Occasional stanzas written at the request of the Revolution Society and recited on their anniversary, November 4, 1788. To which is added, Queen Mary to King William, during his campaign in Ireland, 1690; a poetical epistle. By William Hayley |
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| QUEEN MARY TO KING WILLIAM,
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 | Occasional stanzas written at the request of the Revolution Society |  |
13
QUEEN MARY TO KING WILLIAM,
DURING HIS CAMPAIGN IN IRELAND, 1690. A POETICAL EPISTLE.
15
Once more reliev'd, by midnight's welcome hour,
From all the busy train of anxious power,
My soul, O William! from their bondage free,
Joys in that freedom, and is flown to thee;
Like the poor Martyr in religion's cause,
Who, if the hand of Persecution pause,
With Love devout, with warmth of Prayer intense,
Strains every thought, and each recovering sense,
Humbly to ask new spirit from his God,
To bear each future pang of torture's rod:
To thee I bend, my succour and my pride,
Whose love sustains me, and whose counsels guide.
While War, that turns from hence his tide of blood,
Bears thy great spirit on his swelling flood,
Eager to end, regardless of thy life,
The wasting storm of sanguinary strife;
While compass'd round with growing fears I stand,
The trembling Guardian of this troubled land;
While robb'd of thee, whose animating sight
Turns doubt to joy, and terror to delight,
I feel, instead of thy protecting care,
Fear for thy life—the worst of fears to bear—
O! may thy letters, Ministers of Peace,
Bid my vain terror for thy safety cease;
O! let them frequent, fraught with love, impart
Thy noble spirit to this weaker heart,
Which yet, too conscious of its failing power,
Strains every nerve, in each oppressive hour,
To keep thy precious estimation still;
Eager to find and happy to fulfil,
(Since from that source alone my pleasures spring)
The dearest wishes of my distant King.
In these hard scenes, O! give me to rejoice
In the kind sanction of thy partial voice;
O! grant my soul its honest pride to raise,
On the strong basis of my William's praise:
From that alone my little strength I draw,
Thy smile my glory, and thy will my law.
Think how this bosom at thy signet glows,
Which I in agony of haste unclose!
How to thy letter my fond eyes I glue,
Till tears of transport intercept their view!
Then to my heart those vital lines are prest,
Which breathe new being thro' my fainting breast,
In which thy soul, from human fears refin'd,
(The brightest copy of th'Almighty mind)
Yet kindly melts with reconciling care,
In generous pity of the load I bear.
From all the busy train of anxious power,
My soul, O William! from their bondage free,
Joys in that freedom, and is flown to thee;
Like the poor Martyr in religion's cause,
Who, if the hand of Persecution pause,
With Love devout, with warmth of Prayer intense,
Strains every thought, and each recovering sense,
Humbly to ask new spirit from his God,
To bear each future pang of torture's rod:
16
Whose love sustains me, and whose counsels guide.
While War, that turns from hence his tide of blood,
Bears thy great spirit on his swelling flood,
Eager to end, regardless of thy life,
The wasting storm of sanguinary strife;
While compass'd round with growing fears I stand,
The trembling Guardian of this troubled land;
While robb'd of thee, whose animating sight
Turns doubt to joy, and terror to delight,
I feel, instead of thy protecting care,
Fear for thy life—the worst of fears to bear—
O! may thy letters, Ministers of Peace,
Bid my vain terror for thy safety cease;
O! let them frequent, fraught with love, impart
Thy noble spirit to this weaker heart,
Which yet, too conscious of its failing power,
Strains every nerve, in each oppressive hour,
To keep thy precious estimation still;
Eager to find and happy to fulfil,
(Since from that source alone my pleasures spring)
The dearest wishes of my distant King.
17
In the kind sanction of thy partial voice;
O! grant my soul its honest pride to raise,
On the strong basis of my William's praise:
From that alone my little strength I draw,
Thy smile my glory, and thy will my law.
Think how this bosom at thy signet glows,
Which I in agony of haste unclose!
How to thy letter my fond eyes I glue,
Till tears of transport intercept their view!
