Classic Poem

A POEM

ON HER MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY , 1731-2.

Twice twenty tedious moons have roll'd away
Since Hope, kind flatt'rer! tun'd my pensive lay,
Whisp'ring that you, who rais'd me from despair,
Meant, by your smiles, to make life worth my care,
With pitying hand an orphan's tears to screen,
And o'er the motherless extend the queen.
'Twill be — the prophet guides the poet's strain!
Grief never touch'd a heart like yours in vain:
Heav'n gave you pow'r because you love to bless,
And pity, when you feel it, is redress.
Two fathers join'd to rob my claim of one!
My mother, too, thought fit to have no son!
The Senate next, whose aid the helpless own,
Forgot my infant wrongs, and mine alone!
Yet parents pityless, nor peers unkind,
Nor titles lost, nor woes mysterious join'd,
Strip me of hope — by Heav'n thus lowly laid,
To find a Pharaoh's daughter in the shade.
You cannot hear unmov'd when wrongs implore;
Your heart is woman, tho your mind be more:
Kind, like the Pow'r who gave you to our prayers,
You would not lengthen life to sharpen cares:
They who a barren leave to live bestow,
Snatch but from Death to sacrifice to Woe:
Hated by her from whom my life I drew,
Whence should I hope, if not from Heav'n and you?
Nor dare I groan beneath Affliction's rod,
My queen my mother, and my father — God,
The pitying Muses saw me wit pursue,
A bastard son, alas! on that side too,
Did not your eyes exalt the poet's sire,
And what the Muse demes the queen inspire.
While rising thus your heavenly soul to view,
Learn how angels think by copying you.
Great Princess! 'tis decreed — once ev'ry year
Imarch, uncall'd, your Laureat Volunteer!
Thus shall your poet his low genius raise,
And charm the world with truths too vast for praise.
Nor need I dwell on glories all your own,
Since surer means to tempt your smiles are known;
Your poet shall allot your lord his part,
And paint him in his noblest throne — your heart,
Is there a greatness that adorns him best,
Arising wish that ripens in his breast?
Has he foremeant some distant age to bless,
Disarm oppression, or expel distress?
Plans he some scheme to reconcile mankind,
People the seas, and busy ev'ry wind?
Would he by pity the deceiv'd reclaim,
And smile contending factions into shame?
Would his example lend his laws a weight,
And breathe his own soft morals o'er his state?
The Muse shall find it all, shall make it seen,
And teach the world his praise, to charm his queen.
Such be the Annual truths my verse imparts;
Nor frown, fair Fav'rite of a people's hearts!
Happy if plac'd, perchance, beneath your eye,
My Muse, unpension'd, might her pinions try;
Fearless to fail whilst you indulge her flame,
And bid me proudly boast your Laureat's name;
Renobled thus by wreaths my queen bestows,
I lose all memory of wrongs and woes.