Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, FOR THE KING'S BIRTHDAY 1731, by COLLEY CIBBER

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FOR THE KING'S BIRTHDAY 1731, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: When charles, from anarchy's retreat
Last Line: Fame shall preserve the great, and just.
Subject(s): Birthdays; Courts & Courtiers; Crowns; George Ii, King Of England (1683-1760); Happiness; Obedience; Royal Court Life; Royalty; Kings; Queens; Joy; Delight

When Charles, from anarchy's retreat,
Resum'd the regal seat;
When (hence by frantic zealots driv'n)
Our holy Church, our Laws,
Returning, with the royal cause,
Rais'd up their thankful eyes, to Heaven,
Then hand in hand,
To bless the land,
Protection, with Obedience came,
And mild Oblivion wav'd Revenge,
For wrongs of civil flame.

Wild, and wanton, then, our joys,
Loud, as raging war before:
All was triumph, tuneful noise,
None, from Heaven, could hope for more.

Brother, son, and father foes,
Now embracing, bless their home:
Who so happy, could suppose
Happier days were still to come?
But Providence, that better knows
Our wants, than we,
Previous to those,
(Which human wisdom could not, then, forsee)
Did, from the pregnant former day,
A race of happier reigns, to come, convey.

The Sun, we saw precede,
Those mighty joys restor'd,
Gave to our future need,
From great Plantagenet a Lord;
From whose high veins this greater day arose,
A second George to fix our world's repose,
From Charles restor'd, short was our term of bliss,
But George from George entails our happiness.

From a heart which abhors the abuse of high pow'r,
Are our liberties duly defended;
From a courage, inflam'd by the terrors of war,
With his fame, is our commerce extended.
Let our public high spirits be rais'd, to their height
Yet our prince, in that virtue, will lead'em.
From our welfare, he knows, that his glory's more bright;
As obedience enlarges our freedom.

What ties can bind a grateful people more,
That such diffus'd benevolence of pow'r?

If private views could more prevail,
Than ardour, for the public weal,
Then had his native, martial heat,
In arms seduc'd him to be great.

But godlike virtue, more inclin'd
To save, than to destroy,
Deems it superior joy,
To lead in chains of peace the mind.

With song, ye Britons, lead the day!
Sing! sing the morn, that gave him breath,
Whose virtues never shall decay,
No, never, never taste of death.

When tombs and trophies shall be dust,
Fame shall preserve the great, and just.

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