Then to my heart those vital lines are prest,
Which breathe new being thro' my fainting breast,
In which thy soul, from human fears refin'd,
(The brightest copy of th'Almighty mind)
Yet kindly melts with reconciling care,
In generous pity of the load I bear.
Alas! the burden of th'unbalanc'd state
Sinks my faint soul with its increasing weight;
'Tis hard to keep the helm with this frail form,
While men of sterner spirit dread the storm:
Too weak this trembling hand that helm to guide,
When smiling ocean spreads his smoothest tide;
Think then what agony my bosom rends,
When the sky darkens, when the storm descends;
When each great effort of the crew is crost,
And frantic terror cries, “The vessel's lost!”
Yet, yet, I mount these cruel waves above,
Buoy'd up by duty and superior love;
Tho' icy terror freeze my female heart,
Thy Consort yet sustains her trying part;
Her features yet her Country's fears beguile,
Cast o'er their doubts a confidential smile,
Bid them the firmness of this bosom share,
And boast of courage—which I feel not there.
Sinks my faint soul with its increasing weight;
'Tis hard to keep the helm with this frail form,
While men of sterner spirit dread the storm:
Too weak this trembling hand that helm to guide,
When smiling ocean spreads his smoothest tide;
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When the sky darkens, when the storm descends;
When each great effort of the crew is crost,
And frantic terror cries, “The vessel's lost!”
Yet, yet, I mount these cruel waves above,
Buoy'd up by duty and superior love;
Tho' icy terror freeze my female heart,
Thy Consort yet sustains her trying part;
Her features yet her Country's fears beguile,
Cast o'er their doubts a confidential smile,
Bid them the firmness of this bosom share,
And boast of courage—which I feel not there.
Dear, native Britain, noble, generous Land,
Proud of that rescue which thy virtue plann'd;
As yet but half redeem'd, I mourn thy doom,
To see thy glories shaken in their bloom;
To see proud France with fatal power suspend
Thy great redemption and its peaceful end;
While He, whose saving hand thy laws proclaim,
(Whose sight is safety, whose protection fame)
By distant slaughter from thy shores debarr'd,
Must leave thy honour to so weak a guard;
Who, tho' her soul thy sacred rights revere,
Is still a feeble Being, born to fear.
E'en those, O William! whom thy care assign'd
To sooth my terror and to shield my mind,
Forget the weakness of my softer sex,
With doubts alarm me, with dissensions vex;
And shew, discolour'd by their dark surmise,
Tremendous prospects to these aching eyes.
Yet think not tamely I this breast resign
To Fear's suggestions, so remote from thine:
No; when th'infernal spirit of Despair
Would seize my heart, and fix his fetters there,
I strive that circle from his power to free,
And break his baleful spells by naming Thee:
Those scenes, more dreadful, I recall to view
In which my Hero's infant glory grew,
When trembling Holland first with transport saw
The stern atchievments of her young Nassau:
I see the moment when her prostrate shore
Heard, all in vain, her guardian waters roar,
Above those bulwarks saw her fate advance,
Her shame, her ruin, in the host of France;
When all her sons would o'er th'Atlantic fly,
And bear their Freedom to a brighter sky,
Leaving those seats, their fathers form'd of yore,
In ocean buried, and their name no more:
When thus of every human aid bereft,
E'en then thy Valour said—it still was left,
To bid despotic Desolation strike,
And fall with Freedom on her latest dyke!
E'en then I see Thee, undismay'd, oppose
The rising deluge of thy Country's foes,
Oppression's torrent stem with nobler force,
And bid her flood roll backward to its source;
See rescued millions on thy triumph wait,
And hail thee Saviour of a sinking state!
Proud of that rescue which thy virtue plann'd;
As yet but half redeem'd, I mourn thy doom,
To see thy glories shaken in their bloom;
To see proud France with fatal power suspend
Thy great redemption and its peaceful end;
While He, whose saving hand thy laws proclaim,
(Whose sight is safety, whose protection fame)
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Must leave thy honour to so weak a guard;
Who, tho' her soul thy sacred rights revere,
Is still a feeble Being, born to fear.
