Sermons Practical and Occasional Dissertations, Translations, Including New Versions of Virgil's Bucolica, and of Milton's Defensio Secunda, Seaton Poems, &c. &c. By the Rev. Francis Wrangham ... In Three Volumes |
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 | Sermons Practical and Occasional |  |
449
LAURA.
When Laura first, with heavenly radiance bright,Beam'd in full lustre on my ravish'd sight,
Ere yet the wonder spake, I saw and loved—
What marble by such beauty were not moved!
But when, in tones as music soft and clear,
With nature's melody she charm'd mine ear,
Her tongue confirm'd the triumph of her eyes;
Who sees is wounded, but who listens dies.
465
TRAFALGAR.
Δακρυοεν γελασασα.
(Hom.)
(Hom.)
------animamque in vulnere ponit.
(Virg.)
(Virg.)
Hark to yon shout, that rends the sky!
Hark to yon bosom-rending groan!
The pæan that of victory,
And this the knell of Nelson gone!
Hark to yon bosom-rending groan!
The pæan that of victory,
And this the knell of Nelson gone!
Ring, ring the merry peal of joy;
Breathe, breathe the solemn note of woe:
Let transport now the heart employ,
Now let the tear for Nelson flow.
Breathe, breathe the solemn note of woe:
Let transport now the heart employ,
Now let the tear for Nelson flow.
In gallant trim the Spaniard rush'd,
The light Gaul buoyant by his side:
—O'er them the ocean-wave has gush'd;
They sleep beneath the wintry tide.
The light Gaul buoyant by his side:
—O'er them the ocean-wave has gush'd;
They sleep beneath the wintry tide.
TRAFALGAR, cherish'd bitter name,
Shall still to our remembrance rise;
Scene of our proudest costliest fame—
Where France is crush'd, and Nelson dies!
Shall still to our remembrance rise;
Scene of our proudest costliest fame—
Where France is crush'd, and Nelson dies!
Still in the van of victory
Shall England's flag o'er ocean sweep;
And still from every seaman's eye
Shall Nelson's trophies banish sleep.
Ring, ring, &c.
Shall England's flag o'er ocean sweep;
And still from every seaman's eye
Shall Nelson's trophies banish sleep.
Ring, ring, &c.
466
DIALOGUE I.
Παντσιων σοματων λαλον εικονα, ποιμεσιν ηδυ
Παιγνιον.
Παιγνιον.
Can Echo speak the tongue of every country?
Echo.
Try.
Te virginem si fortè poscam erotica?
Echo.
Ερω ταχα.
Ma si ti sopra il futuro questionerò?
Echo.
Ετεον ερω.
Et puis-je te parler sur des choses passées?
Echo.
Essaye.
Dic mihi quæso virum, vitiis cui tot bona parta: Echo Buonaparte.
Whom once Sir Sidney drove with shame from Acre.
Echo.
A cur!
T' unlock our India, France would make of Turkey—
Echo.
Her key.
Would she then seize Bombay, Madras, Bengal?
Echo.
All.
And did her chief fly Egypt, when most needed?
Echo.
He did.
Whom is he like, who thrives but by escaping?
Echo.
Scapin.
Croyez vous aux histoires, qu'en dit Denon?
Echo.
Non.
What are the arms, with which he now fights Britons?
Echo.
High tones.
Ususne in istius minis fuit aliquis?
Echo.
All a quiz!
Quid nobis iterat tanto hic jactator hiatu?
Echo.
“I hate you.”
Qu'il vienne aussitôt qu'il le veut, ce grand homme!
Echo.
A grand hum!
Nectit at ille moras, pelagusque horrere putatur!
Echo.
Peut-être.
You'd think him then mad, if his forces he march here?
Echo.
As a March hare.
Where does he wish those forces wafted over?
Echo.
To Dover.
Granted—what would they be, ere led to London?
Echo.
All undone.
Can George then thrash by land the Corsican?
Echo.
He can.
But what, if he should chance to meet our navy?
Echo.
Væ!
Τουτω γ' αρ' εχθρα γη τε και θαλασσ' εφυ;
Echo.
A few.
Atqui, ceu Xerxes, nostris fugere actus ab oris—
Echo.
A bore is.
And hence he swears, he'll ne'er again turn flyer.
Echo.
Liar!
How best shall England quell his high pretences?
Echo.
Paret enses.
Et qu'est ce qu'elle montrera, pour calmer cet inquiet?
Echo.
Εγχεα.
Ast unco ductus pœnas dabis, improbe, Gallis.
Echo.
Gallows.
E chi ti vedrà morto, “Ben gli sta” griderà.
Echo.
Agreed—Hurra!
467
DIALOGUE II.
------Quæ nec reticere loquenti,
Nec prior ipsa loqui potuit.
Nec prior ipsa loqui potuit.
Again I call; sweet Maid, come echo me.
Echo.
Eccomi!
Tell me, of what consists the heart of Gaul:
Echo.
Of gall.
Her mad caprices in her ancient shape;
Echo.
Ape!
Her present taste, for blood and riot eager.
Echo.
Tigre!
Tell, of what God her sons are now the votaries;
Echo.
Αρης.
And whose before, so wolvish grown and ravenous:
Echo.
Venus.
Wretches, as changeful as the changing ocean!
Echo.
O chiens!
Au roi, qui les aimoit, ils ont frappé le cou—
Echo.
Πελεκκου.
Ma sotto i ré erano sempre allégri.
