 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
To His Excellency Governour Burnet, on his Arrival at Boston.
While rising Shouts a gen'ral Joy proclaim,
And ev'ry Tongue, O Burnet, lisps thy Name;
To view thy Face, while crowding Armies run,
Whose waving Banners blaze against the Sun,
And deep-mouth'd Cannon, with a thund'ring Roar,
Sound thy Commission stretch'd from Shore to Shore;
Accept the tuneful Labours of the Muse,
To bend fresh Laurels round your shaded Brows,
With your Deserts, to raise the sacred Fire,
And in your Praises string her joyful Lyre.
And ev'ry Tongue, O Burnet, lisps thy Name;
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Whose waving Banners blaze against the Sun,
And deep-mouth'd Cannon, with a thund'ring Roar,
Sound thy Commission stretch'd from Shore to Shore;
Accept the tuneful Labours of the Muse,
To bend fresh Laurels round your shaded Brows,
With your Deserts, to raise the sacred Fire,
And in your Praises string her joyful Lyre.
Long have we wish'd the golden Hours to rise,
And with distinguish'd Purple paint the Skies,
When, thro' our wondring Towns, in Raptures gay,
The pompous March should shape it's shining Way;
While breathing Trumpets try their silver Strains,
And whirling Chariots scour along the Plains;
When the glad City should unfold it's Gates,
And the long Triumph grace the glowing Streets,
O Burnet! how we bad the Minutes run,
Urg'd the slow Hours, and chid the ling'ring Sun!
Impatient, met each Post, and call'd aloud,
“When will his Wheels smoke rattling o'er the Road?
“When shall we say, HE'S COME! with big Delight,
“And with his Aspect feast our longing Sight?
And with distinguish'd Purple paint the Skies,
When, thro' our wondring Towns, in Raptures gay,
The pompous March should shape it's shining Way;
While breathing Trumpets try their silver Strains,
And whirling Chariots scour along the Plains;
When the glad City should unfold it's Gates,
And the long Triumph grace the glowing Streets,
O Burnet! how we bad the Minutes run,
Urg'd the slow Hours, and chid the ling'ring Sun!
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“When will his Wheels smoke rattling o'er the Road?
“When shall we say, HE'S COME! with big Delight,
“And with his Aspect feast our longing Sight?
Welcome, great Man, to our desiring Eyes,
Thou Earth! proclaim it; and resound, ye Skies!
Voice answ'ring Voice, in joyful Consort meet,
The Hills all echo, and the Rocks repeat:
And thou, Bostonia, Mistress of the Towns,
Whom the pleas'd Bay, with am'rous Arms, surrounds,
Let thy warm Transports blaze in num'rous Fires,
And beamy Glories glitter on thy Spires;
Let Rockets, streaming, up the Ether glare,
And flaming Serpents hiss along the Air;
Sublime, thy Joys thro' the high Heav'ns be shown,
In foreign Lights, and Stars before unknown:
While rival Splendors deck the Earth below,
And o'er the Streets the daz'ling Windows glow.
Thou Earth! proclaim it; and resound, ye Skies!
Voice answ'ring Voice, in joyful Consort meet,
The Hills all echo, and the Rocks repeat:
And thou, Bostonia, Mistress of the Towns,
Whom the pleas'd Bay, with am'rous Arms, surrounds,
Let thy warm Transports blaze in num'rous Fires,
And beamy Glories glitter on thy Spires;
Let Rockets, streaming, up the Ether glare,
And flaming Serpents hiss along the Air;
Sublime, thy Joys thro' the high Heav'ns be shown,
In foreign Lights, and Stars before unknown:
While rival Splendors deck the Earth below,
And o'er the Streets the daz'ling Windows glow.
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But You, O Cambridge, how can you forbear
In gliding Lays to charm each listning Ear?
You, where the Youth pursue th' illustrious Toil,
Where the Arts flourish, and the Graces smile,
Make Burnet's Name in lasting Numbers shine,
Ye soft Recesses of the tuneful Nine!
