Poems upon Several Occasions/1
POEMS
UPON
Several Occasions.
On the Earl of Peterborough’s happy Negotiation of the Marriage between his Royal Highness and the Princess Mary d’Esté of Modena.
is Juno barren, in unfruitful Joys
Our British Jove his Nupital Hours employs.
So Fate ordains, that all our Hopes may be,
And all our Safety, Gallant York, in thee.
By the same Wish aspiring Queens are led,
Each languishing to mount his Royal Bed;
His Youth, his Wisdom, and his early Fame,
Create in ev’ry Breast a Rival Flame:
Remotest Kings sit trembling on their Thrones,
As if no Distance cou’d secure their Crowns;
Fearing his Valour, wisely they contend
To bribe with Beauty so renown’d a Friend:
Beauty the Price, there need no other Arts,
Love is the surest Bait for Heroes Hearts:
Nor can the Fair conceal as high Concern
To see the Prince, for whom, unseen, they burn.
Brave York, attending to gen’ral Voice,
At length resolves to make the wish’d-for Choice;
To noble Peterborough, Wise and Just,
Of his great Heart he gives the sacred Trust:
“Thy Eyes,” said he, “shall well direct that Heart
Where thou, my best belov’d, hast such a Part;
In Council oft, and oft in Battel try’d,
Betwixt thy Master, and the World, decide.”
The chosen Mercury prepares t’ obey
This high Command. Gently, ye Winds, convey,
And with auspicious Gales his Safety wait,
On whom depend Great Britain’s Hopes and Fate.
So Jason with his Argonauts, from Greece
To Colchos sail’d, to fetch the Golden Fleece.
As when the Goddesses came down of old
On Ida’s Hill, so many Ages told,
With Gifts their young Dardanian Judge they try’d,
And each bad high to win him to her Side;
So tempt they him, and æmulously vie
To bribe a Voice that Empires wou’d not buy;
With Balls and Banquets his pleas’d Sense they bait,
And Queens and Kings upon his Pleasure wait.
Th’ imperial Judge surveys, with vast Delight,
All that the Sun surrounds of Fair and Bright,
Then, strictly just, he, with adoring Eyes,
To radiant Esté gives the famous Prize.
Of Antique Stock, her high Descent she brings,
Born to renew the Race of Britain’s Kings,
Who cou’d deserve, like Her, in whom we see
United, all that Paris found in Three?
O Equal Pair! when both were set above
All other Merit, but each other’s Love.
Welcome, Bright Princess, to Great Britain’s Shore;
As Berecynthia to high Heav’n, who bore
That shining Race of Goddesses and Gods
Who rul’d the World, and fill’d the blest Abodes;
From thee, my Muse expects as noble Themes.
Another Mars and Jove, another James,
Our future Hopes all from thy Womb arise,
Our present Joy and Safety from your Eyes;
Those charming Eyes that shine, to reconcile,
To Harmony and Peace, our stubborn Isle:
On brazen Memnon, Phœbus casts a Ray,
And the tough Metal so salutes the Day.
The British Dame, fam’d for resistless Grace,
Contends not now, but for the second Place;
Our Love suspended, we neglect the Fair
For whom we burn’d, to gaze adoring here:
So sang the Syrens, with enchanting Sound,
Enticing all to listen and be drown’d,
’Till Orpheus ravish’d in a nobler Strain,
They ceas’d to sing, or singing charm’d in vain.
This blest Alliance, Peterborough, may
Th’ indebted Nation bounteously repay;
Thy Statues, for the Genius of our Land,
With Palm adorn’d, on ev’ry Threshold stand.
