Watts - BX5200 .W3 1813 v.9

id 2S LYRIC POEMS. Calmly he leaves the pleasures of a throne, And his Maria weeping; whilst alone He wards the fate of nations, and pro vokes his own : But heav'n secures its champion ; o'er' the.field [conceal'd, Faint hov'ring angels; the' they fly } I Each intercepts a death, and wears it on his shield. J Now noble pencil, lead him to our isle, Mark how the skies with joyful lustre smile, Then imitate the glory; on the strand Spread halfthe nation, longing tillbeland Wash off the blood, and take a peace- fulteint, [paint: All red the warrior, white the ruler Abroad a hero, and at home a saint. Throne himon high opon a shiningseat, Last and profaneness dying at his feet, While round his head the laurel and the olive meet, The crowns of war and peace; and may they blow With flow'ry blessings ever on his brow. At his right - handpile up the English laws. In sacred volumes; thence the monarch draws His wise and just commands.- - Rise ye old sages of the British isle, On the fair tablet cast a reverend smile, And bless the piece; these statutes are your own, That sway the cottage, and direct the throne; People and prince are one in William's name. Their joys, their dangers, and their laws the same. Let liberty, and right, with plumes display'd, Claptheirgladwingsaroundthcirguar- dian's head, Religion o'er the rest her starry pini- ons spread. Religion guards him; round the imperial queen [mien: Place waiting virtues, each of heav'n-y Learn their bright air, and paint it from his eyes ; [the wise The just, the bind, the temperate and Dwell in his looks; majestìc,butserene Sweet, withno fondness ; cheerful, but not vain: [disdain, Bright, without terror; great without His soul inspires us what bis lips com- mand, [land; And spreads his brave example thin' the Not so the former reigns ; Bend down his ear to each afflicted cry, [eye; Let beams of grace dart gently from his But the bright treasures rof his sacred breast Are too divine, too vast to be exprest; Colours must fail where words and num- bersfaint, .Jalone to paint. And leave the hero's heart for thought PART II- NO'V, muse, pursue the satirist again, Wipe off the blot; of his envenom'd pen g Hark, how he bids the servile :painter draw, In monstrous shapes, the patrons of our At one slightdash he cancels every name From thewhite rollsof honesty and fame: This seribhling wretch marksall he meets for knave, [base and brave, Shoots sudden bolts promiscuous at the And with unpardonable malice sheds Poison and spiteonundistinguísh'dheads. Painter, forbear; or if thy bolder hand Dates to attempt the villains of the land, Draw first thispoet,like some baleful star, With silent influence shedding civil war; Or factious trumpeter, whose magie sound [ground, Calls off the subjects to the hostile And scatters hellish feuds the nation round. These are the imps of hell, that cursed tribe [the pain describe. That first create the plague; and then Draw next above, the great ones of our , Still fromislethc good distinguishing thevile; Seat 'em inpoinp, in grandeur, and com- mand, Peeling the subjects with a greedy hand : Paint forth the knaves that have the nation sold, - [gold. And tinge their greedy looks with sordid Mark what a selfish faction undermines The piousmonarch's generous designs, Spoil their own native land as vipers do, Vipers that tear their mothers' bowels through. Let great Nassau, beneath a careful crown, [down, Mournful in majesty, look gently Mingling soft pity with an awful frown: lie grieves to see how long in vain he strove [prove To make us blest, how vain his labours To save the stubborn land he conde- scends to love. To the Discontented and Unquiet. Imitated partly from Casimìre, B. IV. Od. Hi. VARIA, there's nothing here that's free From wearisome anxiety : And the whole round of mortal joys With short possession tires and cloys: 'Tis a dull circle that we tread, Just from the window to the bed, We rise to.see and to he seen, Gaze on the world a while, and then We yawn, and stretch to -sleep again. But fancy, that uneasy guest, Still holds a lodging in our breast; She finds or frames vexations still. Herself the greatest plague we feel,: We take strange pleasure in our pain; And make a mountain of a grain,

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