What each prophetic muse foretold is true,
And royal justice gives to worth her due;
The Roman spirit now breathes forth again,
And virtue's temple leads to honour's fane:
But not alone to thee this grant extends,
Nor, in thy rise, great Brunswick's goodness ends.
Whoe'er has known thy hospitable dome,
Where each glad guest still finds himself at home;
Whoe'er has seen the num'rous poor that wait,
To bless thy bounty, at th' expanded gate;
Whoe'er has seen thee general joy impart,
And smile away chagrin from ev'ry heart:
All these are happy—pleasure reigns confest,
And thy prosperity makes thousands blest.