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ODE for New-year's-day, 1720.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


57

ODE for New-year's-day, 1720.

To the Thames.

[_]

Written at the Request of Mr. Rowe, Poet-Laureat.

King of the floods, whom friendly stars ordain
To fold alternate in thy winding train
The lofty Palace, and the fertile Vale;
King of the floods! Britannia's Darling, hail!
Hail! with the year so well begun,
And bid his each revolving Sun,
Taught by thy stream, in smooth succession run.
From thy never-failing urn
Flow'ry bloom, and fair Increase,
With the seasons take their turn;
From thy tributary seas
Tides of various wealth attend thee;
Seas and seasons all befriend thee.
Here on thy banks, to mate the skies,
Augusta's hallow'd domes arise;
And there thy ample bosom pours
Her num'rous sails, and floating tow'rs,
Whose terrors, late, to vanquish'd Spain were known,
And Ætna shook with thunder not her own.
Tallest flags dost Thou sustain,
While thy banks confine thy course;
Emblem of our Cæsar's reign,
Mingling clemency and force.

58

So may thy Sons, secur'd by distant wars,
Ne'er stain thy Crystal with domestic jars,
As Cæsar's reign, to Britain ever dear,
Shall join with thee to bless the coming year.
On thy shady margin,
Care, its load discharging,
Is lull'd to gentle rest;
Britain so disarming
(Wars no more alarming)
Shall sleep on Cæsar's breast.
Sweet to distress is balmy sleep;
To sleep, auspicious dreams;
Thy meadows, Thames, to feeding sheep;
To thirst, thy silver streams;
More sweet than All, the praise
Of Cæsar's golden days;
Cæsar's praise is sweeter,
Britain's pleasure greater:
Still may Cæsar's reign excell!
Sweet the praise of reigning well!

Chorus.

Gentle Janus, ever wait
On Britannia's kinder fate;
Crown all our vows, and all thy gifts bestow,
Till time no more renews his date,
And Thames forgets to flow.