GReat Charles: there stop you trumpeters of fame, (For he who speakes his titles, his great name, Must have a breathing time,) Our King: stay there, Tel't by degrees, let the inquisitive eare Bee held in doubt, and ere you say; Is come; Let every heart prepare a spacious roome For ample joyes: then 10 sing as loud As thunder shot from the divided cloud. Let Cygnus plucke from the Arabian waves The ruby of the rocke, the pearle that paves Great Neptune's Court; let every sparrow beare From the three sisters' weeping barke a teare; Let spotted Lynces their sharpe tallons fill With christall fetch'd from the Promethean hill. Let Cytherea's birds fresh wreathes compose, Knitting the pale-fac't lilly with the rose. Let the selfe-gotten Phoenix rob his nest, Spoyle his owne funerall pile, and all his best Of myrrhe, of frankincense, of Cassia bring, To strew the way for our returned King. Let every post a Panegyricke weare, Each wall, each piller gratulations beare: And yet let no man invocate a Muse; The very matter will it selfe infuse A sacred fury. Let the merry Bells (For unknowne joyes worke unknowne miracles) Ring without helpe of Sexton, and presage A new-made holyday for future age. And if the Ancients us'd to dedicate A golden Temple to propitious fate, At the returne of any noble men, Of Heroes, or of Emperours, wee must then Raise up a double Trophee; for their fame Was but the shaddow of our CHARLES his name. Who is there where all virtues mingled flow? Where no defects, no imperfections grow? Whose head is alwayes crown'd with victory, Snatch'd from Bellona's hand, him luxury In peace debilitates; whose tongue can win Tullie's owne garland, to him pride creeps in. On whom (like Atlas' shoulders) the propt state (As hee were Primum Mobile of fate) Solely relies, him blind ambition moves; His Tyranny the bridled subject proves. But all those vertues which they all possest Divided, are collected in thy breast, Great Charles; let Coesar boast Pharsalia's fight, Honorius prayse the Parthians' unfeyn'd flight. Let Alexander call himselfe Iove's peere, And place his Image next the Thunderer, Yet whil'st our Charles with equall ballance reignes 'Twixt Mercy and Astrea; and mainteynes A noble peace, 'tis hee, 'tis onely hee Who is most neere, most like the Deitie. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEVOURER OF NATIONS by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN by WASHINGTON ALLSTON THE FIRST VOYAGE OF JOHN CABOT [1497] by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE PRAIRIES by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A PASTORAL DIALOGUE: SHEPHERD, NYMPH, CHORUS by THOMAS CAREW AN ODE TO THE RAIN by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |