Raised as ancient prophets were,

In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer;
Pleasing all men, hurting none,

Pleased and blessed with God alone:

Then while the gardens take my sight,
With all the colours of delight;
While silver waters glide along,

To please my ear, and court my song;
I'll lift my voice, and tune my string,
And thee, great Source of Nature, sing!

The sun, that walks his airy way, To light the world, and give the day; The moon, that shines with borrow'd light;

The stars, that gild the gloomy night;

The seas, that roll unnumber'd waves ;
The wood, that spreads its shady leaves;

The field, whose ears conceal the grain,

The yellow treasure of the plain;

All of these, and all I see,

Should be sung, and sung by me:

They speak their Maker as they can, But want and ask the tongue of man.

Go search among your idle dreams, Your busy or your vain extremes; And find a life of equal bliss,

Or own the next begun in this.

XVIII.

TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER.

ADDISON.

KNELLER, with silence and surprise

We see Britannia's monarch rise,
A godlike form by thee displayed
In all the force of light and shade;
And, awed by thy delusive hand,
As in the presence chamber stand

The magic of thy art calls forth
His secret soul and hidden worth,
His probity and mildness shows,
His care of friends, and scorn of foes:

In every stroke, in every line,

Does some exalted virtue shine,

Line 2d, George I. painted by Kneller.

And Albion's happiness we trace

Through all the features of his face.

O may I live to hail the day, When the glad nation shall survey

Their sovereign, through his wide command, Passing in progress o'er the land!

Each heart shall bend, and every voice

In loud applauding shouts rejoice,

Whilst all his gracious aspect praise,

And crowds grow loyal as they gaze.

The image on the medal placed,
With its bright round of titles graced,
And stampt on British coins, shall live,
To richest ores the value give,

Or, wrought within the curious mould,
Shape and adorn the running gold.
To bear this form, the genial sun
Has daily, since his course begun,
Rejoiced the metal to refine,

And ripen'd the Peruvian mine.

Thou, Kneller, long with noble pride,

The foremost of thy art, has vied

With nature in a generous strife,

And touch'd the canvas into life.

Thy pencil has, by monarchs sought,
From reign to reign in ermine wrought,

And, in the robes of state arrayed,

The kings of half an age displayed.

Here swarthy Charles appears, and there

His brother with dejected air:

Triumphant Nassau here we find,
And with him bright Maria join'd;
There Anna, great as when she sent
Her armies through the continent,
Ere yet her Hero was disgraced:
O may famed Brunswick be the last,
(Though heaven should with my wish
And long preserve thy art in thee,)
The last, the happiest British king,
Whom thou shalt paint, or I shall sing!

agree,