The Virginia Gazette

A POEM.
Sacred to the Memory of his late Majesty King George the First.

So often as the God-like Prince I saw,
With Love and Joy it struck me more than Awe;
Such Love, as pious Souls in Worship bring
To him, who is, of Kings, eternal King.
Love, mixt with Fear, which to Devotion tends,
And Fear, that both begins in Love, and ends.
A Fear not rising from a slavish Sense,
Of Guilt and Punishment, but of Offence.
His Look Majestick, soften'd with the mild,
Confirm'd the Bashful, and the Bold beguil'd:
And on his People, like their Father, smil'd.
Such his Affection, such his guardian Care;
In Peace so gracious, and so firm in War;
In all his Ways so steady and so just,
Heav'n trusted him no more than he deserv'd the Trust.
Nations to him their Interests resign'd,
Sure, in all Grievances, Redress to find;
Or by his Wisdom, or superior Might,
Oppression yielded her Demands to Right,
But when on Ravage bent she had recourse
To Arms, and Force must be repell'd by Force,
How soon she hears his Naval Thunder roar,
And frighted, quits the late insulted Shoar.
To Peace, a Voice she hates, she lends an Ear,
And what she took from Justice, gives to Fear.
So when the fabled God his Trident shakes,
The Watry Mountains, pil'd on Mountains, quakes:
The warring Winds to distant Caves return,
And Amphitrite waves her peaceful Urn.
Peace for his People, not Himself, he chose,
A quicker Way he knew to curb his Foes.
The quickest and the surest Way is Arms;
And none more sensible of Glory's Charms
But Glory had no Charms, when he could part.
Thus faithful Britons by avoiding War.
Heav'n had his Foes: and such a Rebel Brood
Had he, who hated him for being good.
In Angelick Hosts, who Halleluiahs sung,
Triumphant from the Skies the Rebels flung.
The desperate Crew, that dar'd his Pow'r, To Hell:
His Love, the Heav'n, they lost, and Guilt their Hell.
But mercy then so mov'd him to forgive,
That where one dy'd. he bid a Thousand live.
Wrath ne'er had Entrance in his Royal Breast,
Till kindled by the Cry of the Opprest.
Then, like a Falcon to defend her Young,
His Flight as sudden, and his Grip as strong,
He drove the fierce Invader from his Prey,
And where 'twas Taken, firm'd Austria's Sway.
Of Heroes and of Demi-Gods the Toils
Were such, till Tyrants fed their Lusts with Spoils.
Till mighty Nimrods fill'd the World with Slaves,
And frantic turn'd her furrow'd Fields to Graves.
Fetter'd the Free, and bound the Brave in Chains;
And fatten'd with their Owners Blood, the Plains;
Till Caesar, with as wild and wasteful Aims,
Gave Tyranny and Rapine other Names.
Conquest and Glory they were then miscall'd;
And Nations, said to be reduc'd, enthrall'd.
A Cato then, and then a Brutus rose,
To War for Freedom, and Mankind's Repose;
Nor will the World, oppressing Kings to awe,
A Brunswick ever want, or a Nassau.
Heav'n of his Chosen will the Souls enlarge,
And give them Virtue equal to their Charge;
Such have we found since William rul'd our Lands
And Britain's Sceptre was in Brunswick Hands.
We've rul'd ourselves, but as our Monarchs bid;
For only what we will'd ourselves, they did.
Our Interests were theirs, and theirs were ours;
Ours were the Laws, and theirs to guard the Pow'rs.
On Liberty! how truly art thou great,
When thus with Empire thou'rt allow'd a Seat!
Oh Empire! how refulgent is thy Throne,
When Liberty, among thy Stars, is one,