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

1

Which crown'd the conquering arms of Constantine:
The moon 2 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.

5 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.

Fain would the fiends have made a dubious birth3⁄4, Loath to confess the Godhead cloth'd in earth: But sicken'd after all their baffled lies, To find an heir-apparent in the skies: . Abandon'd to despair, still may they grudge, And, owning not the Saviour, prove the Judge. Not great Æneas stood in plainer day, When the dark mantling mist dissolv'd away, He to the Tyrians show'd his sudden face, Shining with all his goddess mother's grace: For she herself had made his count'nance bright, Breath'd honour on his eyes, and her own purple If our victorious Edward, as they say, [light. Gave Wales a prince on that propitious day, Why may not years, revolving with his fate, Produce his like, but with a longer date? One who may carry to a distant shore The terror that his fam'd forefather bore. But why should James or his young hero stay For slight presages of a name or day? We need no Edward's fortune to adorn That happy moment when our Prince was born: Our Prince adorns this day, and ages hence Shall wish his birth-day for some future prince. Great Michael, prince of all the' ethereal hosts, And whate'er inborn saints our Britain boasts; And thou, the' adopted patron 7 of our isle, With cheerful aspects on this infant smile: The pledge of Heav'n, which, dropping from above, Secures our bliss, and reconciles his love.

5 Alluding to the temptations in the wilderness. Edward, the Black Prince, born on Trinity Sunday.

7 St. George.

Enough of ills our dire rebellion wrought,
When to the dregs we drank the bitter draught;
Then airy atoms did in plagues conspire,
Nor did the' avenging angel yet retire,
But purg'd our still-increasing crimes with fire.
Then perjur'd plots, the still-impending test,
And worse-but charity conceals the rest:
Here stop the current of the sanguine flood;
Require not, gracious God! thy martyr's blood;
But let their dying pangs, their living toil,
Spread a rich harvest through their native soil:
A harvest ripening for another reign,

Of which this royal Babe may reap the grain.
Enough of early saints one womb has giv’n;
Enough increas'd the family of Heav'n:
Let them for his and our atonement go,
And reigning bless'd above, leave him to rule below.
Enough already has the year foreshow'd;
His wonted course the sea has overflow'd,
The meads were floated with a weeping spring,
And frighten'd birds in woods forgot to sing:
The strong-limb'd steed beneath his harness faints,
And the same shivering sweat his lord attaints.
When will the minister of wrath give o'er?
Behold him at Arauna's threshing-floor!

He stops, and seems to sheathe his flaming brand,
Pleas'd with burnt incense from our David's hand.
David has bought the Jebusite's abode,
And rais'd an altar to the living God.

Heav'n, to reward him, make his joys sincere: No future ills nor accidents appear

To sully and pollute the sacred infant's year.

8 Alluding to the passage in the first book of Kings, chap. xxiv.