While pray'rs and tears his destin'd progress stay,
And crowds of mourners choke their sov'reign's way.
Not so he march'd when hostile squadrons stood
In scenes of death, and fir'd his generous blood;
When his hot courser paw'd th' Hungarian plain,
And adverse legions stood the shock in vain.
His frontiers past, the Belgian bounds he views,
And cross the level fields his march pursues.
Here, pleas'd the land of freedom to survey,
He greatly scorns the thirst of boundless sway.
O'er the thin soil, with silent joy, he spies
Transplanted woods, and borrow'd verdure rise;
Where ev'ry meadow won with toil and blood,
From haughty tyrants, and the raging flood,
With fruits and flowers the careful hind supplies,
And clothes the marshes in a rich disguise.
Such wealth for frugal hands doth Heaven decree,
And such thy gifts, celestial Liberty!

Through stately towns, and many a fertile plain,
The pomp advances to the neighbouring main.
Whole nations crowd around with joyful cries,
And view the hero with insatiate eyes.

'In Haga's towers he waits, till eastern gales
Propitious rise to swell the British sails.
Hither the fame of England's monarch brings
The vows and friendships of the neighb'ring kings;
Mature in wisdom, his extensive mind

Takes in the blended interests of mankind,

The world's great patriot. Calm thy anxious breast,
Secure in him, O Europe, take thy rest;

Henceforth thy kingdoms shall remain confin'd

By rocks and streams, the mounds which Heav'n design'd;
The Alps their new-made monarch shall restrain,
Nor shall thy hills, Pirene, rise in vain.

But see, to Britain's isle the squadron stand,
And leave the sinking towers and less'ning land.
The royal bark bounds o'er the floating plain,
Breaks through the billows, and divides the main.'
O'er the vast deep, great monarch, dart thine eyes,
A watery prospect bounded by the skies:

Ten thousand vessels, from ten thousand shores,
Bring gums and gold, and either India's stores,
Behold the tributes hast'ning to thy throne,
And see the wide horizon all thy own.

Still is it thine; tho' now the cheerful crew
Hail Albion's cliffs just whitening to the view.

Before the wind with swelling sails they ride,
Till Thames receives them in his opening tide.
The monarch hears the thund'ring peals around
From trembling woods and echoing hills rebound.
Nor misses yet, amid the deaf'ning train,
The roarings of the hoarse resounding main.

As in the flood he sails, from either side,
He views his kingdom in its rural pride;
A various scene the wide-spread landscape yields,
O'er rich inclosures and luxuriant fields:
A lowing herd each fertile pasture fills,

And distant flocks stray o'er a thousand hills.
Fair Greenwich hid in woods with new delight,
(Shade above shade) now rises to the sight:
His woods ordain'd to visit every shore,
And guard the island which they grac'd before.

The sun, now rolling down the western way,
A blaze of fires, renews the fading day;
Unnumber'd barks the regal barge enfold,
Bright'ning the twilight with its beamy gold;
Less thick the finny shoals, a countless fry,
Before the whale or kingly dolphin fly;
In one vast shout he seeks the crowded strand,
And in a peal of thunder gains the land.

Welcome, great stranger, to our longing eyes. Oh! king desir'd, adopted Albion cries, For thee the East breath'd out a prosp'rous breeze ; Bright were the suns, and gently swell'd the seas. Thy presence did each doubtful heart compose, And factions wonder'd that they once were foes; That joyful day they lost each hostile name, The same their aspect, and their voice the same.

6 So two fair twins whose features were design'd At one soft moment in the mother's mind, Show each the other with reflected grace, And the same beauties bloom in either face; The puzzled strangers which is which inquire; Delusion grateful to the smiling sire.

From that fair hill,* where hoary sages boast To name the stars, and count the heavenly host,


*Flamstead house on Greenwich hill.

By the next dawn doth great Augusta rise,
Proud town! the noblest scene beneath the skies.
O'er Thames her thousand spires their lustre shed,
And a vast navy hides his ample bed-

A floating forest! From the distant strand
A line of golden cars strikes o'er the land:
Britannia's peers in pomp and rich array,
Before their king, triumphant lead the way.
Far as the eye can reach, the gaudy train,
A bright procession, shines along the plain.

So haply thro' the heav'n's wide pathless ways
A comet draws a long extended blaze;

From east to west burns through th' ethereal frame, And half heav'n's convex glitters with the flame.

