Classic Poem

ADDRESSED TO

A CERTAIN NOBLE LORD.

TO THE AUTHOR

A STREA , eldest born of Jove,
Whom all the gods revere and love,
Was sent, while man deserv'd their care,
On earth to dwell, and govern there,
Till finding earth by Heav'n unaw'd,
Till sick of violence and fraud,
Abandoning the guilty crew,
Back to her native sky she flew,
There, station'd in the Virgin sign,
She long has ceas'd on earth to shine;
Or if at times she deigns a smile,
'Tis chief o'er Britain's favour'd isle.
For there — her eye with wonder fix'd,
That wonder too with pleasure mix'd,
She now beheld, in blooming youth,
The patron of all worth and truth;
Not where the Virtues most resort,
On peaceful plains, but in a court!
Not in a cottage, all-unknown;
She found him seated on a throne!
What fables paint, what poets sing,
She found, in fact — a patriot-king!
But as a sight so nobly new
Deserv'd, she thought, a nearer view,
To where, by silver-streaming Thames,
Ascends the palace of St. James,
Swift through surrounding shades of night
The goddess shot her beamy flight:
She stopp'd; and the revealing ray
Blaz'd round her favourite where he lay
In sweet repose; o'er all his face
Repose shed softer bloom and grace;
But fearful lest her sun-bright glare
Too soon might wake him into care,
(For splendid toils and weary state
Are every monarch's envied fate)
The stream of circling rays to shroud,
She drew an interposing cloud.
In all the silence of surprise,
She gaz'd him o'er; she saw arise
(For gods can read the human breast)
Her own idea there imprest;
And that his plan to bless mankind,
The plan now brightening in his mind,
May story's whitest page adorn,
May shine through nations yet unborn,
She calls Urania to her aid.
At once the fair ethereal maid,
Daughter of Memory and Jove,
Descending quits her laurell'd grove;
Loose to the gale her azure robe,
Borne in her left a starry globe,
Where each superior son of fame
Will find inscrib'd his deathless name;
Her right sustains the' immortal lyre,
To praise true merit, or inspire.
" Behold" — Astrea thus began — —
" The friend of virtue and of man;
Calm reason see in early youth!
See in a prince the soul of truth!
With love of justice, tender sense,
For suffering worth and innocence,
Who means to build his happy reign
On this best maxim, wise and plain —
Though plain, how seldom understood!
That to be great he must be good:
His breast is open to your eye;
Approach, Urania! mark, and try:
This bosom needs no thought to hide;
This virtue dares our search abide.
" The sacred fountains to secure
Of Justice, undisturb'd and pure
From hopes or fears, from fraud or force,
To ruffle or to stain their course;
That these may flow serene and free,
The law must independent be;
Her ministers, as in my sight,
And mine alone, dispensing right;
Of piercing eye, of judgment clear,
As honour just, as truth sincere,
With temper firm, with spirit sage,
The Mansfields of each future age.
" And this prime blessing is to spring
From youth in purple! from a king!
Who, true to his imperial trust,
His greatness founds in being just;
Prepares, like yon ascending sun,
His glorious race with joy to run,
And where his gracious eye appears,
To bless the world he lights and cheers!
" Such worth with equal voice to sing,
Urania! strike thy boldest string,
And Truth, whose voice alone is praise,
That here inspires shall guide the lays.
Begin! awake his gentle ear
With sounds that monarchs rarely hear:
He merits, let him know our love,
And you record what I approve.'
She ended; and the Heav'n-born maid
With soft surprise his form survey'd:
She saw what chastity of thought
Within his stainless bosom wrought,
Then fix'd on earth her sober eye,
And, pausing, offer'd this reply:
" Nor pomp of song, nor paint of art,
Such truths should to the world impart:
My task is but in simple verse
These promis'd wonders to rehearse;
And when on these our verse we raise,
The plainest is the noblest praise.
" Yet more; a virtuous doubt remains;
Would such a prince permit my strains?
Deserving, but still shunning fame,
The homage due he might disclaim.
A prince who rules to save mankind,
His praise would in their virtue find;
Would deem their strict regard to laws;
Their faith and worth, his best applause:
Then, Britons! your just tribute bring
In deeds, to emulate your king;
In virtues, to redeem your age
From venal views and party rage:
On his example safely rest;
He calls, he courts you to be blest;
As friends, as brethren, to unite
In one firm league of just and right.
" My part is last; if Britain yet
A lover boasts of truth and wit,
To him these grateful lays to send,
The monarch's and the Muse's friend,
And whose fair name, in sacred rhymes,
My voice may give to latest times."
She said; and after thinking o'er
The men in place near half a score,
To strike at once all scandal mute,
The goddess found and fix'd on Bute.