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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 | Three poems |  |
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A POEM, Sacred to the Immortal Memory of the late KING.
'Tis not enough in secret to lament;
Muse! give a-loud thy loyal Sorrows Vent!
Draw Majesty at length, and in full Day
The King, the Heroe, and the Sire display!
Vain, pompous Names! lost in one narrow Urn!—
Who mourns not now, may he for ever mourn!
Exalted Grief ev'n humble Verse can show;
There is a native Eloquence in Woe:
Ye Numbers, as my Tears, free, and un-artful, flow!
Muse! give a-loud thy loyal Sorrows Vent!
Draw Majesty at length, and in full Day
The King, the Heroe, and the Sire display!
Vain, pompous Names! lost in one narrow Urn!—
Who mourns not now, may he for ever mourn!
Exalted Grief ev'n humble Verse can show;
There is a native Eloquence in Woe:
Ye Numbers, as my Tears, free, and un-artful, flow!
Scarce had we ceas'd to solemnize that Sun,
Beneath which, GEORGE's glorious Race begun,
Where we saw, flatter'd with a false Presage,
Long, blissful Scenes in his Nestorean Age;
When the big Bus'ness of Mankind again
Call'd CÆSAR, and his Fortunè, to the Main:
The Main confess'd the Charge, and safe once more
Landed its Ruler on the Belgic Shore.
Sweet was the Sound of Fame's first soothing Tongue;
But Horrors on her second Accents hung,
And thro' fair Albion's Cliffs, dead BRUNSWIC! hollow rung!
How is the Mighty fall'n! how swiftly gone!
Be the sad News t'exulting Gath unknown,
Nor, Echo, tell the Vales of haughty Ascalon!
Beneath which, GEORGE's glorious Race begun,
Where we saw, flatter'd with a false Presage,
Long, blissful Scenes in his Nestorean Age;
When the big Bus'ness of Mankind again
Call'd CÆSAR, and his Fortunè, to the Main:
The Main confess'd the Charge, and safe once more
Landed its Ruler on the Belgic Shore.
Sweet was the Sound of Fame's first soothing Tongue;
But Horrors on her second Accents hung,
And thro' fair Albion's Cliffs, dead BRUNSWIC! hollow rung!
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Be the sad News t'exulting Gath unknown,
Nor, Echo, tell the Vales of haughty Ascalon!
Such dire Delusions once old Rome befell;
Raptur'd she heard, Germanicus was well:
For Him her choicest Hecatombs were slain!
For Him a thousand Altars smoak'd in vain!
New Letters lost Germanicus declare,
The Senate weep, their Locks the Matrons tear,
And Crowds with Pain are taught their Guardian Gods to spare!
Raptur'd she heard, Germanicus was well:
For Him her choicest Hecatombs were slain!
For Him a thousand Altars smoak'd in vain!
New Letters lost Germanicus declare,
The Senate weep, their Locks the Matrons tear,
And Crowds with Pain are taught their Guardian Gods to spare!
Yet fell not BRUNSWIC on Barbarian Plains,
But, in the Confines of his own Domains,
Calm, as he reign'd, expir'd:—so Moses spy'd
The promis'd Land, and bow'd his Head, and dy'd.
Long had he toil'd to make whole Nations blest,
Restless Himself, 'till fix'd was Europe's Rest;
Then soar'd his longing Soul, in haste to know
The Crowns, above reserv'd, for Kings of Peace below.
But, in the Confines of his own Domains,
Calm, as he reign'd, expir'd:—so Moses spy'd
The promis'd Land, and bow'd his Head, and dy'd.
Long had he toil'd to make whole Nations blest,
Restless Himself, 'till fix'd was Europe's Rest;
Then soar'd his longing Soul, in haste to know
The Crowns, above reserv'd, for Kings of Peace below.
Ye mortal Deities of gilded Clay!
Who, now sublime, your dazling Beams display,
Hence learn, that all those dazling Beams shall fail,
And Darkness o'er your Globes of Light prevail!
Nor think, a Watchfulness still Heav'n t'adore,
Tyrants to quell, and Liberties restore,
To rule your Subjects with a Father's Care,
With Grief to punish, but with Joy to spare,
To face grim Death in many a purple Field,
Can Kings from Death's un-erring Arrows shield!
Death imitates, too just, proud Tarquin's Blow,
And lops the lofty Flow'rs, but spares the low.
Could Innocence, or Virtue, check Fate's Doom,
GEORGE had not dy'd, and young NASSAU would bloom!
Who, now sublime, your dazling Beams display,
Hence learn, that all those dazling Beams shall fail,
And Darkness o'er your Globes of Light prevail!
Nor think, a Watchfulness still Heav'n t'adore,
Tyrants to quell, and Liberties restore,
To rule your Subjects with a Father's Care,
With Grief to punish, but with Joy to spare,
To face grim Death in many a purple Field,
Can Kings from Death's un-erring Arrows shield!
Death imitates, too just, proud Tarquin's Blow,
And lops the lofty Flow'rs, but spares the low.
Could Innocence, or Virtue, check Fate's Doom,
GEORGE had not dy'd, and young NASSAU would bloom!
Hear shrieking Näids from Britannia's Floods,
By Dryads answer'd in Hercynian Woods!
Cam sees the Muses languish on the Ground,
And Thames with Tears o'er-floats his wonted Bound:
Onacra's Banks convulsive Startings show,
And Leine, with Sorrows chill'd, forgets to flow.
By Dryads answer'd in Hercynian Woods!
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And Thames with Tears o'er-floats his wonted Bound:
Onacra's Banks convulsive Startings show,
And Leine, with Sorrows chill'd, forgets to flow.
Lo! Mountain-Nymphs, a beauteous, sighing Train,
Descend in Bevies, and adorn the Plain!
Their last, fond Gifts in Canisters they bring,
Spices, and Flow'rs, and Greens that ever spring.
Ah! needless Presents, grateful Nymphs, forbear!
Not GEORGE demands this too-officious Care;
Her Gums for others let Arabia weep!