E'en those, O William! whom thy care assign'd
To sooth my terror and to shield my mind,
Forget the weakness of my softer sex,
With doubts alarm me, with dissensions vex;
And shew, discolour'd by their dark surmise,
Tremendous prospects to these aching eyes.
Yet think not tamely I this breast resign
To Fear's suggestions, so remote from thine:
No; when th'infernal spirit of Despair
Would seize my heart, and fix his fetters there,
I strive that circle from his power to free,
And break his baleful spells by naming Thee:
Those scenes, more dreadful, I recall to view
In which my Hero's infant glory grew,
When trembling Holland first with transport saw
The stern atchievments of her young Nassau:
I see the moment when her prostrate shore
Heard, all in vain, her guardian waters roar,
20
Her shame, her ruin, in the host of France;
When all her sons would o'er th'Atlantic fly,
And bear their Freedom to a brighter sky,
Leaving those seats, their fathers form'd of yore,
In ocean buried, and their name no more:
When thus of every human aid bereft,
E'en then thy Valour said—it still was left,
To bid despotic Desolation strike,
And fall with Freedom on her latest dyke!
E'en then I see Thee, undismay'd, oppose
The rising deluge of thy Country's foes,
Oppression's torrent stem with nobler force,
And bid her flood roll backward to its source;
See rescued millions on thy triumph wait,
And hail thee Saviour of a sinking state!
While this bright image of thy rising fame
Warms my fond heart, and animates my frame,
My melting soul thus pours, with warmth like thine,
Its adorations to the Throne Divine:—
Thou God of Justice, whose sustaining power
Has watch'd my William from his natal hour,
O! since thy mercy mark'd him at his birth
The just Avenger of the groaning earth—
Since thy decrees, to strike the world with awe,
Have rais'd him Guardian of thy purest law,
While injur'd nations, in thy servant blest,
Revive, and see their wrongs by him redrest—
Complete thy mercies, and sustain him still,
The glorious Agent of thy gracious will!
And O! since, blest with his connubial care,
'Tis mine the fortunes of his life to share;
Since thy unquestionable mandates place
My weakness in a scene that asks thy grace,
O! let that grace with kind profusion flow,
And teach this bosom with new life to glow;
Heal every cruel wound of nature there,
And bid my heart, a stranger to despair,
While the storm rages, like the frighted Dove,
Rest in the sacred ark of William's love!—
Thus rapt in solitude, in prayer retir'd,
I find that succour which my soul requir'd;
Peace, in soft visions, bids me sigh no more,
And brings her olive-wreath, unstain'd with gore.
Warms my fond heart, and animates my frame,
My melting soul thus pours, with warmth like thine,
Its adorations to the Throne Divine:—
Thou God of Justice, whose sustaining power
Has watch'd my William from his natal hour,
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The just Avenger of the groaning earth—
Since thy decrees, to strike the world with awe,
Have rais'd him Guardian of thy purest law,
While injur'd nations, in thy servant blest,
Revive, and see their wrongs by him redrest—
Complete thy mercies, and sustain him still,
The glorious Agent of thy gracious will!
And O! since, blest with his connubial care,
'Tis mine the fortunes of his life to share;
Since thy unquestionable mandates place
My weakness in a scene that asks thy grace,
O! let that grace with kind profusion flow,
And teach this bosom with new life to glow;
Heal every cruel wound of nature there,
And bid my heart, a stranger to despair,
While the storm rages, like the frighted Dove,
Rest in the sacred ark of William's love!—
Thus rapt in solitude, in prayer retir'd,
I find that succour which my soul requir'd;
Peace, in soft visions, bids me sigh no more,
And brings her olive-wreath, unstain'd with gore.
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But ah! in vain these flattering visions rise,
Far other scenes salute my waking eyes;
E'en now, when Sleep, benignant Power, would shed
His healing opiate on Affliction's head,
Our citizens terrific vigils keep,
And find that Tourville's name has murder'd sleep:
England, dishonour'd by her guardian fleet,
With shame, with anger, feels her bosom beat;
Our city's growing fears, by rumour nurst,
Rise into folly, into frenzy burst;
And frantic Fancy sees her captive spires
Sink in the blaze of Tourville's spreading fires.
