University of Virginia Library

To the Ingenious Author, now of the Colledge in Dublin.

Whilst thy dear native Soil with smiling Face,
Puts forth her Arms to catch the first Embrace;
And thy gay Friends in joyfull Tumults throng,
To hear the well known Accents of thy Tongue;
We can't but smile, when we new Pleasures find,
In this fair Off-spring which you left behind.
So kindly brib'd by thy resistless Wit,
We lose your Absence, and our Griefs forget.
Strange! that such tender Years so toughly wear,
So young your self, and yet so tall your Heir:
If forward Nineteen such a Ripeness show,
What Wonders will a well knit Thirty do?
Such was lov'd Cowley's Voice, so young his Pen,
When the fleet Youth assur'd a second Ben:
Such Thoughts did Ovid's angry Stars defeat,
Soft'ning the Malice of the Cold retreat.
Such was your Force, so orderly it broke,
When your Friend lov'd, or drooping Country spoke.
Pale was her Cheek and doubtfull was her Look,
When Wars rough Arms the nodding Island shook;
Now the full Streams of Joy around her flow,
Grac'd with their Charge, a welcome Peace and You:
Her wither'd Branches gladly sprout again,
Pleas'd to behold her Sons: A darling Train,
That guard her Beauty, and her Glory raise,
They crown'd with Conquest, These adorn with Bays.