Him Fame alone herself, embalm'd, shall keep:
Hence, short-liv'd Flow'rs, where fadeless Glories bloom!
Hence, borrow'd Greens, that cast a loveless Gloom,
Where his own Laurels rise, and high-imbow'r his Tomb!
Vi'lets, and Hyacinths, and fragrant Trees
A Paris, or a Lydian Shade may please;
But, here, becoming Obsequies to show,
Breathe deep the Clarion, venerably slow!
Bid Drums, half-brac'd, send forth a sullen Sound,
And on Steel-Helmets ring deaf Peals around!
Let Standards, won, wave solemn in the Air,
And, what the Heroe was, hung Spoils declare!
Swords, Spears, and Cuirasses, inverted, place,
And the Pile's Top with Wreaths of Olive grace!
For Fun'ral Pomps, like these, true Honour calls,
When SCIPIO, CÆSAR, or a BRUNSWIC falls.
Descend in Bevies, and adorn the Plain!
Their last, fond Gifts in Canisters they bring,
Spices, and Flow'rs, and Greens that ever spring.
Ah! needless Presents, grateful Nymphs, forbear!
Not GEORGE demands this too-officious Care;
Her Gums for others let Arabia weep!
Him Fame alone herself, embalm'd, shall keep:
Hence, short-liv'd Flow'rs, where fadeless Glories bloom!
Hence, borrow'd Greens, that cast a loveless Gloom,
Where his own Laurels rise, and high-imbow'r his Tomb!
Vi'lets, and Hyacinths, and fragrant Trees
A Paris, or a Lydian Shade may please;
But, here, becoming Obsequies to show,
Breathe deep the Clarion, venerably slow!
Bid Drums, half-brac'd, send forth a sullen Sound,
And on Steel-Helmets ring deaf Peals around!
Let Standards, won, wave solemn in the Air,
And, what the Heroe was, hung Spoils declare!
Swords, Spears, and Cuirasses, inverted, place,
And the Pile's Top with Wreaths of Olive grace!
For Fun'ral Pomps, like these, true Honour calls,
When SCIPIO, CÆSAR, or a BRUNSWIC falls.
Muse! trace His Fame, and Glory's Circle run
From the first Rising, to His setting Sun!
Not the third Lustrum past, nor Boy-hood gone,
See! how at Treves the beardless Heroe shone!
Æmilius for less Acts was greatly prais'd,
When, 'midst her Gods, Rome his young Statue rais'd.
Early thou lend'st an Ear to piteous Cries;
Vienna groans:—Thy Youth with Succour flies:
Beleagu'ring Turks are routed on the Plain,
And all their threat'ning Crescents taught to wane!
How oft the Fortune of thy Fights still yields
Surprise to Peasants in Hungarian Fields,
While the deep Plough-share to their View up-throws
Bare Sculls, and rusty Helms, the Relicks of thy Foes!
The Danube, rouling thro' a hundred States,
The various Wonders of thy Arms relates:
How oft by Thee, slain thousands choak'd his Flood!
How oft he roar'd, swell'd with big Tides of Blood!
I pass New-hausel's Siege, where, white in Years,
Still proud of thy Command, renown'd Chauvet appears!
Un-sung, with gory Streams be Hartzan cloy'd,
And Esseck's vast, stupendous Bridge destroy'd!
Nor will I here record a faithful Tale,
And tell, to whom we owe the Leagues of Travendale!
See! see! Germania, with her Fears half-dead,
Courts Thee, in haste her fainting Troops to head!
Thou could'st alone great Baden's Loss restore,
And teach her Eagles Flights, they never knew before!
Where am I snatch'd by thy un-bounded Fame?
Triumphs, the Rhine beheld, the Rhine proclaim!
Too weak my Voice, and too un-nerv'd my Strains
For the loud Io's of three bright Campaigns!
There Vivans foil'd, in War long hoary grown,
Himself a Captive, and his Troops o'er-thrown;
There Wetlingham's strong Lines, yet forc'd, I see,
And all Germania sav'd, once more, by Thee!
But lo! pale Albion, ripe for Ruin made,
Menac'd by Foes, and by false Sons betray'd,
To Thee, as to a Guardian-Angel, flies,
And home-bred Frauds, and Popish Chains defies!
Just in a timely Hour, 'ere yet too late,
Just in th'important Crisis of our Fate,
Thee Providence gave to the British Throne,
By Laws, by Birth-Right, and Desert Thy own.
Who could th'infernal Schemes, un-mov'd, declare?
Who saw all crush'd, but saw Heav'n's Hand was there?
From the first Rising, to His setting Sun!
Not the third Lustrum past, nor Boy-hood gone,
See! how at Treves the beardless Heroe shone!
Æmilius for less Acts was greatly prais'd,
When, 'midst her Gods, Rome his young Statue rais'd.
Early thou lend'st an Ear to piteous Cries;
Vienna groans:—Thy Youth with Succour flies:
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And all their threat'ning Crescents taught to wane!
How oft the Fortune of thy Fights still yields
Surprise to Peasants in Hungarian Fields,
While the deep Plough-share to their View up-throws
Bare Sculls, and rusty Helms, the Relicks of thy Foes!
The Danube, rouling thro' a hundred States,
The various Wonders of thy Arms relates:
How oft by Thee, slain thousands choak'd his Flood!
How oft he roar'd, swell'd with big Tides of Blood!
I pass New-hausel's Siege, where, white in Years,
Still proud of thy Command, renown'd Chauvet appears!
Un-sung, with gory Streams be Hartzan cloy'd,
And Esseck's vast, stupendous Bridge destroy'd!
Nor will I here record a faithful Tale,
And tell, to whom we owe the Leagues of Travendale!
See! see! Germania, with her Fears half-dead,
Courts Thee, in haste her fainting Troops to head!
Thou could'st alone great Baden's Loss restore,
And teach her Eagles Flights, they never knew before!
Where am I snatch'd by thy un-bounded Fame?
