 | The miscellaneous works (1739) |  |
On the death of the honourable Henry Thynne, Esq; only son of the right honourable Thomas, Lord Viscount Weymouth.
Ye stately buildings, and ye fair retreats,
That lately seem'd of guiltless joys the seats;
You groves, and beauteous gardens, where we find
Some graceful tracts of Weymouth's active mind;
Put off your chearful looks, and blooming air,
And wear a prospect suited to despair;
Such as the melancholy muse requires,
When fun'ral grief the mournful song inspires.
The muses here Amyntas should deplore,
Who visits these delightful walks no more.
The noble youth, adorn'd with ev'ry grace,
The boasted hope and glory of his race,
No more shall these inviting shades frequent;
What merit can the fatal hour prevent?
That lately seem'd of guiltless joys the seats;
You groves, and beauteous gardens, where we find
Some graceful tracts of Weymouth's active mind;
Put off your chearful looks, and blooming air,
And wear a prospect suited to despair;
Such as the melancholy muse requires,
When fun'ral grief the mournful song inspires.
The muses here Amyntas should deplore,
Who visits these delightful walks no more.
The noble youth, adorn'd with ev'ry grace,
The boasted hope and glory of his race,
No more shall these inviting shades frequent;
What merit can the fatal hour prevent?
Lament, ye gloomy grotts, and charming bow'rs,
Pine at your roots, ye various plants and flow'rs;
Decay'd may all your painted blossoms fall,
Nor let the genial ray your life recal;
Nor e'er again your gentle tribute bring,
(Gay nature's pride) to crown the fragrant spring:
Tho' in her prime the lovely season here,
Till now, has triumph'd round the changing year;
And blooming still the wintry turns defy'd,
Nor blasting air, nor nipping frost has try'd;
While the glad sun ev'n linger'd in his race,
And blest with constant smiles the happy place.
Pine at your roots, ye various plants and flow'rs;
76
Nor let the genial ray your life recal;
Nor e'er again your gentle tribute bring,
(Gay nature's pride) to crown the fragrant spring:
Tho' in her prime the lovely season here,
Till now, has triumph'd round the changing year;
And blooming still the wintry turns defy'd,
Nor blasting air, nor nipping frost has try'd;
While the glad sun ev'n linger'd in his race,
And blest with constant smiles the happy place.
Ye tender myrtles mourn, nor let your boughs
Hereafter deck one joyful lover's brows.
Ye folding bays, and laurel's sacred shade,
At once let all your wreathing glories fade.
May raging tempests in the grove contend,
And from the stately firs their branches rend:
Nor let their shade receive the feather'd throng,
Which chear the ev'ning with their tuneful song;
Nor ever here let balmy Zephyrs stray,
And with their fragrant breath perfume the op'ning day.
Hereafter deck one joyful lover's brows.
Ye folding bays, and laurel's sacred shade,
At once let all your wreathing glories fade.
May raging tempests in the grove contend,
And from the stately firs their branches rend:
Nor let their shade receive the feather'd throng,
Which chear the ev'ning with their tuneful song;
Nor ever here let balmy Zephyrs stray,
And with their fragrant breath perfume the op'ning day.
Ye swelling fountains, be for ever dry,
Or far from these unhappy borders fly;
Nor let the skill of any daring hand,
To grace these walks your dancing spouts command;
Nor sportive Tritons from their native course
Aloft in air, their silver currents force;
While deep cascades the musing thought delight,
And rushing waves to soft repose invite.
Or far from these unhappy borders fly;
Nor let the skill of any daring hand,
To grace these walks your dancing spouts command;
Nor sportive Tritons from their native course
Aloft in air, their silver currents force;
While deep cascades the musing thought delight,
And rushing waves to soft repose invite.
77
Let the proud pedestals no longer prop
Their marble loads, but into ruins drop;
The forms of heroes, and poetic gods,
But ill become these desolate abodes:
Amyntas is no more; who best could trace
Their fine proportions, judge of ev'ry grace,
The speaking gesture, and pathetic face.
Whatever air a noble thought exprest,
An image met in his own gen'rous breast.
Nor sculpture, nor heroic numbers told
A great design, or glorious name enroll'd,
But mov'd in him an emulating flame;
And had occasion try'd, his deeds had been the same.
Their marble loads, but into ruins drop;
The forms of heroes, and poetic gods,
But ill become these desolate abodes:
Amyntas is no more; who best could trace
Their fine proportions, judge of ev'ry grace,
The speaking gesture, and pathetic face.
Whatever air a noble thought exprest,
An image met in his own gen'rous breast.
Nor sculpture, nor heroic numbers told
A great design, or glorious name enroll'd,
But mov'd in him an emulating flame;
And had occasion try'd, his deeds had been the same.
Accomplish'd youth! why wast thou snatch'd away?
A thousand lives should have redeem'd thy stay.
Must worth, like thine, so short a period find,
And leave so many useless things behind,
Unthinking forms, the burthen of the state;
While a whole nation suffers in thy fate?
A thousand lives should have redeem'd thy stay.
Must worth, like thine, so short a period find,
And leave so many useless things behind,
Unthinking forms, the burthen of the state;
While a whole nation suffers in thy fate?
| The miscellaneous works (1739) | |