Three poems the first, Sacred to the Immortal Memory of the late King; the second, On the happy Succession, and Coronation of His present Majesty; and a third Humbly Inscrib'd to the Queen [by Laurence Eusden] |
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A POEM, Humbly Inscrib'd to the QUEEN. |
 | Three poems |  |
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A POEM, Humbly Inscrib'd to the QUEEN.
------ Utinam modò dicere possem
Carmina digna Deâ, certè Dea Carmine digna est!
Ovid. Met.
Carmina digna Deâ, certè Dea Carmine digna est!
Ovid. Met.
With his great Fathers when great BRUNSWIC slept,
Europe, amaz'd, an awful Silence kept:
Stunn'd with the fatal, un-expected Blow,
Britannia felt a Lethargy of Woe.
How frightful Death's despotic Sway appears,
That can whole Nations melt at once in Tears?
At pleasure th'un-controul'd Arrests of Fate
Pierce the thatch'd Cot, and gilded Dome of State.
A melancholy Scene, diffus'd around,
Ah! late this Truth (a Truth how direful!) own'd:
Like Groves o'er-turn'd by Tempests, Arts seem'd dead,
And ev'ry Science droop'd its fainting Head:
'Till a new BRUNSWIC, with a glorious Queen,
Chac'd the thick Glooms, and spread a bright Serene!
Pale Sciences, and fading Arts again,
Bud out a-fresh, and in glad Triumph reign!
Old Albion's Nerves a second Youth supplies,
Restor'd, like Æson, and, with glad Surprize,
She hails th'enliv'ning Beams of CAROLINA's Eyes!
Europe, amaz'd, an awful Silence kept:
Stunn'd with the fatal, un-expected Blow,
Britannia felt a Lethargy of Woe.
How frightful Death's despotic Sway appears,
That can whole Nations melt at once in Tears?
At pleasure th'un-controul'd Arrests of Fate
Pierce the thatch'd Cot, and gilded Dome of State.
A melancholy Scene, diffus'd around,
Ah! late this Truth (a Truth how direful!) own'd:
Like Groves o'er-turn'd by Tempests, Arts seem'd dead,
And ev'ry Science droop'd its fainting Head:
'Till a new BRUNSWIC, with a glorious Queen,
Chac'd the thick Glooms, and spread a bright Serene!
Pale Sciences, and fading Arts again,
Bud out a-fresh, and in glad Triumph reign!
Old Albion's Nerves a second Youth supplies,
Restor'd, like Æson, and, with glad Surprize,
She hails th'enliv'ning Beams of CAROLINA's Eyes!
Thus while Apollo, to his Delphi lost,
Visits the distant Hyper-borean Coast.
A sick'ning Green th'un-honour'd Laurel shows,
And Helicon with common Waters flows:
Dumb is each Grott, and un-consulted lies,
Or, if consulted, answers still in Sighs:
But when the God Riphëan Lands forsakes,
With heaving Raptures conscious Phocis shakes!
Her Groves a venerable Horror fills,
And now the Fountains live in silver Rills:
Now clearer Echos, lengthen'd in each Sound,
From Vault to Vault, from Hill to Hill re-bound,
And Rocks, inspir'd, begin to prophesie around!
Visits the distant Hyper-borean Coast.
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And Helicon with common Waters flows:
Dumb is each Grott, and un-consulted lies,
Or, if consulted, answers still in Sighs:
But when the God Riphëan Lands forsakes,
With heaving Raptures conscious Phocis shakes!
Her Groves a venerable Horror fills,
And now the Fountains live in silver Rills:
Now clearer Echos, lengthen'd in each Sound,
From Vault to Vault, from Hill to Hill re-bound,
And Rocks, inspir'd, begin to prophesie around!
O! could my Strains paint worthily the Queen,
And in my Numbers were her Beauties seen!
Their Harmony, like her sweet Voice, should please,
And they majestic flow, with graceful Ease!
Each happy Verse should Spenser's Song out-shine,
And Gloriana yield to CAROLINE!
Scarce can poëtic Wit a Wonder feign,
But what may Credit from thy Virtues gain.
In fragrant Laps the Hours receiv'd Thee first,
And the swath'd Babe the smiling Graces nurst:
On thy new Accents soft Persuasion hung,
And still it glides from that melodious Tongue.
Soon as the Meads thy tender Prints could know,
There spring the Lilies! there the Roses blow!
There Vi'lets rise, and purple Clusters spread!
