Which yet the brother and the friend so plenteously confest. IX. Amidst that silent shower, the royal mind An easy passage found, And left its sacred earth behind; Nor murmuring groan expressed, nor labouring sound, Nor any least tumultuous breath; Calm was his life, and quiet was his death. Soft as those gentle whispers were, In which the Almighty did appear; By the still voice the prophet knew him there. That peace which made thy prosperous reign to shine, That peace thou leav'st to thy imperial line, That peace, Oh happy shade, be ever thine! X. For all those joys thy restoration brought, For all the miracles it wrought, For all the healing balm thy mercy poured Into the nation's bleeding wound,[55] And care, that after kept it sound, For numerous blessings yearly showered, And property with plenty crowned; For freedom, still maintained alive, Freedom, which in no other land will thrive, Freedom, an English subject's sole prerogative, Without whose charms, even peace would be But a dull quiet slavery;-- For these, and more, accept our pious praise; 'Tis all the subsidy The present age can raise, The rest is charged on late posterity. Posterity is charged the more, Because the large abounding store To them, and to their heirs, is still entailed by thee. Succession of a long descent, Which chastely in the channels ran, And from our demi-gods began, Equal almost to time in its extent, Through hazards numberless and great, Thou hast derived this mighty blessing down, And fixed the fairest gem that decks the imperial crown: Not faction, when it shook thy regal seat, Not senates, insolently loud, Those echoes of a thoughtless crowd, Not foreign or domestic treachery, Could warp thy soul to their unjust decree. So much thy foes thy manly mind mistook, Who judged it by the mildness of thy look; Like a well-tempered sword, it bent at will, But kept the native toughness of the steel. XI. Be true, O Clio, to thy hero's name; But draw him strictly so, That all who view the piece may know, He needs no trappings of fictitious fame. The load's too weighty; thou may'st chuse Some parts of praise, and some refuse; Write, that his annals may be thought more lavish than the muse. In scanty truth thou hast confined The virtues of a royal mind, Forgiving, bounteous, humble, just, and kind: His conversation, wit, and parts, His knowledge in the noblest useful arts, Were such, dead authors could not give; But habitudes of those who live, Who, lighting him, did greater lights receive: He drained from all, and all they knew; His apprehension quick, his judgment true, That the most learned, with shame, confess His knowledge more, his reading only less.