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  And sure presage your future sway declared: 
  When westward, like the sun, you took your way,
  And from benighted Britain bore the day,
  Blue Triton gave the signal from the shore,
  The ready Nereids heard, and swam before,
  To smooth the seas; a soft Etesian gale
  But just inspired, and gently swell’d the sail;
  Portunus took his turn, whose ample hand
  Heaved up his lighten’d keel, and sunk the sand,
  And steer’d the sacred vessel safe to land. 50
  The land, if not restrain’d, had met your way,
  Projected out a neck, and jutted to the sea. 
  Hibernia, prostrate at your feet, adored
  In you the pledge of her expected lord;
  Due to her isle; a venerable name;
  His father and his grandsire known to fame;
  Awed by that house, accustom’d to command,
  The sturdy kerns in due subjection stand;
  Nor bear the reins in any foreign hand. 
  At your approach, they crowded to the port; 60
  And scarcely landed, you create a court: 
  As Ormond’s harbinger, to you they run;
  For Venus is the promise of the sun. 
  The waste of civil wars, their towns destroy’d,
  Pales unhonour’d, Ceres unemploy’d,
  Were all forgot; and one triumphant day
  Wiped all the tears of three campaigns away. 
  Blood, rapines, massacres, were cheaply bought,
  So mighty recompence your beauty brought. 
  As when the dove returning bore the mark 70
  Of earth restored to the long labouring ark,
  The relics of mankind, secure of rest,
  Oped every window to receive the guest,
  And the fair bearer of the message bless’d;
  So, when you came, with loud repeated cries,
  The nation took an omen from your eyes,
  And God advanced his rainbow in the skies,
  To sign inviolable peace restored;
  The saints, with solemn shouts, proclaim’d the new accord. 
  When at your second coming you appear, 80
  (For I foretell that millenary year)
  The sharpen’d share shall vex the soil no more,
  But earth unbidden shall produce her store;
  The land shall laugh, the circling ocean smile,
  And Heaven’s indulgence bless the holy isle. 
  Heaven from all ages has reserved for you
  That happy clime, which venom never knew;
  Or if it had been there, your eyes alone
  Have power to chase all poison, but their own.

    Now in this interval, which Fate has cast 90
  Betwixt your future glories, and your past,
  This pause of power, ’tis Ireland’s hour to mourn;
  While England celebrates your safe return,
  By which you seem the seasons to command,
  And bring our summers back to their forsaken land.

    The vanquish’d isle our leisure must attend,
  Till the fair blessing we vouchsafe to send;
  Nor can we spare you long, though often we may lend. 
  The dove was twice employ’d abroad, before
  The world was dried, and she return’d no more. 100