Classic and Contemporary Poetry
UPON THE KING'S HAPPY RETURN FROM SCOTLAND, by HENRY KING (1592-1669) Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: So breaks the day, when the returning sun Last Line: In thankful sacrifice for your return. Subject(s): Charles Ii, King Of England (1630-1685); Homecoming; Scotland - Relations With England | ||||||||
SO breaks the day, when the returning Sun Hath newly through his winter tropic run, As You (Great Sir!) in this regress come forth From the remoter climate of the North. To tell You now what cares, what fears we past, What clouds of sorrow did the land o'er-cast, Were lost, but unto such as have been there, Where the absented Sun benights the year: Or have those countries travel'd, which ne'er feel The warmth and virtue of his flaming wheel. How happy yet were we! that when You went, You left within Your Kingdom's firmament A Partner-light, whose lustre may despise The nightly glimm'ring tapers of the skies, Your peerless Queen; and at each hand a Star, Whose hopeful beams from You enkindled are. Though (to say truth) the light, which they could bring, Serv'd but to lengthen out our evening. Heaven's greater lamps illumine it; each spark Adds only this, to make the sky less dark. Nay, She, who is the glory of her sex, Did sadly droop for lack of Your reflex: Oft did She her fair brow in loneness shroud, And dimly shone, like Venus in a cloud. Now are those gloomy mists dry'd up by You, As the world's eye scatters the ev'ning dew: And You bring home that blessing to the land, Which absence made us rightly understand. Here may You henceforth stay! there need no charms To hold You, but the circle of her arms, Whose fruitful love yields You a rich increase, Seals of Your joy, and of the kingdom's peace. O may those precious pledges fix You here, And You grow old within that crystal sphere! Pardon this bold detention. Else our love Will merely an officious trouble prove. Each busy minute tells us, as it flies, That there are better objects for Your eyes. To them let us leave You, whilst we go pray, Raising this triumph to a Holy-day. And may that soul the Church's blessing want, May his content be short, his comforts scant, Whose bosom-altar does no incense burn, In thankful sacrifice for Your return. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE BURIAL-MARCH OF THE DUNDEE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE ISLAND OF THE SCOTS by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN ADDRESS TO BEELZEBUB by ROBERT BURNS EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM OF FINTRY (1) by ROBERT BURNS POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER by ROBERT BURNS STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT by ROBERT BURNS SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION by ROBERT BURNS THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER by ROBERT BURNS A CONTEMPLATION UPON FLOWERS by HENRY KING (1592-1669) |
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