Classic Poem

It was a wise and kind design of fate,
That none should this day's glory celebrate:
For 'twere in vain to keep a time which is
Above the reach of all solemnitys.
The greatest actions passe without a noise,
And Tumults but profane diviner Joys
Silence with things transcendent nearest suits,
For greatest Emperours are serv'd by Mutes
And as in ancient time the deitys
To their own priests reveal'd no mysterys
Untill they were from all the world retir'd,
And in some Cave made fit to be inspir'd;
So when Rosania (who hath those outvy'd,
And with more Justice might be deify'd;
Who if she had their rites and altars, wee
Should hardly think it were Idolatry)
Had found a brest that did deserve to be
Receptacle of her divinity;
It was not fit the gazing world should know
When she convey'd her self to him, or how.
An Eagle safely may behold the Sun,
When weak eys are with too much light undone
Now as in oracles were understood,
Not the Priest's onely, but the common good:
So her great soule would not imparted be,
But in design of generall charity
She now is more diffusive then before;
And what men then admir'd, they now adore:
For this exchange makes her not powerless,
But onely fitter for the world's address.
May then that mind (which, if we will admit
The universe one soule, must sure be it)
Inform this All (who, till she shin'd out, lay
As drowzy men doe in a cloudy day)
And honour, vertue, reason so dispence,
That all may ow them to her influence:
And while this age is thus employ'd, may she
Scatter new blessings for Posterity
I dare not any other wish preferr,
For onely her bestowing adds to her.
And to a soule so in it self compleat
As 'twould be wrong'd by any epithete,
Whose splendour's fix'd unto her chosen sphaere,
And fill'd with Love and satisfaction there,
What can increase the Triumph, but to see
The World her Convert, and her history?