Classic Poem

A POEM

ON HER MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, 1734-5 .

In youth no parent nurs'd my infant-songs:
'Twas mine to be inspir'd alone by wrongs;
Wrongs that with life their fierce attack began,
Drank infant-tears, and still pursue the man.
Life scarce is life — Dejection all is mine,
The pow'r that loves in lonely shades to pine:
Of faded cheek, of unelated views,
Whose weaken'd eyes the rays of hope refuse:
'Tis mine the mean inhuman pride to find,
Who shuns th' oppress'd, to fortune only kind;
Whose pity's insult, and whose cold respect
Is keen as scorn, ungen'rous as neglect.
Void of benevolent obliging grace,
Ev'n dubious Friendship half averts his face.
Thus sunk in sickness, thus with woes opprest,
How shall the fire awake within my breast?
How shall the Muse her flagging pinions raise?
How tune her voice to Carolina's praise?
From jarring thought to tuneful raptures flow:
These with fair days and gentle seasons glow:
Such give alone sweet Philomel to sing,
And Philomel's the poet of the spring.
But soft, my Soul! see yon celestial light,
Before whose lambent lustre breaks the night;
It glads me like the morning clad in dews,
And beams reviving from the vernal Muse,
Inspiring joyous peace; 'tis she! 'tis she!
A stranger, long to misery and me.
Her verdant mantle gracefully declines,
And, flow'r-embroider'd, as it varies shines.
To form her garland, Zephyr from his wing,
Throws the first flow'rs and foliage of the spring,
Her looks how lovely! Health and Joy have lent
Bloom to her cheek, and to her brow content.
Behold sweet-beaming her ethereal eyes,
Soft as the Pleiades o'er the dewy skies!
She blunts the point of care, alleviates woes,
And pours the balm of comfort and repose;
Bids the heart yield to Virtue's silent call,
And shews Ambition's sons mere children all,
Who hunt for toys which please with tinsel shine,
For which they squabble, and for which they pine.
Oh! hear her voice, more mellow than the gale
That, breath'd thro' shepherd's pipe, enchants the vale!
Hark! she invites from city smoke and noise,
Vapours impure, and from impurer joys;
From various evils, that with rage combin'd,
Untune the body, and pollute the mind;
From crowds, to whom no social faith belongs,
Who tread one circle of deceit and wrongs;
With whom politeness is but civil guile,
And laws oppress, exerted by the vile.
To this oppos'd, the Muse presents the scene
Where sylvan pleasures ever smile serene;
Pleasures that emulate the bless'd above,
Health, innocence, and peace, the Muse and Love;
Pleasures that ravish, while alternate wrought
By friendly converse and abstracted thought.
These soothe my throbbing breast. No loss I mourn,
Tho' both from riches and from grandeur torn.
Weep I a cruel Mother? No — I've seen,
From Heav'n, a pitying, a maternal queen.
One gave me life, but would no comfort grant;
She more than life resum'd by giving want.
Would she the being which she gave destroy?
My queen gives life, and bids me hope for joy.
Honours and wealth I cheerfully resign,
If competence, if learned ease be mine;
If I by mental heartfelt joys be fir'd,
And in the vale by all the Muse inspir'd!
Here cease my plaint — See yon enliv'ning scenes!
Child of the spring! behold the best of Queens!
Softness and beauty rose this heav'nly morn,
Dawn'd wisdom, and Benevolence was born.
Joy o'er a people in her influence rose,
Like that which Spring o'er rural nature throws.
War to the peaceful pipe resigns his roar,
And breaks his billows on some distant shore.
Domestic discord sinks beneath her smile,
And arts, and trade, and plenty, glad the isle.
Lo! Industry surveys, with feasted eyes.
His due reward, a plenteous harvest rise!
Nor (taught by Commerce) joys in that alone,
But sees the harvest of a world his own.
Hence thy just praise, thou mild, majestic Thames!
Rich River! richer than Pactolus' streams!
Than those renown'd of yore, by poets roll'd
O'er intermingled pearls and sands of gold:
How glorious thou! when from old Ocean's urn,
Loaded with India's wealth, thy waves return!
Alive thy banks! along each bord'ring line,
High-cultur'd blooms, inviting villas shine;
And while around ten thousand beauties glow,
These still o'er those redoubling lustre throw.
" Come then, (so whisper'd the indulgent Muse)
" Come then, in Richmond groves thy sorrows lose!
" Come then, and hymn this day! The pleasing scene
" Shews in each view the genius of thy queen.
" Hear Nature whisp'ring in the breeze her song!
" Hear her sweet-warbling thro' the feather'd throng!
" Come! with the warbling world thy notes unite,
" And with the vegetative smile delight!
" Sure such a scene and song will soon restore
" Lost quiet, and give bliss unknown before;
" Receive it grateful, and adore, when giv'n,
" The goodness of thy parent, Queen, and Heav'n!
" With me each private virtue lifts the voice,
" While public spirit bids a land rejoice;
" O'er all thy queen's benevolence descends,
" And wide o'er all her vital light extends.
" As winter softens into spring, to you
" Blooms Fortune's season, thro' her smile, anew,
" Still for past bounty, let new lays impart
" The sweet effusions of a grateful heart!
" Cast thro' the telescope of hope your eye,
" There Goodness infinite, supreme, descry!
" From him that ray of virtue stream'd on earth,
" Which kindled Caroline's bright soul to birth.
" Behold! he spreads one universal spring!
" Mortals, transform'd to angels, then shall sing;
" Oppression then shall fly with want and shame,
" And blessing and existence be the same! "