Come, ye Sons of Art, away!
Tune all your voices, and instruments play,
To celebrate this triumphant day.
Sound the trumpet, til around
You make the list’ning shores rebound.
On the sprightly hautboy play:
All the instruments of joy
That skilful numbers can employ
To celebrate the glories of this day.
Strike the viol, touch the lute,
Wake the harp, inspire the flute.
Sing your Patroness’s praise
In cheerful and harmonious lays.
The day that such a blessing gave
No common festival should be:
What it justly seem’d to crave
Grant, O grant, and let it have:
The honour of a jubilee.
Bid the Virtues, bid the Graces
To the sacred shrine repair,
Round the altar take their places,
Blessing with returns of prayer
Their great Defender’s care,
While Maria’s royal zeal
Best instructs you how to pray,
Hourly, hourly from her own
Conversing with th’Eternal Throne.
These are the sacred charms that shield
Her daring Hero in the field:
Thus she supports his righteous cause;
Thus to his aid immortal power she draws.
See Nature, rejoicing, has shown us the way
With innocent revels to welcome the day:
The tuneful grove and talking rill,
The laughing vale, replying hill,
With charming harmony unite,
The happy season to invite.
What the Graces require,
And the Muses inspire,
’Tis at once our delight and our duty to pay.
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