On Miranda's Birth--Day. Poem by Henry Baker

I.
Thy Voice, O Muse! to sounding Numbers raise,
Strike, boldly strike the tuneful String,
And make the Hills and Vallies ring:
Again the fair Miranda claims thy Lays:
Her Natal Day must ever be
Devoutly solemniz'd by Thee,
With gladsom Joy, and charmful Harmony.

II.
Be husht, you Winds! let only Zephyrs blow;
You Seas, be calm; you Rivers! smoothly flow;
Gently, you Brooks! in Silence creep along;
Let noisy Echoe still her babling Tongue;
Nor Bird, nor Beast, disturb the Musick of my Song:
Let Discontent its Murmur cease,
And turbulent Contention be at peace.
Great Jove! propitious, from Olympus smile!
And Thou, bright Phoebus! stop thy Course a while!

III.
To Thee, Great Jove! eternal King!
To Thee let every Creature bow,
To Thee who giv'st them every Thing,
Let All with thankful Voices sing,
In Heav'n above, on Earth below.
Let other Beings bless thy Name,
For other Gifts bestow'd on them,
While for Miranda we extol the same,
And low, before thy Throne, prefer
Our Praises and our Vows for her.

IV.
How lovely hast thou form'd the wond'rous Maid!
How bright! how sweet! how exquisitely fair!
Beyond Description, and above Compare!
Her Smiles give Pleasure round. The blooming Spring
With all the Pride of Flora's Stores array'd,
So blesses and rejoyces ev'ry Thing.
When she among the Virgin Train appears,
No Beauty is observ'd but hers;
With such superior Grace the Crimson Rose
Amidst a Bank of Daisies grows:
So shines the Silver Moon amongst the Stars.

V.
No more, you Princes of the Earth! no more
Boast your wide Sway, or your despotick Pow'r!
You rule not half so absolute as She,
Whose Eyes command the Hearts of all they see
Ev'n you your selves (so happily she reigns)
Would gladly give your Crowns to wear her Chains.

VI.
Miranda! heav'nly Maid! on Thee
We gaze with Wonder and with Ecstasie:
Less joys the Husband--man, when wide around
He views the cultivated Plain
Waving its golden Loads of Grain,
And all the Hills with juicy Clusters crown'd.
In Thee alone compriz'd, we meet
Whatever Fancy can imagine Fair,
In Shape, in Feature, or in Air,
Awful as Juno, but as Venus sweet.
More blest whome'er the Gods ordain
To reap the Harvest of thy Charms,
Than had They destin'd Him to reign,
And conquer Kingdoms by his Arms.

VII.
O Thou Supreme! whose Will is Fate,
Long may She live the Joy of all Mankind!
Ah! make Her happy!--let her not be great!
Nor wear the smiling Mask of State,
While Discontent sits brooding in the Mind!
Far off, where freezing Winter reigns,
And the loud North for ever blows,
Bound fast in adamantine Chains,
On some bleak Rock white with eternal Snows,
Let raw--ey'd Sorrow, sleepless Care,
Morose Ill--nature, mad Debate,
Repining Envy, trembling Fear,
Suspicious Jealousy, revengeful Hate,
Ungovernable Rage, complaining Pain,
Helpless Distress, and wild Despair, remain,
With all the wretched Train of human Woes.

VIII.
Old Time! from this auspicious Day
Put thy threat'ning Scythe away,
And fill with golden Sand thy Glass;
Let the Hours
Crown'd with Flow'rs
Smile upon Her as they pass.
Let the Minutes dance along,
Deckt in all their best Array,
Full of Love, and full of Play,
Ever charming, ever young:
Each on its Brows a rosy Garland wear,
Unknown to pining Grief, and Strangers all to Care.
Let Health delightsom as the Morn,
Plenty with her Wine and Corn,
Blest Content, and blooming Joy,
And Cupid all--commanding Boy,
With Mirth and Pleasure Hand in Hand,
Lead the wanton laughing Band:
Peace sweetly tune her silver Strings,
And Happiness o'er all expand her downy Wings.