Mausolæum, a funeral poem on our late gracious sovereign Queen Mary of blessed memory by N. Tate ...

Mausolæum, a funeral poem on our late gracious sovereign Queen Mary of blessed memory by N. Tate ...

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MAUSOLAEUM. A Funeral Poem On Our Late Gracious Sovereign Queen MARY, Of Blessed Memory.

ADVERTISEMENT.

MAUSOLAEUM. A Funeral Poem On Our Late Gracious Sovereign Queen MARY, Of Blessed Memory.

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TO Solitude, but such as ne er inspir'd

One Tuneful Thought, a pensive Bard retir'd.

Stretcht as He lay, and lean'd his drooping Head

Against a jetting Cliff, the Earth his Bed,

MARIA's Fate and Fame, from distant Plains

He heard resounded by melodious Swains.

He blest their powerful Raptures, that could warm

The Tomb's cold Mansion, and make Sorrow oharm.

While, Sweetly sad, their Accents strike the Skies,

He only with distracted Sighs replies.

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His Groans awak'd the Mid-night Raven's Knell

E'er balmy Slumber on his Temples fell;

When long-absented Morpheus interpos'd

To charm his Sorrow, and This SCENE disclos'd.

Thrice did the God his drowzy Wand extend,

And thrice invok'd the Vision to ascend;

The Signal was obey'd — from side to side

The Vale, her flinty Arms unfolding wide,

In Prospect brings the Sacred

Abbey of Westminst.

Dome, renown'd

For British Monarch's there Entomb'd and Crown'd:

Whose Guardian-Care, when thither they return,

Is there rewarded with a peaceful Urn;

Where now that safe Repose their Ashes have,

Which they, when living, to their Subjects gave.

Thus was the Visionary Fabrick rear'd,

Whose Portalls (while harmonious Sounds are heard)

Did leisurely the shining Quire disclose,

As once the solemn Stage at Athens rose;

While breaking Clouds a glorious Scene display'd,

Where Gods and Goddesses the Circle made.

A Mausolaean Pile erected high,

Threatning the Temple's Roof, as That the Sky;

With Starry Lamps and Banners blazing round,

In all the Pageantry of Death is crown'd.

[Page] For ah! with flatt'ring Pride and Triumph vain,

You Pyramids the dazling Pomp sustain;

While High in State your glitt'ring Trophies Rise,

Low, at your Basis, Britain's Glory lies.

Nor Sleep those blest Remains in Dead of Night,

Watcht only by unactive Tapers Light,

For thronging Seraphs, from Coelestial Bow'rs,

Descend to strew the Royal Hearse with Flow'rs;

Whose Fragrance heav'nly Balm distilling meets,

Together blending their Ambrosial Sweets:

What Sov'reign Odour from that Mixture springs,

Fann'd and Sublim'd by hov'ring Angels Wings!

These Rites perform'd, th' Etherial Troop resign,

To Forms Divine as Their's, the Royal Shrihe.

For lo! four Matrons, deep in Sables clad,

(Of Solemn Mien, and Aspect Charming sad)

Advance; with each Her Ensigns waving high,

The Emblems of Her Pow'r, or Piety.

August BRITANNIA the Procession leads;

In State the BELGIAN Matron Her succeeds.

BRITANNIA's Train, in Grandure of a Court;

Her Globe, Her Scepter, and Her Crown support.

BATAVIA with Her own Escutchions grac't,

Where Lions Rampant grasp Her Arrows sast.

[Page]

Church of England.

EUSEBIA next appears, in Pomp divine,

See how Her Mitre, and Her Crosier shine!

Protestant Church of France.

IRENE brings the Rear, — but She, forlorn!

No Badge but of Distress before Her born.

A Wreath of Lillies Her sad Herald wore,

But Lillies Crimson'd in Her Off-spring's Gore!

Now to their sundry Stations they disperse,

The high-arch'd Inlets to the Sov'reign Hearse;

Where solemnly each Matron takes her Stand,

With each a fuming Censer in her Hand.

All Mute a while, with awful Sorrow strook,

Till Belgia thus in troubled Accents spoke.

When late to Albion's Throne I did resign

The Princess, I still thought, still found Her mine,

While, like Aurora, from beyond the Streams;

She, brightly Rising, reacht me with Her Beams;

Warm Lustre shot, that did my Griefs beguile,

And in Her Absence made our Hague to smile;

So Cinthia, when she takes her Sphere above,

Shines down, and gilds Her once-frequented Grove.

So Cinthia mounts Her Wain, for publick Good,

Tho better pleas'd, Retir'd within Her Wood.

But, ah! what Halcyon Days on Europe shone,

When Cinthia with her Phoebus grac'd one Throne!

Charm'd by their Godlike Reign, so just and mild,

My States to Monarchy grew reconcil'd.

[Page] Britain and Belgia's Blessings to compleat,

They made, from distant Shores, our Interest's meet.

Not so, when blind in fury heretofore,

With Naval Thunder we each other tore;

While both, by mutual Tragick Wounds brought low,

Made Scenes of Pastime for the Common Foe.

Insulting o're the Sight, the Tyrant stood,

While our sad Wrecks enrich'd the guilty Flood,

Blushing with British and Batavian Blood.

'Twixt treach'rous Courts thus was Ambition bred,

While our Exhausted Veins the Monster fed.

But when her Fangs with Terror she disclos'd,

Heav'n and my Nassau's Virtue interpos'd.

Convulsions seiz'd me when he left my Shore.

Not Ariadne fear'd for Theseus more;

Such doubtful Hopes possest the Colchian Maid,

When Jason his adventrous Task essay'd.

At last I saw Him fixt on Britain's Throne;

And blest the Day, and thought the Storm o'er-blown:

Yet, from Alarms secur'd of Gallick Pow'r,

A hasty Tomb do's half my Joys devour.

Ah how transform'd from what I was of late!

How blest, ye Pow'rs, how prosp'rous was my State!

My flourishing Towns with Pleasure I survey'd,

The World's great Mart and Seat of Commèrce made;

Cov'ring with floating Colonies the Main,

While Gallick Rage at Home I could sustain;

[Page] Visit both Poles, to Spicy Climates run,

And spread my Naval Wings before the Rising Sun.

No more can populous Towns, or swelling Seas,

The stronger Deluge of my Grief appease,

My Spicy Eastern Groves no longer please.

Matrons sad Vigils through my Cities keep,

With streaming Tears my Saylors swell the Deep;

There Tritons, started from their Coral Cells,

Rang'd on the Rocks to Dirges tune their Shells:

On sep'rate Cliffs their pensive Nereids sit,

No chearful Song or am'tous Glance admit;

No more with Pearl and Amber deck their Head,

But Mourn, forlorn, their Amphitrite Dead,

From Dawn to Dusk, and weep the Stars to Bed.

Ye Winds that waft my freighted Fleets away

Neglect your Charge; let useless Traffick stay

Till you to Java's Isle my Sighs convey.

Fate's Triumph over Nature there proclaim,

And say, MARIA's nothing but a Name!

A Hearse, an Urn, as Vulgar Mortals are;

To Earth no more, but to the Skies a Star.

She said — IRENE next her Plaints addrest,

Plaints, which her Looks too sensibly exprest:

An Exile from her Native Shore she fled,

By Innocence and Mourning Angels led.

[Page] While slowly from the hallowed Floor she rears

Her Eyes, still Orient through a Cloud of Cares,

May's brightness mix'd with April's Gloom appears;

A pearly Show'r Her fairer Face bedews,

While Thus, what Passion dictates, She pursues;

Is Mis'ry boundless? Can we never know,

In Wretchedness the outmost Sphere of Woe?

Condemn'd, on Cruelties Inhumane Stage,

To all the Shapes of persecuting Rage;

Bereav'd of ev'ry Blessing I Enjoy'd,

My Temples Sack'd, my Votaries Destroy'd;

Till with my Sons expos'd (a poor Reserve!)

To foreign Bondage, or at best to Starve.

These Injuries Sustain'd, ah! vain Belief!

I fondly deem'd the last Degrees of Grief.

But here a weeping Penitent I come,

To Mourn my Error at MARIA's Tomb!

Rank'd with Divine Eliza, distant Fame

Early resounded my MARIA's Name,

But when that Brighter Phoenix I Survey'd,

I blest the Fate that me an Exile made;

Forgave, and for my Persecutors Pray'd.

Me, Prostrate and Astonish'd at Her Charms,

The Royal Saint rais'd, gently to Her Arms;

In hast She stept from Her Imperial Throne,

To dry my Tears — but not restrain'd Her Own.

[Page] Ah! where is all that Heav'n of Pity Fled?

Life's Sov'reign Patroness Her Self is Dead!

Death reap'd in Her the full Revenge He Crav'd,

Reprizal made of all the Lives She Sav'd.

Now Tyrants, with uninterrupted Joy,

May you once more your meager Fiend Employ,

Give Famine new Commission to Destroy.

No more shall streaming Charity o'erspread

The thirsty Vales, in Thousand Currents led,

Fate's envious Hand

Has here Seal'd up the gen'rous Fountain's Head.

Instruct me, Grief, unable to sustain

Thy pressing Weight, to whom shall I Complain?

To Earth or Skies? — 'Tis they that have Engross'd,

'Tis they that share the Treasure I have lost.

To Seas? — 'There Thetis Comfortless appears,

And for Her Self reserves the Ocean's Tears.

To gentle Winds and Air if I Complain,

They can but Sigh, and Sigh like me in Vain!

Nature Replies, when her Relief I try,

That She has lost, and grieves as much as I.

Or would I to MARIA's self Address,

(The Royal Refuge of my past Distress)

The Queen of Pity I no longer find

Enthron'd, but here (ah! fatal Change) Enshrin'd.

High rapt in heav'nly Bow'rs Her Spirit remains,

Her breathless Reliques a deaf Tomb contains;

[Page] Them, sleeping here, my Cries no more can move

Than reach her Soul's transcendant Sphere above!

Ye happier Rivals in our Common Grief!

You mourn, but not, like me, without Relief.

Britain and Belgia through the Main can roam,

Enrich'd with Treasures of Both Indies come,

And, like an Altar, deck MARIA's Tomb.

Her Hierarchy does fair Eusebia bless,

Secure She does Her sacred Rights possess,

And stores of gratesul Incense can address.

What Tribute to Her Ashes can I give,

Who only did by Her Indulgence live?

A Wretche's last Reserve I will bestow,

My Tears — but see — They, uncommanded, flow!

Like Weeping Niobe's their Streams renew:

O that, like Her, I could turn Marble too!

She ceas'd — EUSEBIA then her Starry Head

With mournful Grace unveil'd, and, sighing, said.

If Strangers can such deep Concern express,

What Accents will susfice for my Distress!

Of these Remains can I sustain the Sight,

Who claim a Subject's and a Daughter's Right;

Nurs'd with her warmest Beams, whose Lustre fill'd

My Front with Stars, and did my Mitre gild.

[Page] She fix'd my Altars first, Her Guardian-Care;

Then to enlarge my Courts did gen'rous Schemes prepare.

Adorn'd my Shrines with Lamps so heavenly bright,

They cou'd at once Astonish and Invite.

Me, swift-advancing Glory did presage

Once more Triumphant o'er the Dragon's Rage.

Eve, new created, no such Pleasure took

Her own bright Form discov'ring in the Brook;

And, wheresoe're Her ravish'd Eyes She threw,

Still to have blooming Paradise in view.

So I at my own Happiness admir'd —

Ah where are now those golden Dreams retir'd?

Their faint Idea my sick Thought employs,

A cold Remembrance of departed Joys.

As Ship-wreckt Mariners, on some bleak Shore,

The Riches of their perisht Freight deplore,

Recount its Value, to indulge their Grief,

(Of Wretchednefs the sad but sole Relief)

Let me, the Treasure I have lost, declare,

Too vast for Time and Nature to Repair.

