Hail kindred regions, dear parental soil, Saxonian plains! where deep Visurgis flows, Where Leina's doubly honor'd waters glide, Where mighty A bis 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 our 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 shores.
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 blood,
Thro' the long line of English monarchs, flows
Down to th' illustrious house of Lunenbourg,
From antient Brunswick nam'd, (Brunswick, the scat
Vol. VI.
Primeval of Saxonian chieftains old)
To George, great heir of Anglo-Saxon kings.
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, honor, 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,
Be wanting; pledge of public happiness
Secure; dear source of long domestic joys.
Here shalt thou reign, a second Caroline ;
Diffusing from the throne a milder ray,
Soft beauty's inexpressive influence sweet.
Prompt to relieve th' opprest; to wipe away
The widow's tears; to call forth modest worth;
To cherish drooping virtue: patroness
Of science and of arts; friend to the muse,
Of every grateful muse the favorite theme.
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 lays.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
WILLIAM PITT,
[Afterwards Barl of Chatham.]
BEING THE CONCLUDING COPY OF OXFORD VERSES
So stream the sorrows that embalm the brave,
The tears that Science sheds on Glory's grave!
So pure the vows which classic duty pays
To bless another Brunswick's rising rays!-
O Pitt! if chosen strains have power to steal
Thy watchful breast awhile from Britain's weak;
If votive verse, from sacred Isis sent,
Might hope to charm thy manly mind, intent
On patriot plans which ancient Freedom drew,
Awhile with fond attention deign to view
This ample wreath, which all th' assembled Nine
With skill united have conspir'd to twine.
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 tutor❜d 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 where 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?
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