Speak the glad Day, with ev'ry warbling String,
When first you bless'd th' Indulgence of his Wing;
Say, how prophetick Rapture seiz'd your Tongue,
When you, on Fire, your future Glories sung.
“By him protected, by his Pattern led,
“Each smiling Art shall lift her beautious Head.
“Divinity, in op'ning Volumes, lies,
“O Wigglesworth, to thy enlightned Eyes;
“And Newton's Hand with wond'rous Skill displays
“Nature unveil'd, and shews her lovely Face:
“Long shall the noble Sciences declare
“Thy Bounties, Hollis: and a BURNET's Care.
In gliding Lays to charm each listning Ear?
You, where the Youth pursue th' illustrious Toil,
Where the Arts flourish, and the Graces smile,
Make Burnet's Name in lasting Numbers shine,
Ye soft Recesses of the tuneful Nine!
Speak the glad Day, with ev'ry warbling String,
When first you bless'd th' Indulgence of his Wing;
Say, how prophetick Rapture seiz'd your Tongue,
When you, on Fire, your future Glories sung.
“By him protected, by his Pattern led,
“Each smiling Art shall lift her beautious Head.
“Divinity, in op'ning Volumes, lies,
“O Wigglesworth, to thy enlightned Eyes;
“And Newton's Hand with wond'rous Skill displays
“Nature unveil'd, and shews her lovely Face:
“Long shall the noble Sciences declare
“Thy Bounties, Hollis: and a BURNET's Care.
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In Burnet's Face our future Fame appears,
And Arts and Graces lead his flowing Years.
For him, ye Muses, tune immortal Verse,
And mighty Themes, in lofty Lays, rehearse,
Proud in his Praises, wind your golden Strings,
And in high Raptures clap your waving Wings.
Thou Sun, for him, shalt each fair Year adorn,
Bid the Spring blossom, and the Summer burn,
Teach rip'ning Fruits to paint autumnal Scenes,
And smile and blush amidst the living Greens.
Ev'n the rough Winter feigns a youthful Tread;
And, in low Homage, bows his rev'rend Head;
The Northern Tempests shall forget to roar,
And gentle Waves, soft-murmuring, kiss the Shore.
And Arts and Graces lead his flowing Years.
For him, ye Muses, tune immortal Verse,
And mighty Themes, in lofty Lays, rehearse,
Proud in his Praises, wind your golden Strings,
And in high Raptures clap your waving Wings.
Thou Sun, for him, shalt each fair Year adorn,
Bid the Spring blossom, and the Summer burn,
Teach rip'ning Fruits to paint autumnal Scenes,
And smile and blush amidst the living Greens.
Ev'n the rough Winter feigns a youthful Tread;
And, in low Homage, bows his rev'rend Head;
The Northern Tempests shall forget to roar,
And gentle Waves, soft-murmuring, kiss the Shore.
Now Astronomic Tubes aloft shall rise,
Shake off their Dust, and level at the Skies,
Descry new Glories in the shining Spheres,
And Burnet's Name be read on future Stars.
The Pencil now, in wondrous Lines shall flow,
And, warm with Life, bid the touch'd Canvas, glow,
Musick, sweet Daughter of the Choirs above,
Shall, soft-descending, down the Ether move;
With heavenly Airs the breathing Flute inspire,
The Viol string, and bend the warbling Wyre.
Shake off their Dust, and level at the Skies,
Descry new Glories in the shining Spheres,
And Burnet's Name be read on future Stars.
The Pencil now, in wondrous Lines shall flow,
And, warm with Life, bid the touch'd Canvas, glow,
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Shall, soft-descending, down the Ether move;
With heavenly Airs the breathing Flute inspire,
The Viol string, and bend the warbling Wyre.
But chief, Ye Pages, open to the Light,
Where wond'ring Angels roll their ravish'd Sight;
Ye sacred Pages, easy to his Soul,
Spread the dark Mazes of your mystic Roll.