Triumphs, the Rhine beheld, the Rhine proclaim!
Too weak my Voice, and too un-nerv'd my Strains
For the loud Io's of three bright Campaigns!
There Vivans foil'd, in War long hoary grown,
Himself a Captive, and his Troops o'er-thrown;
There Wetlingham's strong Lines, yet forc'd, I see,
And all Germania sav'd, once more, by Thee!
But lo! pale Albion, ripe for Ruin made,
Menac'd by Foes, and by false Sons betray'd,
To Thee, as to a Guardian-Angel, flies,
And home-bred Frauds, and Popish Chains defies!
Just in a timely Hour, 'ere yet too late,
Just in th'important Crisis of our Fate,
Thee Providence gave to the British Throne,
By Laws, by Birth-Right, and Desert Thy own.
Who could th'infernal Schemes, un-mov'd, declare?
Who saw all crush'd, but saw Heav'n's Hand was there?
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Bigotted Rebels next arise in vain,
At Preston quell'd, or slaughter'd at Dumblain!
Wretches! that, like the Viper, would betray,
And thro' their Mother's Entrails eat their Way!
Doubtful, if with more Ease thy Troops could give
Conquest, or Thou could'st bid the Conquer'd live!
With Antonine's, thy Clemency was spread,
And griev'd it could not re-inspire the Dead:
Ev'n when the publick Weal sign'd Dooms demand,
The Father's Eyes weep o'er the Monarch's Hand!
Hence white, distinguish'd Hours, and Halcyon Days
Began their lovely Rounds to GEORGE's Praise;
For in great GEORGE were happily combin'd
Rome's Founder's Courage, and her Numa's Mind!
Glorious He shone thro' Life's still-vary'd Stage,
But far most glorious in expiring Age!
At Preston quell'd, or slaughter'd at Dumblain!
Wretches! that, like the Viper, would betray,
And thro' their Mother's Entrails eat their Way!
Doubtful, if with more Ease thy Troops could give
Conquest, or Thou could'st bid the Conquer'd live!
With Antonine's, thy Clemency was spread,
And griev'd it could not re-inspire the Dead:
Ev'n when the publick Weal sign'd Dooms demand,
The Father's Eyes weep o'er the Monarch's Hand!
Hence white, distinguish'd Hours, and Halcyon Days
Began their lovely Rounds to GEORGE's Praise;
For in great GEORGE were happily combin'd
Rome's Founder's Courage, and her Numa's Mind!
Glorious He shone thro' Life's still-vary'd Stage,
But far most glorious in expiring Age!
When Lachesis had finish'd just her Clue,
The Plan for Europe's endless Peace he drew:
There, since Fame stretch'd to such a vast Degree,
That Earth could give no more, 'twas Heav'n's Decree
The Mortal should be lost in Immortality!
The Plan for Europe's endless Peace he drew:
There, since Fame stretch'd to such a vast Degree,
That Earth could give no more, 'twas Heav'n's Decree
The Mortal should be lost in Immortality!
So rapid Trent a nobler Current shows,
As from his Fount the farther still he flows;
Proud of his liquid Spoils, he rouls along,
With thrice ten Floods majestically strong;
'Till all his Stores collected in one Plain,
No more he winds, but, rushing to the Main,
Amidst old Ocean hastes Eternity to gain!
As from his Fount the farther still he flows;
Proud of his liquid Spoils, he rouls along,
With thrice ten Floods majestically strong;
'Till all his Stores collected in one Plain,
No more he winds, but, rushing to the Main,
Amidst old Ocean hastes Eternity to gain!
Elysian Frontiers past, the Fields of Day,
And ever-blooming Scenes, their Charms display:
Delightful Seats! where happy Souls enjoy
Pleasures on Pleasures roul'd, that still no Senses cloy!
See! the great ERNEST, and three Heroes run!
The Brother they salute, and He the Son:
Here, the third WILLIAM eagerly demands,
If still Rome's Locusts vex his rescu'd Lands?
If still Wealth, Freedom, Property, and Ease,
Or her own Happiness, can Albion please?
There, Halifax, in his lov'd King's Embrace
Transported, learns his un-degenerate Race.
Garth beckens Marlb'rough from the laurel'd Throng,
And, with Him, Rowe leads Tamerlane along;
While to his BRUNSWIC Addison again
Warbles another, sweet, immortal Strain:
The crowding Shades the Harmony admire,
And think each Sound the Sound of Maro's Lyre.
Silent they listen to th'exalted Lays,
But loud repeat the Burthen of the Praise;
And ever-blooming Scenes, their Charms display:
Delightful Seats! where happy Souls enjoy
Pleasures on Pleasures roul'd, that still no Senses cloy!
See! the great ERNEST, and three Heroes run!
The Brother they salute, and He the Son:
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If still Rome's Locusts vex his rescu'd Lands?
If still Wealth, Freedom, Property, and Ease,
Or her own Happiness, can Albion please?
There, Halifax, in his lov'd King's Embrace
Transported, learns his un-degenerate Race.
Garth beckens Marlb'rough from the laurel'd Throng,
And, with Him, Rowe leads Tamerlane along;
While to his BRUNSWIC Addison again
Warbles another, sweet, immortal Strain:
The crowding Shades the Harmony admire,
And think each Sound the Sound of Maro's Lyre.
Silent they listen to th'exalted Lays,
But loud repeat the Burthen of the Praise;
“Hail, BRUNSWIC, hail from fair Britannia's Throne!
“Thou in these blissful Mansions well art known:
“Thy Life had Bound'ries, but thy Glory none!
“Thou in these blissful Mansions well art known:
“Thy Life had Bound'ries, but thy Glory none!
Farewell, blest Prince!—if Thee the Dead proclaim,
How shall the Living glow with grateful Flame?
By Thee we mourn not Alexandria lost,
And vie with all, that Bodley's Gifts can boast!
May Granta's stately Domes auspicious rise,
And, Rome, thy haughty Vatican despise!
