A POEM ON THE ARRIVAL OF Queen MARY. February the 12th. 1689.  
Written by Mr. RYMER.  
LONDON, Printed for Awnsham Churchil, at the Black Swan at Amen Corner. 1689.   

A POEM.  

BEhold descending on our English Shore,  
The like not born on Land, or Seas before.  
Her Face if from their Sea old Greece had seen,  
Flat they had Worshipped Love's Almighty Queen.  
Yet, if observed Her Mien, Her Conduct, they  
Must have confessed Her Pallas every way  
But had Her Power, and marvellous Might been told,  
What Clouds She gathered, and what Thunder roul'd;  
What Sceptres bow, what boundless Empire waits,  
Whilst She deals forth their Adamantine Fates;  
None to compare, none could they find above,  
But cry, O She! the very Mate of jove!  
To our bright Theme how look these Legends Vane,  
Awkward their Nymphs, their Goddesses profane?  
The Grecian Muse, their Rapture and their Rage,  
Their streams of Nectar, and their Golden Age,  
All now fulfilled; That Poetry and Style  
Gave only blind Prophetic Hints the while.   

No sooner Her fair Influence arose,  
What Glorious Scenes new Light, new Life disclose?  
When plunged in Night, and black Despair we lay,  
One glimpse from Her set open all our Day.  
Vice overflowed, and diluged all around;  
Injustice ran, disdaining Bank, or Bound;  
The World was lost, no Hospitable Shore,  
All Order gone, and Beauty was no more.  
When drooping Virtue no Retreat could find;  
When no Remains of reasonable kind;  
No Spirit left; no spark of Sense was shown,  
Above the level of a Stock or Stone.  
She strikes the Rock, the rudest Rocks Obey;  
New Life invades, and animates our Clay.  
Deucalion's Bride less wonderful appeared,  
When Humane Kind were from blue Quarries reared.  
Our Clods no longer their hard Fates restrain,  
But, out of hand, all scatter into men:  
The Log, the Lumber, and more stupid Race,  
Take Humane Form, and reasonable Face;  
They bless the Hand that does their Sense restore,  
And now resemble the old Block no more.   

She turns the mighty Machine of Affairs,  
Strikes Harmony throughout the jangling Spheres:  
The Elements, set free, resume their Place,  
And Nature shines, with Triumphs in Her Face.  
Love shakes his Wings, mad Animosities  
Lie still and hushed, beneath the healing Breeze.  
No Discords range; all from the angry heap,  
Charmed, into Form, and Beauteous Order leap.  
With Godlike State, above Mechanic sway,  
She sits, and sees the second Causes Play;  
Unmoved Herself, with an untroubled Brow,  
Beholds the Thorns that vex Crowned Heads below;  
The Active Part Her Mighty Consort takes;  
And, for the Weal of Humane Kind He wakes.  
Beneath Her Eyes His Generous Heart inspired,  
His Arm is strengthened, and His Prowess fired:  
Cheered by Her Rays His Care salutes the Morn,  
The West, and farthest Poles securely turn:  
His Providence, through Stratagem, and Steel,  
Drives on, no Jolt, nor ever cools the Wheel.  
So long, amongst the Dutch Her Presence seen,  
For ever stamps that Commonwealth Serene.  
Thence shall the Monarch wave His nice Debates,  
And strike before their Majesty, the States.  
Tho' through the Mass of Things Her Virtue run;  
And all from Her these Miracles are done.  
Her no Ambition moves, nor is She Proud,  
Save, in the Glorious Power of doing Good:  
So may She still above proceed a Queen,  
If She, on Earth, should ever cease to Reign.   
FINIS.