Now to the regal towers securely brought,
He plans Britannia's glories in his thought,
Resumes the delegated power he gave,
Rewards the faithful, and restores the brave,
Whom shall the Muse from out the shining throng
Select, to heighten and adorn her song?

Thee, Halifax. To thy capacious mind,
O man approv'd, is Britain's wealth consign'd.
Her coin (while Nassau fought) debas'd and rude,
By thee in beauty and in truth renew'd,
An arduous work! again thy charge we see,
And thy own care once more returns to thee.
O! form'd in ev'ry scene to awe and please,
Mix wit with pomp, and dignity with ease;
Tho' call'd to shine aloft, thou wilt not scorn
To smile on arts thyself did once adorn :
For this thy name succeeding time shall praise,
And envy less thy garter than thy bays.

The Muse, if fir'd with thy enliv'ning beams,
Perhaps shall aim at more exalted themes;
Record our monarch in a nobler strain,
And sing the op'ning wonders of his reign;
Bright Carolina's heavenly beauties trace,
Her valiant consort, and his blooming race.
A train of kings their fruitful love supplies,
A glorious scene to Albion's ravish'd eyes;
Who sees by Brunswick's hand her sceptre sway'd,
And through his line from age to age convey'd.'

No. 621. WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1714.

-Postquam se lumine puro

Implevit, stellasque vagas miratur, et astra
Fixa polis, vidit quanta sub nocte jaceret
Nostra dies, risitque sui ludibria-

LUCAN, 1. ix. ver. 11.

New to the blest abode, with wonder fill'd
The sun and moving planets he beheld ;
Then, looking down on the sun's feeble ray,
Survey'd our dusky, faint, imperfect day,
And under what a cloud of night we lay!



HE following letter having in it some observations out of the common road, I shall make it the entertainment of this day.


THE common topics against the pride of man, which are laboured by florid and declamatory writers, are taken from the baseness of his original, the imperfections of his nature, or the short duration of those goods in which he makes his boast. Though it be true that we can have nothing in us that ought to raise our vanity, yet a consciousness of our own merit may be sometimes laudable. The folly therefore lies here: we are apt to pride ourselves in worthless, or perhaps shameful things; and on the other hand count that disgraceful which is our truest glory.

Hence it is that the lovers of praise take wrong measures to attain it. Would a vain man consult his own heart, he would find, that if others knew his weakness, as well as himself doth, he could not have the impudence to expect the public esteem. Pride therefore flows from want of reflection, and ignorance of ourselves. Knowledge and humility come upon us together.

The proper way to make an estimate of ourselves, is to consider seriously what it is we value or despise in others. A man who boasts of the goods of fortune, a gay dress, or a new title, is generally the mark of ridicule.

We ought therefore not to admire in ourselves what we are so ready to laugh at in other men.

Much less can we with reason pride ourselves in those things, which at some time of our life we shall certainly despise. And yet, if we will give ourselves the trouble of looking backward and forward on the several changes which we have already undergone, and hereaf ter must try, we shall find that the greater degrees of our knowledge and wisdom serve only to shew us our own imperfections.


As we rise from childhood to youth, we look with contempt on the toys and trifles which our hearts have hitherto been set upon. When we advance to manhood, we are held wise, in proportion to our shame and regret for the rashness and extravagance of youth. Old age fills us with mortifying reflections upon a life mis-spent in the pursuit of anxious wealth, or uncertain honour. Agreeable to this gradation of thought in this life, it may be reasonably supposed that, in a future state, the wis dom, the experience, and the maxims of old age, will be looked upon by a separate spirit, in much the same light as an ancient man now sees the little follies and toyings of infants. The pomps, the honours, the policies, and arts, of mortal men, will be thought as trifling as hobbyhorses, mock battles, or any other sports that now employ all the cunning, strength, and ambition, of rational beings, from four years old to nine or ten.

If the notion of a gradual rise in beings from the meanest to the most high be not a vain imagination, it is not improbable that an angel looks down upon a man as a man doth upon a creature which approaches the nearest to the rational nature. By the same rule, if I may indulge my fancy in this particular, a superior brute looks with a kind of pride on one of an inferior species. If they could reflect, we might imagine, from the gestures of some of them, that they think themselves the sovereigns of the world, and that all things were made for them. Such a thought would not be more absurd in brute creatures than one which men are apt to entertain, namely, that all the stars in the firmament were created only to please their eyes and amuse their imaginations. Mr. Dryden, in his fable of the Cock and the Fox, makes

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