Music herself is lost, in vain she brings
Her choicest notes to praise the best of kings :
Her melting strains in you a tomb have found,
And lie, like bees, in their own sweetness drown'd.
He that brought peace, all discord could atone,
His name is music of itself alone.
Now while the sacred oil anoints your head,
And fragrant scents begun from you, are spread 63
Thro' the large dome, the people's joyful sound,
Sent back, is still preserv'd in hallow'd ground;
Which in one blessing mix'd descends on you,
As heighten'd spirits fall in richer dew.
Not that our wishes do increase your store,
Full of yourself, you can admit no more:
We add not to your glory, but employ
Our time, like angels, in expressing joy.
Nor is it duty, or our hopes, alone
Create that joy, but full fruition :

70
We know those blessings which we must possess,
And judge of future by past happiness.
No promise can oblige a prince so much
Still to be good, as long to have been such.
A noble emulation heats your breast,
And your own fame now robs you of your rest.
Good actions still must be maintain'd with good,
As budies nourish'd with resembling food.
You have already quench'd Sedition's brand;
And Zeal, which burnt it, only warms the land. 80
Dryden.]

Tij

The jealous sects that dare not trust their cause
So far from their own will as to the laws,
You for their umpire and their synod take,
And their appeal alone to Cæsar make.
Kind Heav'n so rare a temper did provide,
That Guilt repenting might in it confide.
Among our crimes oblivion may be set
But 'tis our Kings perfection to forget.
Virtues, unknown to these rough northern climes,
From milder heav'ns you bring, without their crimes.
Your calmness does no after-storms provide, 91
Nor seeming patience mortal anger hide.
When empire first from families did spring,
Then ev'ry father govern'd as a king;
But you that are a sov’reign prince, allay
Imperial pow'r with your paternal sway.
From those great cares when ease your soul unbends,
Your pleasures are design'd to noble ends:
Born to command the mistress of the seas,
Your thoughts themselves in that blue empire please.
Hither in summer ev'nings you repair
To take the fraicheur of the purer air:
Undaunted here you ride, when Winter iaves,
With Cæsar's heart that rose above the waves.
More I could sing, but fear my numbers stays;
No loyal subject, dares that courage praise.
In stately frigates most delight you find,
Where well-drawn battles fire your martial mind.

110

120

What to your cares we owe is learn'd from hence,
When ev’n your pleasures serve for our defence.
Beyond your court flows in th' admitted lide,
Where in new dep!hs the wond'ring fishes glide :
Here in a royal bed the waters sleep ;
When tir'd at sea, within this bay they creep.
Here the mistrustful fowl no harm suspects,
So safe are all things which our king protects.
From your lov'd Thames a blessing yet is due,
Second alone to that it brought in you;
A queen, near whose chaste womb, ordaind by Fate,
The souls of kings unborn for bodies wait.
It was your love before made discord cease;
Your love is destin'd to your couniry's peace.
Both Indies, rivals in your bed, provide,
With gold or jewels to adorn your bride.
This to a mighty king presents rich ore,
While that with incense does a god iinplore.
Two kingdoms wait your doom, and, as you chuse,
This must receive a crown, or that must lose.
Thus from your royal oak, like Jove's of old,
Are answers sought and destinies foretold; 130
Propitious oracles are begg'd with vows,
And crowns that grow upon the sacred boughs.
Your subjects, while you weigh the nation's fate,
Suspend to both their doubtful love or hale;
Chuse only, Sir, that so they may possess,
With their own peace, their children's happiness.

CONTENT S.

-

Page

A key to Absalom and Achithophel,

5

Absalom and thophel, a Poem in two Parts.

Part I.

Part II.

47

The Hind and the Panther, a Poem, in three Parts

Part I.

89

Part II.

110

Part III.

137

Macflecnoe,

185

The Medal. A Satire against Sedition,

193

Alexander's Feast: or, The Power of Music. An

Ode,

205

The Secular Mask,

212

To his Sacred Majesty, A Panegyric on his co-

rona:ion,

217

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

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