ON THE KING'S RETURN TO WHITE-HALL, AFTER HIS SUMMER'S PROGRESS, 1684 by THOMAS FLATMAN

FROM those serene and rapturous joys
A country life alone can give,
Exempt from tumult and from noise,
Where Kings forget the troubles of their reigns,
And are almost as happy as their humble swains,
By feeling that @3they@1 live:
Behold th' indulgent Prince is come
To view the conquests of His mercy shown
To the new Proselytes of His mighty town,
And men and angels bid Him welcome home.
Not with an helmet or a glitt'ring spear
Does He appear;
He boast[s] no trophies of a cruel conqueror,
Brought back in triumph from a bloody war;
But with an olive-branch adorn'd,
As once the long expected Dove return'd.
Welcome as soft refreshing show'rs,
That raise the sickly heads of drooping flow'rs:
Welcome as early beams of light
To the benighted traveller,
When he descries bright Phosphorus from afar,
And all his fears are put to flight.
Welcome, more welcome does He come
Than life to Lazarus from his drowsy tomb,
When in his winding-sheet, at his new birth,
The strange surprising word was said -- Come forth!
Nor does the Sun more comfort bring,
When he turns Winter into Spring,
Than the blest advent of a peaceful King.

@3Chorus.@1

With trumpets and shouts we receive the World's Wonder,
And let the clouds echo His welcome with thunder,
Such a thunder as applauded what mortals had done,
When they fix'd on His brows His Imperial Crown.

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