Be husht ye Winds, ye Skies serene and clear,

No lowring Cloud or angry Wave appear,

While my MARIA's Virtues I recite:

O were my Language like Her Virtues, Bright

TheCharming Sounds wou'dGuests from Heav'n invite,

[Page] Heav'n wou'd be Here, and with Immortal Lays,

My self a Seraph while I Sung her Praise.

What ancient Poets did, inspir'd, aver

Of Female worth, was Prophecy of Her;

And what their Age by Revelation saw,

Posterity must from Her Story draw.

Her Breast each cent'ring Excellence cou'd boast,

The scatter'd Virtues of Her Sex engrost;

Nor did those Beams on Her refracted Fall,

She All possest, and in Perfection All.

Cou'd Majesty and Mildness reconcile,

Hold Sov'raign Awe, yet on Her Subjects smile;

And when of Sov'raignty She slack'd the Rein,

Charm Duty most, and condescending, Gain.

Her Thoughts, unruffled with Affairs of State,

Stood like the heights of Teneriff, sedate;

Like Phoebe in her Empire of the Skies,

To Glory's Zenith did Serenely rise.

Nor only Calm, but Constant was Her Mind,

Fix'd as the Centre to Earth's Globe assign'd:

A Fortress which the Fates in vain assail'd,

And where the baffled King of Terrors fail'd.

[Page]

Chearful as Angels, or the Springing Day

That tunes the Groves, and makes the Meadows gay

For blameless Mirth Heaven's Off spring is confest,

And Heav'n was ever in MARIA's Breast.

Her Words and Actions, all exactly weigh'd

In Reason's Scale, and by Discretion sway'd,

Alike from Prejudice and Passion free,

Henceforth of Prudence shall the Standart be.

Her Freedoms just, and Her Diversions taught

To shun the very Shadow of a Fault.

Let Heav'n (with Heav'n She Correspondence held)

Say how my Saint in Piety excell'd.

Its sinking Empire how She did support,

And to a Sanctu'ry reform'd a Court.

Say, how Her bright Example cou'd disarm

Establish'd Vice, and make Religion Charm.

What frequent Visits to my Temple pay,

And there Instruct Devotion how to Pray:

Where thronging Cherubs did Her Zeal attend,

Ambitious who should with Her Vows ascend.

But Charity, Her Souls essential Grace,

In tend'rest Strokes was pictur'd in Her Face,

Who like an Angel cou'd at Suff'rings melt,

Condole the Mis'ry She had never felt.

[Page] Reliev'd, till Royal Bounty She had drein'd,

Then with Her Tears th' exhausted Store maintain'd;

Kind as the Pelican, in Times of Need,

When for Her craving Off-spring said to bleed.

Such was my Sov'reign! Such, and yet expir'd!

To Earth so needfull, yet from Earth retir'd.

Earth's Harmony, Life, Lustre and Delight,

Have hence with my Astraea took their Flight.

Yet see! no wreck of Elements is found;

Time journeys on, and Nature keeps her Round:

Our Vales may bloom again, our Groves be green,

No more the Goddess of the Spring be seen!

She's fled! divine MARIA's vanisht hence,

And sleeps with Queens of common Providence.

Like Them, She has to Fate resign'd Her Breath;

O Triumph of the Grave! O Pomp of Death!

With Her entomb'd —

Youth, Beauty, Vertue, their Interment have,

O Pomp of Death! O Tryumph of the Grave!

Yet Tyrants live, ah! what can Reason say?

They keep their Thrones, who Iron Scepters sway.

Support me Faith, if Faith too feeble be,

Support my Faith, MARIA's Piety.

She pauz'd, and wept.

BRITANNIA, tho' with equal Grief opprest;

Majestick, thus her Orisons addrest.

[Page]

Hail Saint and Queen, — too weak alas that Style!

Hail Heroin and Goddess of our Isle!

My Pallas, who cou'd absent Mars supply;

And Jove withdrawn, like Juno rule the Sky.

