Miscellanies in prose and verse on several occasions, by Claudero [i.e. James Wilson], son of Nimrod the Mighty Hunter. The Fourth Edition with large Additions |
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An Elegy on the Right Honourable Charles
Earl of Traquair, who died the 24th of April 1764.
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 | Miscellanies in prose and verse |  |
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An Elegy on the Right Honourable Charles Earl of Traquair, who died the 24th of April 1764.
Ye Fates, who cut poor mortals down,
Nor spare the mitre or the crown;
Indulge me here, in strains sincere,
To mourn the death of Great Traquair.
Allow me too, with love and fear,
To drop a sympathetic tear.
His sacred life and memory
Deserves the highest Elegy:
While I attempt the pious task,
I must, at same time, pardon ask,
For soaring thus above my sphere,
Like Dedalus, into the air.
Nor spare the mitre or the crown;
Indulge me here, in strains sincere,
To mourn the death of Great Traquair.
Allow me too, with love and fear,
To drop a sympathetic tear.
His sacred life and memory
Deserves the highest Elegy:
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I must, at same time, pardon ask,
For soaring thus above my sphere,
Like Dedalus, into the air.
Ye Nine, my numbers then attend,
And guard my verse, lest it offend:
The subject here is far too grand
For humble Muse to take in hand;
And might employ the lofty quill
Of Pope, who sung both smooth and shrill:
But, as I wish to do my best,
Let critics hush, and be at rest.
And guard my verse, lest it offend:
The subject here is far too grand
For humble Muse to take in hand;
And might employ the lofty quill
Of Pope, who sung both smooth and shrill:
But, as I wish to do my best,
Let critics hush, and be at rest.
Ye vocal hills around Traquair,
With mournful echoes pierce the air:
Let verdure now the Bush forsake,
And nymphs and swains just grief partake:
Let flow'rs and lillies hide their head,
Who flourish'd on the banks of Tweed;
And ev'ry valley loud repeat,
The doleful accents round his seat.
Let widows too and orphans mourn,
And pay a tribute at his urn.
The Benefactor of the poor,
Who cloath'd and fed them at his door.
The Good, the Great, the Meek, the Just,
Your potent Lord reverts to dust.
True piety his soul inspir'd,
And charity his bosom fir'd:
Both debonnair and sweet withal;
He never bow'd a knee to Baal;
Nor worship'd e'er the Golden Beast,
Th'abomination of his breast;
While hypocrites did kiss its paw,
And cringing at its feet did fa'.
O! ev'ry faithful martial clan,
Loud, loudly mourn the God-like man,
Whose loyal soul is now in glore,
To praise Jehovah evermore.
With mournful echoes pierce the air:
Let verdure now the Bush forsake,
And nymphs and swains just grief partake:
Let flow'rs and lillies hide their head,
Who flourish'd on the banks of Tweed;
And ev'ry valley loud repeat,
The doleful accents round his seat.
Let widows too and orphans mourn,
And pay a tribute at his urn.
The Benefactor of the poor,
Who cloath'd and fed them at his door.
The Good, the Great, the Meek, the Just,
Your potent Lord reverts to dust.
True piety his soul inspir'd,
And charity his bosom fir'd:
Both debonnair and sweet withal;
He never bow'd a knee to Baal;
Nor worship'd e'er the Golden Beast,
Th'abomination of his breast;
While hypocrites did kiss its paw,
And cringing at its feet did fa'.
O! ev'ry faithful martial clan,
Loud, loudly mourn the God-like man,
Whose loyal soul is now in glore,
To praise Jehovah evermore.
May Heav'n his successor inspire
With all the virtues of his Sire.
And, to sum up our wishes brief,
May laurels wreathe Britannia's Chief.
With all the virtues of his Sire.
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May laurels wreathe Britannia's Chief.
| Miscellanies in prose and verse | |