True Omens of thy future, Royal Bed!
And in my Numbers were her Beauties seen!
Their Harmony, like her sweet Voice, should please,
And they majestic flow, with graceful Ease!
Each happy Verse should Spenser's Song out-shine,
And Gloriana yield to CAROLINE!
Scarce can poëtic Wit a Wonder feign,
But what may Credit from thy Virtues gain.
In fragrant Laps the Hours receiv'd Thee first,
And the swath'd Babe the smiling Graces nurst:
On thy new Accents soft Persuasion hung,
And still it glides from that melodious Tongue.
Soon as the Meads thy tender Prints could know,
There spring the Lilies! there the Roses blow!
There Vi'lets rise, and purple Clusters spread!
True Omens of thy future, Royal Bed!
Muse! bold proceed, and in a daring Page
Display the Glories of her rip'ning Age!
Her Virtues, modest in Excess, appear,
And, from each due Applause, still Flatt'ry fear;
But Justice loud demands the Poet's Aid,
And bids the blushing Goddess shine portray'd:
Alas! imperfect Sketches may be shown
By many, but her Portraiture by none!
Thy growing Years not female Toys admire,
Thy Needle sets not Troy once more on Fire!
Thou look'st disdainful on Arachne's Loom,
Nor bid'st frail Groupes of glassy Heroes bloom:
Such Honours be the Virgin's vulgar Fame!
The better Pallas was thy nobler Aim!
Display the Glories of her rip'ning Age!
Her Virtues, modest in Excess, appear,
And, from each due Applause, still Flatt'ry fear;
But Justice loud demands the Poet's Aid,
And bids the blushing Goddess shine portray'd:
Alas! imperfect Sketches may be shown
By many, but her Portraiture by none!
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Thy Needle sets not Troy once more on Fire!
Thou look'st disdainful on Arachne's Loom,
Nor bid'st frail Groupes of glassy Heroes bloom:
Such Honours be the Virgin's vulgar Fame!
The better Pallas was thy nobler Aim!
Brightly translated in some modern Tongue,
Thou view'st the Greecian, and the Roman Song:
Homer, and Virgil (mighty Names!) prepare
Love's vain Apologies to skreen the Fair;
Helen thy Soul condemns, nor can fond Dido spare.
Thou view'st the Greecian, and the Roman Song:
Homer, and Virgil (mighty Names!) prepare
Love's vain Apologies to skreen the Fair;
Helen thy Soul condemns, nor can fond Dido spare.
Then rescu'd Sion happy Tasso tells;
Equals Both past, if He not One excells:
Sophronia melts thy Heart!—and with surprize
Thy Spirits flutter, while Erminia flies:
Nor can'st Thou from a gen'rous Tear refrain,
To see Clorinda by her Tancred slain.
The fair Armida would become thy Care,
Had but Armida been as chaste, as fair.
Equals Both past, if He not One excells:
Sophronia melts thy Heart!—and with surprize
Thy Spirits flutter, while Erminia flies:
Nor can'st Thou from a gen'rous Tear refrain,
To see Clorinda by her Tancred slain.
The fair Armida would become thy Care,
Had but Armida been as chaste, as fair.
Now bloomy Scenes, and ripen'd Charms appear,
And Hymen, round, is whisper'd in thy Ear!
Princes, who view thy Beauties, own their Flame;
Who, distant, view not, love-sick grow by Fame.
Imperial Pomp solicits strong in vain;
Religion holds Thee by a stronger Chain:
From Thee just Scorn such bright Temptation met,
Fix'd on a brighter, young Plantagenet:
At last th'Arrears of Providence are pay'd,
And on thy Head a British Crown display'd.
And Hymen, round, is whisper'd in thy Ear!
Princes, who view thy Beauties, own their Flame;
Who, distant, view not, love-sick grow by Fame.
Imperial Pomp solicits strong in vain;
Religion holds Thee by a stronger Chain:
From Thee just Scorn such bright Temptation met,
Fix'd on a brighter, young Plantagenet:
At last th'Arrears of Providence are pay'd,
And on thy Head a British Crown display'd.
Hail, CAROLINA, hail! in whom is seen
All, that on Earth can form a heav'nly Queen!
If to thy Race remains a living Foe,
If Albion yet can such a Monster show,
Let him but once thy blissful Presence prove,
Soon shalt thou talk, or look him into Love.
Who in thy Palace would not wish to live?
