No banish'd man, condemn'd in woods to rove,
Entreats thy pardon, and implores thy love:
No perjur'd knight defires to quit thy arms,
Fairest collection of thy fex's charms;
Crown of my love, and honour of my youth!
Henry, thy Henry, with eternal truth,
As thou may'ft wifh, fhall all his life employ,
And found his glory in his Emma's joy!
In me behold the potent Edgar's heir;
Illuftrious earl! him terrible in war,
Let Loyre confefs; for the has felt his fword,
And, trembling, fled before the British lord:
Him great in peace and wealth fair Deva knows ;
For fhe amidst his fpacious meadows flows,
Inclines her urn upon his fatten'd lands,

And fees his num'rous herds imprint her fands.

And thou, my fair, my dove! fhalt raise thy thought
To greatness next to empire; fhalt be brought.
With folemn pomp, to my paternal feat,

Where peace and plenty on thy word, fhall wait :
Mufick and song shall wake the marriage-day,
And while the priests accuse the bride's delay,
Myrtles and rofes fhall obftruct her way.

Friendship fhall ftill thy ev'ning feafts adorn,
And blooming Peace shall eyer bless thy morn;
Succeeding years their happy race fhall run,
And age, unheeded by delight, come on;
While yet fuperior Love fhall mock his pow'r;
And when old Time shall turn the fated hour,
Which only can our well-ty'd knot unfold,
What refts of both, one fepulchre shall hold.
Hence, then, for ever, from my Emma's breaft,
(That heav'n of foftnefs, and that feat of reft)
Ye doubts and fears, and all that know to move
Tormenting grief, and all that trouble love;
Scatter'd by winds recede, and wild in forests rove.
3 E

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EMMA.

EMMA.

O day! the fairest sure that ever rose ; Period and end of anxious Emma's woes! Sire of her joy, and fource of her delight,

O! wing'd with pleasure take thy happy flight,

And give each future morn a tincture of thy white."
Yet tell thy vot'ry, potent queen of Love,

Henry, my Henry, will he never rove ?
Will he be ever kind, and juft, and good?

And is there yet no miftrefs in the wood?—

None, none there is; the thought was rash and vain,
A false idea, and a fancy'd pain.

Doubt fhall for ever quit my ftrengthen'd heart,
And anxious Jealoufy's corroding fmart;
Nor other inmate shall inhabit there,

But foft Belief, young Joy, and pleafing Care.
Hence let the tides of plenty ebb and flow,
And Fortune's various gale unheeded blow.
If at my feet the fuppliant goddess stands,
And sheds her treasure with unweary'd hands,
Her present favour cautious I'll embrace,
And not unthankful ufe the proffer'd grace;
If the reclaims the temporary boon,
And tries her pinions, flutt'ring to be gone,
Secure of mind I'll obviate her intent,
And, unconcern'd, return the goods she lent.
Nor happiness can I, nor mifery, feel,

From any turn of her fantaflick wheel :
Friendship's great laws, and Love's fuperior pow'rs,
Muft mark the colour of my future hours.

From the events which thy commands create,

I must my bleffings or my forrows date,

1

And Henry's will muft dictate Emma's fate.

Yet, while with clofe delight and inward pride, (Which from the world my careful soul shall hide)

}

I fee thee, lord and end of my defire,
Exalted high as virtue can require,

With pow'r invefted, and with pleasure chear'd,
Sought by the good, by the oppreffor fear'd,
Loaded and blefs'd with all the affluent flore

Which human vows at smoaking shrines implore;
Grateful and humble grant me to employ

My life fubfervient only to thy joy,

And at my death to bless thy kindness, shown

To her who, of mankind, could love but thee alone.

-While thus the conftant pair alternate faid,

Joyful above them and around them play'd
Angels and fportive loves, a num'rous crowd;

Smiling they clapp'd their wings, and low they bow'd:
They tumbled all their little quivers o'er,

To chufe propitious fhafts a precious store,

That when their god fhould take his future darts,
To ftrike (however rarely) conftant hearts,
His happy skill might proper arms employ,
All tipp'd with pleasure, and all wing'd with joy;
And those, they vow'd, whofe lives fhould imitate
Thefe lovers conftancy, fhould fhare their fate..

The queen of Beauty stopp'd her bridled doves,
Approv'd the little labour of the Loves;
Was proud and pleas'd the mutual vow to hear,
And to the triumph call'd the god of War:
Soon as she calls, the god is always near.

Now, Mars,' fhe faid, let Fame exalt her voice,

}

Nor let thy conquefts only be her choice;
But when she fings great Edward from the field
Return'd, the hoftile spear and captive shield

In Concord's temple hung, and Gallia taught to yield.
And when, as prudent Saturn fhall compleat
The years defign'd to perfect Britain's state,
3 E 2

• The

The fwift-wing'd power fhall take her trump again,
To fing her fav'rite Anna's wond'rous reign;
To recollect unweary'd Marlbrô's toils,
Old Rufus' Hall unequal to his fpoils;

The British foldier from his high command
Glorious, and Gaul thrice vanquish'd by his hand;
Let her at leaft perform what I defire,

With fecond breath the vocal brafs infpire,

And tell the nations, in no vulgar ftrain,

What wars I manage, and what wreaths I gain.

And when thy tumults and thy fights are pafs'd,

And when thy laurels at my feet are caft,
Faithful may'ft thou, like British Henry, prove
And, Emma-like, let me return thy love.

Renown'd for truth let all thy fons appear,
And conftant Beauty shall reward their care.'
Mars fmil'd, and bow'd: the Cyprian deity
Turn'd to the glorious ruler of the sky;

And thou,' fhe fmiling faid, great god of days
• And verfe, behold my deed, and fing my praise;
As on the British earth, my fav'rite isle,
Thy gentle rays and kindest influence fmile,
• Thro' all her laughing fields and verdant groves,
Proclaim with joy thefe memorable loves:
From ev'ry annual courfe let one great day,
To celebrated sports and floral play,

Be let ande; and an the fofteft lays
Of thy poetick fons, be folemn praife,
And everlasting marks of honour, paid

To the true Lover and the Nut-brown Maid."

A LET

A LETTER TO SIR ROBERT WALPOLE,

BY HENRY FIELDING, ESQ

SIR,

W

HILE at the helm of ftate you ride,
Our nation's envy and it's pride;
While foreign courts with wonder gaze,
And justly all your counfels praise,
Which, in contempt of faction's force,
Steer, tho' oppos'd, a fteady course;
Would you not wonder, Sir, to view
Your bard a greater man than you?
And yet the fequel proves it true.

You know, Sir, certain ancient fellows,
Philofophers, and others, tell us,
That no alliance e'er between

Greatnefs and happiness is seen;
If fo, may Heaven ftill deny

Befides, we're taught, it does behove us,
To think thofe greater who're above us:
Another inftance of my glory,

Who live above you twice two story,
And from my garret can look down,
As from an hill, on half the town.

Greatness by poets ftill is painted,
With many followers acquainted:
This too does in my favour fpeak,
Your levee is but twice a week;
From mine I can exclude but one day;
My door is quiet on a Sunday.

The distance, too, at which they bow,
Does my fuperior greatnefs fhew,

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Familiar