Poems on Several Occasions With Imitations from Horace, Ovid, Martial, Theocritus, Bachylides, Anacreon, &c. To which is prefix'd A Discourse on Criticism, and the Liberty of Writing. In a letter to a Friend. By Samuel Cobb ... The Third Edition. To which is added, Poems on the Duke of Marlborough, Prince Eugene, the Electoral Prince of Hannover, with other Poems. Never before Printed |
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
Whene're Nicander plough'd the watry Plain,
Safely he past the Dangers of the Main.
Rude Winds were chain'd: no Tempest vex'd the Sea,
But all was gentle, and as calm as He.
With endless prayers Heav'n's vaulted Roof we rent,
As oft it eccho'd with the praise we sent.
Now vain are all the Vows we can bestow,
H'es gone, alas! (O Scene of endless woe!)
On his last Voyage to the shades below.
On Albion's Isle he shook his sacred Head,
Cast back his wishing Eyes, and dying, said,
A long Farewell, be happy, when I'm dead.
Bear the sad news, ye Winds, ye Zephyrs weep,
No more to waft your Master o'er the Deep.
Like us, ye Seas, spend all your brackish store,
And let the falling Clouds supply You more.
Tho' we, and Holland should all Tears ingross.
Whose groaning Lyons seem to mourn the loss.
What Sighs are blown from either Coast! while She
Mourns for a Son, but for a Father We.
A Father, fearless in the heat of Fight,
Whom Death in all his Shapes could never fright.
Mark, how profuse of his important Life
Forward he spurs, and mingles in the strife.
As if such precious blood would nothing cost,
When Kingdoms tremble for each drop that's lost.
Ah! spare thy Soul, Nicander, spare to run
On pointed Swords, and Dangers of the Gun;
The heedless Pike will gore thy tender Side,
Or some malicious Gaul thy Flesh divide.
Or Frosts will hurt Thee, or the Damps unsound,
When Evening Dews affect th' unwholsom ground.
But Damps and Dews were to Nicander kind,
Their Venom scatter'd by a Friendly Wind.
While Bullets tamely flew thro' hissing Air,
And only mark'd whom they had charge to spare.
Safely he past the Dangers of the Main.
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But all was gentle, and as calm as He.
With endless prayers Heav'n's vaulted Roof we rent,
As oft it eccho'd with the praise we sent.
Now vain are all the Vows we can bestow,
H'es gone, alas! (O Scene of endless woe!)
On his last Voyage to the shades below.
On Albion's Isle he shook his sacred Head,
Cast back his wishing Eyes, and dying, said,
A long Farewell, be happy, when I'm dead.
Bear the sad news, ye Winds, ye Zephyrs weep,
No more to waft your Master o'er the Deep.
Like us, ye Seas, spend all your brackish store,
And let the falling Clouds supply You more.
Tho' we, and Holland should all Tears ingross.
Whose groaning Lyons seem to mourn the loss.
What Sighs are blown from either Coast! while She
Mourns for a Son, but for a Father We.
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Whom Death in all his Shapes could never fright.
Mark, how profuse of his important Life
Forward he spurs, and mingles in the strife.
As if such precious blood would nothing cost,
When Kingdoms tremble for each drop that's lost.
Ah! spare thy Soul, Nicander, spare to run
On pointed Swords, and Dangers of the Gun;
The heedless Pike will gore thy tender Side,
Or some malicious Gaul thy Flesh divide.
Or Frosts will hurt Thee, or the Damps unsound,
When Evening Dews affect th' unwholsom ground.
But Damps and Dews were to Nicander kind,
Their Venom scatter'd by a Friendly Wind.
While Bullets tamely flew thro' hissing Air,
And only mark'd whom they had charge to spare.
O had He longer kept his sacred Breath,
Nor fell inglorious by a bloodless Death!
On France the grief of Albion had turn'd,
And the League-breaker had unpity'd mourn'd.
Nor fell inglorious by a bloodless Death!
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And the League-breaker had unpity'd mourn'd.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |