A POEM.
BEhold descending on our English Shore,
The like not born on Land, or Seas before.
Her Face if from their Sea old Greece had seen,
Flat they had Worship'd Love's Almighty Queen.
Yet, if observ'd Her Mien, Her Conduct, they
Must have confess'd Her Pallas every way
But had Her Power, and marvelous Might been told,
What Clouds She gather'd, and what Thunder roul'd;
What Scepters bow, what boundless Empire waits,
Whilst She deals forth their Adamantine Fates;
None to compare, none could they find above,
But cry, O She! the very Mate of Iove!
To our bright Theme how look these Legends Vane,
Aukward their Nymphs, their Goddesses prophane?
The Grecian Muse, their Rapture and their Rage,
Their streams of Nectar, and their Golden Age,
All now fulfill'd; That Poetry and Stile
Gave only blind Prophetick Hints the while.
No sooner Her fair Influence arose,
What Glorious Scenes new Light, new Life disclose?
When plung'd in Night, and black Despair we lay,
One glympse from Her set open all our Day.
Vice over-flow'd, and dilug'd all around;
Injustice ran, disdaining Bank, or Bound;
The World was lost, no Hospitable Shore,
All Order gone, and Beauty was no more.
When drooping Vertue no Retreat could find;
When no Remains of reasonable kind;
No Spirit left; no spark of Sense was shown,
Above the level of a Stock or Stone.
She strikes the Rock, the rudest Rocks Obey;
New Life invades, and animates our Clay.
[Page 4] Deucalion's Bride less wonderful appear'd,
When Humane Kind were from blew Quarries rear'd.
Our Clods no longer their hard Fates restrain,
But, out of hand, all scatter into men:
The Log, the Lumber, and more stupid Race,
Take Humane Form, and reasonable Face;
They bless the Hand that does their Sense restore,
And now resemble the old Block no more.
She turns the mighty Machine of Affairs,
Strikes Harmony throughout the jangling Spheres:
The Elements, set free, resume their Place,
And Nature shines, with Triumphs in Her Face.
Love shakes his Wings, mad Animosities
Lye still and husht, beneath the healing Breeze.
No Discords range; all from the angry heap,
Charm'd, into Form, and Beauteous Order leap.
With Godlike State, above Mechanick sway,
She sits, and sees the second Causes Play;
Unmov'd Her Self, with an untroubl'd Brow,
Beholds the Thorns that vex Crown'd Heads below;
The Active Part Her Mighty Consort takes;
And, for the Weal of Humane Kind He wakes.
Beneath Her Eyes His Generous Heart inspir'd,
His Arm is strengthned, and His Prowess fir'd:
Cheer'd by Her Rays His Care salutes the Morn,
The West, and farthest Poles securely turn:
His Providence, through Stratagem, and Steel,
Drives on, no Jolt, nor ever cools the Wheel.
So long, amongst the Dutch Her Presence seen,
For ever stamps that Commonwealth Serene.
Thence shall the Monarch wave His nice Debates,
And strike before their Majesty, the States.
Tho' through the Mass of Things Her Vertue run;
And all from Her these Miracles are done.
Her no Ambition moves, nor is She Proud,
Save, in the Glorious Power of doing Good:
So may She still above proceed a Queen,
If She, on Earth, should ever cease to Reign.
FINIS.