WITH THE FABLE OF THE TWO SPRINGS .
O H ALIFAX ! a name for ever dear
To Phaebus, and which all the Nine revere,
Accept this humble pledge of my esteem,
So justly thine, benevolence my theme.
In mystic tales and parables, of old,
Grave Eastern seers instructive lessons told;
Wise Greece from them receiv’d the happy plan,
And taught the brute to pedagogue the man.
The matron Truth appears with better grace
When well-wrought fables veil her reverend face:
Dry precept may instruct, but can’t delight,
While pleasing fictions all our pow’rs excite.
Our busy minds each faculty employ,
And range around, and start their game with joy;
Pleas’d with the chase, make the rich prey their own,
And glory in the conquests they have won.
Fable alone can crown the poet’s brow,
Upon his works immortal charms bestow,
And ’twere a sin that method to disprove
Which Heav’n has fix’d by sanctions from above.
My humble Muse in calm retirement roves
Near mossy fountains and near shady groves;
Yet there, ev’n there, her loyal hands would raise
Some rural trophy to her monarch’s praise;
Instruct those fountains and those groves to show
What copious blessings from his bounty flow;
While flow’rs and shrubs bless his propitious aid,
His urn refreshing or protecting shade.
Great friend of human kind! thy pious hand
Nor wounds to kill, nor conquers to command.
Let haughty tyrants of false glory dream,
Without remorse pursue the bloody scheme;
To fame forbidden tread the lawless way,
And o’er the ravag’d world extend their sway:
‘Tis thine, great George! to guard thy favourite Isle
From open force, and every secret wile,
To raise the’ oppress’d, to make the captives smile;
To pay just Heav’n what righteous monarchs owe,
And, like that Heav’n, to bless the world below;
To build new temples, to repair the old,
To bring the straggling sheep into the fold,
And by wise laws restore an Age of Gold.
Ye blissful seats, where Thame and Isis join!
Lovely retirement of the sacred Nine!
Parent of arts, and once my sweet abode,
Can ye forget the blessings he bestow’d!
Can sophistry prevail against that prince
Whose mercy and beneficence convince?
Oh! touch each tuneful string, let every Muse
From all her stores her noblest paeaus choose;
Pay what she can in tributary lays,
And to his virtue grant supplies of praise.
To all the world your grateful hearts make known,
And in your monarch’s fame record your own:
His fame — which Envy’s breath can never blast,
But ages yet to come shall join the past,
And Brunswick’s glory with the world shall last.
—————
The End
And that’s the End of the Poem
© Poetry Monster, 2021.
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