No more You sleep, hid in an awful Gloom,
Your Shades all scatter, and your Beauties bloom;
Years yet unborn, your op'ning Scenes unfold,
And all your dawning Clouds are edg'd with Gold.
So when the Shekinah, mysterious stood
High o'er Arabia's divided Flood,
(When down the Sands below the Prophet led,
And the Waves foam'd sublime above his Head)
Whilst Clouds and Darkness Egypt's Host amaz'd,
Thro' Israel's Ranks immortal Glory blaz'd.
Where wond'ring Angels roll their ravish'd Sight;
Ye sacred Pages, easy to his Soul,
Spread the dark Mazes of your mystic Roll.
No more You sleep, hid in an awful Gloom,
Your Shades all scatter, and your Beauties bloom;
Years yet unborn, your op'ning Scenes unfold,
And all your dawning Clouds are edg'd with Gold.
So when the Shekinah, mysterious stood
High o'er Arabia's divided Flood,
(When down the Sands below the Prophet led,
And the Waves foam'd sublime above his Head)
Whilst Clouds and Darkness Egypt's Host amaz'd,
Thro' Israel's Ranks immortal Glory blaz'd.
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And Thou, my Muse, assume a joyful Air,
Recall his Candor, and forbid thy Fear;
Tell him You come before the Fount of Day,
And from the Pow'r of Light, demand a Ray:
Gracious, He'll grant the Favour thou hast pray'd,
And fling the Blaze of Glories from his Head.
As on the fragrant Windings of the Shore
Where Persia glitters with her golden Ore,
Up the high Hills the early People rise,
And to the East turn their desiring Eyes,
Till beamy Phœbus guilds the rosey Skies,
Then, all at once, their sounding Shouts unite,
Hail the bright Car, and bless the lovely Light:
Pleas'd with their Prayer, he passes o'er the Land,
And scatters Blessings with a lavish Hand;
The Fields all brighten, as he onward moves,
And his fair Glories flush the gladden'd Groves;
O'er all the Earth the flaming Splendor flows,
And, like a Ruby, all the Ocean glows:
To Burnet thus I sue, He thus complies,
And thus his soft Indulgence sooths my Eyes.
Recall his Candor, and forbid thy Fear;
Tell him You come before the Fount of Day,
And from the Pow'r of Light, demand a Ray:
Gracious, He'll grant the Favour thou hast pray'd,
And fling the Blaze of Glories from his Head.
As on the fragrant Windings of the Shore
Where Persia glitters with her golden Ore,
Up the high Hills the early People rise,
And to the East turn their desiring Eyes,
Till beamy Phœbus guilds the rosey Skies,
Then, all at once, their sounding Shouts unite,
Hail the bright Car, and bless the lovely Light:
Pleas'd with their Prayer, he passes o'er the Land,
And scatters Blessings with a lavish Hand;
The Fields all brighten, as he onward moves,
And his fair Glories flush the gladden'd Groves;
O'er all the Earth the flaming Splendor flows,
And, like a Ruby, all the Ocean glows:
To Burnet thus I sue, He thus complies,
And thus his soft Indulgence sooths my Eyes.
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To His Excellency the GOVERNOUR.
Sir,
As Your Excellency has long honoured me with a particular Friendship, Gratitude demands that I attempt your Service: And as you are now in Mourning from the Stroke of Heaven, the greatest Respect I can pay you, is, to assist your Improvement under the Hand of GOD.
In order to this, the Muse has once more resumed her Lyre: And her Aversion to Flattery you will receive as her best Complement. Instead of copious Panegyrick upon the Dead, I have chosen rather, in solemn Language, to admonish the Living; And when others, perhaps, would have embraced so fair an Opportunity for an Encomium on your Excellency, I have only taken the Freedom of an Exhortation. I know you will be pleased to observe, that while I employ the Numbers of the Poet, I never forget the Character of the Divine.
I am,
May it please your Excellency,
Your Excellency's
affectionate Nephew,
and most humble Servant,
M. BYLES.
Boston, October
13. 1736.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |