The works of the poets of Great Britain and Ireland. With prefaces, biographical and critical, by S. Johnson

How haft thou left the widow all forlorn,
And ever doom'd the orphan child to mourn;
Thro' life's fad journey hopeless to complain!
Can facred justice these events ordain ?
But, O my foul! avoid that wond'rous maze,
Where reafon, loft in endless error, strays!
As thro' this thorny vale of life we run,
Great Cause of all effects," Thy will be done!"
Now had the Grecians on the beach arriv'd,
To aid the helpless few who yet furviv'd:
While paffing they behold the waves o'erspread
With thatter'd rafts and corfes of the dead,
Three ftill alive, benumb'd and faint they find,
In mournful filence on a rock reclin'd
The generous natives, mov'd with social pain,
The feeble strangers in their arms futtain;
With pitying fighs their hapless lot deplore,
And lead them trembling from the fatal flore,

OCCASIONAL

ELE GY.

Nor hopeless Love impart undying pain,
When far from scenes of focial joy you roam.
No more on yon wide wat 'ry wafte you stray,

While hunger and disease your life confume; While parching thirst, that burns without allay, Forbids the blafted rofe of health to bloom.

No more you feel Contagion's mortal breath, That taints the realms with misery severe ; No more behold pale Famine, fcattering death, With cruel ravage defolate the year.

The thundering drum, the trumpet's fwelling ftrain, Unheard fhall from the long embattled line: Unheard, the deep foundations of the main

Shall tremble when the hoftile fquadrons join.

Since grief, fatigue and hazards still molest The wandring vaffals of the faithlefs deep, O! happier now efcap'd to endless reit,

Than we who ftill furvive to wake and weep.

What tho' no funeral pomp, no borrow'd tear, Your hour of death to gazing crouds shall tell; Nor weeping friends attend your fable bier,

Who fadly liften to the paffing bell:

The tutor'd figh, the vain parade of woe,
No real anguish to the foul impart;

HE scene of death is clos'd, the mournful And oft, alas! the tear that friends bestow,

THE

ftrains

Diffolve in dying langour on the ear:

Yet pity weeps, yet fympathy complains,

And damb fufpence awaits o'erwhelm'd with fear.

But the fad Mufes with prophetic eye

At once the future and the past explore; Their harps oblivion's influence can defy, And waft the spirit to th' eternal shore,

Then, O Palemon! if thy fhade can hear

The voice of Friendship still lament thy doom; Yet to the fad oblations bend thine ear,

That rife in vocal incenfe o'er thy tomb,

In vain, alas! the gentle maid shall weep,
While fecret anguish nips her vital bloom;
O'er her foft frame fhall ftern diseases creep,
And give the lovely victim to the tomb.

Relentless phrenzy shall the Father fting,
Untaught in Virtue's school distress to bear;
Severe remorse his tortur'd soul shall wring,
'Tis his to groan and perish in despair.

Ye loft companions of diftrefs, adieu!

Your toils and pains and dangers are no more! The Tempeft now shall howl unheard by you, While ocean fmites in vain the trembling shore.

On you the blaft, furcharg'd with rain and fnow,
In winter's difmal nights no more shall beat;
Unfelt by you the vertic fun may glow,
And fcorch the panting earth with baneful heat.

No more the joyful Maid, the sprightly strain,
Shall wake the dance to give you welcome home;
VOL. VHI.

my intent: Melpomene infpire,

While, with fad notes, I ftrike the trembling lyre!
And may my lines with eafy motion flow,

Melt as they move, and fill each heart with woe:
Big with the forrow it defcribes, my song,
In folemn pomp, majeftic, move along.

Oh! bear me to fome awful filent glade
Where cedars form an unremitting shade;
Where never track of human feet was known;
Where rever cheerful light of Phoebus fhone;
Where chirping linnets warble tales of love,
And hoarfer winds howl murm'ring thro' the grove;
Where fome unhappy wretch ay mourns his doom,
Deep melancholy wand'ring thro' the gloom;
Where Solitude and Meditation roam,

And where no dawning glimpse of hope can come :
Place me in fuch an unfrequented fhade,
To speak to none but with the mighty dead:
T'affift the pouring rains with brimful eyes,
And aid hoarfe howling Boreas with my fighs.

When Winter's horrors left Britannia's ifle,
And Spring in blooming verdure gan to smile;
When rills unbound, began to purl along,
And warbling larks renew'd the vernal fong;
When fprouting rofes, deck'd in crimson dye,
Began to bloom,-

Hard fate! then, noble FRED'RIC, didft thou die:
Doom'd by inexorable Fate's decree,

Th' approaching fummer ne'er on earth to fee;
In thy parch'd vitals burning fevers rage,
Whofe flame the virtue of no herbe affwage;
No cooling med'cine can its heat allay,
Relentless Deftiny cries, "No delay,"
Ye Pow'rs! and must a prince fo noble die?
(Whofe equal breathes not under th' ambient fky:)
Ah muft he die, then, in youth's full-blown
prime,

Cut by the fcythe of all-devouring Time?
Yes, Fate has doom'd! his foul now leaves

weight,

And all are under the decree of Fate;
Th' irrevocable doom of Destiny
Pronounc'd, All mortals muft fubmiffive die.
The Princes wait around with weeping eyes,
And the dome echoes all with piercing cries:
With doleful noife the matrons fcream around,
With female fhrieks the vaulted roofs rebound:
A difmal noife! Now one promifcuous roar
Cries, "Ah! the noble FRED'RIC is no more!"
The Chief reluctant yields his latest breath,
His eye-lids fettle in the fhades of death;
Dark fable fhades prefent before each eye,
And the deep vaft abyss, Eternity!
Thro' Perpetuity's expanfe he springs;

And o'er the vaft profound he shoots on wings:
The Soul to diftant regions fteers her flight,
And fails incumbent on inferior night:
With vaft celerity the shoots away,
And meets the regions of eternal day,
To fhine for ever in the heav'nly birth,
And leave the body here to rot on earth.
The melancholy patriots round it wait,
And mourn the royal hero's timeless fate.
Difconfolate they move, a mournful band!
Infolemn pomp they march along the ftrand:

The noble Chief interr'd in youthful bloom,
Lies in the dreary regions of the tomb.

Adown AUGUSTA's pallid vifage flow
The living pearls, with unaffected woe:
Difconfolate, hapless, fee pale Britain mourn,
Abandon'd ifle! forfaken and forlorn!

With defp'rate hands her bleeding breast she beats;
While o'er her, frowning, grim Destruction threats,
She mourns with heart-felt grief, the rends her hair,
And fills with piercing cries the echoing air.
Well may'ft thou mourn thy Patriot's timeless end,
Thy Mufes patron, and thy Merchants friend.
What heart fhall pity thy full-flowing grief?
What hand now deign to give thy poor relief?
T'encourage arts, whofe bounty now fhall flow,
And learned fcience to promote, bestow?
Who now protect thee from the hostile frown,
And to the injur'd Juft return his own?
From us'ry and oppreffion who fhall guard
The helpless, and the threat'ning ruin ward?
Alas! the truly noble Briton's gone,
And left us here in ceaseless woe to moan!
Impending Defolation hangs around,

And ruin hovers o'er the trembling ground:
The blooming Spring droops her enamel'd head,
Her glories wither, and her flow'rs all fade:
The sprouting leaves already drop away;
Languifh the living herbs with pale decay:
The bowing trees, fee; o'er the blasted heath,
Depending, bend beneath the weight of death:
Wrapp'd in th' expanfive gloom, the lightnings play,
Hoarfe thunder mutters thro' th' aerial way:
All nature feels the pangs, the ftorms renew,
And sprouts, with fatal hafte, the baleful yew.

Some pow'r avert the threat'ning horrid weight,
And, godlike, prop Britannia's finking state!
Minerva, hover o'er young GEORGE's foul;
May facred wisdom all his deeds controul!
its Exalted grandeur in each action shine,

His conduct all declare the youth divine.

Methinks I fee him shine a glorious star,
Gentle in peace, but terrible in war!
Methinks each region does his praife refound,
And nations tremble at his name around!
His fame, thro' ev'ry diftant kingdom rung,
Proclaims him of the race from whence he sprung!
So fable fmoke, in volumes, curls on high,
Heaps roll on heaps, and blacken all the sky:
Already fo, his fame, methinks, is hurl'd
Around th' admiring venerating world.
So the benighted wand'rer, on his way,
Laments the abfence of all-cheering day;
Far diftant from his friends and native home,
And not one glimpse does glimmer thro' the gloom:
In thought he breathes, each figh his lateft breath,
Prefent, each meditation, pits of death:

Irreg'lar, wild chimæras fill his foul,
And death, and dying, every step controul.
Till from the eaft there breaks a purple gleam,
His fears then vanish as a fleeting dream.
Hid in a cloud the Sun first shoots his ray,
Then breaks effulgent on th' illumin'd day;
We fee no fpot then in the flaming rays,
Confus'd and loft within th' exceffive blaze.

GAIN the royal streamers play!

To glory Edward haftes away;

Adieu, ye happy filvan bowers,

Where Pleafure's sprightly throng await!
Ye domes, where regal Grandeur towers
In purple ornaments of state!

Ye scenes where Virtue's facred ftrain
Bids the tragic Mufe complain!
Where Satire treads the comic stage,
To fcourge and mend a venal age;
Where Mufic pours the foft, melodious lay,
And melting Symphonies congenial play!
Ye filken Sons of Eafe, who dwell
In flowery vales of Peace, farewell!

In vain the Goddess of the Myrtle Grove
Her charms ineffable difplays;

In vain the calls to happier realms of Love,
Which Spring's unfading bloom arrays:
In vain her living rofes blow,
And ever-vernal pleasures grow;
The gentle sports of youth no more
Allure him to the peaceful shore:

Arcadian ease no longer charms,

For War and Fame alone can please.

His throbbing bofom beats to arms,

To War the Hero moves, thro' ftorms and wintery feas.

CHORUS.

The gentle fports of youth no more
Allure him to the peaceful shore,
For War and Fame alone can please ;

To War the Hero moves, thro' ftorms and wintery feas.

Though Danger's hoftile train appears
To thwart the courfe that Honour steers;
Unmov'd he leads the rugged way,
Defpifing peril and difmay:

His Country calls; to guard her laws,
Lo! every joy the gallant youth refigns;
Th' avenging naval fword he draws,

And o'er the waves conducts her martial lines:
Hark! his fprightly clarions play;
Follow where he leads the way!
The piercing fife, the founding drum,
Tell the deeps their Master's come.

CHORUS.

Hark! his fprightly clarions play; Follow where he leads the way!

The piercing fife, the founding drum, Tell the deeps their Master's come.

Thus Alcmena's warlike Son The thorny courfe of Virtue run, When, taught by her unerring voice, He made the glorious choice: Severe, indeed, th' attempt he knew, Youth's genial ardors to fubdue: For Pleasure Venus' lovely form affum'd; Her glowing charms, divinely bright, In all the pride of beauty bloom'd, And ftruck his ravish'd fight. Transfix'd, amaz'd, Alcides gaz'd: Inchanting grace Adorn'd her face,

And all his changing looks confeft Th' alternate paffions in his breast: Her fwelling bofom half reveal'd,

Her eyes that kindling raptures fir'd,
A thousand tender pains inftill'd,

A thoufand flatt'ring thoughts infpir'd:
Perfuafion's fweeteft language hung
In melting accent on her tongue:
Deep in his heart, the winning tale
Infus'd a magic power;

She preft him to the rofy vale,

And fhew'd th' Elysian bower:
Her hand, that trembling ardors move,
Conducts him blushing to the blest alcove:

Ah! fee, o'erpower'd by Beauty's charms
And won by Love's refiftlefs arms,
The captive yields to Nature's foft alarms!

CHORUS.

Ah! fee, o'erpower'd by Beauty's charms, And won by Love's refiftlefs arms, The captive yields to Nature's foft alarms!

Affift, ye guardian powers above,
From Ruin fave the fon of Jove,
By heavenly mandate Virtue came,
And check'd the fatal flame:
Swift as the quivering needle wheels,
Whose point the magnet's influence feels,
Infpir'd with awe,
He, turning, faw
The Nymph divine
Tranfcendent shine;

And, while he view'd the godlike maid,
His heart a facred impulfe fway'd:

His eyes with ardent motion roll,

And Love, Regret, and Hope, divide his four.
But foon her words his pain destroy,

And all the numbers of his heart,
Return'd by her celeftial art,
Now fwell'd to ftrains of nobter joy.
Inftructed thus by Virtue's lore,
His happy fteps the realms explore
Where guilt and error are no more:
The clouds that veil'd his intellectual ray,
Before her breath dispelling, melt away:
Broke loofe from Pleasure's glittering chain,
He fcorn'd her foft inglorious reign,
Convinc'd, refolv'd, to Virtue then he turn',
And in his breaft paternal glory burn

All diffonant ftrife they difclaim:
To meet the foe,
Their bofoms glow;
Who only are rivals in fame.

