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Poems

I. The Prophecy of Neptune. II. On the Death of the Prince of Wales. III. Ode Presented to the Duke of Newcastle at Cambridge. IV. Ode to the Hon. J. Y.: By John Duncombe

Duncombe, John (1729-1786)

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THE Prophecy of NEPTUNE.

ON THE DEATH Of his Royal Highness Frederick Prince of WALES.

ODE

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THE Prophecy of NEPTUNE.

[_]

Imitated from HORACE, Book I. Ode XV.

Humbly inscribed to the Right Honourable ANTHONY Lord Feversham.

When Gallia's Fleet young Stuart bore
To Scotland's hospitable Shore,
As thro' Biscaya's stormy Bay
Th' impatient Hero urg'd his Way,
Stern Neptune, Britain's Guardian God,
Swift-rising from the troubled Flood,
Bad the hoarse Winds their Tumult cease,
And hush'd the angry Waves to Peace,
Whilst thus with harsh prophetic Truth
He warn'd the bold advent'rous Youth.

‘With adverse Winds thou brav'st in vain
‘These Seas, a fancy'd Crown to gain;

‘Perfidious is the Wind and Sea,
‘But greater Gallia's Perfidy.
‘Ev'n tho' to fix thee on the Throne
‘Her Troops and Navy were thy own,
‘Ere by that Navy wafted o'er
‘Those Troops could gain the British Shore,
‘What Ships, what Legions would be lost,
‘For watchful Vernon guards the Coast.
‘ Ev'n now the dreaded Lion rears
‘Her hostile Flag, and Brett appears,
‘Crown'd with a Wreath bestow'd by Me
‘In spicy India's Southern Sea.
‘Undaunted by superior Force,
‘He strait shall stop thy Convoy's Course,
‘And soon those Thunders (felt by Spain)
‘With Gallic Blood shall dye the Main,

‘Till back to Brest the baffled Crew
‘With splinter'd Masts their Course pursue,
‘And leave thee to assert thy Throne,
‘Unarm'd, unguarded, and alone.
‘True, when thou gain'st a Northern Port,
‘The neighb'ring Clans shall all resort,
‘With Fifes their bonny Charles to greet,
‘And lay their Targets at thy Feet;
‘Yet, tho' with wide-unfolded Gates
‘Edina thy Arrival waits,
‘No Bribes shall win, no Threats shall wrest
‘The Citadel from hoary Guest;
‘And soon from Sloth shall England wake,
‘And her luxurious Fetters break.
‘When mitred York dissolves the Charm,
‘See all the Nation takes th' Alarm,
‘And Prelates preach, and Nobles arm!

‘In vain, to please the Scottish Fair,
‘Plad-Ribbons braid thy beauteous Hair;
‘In vain, with Caledonian Grace,
‘An azure Bonnet shades thy Face;
‘With Target arm'd and Breadth of Sword,
‘In vain thou foremost tempt'st the Ford,
‘And dar'st each Night in Tents defy
‘The Rigors of a freezing Sky.
‘Tho' Conquest point to Preston's Mead,
‘Tho' Cope shall fly, and Gardner bleed,
‘Yet hardy Troops and Chiefs remain,
‘To Battle train'd on Flandria's Plain;
‘See Crawford, Loudon, Huske, and Bland,
‘Surrounded by a vet'ran Band;
‘And Blakeney, with Experience fraught
‘At Carthagena dearly bought!
‘What tho' the Hope of Plunder draws
‘Some needy Nobles to thy Cause,

‘Tho' to thy Camp, with Vengeance vow'd,
‘The Slaves of wily Lovat crowd,
‘And in thy Host, with downcast Mien,
‘Kilmarnock's graceful Form is seen,
‘Yet still no Tyes from Brunswick's Side,
‘Young Boyde and Ancram can divide,
‘The Lowlands still thy Course oppose,
‘And half the Nation are thy Foes.