Empire She priz'd not, tho' to Empire born,

Nor sought the Pow'r She cou'd so well adorn:

Yet held Her British Throne securely calm,

As Deborah within her Grove of Palm;

From whose orac'lous Shade she cou'd prescribe,

And Audience gave to each consulting Tribe.

My Regent with such Grandeur, such Address

In Councel sway'd; and prest with last Distress,

Like Her, Spoke Victory, and Look'd Success.

In publick Storms She heard the Billows rave,

And cheerfully the needfull Orders gave.

With pious Hope adjusted Her Commands,

And left th' Event on Providences Hands.

Thus, from insulting Danger She secur'd

Her Regency, and thus Her Realms ensur'd;

Such Conduct shewn, and gen'rous Trust repos'd,

Engag'd Heav'ns Honour, and Fate's Pow'r fore-clos'd.

She knew what Mein the Sceptre, Crown and Globe,

What Majesty became th' Imperial Robe;

But from th' Incumbrance freed of Sov'reign Awe;

What Artist can Her milder Beauties draw?

What Colours shall express? What Pencil trace

The Charms that did Her Conversation grace?

[Page] How beaming Joys Her Aspect did adorn,

And how She mov'd the Goddess of the Morn.

What Harmony did in Her Language dwell;

How sullen Griefs Her Accents cou'd dispell,

While softer They than shedding Roses fell.

Methinks I hear lamenting April say,

Unwelcome now returns my latest

The Queen's Birth-day.

Day,

That once eclips'd the blooming Pride of May.

The Day that with auspicious Hours did smile,

And gave a Jubilee to Britain's Isle.

No more that Festival shall entertain

The Court with Revel or harmonious Strain:

For chearfull Songs, my Bards must now retreat,

And Dirges breath to some forsaken Seat.

Seek gloomy Vales, where blasted Nature pines,

And Grief with Night her cold Embraces joyns;

Where no fresh Breeze relieves the sulph'rous Steams,

And Poplars languish o'er infectious Streams;

Where never did auspicious Bird frequent,

Till thither on Despair's sad Errand sent,

Some Nightingall of Nest and Young Depriv'd,

Or Turtle who her slaughter'd Mate surviv'd.

Let there, what never must in Crouds be told,

Your mourning Muse that Dismal Scene unfold!

Let Fancy there rehearse in wild Complaint,

The sickning Sov'reign, the expiring Saint.

When Sacrilegious Maladies, combin'd,

Beauty's Imperial Temple undermin'd.

[Page] How ravaging through Her rich Veins they flew,

Till all in one Assault —

Against Her gen'rous Heart their Forces drew.

While Nature cou'd no more the Fort supply,

And vanquisht Art it self stood Sighing by.

Well may his Sons despair, when

The gloomy Weather during Her Majesty's Sickness.

Phoebus shrouds

His baffl'd Head, and sculks in conscious Clouds;

Drives wide his Wain, shuns his Meridian Way,

And through continu'd Darkness steals the Day.

Immortal Pow'rs, can you behold, ungriev'd,

Her Agonies, who Nations had reliev'd?

The Royal Saint who had your Altars crown'd!

For Pray'rs and Alms is no Compassion found?

Amidst Her Pangs, see how She lies resign'd

To your Disposal, while you seem unkind!

Undaunted, yet to your Allegiance true,

Bids Death Defiance, but submits to You.

She sees Distraction through Her Palace spread,

She sees the Graces weeping round Her Bed,

Yet still Compos'd; till Her expiring Sight

Her swooning Hero. — Here let deepest Night

Her Mantle spread, and Nature's Face disguise,

While Caesar sinks, and while MARIA's Eyes

Closing, transferr Their Glories to the Skies.

Oh what Convulsions now shook Britain's Breast!

Her Sun and Moon in one Eclipse opprest.

[Page]

As when the Sov'reign of the Ocean, try'd

In Tempests, and had Neptune's Frowns defy'd,

Founders on Shelves; conspiring Tides prevail;

The hurrying Crew, with looks agast and pale,

Wringing their helpless Hands, theglorious Wreck bewail!

Such Consternation shew'd Britannia's Court,

When Toil and Skill had made their last Effort.