But fear, O William! in my heart gives place
To keen sensations of this deep disgrace;
Warm'd in thy bosom, I from thence have caught
Some little portion of thy glorious thought,
Of Honour's spirit, Freedom's holy flame,
Contempt of cowardice, and scorn of shame!
Far other scenes salute my waking eyes;
E'en now, when Sleep, benignant Power, would shed
His healing opiate on Affliction's head,
Our citizens terrific vigils keep,
And find that Tourville's name has murder'd sleep:
England, dishonour'd by her guardian fleet,
With shame, with anger, feels her bosom beat;
Our city's growing fears, by rumour nurst,
Rise into folly, into frenzy burst;
And frantic Fancy sees her captive spires
Sink in the blaze of Tourville's spreading fires.
But fear, O William! in my heart gives place
To keen sensations of this deep disgrace;
Warm'd in thy bosom, I from thence have caught
Some little portion of thy glorious thought,
Of Honour's spirit, Freedom's holy flame,
Contempt of cowardice, and scorn of shame!
Unhappy England! who hast mourn'd in vain,
Thy coast dishonour'd by this naval stain;
May thy white cliffs, that tinge the silv'ry flood,
Behold the stain effac'd in Gallic blood!
And thou, proud vessel of stupendous mould,
Emblazing ocean with thy breadth of gold,
Thou France's naval pride, Imperial Sun ,
Swift o'er thy shrouds may flames of vengeance run!
Thy boasted bulk may English thunders rend,
And thy pale streamers to the deep descend!
May Britons see, while shouts of joy they raise,
Thy gorgeous fabric in their lightnings blaze;
And, blazing, shed on their illumin'd shore,
Glories more bright than it eclips'd before!
Thy coast dishonour'd by this naval stain;
May thy white cliffs, that tinge the silv'ry flood,
Behold the stain effac'd in Gallic blood!
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Emblazing ocean with thy breadth of gold,
Thou France's naval pride, Imperial Sun ,
Swift o'er thy shrouds may flames of vengeance run!
Thy boasted bulk may English thunders rend,
And thy pale streamers to the deep descend!
May Britons see, while shouts of joy they raise,
Thy gorgeous fabric in their lightnings blaze;
And, blazing, shed on their illumin'd shore,
Glories more bright than it eclips'd before!
My bosom thus with love of England fraught,
My spirits mount in that ennobling thought;
Tho' a just God may check our erring pride,
I still, O William! in his care confide:
Life, safety, peace, from this idea springs,
That thou art Soldier to the King of Kings;
That thy great actions make his mercies known,
Thy fame his glory, and thy cause his own!—
But should that God, a guilty world to awe,
His chosen Warrior from its aid withdraw;
Should He—But hence, distracting image! hence,
Nor shed thy poison on my wounded sense.
Yet in these minutes, that so slowly roll,
When expectation fills the busy soul,
And thinks each moment, with our King, to share
Conquest or ruin, triumph or despair,
Impatient Doubt, with stronger Fear combin'd,
Strikes from its center the unbalanc'd mind;
Yet e'en these hours I labour to beguile,
To make Suspence's frozen features smile,
And from disquietude my heart to free,
By thus unfolding all that heart to thee.
My spirits mount in that ennobling thought;
Tho' a just God may check our erring pride,
I still, O William! in his care confide:
Life, safety, peace, from this idea springs,
That thou art Soldier to the King of Kings;
That thy great actions make his mercies known,
Thy fame his glory, and thy cause his own!—
But should that God, a guilty world to awe,
His chosen Warrior from its aid withdraw;
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Nor shed thy poison on my wounded sense.
Yet in these minutes, that so slowly roll,
When expectation fills the busy soul,
And thinks each moment, with our King, to share
Conquest or ruin, triumph or despair,
Impatient Doubt, with stronger Fear combin'd,
Strikes from its center the unbalanc'd mind;
Yet e'en these hours I labour to beguile,
To make Suspence's frozen features smile,
And from disquietude my heart to free,
By thus unfolding all that heart to thee.
He comes! thy Courier!—on affection's wing
I fly to catch the tidings of my King!—
O joy! O bounteous Heaven! O blessed hour!