Flourish, like BRUNSWIC's Fame, ye growing Piles,
Grac'd with learn'd Sons, and blest with Freedom's Smiles!
Ye Sons, when learn'd, in various Language show
To whom your various Languages you owe!
GEORGE from his Granta well may Thanks demand;
By Him she speaks the Tongue of ev'ry Land:
And from his kind Munificence alone,
She to the World, to Her the World is known.
How shall the Living glow with grateful Flame?
By Thee we mourn not Alexandria lost,
And vie with all, that Bodley's Gifts can boast!
May Granta's stately Domes auspicious rise,
And, Rome, thy haughty Vatican despise!
Flourish, like BRUNSWIC's Fame, ye growing Piles,
Grac'd with learn'd Sons, and blest with Freedom's Smiles!
Ye Sons, when learn'd, in various Language show
To whom your various Languages you owe!
GEORGE from his Granta well may Thanks demand;
By Him she speaks the Tongue of ev'ry Land:
And from his kind Munificence alone,
She to the World, to Her the World is known.
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A POEM, On the happy Succession, and Coronation of His present MAJESTY.
------ Strepitus fastidit inanes,
Inque Animis Hominum Pompâ meliore triumphat.
Claud.
Inque Animis Hominum Pompâ meliore triumphat.
Claud.
As when learn'd Sages Optic Arts display,
And from the darken'd Room exclude the Day,
Thro' the pierc'd Oak th'insinuating Light,
If Phœbus shines not, gives a ghastly Sight;
Men, Tow'rs, and Temples, are, inverted, seen,
A rude, un-colour'd, gloomy, loveless Scene!
But should the Sun again adorn the Sky,
Glasses, twice-convex, to the Chasm apply,
And straight a wond'rous Landscape charms the View:
Such Lights! such Shades not Poussin ever drew!
Gay Nature's Paint!—each Image, beauteous, falls,
And Trees, erect, wave green along the whiten'd Walls.
And from the darken'd Room exclude the Day,
Thro' the pierc'd Oak th'insinuating Light,
If Phœbus shines not, gives a ghastly Sight;
Men, Tow'rs, and Temples, are, inverted, seen,
A rude, un-colour'd, gloomy, loveless Scene!
But should the Sun again adorn the Sky,
Glasses, twice-convex, to the Chasm apply,
And straight a wond'rous Landscape charms the View:
Such Lights! such Shades not Poussin ever drew!
Gay Nature's Paint!—each Image, beauteous, falls,
And Trees, erect, wave green along the whiten'd Walls.
So when great BRUNSWIC yielded to his Fate,
O'er-cast, and chearless was Britannia's State;
Her Cheeks to lose their bloomy Hue begun,
And all her Roses vanish'd with her Sun:
'Till a new BRUNSWIC, with an equal Ray,
Re-call'd at once her Beauties, and the Day:
Firm, and un-chang'd, the Spires, and Turrets stand!
Religion, joyn'd with Liberty's fair Hand,
In Triumph walk, and bless, with wonted Smiles, the Land!
O'er-cast, and chearless was Britannia's State;
Her Cheeks to lose their bloomy Hue begun,
And all her Roses vanish'd with her Sun:
'Till a new BRUNSWIC, with an equal Ray,
Re-call'd at once her Beauties, and the Day:
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Religion, joyn'd with Liberty's fair Hand,
In Triumph walk, and bless, with wonted Smiles, the Land!
Hail, mighty Monarch! whose Desert alone
Would, without Birth-right, raise Thee to a Throne!
Thy Virtues shine peculiarly nice,
Un-gloom'd with a Confinity to Vice.
What Strains shall equal to thy Glories rise,
First of the World, and Borderer on the Skies!
How exquisitely Great, who can'st inspire
Such Joys, that Albion mourns no more thy Sire!
Thy Sire! a Prince, she lov'd to that degree,
She almost trespass'd on the Deity!
Imperial Weight He bore with so much Ease!
Who, but Thy self, would not despair to please?
A dull, fat, thoughtless Heir, un-heeded, springs
From a long, slothful Line of restive Kings;
And Thrones, inur'd to a Tyrannic Race,
Think a new Tyrant not a new Disgrace;
Tho' by the Change the State no Bliss receives,
And Nero dies in vain, if Otho lives:
But when a Stemm, with fruitful Branches crown'd,
Has flourish'd, in each various Branch renown'd,
Still ever seen, (if they survive, or fall,)
All Heroes, and their Country's Fathers All;
His great Fore-runners when the Last out-shone,
Who could a brighter hope, or ev'n as bright a Son?
Old Rome with Tears the younger Scipio view'd,
Who not in Fame her African renew'd.
Avant, degenerate Grafts, or spurious Breed!
'Tis a GEORGE only can a GEORGE succeed!
The Shafts of Death the Pelian Art have found,
They bring at once the Balm, that give the Wound.
Would, without Birth-right, raise Thee to a Throne!
Thy Virtues shine peculiarly nice,
Un-gloom'd with a Confinity to Vice.
What Strains shall equal to thy Glories rise,
First of the World, and Borderer on the Skies!
How exquisitely Great, who can'st inspire
Such Joys, that Albion mourns no more thy Sire!
Thy Sire! a Prince, she lov'd to that degree,
She almost trespass'd on the Deity!
Imperial Weight He bore with so much Ease!
Who, but Thy self, would not despair to please?
A dull, fat, thoughtless Heir, un-heeded, springs
From a long, slothful Line of restive Kings;
And Thrones, inur'd to a Tyrannic Race,
Think a new Tyrant not a new Disgrace;
Tho' by the Change the State no Bliss receives,
And Nero dies in vain, if Otho lives:
But when a Stemm, with fruitful Branches crown'd,
Has flourish'd, in each various Branch renown'd,
Still ever seen, (if they survive, or fall,)
All Heroes, and their Country's Fathers All;
His great Fore-runners when the Last out-shone,
Who could a brighter hope, or ev'n as bright a Son?
Old Rome with Tears the younger Scipio view'd,
Who not in Fame her African renew'd.
