By honour's purest dictates taught,
With "milk of human kindness" fraught,
Say, didst thou view with gentle scorn
The crowd by selfish passions torn,
Untry'd, forsake the dubious race,
And soar to thy congenial place?
And She *, in hardest conflicts tried,
By truth, by love, by blood allied,
Who wept with sister's tears his doom,
Too soon to fill a neighbouring tomb :
Ah! why profuse did Nature shed
Her gifts around her infant head;
With varying bloom her face adorn,
Like orient hues that deck the morn,
Shed purest lustre from her eyes,
Like radiant streams from northern skies.
At once inspiring awe and love,
Bade chasten'd graces round her move,
And native force of nobler soul
Pervade and dignify the whole;
* This lady, as much esteemed for her virtue and understanding, as admired for her beauty and elegance, died about a year after her lamented kinsman. See the Nymph of the Fountain in this volume, addressed to her a few years before her death.
And mild decorum's sober state
On all her looks and actions wait,
While mingled elegance and ease
Made every look and action please;
With feeling strong, with judgment clear,
Firm probity and truth sincere ;
Thro' sorrow's clouds we saw her shine,
Those clouds that made her your's and mine! Thus deck'd with every charm and grace, The loveliest of a lovely race;
Like purest gold in fire refin'd,
And rich in all the wealth of mind,
Why did she tread the paths of pain,
And seek for long-lost rest in vain ?
And why in vain did
you and I
Pour the soft balm of sympathy?
With generous love the worthy youth
To whom she vow'd her plighted truth,
Too fondly hop'd from future harms
To screen her in his faithful arms:
But soon he finds he grasps a shade,
And soon the transient roses fade,
And soon dissolv'd in ambient light
The beauteous vision quits his sight!
Yet ere she sunk to endless rest,
To soothe the anguish of his breast
She left a tender pledge of love,
To shew how seraphs smile above.
Now mercy's cup with blessings fraught,
Pours forth affliction's wholesome draught,-
A wholesome draught-yet drunk in vain,
If still the bitterest dregs remain,
If still with impious discontent
We murmur at the blessings lent
Or think the fruits of Paradise
Too early ripened for the skies,
And wish thro' wint'ry life to view
Their slow decay and faded hue;
Or like my fond presumptuous strain,
Lament as if they liv'd in vain;
On dear loy'd CHARLOTTE's early tomb:
Then let us mourn youth's withering bloom,
There will I lay my torpid lyre,
No more to glow with lambent fire;
No more to soothe the partial ear
With strains that friendship lov'd to hear,
Unless with nobler ardour blest,
Some holier transport fire my breast,
The strain exalt, the note refine,
And raise my moral to divine!
"What never yet was heard in tale or song,
"From old or modern bard, in hall or bower."
DEAR LADY CLAN, you well may know,
At least I've told you long ago,
In all things lawful and expedient,
You'd ever find me most obedient;
This gratitude and friendship bid,
They're ties of which I can't get rid;
(Tho' some to pride and envy martyrs, Conceal them as they would their garters ;) Yet making lists of obligations,
Is so like owning poor relations,
It makes one feel so shy and backward,
And in good company look aukward;
On second thought 'twill answer better,
Ere I conclude this rhyming letter,
Instead of owning favours due,
In long detail from me to you,
To send you here a brief recital
Of what I've given you in requital;
Then having set my mind at rest,
At leisure answer your request.
And first, the Muse that sixteen years With night-cap drawn about her ears, Lay in lethargic deep repose,
Nor teiz'd by friends, nor scorn'd by foes,
I wak'd, you well remember when,
To celebrate your turkey-hen;
And as she rubb'd her drowsy eyes,
And saw the bird's white spirit rise,
A spark of inspiration came
And kindled up the torpid dame,
To sing the happy annual feast
Where HYMEN smiles on every guest.
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