‘But now, to quench Rebellion's Flame,
‘And emulate his Father's Fame,
‘To barren Heaths and wintry Skies
‘From polish'd Courts young William flies,
‘On snow-clad Hills his Standard rears,
‘And soon Culloden's Plain appears.

‘O with what Grief shalt thou survey
‘The Ruin of that dreadful Day;
‘When Slaughter uncontroul'd shall reign,
‘And proudly stride o'er thousands slain!

‘When, sav'd for a severer Death,
‘Thy Peers on Scaffolds yield their Breath,
‘And Desolation's Talons seize
‘Their Fields and forfeit Villages!

‘Mean while, o'er many a craggy Height
‘Thou, hapless Youth! shalt speed thy Flight,
‘For Safety forc'd to lay aside
‘Thy martial Garb and manly Pride,
‘And o'er the Friths and Mountains pass
‘Dress'd like an awkward Highland Lass.

‘At length, when all thy Dangers o'er,
‘Thou safely gain'st that peaceful Shore,
‘Where rapid Rhone with boist'rous Waves
‘The Vines of mild Avignon laves,
‘There shalt thou court monastic Ease,
‘And tempt no more the faithless Seas,
‘By Foes repuls'd, by Friends betray'd,
‘Of Britain much, of Gallia more afraid.’

These Lines allude to the memorable Engagement between Sir Piercy Brett in the Lion, and the Elizabeth, the young Pretender's Convoy.

ON THE DEATH Of his Royal Highness Frederick Prince of WALES.

Sunk was the solemn Taper's sickly Glare,
Serene the Night and silent all the Air;
The sullen Drum, the Cannon's pausing Roar,
And the funereal Knell were heard no more,
When I repair'd, with due religious Dread,
To the dim Mansions of the Royal Dead,
And trod the vaulted Ground by Cynthia's Light
Thro' story'd Windows glimm'ring on the Sight.
There, as in Henry's hallow'd Dome I stray'd,
I saw with Fancy's Eye each laurel'd Shade
Start from the Tomb, shake off th' incumb'ring dust,
And animate each venerable Bust;

Saw sable Edward's Genius, still ador'd
By Britons, hover o'er his pond'rous Sword,
And Henry, Terror-plum'd, his Faulchion wield,
Stern as in Agincourt's immortal Field.
But soon from thence with trembling Steps I turn
To vent my Grief o'er that lamented Urn,
Which, moist with Britain's Sorrow, now contains
The Parent's, Husband's, Frederick's lov'd Remains.

‘Ah Prince, I cry'd, while Pity fill'd my Eye,
‘Frederick, endear'd by ev'ry social Tye,
‘When late I saw thee drop a tender Tear
‘Of feeling Sympathy on Juliet's Bier,
‘And heard thy youthful Train with Sighs confess
‘Humane Compassion at her feign'd Distress,
‘How little thought I what a fatal Blow
‘Would soon give Cause for undissembled Woe,
‘That we in sad Procession soon should join,
‘And the next fun'ral Obsequies be thine!

‘No longer now in Kew's or Cliefden's Grove
‘That pratt'ling Train shall with thee sportive rove,

‘No more their Stories shall thy Walks beguile,
‘Nor thou repay those Stories with a Smile,
‘Nor view their Eyes, and with a Kiss declare
‘Thou seest their Mother, thy Augusta, there.

‘But O! thou Partner of his happiest Hour,
‘Thou widow'd Fair, a Partner now no more,
‘Augusta, late what Transports fill'd thy Breast,
‘Blest in thy Consort, in thy Children blest!
‘On downy Feet each golden Moment flew,
‘Rich with such Love as earliest Ages knew;
‘Thy envy'd Palace with such Bliss was crown'd,
‘As is in Palaces but rarely found;
‘Such Bliss as ev'n the Nymphs of rural Plains
‘Experience rarely with their Cottage Swains.
‘But now’——

While thus I mourn'd, an undulating Light,
Swift darting thro' the Fane dispers'd the Night,
Each Pillar bow'd, each sculptur'd Statue shook,
And from the hollow Vault these Accents broke.

