Poems and Translations :: :: University of Virginia Library

Descend ye Spirits of the Sky,
Stand all ye winged Guardians by;
Your golden Pinions kindly spread,
And watch round Carolina's Bed:
Here fix your Residence on Earth,
To hasten on the glorious Birth;
Her fainting Spirits to supply,
Catch all the Zephyrs as they fly.

Oh! succour Nature in the Strife,
And gently hold her up in Life;
Nor let her hence too soon remove,
To join your sacred Choirs above:
But live, Britannia to adorn
With Kings and Princes yet unborn.

Ye Angels come without Delay,
Britannia's Genius come away.

Assuage her Pains, and Albion's Fears,
For Albion's Life depends on Her's.
Oh then! to save Her from Despair,
Lean down, and listen to Her Pray'r.
Crown all Her Tortures with Delight,
And call th'auspicious Babe to Light.
We hope from your propitious Care,
All that is Brave, or all that's Fair.

A Youth to match his Sire in Arms;
Or Nymph to match her Mother's Charms:
A Youth, who over Kings shall reign,
Or Nymph, whom Kings shall court in vain.
From far the Royal Slaves shall come,
And wait from him or her their Doom;
To each their different Suits shall move,
And pay their Homage, or their Love.

Ye Angels come without Delay,
Britannia's Genius come away.

When the soft Pow'rs of Sleep subdue
Those Eyes, that shine as bright as You;
With Scenes of Bliss, transporting Themes!
Prompt and inspire her golden Dreams:
Let Visionary Blessings rise,
And swim before her closing Eyes.

The Sense of Torture to subdue,
Set Britain's Happiness to View;
That Sight her Spirits will sustain,
And give her Pleasure from her Pain.

Ye Angels come without Delay,
Britannia's Genius come away.

Come and Rejoice; th'important Hour
Is past, and all our Fears are o'er:
See! every Trace of Anguish flies,
While in her Lap the Infant lies.
Her Pain by sudden Joy beguil'd,
She hangs in Rapture o'er the Child.
Her Eyes o'er every Feature run,
The Father's Beauties and her Own.
There, pleas'd her Image to survey,
She melts in Tenderness away;

Smiles o'er the Babe, nor smiles in vain,
The Babe returns th'auspicious Smile again.

Ye Angels come without Delay.
Britannia's Genius come away.

Turn Heav'ns eternal Volume o'er,
And look for this distinguish'd Hour;
Consult the Page of Britain's State,
Before you close the Books of Fate:
Then tell us what you there have seen,
What Æra's from this Birth begin.
What Years from this blest Hour must run,
As bright and lasting as the Sun.
Far from the Ken of mortal Sight,
These Secrets are involv'd in Night:
The Blessings which this Birth pursue,
Are only known to Heaven and You.