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ON THE

ROYAL NUPTIALS.

Addressed to

THE QUEEN.

BY JOSEPH SPENCE, M. A.

AT length the gallant navy from afar
Rises in prospect, with expanded wings
Improving the kind gale, so long delay'd;

And wins in pompous pride her easy way
To Albion's shore, charg'd with the precious freight
Of England's dearest hopes, and George's love.
Not so desir'd, nor with such treasure fraught,
Arrives the wealthy convoy, from the coast
Of Ceylon or Golconda; laden deep
With spicy drugs, barbaric gems, and gold.
Nor he who circled in his daring course
The globe entire, old Ocean's utmost round,
Brought back so rich a prize, though with the spoils
Of proud Iberia loaded he return'd;

Or captive in his halsers when he dragg'd

The vanquish'd Gallic fleets; as now he brings,
More welcome, from Germania's friendly shore.

Hail kindred regions, dear parental soil, Saxonian plains! where deep Visurgis flows, Where Leina's doubly-honour'd waters glide, Where mighty Albis draws his humid train! England to you with grateful homage pays. Filial obeysance 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 source 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 seat

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 heart-felt 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 vigor 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.

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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 unexpressive 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.

ON THE

DEATH OF

KING GEORGE THE SECOND,

AND ACCESSION OF

KING GEORGE THE THIRD.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE

WILLIAM PITT,

[Afterwards Earl of Chatham.]

BEING THE CONCLUDING COPY OF OXFORD VERSES.

BY THOMAS WARTON, B. D.

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 weal;
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.

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