 | A collection of poems |  |
19
A poetical Lamentation, occasioned by the Death of His late Majesty King GEORGE the First.
Now, O ye nine! if all your pow'rs can paint
The scenes of woe which wake this loud complaint,
Breath from my muse such soft and solemn verse,
As suits to strew my matchless Sov'reign's hearse;
And let my grief in mournful musick glide
To Albion's shores, and join the gen'ral tide.
The scenes of woe which wake this loud complaint,
Breath from my muse such soft and solemn verse,
As suits to strew my matchless Sov'reign's hearse;
And let my grief in mournful musick glide
To Albion's shores, and join the gen'ral tide.
While in this task I'd try the tenderest skill,
Beneath the subject sinks my quiv'ring quill,
Restless, my muse her awful theme surveys,
While wounded passions plead for present ease,
My grief grows wild, and strugling sorrows throng
To break in trembling accents from my tongue.
Beneath the subject sinks my quiv'ring quill,
Restless, my muse her awful theme surveys,
While wounded passions plead for present ease,
My grief grows wild, and strugling sorrows throng
To break in trembling accents from my tongue.
O that in shade, which woful cypress rears,
My growing grief cou'd pour in dutious tears!
To waving woods the desp'rate cause reveal,
And learn my lays to each remurm'ring rill.
How oft in lonesom wilds, the widdow'd dove,
In melting moans laments its absent love,
While list'ning forrests seem to feel the wound,
And eccho dies beneath the doleful sound.
And shall my woe, more peircing than the sighs
Of dying doves, or mourning matron's cries,
Now ask in vain some sympathetic groan,
From darksome groves, reflecting moan for moan?
Shall unrelenting rocks forbear to bleed,
While I proclaim the great AUGUSTUS dead!
AUGUSTUS—ah!—my muse, I feel the sound
Rush thro' my soul, and all its pow'rs confound;
Swift tow'rds my heart unusual horror climbs,
And strange convulsions seize my shudd'ring limbs
In my cold veins the crimson scarcely flows,
My slack'ning nerves their nat'ral aids refuse,
From aking eyes the briny sorrow breaks,
And liquid pearl, rolls down my faded cheeks,
The ling'ring remnant of my life's opprest,
And death-like damps bedew my lab'ring breast.
My growing grief cou'd pour in dutious tears!
To waving woods the desp'rate cause reveal,
And learn my lays to each remurm'ring rill.
How oft in lonesom wilds, the widdow'd dove,
In melting moans laments its absent love,
While list'ning forrests seem to feel the wound,
And eccho dies beneath the doleful sound.
20
Of dying doves, or mourning matron's cries,
Now ask in vain some sympathetic groan,
From darksome groves, reflecting moan for moan?
Shall unrelenting rocks forbear to bleed,
While I proclaim the great AUGUSTUS dead!
AUGUSTUS—ah!—my muse, I feel the sound
Rush thro' my soul, and all its pow'rs confound;
Swift tow'rds my heart unusual horror climbs,
And strange convulsions seize my shudd'ring limbs
In my cold veins the crimson scarcely flows,
My slack'ning nerves their nat'ral aids refuse,
From aking eyes the briny sorrow breaks,
And liquid pearl, rolls down my faded cheeks,
The ling'ring remnant of my life's opprest,
And death-like damps bedew my lab'ring breast.
Had I the royal prophet's tuneful strain
When Israel's breathless chiefs had ting'd the plain;
Would but Apollo's genial touch inspire
Such sounds as breathe from ***** warbling lyre;
Then, might my notes in melting measures flow,
And make all nature wear the signs of woe.
Content, my muse must mourn with humbler strings,
While GEORGE's death, and Albion's loss she sings.
When Israel's breathless chiefs had ting'd the plain;
Would but Apollo's genial touch inspire
Such sounds as breathe from ***** warbling lyre;
Then, might my notes in melting measures flow,
And make all nature wear the signs of woe.
Content, my muse must mourn with humbler strings,
While GEORGE's death, and Albion's loss she sings.
