 | Poems on several occasions |  |
249
A Poem on Her Majesty's Birth-Day.
O you, the Monarch's Bliss, the Muse's Friend!
Accept the Tribute Duty bids me send:
'Tis what the Bard should long before have paid;
But fearful to aspire, has long delay'd.
Phoebus alone can Phoebus' Chariot guide;
The Youth who dar'd to drive it, daring, dy'd.
My humble Muse can humble Subjects treat;
But trembles to attempt a Theme so great:
Yet, warm with Gratitude, would fain display
Her Zeal to You, on this auspicious Day.
Accept the Tribute Duty bids me send:
'Tis what the Bard should long before have paid;
But fearful to aspire, has long delay'd.
Phoebus alone can Phoebus' Chariot guide;
The Youth who dar'd to drive it, daring, dy'd.
My humble Muse can humble Subjects treat;
But trembles to attempt a Theme so great:
Yet, warm with Gratitude, would fain display
Her Zeal to You, on this auspicious Day.
To You! whose gracious Goodness plumes her Wings,
By whom she lives, by whom inspir'd, she sings:
Long may she celebrate your sacred Birth;
Long may You stay from Heav'n, to bless the Earth;
To chear the Royal Sov'reign of our Isle;
Increase his Joys, or soften all his Toil;
Who now, while Death in purple Triumph reigns,
And sanguine Floods pollute the distant Plains;
Watchful o'er Britain's Fate, employs his Care,
Or wisely to avert, or bravely meet the War.
By whom she lives, by whom inspir'd, she sings:
250
Long may You stay from Heav'n, to bless the Earth;
To chear the Royal Sov'reign of our Isle;
Increase his Joys, or soften all his Toil;
Who now, while Death in purple Triumph reigns,
And sanguine Floods pollute the distant Plains;
Watchful o'er Britain's Fate, employs his Care,
Or wisely to avert, or bravely meet the War.
O glorious Queen! by Nature form'd to bring
The sweetest Comfort to the justest King!
Let proud Oppressors, who abuse their Pow'r,
Hear groaning Subjects curse their natal Hour:
You, on that happy Hour, may justly feast
Your Soul with Thoughts of making Thousands blest;
Whose godlike Bounties, to the Wretched, show,
You're only pow'rful to relieve their Woe.
The sweetest Comfort to the justest King!
Let proud Oppressors, who abuse their Pow'r,
Hear groaning Subjects curse their natal Hour:
You, on that happy Hour, may justly feast
Your Soul with Thoughts of making Thousands blest;
Whose godlike Bounties, to the Wretched, show,
You're only pow'rful to relieve their Woe.
251
What tho' the Muse old Annals should explore,
Mark all our Queens, and trace their Virtues o'er?
Where could she find so much exalted Sense,
Nobly employ'd, like yours, in Truth's Defense?
You strive to make the Seeds of Virtue grow,
To spread the Light, which Heav'n reveal'd below:
Yet, free from superstitious Zeal, incline
To make the Rays of Moral Goodness shine;
Supporting those, who, firm to Truth, defend
That first fix'd Law, on which all Laws depend.
Mark all our Queens, and trace their Virtues o'er?
Where could she find so much exalted Sense,
Nobly employ'd, like yours, in Truth's Defense?
You strive to make the Seeds of Virtue grow,
To spread the Light, which Heav'n reveal'd below:
Yet, free from superstitious Zeal, incline
To make the Rays of Moral Goodness shine;
Supporting those, who, firm to Truth, defend
That first fix'd Law, on which all Laws depend.
Beneath your Influence, Art and Science rear
Their sacred Heads, and flourish by your Care:
This Truth let Oxford's pompous Dome proclaim,
Which boasts the Honour of a Royal Name.
Lately your Bard survey'd the graceful Scene,
Rising with Bounties of a gen'rous Queen!
O! had the Muse there fledg'd her infant Wing,
And early tasted of that learned Spring;
She then had soar'd in more heroic Lays,
In more majestic Numbers sung your Praise;
But fearful now, must quit the glorious Theme,
Must leave the Architect to speak your Fame:
His Art shall there another Athens shew,
And there another Guardian Pallas You.
Their sacred Heads, and flourish by your Care:
This Truth let Oxford's pompous Dome proclaim,
Which boasts the Honour of a Royal Name.
252
Rising with Bounties of a gen'rous Queen!
O! had the Muse there fledg'd her infant Wing,
And early tasted of that learned Spring;
She then had soar'd in more heroic Lays,
In more majestic Numbers sung your Praise;
But fearful now, must quit the glorious Theme,
Must leave the Architect to speak your Fame:
His Art shall there another Athens shew,
And there another Guardian Pallas You.
| Poems on several occasions | |