Assist my words, and, as they move along,
With Hallelujahs crown the burthen'd song.
Father of all above, and all below,

O great, and far beyond expression so;
No bounds thy knowledge, none thy power confine,
For power and knowledge in their source are thine;
Around thee Glory spreads her golden wing:
Sing, glittering angels, Hallelujah sing.

Son of the Father, first-begotten Son,
Ere the short measuring line of time begun,
The world has seen thy works, and joy'd to see
The bright effulgence manifest in thee.

The world must own thee Love's unfathom'd spring;
Sing, glittering angels, Hallelujah sing.
Proceeding Spirit, equally divine,

In whom the Godhead's full perfections shine,
With various graces, comforts unexpress'd,
With holy transports you refine the breast;
And Earth is heavenly where your gifts you bring,
Sing, glittering angels, Hallelujah sing.

But where's my rapture, where my wondrous
heat,

What interruption makes my bliss retreat?
This world's got in, the thoughts of t'other's
crost,

And the gay picture's in my fancy lost.
With what an eager zeal the conscious soul
Would claim its seat, and, soaring, pass the pole!
But our attempts these chains of Earth restrain,
Deride our toil, and drag us down again.
So from the ground aspiring meteors go,
And, rank'd with planets, light the world below;
But their own bodies sink them in the sky,
When the warmth's gone that taught them how
to fly.

ON DIVINE LOVE;

BY MEDITATING ON THE WOUNDS OF CHRIST.

HOLY Jesus! God of Love!
Look with pity from above;
Shed the precious purple tide
From thine hands, thy feet, thy side;
Let thy streams of comfort roll,
Let them please and fill my soul.
Let me thus for ever be
Full of gladness, full of thee.
This, for which my wishes pine,
Is the cup of love divine;

Sweet affections flow from hence,
Sweet, above the joys of sense;
Blessed philtre! how we find
Its sacred worships! how the mind,
Of all the world forgetful grown,
Can despise an earthly throne;
Raise its thoughts to realms above,
Think of God, and sing of Love.

Love celestial, wondrous heat,
Ó, beyond expression great!
What resistless charms were thine,
In thy good, thy best design!
When God was hated, Sin obey'd,
And man undone without thy aid,
From the seats of endless peace

They brought the Son, the Lord of Grace;
They taught him to receive a birth,
To clothe in flesh, to live on Earth;

And after, lifted him on high,
And taught him on the cross to die.
Love celestial, ardent fire,
O, extreme of sweet desire!
Spread thy brightly raging flame
Through and over all my frame;
Let it warm me, let it burn,
Let my corpse to ashes turn;
And, night thy flame thus act with me
To set the soul from body free,
I next would use thy wings, and fly
To meet my Jesus in the sky.

ON QUEEN ANNE'S PEACE.

(WRITTEN IN DECEMBER 1712.)
MOTHER of Plenty, daughter of the skies,
Sweet Peace, the troubled world's desire, arise;
Around thy poet weave thy summer shades,
Within my fancy spread thy flowery meads;
Amongst thy train soft Ease and Pleasure bring,
And thus indulgent sooth me whilst I sing.

Great Anna claims the song; no brighter name
Adorns the list of never-dying Fame;
No fairer soul was ever form'd above;
None e'er was more the grateful nation's love,
Nor lov'd the nation more. I fly with speed
To sing such lines as Bolingbroke may read,
On war dispers'd, on faction trampled down,
On all the peaceful glories of the crown.
And, if I fail in too confin'd a flight,
May the kind world upon my labours write,
"So fell the lines which strove for endless fame,
Yet fell, attempting on the noblest theme."

Now twelve revolving years has Britain stood,
With loss of wealth, and vast expense of blood,
Europa's guardian; still her gallant arms
Secur'd Europa from impending harms.
Fair honour, full success, and just applause,
Pursued her marches, and adorn'd her cause;
Whilst Gaul, aspiring to erect a throne
O'er other empires, trembled for her own;
Bemoan'd her cities won, her armies slain,
And sunk the thought of universal reign.

