Matthew Prior. Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fair Albion shall, with faithful Trust,
Her holy Queen's sad Reliques guard;
'Till Heav'n awakes the precious Dust,
And gives the Saint her full Reward.

V

But let the King dismiss his Woes,
Reflecting on his fair Renown;
And take the Cypress from his Brows,
To put his wonted Lawrels on.

VI

If prest by Grief our Monarch stoops;
In vain the British Lions roar:
If He, whose Hand sustain'd them, droops;
The Belgic Darts will wound no more.

VII

Embattl'd Princes wait the Chief,
Whose Voice should rule, whose Arm should lead;
And, in kind Murmurs, chide That Grief,
Which hinders Europe being freed.

VIII

The great Example They demand,
Who still to Conquest led the Way;
Wishing Him present to Command,
As They stand ready to Obey.

IX

They seek That Joy, which us'd to glow,
Expanded on the Hero's Face;
When the thick Squadrons prest the Foe,
And William led the glorious Chace.

X

To give the mourning Nations Joy,
Restore Them Thy auspicious Light,
Great Sun: with radiant Beams destroy
Those Clouds, which keep Thee from our Sight.

XI

Let Thy sublime Meridian Course
For Mary's setting Rays attone:
Our Lustre, with redoubl'd Force,
Must now proceed from Thee alone.

XII

See, Pious King, with diff'rent Strife
Thy struggling Albion's Bosom torn:
So much She fears for William's Life,
That Mary's Fate She dare not mourn.

XIII

Her Beauty, in thy softer Half
Bury'd and lost, She ought to grieve:
But let her Strength in Thee be safe:
And let Her weep; but let Her live.

XIV

Thou, Guardian Angel, save the Land
From thy own Grief, her fiercest Foe;
Lest Britain, rescu'd by Thy Hand,
Should bend and sink beneath Thy Woe.

XV

Her former Triumphs all are vain,
Unless new Trophies still be sought;
And hoary Majesty sustain
The Battels, which Thy Youth has fought.

XVI

Where now is all That fearful Love,
Which made Her hate the War's Alarms?
That soft Excess, with which She strove
To keep her Hero in her Arms?

XVII

While still She chid the coming Spring,
Which call'd Him o'er His subject Seas:
While, for the Safety of the King,
She wish'd the Victor's Glory less.

XVIII

'Tis chang'd: 'tis gone: sad Britain now
Hastens her Lord to Foreign Wars:
Happy! if Toils may break His Woe;
Or Danger may divert His Cares.

XIX

In Martial Din She drowns her Sighs,
Lest He the rising Grief should hear:
She pulls her Helmet o'er her Eyes,
Lest He should see the falling Tear.

XX

Go, mighty Prince, let France be taught,
How constant Minds by Grief are try'd;
How great the Land, that wept and fought,
When William led, and Mary dy'd.

XXI

Fierce in the Battel make it known,
Where Death with all his Darts is seen,
That He can touch Thy Heart with None,
But That which struck the Beauteous Queen.

XXII

Belgia indulg'd her open Grief,
While yet her Master was not near;
With sullen Pride refus'd Relief,
And sat Obdurate in Despair.

XXIII

As Waters from her Sluces, flow'd
Unbounded Sorrow from her Eyes:
To Earth her bended Front She bow'd,
And sent her Wailings to the Skies.

XXIV

But when her anxious Lord return'd;
Rais'd is her Head; her Eyes are dry'd:
She smiles, as William ne'er had mourn'd:
She looks, as Mary ne'er had dy'd.

XXV

That Freedom which all Sorrows claim,
She does for Thy Content resign:
Her Piety itself would blame;
If Her Regrets should waken Thine.

XXVI

To cure Thy Woe, She shews Thy Fame;
Lest the great Mourner should forget,
That all the Race, whence Orange came,
Made Virtue triumph over Fate.

XXVII

William His Country's Cause could fight,
And with His Blood Her Freedom seal:
Maurice and Henry guard that Right,
For which Their pious Parents fell.

XXVIII

How Heroes rise, how Patriots set,
Thy Father's Bloom and Death may tell:
Excelling Others These were Great:
Thou, greater still, must These excell.

XXIX

The last fair Instance Thou must give,
Whence Nassau's Virtue can be try'd;
And shew the World, that Thou can'st live
Intrepid, as Thy Consort dy'd.

XXX

Thy Virtue, whose resistless Force
No dire Event could ever stay,
Must carry on it's destin'd Course;
Tho' Death and Envy stop the Way.

XXXI

For Britain's Sake, for Belgia's, live:
Pierc'd by Their Grief forget Thy own:
New Toils endure; new Conquest give;
And bring Them Ease, tho' Thou hast None.

XXXII

Vanquish again; tho' She be gone,
Whose Garland crown'd the Victor's Hair:
And Reign; tho' She has left the Throne,
Who made Thy Glory worth Thy Care.

XXXIII

Fair Britain never yet before
Breath'd to her King a useless Pray'r:
Fond Belgia never did implore,
While William turn'd averse His Ear.

XXXIV

But should the weeping Hero now
Relentless to Their Wishes prove;
Should He recall, with pleasing Woe,
The Object of his Grief and Love;

XXXV

Her Face with thousand Beauties blest,
Her Mind with thousand Virtues stor'd,
Her Pow'r with boundless Joy confest,
Her Person only not ador'd:

XXXVI

Yet ought his Sorrow to be checkt;
Yet ought his Passions to abate:
If the great Mourner would reflect,
Her Glory in her Death compleat.

XXXVII

She was instructed to command,
Great King, by long obeying Thee:
Her Scepter, guided by Thy Hand,
Preserv'd the Isles, and Rul'd the Sea.

XXXVIII

But oh! 'twas little, that her Life
O'er Earth and Water bears thy Fame:
In Death, 'twas worthy William's Wife,
Amidst the Stars to fix his Name.

XXXIX

Beyond where Matter moves, or Place
Receives it's Forms, Thy Virtues rowl:
From Mary's Glory, Angels trace
The Beauty of her Part'ner's Soul.

XL

Wise Fate, which does it's Heav'n decree
To Heroes, when They yield their Breath,
Hastens Thy Triumph. Half of Thee
Is Deify'd before thy Death.

XLI

Alone to thy Renown 'tis giv'n,
Unbounded thro' all Worlds to go:
While She great Saint rejoices Heav'n;
And Thou sustain'st the Orb below.