Matthew Prior. Dialogues of the Dead and Other Works in Prose and Verse. The Text Edited by A. R. Waller |
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| II. |
| III. |
On the Coronation. |
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 | Matthew Prior. Dialogues of the Dead and Other Works |  |
On the Coronation.
I.
No 'tis in vain; what limits shal controllThe rovings of my active Soul?
That Soul which Scorns to be to place confin'd,
And leaves its dull Companion earth behind.
Whilst fancy with unbounded flight
Enjoys that object of delight
Which Envious distance wou'd conceal from sight.
Giving Poets to partake
(Like those Deities they make)
Of infinite Ubiquity.
280
II.
Thus methinks I see the bargePleas'd with the sacred weight of its Majestic charge
Old Argo with a weight less glorious fraught
The treasure from impov'rish'd Colchos brought
And Hellespont now vanquish'd must confess
His burthen meaner and his triumph less
Since richer Thames does James and Mary bear
He great as Jove She as Europa fair.
They come! Joy doubles strength to every Oar
Resounding Ecchoes fill the crowded Shoar
The waves with an unusual pride
Pay homage to the Lord
Of our Asserted Main
And calmly as they glide
Auspitiously afford
An Omen of his Reign.
III.
See glorious as the Eastern SunOur Monarch from the Waters rise
Whilst Crowds like Zealous Persians run
To own the blessing of their Sacrifice
He comes, religious Shouts proclaim him near
James and Hosannah bless each ear,
Delighted Heav'n confirms the mighty Joys
And in glad sounds reflects the Image of the Voice.
IV.
Triumphant Cæsar in less glory rodeWhen heighten'd from a Victor to a God
When captiv'd Monarchs trembl'd by his side
And by their Shame encreas'd his Pride
No private Sorrows here allay
The common transports of the happy Day
But in each exalted breast
Of happyness and James possess'd
Is evidently shown
His Peoples blessings greater then his own
And he that gives the Triumph triumphs least.
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V.
Now fancy to the Altar bringSecond to what we there adore, the King.
By the anointing Prelate mett
And rising where the mighty Brother sett,
But Oh! forbid the Omen heavn,
Protect the blessing You have giv'n,
Late he ascends, long may he fill the Throne
And for the Nations bliss defer his own
Whilst Marys charms unbend the care
Of that rich load his sacred temples wear
(Herself the brightest Jewel there).
| Matthew Prior. Dialogues of the Dead and Other Works | |