When thus reduc'd the world's invaders lie,
The fears which rack'd the nations justly die:
Power finds its balance, giddy motions cease
In both the scales, and each inclines to peace.
This fair occasion Providence prepares,
To answer pious Anna's hourly prayers,
Which still on warm Devotion's wings arose,
And, reaching Heaven, obtain'd the world's repose.
Within the vast expansion of the sky,
Where orbs of gold in fields of azure lie,
A glorious palace shines, whose silver ray,
Serenely flowing, lights the milky way;
The road of angels. Here, with speedy care,
The summon'd guardians of the world repair.
When Britain's angel, on the message sent,
Speaks Anna's prayers, and Heaven's supreme in-
tent;

That War's destructive arm should humble Gaul,
Spain's parted realms to different monarchs fall;
The grand alliance crown'd with glory cease,
And joyful Europe find the sweets of peace.
He spoke: the smiling hopes of man's repose,
The joy that springs from certain hopes arose,

406

Diffusive o'er the place; complacent airs,
Sedately sweet, were heard within the spheres;
And, bowing, all adore the sovereign mind,
And fly to execute the work design'd.

This done, the guardian on the wing repairs,
Where Anna sate, revolving public cares
With deep concern of thought. Unseen he stood,
Presenting peaceful images of good;

On Fancy's airy stage, returning trade,
A sunk exchequer fill'd, an army paid:

The fields with men, the men with plenty bless'd,
The towns with riches, and the world with rest.
Such pleasing objects on her bosom play,
And give the dawn of glory's golden day;
When all her labours at their harvest shown
Shall, in her subjects' joy, complete her own.
Then breaking silence; ""T is enough," she cries,
"That War has rag'd to make the nations wise.
Heaven prospers armies whilst they fight to save,
And thirst of further fame destroys the brave;
The vanquish'd Gauls are humbly pleas'd to live,
And but escap'd the chains they meant to give.
Now let the powers be still'd, and each possess'd
Of what secures the common safety best."

So spake the queen; then, fill'd with warmth di-
vine,

She call'd her Oxford to the grand design;
Her Oxford, prudent in affairs of state,
Profoundly thoughtful, manifestly great
In every turn, whose steady temper steers
Above the reach of gold, or shock of fears;
Whom no blind chance, but merit understood,
By frequent trials, power of doing good,
And will to execute, advanc'd on high:

Oh, soul created to deserve the sky!
And make the nation, crown'd with glory, see
How much it rais'd itself by raising thee!
Now let the schemes which labour in thy breast,
The long alliance, crown'd with lasting rest,
Weigh all pretences with impartial laws,
And fix the separate interests of the cause!

These toils the graceful Bolingbroke attends,
A genius fashion'd for the greatest ends;
Whose strong perception takes the swiftest flight,
And yet its swiftness ne'er obscures its sight:
When schemes are fix'd, and each assign'd a part,
None serves his country with a nobler heart;
Just thoughts of honour all his mind control,
And expedition wings his lively soul.
On such a patriot to confer the trust,
The monarch knows it safe, as well as just.

Then next proceeding in her agents' choice,
And ever pleas'd that worth obtains the voice,
She, from the voice of high-distinguish'd fames,
With pious Bristol, gallant Strafford names:
One form'd to stand a church's firm support,
The other fitted to adorn a court:

Both vers'd in business, both of fine address,
By which experience leads to great success:
And both to distant lands the monarch sends,
And, to their conduct, Europe's peace commends.

Now ships unmoor'd, to waft her agents o'er,
Spread all their sail, and quit the flying shore;
The foreign agents reach th' appointed place,
The congress opens, and it will be peace.
Methinks the war, like stormy winter, flies,
When fairer months unveil the bluish skies;
A flowery world the sweetest season spreads,
And doves, with branches, flutter round their

heads.

