Pastorals Epistles Odes (1748)/To the Right Honourable Charles Lord Halifax

by Ambrose Philips

 

To the Right Honourable Charles Lord Halifax, one of the Lords Justices appointed by His Majesty.

1714.

ATRON of verse, O Halifax, attend,
The muse's fav'rite, and the poet's friend!
Approaching joys my ravish'd thoughts inspire:
I feel the transport; and my soul's on fire! 4

 Again Britannia rears her awful head:
Her fears, transplanted, to her foes are fled.
Again her standard she displays to view;
And all its faded lillies bloom anew. 8
Here beauteous Liberty salutes the fight,
Still pale, nor yet recover'd of her fright,
Whilst here Religion, smiling to the skies,
Her thanks expresses with up-lifted eyes. 12

 But who advances next, with chearful grace,
Joy in her eye, and plenty in her face?
A wheaten garland does her head adorn,
O Property! O goddess, English-born! 16
Where hast thou been? How did the wealthy mourn!
The bankrupt nation sigh'd for thy return,
Doubtful for whom her spreading funds were fill'd,
Her fleets were freighted, and her fields were till'd. 20

 No longer now shall France and Spain combin'd,
Strong in their golden Indies, awe mankind.
Brave Catalans, who for your freedom strive,
And in your shatter'd bulwarks yet survive, 24
For you alone, worthy a better fate,
O, may this happy change not come too late!
Great in your sufferings!———But, my muse, forbear;
Nor damp the publick gladness with a Tear: 28
The Hero has receiv'd their just complaint,
Grac'd with the name of our fam'd patron-saint:
Like him, with pleasure he foregoes his rest,
And longs, like him, to succour the distress'd. 32
Firm to his friends, tenacious of his word,
As justice calls, he draws or sheaths the sword:
Matur'd by thought his councils shall prevail;
Nor shall his promise to his people fail, 36

 He comes, desire of Nations! England's boast!
Already has he reach'd the Belgian coast.
Our great deliverer comes! and with him brings
A progeny of late-succeeding Kings, 40
Fated to triumph o'er Britannia's foes
In distant years, and fix the world's repose.

 The floating squadrons now approach the shore;
Lost in the sailors shouts, the canons roar: 44
And now, behold, the sovereign of the main,
High on the deck, amidst his shining train,
Surveys the subject flood. An eastern gale
Plays through the shrouds, and swells in every sail: 48
Th' obsequious waves his new dominion own,
And gently waft their monarch to his throne.
Now the glad Britons hail their king to land,
Hang on the Rocks, and blacken all the strand: 52
But who the silent extasy can show,
The Passions which in nobler bosoms glow?
Who can describe the godlike patriot's zeal?
Or who, my lord, your generous Joys reveal? 56
Ordain'd, once more, our treasure to advance,
Retrieve our Trade, and sink the pride of France,
Once more the long-neglected arts to raise,
And form each rising genius for the bays. 60

 Accept the present of a grateful song;
This prelude may provoke the learned throng:
To Cam and Sis shall the joyful news,
By me convey'd, awaken every muse. 64
Even now the vocal tribe in verse conspires;
And I already hear their sounding lyres:
To them the mighty labour I resign,
Give up the Theme, and quit the tuneful Nine. 68
So when the spring first smiles among the trees,
And blossoms open to the vernal breez,
The watchful nightingale, with early strains,
Summons the warblers of the woods and plains, 72
But drops her musick, when the choir appear,
And listens to the concert-of the year.