CHORUS.

Thy feamen invincibly true,
No menace, no fraud, can fubdue:
All diffonant ftrife they difclaing
And only are rivals in fame.

For Edward tune your harps, ye Nine!
Triumphant ftrike each living string,
For him, in extacy divine,

Your choral Io Paans fing!
For him your feftive concerts breathe!
For him your flowery garlands wreathe!
Wake! O wake the joyful fong!

Ye Fauns of the woods,
Ye Nymphs of the floods,
The mufical current prolong!
Ye Sylvans, that dance on the plain,
To fwell the grand chorus accord!
Ye Tritons, that fport on the main,
Exulting acknowledge your Lord!
Till all the wild numbers combin'd,
That floating proclaim

Our Admiral's name,
In fymphony roll on the wind!

CHORUS.

Wake! O wake the joyful fong!
Ye Sylvans, that dance on the plain,
Ye Tritons, that sport on the main,
The mufical current prolong!

O! while confenting Britons praife,

Thefe votive measures deign to hear;
For thee my Mufe awakes her lays,
For thee th' unequal viol plays,

The tribute of a foul fincere.
Nor thon, illuftrious Chief, refuse
The incenfe of a nautic muse!

For ah! to whom shall Neptune's fons complait,
But him whofe arms unrivall'd rule the main
Deep on my grateful breast

Thy favour is imprest :
No happy fon of wealth or fame
To court a royal patron came!
A hapless youth, whofe vital page
Was one fad lengthen'd tale of woe,

Where ruthless fate, impelling tides of rage.
Bade wave on wave in dire fucceffion flow,
To glittering stars and titled names unknown,
Preferred his fuit to thee alone.

The tale your facred pity mov'd; You felt, confented, and approv'd, Then touch my strings, ye bleft Pierian quire! Exalt to rapture every happy line! y bofom kindle with Promethean fire! And fwell each note with energy divine. No more to plaintive sounds of woe Let the vocal numbers flow! erhaps the Chief to whom I fing May yet ordain aufpicious days, To wake the lyre with nobler laye ad tune to war the nebus ftring

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DEMAGOGUE.

OLD is the attempt, in thefe licentious times,
When with fuch towering ftrides Sedition
climbs,

With fenfe or fatire to confront her power,
And charge her in the great decifive hour:
Bold is the man, who, on her conquering day,
Stands in the pafs of fate to bar her way:
Whofe heart, by frowning arrogance unaw'd,
Or the deep-lurking fnres of fpecious fraud,
The threats of giant-faction can deride,
And ftem, with ftubborn arm, her roaring tide,.
For him unnumber'd brooding ills await,
Scorn, malice, infolence, reproach, and hate:
At him, who dares this legion to defy,
A thousand mortal shafts in fecret fly;
Revenge, exulting with malignant joy,
Purfues the incautious victim to destroy:
And Slander strives, with unrelenting aim,
To fpit her blafting venom on his name:
Around him Faction's harpies flap their wings,
And rhyming vermin dart their feeble ftings:
In vain the wretch retreats, while, in full cry,
Fierce on his throat the hungry blood-hounds fly.
Inclos'd with perils thus the confcious Muse,
Alarm'd, tho' undismay'd, her danger views.
Nor fhall unmanly terror now controul
The ftrong refentment ftruggling in her foul;
While indignation, with refiftless strain,
Pours her full deluge thro' each fwelling vein.
By the vile fear that chills the coward break,
By fordid caution is her voice fuppreft,
While Arrogance, with big theatric rage,
Audacious ftruts on Power's imperial stage;
While o'er our country, at her dread command,
Black Difcord, screaming, shakes her fatal brand:
While, in defiance of maternal laws,
The facrilegious fword Rebellion draws;
Shall the at this important hour retire,
And quench in Lethe's wave her genuine fire?
Honour forbid! fhe fears no threat'ning foe,
When confcious Juftice bids her bofom glow:
And while he kindles the reluctant flame,
Let not the prudent voice of Friendship blame
She feels the fting of keen refentment goad,
Tho' guildefs yet of Satire's thorny road.

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The works of the poets of Great Britain and Ireland. With prefaces ..., Band 8