Half-peopled Gaul, whom numerous ills destroy,
With wishful heart, attends the promis'd joy.
For this prepares the duke-ah, sadly slain,
'Tis grief to name him whom we mourn in vain:
No warmth of verse repairs the vital flame,
For verse can only grant a life in fame;
Yet could my praise, like spicy odours shed,
In everlasting song embalm the dead;
To realms that weeping heard the loss I'd tell,
What courage, sense, and faith, with Brandon fell

But Britain more than one for glory breeds,
And polish'd Talbot to the charge succeeds;
Whose far-projecting thoughts, maturely clear,
Like glasses, draw their distant objects near.
Good parts, by gentle breeding much refin'd,
And stores of learning, grace his ample mind;
A cautious virtue regulates his ways,
And honour gilds them with a thousand rays.
To serve his nation, at his queen's command,
He parts, commission'd for the Gallic land:
With pleasure Gaul beholds him on her shore,
And learns to love a name she fear'd before.

Once more aloft, there meet for new debates,
The guardian angels of Europa's states:
And mutual concord shines in every face,
And every bosom glows with hopes of peace;
While Britain's steps, in one consent, they praise,
Then gravely mourn their other realms' delays;
Their doubtful claims, through seas of blood pur.
sued,

Their fears that Gallia fell but half subdued;
And all the reasonings which attempt to show
That war should ravage in the world below.
"Ah, fall'n estate of man! can rage delight,
Wounds please the touch, or ruin charm the sight!
Ambition make unlovely Mischief fair!
Or ever Pride be Providence's care!
When stern oppressors range the bloody field,
'Tis just to conquer, and unsafe to yield:
There save the nations; but no more pursue,
Nor in thy turn become oppressor too."

Our rebel angels for ambition fell,
And, war in Heaven produc'd a fiend in Hell.
Thus, with a soft concern for man's repose,
The tender guardians join to moan our woes;
Then awful rise, combin'd with all their might,
To find what fury, 'scap'd the den of night,
The pleasing labours of their love withstands,
And spreads a wild distraction o'er the lands.
Their glittering pinions sound in yielding air,
And watchful Providence approves the care.
In Flandria's soil, where camps have mark'd the
plain,
The fiend, impetuous Discord, fix'd her reign;
A tent her royal seat. With full resort
Stern shapes of Horrour throng'd her busy court;
Blind Mischief, Ambush close concealing Ire,
Loud Threatenings, Ruin arm'd with sword and fire;
Assaulting Fierceness, Anger wanting breath,
High reddening Rage, and various forms of Death;
Dire imps of darkness, whom with gore she feeds,
When war beyond its point of good proceeds.
In Gallic armour, call'd with alter'd name
Great love of empire, to the field she came;
Now, still supporting feud, she strives to hide
Beneath that name, and only change the side:
But, as she whirl'd the rapid wheels around,
Where mangled limbs in heaps pollute the grout
(A sullen joyless sport); with searching eye,
The shining chiefs regard her as they fly;

This end obtain'd, we close the scenes of rage,
And gentler glories deck the rising age.
Such gentler glories, such reviving days,
The nation's wishes, and the statesman's praise;
Now pleas'd to shine, in golden order throng,
Demand our annals, and enrich our song.
Then go where Albion's cliffs approach the skies
(The fame of Albion so deserves to rise);
And, deep engrav'd for time, till time shall cease,
Upon the stones their fair inscription place.
Iberia rent, the power of Gallia broke,
Batavia rescued from the threaten'd yoke;
The royal Austrian rais'd, his realms restor❜d,
Great Britain arm'd, triumphant and ador'd;
Its state enlarg'd, its peace restor❜d again,
Are blessings all adorning Anna's reign.

TO DR. SWIFT,

Bright in her eyes a pleasing ardour glows,
And from her heart the sweetest temper flows:
A laurel-wreath adorns her curls of hair,
And binds their order to the dancing air:
She shakes the colours of her radiant wing,
And, from the spheres, she takes a pitch to sing.
"Thrice happy genius his, whose works have hit
The lucky point of business and of wit.
They seem like showers, which April months pre-
To call their flowery glories up to air: [pare
The drops, descending, take the painted bow,
And dress with sunshine, while for good they flow.
To me retiring oft, he finds relief
In slowly-wasting care and biting grief:
From me retreating oft, he gives to view
What eases care and grief in others too.
Ye fondly grave, be wise enough to know,
'Life, ne'er unbent, were but a life of woe.'
Some, full in stretch for greatness, some for gain,
On his own rack each puts himself to pain.
I'll gently steal you from your toils away,
Where balmy winds with scents ambrosial play;
Where, on the banks as crystal rivers flow,
They teach immortal amaranths to grow:
Then, from the mild indulgence of the scene,
Restore your tempers strong for toils again."

