Classic Poem

FOR THE FIRST OF MARCH , 1737-8.

A POEM

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HER LATE MAJESTY .

Humbly addressed to HIS MAJESTY.

Oft ' has the Muse, on this distinguish'd day,
Tun'd to glad harmony the vernal lay;
But, O lamented change! the lay must flow
From grateful rapture now to grateful woe.
She to this day who joyous lustre gave,
Descends for ever to the silent grave:
She! born at once to charm us and to mend,
Of human race the pattern and the friend.
To be or fondly or severely kind,
To check the rash or prompt the better mind,
Parents shall learn from her, and thus shall draw
From filial love alone a filial awe.
Who seek in av'rice wisdom's art to save,
Who often squander, yet who never gave,
From her these knew the righteous mean to find,
And the mild virtue stole on half mankind:
The lavish now caught frugal Wisdom's lore,
Yet still the more they sav'd bestow'd the more.
Now misers learn'd at others' woes to melt,
And saw and wonder'd at the change they felt:
The gen'rous, when on her they turn'd their view,
The gen'rous ev'n themselves more gen'rous grew,
Learn'd the shunn'd haunts of shame-fac'd Want to trace;
To goodness, delicacy, adding grace.
The conscious cheek no rising blush confest,
Nor dwelt one thought to pain the modest breast;
Kind and more kind did thus her bounty show'r,
And knew no limit but a bounded pow'r.
This truth the widow's sighs, alas! proclaim,
For this the orphan's tears embalm her fame.
The wise beheld her Learning's summit gain.
Yet never giddy grow, nor ever vain,
But on one science point a stedfast eye,
That science — now to live and how to die.
Say, Memory! while to thy grateful sight
Arise her virtues in unfading light,
What joys were ours, what sorrows now remain:
Ah! how sublime the bliss! how deep the pain!
And thou, bright Princess! seated now on high,
Next one the fairest daughter of the Sky,
Whose warm-felt love is to all beings known,
Thy sister Charity! next her thy throne;
See at thy tomb the Virtues weeping lie!
There in dumb sorrow seem the Arts to die.
So were the sun o'er other orbs to blaze,
And from our world, like thee, withdraw his rays,
No more to visit where he warm'd before,
All life must cease, and nature be no more.
Yet shall the Muse a heav'nly height essay
Beyond the weakness mix'd with mortal clay;
Beyond the loss which, tho' she bleeds to see,
Tho ne'er to be-redeem'd, the loss of thee!
Beyond ev'n this she nails, with joyous lay,
Thy better birth, thy first true natal day;
A day that sees thee borne beyond the tomb
To endless health, to youth's eternal bloom;
Borne to the mighty dead, the souls sublime
Of ev'ry famous age and ev'ry clime;
To goodness fix'd by truth's unvarying laws,
To bliss that knows no period, knows no pause —
Save when thine eye, from yonder pure serene,
Sheds a soft ray on this our gloomy scene.
With me now Liberty and Learning mourn,
From all relief, like thy lov'd consort torn;
For where can prince or people hope relief,
When each contend to be supreme in grief?
So vy'd thy virtues that could point the way,
So well to govern, yet so well obey.
Deign one look more! ah! see thy consort dear
Wishing all hearts, except his own, to cheer.
Lo! still he bids thy wonted bounty flow
To weeping families of worth and woe:
He stops all tears, however fast they rise,
Save those that still must fall from grateful eyes;
And, spite of griefs that so usurp his mind,
Still watches o'er the welfare of mankind.
Father of those whose rights thy care defends,
Still most their own when most their sovereign's friends,
Then chiefly brave, from bondage chiefly free,
When most they trust, when most they copy thee;
Ah! let the lowest of thy subjects pay
His honest heart-felt tributary lay;
In anguish happy, if permitted here
One sigh to vent, to drop one virtuous tear;
Happier, if pardon'd, should he wildly moan,
And with a monarch's sorrow mix his own.