Who can retire, and not, retiring, grieve?
So wonderful thy Sense! so sweet thy Mien?
Something, that All delights, is heard, or seen!
From various Nations, various Envoys throng;
Each starts, when answer'd in his native Tongue:
But Thou, most pleas'd thy Albion to adorn,
Her Idiom speak'st, as if in Albion born.
All, that on Earth can form a heav'nly Queen!
If to thy Race remains a living Foe,
If Albion yet can such a Monster show,
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Soon shalt thou talk, or look him into Love.
Who in thy Palace would not wish to live?
Who can retire, and not, retiring, grieve?
So wonderful thy Sense! so sweet thy Mien?
Something, that All delights, is heard, or seen!
From various Nations, various Envoys throng;
Each starts, when answer'd in his native Tongue:
But Thou, most pleas'd thy Albion to adorn,
Her Idiom speak'st, as if in Albion born.
Learn'd Sages, when they Nature's Depths explore,
The more they, curious, search, grow raptur'd more:
So they, who near Thee happily aspire,
Thy Virtues clearest view, and most admire:
Train, after Train, allures their sateless Eyes,
And still fresh Glories on fresh Glories rise.
The more they, curious, search, grow raptur'd more:
So they, who near Thee happily aspire,
Thy Virtues clearest view, and most admire:
Train, after Train, allures their sateless Eyes,
And still fresh Glories on fresh Glories rise.
No worldly Pride claims in thy Alms a Part;
Bounteous thou giv'st, but bounteous from the Heart.
Thy Charity, un-ask'd, relieves Distress;
Thee the fed Orphans, Thee cloath'd Widows bless!
Like the Samaritan's relenting Eye,
Thou would'st not pass a piteous Object by;
But to such piteous Object strive to run
With greater Speed, than others strive to shun.
Bounteous thou giv'st, but bounteous from the Heart.
Thy Charity, un-ask'd, relieves Distress;
Thee the fed Orphans, Thee cloath'd Widows bless!
Like the Samaritan's relenting Eye,
Thou would'st not pass a piteous Object by;
But to such piteous Object strive to run
With greater Speed, than others strive to shun.
The Night, the Morn behold Thee fix'd in Pray'r;
Thy God is still thy late, thy early Care.
Thy Adoration flows without Constraint;
'Tis not Cecilia's Cloyster makes a Saint.
The watchful Cherubs, that around Thee wait,
(Guards against Jesuit-Wiles, and Satan's Hate)
Each Accent waft to th'Empyrëan Throne,
And wonder at a Warmth, so like their own.
Thy God is still thy late, thy early Care.
Thy Adoration flows without Constraint;
'Tis not Cecilia's Cloyster makes a Saint.
The watchful Cherubs, that around Thee wait,
(Guards against Jesuit-Wiles, and Satan's Hate)
Each Accent waft to th'Empyrëan Throne,
And wonder at a Warmth, so like their own.
Thou, by a Conduct regularly nice,
Hast rais'd a Blush, un-known before to Vice:
Virtue in Thee charms with so sweet a Light,
Ev'n this abandon'd Age can own Her bright!
Such Royal Models pow'rfully prevail,
Where Laws, where Stages, and where Pulpits fail.
Hast rais'd a Blush, un-known before to Vice:
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Ev'n this abandon'd Age can own Her bright!
Such Royal Models pow'rfully prevail,
Where Laws, where Stages, and where Pulpits fail.
'Tis difficult, when Grandeur to maintain,
When to converse in a familiar Strain:
Yet still thy Judgment critical is seen,
Or to put on, or to divest the Queen.
To thy own BRUNSWIC how refin'd thy Air,
Each Joy to double, and divide each Care!
O! great Example of the nuptial Life!
O! Pattern for thy Sex, a faultless Wife!
When to converse in a familiar Strain:
Yet still thy Judgment critical is seen,
Or to put on, or to divest the Queen.
To thy own BRUNSWIC how refin'd thy Air,
Each Joy to double, and divide each Care!
O! great Example of the nuptial Life!
O! Pattern for thy Sex, a faultless Wife!
See! with what Transport, Young, and Old conspire,
And swell to such auspicious Crowns the Lyre!
