So the fair tree whereon the eagle builds,
Poor sheep from tempests, and their shepherds,
The royal bird possesses all the boughs, [shields:
But shade and shelter to the flock allows.
Joy of our age, and safety of the next!
For which so oft thy fertile womb is vex'd,
Nobly contented, for the public good,
To waste thy spirits and diffuse thy blood:
What vast hopes may these islands entertain,
Where monarchs, thus descended, are to reign!
Led by commanders of so fair a line,
Our seas no longer shall our power confine.
A brave romance who would exactly frame,
First brings his knight from some immortal dame,
And then a weapon and a flaming shield,
Bright as his mother's eyes, he makes him wield.
None might the mother of Achilles be,
But the fair pearl and glory of the sea':
The man to whom great Maro gives such fame',
From the high bed of heavenly Venus came;
And our next Charles, whom all the stars design
Like wonders to accomplish, springs from thine.
FOR NOT APPROACHING THE LADY WHO CAN DO ANY
THING BUT SLEEP WHEN SHE PLEASETH.
My charge it is those breaches to repair
Which Nature takes from sorrow, toil, and care:
Rest to the limbs, and quiet I confer
On troubled minds; but nought can add to her
Whom Heaven, and her transcendent thoughts,
Above those ills which wretched mortals taste.
Bright as the deathless gods, and happy, she
From all that may infringe delight is free:
Love at her royal feet his quiver lays,
And not his mother with more haste obeys.
Such real pleasure, such true joys dispense,
What dream can I present to recompense?
Should I with lightning fill her awful hand, And make the clouds seem all at her command; Or place her in Olympus' top, a guest Among the' immortals, who with nectar feast, would seem, power that entertainment, short
That
Of the true splendour of her present court,
Where all the joys, and all the glories, are
Of three great kingdoms, sever'd from the care.
I, that of fumes and humid vapours made,
Ascending, do the seat of sense invade,
No cloud in so serene a mansion find,
To overcast her ever-shining mind,
Which holds resemblance with those spotless skies
Where flowing Nilus want of rain supplies;
That crystal heaven, where Phœbus never shrouds
His golden beams, nor wraps his face in clouds.
But what so hard which numbers cannot force?
So stoops the moon, and rivers change their course.
The bold Mæonian' made me dare to steep
Jove's dreadful temples in the dew of sleep;
And since the Muses do invoke my power,
I shall no more decline that sacred bower.
Where Gloriana their great mistress lies,
But gently taming those victorious eyes,
Charm all her senses, till the joyful sun
Without a rival half his course has run ;
Who, while my hand that fairer light confines, May boast himself the brightest thing that shines.
You gods that have the power
To trouble and compose
All that's beneath your bower,
Calm silence on the seas, on earth impose.
Fair Venus! in thy soft arms
The God of Rage confine;
For thy whispers are the charms
Which only can divert his fierce design.
What though he frown, and to tumult do incline? Thou the flame
Kindled in his breast canst tame
With that snow which unmelted lies on thine.
Great goddess! give this thy sacred island rest; Make Heaven smile,
That no storm disturb us while
Thy chief care, our halcyon, builds her nest.
Great Gloriana! fair Gloriana!
Bright as high Heaven is, and fertile as earth,
Whose beauty relieves us,
Whose royal bed gives us
Both glory and peace,
Our present joy, and all our hopes increase.
WHEN from black clouds no part of sky is clear,
But just so much as lets the sun appear,
Heaven then would seem thy image, and reflect
Those sable vestments and that bright aspect.
A spark of virtue by the deepest shade
Of sad adversity is fairer made;
Nor less advantage doth thy beauty get,
A Venus rising from a sea of jet!
Such was the' appearance of new-formed Light,
While yet it struggled with eternal Night.
Then mourn no more, lest thou admit increase
Of glory by thy noble Lord's decease.
We find not that the laughter-loving dame'
Mourn'd for Anchises; 'twas enough she came
To grace the mortal with her deathless bed,
And that his living eyes such beauty fed:
Had she been there, untimely joy through all
Men's hearts diffused, had marred the funeral.
Those eyes were made to banish grief: as well
Bright Phoebus might affect in shades to dwell,
As they to put on sorrow: nothing stands,
But power to grieve, exempt from thy commands.
If thou lament, thou must do so alone;
Grief in thy presence can lay hold on none.
Yet still persist the memory to love
Of that great Mercury of our mighty Jove,
Who, by the power of his inchanting tongue
Swords from the hands of threatening monarchs
War he prevented, or soon made it cease,
Instructing princes in the arts of peace ;
Such as made Sheba's curious queen resort
To the large-hearted Hebrew's famous court.
Had Homer sat amongst his wondering guests,
He might have learn'd, at those stupendous feasts,
With greater bounty and more sacred state,
The banquets of the gods to celebrate.
But, oh! what elocution might he use,
What potent charms, that could so soon infuse
His absent master's love into the heart
Of Henrietta! forcing her to part
From her loved brother, country, and the sun,
And, like Camilla, o'er the waves to run
Into his arms? while the Parisian dames
Mourn for the ravish'd glory; at her flames
No less amazed than the amazed stars,
When the bold charmer of Thessalia wars
With Heaven itself, and numbers does repeat,
Which call descending Cynthia from her seat.
IN ANSWER TO ONE WHO WRIT A LIBEL
COUNTESS OF CARLISLE.
WHAT fury has provoked thy wit to dare,
With Diomede, to wound the Queen of Love?
Thy mistress' envy, or thine own despair?
Not the just Pallas in thy breast did move
So blind a rage, with such a different fate;
He honour won where thou hast purchased hate.
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