Avant, degenerate Grafts, or spurious Breed!
'Tis a GEORGE only can a GEORGE succeed!
The Shafts of Death the Pelian Art have found,
They bring at once the Balm, that give the Wound.
The Muse, that late on drooping Pinions hung,
Her Voice neglected, and her Lyre un-strung,
Chear'd with sweet Prospects, spreads sublime her Wings,
Tow'rs in bold Flights, and, flush'd with Rapture, Sings.
Thus Memnon's Statue, when the Sun declines,
Weeps, and in melancholy Murmurs pines;
But, soon as touch'd with the next early Ray,
The vocal Marble hails the new-born Day:
Titan's warm, rising Beams its Breast inflame,
And glad, melodious Sounds th'inspiring God proclaim!
Her Voice neglected, and her Lyre un-strung,
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Tow'rs in bold Flights, and, flush'd with Rapture, Sings.
Thus Memnon's Statue, when the Sun declines,
Weeps, and in melancholy Murmurs pines;
But, soon as touch'd with the next early Ray,
The vocal Marble hails the new-born Day:
Titan's warm, rising Beams its Breast inflame,
And glad, melodious Sounds th'inspiring God proclaim!
The second Cæsar mildly sway'd his Rome,
Sooth'd all the Nine, and taught all Arts to bloom;
Thence sprung the Glories of the Roman Name,
That roul for ever in a Tide of Fame:
Britain! un-envious view th'Italian Plains!
See Rome's blest Times restor'd!—Thy own AUGUSTUS reigns!
With an AUGUSTUS may new Virgils rise,
And sing the Favourite of conspiring Skies!
To Albion Thou (if Poets can presage)
Shalt give another, sweeter, Classic Age!
Sooth'd all the Nine, and taught all Arts to bloom;
Thence sprung the Glories of the Roman Name,
That roul for ever in a Tide of Fame:
Britain! un-envious view th'Italian Plains!
See Rome's blest Times restor'd!—Thy own AUGUSTUS reigns!
With an AUGUSTUS may new Virgils rise,
And sing the Favourite of conspiring Skies!
To Albion Thou (if Poets can presage)
Shalt give another, sweeter, Classic Age!
'Ere yet thy tender Eyes the Light sustain'd,
Thy future Greatness heav'nly Signs ordain'd:
Kind Constellations, sympathizing, shed
Their choicest Influence on thy native Bed.
The Lyre all-strung with many a silver Ray,
Mark'd o'er Hibernia, and o'er Arts thy Sway.
Cassiopé, with the fair Gnossian, shone,
That show'd a Royal Chair, and This a Crown.
The Lion rampant rose for Albion's Aid,
And th'Eagle, spread, Germania's Arms display'd.
Andromeda stretch'd out her Hands, unbound,
And Perseus, bright, a new-born Perseus own'd.
Astræa shone a-while to grace thy Birth,
Then to thy Sire again descended swift on Earth.
Thus Jove's Lyæus was confess'd by Signs;
Cythæron flourish'd with un-planted Vines:
Thus of Alcides the World Presage took,
When stagnant Lerna roul'd, and frighted Nemëe shook!
Thy future Greatness heav'nly Signs ordain'd:
Kind Constellations, sympathizing, shed
Their choicest Influence on thy native Bed.
The Lyre all-strung with many a silver Ray,
Mark'd o'er Hibernia, and o'er Arts thy Sway.
Cassiopé, with the fair Gnossian, shone,
That show'd a Royal Chair, and This a Crown.
The Lion rampant rose for Albion's Aid,
And th'Eagle, spread, Germania's Arms display'd.
Andromeda stretch'd out her Hands, unbound,
And Perseus, bright, a new-born Perseus own'd.
Astræa shone a-while to grace thy Birth,
Then to thy Sire again descended swift on Earth.
Thus Jove's Lyæus was confess'd by Signs;
Cythæron flourish'd with un-planted Vines:
Thus of Alcides the World Presage took,
When stagnant Lerna roul'd, and frighted Nemëe shook!
12
With springing Years all Arts, and Graces spring,
And the Boy fashion early for the King.
Thy Bosome by thy Sire was richly fraught,
Not his own Hector Priam better taught;
Imbu'd thy Soul with Probity, and Truth,
And strung thy Nerves with Toil, like Sparta's Youth.
With Rome, and Athens, Thee sometimes He fires,
Sometimes with Wonders of Thy Race inspires;
In a long Series of bright Acts proceeds,
From AZO, down to ERNEST's hardy Deeds:
Deeds! whence a new ELECTOR He became,
Rais'd not by Fortune, but by Virtue's Fame:
Rais'd by th'Almighty's secret, fav'ring Hand,
Which Hell's fierce Agents, 'round, strove vainly to withstand!
And the Boy fashion early for the King.
Thy Bosome by thy Sire was richly fraught,
Not his own Hector Priam better taught;
Imbu'd thy Soul with Probity, and Truth,
And strung thy Nerves with Toil, like Sparta's Youth.
With Rome, and Athens, Thee sometimes He fires,
Sometimes with Wonders of Thy Race inspires;
In a long Series of bright Acts proceeds,
From AZO, down to ERNEST's hardy Deeds:
Deeds! whence a new ELECTOR He became,
Rais'd not by Fortune, but by Virtue's Fame:
Rais'd by th'Almighty's secret, fav'ring Hand,
Which Hell's fierce Agents, 'round, strove vainly to withstand!
By Mars renown'd, thy Youth's first Sallies shine,
Display the Heroe, and confess thy Line.
The Banks of Scheld thy Arms shall ever sound,
And Oudenarde the grateful Shout re-bound!
Her Artisans shall bid their Rescuer bloom,
And all thy Glories weave in an immortal Loom!
There shall thy Sword descend in dreadful Gleams,
And die the Tap'stry with en-crimson'd Streams!