Delight that drowns expression's feeble power!—
Great God of Battles! whose high will has shed
This signal glory round my Hero's head,
O! while thy praise, in hymns of triumph sung,
Fills the glad earth, forgive my faltering tongue,
Survey my soul, accept its silent prayer,
And see thy mercies all engraven there!—
And thou, my Lord, my Life, dear Victor, say,
What words my transport can to thee convey:
I write, but tears th'imperfect line destroy,
And every thought dissolves in floods of joy!
What aweful scenes, what images arise,
In swift succession to my wond'ring eyes!
Thy wound now shakes my shudd'ring heart with fear,
Thy shouts of victory now strike my ear;
I see afflicted Angels staunch thy blood,
I see thee plunge in Boyne's immortal flood,
I see thee lift thy leading sword on high,
The cruel sons of persecution fly;
I see the rout;—but, in that flying band,
One sacred head—O! stretch thy saving hand!
O! for thy Mary's sake, in mercy spare!—
Forgive this vain unnecessary prayer,
The weakness of that heart with pity see,
Which recommends Humanity to thee:
As well might Man, proud offspring of the dust,
Enjoin the God of Justice to be just;
For O! my William! in thy godlike breast
Celestial Mercy is a constant guest:
No vain, ambitious, sanguinary pride,
No bigot fury is thy frantic guide;
Heaven's purest law, and Man's most sacred right,
Lead thy mild spirit to the wasting fight:
Like some pure Seraph, who, by Heaven enjoin'd
To search, to punish, to correct mankind,
With sweet reluctance wields his flaming blade,
With pity views the waste by Justice made;
And, pleas'd the voice of Penitence to hear,
Drops on each wound a salutary tear:
Such, in the storm of war, thy virtues shine;
The welfare of the world thy great design.
While Mercy bids admiring nations own,
Thy sword her weapon, and thy heart her throne,
My love need only to thy thought commend
One dearer life, which, mighty God! defend;
For, of the many lives that ask my prayer,
None but thy own will want thy constant care:
Learn from thy wound—Alas! its terrors still
Thro' Triumph's glowing bosom strike their chill.
I fly to catch the tidings of my King!—
O joy! O bounteous Heaven! O blessed hour!
Delight that drowns expression's feeble power!—
Great God of Battles! whose high will has shed
This signal glory round my Hero's head,
O! while thy praise, in hymns of triumph sung,
Fills the glad earth, forgive my faltering tongue,
Survey my soul, accept its silent prayer,
And see thy mercies all engraven there!—
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What words my transport can to thee convey:
I write, but tears th'imperfect line destroy,
And every thought dissolves in floods of joy!
What aweful scenes, what images arise,
In swift succession to my wond'ring eyes!
Thy wound now shakes my shudd'ring heart with fear,
Thy shouts of victory now strike my ear;
I see afflicted Angels staunch thy blood,
I see thee plunge in Boyne's immortal flood,
I see thee lift thy leading sword on high,
The cruel sons of persecution fly;
I see the rout;—but, in that flying band,
One sacred head—O! stretch thy saving hand!
O! for thy Mary's sake, in mercy spare!—
Forgive this vain unnecessary prayer,
The weakness of that heart with pity see,
Which recommends Humanity to thee:
As well might Man, proud offspring of the dust,
Enjoin the God of Justice to be just;
For O! my William! in thy godlike breast
Celestial Mercy is a constant guest:
26
No bigot fury is thy frantic guide;
Heaven's purest law, and Man's most sacred right,
Lead thy mild spirit to the wasting fight:
Like some pure Seraph, who, by Heaven enjoin'd
To search, to punish, to correct mankind,
With sweet reluctance wields his flaming blade,
With pity views the waste by Justice made;
And, pleas'd the voice of Penitence to hear,
Drops on each wound a salutary tear:
Such, in the storm of war, thy virtues shine;
The welfare of the world thy great design.
While Mercy bids admiring nations own,
Thy sword her weapon, and thy heart her throne,
My love need only to thy thought commend
One dearer life, which, mighty God! defend;
For, of the many lives that ask my prayer,
None but thy own will want thy constant care:
Learn from thy wound—Alas! its terrors still
Thro' Triumph's glowing bosom strike their chill.
From thee, protecting Heaven! this boon I crave—
From one, the worst of woes, thy servant save;
Ne'er let me see, condemn'd to lose my all,
The Pillar of the Public Safety fall;
Condemn'd to weep my guardian spirit flown,
And wander thro' an empty world alone.
Sooner, much sooner, let some kind disease
This yielding frame with baleful fury seize;
These terms will reconcile my struggling breath
To the dread summons of impending death:
Perchance, when all my latest pangs have ceas'd,
When this soft spirit is from earth releas'd,
Perchance thy Guardian Angel may resign
The life of William to a love like mine;
Or kindly deign so dear a charge to share,
And own I watch thee with a fonder care.
O! shou'd th'all-wise, all-gracious God decree
To rend, by early death, this frame from thee,
To early death this consolation give,
Say that I still shall in thy memory live;
Nor there, O William! not e'en there alone,
O! bid my fondness, like thy fame, be known;
Let distant ages—(if not sunk in shame,
Ages most distant must revere thy name)—
Let distant ages, by thy virtue free,
My love engrafted on thy glory see,
Preserv'd from Time and Envy's hostile shock,
To bloom immortal on that sacred stock.
From one, the worst of woes, thy servant save;
27
The Pillar of the Public Safety fall;
Condemn'd to weep my guardian spirit flown,
And wander thro' an empty world alone.
Sooner, much sooner, let some kind disease
This yielding frame with baleful fury seize;
These terms will reconcile my struggling breath
To the dread summons of impending death:
Perchance, when all my latest pangs have ceas'd,
When this soft spirit is from earth releas'd,
Perchance thy Guardian Angel may resign
The life of William to a love like mine;
Or kindly deign so dear a charge to share,
And own I watch thee with a fonder care.
O! shou'd th'all-wise, all-gracious God decree
To rend, by early death, this frame from thee,
To early death this consolation give,
Say that I still shall in thy memory live;
Nor there, O William! not e'en there alone,
O! bid my fondness, like thy fame, be known;
28
Ages most distant must revere thy name)—
Let distant ages, by thy virtue free,
My love engrafted on thy glory see,
Preserv'd from Time and Envy's hostile shock,
To bloom immortal on that sacred stock.
But Heaven yet seems indulgent to bestow
A lasting union on our loves below;
Our promis'd meeting of dear-bought delight
Fills my fond soul, and dawns upon my sight;
Thy foes dispers'd, thy fainting friends reliev'd,
All the great duties of thy sword atchiev'd,
Thou hast no cause in distant realms to stay,
And wound expecting fondness by delay:
Come then, blest Victor! come, our dear Defence!
While strong impatience strains our aching sense,
Soon let me clasp, in thy embraces blest,
My glorious Warrior to my glowing breast!
Hang on thy lips, and with delight explore
Thy great atchievments on Ierne's shore!
Come, thou prime care of the propitious Sky!
Hither on Victory's rapid pinions fly!
Fly to these arms! and, while from them disjoin'd,
Still let this truth be present to thy mind—
Th'all-searching Spirit in no heart can see,
A love surpassing what I bear to thee.
A lasting union on our loves below;
Our promis'd meeting of dear-bought delight
Fills my fond soul, and dawns upon my sight;
Thy foes dispers'd, thy fainting friends reliev'd,
All the great duties of thy sword atchiev'd,
Thou hast no cause in distant realms to stay,
And wound expecting fondness by delay:
Come then, blest Victor! come, our dear Defence!
While strong impatience strains our aching sense,
Soon let me clasp, in thy embraces blest,
My glorious Warrior to my glowing breast!
Hang on thy lips, and with delight explore
Thy great atchievments on Ierne's shore!
29
Hither on Victory's rapid pinions fly!
Fly to these arms! and, while from them disjoin'd,
Still let this truth be present to thy mind—
Th'all-searching Spirit in no heart can see,
A love surpassing what I bear to thee.
FINIS.
| Occasional stanzas written at the request of the Revolution Society | |