strength combine,
To mend our morals, and our taste refine,
Fight virtue's cause, stand up in wit's defence,
Win us from vice, and laugh us into sense.
Nor, Prior, haft thou hulh'd the trump in vain,
Thy lyre shall now revive her mirthful strain,
New tales shall now be told; if right I see,
The foul of Chaucer is restor'd in thee.
Garth, in majestic numbers, to the stars
Shall raise mock-heroes, and fantastic wars ;
Like the young spreading laurel, Pope, thy name
Shoots up with strength, and rises into fame;

With Phillips shall the peaceful vallies ring,
And Britain hear a second Spenser fing;
That much-lov'd youth, whom Utrecht's walls confine,
To Bristol's praises shall his STRAFFORD's join :
He too, from whom attentive Oxford draws
Rules for just thinking, and poetic laws,
To growing bards his learned aid shall send,
The strictest critic, and the kindeft friend.
Ev'n mine, a bashful Muse, whose rude essays
Scarce hope for pardon, not aspire to praise,
Cherish'd by you, in time may grow to fame,
And mine survive with BRISTOL's glorious name.

Fir'd with the views this glittring scene displays,
And smit with passion for my country's praise,
My artless reed attempts this lofty theme,
Where facred Isis rolls her ancient stream ;
In cloyster'd domes, the great Philippa's pride,
Where learning blooms, while fame and worth preside,
Where the fifth Henry arts and arms was taught,
And Edward form’d his Creffy, yet unfought;
Where laureld bards have struck the warbling strings,
The seat of fages, and the nurse of kings.
Here thy commands, O Lancaster, inflame
My eager breast to raise the British name;


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