 | A collection of original poems and translations |  |
72
To a Lady
On the Birth Day of her Husband, 1740.
Awake, fair Bride to this returning Morn,
And hail the Day on which thy Lord was born;
But double let his Salutations be,
Since to his birth he owes the Bliss of loving thee.
Long may this be the Subject of the Nine,
Nor other Day with equal Glory shine,
That one except which gave his Hand to thine,
Ever with White may these distinct appear,
The fairest Children of the rolling Year,
Shine, Venus, shine on these profusely Gay,
Ever on these, Lucina, shed thy Ray;
Sorrow and Pain be ever from the Fair,
And Love, blest Bridegroom, Love be all thy Care.
Joys which they fancy'd ne'er could be excell'd,
Still still with Streams of purer Joys be swell'd.
As the fair rolling Moons their Influence shed
To bless the Labours of the Nuptial Bed,
Lend them, ye Pow'rs above, a gracious Ear,
And hear and grant a Friend's and Poet's Pray'r.
And hail the Day on which thy Lord was born;
But double let his Salutations be,
Since to his birth he owes the Bliss of loving thee.
Long may this be the Subject of the Nine,
Nor other Day with equal Glory shine,
That one except which gave his Hand to thine,
Ever with White may these distinct appear,
The fairest Children of the rolling Year,
Shine, Venus, shine on these profusely Gay,
Ever on these, Lucina, shed thy Ray;
Sorrow and Pain be ever from the Fair,
And Love, blest Bridegroom, Love be all thy Care.
Joys which they fancy'd ne'er could be excell'd,
Still still with Streams of purer Joys be swell'd.
As the fair rolling Moons their Influence shed
73
Lend them, ye Pow'rs above, a gracious Ear,
And hear and grant a Friend's and Poet's Pray'r.
As the immense Benevolence of Heav'n,
Can give my Friend what yet it has not giv'n,
As the excess of Joy that fills his Breast,
Can by some chosen Gift be still encreast,
As all that Beauty, Youth and Wealth can give,
Will double Lustre from an Heir receive,
Deny not, Heav'n, this dearest, last, best Boon;
Blest with the Parent's Virtues send a Son.
Can give my Friend what yet it has not giv'n,
As the excess of Joy that fills his Breast,
Can by some chosen Gift be still encreast,
As all that Beauty, Youth and Wealth can give,
Will double Lustre from an Heir receive,
Deny not, Heav'n, this dearest, last, best Boon;
Blest with the Parent's Virtues send a Son.
| A collection of original poems and translations | |