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THE VISION. A POEM ON THE DEATH of the QUEEN.
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THE VISION.
A POEM ON THE DEATH Of Her Moſt Gracious MAJESTY Queen CAROLINE.
By STEPHEN DUCK.
LONDON: Printed for J. ROBERTS, in Warwick-Lane, and J. JACKSON, in St. James's Street. M.DCC.XXXVII.
THE VISION. A POEM.
[1]'TWAS on the fatal Day that claims a Sigh
From ev'ry Heart, a Tear from ev'ry Eye;
Ere Albion's Joys were wholly ſnatch'd away,
Or Britons for their Queen forbid to pray:
While Hope and Fear contended in my Breaſt,
Intruding Sleep my weary Eyes oppreſt:
Wrapt in a Viſion,—where I cannot ſay,
Nor can the Muſe the glorious Place diſplay:
[2] It ſeem'd ſome bleſſed Angel's happy Sphere,
(Or bleſſed Angels might inhabit there;)
For ſure the beauteous Scene did far excel,
What Heathen Bards of bleſt Elyſium tell.
A Cloud of Glory ſhone before my Face,
Which ſhed refulgent Rays around the Place,
And ſcatter'd Colours, various to behold,
Here bluſhing Rubies, there the burniſh'd Gold.
As, wond'ring at the Scene, I gazing ſtood,
(Struck with religious Awe, that chill'd my Blood)
I ſaw BRITANNIA, with dejected Air,
Pale was her Face, diſhevell'd was her Hair:
Her trembling Hand had dropt the Laurel Bough,
A mournful Cypreſs wreath'd her penſive Brow:
Before the ſhining Cloud ſhe proſtrate lay,
And thus ſhe pray'd, or ſeem'd, at leaſt, to pray.
" ALMIGHTY Father! whoſe Commanding Pow'r,
Can haſten, or adjourn, the fatal Hour;
[3] Can lengthen, or contract, a Monarch's Reign,
Or raiſe the ſilent Dead to Life again:
Oh! ſtop thy threat'ning Arm, and ſpare awhile
One ſacred Life, ſo precious to my Iſle.
For Royal CAROLINA'S Health I ſue,
The beſt of Sov'reigns, and of Subjects too;
In ev'ry State her Goodneſs has been prov'd,
When rul'd, obedient; and when ruling, lov'd.
Securely bleſt, beneath her gentle Sway,
'Tis Happineſs to ſerve, and Pleaſure to obey.
NOR fewer Charms adorn her private Life,
The tend'reſt Mother, moſt ſubmiſſive Wife;
Who never yet her Conſort diſobey'd,
By Honour, Duty, Love, and Virtue ſway'd:
In Virtue's Path ſhe conſtantly proceeds,
By Virtue's Rule ſhe meaſures all her Deeds.
Ev'n now, tho' tortur'd with ſevereſt Pains,
Her patient Tongue adores Thee, not complains.
[4] To Thee her ardent Pray'rs and Praiſes tend,
On Thee, on Thee alone, her Hopes depend;
Firm Faith and Patience fortify her Mind,
To live, indiff'rent; or to die, reſign'd.
Yet ſpare her longer from her heav'nly Throne;
Spare her, for others Good, tho' not her own.
Look down, and ſee her duteous Children's Tears;
Look down, and hear the beſt of Monarch's Pray'rs:
See, round her Bed her tender Offspring kneels,
While ev'ry Pang her Royal Conſort feels.
Nor only They intreat Thee for her Breath,
Three Kingdoms beg Thee to avert her Death:
Religion, Learning, Art, and Science fear
To find a Period, and a Grave with Her.
For Her, the Widows weep a briny Tide;
For Her, whoſe Bounty has their Loſs ſupply'd:
For Her, unhappy, helpleſs Orphans mourn,
And ſhed more Tears than o'er their Parents Urn;
Their Parents Death they need no longer grieve,
Might CAROLINE, their better Parent, live;
[5] Who feeds the Hungry, ſuccours the Diſtreſt;
And from Oppreſſion reſcues the Oppreſt.
Ev'n in the Height of Power her Power was ſhown
In Acts of Love and Mercy like Thy own.
Oh! were She like Thee more in ev'ry State;
Oh! were She, were She, like Thee, free from Fate!
But That, alas! is not to Mortals giv'n;
Yet ſurely This is in the Grant of Heav'n:
Increaſe her Days, reſtore her native Bloom,
Nor crop the Royal Fruit till Autumn come.
Few are the Years to Mortal Man aſſign'd,
Ah! let not Her—to fewer be confin'd:
But ſtop thy threat'ning Arm, and ſpare awhile
Her ſacred Life, ſo precious to my Iſle."
She ſaid: The Tears ran trickling as ſhe ſpoke;
While from the radiant Cloud theſe Accents broke.
" BRITANNIA, ceaſe thy fruitleſs Tears, and know,
One certain Day is fix'd for all below:
[6] That Day permit to Heav'n; for Heav'n alone
Knows when the noble Work of Virtue's done.
Few are the Years, you ſay, of human Kind;
But Years add nothing to the perfect Mind.
Improperly, by Time, you count the Date;
'Tis virtuous Actions make a Life complete.
Suppoſe the Sun, that chears your earthly Clime,
Should run his deſtin'd Courſe in half the Time,
Performing all the Offices of Light,
Of Heat, of circling Seaſons, Day and Night:
Say, Could you think his Race too ſwiftly run?
Or, Could you call him an imperfect Sun?
Heav'n's greateſt Lord, that over All preſides;
Who rules that Sun, and all his Motions guides;
In Length of Years an Equal ne'er ſurvey'd;
But is not therefore worſhipp'd, or obey'd:
His Goodneſs only claims that Tribute due;
His Goodneſs, not his Age, tho' ever New.
If then, your gracious Queen, tho' few her Days,
Has practis'd ev'ry Virtue worthy Praiſe,
[7] Worthy immortal Bliſs: What can ſhe more,
Tho' Heav'n again her former Health reſtore?
Tho' Heav'n a Thouſand added Years beſtow,
Her Soul can be no perfecter below.
'Tis Time She now ſhould quit her mortal Throne,
To change an Earthly for a Heav'nly Crown.
And, ſee! She mounts Triumphant to the Skies,
Of all her Virtues reaps the glorious Prize!"
STARTING to hear the fatal Sentence ſpoke,
With trembling Joints, and ſtreaming Eyes, I 'woke.
When ſtrait I hear Complaints from ev'ry Tongue,
On ev'ry Face a Cloud of Sorrow hung:
Sad Sighs and Floods of fruitleſs Tears bemoan
The Nobleſt Queen that ever grac'd a Throne.
FINIS
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4742 The vision A poem on the death of Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Caroline By Stephen Duck. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5945-3