A Collection Of Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

The circling Months in happy Order past
Lead on the Solemn Day and Annual Feast;
While conscious Joys each grateful Breast inspire,
Provoke our Thanks, and all the Muses Fire:
Her Voice the meanest of the Nine wou'd raise,
Bring in the little Tribute of her Lays,
Chime with the Choir, and join in Henry's Praise

192

Oh! Thou from whence our ev'ry Blessing Springs,
Thou more than Parent, and Thou best of Kings,
Thee shall Devotion ever Hymning own
Her strict Assertor, and her fav'rite Son.
No Papal Legends, Consecrated Lies,
Shall o'er thy Merit cast their spurious Dyes;
Dull Monkish Miracles, and daubing Paint,
That wrong the Man, to Canonize the Saint.
Thy Glories best in real Dress appear,
And only Ecchoe, what thy works Declare.
Thou to the poor did'st ope the friendly Gate,
Shelter'd and guarded from the Storms of Fate;
Under thy Roof to be more nobly us'd,
You rais'd them in your Arms, and Royal Warmth infus'd.
Bid them from thee, expect their daily Food,
And learn the glorious Lesson to be Good:

193

Taught us above our native Hutts to Spring,
To spurn the scanty Nest, and spread a bolder Wing.
Look down, good Henry, from thy blisful Sphere,
See all thy Sons in comely rank Appear,
Here the great Pearson, and a Fleetwood there.
See! Hence, what Glories on thy Albion Shone,
A Mitred Offspring, and a Garter'd Son;
Read in the List, whom Treaty made renowns,
Daring to mediate 'twixt contending Crowns;
Dex'trous when Kings, and angry Nations jar,
To stop the falling Sword, and check impending War.

Thy works beyond the reach of Age proclaim
In living Characters, their Author's Fame:
Fit for the great Inhabitant's Abode,
Awfully high, and worthy of a God.

194

No cumbrous Gothick, of enormous Size,
Heaves into Air, and swells the aching Eyes.
In beauteous Symmetry, the Piles Advance,
With all the Pomp of simple Elegance.
Here soften'd Stones the downy Rose express,
And figur'd Glass a Raphael's Touch confess.
Contending Arts together meet Display'd,
Self-balanc'd hangs the Roof, and scorns the Pillars Aid.

Let Cam, where e'er his kindred Waters roll,
What he has seen, declare to either Pole:
Tell Jordan's Flood, and Israel's wond'ring lands
That, on his Banks, a Rival Temple stands.

No painful Tax, by groaning BRITAIN paid,
Heighten'd our Walls, or wider Arches spread.
Let Murder, Fraud, and Tyranny combine
To raise the Spire, and gild the foreign Shrine;
Uncensur'd Charity our Building rears,
Shock'd by no plaint, and sullied by no Tears;

195

Nor shall be lost the Panegyric Verse
Drown'd by the Orphan's cries, and Subject's Curse.
The charitable Stores, which still we have,
Not the King's Pow'r, but Henry's bounty gave.

Oh! Had kind Fate prolong'd his peaceful Days,
In hoary Goodness, and respected Ease;
What Structures then, had rose to Granta's View!
But oh! Just as the ripening Wonders grew,
Just as the Tree began to Form a Shade,
And gath'ring Boughs a kindly Covert made,
The cruel Spoiler with oppressive Wrath
Struck off the sacred Top, and wither'd all the Growth.
Oh! Where were then the sacred Spirits flown
That us'd to hedge in Kings, and Shield the Throne,
When by the bloody Traitor's cursed Steel,
The first, and best of Men, the Godlike Henry fell?

196

But see! new Walls shoot up, and Domes aspire,
That France may envy, and e'en Rome admire;
Yet still the Work expects its destin'd height
Imperfect, and disturbs the troubled Sight.
Thus, as the Year its certain round repeats,
Henry, on Thee distinguish'd Honour waits.
For thee shall future Plinys Columns rear,
For thee, the Muse her annual Wreath prepare:
Thy goodly Deeds remotest Times relate,
And from thy glorious Æra take their Date.
What tho' thy Sire in Battle dauntless stood,
And snatch'd from France her Lillies steep'd in Blood?
Others in Tracks of Death may hunt Renown,
And on the Fate of thousands raise a Throne,
While on thy Head, more lasting Olives grow,
Give the just Laurel to thy Father's Brow;
Be he the Son of Mars, the pious Numa thou.

197

Soon will the Victor's Colours fade away,
Th'Inscription moulder, and the Bust decay;
These new rais'd Walls from Age their Fate receive,
The Dome may perish, but thy Praise shall Live.