A congratulatory poem to her most Sacred Majesty on the universal hopes of all Loyal Persons for a Prince of Wales. By Mrs A. Behn |
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 | A congratulatory poem to her most Sacred Majesty |  |
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A CONGRATULATORY POEM TO HER MOST Sacred Majesty, &c.
The Mighty BLESSING is at last arriv'd;
Heav'n has, at last, the Wond'rous WORK atchiev'd.
Long did th'ALMIGHTY pause, and long debate;
For MONARCHS are not fashion'd at a Heat.
So the first Nations, that were bless'd by Heaven,
Had the Eternal WORD by Promise given.
The Faithful did the Coming GOD believe,
And ev'n that Faith alone had Pow'r to save.
Heav'n has, at last, the Wond'rous WORK atchiev'd.
Long did th'ALMIGHTY pause, and long debate;
For MONARCHS are not fashion'd at a Heat.
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Had the Eternal WORD by Promise given.
The Faithful did the Coming GOD believe,
And ev'n that Faith alone had Pow'r to save.
If Gods we may with Humane Things compare,
(For Gods and Kings ally'd most nearly are)
This is the Second Birth the World e'er knew,
So long Expected, so much Wanted too.
(For Gods and Kings ally'd most nearly are)
This is the Second Birth the World e'er knew,
So long Expected, so much Wanted too.
Like the first sacred Infant, this will come
With Promise laden from the Blessed Womb,
To call the wand'ring, scatter'd Nations home.
Adoring PRINCES shall arrive from far,
Inform'd by ANGELS, guided by his Star,
The New-born Wonder to behold, and greet;
And Kings shall offer Incense at his Feet.
With Promise laden from the Blessed Womb,
To call the wand'ring, scatter'd Nations home.
Adoring PRINCES shall arrive from far,
Inform'd by ANGELS, guided by his Star,
The New-born Wonder to behold, and greet;
And Kings shall offer Incense at his Feet.
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Hail, Royal BOY! whose Coming is design'd
To calm the Murmurs of all Humane Kind.
On thy great Birth, Depending-Monarchs wait:
From thee the Universe expects its Fate.
This glorious PROSPECT, like the sacred Law,
Stints factious Crouds, and keeps the World in awe;
Breaks their consulted Measures, and o'erthrows
All the Designs aspiring STATES propose;
Arrests the Wheel, in spight of Fortune's Hand,
And leaves the World's vast Bus'ness at a Stand.
To calm the Murmurs of all Humane Kind.
On thy great Birth, Depending-Monarchs wait:
From thee the Universe expects its Fate.
This glorious PROSPECT, like the sacred Law,
Stints factious Crouds, and keeps the World in awe;
Breaks their consulted Measures, and o'erthrows
All the Designs aspiring STATES propose;
Arrests the Wheel, in spight of Fortune's Hand,
And leaves the World's vast Bus'ness at a Stand.
And you, bless'd QUEEN, to whom ALL HAIL belongs
From Angels, rather than from Mortal Tongues;
Whose Charms of Beauty, Wit and Vertue join'd
To chuse you Second Bless'd of Woman-kind.
ALL HAIL,—
From Angels, rather than from Mortal Tongues;
Whose Charms of Beauty, Wit and Vertue join'd
To chuse you Second Bless'd of Woman-kind.
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O Sacred VESSEL, fraught with England's STORE;
(A PRIZE more valu'd, ATLAS never bore;
Guard safe our TREASURE to the wish'd for Shore.
And you, Immortal Pow'rs, who have begun
Your Noblest FABRICK; let your WORK go on:
The Royal YOUTH with all those Charms adorn,
The World adores in his bright MOTHER'S Form:
His Soul, by his Illustrious SIRE'S, compleat:
All Hero, all Resolv'd, Divinely Great.
(A PRIZE more valu'd, ATLAS never bore;
Guard safe our TREASURE to the wish'd for Shore.
And you, Immortal Pow'rs, who have begun
Your Noblest FABRICK; let your WORK go on:
The Royal YOUTH with all those Charms adorn,
The World adores in his bright MOTHER'S Form:
His Soul, by his Illustrious SIRE'S, compleat:
All Hero, all Resolv'd, Divinely Great.