There shall the grazing Ball rise, and declare,
Where Fate commands to kill, and where to spare:
Thou, all-besmear'd with comely Dust, and Sweat,
Griev'd at each Pause, that checks the Victor's Heat,
Shalt from thy falling Steed, un-wounded, slide,
With Albion's Genius plum'd, and Fortune by thy Side!
Could Claudian, or Papinius breathe again,
How would they flow in a luxuriant Strain?
They would their Consuls, and their Fights discard,
To sing the glorious Field of Oudenarde?
Then to Britannia swift had been convey'd
The Wonders, that her future King display'd;
For Leda's panting Sons, with crested Flames,
Had bath'd their gory Steeds in smiling Thames,
As once they proudly bath'd in Tiber's Flood,
To greater Paulus when great Perses bow'd:
Rocks with loud Io's, un-provok'd, had rung,
And from the Ground spontaneous Laurels sprung.
Display the Heroe, and confess thy Line.
The Banks of Scheld thy Arms shall ever sound,
And Oudenarde the grateful Shout re-bound!
Her Artisans shall bid their Rescuer bloom,
And all thy Glories weave in an immortal Loom!
There shall thy Sword descend in dreadful Gleams,
And die the Tap'stry with en-crimson'd Streams!
There shall the grazing Ball rise, and declare,
Where Fate commands to kill, and where to spare:
Thou, all-besmear'd with comely Dust, and Sweat,
Griev'd at each Pause, that checks the Victor's Heat,
Shalt from thy falling Steed, un-wounded, slide,
With Albion's Genius plum'd, and Fortune by thy Side!
Could Claudian, or Papinius breathe again,
How would they flow in a luxuriant Strain?
They would their Consuls, and their Fights discard,
To sing the glorious Field of Oudenarde?
Then to Britannia swift had been convey'd
The Wonders, that her future King display'd;
For Leda's panting Sons, with crested Flames,
Had bath'd their gory Steeds in smiling Thames,
13
To greater Paulus when great Perses bow'd:
Rocks with loud Io's, un-provok'd, had rung,
And from the Ground spontaneous Laurels sprung.
Wallia's late, dauntless Prince!—who could not see
The third brave Edward's Son, reviv'd in Thee?
Thanks to kind Heav'n for not a Fate the same,
Since in thy ev'ry Act, as white thy Fame!
As white, as Galba's, 'ere a Throne he gain'd,
But not, like Galba's, with a Throne distain'd!
Nor Thou, tho' crown'd, can'st, with Vespasian, shine
Diviner, who before wert all-divine!
No Exaltation knows thy Virtue's Scene;
Be the Prince ever in the Monarch seen!
One only Change!—that Change how happy still!
Thy Pow'r to bless, enlarg'd, can more indulge thy Will.
The third brave Edward's Son, reviv'd in Thee?
Thanks to kind Heav'n for not a Fate the same,
Since in thy ev'ry Act, as white thy Fame!
As white, as Galba's, 'ere a Throne he gain'd,
But not, like Galba's, with a Throne distain'd!
Nor Thou, tho' crown'd, can'st, with Vespasian, shine
Diviner, who before wert all-divine!
No Exaltation knows thy Virtue's Scene;
Be the Prince ever in the Monarch seen!
One only Change!—that Change how happy still!
Thy Pow'r to bless, enlarg'd, can more indulge thy Will.
O! with what Peals, what universal Cries
Thy Praise rings 'round the World, and echoes thro' the Skies!
What deaf'ning Sounds first hail'd Thee to a Crown!
Thy Albion frantic grew with Ecstasies un-known!
Such Shouts were heard, (if ever such before!)
When Rome to Greece deign'd Freedom to restore!
Deliver'd Nations joyn'd in loud Acclaims;
And, un-regarded, left th'Olympic Games:
Ev'n by their Joys Birds their Destruction found,
And, stun'd aloft in Air, drop'd breathless on the Ground.
Thy Praise rings 'round the World, and echoes thro' the Skies!
What deaf'ning Sounds first hail'd Thee to a Crown!
Thy Albion frantic grew with Ecstasies un-known!
Such Shouts were heard, (if ever such before!)
When Rome to Greece deign'd Freedom to restore!
Deliver'd Nations joyn'd in loud Acclaims;
And, un-regarded, left th'Olympic Games:
Ev'n by their Joys Birds their Destruction found,
And, stun'd aloft in Air, drop'd breathless on the Ground.
See! see! Religion, in Deportment sweet,
Bright without Glare, and beautifully neat,
Hastes to embrace Thee with pure, native Charms,
And finds a nursing Sire within thy open'd Arms!
No more she fears her Rights, and Domes a Prey
To a deluded Youth, and Papal Sway:
No more shall Albion bigot-Chains enthral,
Nor her Sons Victims to dire Jesuits fall.
Once Ægypt's Lands with Plagues distinguish'd were,
But happy Pharoah knew no Jesuits there!
There had those Saints of Darkness stood prepar'd,
God might his num'rous Vengeances have spar'd;
Well had they play'd the Machi'vilian Part,
And show'd, compendious Ruin was their Art,
While they taught Pharoah, with his Host, t'expire
At once in sulph'rous Clouds, and Hurricanes of Fire.
Bright without Glare, and beautifully neat,
Hastes to embrace Thee with pure, native Charms,
And finds a nursing Sire within thy open'd Arms!
No more she fears her Rights, and Domes a Prey
To a deluded Youth, and Papal Sway:
No more shall Albion bigot-Chains enthral,
Nor her Sons Victims to dire Jesuits fall.
14
But happy Pharoah knew no Jesuits there!
There had those Saints of Darkness stood prepar'd,
God might his num'rous Vengeances have spar'd;
Well had they play'd the Machi'vilian Part,
And show'd, compendious Ruin was their Art,
While they taught Pharoah, with his Host, t'expire
At once in sulph'rous Clouds, and Hurricanes of Fire.
Great Potentate! whom Nations 'round shall know
The kindest Friend, or the severest Foe!
May Tow'rs, and Arms the Tyrant's Safe-guard prove;
Thy firmest Bulwarks be thy People's Love!
