His pow'r fecur'd thee when prefumptuous Spain
Baptiz'd her fleet invincible in vain ;
Her gloomy monarch, doubtful and refign'd
To ev'ry pang that racks an anxious mind,
Afk'd of the waves that broke upon his coast,
What tidings? and the furge replied-all loft-
And when the Stuart leaning on the Scot,
Then too much fear'd, and now too much forgot,
Pierc'd to the very center of the realm,
And hop'd to feize his abdicated helm,
'Twas but to prove how quickly with a frown,
He that had rais'd thee could have pluck'd thee down.
Peculiar is the grace by thee poffefs'd,
Thy foes implacable, thy land at rest ;
Thy thunders travel over earth and feas,
And all at home is pleasure, wealth, and ease.
'Tis thus, extending his tempeftuous arm,
Thy Maker fills the nations with alarm,
While his own Heav'n furveys the troubled scene,
And feels no change, unshaken and ferene.
Freedom, in other lands fcarce known to fhine,
Pours out a flood of fplendour upon thine;
Thou haft as bright an int'rest in her rays,
As ever Roman had in Rome's best days.
True freedom is, where no restraint is known
That fcripture, juftice, and good fenfe difown,
Where only vice and injury are tied,
And all from fhore to fhore is free befide;
Such freedom is-and Windfor's hoary tow'rs
Stood trembling at the boldness of thy pow'rs,
That won a nymph on that immortal plain,
Like her the fabled Phoebus woo'd in vain:
He found the laurel only-happier you,
Th' unfading laurel and the virgin too.*
Now think, if pleasure have a thought to spare,
If God himself be not beneath her care;
If bus'nefs, constant as the wheels of time,
Can pause an hour to read a serious rhime
Alluding to the grant of Magna Charta, which was extorted from king John by the Barons at Runnymede near Windsor.
If the new mail, thy merchants now receive,
Or expectation of the next give leave,
Oh think, if chargeable with deep arrears
For fuch indulgence, gilding all thy years,
How much, though long neglected, fhining yet,
The beams of heav'nly truth have fwell'd the debt,
When perfecuting zeal made royal fport,
With tortur'd innocence in Mary's court,
And Bonner, blithe as fhepherd at a wake,
Enjoy'd the fhow, and danc'd about the stake;
The facred book, its value understood,
Receiv'd the feal of: martyrdom in blood.
Thofe holy men, fo full of truth and grace,
Seem to reflection, of a diff'rent race,'
Meek, modeft, venerable, wife, fincere,
In fuch a caufe they could not dare to fear,
They could not purchase earth with fuch a prize,
Nor spare a life too short to reach the skies.
From them to thee convey'd along the tide,
Their ftreaming hearts pour'd freely when they died,
Those truths which neither use nor years impair,
Invite thee, woo thee, to the blifs they share.
What dotage will not vanity maintain ?
What web too weak to catch a modern brain?
The moles and bats in full affembly find,
On fpecial fearch, the keen-ey'd eagle blind.
And did they dream, and art thou wiser now?
Prove it-if better, I fubmit and bow.
Wisdom and goodness are twin-born, one heart
Muft hold both fifters, never seen apart.
So then as darkness overspread the deep,
Ere nature rose from her eternal sleep,
And this delightful earth, and that fair sky,
Leap'd out of nothing, call'd by the Moft High;
By fuch a change thy darkness is made light,
Thy chaos order, and thy weakness, might;
And he whose pow'r mere nullity obeys,
Who found thee nothing, form'd thee for his praife.
To praise him is to ferve him, and fulfil,
Doing and fuff'ring, his unqueftion'd will,
'Tis to believe what men infpir'd of old,
Faithful and faithfully inform'd, unfold;
Candid and juft, with no false aim in view,
To take for truth what cannot but be true;
To learn in God's own school the Christian part,
And bind the task affign'd thee to thine heart:
Happy the man there feeking and there found,
Happy the nation where fuch men abound.
How shall a verse impress thee? by what name
Shall I adjure thee not to court thy fhame?
By theirs whose bright example unimpeach'd
Directs thee to that eminence they reach'd,
Heroes and worthies of days paft, thy fires?
Or his, who touch'd their hearts with hallow'd fires?
Their names, alas! in vain reproach an age
Whom all the vanities they fcorn'd, engage,
And his that feraphs tremble at, is hung
Difgracefully on ev'ry trifler's tongue,
Or ferves the champion in forenfic war,
To flourish and parade with at the bar.
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