Yet, O Alcides of our Age, sustain

Thy last and greatest Task to Live and Reign!

This Conquest must Distinguish your bright Name,

And write You foremost in the List of Fame.

Your Loyal and Addressing Senate view,

O pity them, as they condole with You!

See your Augusta too, who bath'd in Tears,

Sad Europe's Representative appears.

Death ne'er is Distant when Perfection's near;

Vertue Sublim'd will quickly disappear.

MARIA's fall'n! Worthy to have surviv'd,

Till Caesar's promis'd Tryumphs were arriv'd;

Till harras'd Europe's Freedom She survey'd,

And crown'd the Halcyon Days for which She pray'd.

Speak You, who Commerce with Immortals hold,

These Labarynths of Providence unfold!

Eusebia speak.

[Page]

EUSEBIA's Sacred Breast

With Rapture fill'd, th' inspiring God confest,

Divinely bright Her Frontlet-Stars appear'd,

While up tow'rds Heav'n Her ravish'd Eyes She rear'd:

The Temple shakes, the yielding Roof gives way,

And Ope's a Prospect to Eternal Day.

Through all the Dome Ambrosial Fragrance spread,

While Thus, in Extasie, the Matron said;

With Robes invested of Caelestial Dye,

She towrs and treads the Empyraean Sky!

Angelick Choirs, skill'd in triumphant Song,

Heav'ns Battlements and Chrystal Turrets throng.

The Signal's giv'n, th' Eternal Gates unfold,

Blazing with Jasper, wreath'd in burnish'd Gold,

And Myriads now of flaming Minds I see,

Pow'rs, Potentates, Heav'ns awfull Hierarchy;

In gradual Orbs enthron'd, but all Divine;

Ineffably those Sons of Glory shine.

From Bow'rs of Amaranth and Nectar Streams,

(Mansions of Rapture and inspiring Dreams)

The Host of Saints MARIA's Tryumph meet,

MARIA, all, their own MARIA greet.

Behold! a Rev'rend Shade steps forth, his Head

Mitred in Glory, deep his Vestments spread;

[Page] O Patriarch mild! thy Aspect still I know,

That ev'n on Earth so much of Heav'n did show.

Heav'ns Messenger to Us Thou first didst prove,

And now MARIA's to the Blest above.

O worthiest Envoy, to the Realms of Bliss,

Of Her approaching Apotheosis.

Now, pointing up, he shews, prepar'd on High,

Her Chair of State and Starry Canopy,

She takes Her Throne, but there install'd, so bright

Her Form, I lose Her in Excess of Light.

FINIS.

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MAUSOLAEUM: A Funeral POEM On our late Gracious Sovereign QUEEN MARY, Of Blessed Memory.

By N. TATE, Servant to His Majesty.

LONDON: Printed for B. Aylmer, at the Three Pigeons against the Royal-Exchange in Cornhill. And W. Rogers, at the Sun against St. Dunstan's Church in Fleet-street. And R. Baldwin, near the Oxford-Arms in Warwick-Lane. 1695.

ADVERTISEMENT.

[Page]

A Poem on the late Promotions of several Eminent Persons in Church and State.

An Elegy on the Most Reverend Father in God, his Grace, JOHN, late Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.

Written by N. Tate.

Information about this book

Title statement

Mausolæum, a funeral poem on our late gracious sovereign Queen Mary of blessed memory by N. Tate ...

Tate, Nahum, 1652-1715.

Edition statement

1695

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A62974

ID [STC]

Wing T194

ID [STC]

ESTC R186

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

11940730

ID [OCLC]

ocm 11940730

ID [VID]

51273

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(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A62974)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 51273)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 516:22)

Source

— Mausolæum, a funeral poem on our late gracious sovereign Queen Mary of blessed memory by N. Tate ..., Tate, Nahum, 1652-1715..

Extent

[3], 19, [1] p.

Printed for B. Aylmer ..., and W. Rogers ..., and R. Baldwin ...,. London :: 1695.. (First edition.) (Advertisement: p. [1] at end.) (Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.)

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