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388
A POEM, on the Death of Edward Dawson, Esq; of Vaux-Hall, June 19, 1755.
Farewel departed and lamented shade,
Whose work no song of flatt'ry shall degrade;
I've known thy virtues long, and known them well;
Which none can more esteem, or better tell.
Malice, or envy, never broke thy rest;
For honour always occupy'd thy breast:
Thy friends were many, and thy foes were few;
Only the foes of truth were foes to you.
Whose work no song of flatt'ry shall degrade;
I've known thy virtues long, and known them well;
Which none can more esteem, or better tell.
Malice, or envy, never broke thy rest;
For honour always occupy'd thy breast:
Thy friends were many, and thy foes were few;
Only the foes of truth were foes to you.
Some to the grave descend for arms renown'd,
And have for conquests been with glory crown'd:
On these the muse has long bestow'd her praise
And with heroic worth adorn'd her lays,
While the pacifick arts neglected lye,
And milder virtues pass unheeded by,
Like flow'rs which rise to deck the lonely glades,
And fade unseen in unfrequented shades.
Be mine the task thy praises to prolong
To after ages in recording song,
To give, as right decrees, thy fav'rite name
To, what thro' life you shun'd, the voice of fame.
And have for conquests been with glory crown'd:
On these the muse has long bestow'd her praise
And with heroic worth adorn'd her lays,
While the pacifick arts neglected lye,
And milder virtues pass unheeded by,
Like flow'rs which rise to deck the lonely glades,
And fade unseen in unfrequented shades.
Be mine the task thy praises to prolong
To after ages in recording song,
To give, as right decrees, thy fav'rite name
To, what thro' life you shun'd, the voice of fame.
Proud Venice long had triumph'd in her store
Of treasure rising from her chrystal ore,
Long from from her fiery cells the liquid mass
Transparent flow'd, and harden'd into glass;
Of all the nations round she got the start,
Without a rival in the lucid art,
Till noble Villiers rose with projects fraught,
And the grand alchymy to England brought;
Which, to thy country's profit, now we see
Improv'd, and to perfection brought by thee:
The mirrour now to nature adds a grace,
Gives back a lovelier form, and fairer face.
Of treasure rising from her chrystal ore,
Long from from her fiery cells the liquid mass
Transparent flow'd, and harden'd into glass;
Of all the nations round she got the start,
Without a rival in the lucid art,
Till noble Villiers rose with projects fraught,
And the grand alchymy to England brought;
Which, to thy country's profit, now we see
Improv'd, and to perfection brought by thee:
The mirrour now to nature adds a grace,
Gives back a lovelier form, and fairer face.
As thro' the peaceful vale of life you trod,
And daily there walk'd humbly with your god,
The virgin Faith attendant at your side,
And fair Benevolence your constant guide,
Whene'er you met the painful sons of care,
You from their bosoms drove the fiend despair,
With salutary counsel sooth'd their grief,
And to their wants extended due relief
And daily there walk'd humbly with your god,
The virgin Faith attendant at your side,
And fair Benevolence your constant guide,
Whene'er you met the painful sons of care,
You from their bosoms drove the fiend despair,
With salutary counsel sooth'd their grief,
And to their wants extended due relief
Oft have you clear'd the wrinkled brow of need,
The naked cloth'd, and bad the hungry feed,
Pleas'd unexpected blessings to dispense,
While they who had them had, but knew not whence:
So the parch'd Indian from the sultry plain,
Where all the wither'd herbage thirsts for rain,
Sees, as he travels thro' the tedious way,
Where the smooth gliding winding currents stray;
With eager eyes the friendly stream he views;
And thro' his breast new joys themselves diffuse;
With the refreshing draught he cures his pains,
But stranger to the fountain-head remains.
The naked cloth'd, and bad the hungry feed,
Pleas'd unexpected blessings to dispense,
While they who had them had, but knew not whence:
So the parch'd Indian from the sultry plain,
Where all the wither'd herbage thirsts for rain,
Sees, as he travels thro' the tedious way,
Where the smooth gliding winding currents stray;
With eager eyes the friendly stream he views;
And thro' his breast new joys themselves diffuse;
With the refreshing draught he cures his pains,
But stranger to the fountain-head remains.
For truth, for honour, and for ev'ry worth,
You was a constant advocate on earth,
To ev'ry vice, to ev'ry breach of trust
Severe, but never more severe than just:
Had thine own son been from all virtues free.
That son no more had found a sire in thee.
Thro' all thy life thy fortitude of heart
Could baffle pain and blunt the tyrant's dart:
With the same firmness you resign'd your breath,
In purer worlds to triumph over death.
You was a constant advocate on earth,
389
Severe, but never more severe than just:
Had thine own son been from all virtues free.
That son no more had found a sire in thee.
Thro' all thy life thy fortitude of heart
Could baffle pain and blunt the tyrant's dart:
With the same firmness you resign'd your breath,
In purer worlds to triumph over death.
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