Poems on Several Occasions In Two Volumes. By Mr. Joseph Mitchell |
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VERSES To the Memory of JOHN CLARK, Esq |
 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
217
VERSES To the Memory of JOHN CLARK, Esq
Is Clark no more? Has Death so soon destroy'd
His Country's Honour, and his Parents Pride?
Ungrateful News! I mourn his early Fate!
But Blessings ne'er are permanent, as great!
Fain would I praise, fain make his Vertues known,
By every Tongue commended, but his own.
A Funeral Gift to my lov'd Clark I owe;
This unavailing Gift, at least, I may bestow.
His Country's Honour, and his Parents Pride?
Ungrateful News! I mourn his early Fate!
But Blessings ne'er are permanent, as great!
Fain would I praise, fain make his Vertues known,
By every Tongue commended, but his own.
A Funeral Gift to my lov'd Clark I owe;
This unavailing Gift, at least, I may bestow.
218
These Eyes have seen the Wonders of his Youth,
And I sing freely, what I sing with Truth.
Clark was my own; his Soul alike inspir'd;
Tho' learn'd, not vain; and humble, tho' admir'd;
Candid in judging, and, in Life, sincere;
To all Men pliant, to himself severe:
Bold were his Thoughts, yet Reason bore the Sway;
Cheerful his Looks, but innocently gay;
Of gentle Manners, and a virtuous Mind;
In whom all Sorts of useful Knowledge join'd;
To whom old Greece and Rome were fully known;
Who made all Countries, in his Course, his own.
By slow Degrees, some travel up to Fame,
And, on the Verge of Life, acquire a Name:
In him a happy Prodigy was seen,
Mature in Glory, when in Years but green.
O may the Thought his Friend's Ambition raise!
O may I imitate, as well as praise!
And I sing freely, what I sing with Truth.
Clark was my own; his Soul alike inspir'd;
Tho' learn'd, not vain; and humble, tho' admir'd;
Candid in judging, and, in Life, sincere;
To all Men pliant, to himself severe:
Bold were his Thoughts, yet Reason bore the Sway;
Cheerful his Looks, but innocently gay;
Of gentle Manners, and a virtuous Mind;
In whom all Sorts of useful Knowledge join'd;
To whom old Greece and Rome were fully known;
Who made all Countries, in his Course, his own.
By slow Degrees, some travel up to Fame,
And, on the Verge of Life, acquire a Name:
In him a happy Prodigy was seen,
Mature in Glory, when in Years but green.
219
O may I imitate, as well as praise!
Had he but liv'd to ripen more, in Years—
But Worth, like his, discover'd, disappears.
He, like an Angel, a short Visit made,
And, as we gaz'd, evanish'd to a Shade.
Thus, in the Theatre, with vast Delight,
On Gods and Heroes, we regale our Sight.
The Change of Scenes fresh Wonders brings to view,
And each Machine presents some Glory new:
But, while we look, fleet, from our ravish'd Eyes
The dear Delusion, in a Moment, flies.
But Worth, like his, discover'd, disappears.
He, like an Angel, a short Visit made,
And, as we gaz'd, evanish'd to a Shade.
Thus, in the Theatre, with vast Delight,
On Gods and Heroes, we regale our Sight.
The Change of Scenes fresh Wonders brings to view,
And each Machine presents some Glory new:
But, while we look, fleet, from our ravish'd Eyes
The dear Delusion, in a Moment, flies.
My Soul, prophetick, long foresaw his Fate:
“Dear Clark, said I, (as once we fondly sat)
“You're but short-liv'd, the Vision of a Day,
“Just to be shown on Earth, and snatch'd away;
“But cou'dst thou break thro' Fate's severe Decree,
“A new Buchanan wou'd arise in Thee.
He, conscious, smil'd, and charg'd my faithful Muse,
Whene'er I shou'd receive th' unwelcome News,
“To strew, with Heaps of Elegiac Verse,
“The sad Procession of his early Hearse.
On this Condition, sudden, I rejoyn'd,
“That, if my Breath shall sooner be resign'd,
“Your friendly Muse shall condescend to mourn
“And sanctify, with Tears, your Mitchell's Urn.
Agreed, he said—But, ah! 'twas his to die!
He, first, was fit to reascend the Sky.
Dear Youth, farewel—and, till the Judgment Day,
Blest be thy Soul, and sacred be thy Clay.
And, O, the Meanness of my Verse excuse;
'Tis all the Dictate of a sorrowing Muse.
Yet this one further Character I have,
To mark the Marble Covering of your Grave:
“Young Clark lies here, who was his Country's Boast,
“Admir'd, when living, and ador'd, when lost.
“Dear Clark, said I, (as once we fondly sat)
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“Just to be shown on Earth, and snatch'd away;
“But cou'dst thou break thro' Fate's severe Decree,
“A new Buchanan wou'd arise in Thee.
He, conscious, smil'd, and charg'd my faithful Muse,
Whene'er I shou'd receive th' unwelcome News,
“To strew, with Heaps of Elegiac Verse,
“The sad Procession of his early Hearse.
On this Condition, sudden, I rejoyn'd,
“That, if my Breath shall sooner be resign'd,
“Your friendly Muse shall condescend to mourn
“And sanctify, with Tears, your Mitchell's Urn.
Agreed, he said—But, ah! 'twas his to die!
He, first, was fit to reascend the Sky.
Dear Youth, farewel—and, till the Judgment Day,
Blest be thy Soul, and sacred be thy Clay.
221
'Tis all the Dictate of a sorrowing Muse.
Yet this one further Character I have,
To mark the Marble Covering of your Grave:
“Young Clark lies here, who was his Country's Boast,
“Admir'd, when living, and ador'd, when lost.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |