Poems and Songs by Thomas Flatman. The Fourth Edition with many Additions and Amendments |
 |
On the Death of the RIGHT HONOURABLE THOMAS EARL of OSSORY.
|
 |
|
 | Poems and Songs |  |
1
On the Death of the RIGHT HONOURABLE THOMAS EARL of OSSORY.
Pindarique Ode.
Stanza I.
No more!—Alas that bitter word, No more!The Great, the Just, the Generous, the Kind,
The universal Darling of Mankind,
The Noble Ossory is now No more!
2
From Glory's lofty Pinacle,
Meanly like one of Us, He fell,
Not in the hot pursuit of Victory,
As Gallant Men would chuse to die;
But tamely, like a poor Plebeian, from his Bed
To the dark Grave a Captive led;
Emasculating Sighs, and Groans around,
His Friends in Flouds of Sorrow drown'd;
His awful Truncheon, and bright Arms laid by,
He bow'd his glorious Head to Destiny.
II.
Celestial Powers! how unconcern'd you are!No black Eclipse, or Blazing-Star
Presag'd the Death of this Illustrious Man,
No Deluge, no, nor Hurricane;
In her old wonted course Nature went on,
As if some common thing were done,
3
And not in Ossory an whole Hecatombe.
Yet, when the Founder of Old Rome expir'd,
When the Pellëan Youth resign'd his Breath,
And when the great Dictator stoop'd to Death,
Nature and all her Faculties retir'd:
Amaz'd she started when amaz'd she saw
The breaches of her ancient Fundamental Law,
Which kept the World in aw:
For men less brave than Him, her very heart did ake,
The labouring Earth did quake,
And Trees their fixt Foundations did forsake;
Nature in some prodigious way
Gave notice of their fatal Day:
Those lesser Griefs with pain she thus exprest,
This did confound, and overwhelm her Breast.
4
III.
Shrink ye Crown'd Heads, that think your selves secure,And from your mouldring Thrones look down,
Your greatness cannot long endure,
The King of Terrors claims you for his own;
You are but Tributaries to his dreadful Crown:
Renown'd, Serene, Imperial, most August,
Are only high and mighty Epithets for Dust.
In vain, in vain so high
Our tow'ring expectations flie,
While th' Blossoms of our hopes, so fresh, so gay,
Appear, and promise Fruit, then fade away.
From valiant Ossory's ever Loyal Hands,
What did we not believe!
We dream'd of yet unconquer'd Lands
He to his Prince could give,
And neighbouring Crowns retrieve:
5
Laden with Spoils, and Affrick Banners home,
As if an Hero's years
Were as unbounded as our fond Desires.
IV.
Lament, Lament, you that dare Honour love,And court her at a Noble rate
(Your Prowess to approve,)
That dare religiously upon Her wait,
And blush not to grow Good, when you grow Great,
Such Mourners suit His Vertue, such His State.
And you, brave Souls, who for your Countrie's good
Did wond'rous things in Fields, and Seas of Bloud,
Lament th' undaunted Chief that led you on;
Whose exemplary Courage could inspire
The most degenerate Heart, with Martial-English Fire.
6
With an indulgent tenderness;
Touch'd with a melting Sympathy,
Who shall your Wants supply?
Since He, your good Samaritan is gone.
O Charity! thou richest Boon of Heaven,
To Man, in pity given!
(For when well-meaning Mortals give,
The Poor's, and their own Bowels they relieve;)
Thou mak'st us with alacrity to die,
Miss'd and bewail'd like Thee, large-hearted OSSORY.
V.
Arise, ye blest Inhabitants above,From your Immortal Seats arise,
And on our Wonder, on our Love
Gaze with astonish'd Eyes.
Arise! Arise! make room,
Th' exalted Shade is come.
7
How God-like He appears!
His shining Temples round
With Wreaths of everlasting Laurels bound!
As from the bloudy Field of Mons He came,
Where He out-fought th' Hyperboles of Fame.
See how the Guardian-Angel of our Isle
Receives the Deifi'd Champion with a Smile!
Welcome, the Guardian-Angel says,
Full of Songs of Joy, and Praise,
Welcome Thou art to me,
And to these Regions of Serenity!
Welcome, the Winged Choir resounds,
While with loud Euge's all the Sacred place abounds.
| Poems and Songs | |