Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE VOLUNTEER LAUREAT; A POEM ON THE QUEEN'S BIRTHDAY, by RICHARD SAVAGE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE VOLUNTEER LAUREAT; A POEM ON THE QUEEN'S BIRTHDAY, by                 Poet Analysis    
First Line: Twice twenty tedious moons have rolled away
Last Line: I lose all memory of wrongs and woes.
Subject(s): Birthdays; Honor; Poetry & Poets


Twice twenty tedious moons have rolled away,
Since Hope, kind flatterer! tuned my pensive lay,
Whispering, that you, who raised me from despair,
Meant, by your smiles, to make life worth my care;
With pitying hand an orphan's tears to screen,
And over the motherless extend the Queen.
'Twill be -- the prophet guides the poet's strain!
Grief never touched a heart like your's in vain:
Heaven gave you power, because you love to bless,
And pity, when you feel it, is redress.
Two fathers joined to rob my claim of one!
My mother too thought fit to have no son!
The Senate next, whose aid the helpless own,
Forgot my infant wrongs, and mine alone!
Yet parents pitiless, nor peers unkind,
Nor titles lost, nor woes mysteriously joined,
Strip me of hope -- by heaven thus lowly laid,
To find a Pharaoh's daughter in the shade.
You cannot hear unmoved, when wrongs implore,
Your heart is woman, though your mind be more;
Kind, like the Power who gave you to our prayers,
You would not lengthen life to sharpen cares:
They who a barren leave to live bestow,
Snatch but from death to sacrifice to woe.
Hated by her, from whom my life I drew,
Whence should I hope, if not from heaven and you?
Nor dare I groan beneath affliction's rod,
My Queen, my mother; and my father, God.
The pitying muses saw me wit pursue,
A Bastard Son, alas! on that side too,
Did not your eyes exalt the poet's fire,
And what the muse denies, the queen inspire;
While rising thus your heavenly soul to view,
I learn, how angels think, by copying you.
Great Princess! 'tis decreed -- once every year
I march uncalled your Laureate Volunteer;
Thus shall your poet how low genius raise,
And charm the world with truths too vast for praise.
Nor need I dwell on glories all your own,
Since surer means to tempt your smiles are known;
Your poet shall allot your lord his part,
And paint him in his noblest throne, your heart.
Is there a greatness that adorns him best,
A rising wish that ripens in his breast?
Has he fore-meant some distant age to bless,
Disarm oppression, or expel distress?
Plans he some scheme to reconcile mankind,
People the seas. and busy every wind?
Would he, by pity, the deceived reclaim,
And smile contending factions into shame?
Would his example lend his laws a weight,
And breathe his own soft mortals over his state?
The muse shall find it all, shall make it seen,
And teach the world his praise, to charm the Queen.
Such be the annual truths my verse imparts,
Nor frown, fair favorite of a people's hearts!
Happy if placed, perchance, beneath your eye,
My muse unpensioned might her pinions try,
Fearless to fail, while you indulge her flame,
And bid me proudly boast your Laureat's name;
Renobled thus by wreaths my Queen bestows,
I lose all memory of wrongs and woes.







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