Echo.
All agree.
Τις δε τοσην αυτοις ενεπνευσ' Υπατου θρησκειαν;
Echo.
Cayenne.
Aliquid mali molitur in nos consilî:
Echo.
Silly!
Cumque illo miles Batavus conjurat amicè.
Echo.
Rot 'em, I say.
Where would his Brest fleet in our empire land?
Echo.
Ireland.
Αλλοθι δ' (ο γ' ηπειλ' εισβαλειν διηνεκως.
Echo.
En Ecosse.
Quisnam illum à Scotis manet exitus, auspice Moirâ?
Echo.
Μοιρα.
Spem forsan nullam, Moirâ ibi jam duce, habet!
Echo.
Deuce a bit.
Εις Αγγλικον δ'ηκειν ισως νοει τοδι.
Echo.
To die.
How best shall we 'scape this invasion's alarm?
Echo.
All arm.
Then, Englishmen, rush to the field, 'tis your duty:
Echo.
Δευτε.
Be no longer the dupes of an Amiens truce.
Echo.
Ruse!
(Ην δολος, ου φιλια: του δ'εκ φρενος ηλυθεν αντος;
Echo.
Otto's.)
Furem ego contundam, qui te rapere audet, agelle:
Echo.
To a jelly.
Angliaque externos facilè opprimet ipsa latrones.
Echo.
At her own ease.
And dost thou wish the throne restored by Moreau?
Echo.
Oro.
Then from his height falls dread Napoleon;
Echo.
Apollyon!
(Scilicet hunc Anglus vocat, hunc Hebræus Abaddon!
Echo.
A bad one.)
And then the world, now scared, will laugh at him:
Echo.
Affatim
Il reste donc à souhaiter, que la France lui désobeît.
Echo.
So be it!
474
ADDRESSED TO A LADY,
WITH A PRINT OF CORNELIA.
When Rome was yet in ancient virtue great,
Ere tyrant Cæsars had unnerved the state;
Proud of her toilette's wealth, a modish Fair
The costly hoard to famed Cornelia bare:
And, having press'd it on her cold survey,
With conscious triumph claim'd a like display.
Soon as from school her boys, the Gracchi, came;
“Behold my jewels (cried the happy Dame):
“These are the gems a mother most should prize,
“These glitter brightest to maternal eyes.”
Her inmost soul confounded at the view,
The self-admonish'd visitant withdrew.
Ere tyrant Cæsars had unnerved the state;
Proud of her toilette's wealth, a modish Fair
The costly hoard to famed Cornelia bare:
And, having press'd it on her cold survey,
With conscious triumph claim'd a like display.
Soon as from school her boys, the Gracchi, came;
“Behold my jewels (cried the happy Dame):
“These are the gems a mother most should prize,
“These glitter brightest to maternal eyes.”
Her inmost soul confounded at the view,
The self-admonish'd visitant withdrew.
Such were the matrons virtuous Rome admired:
From such sprang patriots who, by toils untired,
Even to the last despotic sway defied;
And, vanquish'd in the noble conflict—died.
From such sprang patriots who, by toils untired,
Even to the last despotic sway defied;
And, vanquish'd in the noble conflict—died.
One such I could, but may not name (for she,
Blind to herself, would deem it flattery)
One who, Cornelia-like, each hour employs,
Sweet labour! 'mid the sphere of filial joys;
To courtiers leaves exhausted India's store,
And rich in living diamonds asks no more.
Blind to herself, would deem it flattery)
One who, Cornelia-like, each hour employs,
Sweet labour! 'mid the sphere of filial joys;
To courtiers leaves exhausted India's store,
And rich in living diamonds asks no more.
476
IMPROMPTU:
Spoken between the third and fourth Acts of Mrs. Cowley's Tragedy, entitled, ‘The Fall of Sparta.’
So great thy art—that, while we view'dOf Sparta's sons the lot severe,
We caught the Spartan fortitude,
And saw their woes—without a tear.
LINES Addressed to Lady Miller, on the Urn at Bath-Easton.
Miller, the Urn in ancient times ('tis said)Held the collected ashes of the dead:
So thine, the wonder of these modern days,
Stands open night and day for lifeless lays.
Leave not unfinish'd then the well-form'd plan,
Complete the work thy classic taste began;
And oh! in future, ere thou dost inurn 'em,
Remember first to raise a pile—and burn 'em.
479
PROLOGUE ON GENERAL WOLFE.
When great and little felt the common blow,And mingled sorrows o'er Æmilius low,
While funeral games the hero gone record,
Rome her lost favourite with these scenes deplored:
And who to-night shall view them re-appear,
Nor to our hero give as true a tear?
480
Where Phœbus darts his earliest, latest beam;
Even 'midst our very torrent triumphs springs
Some bitter tear, some lawful sorrowings.
If aught of fair contains the thirst of fame,
If genius, faith immutably the same,
If arduous laurels, and in youth's sweet prime
Valour and virtue cropt before their time—
If aught of fair in these, or lovely be,
That fair, that lovely, Wolfe, belongs to thee!
Nor diest thou all: for aye the wreath shall bloom,
Which weeping Britain hangs upon thy tomb:
The massive marble royal hands shall rear,
Destined thy glory's deathless tale to bear:
Thither in crowds shall England's heroes flow,
And from thy ashes catch a kindred glow;
While, as they read in victory's lap thy fall,
“Be such,” they cry, “our course—be such its goal.”
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