Un-bearded Youth in genial Odes engage,
And promise Epics with maturer Age;
While hoary Heads un-practis'd Labours bring,
Pleas'd, Swan-like, their own Elegies to sing;
Each loyal Wish they warble o'er, and o'er,
Bards at the last, as in the Days of Yore:
Thus, tho' the Pontiff's Breast-Plate ceas'd to blaze,
And, un-inspir'd, long felt no heav'nly Rays,
Yet Cäiphas, when the World's SAVIOUR dy'd,
Once, in that Year of Wonders, prophesy'd!
And swell to such auspicious Crowns the Lyre!
Un-bearded Youth in genial Odes engage,
And promise Epics with maturer Age;
While hoary Heads un-practis'd Labours bring,
Pleas'd, Swan-like, their own Elegies to sing;
Each loyal Wish they warble o'er, and o'er,
Bards at the last, as in the Days of Yore:
Thus, tho' the Pontiff's Breast-Plate ceas'd to blaze,
And, un-inspir'd, long felt no heav'nly Rays,
Yet Cäiphas, when the World's SAVIOUR dy'd,
Once, in that Year of Wonders, prophesy'd!
When from Augusta Richmond Thee detains,
Richmond! the Glory of fair Surrey's Plains!
Oft from thy Terrass Thou survey'st the Streams
Of the great King of Floods, immortal Thames!
As oft his Waters their known Course delay,
Fain would forget to flow, and ever stay;
At length compell'd to part, slow, murm'ring, roul away.
The Näids, wond'ring, why their Waves complain,
Leap up, and view Thee, with thy shining Train,
Then, sick with Envy, dive, and oozie Beds regain.
Here, the bright, Royal Sisters grace thy Side,
There, CUMBRIA's Duke moves with a youthful Pride!
'Ere long, brave FRED'RIC shall the first appear,
And Albion's Hope deign Wallia's Prince to hear.
So fair a Race if Nïobè beheld,
Not un-provok'd, the haughty Mother swell'd;
But in her Bosom had thy Virtues dwelt,
Her Progeny no Delian Shafts had felt,
Nor, with their Sire, for scorn'd Latona, dy'd,
Nor she herself with Sorrows petrify'd:
No Parian Columns Palaces had known,
Nor the proud Marble from her Ruin shone.
Richmond! the Glory of fair Surrey's Plains!
Oft from thy Terrass Thou survey'st the Streams
Of the great King of Floods, immortal Thames!
As oft his Waters their known Course delay,
Fain would forget to flow, and ever stay;
At length compell'd to part, slow, murm'ring, roul away.
The Näids, wond'ring, why their Waves complain,
Leap up, and view Thee, with thy shining Train,
Then, sick with Envy, dive, and oozie Beds regain.
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There, CUMBRIA's Duke moves with a youthful Pride!
'Ere long, brave FRED'RIC shall the first appear,
And Albion's Hope deign Wallia's Prince to hear.
So fair a Race if Nïobè beheld,
Not un-provok'd, the haughty Mother swell'd;
But in her Bosom had thy Virtues dwelt,
Her Progeny no Delian Shafts had felt,
Nor, with their Sire, for scorn'd Latona, dy'd,
Nor she herself with Sorrows petrify'd:
No Parian Columns Palaces had known,
Nor the proud Marble from her Ruin shone.
Too oft is Beauty Time's malicious Sport,
But Dorset still adorns a second Court:
With such good-natur'd Looks, so sweetly mild,
When Venus won the golden Prize, she smil'd.
O Richmond! how inimitably fair!
Not boasted Helen could with Thee compare!
Yet Albemarle with diff'rent Charms can prove,
How Leda's jetty Tresses fir'd a Jove.
In Hartford's Sense, and graceful Air, is seen
The loveli'st Copy of the loveli'st Queen.
From Thee, blest Mother, has a Seymour sprung,
Fair, as that Seymour, whom a Suckling sung!
From Thee a Beauchamp shall Time's Steps out-go,
And in green Age the ripen'd Heroe show!
The Neice's Excellencies now disclose,
To whom Mankind, Mankind's whole Duty owes:
Thy Life, so pure, attests, with Wit so bright,
How Packington could live, as well as write.
Thy Beauties, Bristol, Years in vain consume;
Thou in thy Race shalt know a fadeless Bloom:
Children, from Children, sprung, shall Thee restore,
And, shining, teach the World, how Thou hast shone before!
But Dorset still adorns a second Court:
With such good-natur'd Looks, so sweetly mild,
When Venus won the golden Prize, she smil'd.
O Richmond! how inimitably fair!
Not boasted Helen could with Thee compare!