Think still true Greatness not a Meteor-Blaze,
And scorn Satiety of virtuous Praise!
Hence, not to Albion's Good alone confin'd,
Thy Soul takes in the Welfare of Mankind:
Volga un-curls his Waves at thy Commands,
And Taïo courts thy Smiles with golden Sands:
Kingdoms, howe'er dis-joyn'd, thy Influence share,
And a World's Commerce is a BRUNSWIC's Care.
The kindest Friend, or the severest Foe!
May Tow'rs, and Arms the Tyrant's Safe-guard prove;
Thy firmest Bulwarks be thy People's Love!
Think still true Greatness not a Meteor-Blaze,
And scorn Satiety of virtuous Praise!
Hence, not to Albion's Good alone confin'd,
Thy Soul takes in the Welfare of Mankind:
Volga un-curls his Waves at thy Commands,
And Taïo courts thy Smiles with golden Sands:
Kingdoms, howe'er dis-joyn'd, thy Influence share,
And a World's Commerce is a BRUNSWIC's Care.
Let the fond, flatter'd Prince at distance stray,
And waste with pamper'd Cardinals the Day!
Enjoy in Latium a fantastic Reign!
No forlorn Wretches tempt him o'er the Main!
Shimei but Kidron past, and Shimei then was slain!
And waste with pamper'd Cardinals the Day!
Enjoy in Latium a fantastic Reign!
No forlorn Wretches tempt him o'er the Main!
Shimei but Kidron past, and Shimei then was slain!
Listen!—Thy Cambridge Thee attempts to sing!
Thee, once her fav'rite Duke! Thee, now her fav'rite King!
Ah! check'd by Sorrows, she attempts in vain;
Lost is her Voice, and languid is her Strain!
When wilt Thou, present, her learn'd Mansions bless,
Chear each pal'd Grove, and gild each gloom'd Recess?
When shall she sudden, with a sweet Surprize,
Turn from thy beamy Face her dazl'd Eyes,
And hear Thee bid thy Sire's, and Thy Lycæum rise?
Thee, once her fav'rite Duke! Thee, now her fav'rite King!
Ah! check'd by Sorrows, she attempts in vain;
Lost is her Voice, and languid is her Strain!
When wilt Thou, present, her learn'd Mansions bless,
Chear each pal'd Grove, and gild each gloom'd Recess?
When shall she sudden, with a sweet Surprize,
Turn from thy beamy Face her dazl'd Eyes,
And hear Thee bid thy Sire's, and Thy Lycæum rise?
15
Be still the same! still Glory's Paths pursue!
Improve the noble Plan, Thy Father drew!
He, He alone could Europe's Peace design,
Alone to perfect Europe's Peace is Thine!
Thus the Jessëan Monarch, in his Thought,
Of the first Temple the bright Model wrought;
Then stor'd Materials, gorgeous to behold,
Cedars, and Gems, and massy Bars of Gold!
The good, old King could go no farther on;
Heav'n had decreed that Glory to his Son:
A Dome, un-rival'd, claim'd th'un-rival'd Solomon!
Improve the noble Plan, Thy Father drew!
He, He alone could Europe's Peace design,
Alone to perfect Europe's Peace is Thine!
Thus the Jessëan Monarch, in his Thought,
Of the first Temple the bright Model wrought;
Then stor'd Materials, gorgeous to behold,
Cedars, and Gems, and massy Bars of Gold!
The good, old King could go no farther on;
Heav'n had decreed that Glory to his Son:
A Dome, un-rival'd, claim'd th'un-rival'd Solomon!
Here would the wearied Muse conclude her Song,
But, all around, sees a delightful Throng!
Thee, Walpole, Thee, bright with un-clouded Fame,
Joyous She hails once more, and hails Thee still the same!
If 'tis a Fault, still greatly to design,
Still in the Patriot-Cause the First to shine,
That Fault is glorious, and that Fault is Thine!
Close stands the gen'rous Townshend, near ally'd;
Nearer, by Toils for Albion's Safety, ty'd!
A Name! to all the Muses ever dear,
Who all the Muses condescends to hear!
Like Fame a Grafton, and Newcastle share;
Arts, and Britannia claim their mutual Care.
Again Mæcenas is in Dorset view'd,
And all the Sire shines in the Son re-new'd.
Thy Virtues, Greenwich, doubly bright are own'd,
Nor less in Councils, than in Fields renown'd.
If Sense, good Nature, Arts, thy Soul can fire,
Look up, and Devon silently admire!
Here, King, un-brib'd, un-rival'd, guides the Laws!
There, Love and Wonder, 'round, a Rutland draws!
Thy Judge with Pleasure, Lancaster, behold!
Scarce honour'd more, by Monarchs judg'd of old!
No wonder, Grantham seeks Britannia's Good;
His ev'ry Vein swells with Nassovian Blood!
Godolphin seems in ev'ry Act to grace
His own bright Saxon Line, and glorious Marlb'rough's Race!
In Hartford's Breast un-number'd Virtues meet,
The Heroe, and the Patriot to compleat:
Who can a greater Happiness desire?
All Hartford love, as Hartford All admire.
Fain would Hibernia Carteret call her own,
But Albion only lends her fav'rite Son.
Muse! to a Compton's Name attempt no Lays,
Where Senates strive in vain enough to praise.
Fam'd for Politeness, Gallia's Court shall yield
To the politer Turns of Chesterfield:
He talks, with native Ease, more poignant Wit,
Than e'er, by Study, her lov'd Boileau writ.
Lo! from the Banks of the cool, Northern Were,
Darts out a Light to glad the Southern Sphere!
In War, in Peace accomplish'd is thy Fame!
Who would not Scarb'rough know, without his Name?
Herbert in Merit, and in ev'ry Grace
Equals the Glories of his glorious Race:
A Race! no Stranger to Pierian Strains;
Donne sung a Herbert, Juliers, on thy Plains!
