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Then shining forth, when deepest shades shall blot
The sun's bright orb, and Cato be forgot.,
I sing—but ah! my theme I need not tell,
See every eye with conscious forrow swell :
Who now to verse would raise his humble voice,
Can only shew his duty, not his choice.
How great the weight of grief our hearts sustain !
We languish, and to speak is to complain.

Let us look back, (for who too oft can view
That molt illustrious scene, for ever New !)
See all the seasons shine on Anna's throne,
And pay a constant tribute, not their own.
Her summer's heats nor fruits alone bestow,
They reap the harvest, and subdue the foe;
And when black storms confess the distant fun,
Her winters wear the wreaths, her summers won.
Revolving pleasures in their turns appear,
And triumphs are the product of the year.
To crown the whole, great joys in greater cease,
And glorious victory is lost in peace.

Whence this profusion on our favour'd ille ?
Did partial fortune on our virtue smile?
Or did the sceptre, in great Anna's hand,
Stretch forth this rich indulgence o'er our land?
Ungrateful Britain ! quit thy groundless claim,
Thy queen and thy good fortune are the fame.

Hear, with alarms our trumpets fill the sky; 'Tis Anna reigns! the Gallic squadrons fly. We spread our canvass to the southern shore; 'Tis Anna reigns! the fouth resigns her store.


Her virtue smooths the tumult of the main,
And swells the field with mountains of the flain.
Argyll and Churchill but the glory share,
While millions lie fubdued by Anna's prayer.

How great her zeal l how fervent her desire !
How did her soul in holy warmth expire !
Constant devotion did her time divide,
Not set returns of pleasure or of pride.
Not want of rest, or the sun's parting ray,
But finish'd duty, limited the day.
How sweet succeeding sleep! what lovely themes
Smild in her thoughts, and soften'd all her dreams!
Her royal couch descending angels spread,
And join'd their wings a shelter o'er her head.

Though Europe's wealth and glory claim'd a part, Religion's cause reign'd mistress of her heart : She faw, and griev'd to see, the mean estate Of those who round the hallow'd altar wait; She shed her bounty, piously profuse, And thought it more her own in sacred use.

Thus on his furrow see the tiller stand,
And fill with genial feed his lavish hand;
He trusts the kindness of the fruitful plain,
And providently scatters all his grain.

What strikes my fight ? does proud Augustá rise
New to behold, and awfully surprize!
Her lofty brow more numerous turrets crown,
And sacred domes on palaces look down :
A noble pride of piety is shown,
And temples cast a lustre on the throne.


L 4

How would this work another's glory raise !
But Anna's greatness robs her of the praise.
Drown'd in a brighter blaże it disappears,
Who dry'd the widow's, and the orphan's tears?
Who stoop'd from high to fuccour the distrest,
And reconcile the wounded heart to rest ?
Great in her goodnefs, well could we perceive,
Whoever fought, it was a queen that gave.
Misfortune loft her name, her guiltless frown
But made another debtor to the crown ;
And each unfriendly stroke, from fate we bore,
Became our title to the regal store.

Thus injur'd trees adopt a foreign shoot,
And their wounds blossom with a fairer fruit.

Ye numbers, who on your misfortunes thrivid,
When first the dreadful blast of fame arriv'd,
Say what a shock, what agonies you felt,
How did your souls with tender anguish melt!
That grief which living Anna's love supprest,
Shook like a tempeft every grateful breaft.
A second fate our finking fortunes try'd !
A second time our tender parents dy'd!

Heroes returning from the field we crown,
And deify the haughty victor's frown.
His splendid wealth too rashly we admire,
Catch the disease, and burn with equal fire :
Wisely to spend, is the great art of gain;
And one reliev'd transcends a million flain.
When time fall ask, where once Ramillia lay,
Or Danube flow'd that swept whole troops away,


One drop of water, that refresh'd the dry,
Shall rise a fountain of eternal joy.

But ah ! to that unknown and distant date,
Is virtue's

great reward push'd off by fate;
Here random shafts in every breast are found,
Virtue and merit but provoke the wound.
August in native worth and regal state,
Anna sate arbitress of Europe's fate ;
To distant realms did every accent fly,
And nations watch'd each motion of her eye.
Silent, nor longer awful to be seen,
How small a spot contains the mighty queen!
No throng of suppliant princes mark the place,
Where Britain's greatness is compos’d in peace :
The broken earth is fcarce discern'd to rise,
And a stone tells us where the monarch lies.

Thus end matureft honours of a crown!.
This is the last conclusion of renown!

So when with idle skill the wanton boy
Breathes through his tube ; he fees, with eager joy,
The trembling bubble, in its rising fmall;
And by degrees expands the glittering ball.
But when, to full perfection blown, it flies
High in the air, and shines in various dyes, .
The little monarch, with a falling tear,
Sees his world burst at once, and disappear.
'Tis not in forrow to reverse our doom,
No groans unlock th' inexorable tomb !
Why then this fond indulgence of our woe !
What fruit can rise, or what advantage flow!


Yes, this advantage ; from our deep distress
We learn how much in George the Gods can bless,
Had a less-glorious princess left the throne,
But half the hero had at first been shown :
An Anna falling all the king employs,
To vindicate - from guilt our rising joys :
Our joys arise, and innocently shine,
Auspicious monarch! what a praise is thine !

Welcome, great stranger, to Britannia's throne !
Nor let thy country think thee all her own.
Of thy delay how oft did we complain!
Our hopes reach'd out, and met thee on the main.
With prayer we smooth the billows for thy fleet;
With ardent wishes fill thy swelling sheet;
And when thy foot took place on Albion's fhore,
We bending bless’d the Gods, and ask'd no more.
What hand but thine should conquer and compose,

Join those whom interest joins, and chace our foes ?
Repel the daring youth's prefumptuous aim,
And by his rival's greatness give him fame ?
Now in some foreign court he may fit down,
And quit without a blush the British crown.
Secure his honour, though he lose his store,
And take a lucky moment to be poor.

Nor think, great fir, now first, at this late hour,
In Britain's favour, you exert your power ;
To us, far back in time, I joy to trace
The numerous tokens of your princely grace.

you chose to thunder on the Rhine, Inspire grave councils, or in courts to shine ;

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