Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Round Hughes's humble, tho' distinguish'd Urn,
The Muses, wreath'd with baleful Cypress, mourn;
In every Face a deep Distress appears,
Each Eye o'erflows with Tributary Tears:
Such was the Scene, when by the Gods requir'd,
Majestick Homer from the World retir'd:
Such Grief the Nine o'er Maro's Tomb bestow'd;
And Tears like these for Addison late flow'd.

Snatch'd from the Earth, above its trifling Praise,
Thee, Hughes, to happier Climes thy Fate conveys;
Eas'd of its Load, thy gentle Spirit roves,
Through Realms refulgent, and Celestial Groves;
The Toils of Life, the Pangs of Death are o'er,
And Care, and Pain, and Sickness are no more.

lxvi

O may the Spot that holds thy blest Remains,
(The noblest Spoil Earth's spacious Breast contains,)
Its Tribute pay; may richest Flow'rs around,
Spring lightly forth, and mark the sacred Ground;
There may thy Bays its shady Honours spread,
And o'er thy Urn Eternal Odours shed;
Immortal as thy Fame, and Verse, still grow,
Till Those shall cease to live, and Thames to flow.

Nature subdu'd foretold the Great Decline,
And ev'ry Heart was plung'd in Grief, but Thine;
Thy Soul Serene, the Conflict did maintain,
And trac'd the Phantom Death, in Years of Pain;
Not Years of Pain thy steady Mind alarm'd,
By Judgment strengthen'd, and with Virtue arm'd;
Still like Thyself, when sinking Life ebb'd low,
Nor rashly dar'd, nor meanly fear'd the Blow;
Loose to the World, of ev'ry Grace possest,
Greatly resign'd, thou sought'st the Stranger, Rest:
Firm as his Fate, so thy own Phocyas dy'd,
While the barb'd Arrow trembled in his Side.—
Drawn by thy Pen, the Theory we see;
The Practick Part, too soon! beheld in Thee.

Who now shall strike the Lyre with Skill Divine,
Who to harmonious Sounds, harmonious Numbers join?

lxvii

Who the rapacious Tide of Vice controul,
And, while they charm the Sense, reform the Soul?
In whom the lovely Sister-Arts unite,
With Virtue, solid Sense, and boundless Wit?
Such was the Turn of thy exalted Mind,
Sparkling as polish'd Gems, as purest Gold refin'd.

Great Ruler of our Passions! who with Art
Subdu'd the fierce, and warm'd the frozen Heart,
Bid Glory in our Breasts with Temper beat,
And Valour, separate from Fev'rish Heat,
Love, in its true, its genuine Lustre rise,
And, in Eudocia, bid it charm our Eyes.
Virtue distrest, thy happy Lines disclose,
With more of Triumph than a Conqueror knows;
Touch'd by thy Hand, our stubborn Tempers bend,
And flowing Tears the well-wrought Scene attend,
That Silent Eloquence thy Power approv'd,
The Cause so great, 'twas generous to be mov'd.

What Pleasure can the bursting Heart possess,
In the last Parting, and Severe Distress?
Can Fame, Wealth, Honour, Titles, Joy bestow,
And make the lab'ring Breast with Transport glow?
These gaudy Trifles gild our Morning bright,
But O! how weak their Influence on our Night!
Then Fame, Wealth, Honour, Titles, vainly bloom,
Nor dart one Beam of Comfort on the Gloom;

lxviii

But if the Strug'ling Soul a Joy receives,
'Tis in the just Applause, that conscious Virtue gives:
This blameless Pride the dying Hughes possest,
Soften'd his Pain, sat lightly on his Breast,
And sooth'd his unoffending Soul to Rest.
Free from the Bigot's Fears, or Stoick's Pride,
Calm as our Christian Heroe liv'd, he dy'd.

As on the utmost Verge of Life he stood,
Ready to plunge, and seize th'immortal Good,
Collecting all his Rays diffus'd, in One,
His last great Work with heighten'd Lustre shone;
There his just Sentiments, transferr'd, we view'd,
But while our Eyes the shining Path persu'd,
And steep Ascent his steady Judgment gain'd,
The shining Path, alas! alone remain'd.—

So when the Sun to Worlds Unknown retires,
How strong! how boldly shoot his parting Fires!
Larger his Setting Orb our Eyes confess,
Eager we gaze, and the full Glory bless;
As o'er the Heav'ns, Sublime, his Course extends,
With equal State, the Radiant Globe descends,
Sinks, in a Cloud of Gold, and Azure bright,
And leaves, behind, gay Tracks of beamy Light.

1720.

Opera of Calypso and Telemachus.

Siege of Damascus.

lxix

[If for Our-selves the Tears profusely flow]

If for Our-selves the Tears profusely flow,
Too justly we indulge the tender Woe,
Since Thou in Virtue's Robes wast richly drest,
And of fine Arts Abundantly possest!
But if we rather should Congratulate
A Friend's Enlargement and exalted State;
Resign'd to Providence, what can we less
Than chearful hail thy long'd-for Happiness,
Who now releas'd from ev'ry piercing Pain,
Dost in the Realms of Light Triumphant reign!

February, 1719–20.

W. Duncombe.

[From thy long Languishing, and painful Strife]

From thy long Languishing, and painful Strife
Of Breath with Labour drawn, and wasting Life,
Accomplish'd Spirit! thou at length art free,
Born into Bliss and Immortality!
Thy Struggles are no more; the Palm is won;
Thy Brows encircled with the Victor's Crown;
While lonely left, and desolate below,
Full Grief I feel, and all a Brother's Woe!
Yet wou'd I linger on, a little Space,
Before I close my quick-expiring Race,
Till I have gather'd up, with grateful Pains,
Thy Works, thy dear Unperishing Remains;

lxx

An Undecaying Monument to stand,
Rais'd to thy Name by thy own skilful Hand.
Then let me wing from Earth my willing Way,
To meet thy Soul in Blaze of living Day,
Rapt to the Skies, like Thee, with joyful Flight,
An Inmate of the Heav'ns, adopted into Light!

30 March, 1720.

Jabez Hughes Ob. 17 Jan. 1731, Anno Æt. 46.

[Immortal Bard! tho' from the World retir'd]

Immortal Bard! tho' from the World retir'd,
Still known to Fame, still honour'd, and admir'd!
While fill'd with Joy, in happier Realms you stray,
And dwell in Mansions of eternal Day;
While You, conspicuous thro' the heav'nly Choir,
With swelling Rapture tune the chosen Lyre;
Where echoing Angels the glad Notes prolong,
Or with attentive Silence crown your Song;
Forgive the Muse that in unequal Lays
Offers this humble Tribute of her Praise.

Lost in thy Works, how oft I pass the Day,
While the swift Hours steal Unperceiv'd away;
There, in sweet Union, Wit and Virtue charm,
And noblest Sentiments the Bosom warm;

lxxi

The Brave, the Wise, the Virtuous, and the Fair,
May view themselves in fadeless Colours there.

Thro' ev'ry polish'd Piece Correctness flows,
Yet each bright Page with sprightly Fancy glows;
Oh! happy Elegance, where thus are join'd
A solid Judgment, and a Wit refin'd!

Here injur'd Phocyas and Eudocia claim
A lasting Pity and a lasting Fame:
Thy Heroine's softer Virtues charm the Sight,
And fill our Souls with ravishing Delight.
Exalted Love and dauntless Courage meet,
To make thy Hero's Character compleat.
This finish'd Piece the noblest Pens commend;
And ev'n the Criticks are the Poet's Friend.

Led on by Thee, those flow'ry Paths I view,
For ever Lovely, and for ever New,
Where all the Graces with joint Force engage,
To stem th'impetuous Follies of the Age:
Virtue, there deck'd in ever-blooming Charms,
With such resistless Rays of Beauty warms,
That Vice, abash'd, confounded, skulks away,
As Night retires at Dawn of rosy Day.

Struck with his Guilt, the hardy Atheist dreads
Approaching Fate, and trembles as he reads:

lxxii

Vanquish'd by Reason, yet asham'd to fly,
He dares nor Own a God, nor yet Deny:
Convinc'd, tho' late, Forgiveness he implores;
Shrinks from the Jaws of Hell, and Heav'n adores.

Hither the Wild, the Frolick, and the Gay,
As thoughtless thro' their wanton Rounds they stray,
Compell'd by Fame, repair with curious Eye,
And their own various Forms with Wonder spy.
The Censor so polite, so kindly true,
They see their Faults, and sicken at the View.
Hence trifling Damon ceases to be vain;
And Cloe scorns to give her Lover Pain:
Strephon is true, who ne'er was true before;
And Cælia bids him Love, but not Adore.

Tho' Addison and Steele the Honour claim,
Here to stand foremost on the List of Fame;
Yet still the Traces of Thy Hand we see,
Some of the brightest Thoughts are due to Thee.
While then for those Illustrious Bards we mourn,
The Muse shall visit thy Distinguish'd Urn;
With copious Tears bedew the Sacred Ground,
And plant the never-fading Bay around.

Here thro' the Gloom, aspiring Bards explore
These awful Relicts, and be vain no more:
Learning, and Wit, and Fame it self must die;
Virtue alone can tow'ring reach the Sky.

lxxiii

This crown'd his Life. Admire not, Heav'n in View,
He to the glorious Prize with Transport flew.
A Fate so blest shou'd check our streaming Woe,
He Reigns above, his Works Survive below.

J. Bunce.

Late of Trinity-Hall, Cambridge.

Alluding to the Spectators writ by Mr. Hughes.

lxxvi

PROLOGUE To the Memory of Mr. HUGHES.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[_]

Spoken by Mr. Milward, on the Revival of The Siege of Damascus, at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, 22 March, 1734–5

Here Force and Fancy, with United Charms,
Mingle the Sweets of Love with War's Alarms.
Our Author shows, in Eastern Pomp array'd,
The conqu'ring Heroe and the constant Maid.
None better knew, such Noble Heights to soar,
Tho' Phædra, and tho' Cato charm'd before.

While in the Lustre of his glowing Lines,
Th'Arabian Paradise so gaily shines,
With winy Rivers, racy Fruits supply'd,
And Beauties sparkling in Immortal Pride,
Gallants, You'll own that a resistless Fire
Did justly their Enamour'd Breasts inspire.

At first, a numerous Audience crown'd this Play,
And kind Applauses mark'd its happy Way,
While He, like his own Phocyas, snatch'd from View,
To fairer Realms with ripen'd Glory flew.
Humane, tho' Witty; Humble, tho' Admir'd;
Wept by the Great, the Virtuous Sage expir'd!

Still may the Bard, beneath kind Planets born,
Whom every Grace, and every Muse adorn,
Whose spreading Fame has reach'd to Foreign Lands,
Receive Some Tribute too from British Hands.