For un-stain'd Honour, and exalted Sense,
For a perpetual Flow of Eloquence,
Finch, with his Patriot-Brothers, well may seem
To Bards a noble, sweet, exhaustless Theme!
But ah! thy eager Praises, Muse, refrain!
Dang'rous the Glarings of a faithful Strain:
Thou might'st with Pleasure sing, what they would hear with Pain!
To Harvey Nature prodigal has been;
Adorn'd without, but more adorn'd within!
In him at once delightfully we trace
Apollo's Wit, with fair Apollo's Face.
In Oxenden, with British Graces, bloom
Athenian Brightness, and the Flow'rs of Rome:
Thy Honours never can the World surprize,
Since still Desert shall o'er thy Honours rise.
O Berkley! youngest of that shining Name,
Yet long a Fav'rite to the Voice of Fame!
'Tis from Thy-self alone thy Merit springs,
Tho' thy great Lineage rose in Dania's Kings.
Proud looks the Muse!—nor let the Muse offend,
If She with Pride a Hobart boasts her Friend!
Hail Patriot! with all Arts divinely fraught!
Late in my Verse, but early in my Thought!
Not Homer, such in Form, his Nireus drew,
Nor Virgil's Heroe half thy Virtues knew.
Thy Character no fairer can improve;
Be still thy Country's, still thy Monarch's Love.
But, all around, sees a delightful Throng!
Thee, Walpole, Thee, bright with un-clouded Fame,
Joyous She hails once more, and hails Thee still the same!
If 'tis a Fault, still greatly to design,
Still in the Patriot-Cause the First to shine,
That Fault is glorious, and that Fault is Thine!
Close stands the gen'rous Townshend, near ally'd;
Nearer, by Toils for Albion's Safety, ty'd!
A Name! to all the Muses ever dear,
Who all the Muses condescends to hear!
Like Fame a Grafton, and Newcastle share;
Arts, and Britannia claim their mutual Care.
Again Mæcenas is in Dorset view'd,
And all the Sire shines in the Son re-new'd.
Thy Virtues, Greenwich, doubly bright are own'd,
Nor less in Councils, than in Fields renown'd.
If Sense, good Nature, Arts, thy Soul can fire,
Look up, and Devon silently admire!
Here, King, un-brib'd, un-rival'd, guides the Laws!
There, Love and Wonder, 'round, a Rutland draws!
Thy Judge with Pleasure, Lancaster, behold!
Scarce honour'd more, by Monarchs judg'd of old!
No wonder, Grantham seeks Britannia's Good;
His ev'ry Vein swells with Nassovian Blood!
16
His own bright Saxon Line, and glorious Marlb'rough's Race!
In Hartford's Breast un-number'd Virtues meet,
The Heroe, and the Patriot to compleat:
Who can a greater Happiness desire?
All Hartford love, as Hartford All admire.
Fain would Hibernia Carteret call her own,
But Albion only lends her fav'rite Son.
Muse! to a Compton's Name attempt no Lays,
Where Senates strive in vain enough to praise.
Fam'd for Politeness, Gallia's Court shall yield
To the politer Turns of Chesterfield:
He talks, with native Ease, more poignant Wit,
Than e'er, by Study, her lov'd Boileau writ.
Lo! from the Banks of the cool, Northern Were,
Darts out a Light to glad the Southern Sphere!
In War, in Peace accomplish'd is thy Fame!
Who would not Scarb'rough know, without his Name?
Herbert in Merit, and in ev'ry Grace
Equals the Glories of his glorious Race:
A Race! no Stranger to Pierian Strains;
Donne sung a Herbert, Juliers, on thy Plains!
For un-stain'd Honour, and exalted Sense,
For a perpetual Flow of Eloquence,
Finch, with his Patriot-Brothers, well may seem
To Bards a noble, sweet, exhaustless Theme!
But ah! thy eager Praises, Muse, refrain!
Dang'rous the Glarings of a faithful Strain:
Thou might'st with Pleasure sing, what they would hear with Pain!
To Harvey Nature prodigal has been;
Adorn'd without, but more adorn'd within!
In him at once delightfully we trace
Apollo's Wit, with fair Apollo's Face.
In Oxenden, with British Graces, bloom
Athenian Brightness, and the Flow'rs of Rome:
Thy Honours never can the World surprize,
Since still Desert shall o'er thy Honours rise.
17
Yet long a Fav'rite to the Voice of Fame!
'Tis from Thy-self alone thy Merit springs,
Tho' thy great Lineage rose in Dania's Kings.
Proud looks the Muse!—nor let the Muse offend,
If She with Pride a Hobart boasts her Friend!
Hail Patriot! with all Arts divinely fraught!
Late in my Verse, but early in my Thought!
Not Homer, such in Form, his Nireus drew,
Nor Virgil's Heroe half thy Virtues knew.
Thy Character no fairer can improve;
Be still thy Country's, still thy Monarch's Love.
Un-number'd, glorious Themes I should pursue,
But my Strength fails, as op'ning Scenes I view,
And scarce can Breath suffice to bid my King Adieu!
But my Strength fails, as op'ning Scenes I view,
And scarce can Breath suffice to bid my King Adieu!
By Thee, thy Father's Death not glads his Foes;
So Philip fell, so Alexander rose!
By Thee, blest Albion, Albion still remains,
And no new Ruler feels from alter'd Reins.
Tir'd Atlas thus fresh Hercules reliev'd,
And Nature, un-confus'd, no Change perceiv'd:
Un-shaken Spheres in their first Orbits run,
And the same Planets danc'd, harmonious, 'round the Sun!
So Philip fell, so Alexander rose!
By Thee, blest Albion, Albion still remains,
And no new Ruler feels from alter'd Reins.
Tir'd Atlas thus fresh Hercules reliev'd,
And Nature, un-confus'd, no Change perceiv'd:
Un-shaken Spheres in their first Orbits run,
And the same Planets danc'd, harmonious, 'round the Sun!
19
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.
20
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!
21
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,
22
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:
23
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.
24
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!
25
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 | |