A CONGRATULATORY POEM TO HER MOST Sacred Majesty, &c.
THE Mighty
BLESSING is
at last arriv'd;
Heav'n has,
at last, the Wond'rous
WORK atchiev'd.
Long did th'
ALMIGHTY pause, and long debate;
For
MONARCHS are not fashion'd at a Heat.
[Page 2] So the first
Nations, that were bless'd by
Heaven,
Had the Eternal
WORD by
Promise given.
The
Faithful did the Coming
GOD believe,
And ev'n that
Faith alone had Pow'r to
save.
If
Gods we may with Humane Things compare,
(For
Gods and
Kings ally'd most nearly are)
This is the Second
Birth the World e'er knew,
So long Expected, so much Wanted too.
Like the first sacred
Infant, this will come
With Promise laden from the
Blessed Womb,
To call the wand'ring, scatter'd Nations home.
Adoring
PRINCES shall arrive from far,
Inform'd by
ANGELS, guided by his Star,
The New-born
Wonder to behold, and greet;
And
Kings shall offer Incense at his Feet.
Hail, Royal
BOY! whose Coming is design'd
To calm the Murmurs of all Humane Kind.
On thy great
Birth, Depending-
Monarchs wait:
From thee the
Vniverse expects its
Fate.
This glorious
PROSPECT, like the sacred
Law,
Stints factious
Crouds, and keeps the World in awe;
Breaks their consulted Measures, and o'erthrows
All the Designs aspiring
STATES propose;
Arrests the
Wheel, in spight of
Fortune's Hand,
And leaves the World's vast Bus'ness at a Stand.
And you, bless'd
QVEEN, to whom
ALL HAIL belongs
From
Angels, rather than from Mortal Tongues;
Whose Charms of
Beauty, Wit and
Vertue join'd
To chuse you Second
Bless'd of
Woman-kind.
ALL HAIL,—
O Sacred
VESSEL, fraught with
England's STORE;
(A
PRIZE more valu'd,
ATLAS never bore;)
Guard safe our
TREASVRE to the wish'd for
Shore.
And you, Immortal
Pow'rs, who have begun
Your Noblest
FABRICK; let your
WORK go on:
The Royal
YOVTH with all those Charms adorn,
The World adores in his bright
MOTHER'S Form:
His Soul, by his Illustrious
SIRES, compleat:
All
Hero, all
Resolv'd, Divinely
Great.
Where are ye, O ye once officious
NINE,
That on a
Theam so glorious, and sublime,
Your Voices are not turn'd to noblest
Song?
But, Oh! your
Lutes are on the Willows hung:
Your lov'd
BRITANIA listens now no more;
MARS frights her from the soft
Castalian Shore;
[Page 5] Upon whose Banks, beneath your Shades, each Day,
The ravish'd
Nymph, charm'd with your Numbers, lay.
But from your
Groves the fickle
Maid is gone.
And all your boasted
Harmony's undone.
But once more tune your
Lutes and Voices high;
Your tenderest Strains, and noblest Numbers try:
Raise those dejected Eyes, in Sorrow dress'd,
And view the
PROSPECT of the dawning
East.
A young
APOLLO, rising from the Gloom,
Dress'd in his Father's brightest
Rays, shall come;
(Dispersing all the baneful Mists of Night)
And bless the Earth with New-
created LIGHT;
Make all the Face of
Nature sweet and gay,
Revive her
Birth, and triumph o'er the Day.
Beneath
his Feet Eternal Spring shall spread,
And blossom from the Lustre round his Head.
[Page 6] He the faint
Muses shall a-new inspire,
And from
his Beams, kindle their useful Fire:
His Right Hand
Crowns, his Left shall
Lawrels give;
And
POETS shall by
Patron-PRINCES live:
On all shall scatter
Plenty, Joy and
Peace,
Unite the World, and make
Dissention cease.
And you, Dread
Monarch! ne'er to be confin'd
In any glorious
Act you have design'd;
Who, like wise
Heaven, need but decree alone,
And with the Thought, the mighty
Task is done:
Who for a stubborn
Nation's Glory toil,
And court her to be Great against her Will.
When you esteem'd her worth your Royal Care,
You gave her this last Blessing, of an
HEIR.
O happy
KING! to whom a Son is born!
What more can
Fortune, Heaven, and
You perform?
Behold, with Joy three prostrate
Nations come:
ALBION, HIBERNIA
and old CALEDON
Now join their
Int'rests, and no more dispute,
With sawcy Murmurs, who is
Absolute;
Since, from the Wonders of your Life, 'tis plain,
You
will, you
shall, and
must for ever Reign.
FINIS.