Ev'n then not less a Heroe he appears,
Than when his Laurel Diadem he wears.
Wou'd Phœbus, or his G———e, but inspire
Their sacred Veh'mence of Poetick Fire;
To celebrate in Song that God-like Pow'r,
Which did the lab'ring Universe restore;
Fair Albion's Cliffs wou'd Eccho to the Strain,
And praise the Arm that Conquer'd, to regain
The Earth's Repose, and Empire o'er the Main.
Still may th'immortal Man his Cares repeat,
To make his Blessings endless as they're great:
Whilst Malice and Ingratitude confess
They've strove for Ruin long without Success.
When late, Jove's [1]Eagle from the Pyle shall rise
To bear the Victor to the boundless Skies,
Awhile the God puts off Paternal Care,
Neglects the Earth, to give the Heav'ns a Star.
Near Thee, [2]Alcides shall the Heroe shine;
His Rays resembling, as his Labours, Thine.
Had some fam'd Patriot, of the Latin Blood,
Like Julius Great, and like Octavius Good,
But thus preserv'd the Latian Liberties,
Aspiring Columns soon had reach'd the Skies:
Loud Io's the proud Capitol had shook,
And all the Statues of the Gods had spoke.
No more the Sage his Raptures cou'd pursue
He paus'd; and Celsus with his Guide withdrew.
FINIS.
