 | An Ode on the Birth-Day of his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales |  |
An ODE
ON THE Birth-Day of his Royal Highness the PRINCE of Wales.
Neque enim quivis horrentia pilis
Agmina------
Attamen & justum poteras & scribere fortem.
Hor.
Agmina------
Attamen & justum poteras & scribere fortem.
Hor.
1
I
When Churchill on Onarda's PlainThe Powers of Europe led;
When Slaughter stalk'd on heaps of Slain,
And Virtue greatly bled:
II
'Twas then the blooming Prince, ordain'dBy Fate to Britain's Throne,
In Arms immortal Honours gain'd,
And won the Victor's Crown.
III
His glitt'ring Steel he shook, and Vow'dBy Carolina's Eyes,
To stain it in his Rival's Blood,
And gain the destin'd Prize.
IV
Britons, assert your Country's Cause,The youthful Warrior cry'd;
You fight for Freedom and for Laws:
For those your Fathers dy'd.
V
Then rushing on, in Crowds of Foes,Thro' Tracts of Death he ran;
His Courage with his Danger grows:
Hero, as soon as Man!
VI
Whilst he each dreadful Scene review'd,His Rival hid his Head:
Whilst he with graceful Wrath pursu'd,
The pale Impostor fled.
VII
Behold Britannia's promis'd Heir!Behold him cover'd o'er
With all the glorious Dust of War,
And stain'd with comely Gore!
2
VIII
While Martial Sounds his Ear delight,And rouze him as they swell;
Amidst the Fury of the Fight
His wounded Courser fell.
IX
In that distress'd and dubious Hour,All cover'd with Despair,
Alarm'd was England's Guardian Power,
And sav'd his Royal Care.
X
Victorious Youth, to Greatness born,The smiling Genius said!
O fated, Empire to adorn,
And Albion's Fame to spread!
XI
Thy shining Virtues to reward,And bless a Martial Land,
A Diadem thy Brow shall guard,
A Scepter grace thy Hand.
XII
Let the glad Day, which gave Thee Light,The Symphonies prolong:
While Poets thy great Deeds recite,
And Oudenard's the Song.
XIII
To Harmony and Fame that DayShall ever Sacred be;
And every Muse devote a Lay,
To Oudenard and Thee.
| An Ode on the Birth-Day of his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales | |