Oh best of friends, will ne'er the silent urn To our just vows the hapless youth return? Must he no more divert the tedious day? Nor sparkling thoughts in antique words convey? No more to harmless irony descend, To noisy fools a grave attention lend, Nor merry tales with learn'd quotations blend? No more in false pathetic phrase complain Of Delia's wit, her charms, and her disdain? Who now shall godlike Anna's fame diffuse? Must she, when most she merits, want a Muse? Who now our Twysden's glorious fate shall tell; How lov'd he liv'd, and how deplor'd he fell? How, while the troubled elements around, Earth, water, air, the stunning din resound; Through streams of smoke, and adverse fire, he While every shot is levell'd at his sides? How, while the fainting Dutch remotely fire, And the fam'd Eugene's iron troops retire, In the first frout, amidst a slaughter'd pile, High on the mound he dy'd near great Argyle. Whom shall I find unbiass'd in dispute, Eager to learn, unwilling to confute! To whom the labours of my soul disclose, Reveal my pleasure, or discharge my vows! Oh! in that heavenly youth for ever ends The best of sons, of brothers, and of friends. He sacred Friendship's strictest laws obey'd, Yet more by Conscience than by Friendship sway'd; Against himself his gratitude maintain❜d, By favours past, not future prospects gain'd: Not nicely choosing, though by all desir'd, Though learn'd, not vain; and humble, though Candid to all, but to himself severe, In humour pliant, as in life austere. A wise content his even soul secur'd, By want not shaken, nor by wealth allur'd. To all sincere, though earnest to commend, Could praise a rival, or condemn a friend. To him old Greece and Rome were fully known, Their tongues, their spirits, and their styles, his
Pleas'd the least steps of famous men to view,
Our authors' works, and lives, and souls, he knew;
Paid to the learn'd and great the same esteem,
The one his pattern, and the one his theme:
With equal judgment his capacious mind
Warm Pindar's rage, and Euclid's reason join'd.
Judicious physic's noble art to gain
All drugs and plants explor'd, alas, in vain!
The drugs and plants their drooping master fail'd,
Nor goodness now, nor learning aught avail'd;
Yet to the bard his Churchill's soul they gave,
And made him scorn the life they could not save:
Else could he bear unmov'd, the fatal guest,
The weight that all his fainting limbs opprest,
The coughs that struggled from his weary breast?
Could he unmov'd approaching death sustain ?
Its slow advances, and its racking pain?
Could he serene his weeping friends survey,
In his last hours his easy wit display,
Like the rich fruit he sings, delicious in decay?
Once on thy friends look down, lamented
shade,
And view the honours to thy ashes paid;
Some thy lov'd dust in Parian stones enshrine,
Others immortal epitaphs design,
With wit, and strength, that only yields to thine:
Ev'n 1, though slow to touch the painful string,
Awake from slumber, and attempt to sing.
Thee, Philips, thee despairing Vaga mourns,
And gentle Isis soft complaints returns ;
Dormer laments amidst the war's alarms,
And Cecil weeps in beauteous Tufton's arms:
Thee, on the Po, kind Somerset deplores,
And ev'n that charming scene his grief restores :
He to thy loss each mournful air applies,
Mindful of thee on huge Taburnus lies,
But most at Virgil's tomb his swelling sorrows rise.
But you, his darling friends, lament no more,
Display his fame, and not his fate deplore;
And let no tears from erring pity flow,
For one that's blest above, immortaliz'd below.
CHARLETTUS PERCIVALLO SUO.
HORA dum nondum sonuit secunda,
Nee puer nigras tepefecit undas,
Acer ad notos calamus labores
Sponte recurrit.
Quid priùs nostris potiúsve chartis
Illinam? Cuinam vigil ante noctem
Sole depulsam redeunte Scriptor
Mitto salutem?
Tu meis chartis, bone Percivalle,
Unicè dignus; tibi pectus implet
Non minor nostro novitatis ardor;
Tu quoque Scriptor.
Detulit rumor (mihi multa defert
Rumor) in sylvis modo te dedisse
Furibus prædanı, mediumque belli im-
pune stetisse.
Saucius num vivit adhuc Caballus
Anne? Ierneis potiora Gazis,
An, tua vitâ Tibi chariora,
Scripta supersunt?
Cui legis nostras, relegisque chartas?
Cui meam laudas generositatem?
Quem meis verbis, mea nescientem,
Mane salutas.
PERCIVALLUS CHARLETTO SUO.
QUALIS ambabus capiendus ulnis
Limen attingit tibi gratus hospes
Quum sacras primum subit aut relinquit
Isidis arces,
Qualis exultat tibi pars mamillæ
Læva, quùm cantu propriore strident
Missiles, et jam moneant adesse
Cornua, chartas,
Tale per nostrum jecur et medullas
Gaudium fluxit, simul ac reclusis
Vinculis vidi benè literati
Nomen amici,
Obvios fures, uti fama verax
Rettulit, sensi pavidus tremensque;
Sed fui, sumque, excipias timorem,
Cætera sospes.
Scire si sylvam cupias pericli
Consciam, et tristes nemoris tenebras,
Consulas lentè tabulas parantem
Te duce Colum.
Flebilis legi miseranda docti
Fata pictoris, sed & hoc iniqua
Damna consolor, superest perempto
Rixone Wildgoose.
Scribe Securus, quid agit Senatus
Quid Caput stertit grave Lambethanum,
Quid Comes Guildford, quid habent novorum
Dawksque Dyerque.
Me meus, quondam tuus, è popinis
Jenny jam visit, lacrimansque narrat,
Dum molit fucos, subito peremptum
Funere Riron.
Narrat (avertat Deus inquit omen)
Hospitem notæ periisse Mitræ;
Narrat immersam prope limen urbis
Flumine cymbam.
Narratat portis meus Hinton astat,
Nuncius Pricket redit, avocat me
Sherwin, & scribendæ aliò requirunt
Mille tabellæ.
Quæ tamen metram mulier labantem
Fulciet? munus vetulæ parentis,
Anna præstabit, nisi fors lerni
Hospita Cygni.
Lætus accepi celeres vigere
Pricketi plantas, simù! ambulanti
Plaudo Sherwino, pueroque Davo
Mitto salutem.
Jenny, post Hinton, comitum tuorum
Primus, ante omnes mihi gratulandus,
Qui tibi totus vacat, & vacabit,
Nec vetat Uxor.
Hæc ego lusi properante Musâ
Lesbie vatis numeros secutus;
Si novi quid sit, meliùs docebit
Sermo pedestris.
P. S.
Cœnitant mecum Comites lernæ,
Multa qui de te memorant culullos
Inter, & pulli, vice literarum,
Crus tibi mittunt.
POCOCKIUS.
DUM cæde tellus luxuriat Ducum,
Meum POTOCKI barbiton exigis,
Manésque Musam fastuosam
Sollicitant pretiosiores.
Alter virentum prorurat agmina
Sonora Thracum, donáque Phillidi
Agat puellas, heu decoris
Virginibus nimis invidenti.
Te nuda Virtus, te Fidei pius
Ardor serendæ, sanctaque Veritas
Per saxa, per pontum, per hostes
Præcipitant Asiæ misertum:
Cohors catenis quà pia stridulis
Gemunt onusti, vel sude trans sinum
Luctantur actâ, pendulive
Sanguineis trepidant in uncis, Sentis ut edunt sibila, ut ardui Micant dracones, tigris ut horridos Intorquet ungues, ejulátque In madido crocodilus antro Vides lacunæ sulphure lividos Ardere fluctus, quà stetit impiæ Moles Gomorrhæ mox procellâ Hausta rubra, pluviisque flammis: Quòd ista tellus si similes tibi Si fortè denos nutrierat Viros,
4 See Dr. Johnson's Life of Smith,
Adhuc stetisset, nec vibrato
Dextra Dei tonuisset igne.
Quin nunc requiris tecta virentia
Nini ferocis, nunc Babel arduum,
Immane opus, crescentibúsque
Vertice sideribus propinquum.
Nequicquam: Amici disparibus sonis
Eludit aures nescius artifex,
Linguásque miratur recentes
In patriis peregrinus oris.
Vestitur hinc tot sermo coloribus,
Quot tu, Pococki, dissimilis tui
Orator effers, quot vicissim
Te memores celebrare gaudent.
Hi non tacebunt quo Syriam senex
Percurrit æstu raptus, ut arcibus
Non jam superbis, & verendis
Indoluit Solimæ ruinis.
Quis corda pulsans tunc pavor hauserat
Dolor quis arsit non sine gaudio,
Cum busta Christi provolutus
Ambiguis lacrymis rigaret!
Sacratur arbos multa Pocockio,
Locósque monstrans inquiet accola.
Hæc quercus Hoseam supinum,
Hæc Britonem recreavit ornus.
Hic audierunt gens venerabilem
Ebræa Mosen, inde Pocockium
Non ore, non annis minorem,
Atque suam didicere linguam. Ac sicut albens perpetuâ nive Simul favillas, & cineres sinu Eructat ardenti, & pruinis
Contiguas rotat Ætna flammas; Sic te trementem, te nive candidum Mens intus urget, mens agit ignea Sequi reluctantem Ioëlem
Per tonitru, aëreásque nubes Annon pavescis, dum tuba pallidum Ciet Sionem, dum tremulum polo Caligat astrum, atque incubanti
Terra nigrans tegitur sub umbrâ? Quod agmen! heu quæ turma sequacibus Tremenda flammis ! quis strepitantium Flictus rotarum est! O Pococki Egregie, O animose Vatis Interpres abstrusi, O simili ferè Correpte flammâ, te, quot imagine Crucis notantur, te, subacto
Christicolæ gravis Ottomannus Gemens requirit, te Babylonii Narrant poëtæ, te pharetris Arabs Plorat revulsis, & fragosos
Jam gravior ferit horror agros. Quà Gesta nondum cognita Cæsaris, Qui nec Matronis scripta, Pocockius Ploratur ingens, & dolenda Nestoreæ brevitas senectæ.
JANUS, did ever to thy wondering eyes, So bright a scene of triumph rise? Did ever Greece or Rome such laurels wear, As crown'd the last auspicious year? When first at Blenheim Anne her ensigns spread, And Marlborough to the field the shouting squadrons led.
In vain the hills and streams oppose,
In vain the hollow ground in faithless hillocks rose.
To the rough Danube's winding shore,
His shatter'd foes the conquering hero bore.
They see with staring haggard eyes
The rapid torrent roll, the foaming billows rise;
Amaz'd, aghast, they turn, but find,
In Marlborough's arins, a surer fate behind.
Now his red sword aloft impends,
Now on their shrinking heads descends:
Wild and distracted with their fears,
They justling plunge amidst the sounding deeps:
The flood away the struggling squadrons sweeps,
And men, and arms, and horses, whirling bears.
The frighted Danube to the sea retreats,
The Danube soon the flying ocean meets,
Flying the thunder of great Anna's fleets.
Rooke on the seas asserts her sway,
Flames o'er the trembling ocean play,
And clouds of smoke involve the day.
Affrighted Europe hears the cannons roar,
And Afric echoes from its distant shore.
The French, unequal in the fight,
In force superior, take their flight.
Factions in vain the hero's worth decry,
In vain the vanquish'd triumph, while they fly.
Now, Janus, with a future view,
The glories of her reign survey,
Which shall o'er France her arms display,
And kingdoms now her own subdue.
Lewis, for oppression born;
Lewis, in his turn, shall mourn,
While his conquer'd happy swains,
Shall hug their easy wish'd-for chains.
Others, enslav'd by victory,
Their subjects, as their foes, oppress;
Anna conquers but to free,
And governs but to bless.
ORMOND'S glory, Marlborough's arms,
All the mouths of Fame employ;
And th' applauding world around
Echoes back the pleasing sound:
Their courage warms;
Their conduct charms;
Yet the universal joy
Feels a sensible alloy !
Mighty George, the senate's care,
The people's love, great Anna's prayer!
While the stroke of Fate we dread
Impending o'er thy sacred head,
The British youth for thee submit to fear,
For her the dames in cloudy grief appear!
Let the noise of war and joy
Rend again the trembling sky;
Hark how the feather'd choir their mattins chant,
And purling streams soft accents vent,
And all both time and measure know.
Ere since the Theban bard, to prove
The wondrous magic of his art,
Taught trees and forests how to move,
All Nature has a general concert held,
Each creature strives to bear a part;
And all but Death and Hell to conquering music
But stay, I hear methinks a motley crew,
A peevish, odd, eccentric race,
The glory of the art debase;
Perhaps because the sacred emblem 'tis
Of truth, of peace, and order too;
So dangerous 'tis to be perversely wise.
But be they ever in the wrong,
Who say the prophet's harp e'er spoil'd the poet's
[song!
GRAND CHORUS, FIVE PARTS,
To Athens now, my Muse, retire,
The refuge and the theatre of Wit;
And in that safe and sweet retreat
Amongst Apollo's sons inquire,
And see if any friend of thine be there:
But sure so near the Thespian spring
The humblest bard may sit and sing:
Here rest my Muse, and dwell for ever here.
|