Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Young tho' I be, unskillful to rehearse
The Praise of Princes in sonorous Verse;
Fir'd with my Country's Joys, the Muse essays
Her Sov'reigns Honours in aspiring Lays,
And humble Homage brings: with ravish'd Ear
High Strains of Musick and the Shouts I hear
Of raptur'd Nations; while before my Eyes,
Freedom and Fame in shining Prospect rise;
Peace waves her Olive, Plenty lifts her Horn;
Another Brunswick on this radiant Morn,

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Rises with all his Father's vanish'd Ray,
To rule our Sky, and shed an equal Day.

The purple Throne is rais'd: O King, ascend;
(Let Greatness in her Forms of Pomp attend)
The Voice of Heav'n, distinguishing thy Worth,
To Empire and to Glory calls thee forth.
Sublime he sits: behold! what manly Grace
Adorns and dignifies the Monarch's Face!
Her princely Spots, see! the proud Ermin throws
Wide o'er his Back; see! round his awful Brows
An Arch of Gold, instarr'd with Gems, displays
Strong as the Hero's Eyes, a Sun-like Blaze:
A Golden Scepter, in his better Hand,
He waves aloft; dread Ensign of Command.

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Such was the Semblance, the fam'd Vision took,
Such his great Air, and such his heav'nly Look.
A Linnen Mantle o'er his Shoulders flow'd,
As Lamps of Fire, his Eyes effulgent glow'd;
Bright as the vivid Lightning gleam'd his Face,
And shone his Arms and Feet, like burnish'd Brass.

Let Turks before a haughty Sultan bend,
And glory in the Death their Lord shall send:
The Wealth of Worlds, Hispania be thy Boast
And thine, O Italy! a blooming Coast.
Our's, is a Prince whom Justice will sustain,
To whom the Wretched ne'er shall kneel in vain:
Oppression trembles with her hundred hands,
Falls her stern Voice, and drops her iron Bands.

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Faction is silenc'd, hoary Discord dies,
And hush'd to Peace each angry Passion lies;
While from his Lips the gracious Accents fall,
And, like refreshing Dews, descend on all.
“Britains, the delegated Trust I own,
“And with a Parent's Cares ascend the Throne.
“Be mine the Praise t'enroll beneath my Sway
“A Free-born People, willing to obey.
“To listen to the injur'd Orphan's Cry,
“And wipe the Sorrows from the Widow's Eye.
“Religion too in diff'rent Forms shall meet
“Beneath my op'ning Wing, with safe Retreat;
“In mitred Pomp, in simple Weeds array'd,
“Her Sons I'll shelter in my fost'ring Shade.”

Fame! tow'r aloft, and all thy Pow'rs employ,
Raise thy strong Voice, proclaim Britannia's Joy;

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Brunswick and Liberty proclaim around,
Till Heav'n, and Earth, and Seas, the Notes rebound.

But turn, my Eyes! yon gentle Scene survey,
The Queen, soft-smiling as the new-born Day;
The matchless Queen, with inward Lustre crown'd,
Her honourable Women wait around.
The Form distinguish'd, o'er the glitt'ring Bands
Rising in graceful Majesty, commands
Our silent Awe; and yet, an Air so sweet
Bids with embold'ning Hopes our Bosoms beat.

So in some Picture, where the Pencil plays
In various Shapes, and various pleasing Ways;
The sov'reign Figure does our Eye controul,
Arrests th' Attention, and usurps the Soul.

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Those Charms thro' mighty Realms diffus'd their Reign,
Austria's young Hope once su'd, but su'd in vain:
The Heroine spurn'd the suppliant Crowns away,
And scorn'd the Glories of Imperial Sway:
Nor tho' the Western World, from all her Shores,
To swell the Bribe, pour'd her exhaustless Stores,
Wou'd the dear Cause of Heav'n and Truth disclaim,
Or give t' Imposture and to Rome her Name.
Heav'n saw, and the vast Recompence decreed;
Heav'n gives her Britain for the gen'rous Deed.

Such was the Zeal, thy mighty Master show'd,
With such Disdain his holy Bosom glow'd,
When the wide Earth, view'd from the Mountain's Brow,
Her dazling Scenes of Grandeur spread below,
When all her proffer'd Glory vainly strove
To tempt his Homage from the Pow'r above.

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Unequall'd Princess! zealous in thy Cares
To sow thy own great Virtues in thy Heirs.
With blooming Health, and lively Verdure crown'd,
The beauteous Olive-plants the Throne surround;
Blest with the Dews of Heav'n, the Shoots ascend:
May the rich Fruit to future Ages bend!

O William! dear, immortal Name! we owe
To Heav'n and Thee, these Hopes which round us grow.
Dissatisfy'd to bless one Age alone,
Thy Counsels reach'd thro' Times e'en yet unknown;
Built the strong Barriers James nor Rome can pass,
The great Succession form'd and fix'd in Brunswick's Race.

How cou'd I dwell on this delightful Strain!
But Wisdom warns me timely to refrain;

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Mindful, that such exalted Themes refuse
The feeble Pinions of a youthful Muse.

Had this bright Day an Addison possest,
What Zeal had warm'd the Patriot-Poet's Breast!
A Flood of Verse, swift-gushing from his Soul,
In rising Numbers, sounding as they roll,
Had flow'd with easy Majesty along,
And George and Carolina swell'd the Song.
Yet One there lives, a Bard well known to Fame,
Whom great Apollo fills with all his Flame.
O! wou'd He touch the lofty Epick Lyre,
Exert his Muse, and call up Homer's Fire,
His Genius might the pond'rous Task sustain
Nor shou'd the Noble Theme the Noble Lines disdain.

Dan. x. 5, 6, 18, 19. One like the Similitude of the Sons of Men, one like the Appearance of a Man, &c.