Faith is a Christian's and a subject's test;

Oh give them to believe, and they are surely blest!
They do; and, with a distant view, I see
The' amended vows of English loyalty:
And all beyond that object there appears
The long retinue of a prosperous reign,
A series of successful years,

In orderly array, a martial, manly train.
Behold e'en to remoter sbores

A conquering navy proudly spread ;
The British cannon formidably roars,
While, starting from his oozy bed,

The' asserted Ocean rears his reverend head,
To view and recognize his ancient Lord again,
And, with a willing hand, restores

The fasces of the main.

BRITANNIA REDIVIVA:

A POEM ON THE PRINCE,

BORN 10TH JUNE, 1688.

OUR Vows are heard betimes, and Heav'n takes care
To grant, before we can conclude, the pray'r;
Preventing angels met it half the way,

And sent us back to praise who came to pray.
Just on the day, when the high-mounted sun
Did farthest in its northern progress run,
He bended forward, and ev'n stretch'd the sphere
Beyond the limits of the lengthen'd year,
To view a brighter sun in Britain born;
That was the business of his longest morn;
The glorious object seen, 'twas time to turn.
Departing Spring could only stay to shed
Her gloomy beauties on the genial bed,
But left the manly Summer in her stead,
With timely fruit the longing land to cheer,
And to fulfil the promise of the year.
Betwixt two seasons comes the' auspicious heir,
This age to blossom, and the next to bear.

Last solemn Sabbath saw the church attend,
The Paraclete in fiery pomp descend;
But when his wondrous octave roll'd again,
He brought a royal infant in his train.
So great a blessing to so good a King
None but the' eternal Comforter could bring.

Or did the mighty Trinity conspire,
As once in council to create our sire?
It seems as if they sent the new-born guest
To wait on the procession of their feast;
And on their sacred anniverse decreed
To stamp their image on the promis'd seed.
Three realms united, and on one bestow'd,
An emblem of their mystic union show'd:
The mighty trine the triple empire shar'd,
As every person would have one to guard.

Hail, Son of Prayers! by holy violence
Drawn down from Heav'n; but long be banish'd
And late to thy paternal skies retire: [thence,
To mend our crimes whole ages would require;
To change the' inveterate habit of our sins,
And finish what thy godlike sire begins.
Kind Heav'n, to make us Englishmen again,
No less can give us than a patriarch's reign.

The sacred cradle to your charge receive,
Ye Seraphs, and by turns the guard relieve;
Thy father's angel and thy father join
To keep possession, and secure the line;
But long defer the honours of thy fate:
Great may they be like his, like his be late;
That James his running century may view,
And give this son an auspice to the new.

Our wants exact at least that moderate stay
For see the Dragon winged on his way,
To watch the travail, and devour the prey.
Or, if allusions may not rise so high,
Thus, when Alcides rais'd his infant-cry,
The snakes besieg'd his young divinity:

But vainly with their forked tongues they threat;
For opposition makes a hero great.

To needful succour all the good will run,
And Jove assert the godhead of his son.

O still repining at your present state,
Grudging yourselves the benefits of fate,
Look up, and read in characters of light
A blessing sent you in your own despite.
The manna falls, yet that celestial bread,
Like Jews, you munch, and murmur while you feed :
May not your fortune be like theirs, exil'd,
Yet forty years to wander in the wild;
Or if it be, may Moses live at least,

To lead you to the verge of promis'd rest.
Though poets are not prophets, to foreknow
What plants will take the blight and what will grow ;
By tracing Heav'n his footsteps may be found:
Behold! how awfully he walks the round!
God is abroad, and, wondrous in his ways,
The rise of empires and their fall surveys:
More (might I say) than with an usual eye,
He sees his bleeding church in ruin lie,

And hears the souls of saints beneath his altar cry.
Already has he lifted high the sign'

Which crown'd the conquering arms of Constantine:
The moon' grows pale at that presaging sight,
And half her train of stars have lost their light.
Behold another Sylvester 3, to bless

The sacred standard, and secure success;
Large of his treasures, of a soul so great,
As fills and crowds his universal seat.

Now view at home a second Constantine 4; (The former, too, was of the British line)

1 The Cross. Pope Sylvester.

2 The Crescent of the Turks.
4 King James II.

Has not his healing balm your breaches clos'd,
Whose exile many sought, and few oppos'd?
O! did not Heav'n, by its eternal doom,
Permit those evils that this good might come?
So manifest, that e'en the moon-ey'd sects
See whom and what this Providence protects.
Methinks, had we within our minds no more
Than that one shipwreck on the fatal ore,
That only thought may make us think again,
What wonders God reserves for such a reign.
To dream that Chance his preservation wrought,
Were to think Noah was preserv'd for nought;
Or the surviving eight were not design'd
To people earth, and to restore their kind.
When humbly on the royal Babe we gaze,
The manly lines of a majestic face
Give awful joy: 'tis paradise to look
On the fair frontispiece of Nature's book:
If the first opening page so charms the sight,
Think how the' unfolded volume will delight!
See how the venerable infant lies

In early pomp; how through the mother's eyes
The father's soul, with an undaunted view,
Looks out, and takes our homage as his due.
See on his future subjects how he smiles,
Nor meanly flatters, nor with craft beguiles;
But with an open face, as on his throne,
Assures our birthrights, and assumes his own.
Born in broad day-light, that the' ungrateful rout
May find no room for a remaining doubt;
Truth, which itself is light, does darkness shun,
And the true eaglet safely dares the sun.