Yet Albemarle with diff'rent Charms can prove,
How Leda's jetty Tresses fir'd a Jove.
In Hartford's Sense, and graceful Air, is seen
The loveli'st Copy of the loveli'st Queen.
From Thee, blest Mother, has a Seymour sprung,
Fair, as that Seymour, whom a Suckling sung!
From Thee a Beauchamp shall Time's Steps out-go,
And in green Age the ripen'd Heroe show!
The Neice's Excellencies now disclose,
To whom Mankind, Mankind's whole Duty owes:
Thy Life, so pure, attests, with Wit so bright,
How Packington could live, as well as write.
Thy Beauties, Bristol, Years in vain consume;
Thou in thy Race shalt know a fadeless Bloom:
Children, from Children, sprung, shall Thee restore,
And, shining, teach the World, how Thou hast shone before!
Lo! the bright Palasins, a Virgin-Throng,
Advance, and yet demand the lengthen'd Song!
Alas! the Muse but in-harmonious sings,
If once Fitz-Williams touch the vocal Strings!
Meadows politely throws her Darts with Ease,
And Cart'ret seems by Nature form'd to please.
Mordant, with many a glorious Triumph crown'd,
Un-sated scatters still fresh Triumphs 'round:
Swift from her Eyes the grateful Light'nings fly,
Ruin grows sweet, and Crowds with Pleasure die.
Advance, and yet demand the lengthen'd Song!
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If once Fitz-Williams touch the vocal Strings!
Meadows politely throws her Darts with Ease,
And Cart'ret seems by Nature form'd to please.
Mordant, with many a glorious Triumph crown'd,
Un-sated scatters still fresh Triumphs 'round:
Swift from her Eyes the grateful Light'nings fly,
Ruin grows sweet, and Crowds with Pleasure die.
The Muse beholds th'encreasing, lovely Choir,
Illustrious Themes, that ev'n fresh Bards might tire!
Still one Strain more, tho' faint, she dares decree,
That one she sings, and, Howard, sings to Thee!
But Oh! in what soft Numbers shall she trace
The mazy Sweetness of thy beauteous Face?
Such Charms, at will, might their own Laws dispense,
Tho' void of Wit, and half-benumb'd in Sense;
Yet is thy Wit so bright, thy Sense so warm,
They might instruct Deformity to charm.
As the rich Tastes of Fruits of ev'ry kind
In the delicious Anana we find;
So all the various Glories, that refine,
And, scatter'd, make un-number'd Nymphs divine,
Center'd at once in Thee, delightful Howard, shine!
Illustrious Themes, that ev'n fresh Bards might tire!
Still one Strain more, tho' faint, she dares decree,
That one she sings, and, Howard, sings to Thee!
But Oh! in what soft Numbers shall she trace
The mazy Sweetness of thy beauteous Face?
Such Charms, at will, might their own Laws dispense,
Tho' void of Wit, and half-benumb'd in Sense;
Yet is thy Wit so bright, thy Sense so warm,
They might instruct Deformity to charm.
As the rich Tastes of Fruits of ev'ry kind
In the delicious Anana we find;
So all the various Glories, that refine,
And, scatter'd, make un-number'd Nymphs divine,
Center'd at once in Thee, delightful Howard, shine!
Such, CAROLINA, is thy Court confest;
Like Cynthia, Thou, exalted o'er the rest,
Majestical look'st down upon the Plain,
And view'st thy radiant, yet inferior Train.
Chear'd by thy Smiles, th'ambitious Muse shall rove
From the cool Fountain, and th'Aonian Grove;
Shall to thy Presence shape her daring Way,
And on thy Beauties gaze herself away;
Then, starting from her Trance, shall loud proclaim
In loftier Numbers thy un-rival'd Fame:
In Numbers! that secure o'er Time prevail,
While she shall proud, in View, Her Own Minerva hail!
Like Cynthia, Thou, exalted o'er the rest,
Majestical look'st down upon the Plain,
And view'st thy radiant, yet inferior Train.
Chear'd by thy Smiles, th'ambitious Muse shall rove
From the cool Fountain, and th'Aonian Grove;
Shall to thy Presence shape her daring Way,
And on thy Beauties gaze herself away;
Then, starting from her Trance, shall loud proclaim
In loftier Numbers thy un-rival'd Fame:
In Numbers! that secure o'er Time prevail,
While she shall proud, in View, Her Own Minerva hail!
FINIS.
| Three poems | |