Worth, which must ripen in a happier clime,
And brighter sun, beyond the bounds of time.
Thou, minor, canst not guess thy vast estate,
What stores, on foreign coasts, thy landing wait:
Lose not thy claim, let virtue's path be trod;
Thus glad all heaven, and please that bounteous God,
Who, to light thee to pleasures, hung on high
Yon radiant orb, proud regent of the sky:
That service done, its beams shall fade away,
And God shine forth in one eternal day.
THE FORCE OF RELIGION; OR, VANQUISHED
Gratior et pulchro veniens in corpore virtus.-VIRG
-Ad cœlum ardentia lumina tollens,
Lumina; nam teneras arcebant vincula palmas.
FROM lofty themes, from thoughts that soar'd on high,
And open'd wondrous scenes above the sky,
My muse descend: indulge my fond desire;
With softer thoughts my melting soul inspire,
And smooth my numbers to a female's praise:
A partial world will listen to my lays,
While Anna reigns,1 and sets a female name
Unrival'd in the glorious lists of fame.
Hear, ye fair daughters of this happy land,
Whose radiant eyes the vanquish'd world command,
Virtue is beauty but when charms of mind
With elegance of outward form are join'd;
When youth makes such bright objects still more bright,
And fortune sets them in the strongest light;
'Tis all of heaven that we below may view,
And all, but adoration, is your due.
Famed female virtue did this isle adorn, Ere Ormond, or her glorious queen, was born: 1 Queen Anne.
When now Maria's powerful arms prevail'd,
And haughty Dudley's bold ambition fail'd,
The beauteous daughter of great Suffolk's race,
In blooming youth adorn'd with every grace;
Who gain'd a crown by treason not her own,
And innocently fill'd another's throne;
Hurl'd from the summit of imperial state,
With equal mind sustain'd the stroke of fate.
But how will Guilford, her far dearer part,
With manly reason fortify his heart?
At once she longs, and is afraid, to know:
Now swift she moves, and now advances slow,
To find her lord; and, finding, passes by,
Silent with fear, nor dares she meet his eye;
Lest that, unask'd, in speechless grief, disclose
The mournful secret of his inward woes.
Thus, after sickness, doubtful of her face,
The melancholy virgin shuns the glass.
At length, with troubled thought, but look serene, And sorrow soften'd by her heavenly mien,
She clasps her lord, brave, beautiful, and young,
While tender accents melt upon her tongue;
Gentle, and sweet, as vernal zephyr blows,
Fanning the lily, or the blooming rose.
"Grieve not, my lord; a crown indeed is lost; What far outshines a crown, we still may boast; A mind composed; a mind that can disdain
A fruitless sorrow for a loss so vain.
Nothing is loss that virtue can improve
To wealth eternal; and return above;
Above, where no distinction shall be known
'Twixt him whom storms have shaken from a throne,
And him, who, basking in the smiles of fate,
Shone forth in all the splendour of the great:
Nor can I find the diff'rence here below;
I lately was a queen; I still am so,
While Guilford's wife: thee rather I obey,
Than o'er mankind extend imperial sway.
When we lie down in some obscure retreat,
Incensed Maria may her rage forget;
And I to death my duty will improve,
And what you miss in empire, add in love-
Your godlike soul is opened in your look,
And I have faintly your great meaning spoke,
For this alone I'm pleased I wore the crown,
To find with what content we lay it down.
Heroes may win, but 'tis a heavenly race
Can quit a throne with a becoming grace."
Thus spoke the fairest of her sex, and cheered
Her drooping lord; whose boding bosom feared
A darker cloud of ills would burst, and shed
Severer vengeance on her guiltless head:
Too just, alas, the terrors which he felt!
For, lo! a guard !-Forgive him, if he melt-
How sharp her pangs, when severed from his side,
The most sincerely loved, and loving bride,
In space confined, the muse forbears to tell;
Deep was her anguish, but she bore it well.
His pain was equal, but his virtue less ;
He thought in grief there could be no excess.
Pensive he sat, o'ercast with gloomy care,
And often fondly clasped his absent fair;
Now, silent, wandered through his rooms of state,
And sickened at the pomp, and taxed his fate;
Which thus adorned, in all her shining store,
A splendid wretch, magnificently poor.
Now on the bridal-bed his eyes were cast,
And anguish fed on his enjoyments past:
Each recollected pleasure made him smart,
And every transport stabbed him to the heart.
That happy moon, which summoned to delight,
That moon which shone on his dear nuptial night,
Now sees the transient blessing fleet away,
Empire and love! the vision of a day.
Thus, in the British clime, a summer-storm
Will oft the smiling face of heaven deform;
The winds with violence at once descend,
Sweep flowers and fruits, and make the forest bend;
A sudden winter, while the sun is near,
O'ercomes the season, and inverts the year.
But whither is the captive born away,
The beauteous captive, from the cheerful day?
The scene is changed indeed; before her eyes
Ill boding looks and unknown horrors rise:
For pomp and splendour, for her guard and crown,
A gloomy dungeon, and a keeper's frown:
Black thoughts, each morn, invade the lover's breast,
Each night, a ruffian locks the queen to rest.
Ah mournful change, if judged by vulgar minds ! But Suffolk's daughter its advantage finds. Religion's force divine is best displayed In deep desertion of all human aid: To succour in extremes, is her delight,
And cheer the heart, when terror strikes the sight.
We, disbelieving our own senses, gaze,
And wonder what a mortal's heart can raise
To triumph o'er misfortunes, smile in grief,
And comfort those who come to bring relief:
We gaze; and as we gaze, wealth, fame, decay,
And all the world's vain glories fade away.
Against her cares she raised a dauntless mind,
And with an ardent heart, but most resigned,
Deep in the dreadful gloom, with pious heat,
Amid the silence of her dark retreat,
Addressed her God-"Almighty power divine!
'Tis thine to raise, and to depress, is thine;
With honour to light up the name unknown,
Or to put out the lustre of a throne.
In my short span both fortunes I have proved,
And though with ill frail nature will be moved,
I'll bear it well: (O strengthen me to bear!)
And if my piety may claim thy care;
If I remembered, in youth's giddy heat,
And tumult of a court, a future state;
O favour, when thy mercy I implore
For one who never guilty sceptre bore!
'Twas I received the crown; my lord is free;
If it must fall, let vengeance fall on me.
Let him survive, his country's name to raise,
And in a guilty land to speak thy praise!
O may the indulgence of a father's love,
Poured forth on me, be doubled from above!
If these are safe, I'll think my prayers succeed,
And bless thy tender mercies, whilst I bleed."
'Twas now the mournful eve before that day
In which the queen to her full wrath gave way;
Through rigid justice, rushed into offence,
And drank in zeal the blood of innocence:
The sun went down in clouds, and seemed to mourn
The sad necessity of his return;
The hollow wind, and melancholy rain,
Or did, or was imagined, to complain :
The tapers cast an inauspicious light;
Stars there were none, and doubly dark the night.
Sweet innocence in chains can take her rest;
Soft slumber gently creeping through her breast,
She sinks; and in her sleep is re-enthroned,
Mock'd by a gaudy dream, and vainly crowned.
She views her fleets and armies, seas and land,
And stretches wide her shadow of command:
With royal purple is her vision hung;
By phantom hosts are shouts of conquest rung;
Low at her feet the suppliant rival lies;
Our prisoner mourns her fate, and bids her rise.
Now level beams upon the waters play'd,
Glanc'd on the hills, and westward cast the shade;
The busy trades in city had began
To sound, and speak the painful life of man.
In tyrants' breasts the thoughts of vengeance rouse,
And the fond bridegroom turns him to his spouse.
At this first birth of light, while morning breaks,
Our spouseless bride, our widowed wife, awakes;
Awakes, and smiles; nor night's imposture blames ;
Her real pomps were little more than dreams;
A short-lived blaze, a lightning quickly o'er,
That died in birth, that shone, and were no more:
She turns her side, and soon resumes a state
Of mind, well suited to her altered fate,
Serene, though serious; when dread tidings come
(Ah wretched Guilford !) of her instant doom.
Sun, hide thy beams; in clouds as black as night
Thy face involve; be guiltless of the sight;
Or haste more swiftly to the western main;
Nor let her blood the conscious daylight stain !
Oh! how severe ! to fall so new a bride,
Yet blushing from the priest, in youthful pride;
When time had just matured each perfect grace,
And opened all the wonders of her face!
To leave her Guilford dead to all relief,
Fond of his woe, and obstinate in grief.
Unhappy fair! whatever fancy drew,
(Vain promised blessings) vanish from her view;
No train of cheerful days, endearing nights,
No sweet domestic joys, and chaste delights;
Pleasures that blossom e'en from doubts and fears;
And bliss and rapture rising out of cares:
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