‘Grieve not for Me; but yield to Heav'n's Behest!
‘I feel the Sigh that heaves my Consort's Breast;
‘But know, such Virtues never can despair,
‘Blest with my Children's Love and Father's Care;
‘A Husband's Loss that Father shall supply,
‘Those Children, train'd beneath her forming Eye,
‘Shall well their Grand-sire's Tenderness repay,
‘The fav'rite Theme of ev'ry British Lay.

‘Northink, that thou shalt see the deathless Name
‘Of Britain blotted from the Rolls of Fame,
‘Ev'n when the last sad Duties shall be paid,
‘In these arch'd Isles, to George's honour'd Shade;
‘Another George shall then, ev'n then, impart
‘Rekindling Transports to each loyal Heart:
‘Thro' dark Futurity my ravish'd Eyes
‘View other Edwards, Henries, Williams rise:
‘I see, I see the blooming Train advance,
‘The Pride of Britain, and the Dread of France;
‘Bards yet unborn their Praises shall resound,
‘Alike in Senates and in Fields renown'd,

‘Fair Freedom's Throne they dauntless shall maintain,
‘And rule with sov'reign Nod the subject Main.

‘Then Britain shall with grateful Joy embrace
‘Thedarling Youths, and view her Frederick's Race
‘To all their great Forefathers' Fame aspire,
‘Nor, when she views the Sons, forget the Sire.’

ODE

Presented to his GRACE THOMAS HOLLES, Duke of NEWCASTLE, Chancellor of the University of Cambridge At his Arrival there, June 14, 1753.

I.

From the Moss-grown Coral Cave
Circled by thy silver Wave,
Where to thy adoring Eyes
Oft thy laurel'd Sons arise,

Father Camus, haste and hear!
Haste, hither haste, and to thy fav'rite Mead
The blithsome Band of Sister Naiads lead!
For see! from rural Joys and public Cares,
From Esher's peaceful Grove,
And Claremont's proud Alcove,
From Freedom's Council and Britannia's King,
Once more to thy Castalian Spring
The Guardian of the Muse repairs:
O'er yon embroider'd Plain,
With Patriots in his Train,
Propt on thy sculptur'd Urn behold him stray!
When Athens call'd, could Rome detain,
Or Tusculum delay?
Haste then, and hail the happy Hour
That to thy fragrant Bow'r,
To Granta and the Nine
Such Sons, such Patriots gave, and made a Holles thine.

[_]

This and the two following Stanzas allude to those three signal Prooss which his Grace has given of his Regard for the Learning, Morals, and Splendor of his University: 1. By establishing annual Prizes; 2. By forming new Regulations; and 3. By setting on foot a Subscription for a new Library, towards which his Majesty, with his usual Munificence, contributed 2000 l.

II.

In some sequester'd Shade,
Attended by the tuneful Maid,
Pleas'd let me catch the plausive Song
Of all the Sister Arts, that round him throng,
When with a golden emblematic Prize
He decks each blushing Youth,
Who conquer'd in the Lists of Fame,
By Science favour'd, and approv'd by Truth:
Since Strength of Genius far outvies
The Body's brutal Force,
Since one Excursion of the Mind exceeds
The swiftest Sallies of victorious Steeds,
Less glorious were the Boughs,
Which, at the boasted Grecian Games,
Adorn'd a Theron's or a Hiero's Brows,
Tho' Pindar's lofty Laysimmortalize their Names.

III.

From thee, great Friend of Virtue's Cause,
What various Blessings flow!
To thy unweary'd Zeal the Muses owe
That, check'd with just Controul
By salutary Laws,
Youth's rapid Streams serenely roll,
For Discipline resumes her wide Command,
And dauntless rules with unrelaxing Hand.

