A POEM Dedicated to the BLESSED MEMORY OF HER LATE GRACIOUS MAJESTY Queen Mary.

By Mr. Stepney.

LONDON: Printed for Iacob Tonson, at the Iudge's Head, near the Inner-Temple Gate in Fleetstreet. 1695.

A POEM Dedicated to the BLESSED MEMORY OF HER LATE GRACIOUS MAJESTY Queen Mary.

ONCE more, my Muse,—we must an Altar raise;—
May it prove Lasting, as Maria's Praise;
And, the Song ended, be the Swan's thy Doom,
Rest ever silent, as Maria's Tomb.
But whence shall we begin? Or whither steere?
Her Vertues like a perfect Round appeare,
Where Judgment lyes in Admiration lost,
Not knowing which it should distinguish most.
Some Angel, from your own, describe Her Frame,
(For sure your Godlike Beings are the same:)
All that was Charming in the Fairer Kind,
With Manly Sense, and Resolution joyn'd
A Mien compos'd of Mildness and of State,
Not by Constraint, or Affectation Great;
But form'd by Nature for Supream Command;
Like Eve just moulded by the Maker's Hand:
Yet such her Meekness, as half-vail'd the Throne,
Least being in too great a Lustre shown,
It might debar the Subject of access,
And make her Mercies, and our Comforts less.
So Gods, of old, descending from their Sphere
To visit Men, like Mortals did appear:
[Page 3]Least their too Awful Presence should affright
Those whom they meant to bless, and to delight.
Thus to the Noon of her high Glory run,
From her bright Orb, diffusive like the Sun,
She did Her healing Influence display,
And cherisht all our Nether World that lay
Within the Circle of Her radiant Day:
Reliev'd not only those who Bounty sought,
But gave unask'd, and as She gave, forgot;
Found modest Want in its obscure Retreat,
And courted tim'rous Vertue to be Great.
The Church, which William sav'd, was Mary's Care,
Taught by Her Life, and guarded by Her Prayer;
What Her Devotions were, you Cherubs, tell,
Who ever round the Seat of Mercy dwell;
(For here She wou'd not have Her Goodness known)
But you beheld how she address'd the Throne,
And wonder'd at a Zeal so like your own.
Since She was Form'd, and Lov'd, and Pray'd like you,
She shou'd, alas! have been Immortal too:
A Reign so gentle, and a Mind so strong,
Both made us hope we shou'd obey Her long,
And, with a double Reverence, have seen
The hoary Blessing of an Aged Queen;
Who might, with William, jointly govern here,
As that bright Pair which rules the heav'nly Sphere.
Grace and mild Mercy best in Her were shown,
In him the rougher Vertues of the Throne;
Of Justice She at home the Ballance held,
Abroad, Oppression by His Sword was quell'd;
True Emblems of the Lyon, and the Dove;
The God of Battel, and the Queen of Love
Did in Their happy Nuptials well agree;
Like Mars, He led our Armies out, and She
With Smiles presided o're Her Native Sea!
Such too their Meetings, when our Monarch came
With Laurels loaden and immortal Fame;
As when the God on Haemus quits his Arms,
Softning his Toyls in Cytherea's Charms:
With what Delight wou'd she the Victor meet?
And lay the Reins of Empire at his Feet?
Lucius Quintius.
With the same Temper as the Latian Hind
Was made Dictator, conquer'd, and resign'd;
So Pallas from the dusty Field withdrew
And when Imperial Iove appear'd in view,
Resum'd Her Female Arts the Spindle and the Clew:
Forgot the Scepter She so well had sway'd,
And with that Mildness, She had Rul'd, Obey'd;
Pleas'd with the Change, and unconcern'd as Iove
When in Disguise he leaves his Pow'r above,
And drowns all other Attributes in Love:—
Such, mighty Sir, (if yet the sacred Ear
Of Majesty and Grief vouchsafe to hear)
[Page 6]Was the lov'd Consort of thy Crown and Bed,
Our Joy while living; our Despair now Dead.
Yet why Despair? Tho' one Supporter Fall,
The Stronger holds, and will sustain the Ball.
Of Sybill's Books, that Volume which remain'd
Th' intrinsick value of the whole retain'd.
When in the fiery Car Elijah fled,
His Spirit doubled on his Partner's Head:
So will thy Peoples Love, now Mary's gone,
Unite both Streams and flow on Thee alone.
The grateful Senate with one Voice combine
To breath their Sorrows, and to comfort Thine,
By bringing to Thy View how Europe's Fate
Does on Thy Councills, and Thy Courage wait:
But when the vastness of Thy Grief they see,
They own 'tis just, and melt in Tears with Thee.
Blush not, great Soul, thus to reveal Thy Woe;
Sighs will have vent, and Eyes too full o're-flow;
[Page 7]Shed by degrees they pass unfelt away;
But raise a Storm and Deluge where they stay.
The bravest Heroes have the softest Mind,
Their Natures like the Gods, to Love inclin'd,
Homer, who Humane Passions nicely knew,
When his Illustrious Grecian Cheif he drew,
Left likewise in his Soul one mortal Part,
Whence Love and Anguish too might reach his Heart;
For a lost Mistress, in Despair he sate,
And let declining Troy still struggle vvith her Fate:
But when he found his dear Patroclus dead,
Like a rous'd Lion, from his Tent he fled,
Whole Hecatombs of trembling Trojans slew,
And mangled Hector at his Chariot drew.
Still greater is Thy loss,—Be such thy Rage,
That naught but conquer'd Gallia may asswage.
She vvho below preserv'd Thee with Her Prayer,
Above vvill prove thy Guardian Angel there;
[Page 8]And hov'ring round Thee with Her Heav'nly shield,
Unseen protect Theein the dusky Field.
Glut then Thy Vengeance on Thy destin'd Foe,
And while above She Triumphs, Fight below.—
Tis done—Our Monarch to the Camp returns,—
The Gallick Armies fly—Their Navy burns,
And Earth and Seas all bow to his Command,
And Europe owns her Peace from His victorious Hand.
FINIS.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.