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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=457105" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Ode - Presented To The King, On His Majesty's Arrival In Holland, After The Queen's Death</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">At Mary's tomb (sad sacred place!)<br>The Virtues shall their vigils keep,<br>And every Muse and every Grace<br>In solemn state shall ever weep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The future pious mournful fair,<br>Oft as the rolling years return, <br>With fragrant wreaths and flowering hair<br>Shall visit her distinguish'd urn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For her the wise and great shall mourn, <br>When late records her deeds repeat;<br>Ages to come and men unborn<br>Shall bless her name and sigh her fate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair Albion shall, with faithful trust,<br>Her holy Queen's sad relics guard,<br>Till Heaven awakes the precious dust,<br>And gives the saint her full reward.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But let the King dismiss his woes,<br>Reflecting on his fair renown,<br>And take the cypress from his brows,<br>To put his wonted laurels on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If press'd by grief our monarch stoops,<br>In vain the British lions roar:<br>If he whose hand sustain'd them droops,<br>The Belgic darts will wound no more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Embattled princes wait the chief <br>Whose voice should rule, whose arm should lead,<br>And in kind murmurs chide that grief<br>Which hinders Europe being freed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The great example they demand<br>Who still to conquest led the way,<br>Wishing him present to command,<br>As they stand ready to obey.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They seek that joy which used to glow<br>Expanded on the hero's face,<br>When the thick squadrons press'd the foe, <br>And William led the glorious chase.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To give the mournful nations joy<br>Restore them thy auspicious light,<br>Great Sun! with radiant beams destroy<br>Those clouds which keep thee from our sight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let thy sublime meridian course<br>For Mary's setting rays atone;<br>Our lustre, with redoubled force,<br>Must now proceed from thee alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">See, pious King! with different strife<br>Thy struggling Albion's bosom torn:<br>So much she fears for William's life<br>That Mary's fate she dare not mourn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her beauty, in thy softer half <br>Buried and lost, she ought to grieve,<br>But let her strength in thee be safe;<br>And let her weep, but let her live.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou, guardian angel! save the land <br>From thy own grief, her fiercest foe, <br>Lest Britain, rescued by thy hand, <br>Should bend, and sink beneath thy wo.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her former triumphs all are vain<br>Unless new trophies still be sought,<br>And hoary Majesty sustain<br>The battles which thy youth has fought.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where now is all that fearful love<br>Which made her hate the war's alarms?<br>That soft excess with which she strove<br>To keep her hero in her arms?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While still she chid the coming spring,<br>Which call'd him o'er his subject seas,<br>While for the safety of the king, <br>She wish'd the victor's glory less.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis changed; 'tis gone: sad Britain now<br>Hastens her lord to foreign wars:<br>Happy if toils may break his wo,<br>Or danger may divert his cares.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In martial din she drowns her sighs,<br>Lest he the rising grief should hear;<br>She pulls her helmet o'er his eyes,<br>Lest she should see the falling tear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Go, mighty prince! let France be taught<br>How constant minds by grief are tried,<br>How great the land that wept and fought,<br>When William led and Mary died!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fierce in the battle make it known,<br>Where Death with all his darts is seen,<br>That he can touch thy heart with none <br>But that which struck the beauteous Queen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Belgia indulged her open grief,<br>While yet her master was not near,<br>With sullen pride refused relief,<br>And sate obdurate in despair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As waters from her sluices flow'd<br>Unbounded sorrow from her eyes;<br>To earth her bended front she bow'd,<br>And sent her wailings to the skies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But when her anxious lord return'd,<br>Raised is her head, her eyes are dried;<br>She smiles as William ne'er had mourn'd:<br>She looks as Mary ne'er had died.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That freedom which all sorrows claim<br>She does for thy content resign;<br>Her piety itself would blame<br>If her regrets should weaken thine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To cure thy wo she shows thy fame,<br>Lest the great mourner should forget <br>That all the race whence Orange came<br>Made Virtue triumph over Fate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">William his country's cause could fight,<br>And with his blood her freedom seal;<br>Maurice and Henry guard that right<br>For which their pious parents fell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How heroes rise, how patriots set,<br>Thy father's bloom and death may tell;<br>Excelling others these were great;<br>Thou, greater still, must these excel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The last fair instance thou must give<br>Whence Nassaus's virtue can be tried,<br>And show the world that thou canst live<br>Intrepid as thy consort died.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy virtue, whose resistless force<br>No dire event could ever stay,<br>Must carry on its destined course<br>Though Death and Envy stop the way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For Britain's sake, for Belgia's, live; <br>Pierced by their grief, forget thy own; <br>New toils endure, new conquest give,<br>And bring them ease, though thou hast none.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Vanquish again, though she be gone<br>Whose garland crown'd the victor's hair;<br>And reign, though she has left the throne<br>Who made thy glory worth thy care.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair Britain never yet before<br>Breathed to her king a useless prayer;<br>Fond Belgia never did implore<br>While William turn'd averse his ear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But should the weeping hero now<br>Relentless to their wishes prove, <br>Should he recal, with pleasing wo, <br>The object of his grief and love;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her face with thousand beauties bless'd,<br>Her mind with thousand virtues stored,<br>Her power with boundless joy confess'd,<br>Her person only not adored.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet ought his sorrow to be check'd;<br>Yet ought his passions to abate;<br>If the great mourner would reflect, <br>Her glory in her death complete.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She was instructed to command,<br>Great king, by long obeying there;<br>Her sceptre, guided by thy hand, <br>Preserved the isles, and ruled the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But oh! 'twas little, that her life<br>O'er earth and water bears thy fame:<br>In death, 'twas worthy William's wife,<br>Amidst the stars to fix his name.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beyond where matter moves, or place<br>Receives its forms, thy virtues roll;<br>From Mary's glory, angels trace<br>The beauty of her partner's soul.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wise fate, which does its heaven decree<br>To heroes, when they yield their breath,<br>Hastens thy triumph. Half of thee<br>Is deified before thy death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alone to thy renown 'tis given,<br>Unbounded through all worlds to go:<br>While she, great saint, rejoices heaven;<br>And thou sustain'st the orb below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Matthew+Prior">Matthew Prior</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=457105" data-title="An Ode - Presented To The King, On His Majesty's Arrival In Holland, After The Queen's Death de Matthew Prior" data-description="At Mary's tomb (sad sacred place!)
The Virtues shall their vigils keep,
And every Muse and every Grace
In solemn state shall ever weep.

The future pious mournful fair,
Oft as the rolling years return, 
With fragrant wreaths and flowering hair
Sha..."></div>
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