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Eail kindred regions, dear parental soil, Saxcnian plains! where deep Visurgis flows, Where Leina's doubly lionor'd waters glide, Where mighty Abis draws his humid train ! England to you with grateful homage pays Filial obeisance meet : to you she owes Her name, her tribes, her generous race; to you Her first, her latest blessings. Forth from you Issued osr sires, old Woden's high-born sons; Great Woden deem'd a god, with uncouth rites By his rude offspring worshipp'd: they their course Adventurous steer'd to these alluring shorts. First Hengist, valiant chief; nor yet less wise Than valiant : he the Cantian wold obtain'd, His new domain ; yielded by social league, Or won by fair Rowena’s conquering charms. Next Ella, Cerdic, and th' intrepid race Of Anglians from Eydora's northern stream, Pour'd in their numerous hosts : nor British prowess, Nor Merlin's spells, nor Arthur's puissant sword, Hight Caliburn, fam'd in romantic tale, Could long withstand th' impetuous onset bold Of our great sires in battle. Soon they rais'd On Britain's ruins seven imperial thrones; Seven thrones conjoin'd at length in Cerdic's race: From whose high scurce the stream of regal blcod, Thro' the long line of English monarchs, Acws Down to th’ilustrious house of Lunenbourg, From antient Brunswick nam’d, (Brunswick, the seat
Primeval of Saxonian chieftains old)
And Thou, Saxonia's brightest ornament Erewhile, now England's boast, and highest pride, Welcome to these congenial shores : to this Ambiguous land, another Saxony. See thine own people, thy compatriot tribes, With heartfelt joy, and zealous loud acclaim, Thy blest arrival hail. Tho’sever'd long From their original soil, on foreign stock Tho' grafted, not degenerate : still within Works the wild vigour of the parent root. Rough, hardy, brave : by force intractable, Or lawless rule: patient of equal sway ; With civil freedom tempering regal power. Be this thy better country; nor regret Thy natal plains, tho' dear: here thou shalt find What largely shall o'erpay thy loss. Lo! here Thy Parent, Brother, Friend, all charities Compris’d in one, thy consort, with fond wish, Expects thee; scepter'd George, with every grace Adorn'd; yet more renown’d for Virtue's praise, Faith, lionor, in green years wisdom mature, True majesty with awful goodness crown'd. He shall assuage thy grief : his thoughtful breast, Studious of England's glory and Europe's weal, Thou in return shalt sooth with tender smiles, Endearing blandishment, and equal love.
Nor shall, Heaven's gift, fruit of the genial bed,
Hail, sovereign lady, dearest dread! accept Even now this homage of th' officious Muse, That on the verge extreme of Albion's cliff With gratulation thy first steps prevents, Tho' mean, yet ardent; and salutes thine ear With kindred accents in Teutonic Jays,
KING GEORGE THE SECOND.
AND ACCESSION OF
KING GEORGE THE THIRD.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
BEING THE CONCLUDING COPY OF OXFORD VERSES
BY THOMAS WARTON, B.D.
So stream the sorroivs that embalm the brave,
Yes, guide and guardian of thy country's cause ! Thy conscious heart shall hail with just applause The duteous Muse, whose haste officious brings Her blameless offering to the shrine of kings : Thy tongue well tutorid in historic lore, Can speak her office and her use of yore: For such the tribute of ingenuous praise Her harp dispens'd in Graecia's golden days: Such were the palms, in isles of old renown, She cull’d to deck the guiltless monarch's crown ; When virtuous Pindar, told with Tuscan gore How scepter'd Hiero stain'd Sicilia's shore, Or to mild Theron's raptur'd eye disclos’d Bright vales wbere spirits of the brave repos’d: Yet still beneath the throne, unbrib'd she sate, The decent hand-maid, not the slave of state : Pleas'd in the radiance of the regal name To blend the lustre of her country's fame: For, taught like ours, she dar'd with prudent pride, Obedience from dependance to divide : Tho' princes claim'd her tributary lays, With truth severe she temper'd partial praise ; Conscious she kept her native dignity, Bold as her flights, and as her numbers free,
And sure, if e'er the Muse indulg'd her strains, With just regard, to grace heroic reigns, Where could her glance a theme of triumph own So dear to fame as George's trophied throne ?