Ode on the 20th of December, 1746

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393 (393)
Ode ^on the 20th of December,
1746.

Hic Dies, Anno redeunte, festus, &cetc..

A While forget the Scenes of Woe,

Forbid a While the Tears to flow,

The pitying Sighs to rise.

Turn from the AxAxe the Thought away;

‘Tis Charles, that bids us crown yethe Day,

And end the Night in Joys.

2.

So when bleak Clouds &and beating Rain

With Storms the Face of Nature stain,

And all in Gloom appears,

If Pheobus deign a short-liv’dshort-lived Smile,

The Face of Nature charms a While,

A While the Prospect chearscheers.

3.

Come then, &and while we largely pour

Libations to the genial Hour,

That gave our Hero Birth,

Let us invite the tuneful Nine

To sing a Theme, like them, divine,

To paint our Hero’s Worth.

4.

How on his tender infant Years

The chearfulcheerful Hand of Heav’nHeaven appears,

To watch it’sits chosen Case.

Estrang’dEstranged to e’vryevery Foe to Truth,

Virtuous Affliction nurs’dnursed his Youth,

Instructive, tho’though severe.

No 394 (394)
5.

No sinful Court it’sits Poison lent,

With early Bane his Mind to taint,

And blast his Young Renown.

His Father’s Virtues fir’dfired his Heart,

His Father’s Suff’ringsSufferings Truths impart,

That form’dformed him for a Throne.

6.

How at an Age, when Pleasure charms,

Allures the Stripling to her Arms,

He plann’dplanned the great Design,

T’To assert his injur’dinjured Father’s Cause,

Restore his stuff’ringsuffering Country’s Laws,

And prove his Right Divine.

7.

How, when on Scotia’s Beach he stood,

The wond’ringwondering Throng around him crowd,

To bend th’the obedient Knee;

Then, thinking on their Country chain’dchained,

They wept such Worth so long detain’ddetained

By Heav’nHeaven’s severe Decree.

8.

Where’erWherever he mov’dmoved in sweet Amaze

All Ranks with Transport on him gaze,

Ev’nEven Grief forgets to pine;

The wisest Sage, the chastest Fair

Applaud his Sense, &and praise his Air,

Thus form’dformed wtwith Grace divine.
How 395 (395)
9.

How great in all the Soldier’s Art,

With Judgment calm, wtwith Fire of Heart,

He badbade the Battle glow;

Yet greater on the conquer’dconquered Plain,

He felt each wounded Captive’s pain,

More like a Friend than Foe.

10.

By Good unmov’dunmoved, in Ill resign’dresigned,

No Change of Fortune chang’dchanged his Mind,

Tenacious of his Aim.

In vain the Gales propitious blew,

Affliction’s Darts as vainly flew,

His Soul was still yethe same.

11.

Check’dChecked in his Glory’s full Career,

He felt no weak desponding Fear

Amid Distresses great.

By ev’ryevery Want &and Danger prestpressed,

No Care possestpossessed his manly Breast,

But for his Country’s Fate.

12.

For oh! the Woes, by Britons felt,

Had not aton’datoned for Britain’s Guilt;

So will’dwilled offended Heav’nHeaven,

That yet a While th’the usurping Hand,

With Iron-rod, should rule yethe Land;

The Rod, for Vengeance giv’ngiven.
But 396 (396)

13.

But in it’sits Vengeance Heav’nHeaven is just,

And soon Britannia from the Dust

Shall rear her Head again.

Soon shall give Way th’the Usurper’s Claim,

And Peace &and Plenty soon proclaim

Again a Stewart’s Reign.

14.

What Joys for happy Britain wait,

When Charles shall rule yethe british State,

Her sullied Fame restore;

When in full Tides of Transport tosttossed,

Ev’neven Mem’ryMemory of her Wrongs is lost,

Nor Germans thought of more!

15.

The Nations round, wtwith wondering Eyes,

Shall see old England awefulawful rise,

As oft she did of Yore.

And, when she holds yethe ballanc’dbalanced Scale,

Oppression shall no more prevail,

But fly her happy Shore.

16.

Corruption, Vice on ev’ryevery Hand,

No more shall lord it o’erover yethe Land,

With their Protectors fled:

Old english Virtues in their Place,

With all their hospitable Race,

Shall rear their decent Head.
In 397 (397)

17.

In peaceful Shades the happy Swain,

With open Heart &and honest Strain,

Shall sing his long-wishdwished Lord;

Nor chusechoose a Tale so fit to move

His list’ninglistening Fair One’s Heart to Love,

As that of Charles restor’drestored.

18.

Tho’Though distant, let the Prospect ~~chear~~^ ^ ^charm,

And ev’ryevery gallant Bosom warm;

Forbear each Tear &and Sigh,

Turn from the AxAxe the Thought away,

‘Tis Charles, that bids us crown the Day,

And end the Night in Joy.