A Pindarick poem on the happy coronation Of His most Sacred Majesty James II And his Illustrious Consort Queen Mary. By Mrs. Behn |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. | VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
 | A Pindarick poem on the happy coronation Of His most Sacred Majesty James II |  |
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VII.
Behold the HERO the blest Voice obeys,And like the God of Luster gilds
With early Beams the Eastern Hills,
And by degrees th'adoring World surveys:
So the bright Harness he puts on,
And in his hand Divine he takes the Reins,
And with life-giving Rule the God maintains
The Glorious Empire of the Sun.
With ease he guides the fiery Coursers round,
And heat, and life, and light, do still abound;
And all things smile and thrive that are in Nature found.
Now fiercer Rays of Brightness he assumes,
And ev'ry Minute do's inlarge his Beams;
Till to the farthest Poles their Influence spread,
And scatter Plenty where his Glory's shed.
While all the guilty fantôms of the Night
Shrink from the Piercing terror of his Light!
Each coming vulgar-day, the Monarch show'd,
But this more Sacred, views Him all a GOD!
New youth and vigor fill His Royal Veins,
His Glorious Eyes young flames adorn;
A new Divinity in His looks, Proclames
That for Eternal Empire He was Born!
'Twas so He look'd in Dunkirks bloody field,
When the dull faithless Belgians He compell'd;
But when He saw th'ungrateful British Foe advance,
For whom even yet He had a tender sense,
Thus spoke! (When, mounted like a Conquering God,
From Rank to Rank the wond'rous Hero Rod!)
Before (said he) mixt Nations We withstood
Conquest, scarce worthy our expence of Blood;
Like Gallick onsets, brisk at first they 'ppear,
But dare not trust the event of fiercer War:
'Twas play before, a game We smiling won,
Now 'twill be Toyl, and work, not easily done;
My dear lov'd Souldiers these are English Men!
Who though they're forc'd to fly will turn agen;
Stanch to the Scent of War, inur'd to Blood!
Oh happy, if the expensive flood
Had been defus'd for wretched Englands good!
New Courage to the fainting Troops He gave,
And by His great Example taught 'em to be Brave:
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And dealt Destruction round like a resistless storm!
| A Pindarick poem on the happy coronation Of His most Sacred Majesty James II | |