Classic Poem

Written by THO. SHADWELL, Esq;

I

N OW does the glorious Day appear
The mightiest Day of all the Year,
Not anyone such Joy could bring,
Not that which ushers in the Spring.
That of ensuing Plenty hopes does give,
This did the hope of Liberty retrieve;
This does our Fertile Isle with Glory Crown,
And all the Fruits it yields we now can call our own.
On this blest day was our Restorer born,
Farr above all let this the Kalendar Adorn.
Now, now with our united Voice
Let us aloud proclaim our Joys;
To Triumph let us sing
And make Heav'ns mighty concave ring.

II

It was a work of full as great a weight,
And require the self-same Power,
Which did frail Humane kind Create,
When they were lost them to restore;
For a like Act, Fate gave our Princes Birth,
Which adding to the Saints, made Joy in Heaven,
As well as Triumphs upon Earth,
To which so great, so good a Queen was given.

III

By beauteous softness mixt with Majesty,
An Empire over every Heart she gains
And from her awful Power none could be free,
She with such Sweetness and such Justice Reigns:
Her Hero too, whose Conduct and whose Arms
The trembling Papal World their Force must yield.
Must bend himself to her victorious Charms,
And give up all the Trophies of each Field
Our dear Religion, with our Laws defence,
To God her Zeal, to Man Benevolence;
Must her above all former Monarch raise
To be the everlastting Theme of Praise;
No more shall we the great Eliza boast,
For her Great Name in Greater Mary 's will be lost.