God is in heaven, and men below; Be short, our tunes; our words be few; A sacred reverence checks our songs, And praise sits silent on our tongues. Tibi silet laus, O Deus. Psalm lxv. 1. HORE LYRICE. BOOK II. SACRED TO VIRTUE, HONOUR, AND FRIENDSHIP. TO HER MAJESTY. QUEEN of the Northern world, whose gentle sway, Of blooming joy, three happy realms appear, Stands; nor complains: while from thy gracious tongue Peace flows in silver streams amidst the throng. The German eagle feels her guardian dead, Not her own thunder can secure her head; Her trembling eaglets hasten from afar, And Belgia's lion dreads the Gallic war; All hide behind thy shield. Remoter lands, Whose lives lay trusted in Nassovian hands, Transfer their souls, and live; secure they play In thy mild rays, and love the growing day. Thy beamy wing at once defends and warms To bless thy councils, and assist thy hands, Feels its own fire, and kindles, unconfin'd, With bolder hopes: yet still beyond our vows, Thy lovely glories rise, thy spreading terror grows. *The Established Church of England. The Protestant Dissenters. Princess! the world already owns thy name : Go, mount the chariot of immortal fame, Nor die to be renown'd; Fame's loudest breath Too dear is purchas'd by an angel's death. The vengeance of thy rod, with general joy, Shall scourge rebellion and the rival boy:* Thy sounding arms his Gallic patron hears, And speeds his flight; nor overtakes his fears, Till hard despair wring from the tyrant's soul The iron tears out. Let thy frown control Our angry jars at home, till wrath submit Her impious banners to thy sacred feet. Mad zeal and frenzy, with their murderous train, Flee these sweet realms in thine auspicious reign, Envy expire in rage, and Treason bite the chain.. Let no black scenes affright fair Albion's stage: Cheer thy sad Britons in the gloomy hour; *The Pretender. + She made Charles, the Emperor's second son, King of Spain, who was afterwards Emperor of Germany. |