Hence, hence sad sorrows, and all past annoys,
Let nought approach you but triumphant joys;
And let us now remember with delight
Your strange escape from Worcester’s bloody fight,
Through thundering troops of armed foes, whose strife
Was to bereave you of your sacred life.
Where many thousand Britains spilt their blood,
Weltering in gore, for King and country’s good:
How oft have I your cruel fates bewailed?
How oft to heaven have our devotions sailed,
Through tides of briny tears, and blown with gales
Of mournful sighs, which daily filled the sails?
That heaven its sacred offspring would defend,
And to their sorrows put a joyful end.
Propitious were the heavens to our just prayer:
You on their wings the blessed angels bare
Through thousand dangers, which by land you past,
Till suddenly into the sea being cast,
The deities of Pontus flowing stream,
Did unto you than men far milder seem.
Great Aeolus himself hastes you to meet,
Prostrates the winds before your sacred feet;
Then with his power commands the fiercer gales,
Into their den, lest they disturb your sails:
Neptune straight calms the raging of the sea,
Before your stem the pleasant dolphins play;
The surly waves appeased, most gladly bore,
The happy vessel to the happier shore.
