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

When Heav'n designs some wondrous Prince to raise,
Deserving Empire and eternal Praise;
It chuses one of an illustrious Line,
In whom Hereditary Graces shine:

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Who good and great by his Descent is made,
And by the Rules of native Honour sway'd:
Him it exposes to th' Insults of Fate,
To all the Blows of Malice and of Hate,
Before it raises him to an exalted State.

The pious Trojan, its peculiar Care,
Did num'rous Hardships, num'rous Trials bear;
Ten thousand Toils with Patience he sustain'd,
Before he undisturb'd in Latium reign'd:
To Pains inur'd, with Disappointments crost,
Wan'dring thro' Flames, on mounting Surges tost:
Suff'rings and War to Grandeur led the Way,
And fitted him for independent Sway.

Happy that People whose blest Monarch owes
Unto himself the Wisdom which he shows,
Whose Prudence from his own Experience flows.
Who has in Shades seen dark'ning Vapors rise,
And gloomy Horrors over-cast the Skies:
Neglected liv'd in some obscure Retreat,
And learnt in secret to be truly great;
To rule within, his Passions to subdue,
And all his Souls most hidden Movements view:
Those Springs of Thought, which when they are refin'd
Bestow a dazling Brightness on the Mind:
Who disengag'd from Bus'ness and from Noise,
To noblest Purposes his Hours employs:
Searches past Records, and with vast Delight
Presents fam'd Heroes to his ravish'd Sight:
Sees them the shining Paths of Honour tread,
By Praise push'd on, and daring Courage led:
With eag'rest Hast to lofty Heights ascend,
And their Renown beyond the Grave extend:

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Sees pious Kings with Joy and Zeal obey'd,
And cheerful Homage to wise Princes paid:
Who're still the Objects of a filial Love,
Whom all admire, whose Actions all approve.

Such was that Virgin Glory of our Isle,
On whom Apollo long was pleas'd to smile:
Who was with Wisdom, and with Science bless'd,
By ev'ry Muse, and ev'ry Grace caress'd:
She knew Afflictions, felt a Sister's Hate,
And learnt to reign, while in a private State;
By adverse Fortune taught her self to know,
That Knowledge chiefly requisite below.

And such the Queen who now the Throne does grace,
The brightest Glory of her Royal Race:
In whose rich Veins the noblest Blood does flow
That God-like Kings, and Heroes could bestow:
Like her she bravely stood the Shock of Fate,
And liv'd serene in a dependent State:
Bore unconcern'd the Calumnies of those
Whom their Ill-nature only made her Foes:
Who thought her Merit too divinely bright,
And strove t'eclipse the overflowing Light:
Merit, in narrow Minds does Envy raise,
Large gen'rous Souls are most inclin'd to Praise.
Like her she stem'd the dang'rous swelling Tide,
And soar'd aloft with a becoming Pride:
Like her a gen'ral Approbation found,
And was with joyful Acclamations crown'd:
Ev'n Heav'n it self her Unction did approve,
And by auspicious Omens shew'd its Love:
Refreshing Breezes fan'd the balmy Air,
The fertile Earth a florid Green did wear:

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No Clouds obscur'd the Sun's refulgent Light,
He never shone more eminently bright:
All things conspir'd her Welcom to proclaim,
Who the Protectress of her People came,
By Heav'n design'd, and her propitious Fate,
To be the Bulwark of a tott'ring State.

Britannia now all glorious does arise,
And shoots her Head above the starry Skies:
Her sacred Guardian, all the Sons of Light,
With Shouts of Joy behold the pleasing Sight:
The list'ning Goddess hears the cheerful Sound,
From Hill to Hill, from Vale to Vale rebound:
On all her Plumes at once, sublime she flies,
At once employs her num'rous Tongues and Eyes:
To distant Lands our Happiness makes known;
Tells them a Heroin fills the British Throne:
A Heroin greater than Romance can frame,
And worthy of the Line from whence she came;
In whom the Great and Brave, the Soft and Kind,
In One are by the firmest Ties combin'd:
Where nothing's wanting that we can desire,
And where we see each Minute something to admire.

The trembling Nations aw'd by Gallick Arms,
Imploring come, drawn by resistless Charms:
To her they sue, and beg from her Relief;
She looks with God-like Pity on their Grief:
Exerts her Pow'r, and makes th' Iberian Shore;
The Spaniards hear her murth'ring Canon roar?
Her Fleet dilates a panick Terror round,
And British Valor's once more dreadful found:
Her Troops descend with noble Ardor fir'd,
By Heav'n, and their Heroick Queen inspir'd:

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In vain they strive their darling Gold to save,
What can resist the Daring and the Brave?
Those Sons of War thro' Dangers force their Way,
And from the Dragons snatch the shining Prey:
Fame spreads the News thro' all th' incircling Air;
Aloud proclaims the Triumphs of the Fair:
The drooping Eagles prune their Wings and rise,
With joyful Haste they cut the sounding Skies;
Secure once more of that auspicious Fate
Which on them did so many Ages wait:
The Belgick Lion casts his Fear away,
And with new Strength pursues the destin'd Prey:
All the Distrest with Raptures of Delight,
In sweetest Songs of grateful Praise unite:
Blest Albion's Queen their only Theme does prove;
Like Pallas sprung from all-commanding Jove,
She comes, they sing, to give us timely Aid,
Is kind, and wise, as that celestial Maid:
As able to advise, and to defend,
And does her Care to ev'ry Part extend:
Like Phœbus darts reviving Beams of Light,
And dissipates the Horrors of the Night.

O that I cou'd the best of Queens attend;
Cou'd at your Feet my coming Moments end:
I past Misfortunes shou'd not then deplore,
And present Evils wou'd afflict no more:
But fill'd with Joy, with Transport, and with Love,
My Hours wou'd in a blissful Circle move:
And I the noblest Bus'ness still wou'd chuse,
Both for my self, and my ambitious Muse,
Be still employ'd in Service, and in Praise,
In glad Attendance, and in grateful Lays,