21
Long had the fields resign'd their smiling dress,
And herds rov'd round for food in dumb distress,
When famish'd hills, in russet robes array'd,
Seem'd to presage some dire event decreed:
While fainting nature felt such ardent fire,
As if 'twas with this fever to expire;
Then from the King of kings, a message flies,
To call his great vicegerent to the skies:
An hasty summons snatch'd our Sov'reign's breath,
His life is set, his glory dim'd with death.—
Let ev'ry gem which studs the British crown,
Look pale and wan, since Albion's light is down:
No more you'll share its rays, nor mingling shed
Your trembling splendors round his sacred head.
No more the throne shall show that awful face,
Where majesty was mix'd with mildest grace:
Nor hostile realms revere their conqu'rour king,
Nor nations shroud beneath his shelt'ring wing.
That wond'rous form, which once could kingdoms sway,
Is now the grizly tyrant's helpless prey.
And herds rov'd round for food in dumb distress,
When famish'd hills, in russet robes array'd,
Seem'd to presage some dire event decreed:
While fainting nature felt such ardent fire,
As if 'twas with this fever to expire;
Then from the King of kings, a message flies,
To call his great vicegerent to the skies:
An hasty summons snatch'd our Sov'reign's breath,
His life is set, his glory dim'd with death.—
Let ev'ry gem which studs the British crown,
Look pale and wan, since Albion's light is down:
No more you'll share its rays, nor mingling shed
Your trembling splendors round his sacred head.
No more the throne shall show that awful face,
Where majesty was mix'd with mildest grace:
Nor hostile realms revere their conqu'rour king,
Nor nations shroud beneath his shelt'ring wing.
That wond'rous form, which once could kingdoms sway,
Is now the grizly tyrant's helpless prey.
Rise gentlest winds, to give your sorrows vent
That distant climes may learn our desp'rate plaint;
Whisper your woe, and languish as you flie,
And, when you've told the doleful tidings, die.
That distant climes may learn our desp'rate plaint;
Whisper your woe, and languish as you flie,
And, when you've told the doleful tidings, die.
22
With swelling grief, let restless billows roar
And loose their lives on each resounding shore.
While gathering damps surround each groaning hill,
And gushing riv'lets drench th' enamel'd vale.
And loose their lives on each resounding shore.
While gathering damps surround each groaning hill,
And gushing riv'lets drench th' enamel'd vale.
Ye gaudy flow'rs and blossoms drop your dies,
No more let roses blush, nor lillies rise,
Nor teeming buds their knownless sweets disclose,
But, with untimely blasts, their bashful beauties loose.
No more let trees in verdant liv'ries tow'r,
Nor ripen'd fruit from bending branches pour,
But leafless twigs shall team with trembling drops,
And gently waving, shed their crystal crops:
While cluster'd vines, their withering arms unwind,
'Till all the ground's with scatter'd purple stain'd.
No more let roses blush, nor lillies rise,
Nor teeming buds their knownless sweets disclose,
But, with untimely blasts, their bashful beauties loose.
No more let trees in verdant liv'ries tow'r,
Nor ripen'd fruit from bending branches pour,
But leafless twigs shall team with trembling drops,
And gently waving, shed their crystal crops:
While cluster'd vines, their withering arms unwind,
'Till all the ground's with scatter'd purple stain'd.
Ye wing'd musicians, leave your airy domes,
Sadden your notes, and pluck your painted plumes:
While woods and plains with dying flocks are strow'd,
Let scaly swarms in anguish lash the flood,
And floating squadrons, fold their canvas wings,
Since now no more they'l serve the best of kings.
Sadden your notes, and pluck your painted plumes:
While woods and plains with dying flocks are strow'd,
Let scaly swarms in anguish lash the flood,
And floating squadrons, fold their canvas wings,
Since now no more they'l serve the best of kings.
Lock'd in the chambers of the distant skies
Let Phœbus mourn 'till Albion dries its eyes,
While darkness silver Cynthia's face invades,
And sickly planets close their twinkling lids.
While the high heav'n its misty mantle wears,
And low'ring clouds weep down in showry tears,
Let the slow thunder roll in fun'ral peals,
As livid light the bursting skies reveals;
Winding in streaky torches thro' the gloom,
To light the sleeping monarch's mould'ring tomb.
Let Phœbus mourn 'till Albion dries its eyes,
While darkness silver Cynthia's face invades,
And sickly planets close their twinkling lids.
23
And low'ring clouds weep down in showry tears,
Let the slow thunder roll in fun'ral peals,
As livid light the bursting skies reveals;
Winding in streaky torches thro' the gloom,
To light the sleeping monarch's mould'ring tomb.
While consort bells the thick'ning vapours break,
And deep complaints, in dying language speak,
Let the tall steeples bow their gilded spires,
As each sad sound in circling waves expires.
Now let Brittania's peers deplore their prince,
In pompous woe, and faint magnificence;
With arms revers'd, let martial mourners show,
Gloom in their cheeks, and sadness on their brow;
While the soft sex their tenderest sorrows blend,
Wail with dishevel'd hair, and wringing hand,
Their blushing charms eclips'd with sable veils,
As thro' the dust their decent mourning trails.
And deep complaints, in dying language speak,
Let the tall steeples bow their gilded spires,
As each sad sound in circling waves expires.
Now let Brittania's peers deplore their prince,
In pompous woe, and faint magnificence;
With arms revers'd, let martial mourners show,
Gloom in their cheeks, and sadness on their brow;
While the soft sex their tenderest sorrows blend,
Wail with dishevel'd hair, and wringing hand,
Their blushing charms eclips'd with sable veils,
As thro' the dust their decent mourning trails.
Come, hoary registers of ancient times,
Whose vital tide declines your wither'd Limbs;
Babes in the dawn of life, and you whose veins,
The dancing fire of ripen'd youth contains;
With all Parnassus, bring your last perfume,
With bosoms bare, and mingled mournings come,
And spread in one wide ruin round your Sov'reign's tomb.
Whose vital tide declines your wither'd Limbs;
Babes in the dawn of life, and you whose veins,
The dancing fire of ripen'd youth contains;
With all Parnassus, bring your last perfume,
With bosoms bare, and mingled mournings come,
And spread in one wide ruin round your Sov'reign's tomb.
24
But cease, my muse, or weep in gentler streams,
Behind this shady scene some comfort gleams;
Lift from the dismal gloom thy aking eyes:
Refreshment springs from whence thy sorrows rise.
Behind this shady scene some comfort gleams;
Lift from the dismal gloom thy aking eyes:
Refreshment springs from whence thy sorrows rise.
When at the hour of Brunswick's swift discharge,
To heav'n seraphick guardians guide their charge;
Rapid, the news thro' trembling kingdoms runs,
And all the skies are peirc'd with piteous groans;
Then, as this light the dark'ned empire leaves,
Then, wondrous WALES the sinking scepter saves:
Then, with her sparkling issue, comes his Queen,
Like night's fair empress midst her starry train;
With cypress crown'd, they guild th' imperial seat,
And prop, tho' weak with woe, the tott'ring state;
While intermingling joys, and grief impress
Their different dies, in ev'ry subjects face.
Albion reviv'd, yet longs with eager eye
To see their Sovereigns shine in cloudless majesty.
So when in deep eclipse, the rising sun,
Streaks with a dusky light his orient throne:
With sully'd robes he mounts th' ætherial field,
And rules the day, with Cynthia's sable veil'd.
Languid, and faint, his muffled front appears,
While earth and air a semblant horror wears.
'Till rapid time unfolds his fulgid face,
And spreads his golden glories quick'ning rays.
To heav'n seraphick guardians guide their charge;
Rapid, the news thro' trembling kingdoms runs,
And all the skies are peirc'd with piteous groans;
Then, as this light the dark'ned empire leaves,
Then, wondrous WALES the sinking scepter saves:
Then, with her sparkling issue, comes his Queen,
Like night's fair empress midst her starry train;
With cypress crown'd, they guild th' imperial seat,
And prop, tho' weak with woe, the tott'ring state;
While intermingling joys, and grief impress
Their different dies, in ev'ry subjects face.
Albion reviv'd, yet longs with eager eye
To see their Sovereigns shine in cloudless majesty.
So when in deep eclipse, the rising sun,
Streaks with a dusky light his orient throne:
With sully'd robes he mounts th' ætherial field,
And rules the day, with Cynthia's sable veil'd.
Languid, and faint, his muffled front appears,
While earth and air a semblant horror wears.
'Till rapid time unfolds his fulgid face,
And spreads his golden glories quick'ning rays.
| A collection of poems | |