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An hollow crystal pyramid he takes,
In firmamental waters dipt above;
Of it a broad extinguisher he makes,
And hoods the flames that to their quarry drove.
The vanquish'd fires withdraw from every place,
Or full with feeding sink into a sleep :
Each houshold genius shews again his face,
And from the hearths the little lares creep.
Our king this more than natural change beholds ;
With sober joy his heart and eyes abound :
To the All-good his lifted hands he folds,
And thanks hiin low on his redeemed ground.
As when sharp frosts had long constrain’d the earth,
A kindly thaw unlocks it with cold rain ;
And first the tender blade peeps up to birth,
And straight the green fields laugh with promis'd grain:
By such degrees the spreading gladness grew
In every heart which fear had froze before :
The standing streets with so much joy they view,
That with less grief the perilh'd they deplore,
CCLXXXVI. The father of the people open'd wide His Hores, and all the
with plenty fed : Thus Cod's anointed Goli's own place supply'd, And fill'd the empty with his daily bread.
This royal bounty brought its own reward,
And in their minds so deep did print the sense ; That if their ruins fadly they regard, 'Tis but with fear the fight might drive him thence.
But so may he live long, that town to sway,
Which by his auspice they will nobler make,
As he will hatch their alhes by his stay,
And not their humble ruins now forsake.
They have not lost their loyalty by fire;
Nor is their courage or their wealth so low,
That from his wars they poorly would retiie,
Or beg the pity of a vanquish'd foe.
Not with more constancy the Jews, of old
By Cyrus from rewarded exile sent,
Their royal city did in dust behold,
Or with more vigour to rebuild it went.
The utmost malice of the stars is past,
And two dire comets, which have scourg'd the town,
In their own plague and fire have breath'd the last,
Or dimly in their finking sockets frown.
. Now frequent trines the happier lights among,
And high-rais'o Jove, from his dark prison freed, Those weights took off that on his planet hung, Will gloriously the new-laid works succeed.
Methinks already from this chemic flame,
I see a city of more precious mold:
Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,
With silver pav’d, and all divine with gold.
Already labouring with a unighty fate,
She snakes the rubbisn from her mounting brow,
And seems to have renew'd her charter's date,
Which heaven will to the death of time allow.
More great than human now, and more august,
Now deify'd she from her fires does rise :
Her widening streets on new foundations trust,
And opening into larger parts she flies.
Before she like some shepherdess did show,
Who sat to bathe her by a river's side ;
Not answering to her fame, but rude and low,
Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride.
Now like a maiden queen she will behold,
From her high turrets, hourly suitors come :
The East with incense, and the West with gold,
Will stand like suppliants to receive her doom.
The silver Thames, her own domestic food,
Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train ;
And often wind, as of liis mistress proud,
With longing eyes to meet her face again.
The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine,
The glory of their towns no more Mall boast,
And Seyne, that would with Belgian rivers join,
Shall find her lustre stain’d, and traffic loft.
The venturous merchant who design’d more far,
And touches on our hospitable shore,
Charm’d with the splendor of this northern star,
Shall here unlade him, and depart no more.
Our powerful navy shall no longer meet,
The wealth of France or Holland to invade :
The beauty of this town without a fleet,
From all the world fall vindicate her trade.
And while this fam'd emporium we prepare,
The British ocean fall such triuniphs boast,
That those, who now disdain our trade to share,
Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast.
Already we have conquer'd half the war,
And the less dangerous part is left behind :
Our trouble now is but to make them dare,
And not so great to vanquish as to find.
Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go,
But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more ;
A constant trade-wind will securely blow,
And gently lay us on the spicy shore.
By Mr Dryden, and the Earl of MULGRAVE.
How dull, and how insensible a beast
would lord it o'er the rest !
Philosophers and poets vainly Atrove
In every age the lumpish mass to move :
But those were pedants, when compar'd with these,
Who know not only to instruct but please.
Poets alone found the delightful way,
Mysterious morals gently to convey
In charming numbers ; so that as men grew
Pleas'd with their poems, they grew wiser too.
Satire has always shone among the rest,
And is the boldest way, if not the best,
To tell men freely of their foulest faults ;
To laugh at their vain deeds, and vainer thoughts.
In satire too the wise took different ways,
To each deserving its peculiar praise.
Some did all folly with just sharpness blame,
Whilst others laugh'd and scorn'd them into shame.
But of these two, the last succeeded best,
As men aim rightest when they shoot in jest.
Yet, if we may presume to blame our guides,
And censure those who censure all besides;