ON HIS BIRTH-DAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1713.
URG'D by the warmth of Friendship's sacred flame,
But more by all the glories of thy fame;
By all those offsprings of thy learned mind,
In judgment solid, as in wit refin'd,
Resolv'd I sing. Though labouring up the way
To reach my theme, O Swift, accept my lay.
Rapt by the force of thought, and rais'd above,
Through Contemplation's airy fields I rove;
Where powerful Fancy purifies my eye,
And lights the beauties of a brighter sky; [cend,
Fresh paints the meadows, bids green shades as-
Clear rivers wind, and opening plains extend;
Then fills its landscape through the varied parts
With Virtues, Graces, Sciences, and Arts:
Superior forms, of more than mortal air,
More large than mortals, more serenely fair.
Of these two chiefs, the guardians of thy name,
Conspire to raise thee to the point of fame.
Ye future times, I heard the silver sound!
I saw the Graces form a circle round!
Each, where she fix'd, attentive seem'd to root,
And all, but Eloquence herself, was mute.

High o'er the rest I see the goddess rise,
Loose to the breeze her upper garment flies:
By turns, within her eyes the passions burn,
And softer passions languish in their turn:
Upon her tongue persuasion or command,
And decent action dwells upon her hand.

[lay)

From out her breast ('t was there the treasure
She drew thy labours to the blaze of day;
Then gaz'd, and read the charms she could inspire,
And taught the listening audience to admire,
How strong thy flight, how large thy grasp of
thought,

How just thy schemes, how regularly wrought;
How sure you wound when ironies deride,
Which must be seen, and feign to turn aside.
'T was thus exploring she rejoic'd to see

Her brightest features drawn so near by thee:
“Then here," she cries, “let future ages dwell,
And learn to copy, where they can't excel."

She spake. Applause attended on the close:
Then Poesy, her sister-art, arose;
Her fairer sister, born in deeper ease,

Not made so much for business, more to please.
Upon her cheek sits Beauty, ever young;
The soul of Music warbles on her tongue;

She ceas'd. Soft music trembled in the wind, And sweet delight diffus'd through every mind:

The little Smiles, which still the goddess grace,

Sportive arose, and ran from face to face.
But chief (and in that place the Virtues bless)
A gentle band their eager joys express:
Here, Friendship asks, and Love of Merit longs
To hear the goddesses renew their songs;
Here great Benevolence to Man is pleas'd;
These own their Swift, and grateful hear him
prais'd.

You gentle band, you well may bear your part,
You reign superior graces in his heart.

O Swift! if fame be life (as well we know
That bards and heroes have esteem'd it so);
Thou canst not wholly die. Thy works will shine
To future times, and life in fame be thine.

ON BISHOP BURNET'S BEING SET ON
FIRE IN HIS CLOSET.
FROM that dire era, bane to Sarum's pride,
Which broke his schemes, and laid his friends aside,
He talks and writes that Popery will return,
And we, and he, and all his works will burn.

What touch'd himself was almost fairly prov'd:
(Oh, far from Britain be the rest remov'd!)
For, as of late he meant to bless the age,
With flagrant prefaces of party-rage,
O'er-wrought with passion, and the subject's
Lolling, he nodded in his elbow-seat;
Down fell the candle; grease and zeal conspire,
Heat meets with heat, and pamphlets burn their
sire.

[weight,

Here crawls a Preface on its half-burn'd maggots,
And there an Introduction brings its faggots:
Then roars the prophet of the northern nation,
Scorch'd by a flaming speech on moderation.

Unwarn'd by this, go on, the realm to fright,
Thou Briton vaunting in thy second-sight!
In such a ministry you safely tell,
How much you'd suffer, if religiou fell