IV.

Ev'n now, aspiring to the Sky,
A long-wish'd Structure strikes my Sight
With Wonder and Delight,
Piercing the Vale of dark Futurity!
For soon shall Camus' glassy Stream
Reflect a rising Dome,
Worthy Athens, worthy Rome,
Worthy Phœbus' blissful Seat,
Worthy Pelham's lov'd Retreat,
The Muse's Glory and the Poet's Theme.

V.

O Granta, with majestic Mien
Advance, and hail the sacred Scene!
Let Music leave her airy Tow'r,
And breathe her softest Strains;
Let Fragrance quit her Myrtle Bow'r,
And range the flow'ry Plains:
She shall her choicest Incense shed
Round Holles' honour'd Head,
While George's Praises Music shall proclaim,
And warble to the Groves their Sov'reign's Name.

VI.

Shall we our tributary Lays deny,
When He, still mindful of the Nine,
(Who long have left their native Sky,
Charm'd with the Glories of the Brunswick Line,)
Pours forth his Treasures, to complete
The Grandeur of their fav'rite Seat,
And bids their Domes with Parian Lustre shine;
His bright Example shall their Sons inspire,
The Great, the Wealthy fire,
And raise to loftiest Heights their tow'ring Fame.

VII.

O Camus, thro' thy Laurel Shade
Tho' Kings and Statesmen oft have stray'd;
Tho' in these Groves with Patriot Hand
Sage Burleigh bore the Olive Wand,
And on thy Borders, crown'd with Bay,
Eliza heard the Muse's Lay;
Once more exalt thy reedy Brows, for see!
Tho' charg'd with Europe's Fate,
The Noble and the Great,
The Statesman and the Prince, remember Thee.

ODE

To the Honourabe J. Y.

[_]

Imitated from HORACE, Book II. Ode XVI.

For Quiet, on Newmarket's Plain,
The shiv'ring Curate prays in vain,
When wintry Show'rs are falling,
And stumbling Steed and whistling Wind
Quite banish from his anxious Mind
The Duties of his Calling.

With Thoughts engross'd by Routs and Plays,
The gallant Soph for Quiet prays,
Confuted and confuting;
And Quiet is alike desir'd
Ev'n by the King's Professor, tir'd
With wrangling and disputing.

In crowded Senate, on the Chair
Of our Vice-Chancellor sits Care,
Undaunted by the Mace;
Care climbs the Yatch, when adverse Gales
Detain, or tear our Patron's Sails,
And ruffles ev'n his Grace.

How blest is he whose annual Toil
With well-rang'd Trees improves a Soil
For Ages yet unborn!
Such as at humble Barley, plann'd
By mitred Herring's youthful Hand,
The cultur'd Glebe adorn.

From Place to Place we still pursue
Content, and hope in each to view
The visionary Guest;
Vainly we fly intruding Care,
Not all, like you, the Joys can share
Of Wimple and of Wrest.

Then let us snatch, while in our Pow'r,
The present transitory Hour,
And leave to Heav'n the Morrow;
Youth has its Griefs; a Friend may die,
Or Nymph deceive; for none can fly
The Giant Hand of Sorrow.

His Country's Hope and Parent's Pride,
In Bloom of Life young Blandford died:
His godlike Father's Eyes
Were dimm'd with Age and helpless Tears;
And Heav'n to Me may grant the Years
Which it to You denies.

Your rising Virtues soon will claim
A Portion of your Brothers' Fame,
And catch congenial Fire;
They shine in Embassy and War,
They grace the Senate and the Bar,
And emulate their Sire.

Invested with the sacred Gown,
You soon, to rival their Renown,
The glorious Task shall join;
And while they guard Britannia's Laws,
You, steady to Religion's Cause,
Shall guard the Laws divine.

1753.

FINIS.