Where are ye, O ye once officious NINE,
That on a Theam so glorious and sublime,
Your Voices are not tun'd to noblest Song?
But, Oh! your Lutes are on the Willows hung:
Your lov'd BRITANIA listens now no more;
MARS frights her from the soft Castalian Shore;
Upon whose Banks, beneath your Shades, each Day,
The ravish'd Nymph, charm'd with your Numbers, lay.
But from your Groves the fickle Maid is gone.
And all your boasted Harmony's undone.
But once more tune your Lutes and Voices high;
Your tenderest Strains, and noblest Numbers try:
Raise those dejected Eyes, in Sorrow dress'd,
And view the PROSPECT of the dawning East.
That on a Theam so glorious and sublime,
Your Voices are not tun'd to noblest Song?
But, Oh! your Lutes are on the Willows hung:
Your lov'd BRITANIA listens now no more;
MARS frights her from the soft Castalian Shore;
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The ravish'd Nymph, charm'd with your Numbers, lay.
But from your Groves the fickle Maid is gone.
And all your boasted Harmony's undone.
But once more tune your Lutes and Voices high;
Your tenderest Strains, and noblest Numbers try:
Raise those dejected Eyes, in Sorrow dress'd,
And view the PROSPECT of the dawning East.
A young APOLLO, rising from the Gloom,
Dress'd in his Father's brightest Rays, shall come;
(Dispersing all the baneful Mists of Night)
And bless the Earth with New-created LIGHT;
Make all the Face of Nature sweet and gay,
Revive her Birth, and triumph o'er the Day.
Beneath his Feet Eternal Spring shall spread,
And blossom from the Lustre round his Head.
He the faint Muses shall a-new inspire,
And from his Beams, kindle their useful Fire:
His Right Hand Crowns, his Left shall Lawrels give;
And POETS shall by Patron-PRINCES live:
On all shall scatter Plenty; Joy and Peace,
Unite the World, and make Dissention cease.
Dress'd in his Father's brightest Rays, shall come;
(Dispersing all the baneful Mists of Night)
And bless the Earth with New-created LIGHT;
Make all the Face of Nature sweet and gay,
Revive her Birth, and triumph o'er the Day.
Beneath his Feet Eternal Spring shall spread,
And blossom from the Lustre round his Head.
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And from his Beams, kindle their useful Fire:
His Right Hand Crowns, his Left shall Lawrels give;
And POETS shall by Patron-PRINCES live:
On all shall scatter Plenty; Joy and Peace,
Unite the World, and make Dissention cease.
And you, Dread Monarch! ne'er to be confin'd
In any glorious Act you have design'd;
Who, like wise Heaven, need but decree alone,
And with the Thought, the mighty Task is done:
Who for a stubborn Nation's Glory toil,
And court her to be Great against her Will.
When you esteem'd her worth your Royal Care,
You gave her this last Blessing, of an HEIR.
O happy KING! to whom a Son is born!
What more can Fortune, Heaven, and You perform?
In any glorious Act you have design'd;
Who, like wise Heaven, need but decree alone,
And with the Thought, the mighty Task is done:
Who for a stubborn Nation's Glory toil,
And court her to be Great against her Will.
When you esteem'd her worth your Royal Care,
You gave her this last Blessing, of an HEIR.
O happy KING! to whom a Son is born!
What more can Fortune, Heaven, and You perform?
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Behold, with Joy three prostrate Nations come:
ALBION, HIBERNIA and old CALEDON
Now join their Int'rests, and no more dispute,
With sawcy Murmurs, who is Absolute;
Since, from the Wonders of your Life, 'tis plain,
You will, you shall, and must for ever Reign.
ALBION, HIBERNIA and old CALEDON
Now join their Int'rests, and no more dispute,
With sawcy Murmurs, who is Absolute;
Since, from the Wonders of your Life, 'tis plain,
You will, you shall, and must for ever Reign.
FINIS.
| A congratulatory poem to her most Sacred Majesty | |