A ftar that, with aufpicious beams, fhall guide
Thy veffel fafe, through fortune's roughest tide.

If peace still smiles, by this, shall commerce steer
A finish'd course, in triumph round the sphere;
And, gathering tribute from each distant shore,
In Britain's lap the world's abundance pour.

If war 's ordain'd, this ftar fhall dart its beams
Through that black cloud, which rifing from the Thames,
With thunder, form'd of Brunswick's wrath, is sent
To claim the feas, and awe the continent.
This fhall direct it, where the bolt to throw,
A ftar for us, a comet to the foe.

At this the Muse shall kindle, and afpire:
My breast, O Walpole, glows with grateful fire.
The ftreams of royal bounty, turn'd by thee,
Refresh the dry domains of poefy.

My fortune fhews, when arts are Walpole's care,
What flender worth forbids us to defpair:
Be this thy partial smile from cenfure free;
'T was meant for merit, though it fell or me.
Since Brunfwick's fmile has authoriz'd my Mufe,
Chafte be her conduct, and fublime her views.
False praises are the whoredoms of the pen,
Which prostitute fair fame to worthless men:
This prophanation of celestial fire

Makes fools defpife, what wife men fhould admire.
Let those I praise to distant times be known,
Not by their author's merit, but their own.
If others think the talk is hard, to weed
From verse rank flattery's vivacious feed,

And

And rooted deep; one means must set them free;
Patron! and patriot! let them fing of thee.

While vulgar trees ignobler honours wear,
Nor thofe retain, when winter chills the year;
The generous Orange, favourite of the fun,
With vigorous charms can through the seasons run;
Defies the storm with her tenacious green;

And flowers and fruits in rival pomp are feen :
Where bloffoms fall, ftill fairer bloffoms fpring;
And midft their fweets the feather'd poets fing.
On Walpole, thus, may pleas'd Britannia view
At once her ornament and profit too;

The fruit of service, and the bloom of fame,
Matur'd, and gilded by the royal beam.
He, when the nipping blafts of envy rife,
Its guilt can pity, and its rage despise;
Lets fall no honours, but fecurely great
Unfaded holds the colour of his fate:
No winter knows, though ruffling factions prefs;
By wifdom deeply rooted in fuccefs;

One glory shed, a brighter is display'd *;
And the charm'd Mufes fhelter in his fhade.

O how I long, enkindled by the theme,

In deep eternity to launch thy name!

Thy name in view, no rights of verse I plead, But what chafte truth indites, old time fhall read. "Behold! a man of ancient faith and blood, "Which, foon, beat high for arts, and public-good; VOL. III.

M

"Whofe

Knight of the Bath, and then of the Garter.

"Whofe glory great, but natural appears,
The genuine growth of services and years;
"No fudden exhalation drawn on high,
"And fondly gilt by partial majesty:

"One bearing greatest toils with greatest ease,
"One born to ferve us, and yet born to please :
"Whom, while our rights in equal scales he lays,
"The prince may trust, and yet the people praise;
"His genius ardent, yet his judgment clear,
"His tongue is flowing, and his heart fincere,
"His council guides, his temper chears our isle,
"And, fmiling, gives three kingdoms cause to smile.”
Joy then to Britain, bleft with such a fon,
'To Walpole joy, by whom the prize is won ;
Who nobly-conscious meets the smiles of fate.
True greatnefs lies in daring to be great.
Let daftard fouls, or affectation, run

To fhades, nor wear bright honours fairly won;
Such men prefer, mifled by false applause,
The pride of modefty to virtue's cause.
Honours, which make the face of virtue fair,
'Tis great to merit, and 'tis wife to wear;
'Tis holding up the prize to public view,
Confirms grown virtue, and inflames the new;
Heightens the luftre of our age and clime,
And sheds rich feeds of worth for future time.
Proud chiefs alone, in fields of flaughter fam'd,
Of old, this azure bloom of glory claim'd,
As when stern Ajax pour'd a purple flood,
The violet rofe, fair daughter of his blood.

Now

Now rival wisdom dares the wreath divide,
And both Minervas rife in equal pride;
Proclaiming loud, a monarch fills the throne,
Who fhines illuftrious not in wars alone.

Let fame look lovely in Britannia's eyes;
They coldly court defert, who fame despise.
For what 's ambition, but fair virtue's fail?
And what applause, but her propitious gale?
When fwell'd with that, fhe fleets before the wind
To glorious aims, as to the port design'd;
When chain'd, without it, to the labouring oar,
She toils! the pants! nor gains the flying fhore,
From her fublime pursuits, or turn'd aside
By blasts of envy, or by fortune's tide:
For one that has fucceeded ten are loft,
Of equal talents, ere they make the coast.
Then let renown to worth divine incite,
With all her beams, but throw those beams aright.
Then merit droops, and genius downward tends,
When godlike glory, like our land, defcends,
Custom the garter long confin'd to few,
And gave to birth, exalted virtue's due :
Walpole has thrown the proud enclosure down;
And high defert embraces fair renown.
Though rival'd, let the peerage fmiling fee
(Smiling, in justice to their own degree,)
This proud reward by majesty bestow'd

On worth like that whence first the peerage flow'd.
From frowns of fate Britannia's blifs to guard,
Let subjects merit, and let kings reward,

Gods are most Gods by giving to excel,
And kings moft like them, by rewarding well.
Though ftrong the twanging nerve, and drawn aright,
Short is the winged arrow's upward flight;

But if an eagle it transfix on high,

Lodg'd in the wound, it foars into the sky.

Thus while I fing thee with unequal lays, And wound perhaps that worth I mean to praise; * Yet I transcend myself, I rise in fame,

Not lifted by my genius, but my theme.

No more: for in this dread suspense of fate,
Now kingdoms fluctuate, and in dark debate
Weigh peace and war, now Europe's eyes are bent
On mighty Brunswick, for the great event,
Brunswick of kings the terror or defence !
Who dares detain thee at a world's expence?

AN