That wond'rous form, which once could kingdoms sway,
Is now the grizly tyrant's helpless prey.
Come, hoary registers of ancient times,
Whose vital tide declines your wither'd Limbs ;
Babes in the dawn of life, and you whose veins,
The dancing fire of ripen'd youth contains ;
With all Parnassus, bring your last perfume,
With bosoms bare, and mingled mournings come,
And spread in one wide ruin round your Sov'reign's tomb.
But cease, my muse, or weep in gentler streams,
Behind this shady scene some comfort gleams ;
Lift from the dismal gloom thy aking eyes :
Refreshment springs from whence thy sorrows rise.
When at the hour of Brunswick's swift discharge,
To heav'n seraphick guardians guide their charge ;
Rapid, the news thro' trembling kingdoms runs,
And all the skies are peirc'd with piteous groans ;
Then, as this light the dark'ned empire leaves,
Then, wondrous WALES the sinking scepter saves :
Then, with her sparkling issue, comes his Queen,
Like night's fair empress midst her starry train ;
With cypress crown'd, they guild th' imperial seat,
And prop, tho' weak with woe, the tott'ring state ;
While intermingling joys, and grief impress
Their different dies, in ev'ry subjects face.
Albion reviv'd, yet longs with eager eye
To see their Sovereigns shine in cloudless majesty.
So when in deep eclipse, the rising sun,
Streaks with a dusky light his orient throne :
With sully'd robes he mounts th' ætherial field,
And rules the day, with Cynthia's sable veil'd.
Languid, and faint, his muffled front appears,
While earth and air a semblant horror wears.
'Till rapid time unfolds his fulgid face,
And spreads his golden glories quick'ning rays.
[Mather Byles], A Collection of Poems (no title-page), 19-24 passim
