To the E. of Dorset, on the Birth of His Son

WAKE Goddess wake Thy drousy Lyre
Let the neglected Chords to louder Strains be strung,
And raise Thy voice, and swell thy numbers higher,
No common Theme requires Thy Song
For loe ! from old Eternities glad Womb
The promis'd day, the glorious Birth is come :
'Tis come ; the noble Babe securely lies
On his fair Mothers joyful breast;
(Happy his Age whose Infancy enjoys
A Seat of Plenty and a Heav'n of rest.)
But Oh ! what Clouds of glory, clouds of light
Too strong for feeble Mans external Eye
Roll round the noble Babe, and mock my drowned sight :
That Light, that glory I wou'd see;
Hear, Goddess, hear thy Votary
The meanest of thy Sons inspire
Come to my breast, and with Thy pow'rful ray
Drive dimm humanity away
Wake, Goddess, wake thy Lyre.

Hark the quicken'd Lyre awaks
Each willing string melodious tremblings makes :
And see ! the appeas'd Air, and opening sky
Proclaim the Goddess nigh.
She's here, I feel the generous rage within
Enliven each extended vein.
I feel the kind the cruel Goddess roll
All through each part of my exalted Soul
And prest with Joy and pain'd with extacy
Loe ! what mighty things I see.

Mids't a fair Troop of smiling Deities :
Grave Janus with Majestic pace draws near
The sacred place where the blest Infant lies
Janus with pleasing Care and easy Joy
Does all his happy Eyes imploy
The lovely Babe to view
Employs 'em all, and thinks them all too few.
Pleas'd and ravish'd with the sight
He wings the coming Hours with new delight
No more looks backward now, but here
From this blest Birth dates the enobl'd Year.

Jocund Hymen next appears
His fragrant head with chearful joy he rears
With freshest wreaths his hair was bound
With brightest flames his torch was crown'd
Onward he came and coming smil'd
And saw and kist and blest the happy Child
He saw and kist and blest, and laugh'd aloud
Whilst all the little lovely crowd
Who with officious Joy stood hov'ring by
Laugh'd aloud with Him, and blest the Augury.
Wanton and gay came Venus by
Venus saw Dorinda's Son
Smil'd and took him for her own
And much She wou'd have said of flames and darts
Of sighing Maids and yeilding hearts
But Pallas with majestic gravity
Reprov'd the light discourse, and know she crys
This Child is born to nobler Victories
Arms and the dusky field shal be his care
'Tis he shal lead the gene'rous Britain forth
To hazardous encounter and hard war
He shal renew his fam'd forefathers worth
And bid the wond'ring Soldier imitate
His Virtue and be great.
She said, and reverently low deprest
Her armed head down to the Lovely Child
The lovely Child with Ominous gallantry
Threw his young Arms around her glittring Crest
And claspt it to him close and smil'd
Whilst all the greater Gods that waited by
Bow'd to the Babe, and blest the Augury.
With mild Magnificence and humble State
See Jove himself vouchsafes to wait.