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Tun’d to his British lyre this ancient song :
Vouchsafe, illustrious Ormond, to behold
power the charms of beauty had of old ;
If Chaucer by the best idea wrought,
Like'her, of equal kindred to the throne,
As when the stars in their etherial race, At length have rollid around the liquid space, At certain periods they resume their place, From the same point of heaven their course advance, And move in measures of their former dance ; Thus, after length of ages, she returns, Restor'd in you, and the same place adorns ; Or you perform her office in the sphere, Born of her blood, and make a new platonic year. O true Plantagenet, О race divine, (For beauty still is fatal to the line,) Had Chaucer liv'd that angel-face to view, Sure he had drawn his Emily from you ; Or had liv’d to judge the doubtful right, Your noble Palamon had been the knight ; And conquering Theseus from his fide had fent Your generous lord, to guide the Theban government. Time shall accomplish that; and I Mall see A Palamon in him, in you an Emily. Already have the Fates your path prepar'd, And sure presage your future sway declar'd : When westward, like the fun, you took your way, And from benighted Britain bore the day, Blue Triton gave the signal from the fore, The ready Nereids heard, and swam before To smooth the seas ; a soft Etesian gale But juft,infpir'd, and gently fwell'd the fail; Portunus took his turn, whose ample hand Heav'd up his lightend keel, and funk the sand, And steer'd the facred vefsel safe to land.