 | The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale |  |
365
TO EDMUND WALLER, ESQ. Of Hall-Barn, in Buckinghamshire,
On seeing the tomb of Edmund Waller, the poet, in the Church-yard of Beconsfield, neglected, and going to ruin.
Shalt thou from public shame exempt.
Thy reverence to this tomb refuse!
A Waller, with profane contempt,
Dares to insult a Waller's muse!
Thy reverence to this tomb refuse!
A Waller, with profane contempt,
Dares to insult a Waller's muse!
Whom chiefs of the fanatic train
Loved, for they felt her purer fire;
Whom in our present monarch's reign,
The sons of England yet admire;
Loved, for they felt her purer fire;
Whom in our present monarch's reign,
The sons of England yet admire;
Yet, for the tomb's unequal fate,
Our indignation we may spare;
The memory of the truly great
Depends not on a stupid heir.
Our indignation we may spare;
The memory of the truly great
Depends not on a stupid heir.
366
For canst thou, parricide, destroy
The deathless force of Waller's mind?
Canst thou his flame, his wit annoy,
Which will but die with human kind?
The deathless force of Waller's mind?
Canst thou his flame, his wit annoy,
Which will but die with human kind?
The glory of the poet's page
Shall brighten still, and still expand,
In spite of envy's feeble rage,
Or mammon's cold, tenacious hand.
Shall brighten still, and still expand,
In spite of envy's feeble rage,
Or mammon's cold, tenacious hand.
Then let that page, inspired by love,
And by the muse's hallowed flame,
The merit of dead Waller prove,
The Poet's character proclaim.
And by the muse's hallowed flame,
The merit of dead Waller prove,
The Poet's character proclaim.
The rugged tree, with yellow tinged;
The icy monumental stone;
The iron oft with rags befringed,
With many a noxious weed o'ergrown;
The icy monumental stone;
The iron oft with rags befringed,
With many a noxious weed o'ergrown;
While far from chance's blind controul
Great Edmund's bays perpetual bloom,
Let these describe a wretch's soul,
And be the breathing Waller's tomb.
Great Edmund's bays perpetual bloom,
Let these describe a wretch's soul,
And be the breathing Waller's tomb.
367
Sons of low care, how long, in vain,
To you shall useful truth be told?
Yet hear once more, the moral strain;
You damn yourselves to save your gold.
To you shall useful truth be told?
Yet hear once more, the moral strain;
You damn yourselves to save your gold.
Beconsfield, April 12th, 1778.
| The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale | |