 | A Funeral Idyll |  |
5
A Funeral-Idyll,
Sacred to the Glorious Memory OF K. WILLIAM III.
Thyrsis, Menalcas.Thyrsis.
Oh thou, who lately by this silver Stream,
So sweetly welcom'd the return of Peace
Again, Menalcas, tune thy Oaten Reed,
Thy Oaten Reed, Alas! will be too weak
To sing the Fury of our Just Despair,
For Pan, I dye to say it, is no more.
Menalcas.
Ah, Thyrsis, are the Gods like humble Swains?
Was Cæsar Mortal, who so oft has met,
And dar'd in Fighting Fields, the Tyrant Death?
Say—Wou'd all Nature then appear so Gay,
Smile with the forward Beauties of the Spring?
Wou'd Birds so chearfully salute the Morn,
Wou'd the young Year leap gladly from the Womb
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Have ripen'd it to Form, to see a sight
Which threatens to Unhinge the Jarring World,
And to first Chaos fling the Medley Mass.
Well I remember, when of Old we lost
The Boasted Ruler of the State, the Winds
Broke from all Quarters with outragious War,
The Forrest Oaks were by the Tempest torn;
Old Ocean, to revenge his dying Lord,
Dash'd his white Waves against the Guilty Shoar.
Say—Wou'd this Warrior of the Race of Jove,
A God—For how can we believe him less?
To Empire summon'd by the Voice of Heaven,
Sigh out his Soul, like one of us in Peace,
While, unconcern'd, the merry Season laughs,
While Winter from the hasty Summer flies,
And Zephyrs—wanton with the blooming Woods,
Wou'd the Sun warm us with his Genial Heat,
Wou'd Seas be hush'd—and all things in a Calm,
If Pan—I dye to say it—was no more.
Thyrsis.
Return ye Winter Winds, and Rage ye Seas,
Hence the fair Promise of a Joyous Spring,
Ye Birds be silent—and ye op'ning Flow'rs,
Abortive Weather—let the frighted day
In Clouds Impenetrable hide his Beams
For Pan—I dye to say it, is no more.
Hence the fair Promise of a Joyous Spring,
Ye Birds be silent—and ye op'ning Flow'rs,
Abortive Weather—let the frighted day
In Clouds Impenetrable hide his Beams
For Pan—I dye to say it, is no more.
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See, see, Menalcas, how the Virgins Weep,
And Frantick as the Nymphs of Bacchus rave,
They tear their flowry Chaplets from their Brows,
Pluck up their golden Tresses by the roots,
They beat their lovely Breasts—the Matrons run,
And in their arms their little Infants bear,
To beg Protection of the Deathless Gods,
And with their horrid Cries torment the Air;
See, from their Flocks the careless Shepherds fly,
To swell the Chrystal Current with their tears;
The Wolf may come—for who can save 'em now
The God, who rescu'd and preserv'd the Plains,
Who scowr'd the VVoods of ev'ry Beast of Prey,
VVho, next to Jove, defended us and blest,
To Conquest us'd us, and who gave us Peace,
Nassau, I dye to say it, is no more.
And Frantick as the Nymphs of Bacchus rave,
They tear their flowry Chaplets from their Brows,
Pluck up their golden Tresses by the roots,
They beat their lovely Breasts—the Matrons run,
And in their arms their little Infants bear,
To beg Protection of the Deathless Gods,
And with their horrid Cries torment the Air;
See, from their Flocks the careless Shepherds fly,
To swell the Chrystal Current with their tears;
The Wolf may come—for who can save 'em now
The God, who rescu'd and preserv'd the Plains,
Who scowr'd the VVoods of ev'ry Beast of Prey,
VVho, next to Jove, defended us and blest,
To Conquest us'd us, and who gave us Peace,
Nassau, I dye to say it, is no more.
Menalcas.
VVhy then are you and I—is Life so sweet
That any Being we prefer to none,
Unless to be with pleasure—who wou'd be?
And what can please us-what can give us ease?
Now Cæsar is no more.
Oh Phœbus! Father of Immortal Verse,
Behold thy Sons Impatient to receive
Their Portion of Cœlestial Fire, to tell
How Great Nassau—Ah can they tell it? dy'd.
On Earth their Hero, and their Saint in Heaven;
How Pan, I dye to say it—is no more.
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Attend ye Shepherds, hear ye sighing Maids,
Menalcas, by Apollo taught, will sing
Of VVonders past, and mighty things to come.
Let Grief, tumultuous now with silent awe,
Approach and listen-while the Swain inspir'd
In Notes as lofty as his Voice can reach,
To Rivers, Hills, and Ecchoing Dales, proclaims,
How Pan, I dye to say it, is no more.
Menalcas.
Oh that the Muses! to reward my Song,
VVou'd make it lasting as the Monarchs Fame;
For sooner shall this Current change his course,
And backward to his Mother Fountain run;
VVolves with our Lambs shall innocently play,
And sooner you forsake your silent Shades
For Noise and Tumult, than the Victor's Name
To endless Ages cease to be ador'd:
In vain your Marble Monuments you'll raise,
And write his Victories on Sheets of Brass;
The Stone will moulder, and the Mettle wast,
But in our Hearts, and in our Loyal Sons,
His Vertues, and his Deeds of Arms, shall live
To all Posterity recorded down.
VVou'd make it lasting as the Monarchs Fame;
For sooner shall this Current change his course,
And backward to his Mother Fountain run;
VVolves with our Lambs shall innocently play,
And sooner you forsake your silent Shades
For Noise and Tumult, than the Victor's Name
To endless Ages cease to be ador'd:
In vain your Marble Monuments you'll raise,
And write his Victories on Sheets of Brass;
The Stone will moulder, and the Mettle wast,
But in our Hearts, and in our Loyal Sons,
His Vertues, and his Deeds of Arms, shall live
To all Posterity recorded down.
VVhere am I now transported by the Muse?
Aloft she bears me on a tow'ring VVing,
Beneath to view the Nations in Despair,
And boundless Sorrow in a thousand shapes.
Aloft she bears me on a tow'ring VVing,
Beneath to view the Nations in Despair,
And boundless Sorrow in a thousand shapes.
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Britannia first in Widow-weeds appears,
Her Hair dishevell'd, and her Bosom bare;
Her weeping Infants in her Lap she holds,
Now silently she drops Majestick Tears,
Now calls on unrelenting Heav'n aloud,
Give me my Lord, my Champion, and my King;
Who else can save me from Invading Foes?
VVho guide my Councils, and my Armies lead?
VVho Bridle Faction?—Ah! ye Sons Ingrate!
VVell, are you worthy to lament him dead,
VVhom living with unduteous Rage ye vex'd?
Did the most Zealous of your Hydra Crew
Do more for Liberty? You murm'ring askt
What Cæsar granted with such Gracious Smiles
As Heav'n on Penitent Offenders casts.
Oh had you been as ready to Repent
As Cæsar to Forgive. You oft were try'd
By War, Division, and Egyptian Plagues,
With equal Obstinacy you refus'd,
To hear the Prophets, and obey your King,
Till high the mighty Angel held his Sword,
And cut off all your hopes—who now too late
Your Disobedience curse—Thus Belial's Host
Fell from Eternal Splendours to the Deep,
And burn in Liquid Fires, for leud Designs
Against the Highest, and their Lust of Change:
Oh whither are you fall'n—when Cæsar reign'd,
Neglected other Empires lay by Fame,
While all her talk was you—whom injur'd States,
And Kings opprest; to be reliev'd, implor'd.
For as your Navy can by winds be blown,
The Victor's Name was dreaded and ador'd;
Long in Lethargick Slumbers you consum'd,
And Years of Infamy successive rowl'd,
So lost to Vertue and your ancient Fame,
You fear'd 'twas past the pow'r of Man to save,
Ev'n then Nassau your Gloomy Darkness cheers,
And with new Glories gilds the British Sky;
Transported, you behold returning Day,
Dazl'd with intollerable Floods of Light;
All Europe saw it as a Glorious Pledge
Of future Conquest and triumphant Peace.
Now recollecting all your Father's Force,
VVarm with the Trophies of unusual War,
You fiercely follow where the Hero leads,
Boyne—and the Monarch in their Rapid Course,
Saw how intrepid o're the Waves you Rode,
And drove the Rebels from the distant Shoar:
The Brittish Name grows Terrible again,
And France again begins to fear your Arms.
Ah! where's her Fear? Ah! where the Hero now?
VVeep, weep, ye Brittains, you the Nobler Part,
My Brave, my Loyal, and my Pious Sons,
For see—the Lewdest of my Children weep.
And bless him with their Impious Breath too late,
Scarce in their Tears distinguish'd from the Best,
Soon as it fled they miss'd his mighty Soul,
The Life of Peace, and Genius of the VVar,
Attack'd abroad—too much at home betray'd;
He calmly conquer'd all his Foes, but Death,
Some with Resistless Courage he subdu'd,
And some with Mercy as Resistless gain'd.
Thus Great and Good—she woud have said—he dy'd,
But Suffocating Sighs prevents her Speech:
Wrapt in her Sable Mantle she Reclines,
And gives a loose to Sorrow and Despair.
Her Hair dishevell'd, and her Bosom bare;
Her weeping Infants in her Lap she holds,
Now silently she drops Majestick Tears,
Now calls on unrelenting Heav'n aloud,
Give me my Lord, my Champion, and my King;
Who else can save me from Invading Foes?
VVho guide my Councils, and my Armies lead?
VVho Bridle Faction?—Ah! ye Sons Ingrate!
VVell, are you worthy to lament him dead,
VVhom living with unduteous Rage ye vex'd?
Did the most Zealous of your Hydra Crew
Do more for Liberty? You murm'ring askt
What Cæsar granted with such Gracious Smiles
As Heav'n on Penitent Offenders casts.
Oh had you been as ready to Repent
As Cæsar to Forgive. You oft were try'd
By War, Division, and Egyptian Plagues,
With equal Obstinacy you refus'd,
To hear the Prophets, and obey your King,
Till high the mighty Angel held his Sword,
And cut off all your hopes—who now too late
Your Disobedience curse—Thus Belial's Host
Fell from Eternal Splendours to the Deep,
And burn in Liquid Fires, for leud Designs
Against the Highest, and their Lust of Change:
Oh whither are you fall'n—when Cæsar reign'd,
10
While all her talk was you—whom injur'd States,
And Kings opprest; to be reliev'd, implor'd.
For as your Navy can by winds be blown,
The Victor's Name was dreaded and ador'd;
Long in Lethargick Slumbers you consum'd,
And Years of Infamy successive rowl'd,
So lost to Vertue and your ancient Fame,
You fear'd 'twas past the pow'r of Man to save,
Ev'n then Nassau your Gloomy Darkness cheers,
And with new Glories gilds the British Sky;
Transported, you behold returning Day,
Dazl'd with intollerable Floods of Light;
All Europe saw it as a Glorious Pledge
Of future Conquest and triumphant Peace.
Now recollecting all your Father's Force,
VVarm with the Trophies of unusual War,
You fiercely follow where the Hero leads,
Boyne—and the Monarch in their Rapid Course,
Saw how intrepid o're the Waves you Rode,
And drove the Rebels from the distant Shoar:
The Brittish Name grows Terrible again,
And France again begins to fear your Arms.
Ah! where's her Fear? Ah! where the Hero now?
VVeep, weep, ye Brittains, you the Nobler Part,
My Brave, my Loyal, and my Pious Sons,
For see—the Lewdest of my Children weep.
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Scarce in their Tears distinguish'd from the Best,
Soon as it fled they miss'd his mighty Soul,
The Life of Peace, and Genius of the VVar,
Attack'd abroad—too much at home betray'd;
He calmly conquer'd all his Foes, but Death,
Some with Resistless Courage he subdu'd,
And some with Mercy as Resistless gain'd.
Thus Great and Good—she woud have said—he dy'd,
But Suffocating Sighs prevents her Speech:
Wrapt in her Sable Mantle she Reclines,
And gives a loose to Sorrow and Despair.
Next Belgia, Rampant in her Grief, and loud,
A loving Mother, and a faithful Friend,
Thus o're her Son, with unaffected Tears,
And Plaints as hearty as Unpolish'd, Mourns,
Down with your Sluces, and your costly Dams,
Restore your borrow'd Cities to the Sea;
For now, Batavians, you'll with useless Toil,
Plough the rough Waves—and rob the Indian Groves;
Your Gums, your Spices, and your Eastern Wealth,
Will all, to the Destroyer, be a Spoil.
A loving Mother, and a faithful Friend,
Thus o're her Son, with unaffected Tears,
And Plaints as hearty as Unpolish'd, Mourns,
Down with your Sluces, and your costly Dams,
Restore your borrow'd Cities to the Sea;
For now, Batavians, you'll with useless Toil,
Plough the rough Waves—and rob the Indian Groves;
Your Gums, your Spices, and your Eastern Wealth,
Will all, to the Destroyer, be a Spoil.
Your Prince, your Friend, your Guardian, is no more,
Whose early Valour sav'd your sinking State,
And prop'd the Building which his Fathers rais'd.
Tyrants and Monsters, e're in Manhood ripe,
Like young Alcides from the World he swept.
Fierce as a Deluge, when the Spoiler King
Ran o're your Ramparts, and your Towns destroy'd;
Nassau Impetuous, like his God-like Sires,
As swiftly as he came, repell'd the Gaul,
From Forreign Bondage set you free, a Yoke
Severer than Iberian Chains of Old.
Again he threats you with a Numerous Host,
And VVar impending in a bloody Cloud,
Hangs ghastly o're your Heads; Avert it Heav'n!
To whom but Thee, Omnipotent and Just,
For Succour can we fly?
Of him that was our only Hope bereft,
Nassau, our want of Numbers cou'd supply,
With Force unequal he repuls'd the Foe,
Himself an Army, and Victorious still,
O're Fortune he triumph'd, and Fate adverse,
Nor ow'd his Greatness, or to Fraud or Chance.
Collected in himself, he stood the Storm,
The World his Burthen, with his proper strength,
Like Atlas he sustain'd the Falling Globe.
Now—terrible to think—the Pond'rous Ball
Totters unsteady in the vast Expanse,
By cruel Zeal, or wild Ambition blown,
In the first Tempest from its Base 'twill start,
Hast cruel Zeal, and wild Ambition hast;
While my brave Sons to Execute prepare
The latest Councils of our Darling Lord;
She said—and weeping to her Gally hyes,
Which streit she pushes from her artful Shoars,
To visit Fair Britannia, and condole
Their Loss and Europe's—in their lov'd Nassau.
Whose early Valour sav'd your sinking State,
And prop'd the Building which his Fathers rais'd.
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Like young Alcides from the World he swept.
Fierce as a Deluge, when the Spoiler King
Ran o're your Ramparts, and your Towns destroy'd;
Nassau Impetuous, like his God-like Sires,
As swiftly as he came, repell'd the Gaul,
From Forreign Bondage set you free, a Yoke
Severer than Iberian Chains of Old.
Again he threats you with a Numerous Host,
And VVar impending in a bloody Cloud,
Hangs ghastly o're your Heads; Avert it Heav'n!
To whom but Thee, Omnipotent and Just,
For Succour can we fly?
Of him that was our only Hope bereft,
Nassau, our want of Numbers cou'd supply,
With Force unequal he repuls'd the Foe,
Himself an Army, and Victorious still,
O're Fortune he triumph'd, and Fate adverse,
Nor ow'd his Greatness, or to Fraud or Chance.
Collected in himself, he stood the Storm,
The World his Burthen, with his proper strength,
Like Atlas he sustain'd the Falling Globe.
Now—terrible to think—the Pond'rous Ball
Totters unsteady in the vast Expanse,
By cruel Zeal, or wild Ambition blown,
In the first Tempest from its Base 'twill start,
Hast cruel Zeal, and wild Ambition hast;
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The latest Councils of our Darling Lord;
She said—and weeping to her Gally hyes,
Which streit she pushes from her artful Shoars,
To visit Fair Britannia, and condole
Their Loss and Europe's—in their lov'd Nassau.
Cease—Cease—Melpomene! thy daring Flight
O're Cities, Mountains, and extended Plains
She Wings—And lagging, I with Pain pursue
Almania now I see—a stately Dame,
Sullenly sad—but in her Grief sincere.
Ah Poor Remainders of the Roman Name,
By Christian Infidels, and Turk distrest
Abroad, what Hopes to gain thy Ravish'd Rights,
Unable to defend thy self at home:
Thy best Ally—the Champion of thy Cause,
Nassau! who bore thy Eagle to the Field,
As Dreadful as in ancient Times, maintain'd
The Crown Imperial, by his Fathers worn;
Nassau, Alas! and Conquest, are no more.
O're Cities, Mountains, and extended Plains
She Wings—And lagging, I with Pain pursue
Almania now I see—a stately Dame,
Sullenly sad—but in her Grief sincere.
Ah Poor Remainders of the Roman Name,
By Christian Infidels, and Turk distrest
Abroad, what Hopes to gain thy Ravish'd Rights,
Unable to defend thy self at home:
Thy best Ally—the Champion of thy Cause,
Nassau! who bore thy Eagle to the Field,
As Dreadful as in ancient Times, maintain'd
The Crown Imperial, by his Fathers worn;
Nassau, Alas! and Conquest, are no more.
No more the Danube, and the rappid Rhine,
Shall see him through the Gallick Squadrons drive,
And force the Bold Invaders from their Banks.
Shall see him through the Gallick Squadrons drive,
And force the Bold Invaders from their Banks.
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To the first Cæsar, thus the first Nassau,
Oppos'd his War-like Suabians, and compell'd
The Great Dictator to Record his Fame,
Nor bent to Julius, but the Fate of Rome.
Oppos'd his War-like Suabians, and compell'd
The Great Dictator to Record his Fame,
Nor bent to Julius, but the Fate of Rome.
In long Succession from his Loyns have sprung,
Sacred to Liberty, a Race Divine,
The last, the Greatest of his Line, we Mourn.
Sacred to Liberty, a Race Divine,
The last, the Greatest of his Line, we Mourn.
Securely in his Reign, we Prun'd our Vines,
And differing Nations held their own in Peace;
The Gallick Robber, Greedy of the Spoil,
Couch'd, trembling, at the Brittish Lyons Roar,
And ne'er transgress'd the Limits he prescrib'd,
But on his Young, a cruel Banquet, fed.
Now, uncontroul'd, he'll Sally from his Bounds,
On Towns and Provinces, defenceless Prey.
Ah, Lost Almania! who for thee will Arm
Collected Europe, and Unite her Realms;
She seems a Body now, without a Soul;
Nassau, who animated all her Frame,
Nassau, who ever to defend her Wak'd,
Ah Europe! in eternal Sleep is lost.
Thus to her Sons, Disconsolate, she spoke,
Then Paus'd—and starting from her Throne, she cry'd,
Let Myriads of his Foes attend his Shade,
To the Bright Verge of ever-during Day.
My Eagle to her Native Woods we'll bear,
And Italy again be mine—To Arms,
We'll Conquer in his Name—
Still hurry'd by the Heav'nly Maid along,
The Savage Dwellers of the North I view,
The Sweed Victorious, and the Vanquish'd Pole,
The Russ and Dane, lament with hideous Howls,
Peace from his Piety and Arts unknown,
They long expected, but expect no more.
And differing Nations held their own in Peace;
The Gallick Robber, Greedy of the Spoil,
Couch'd, trembling, at the Brittish Lyons Roar,
And ne'er transgress'd the Limits he prescrib'd,
But on his Young, a cruel Banquet, fed.
Now, uncontroul'd, he'll Sally from his Bounds,
On Towns and Provinces, defenceless Prey.
Ah, Lost Almania! who for thee will Arm
Collected Europe, and Unite her Realms;
She seems a Body now, without a Soul;
Nassau, who animated all her Frame,
Nassau, who ever to defend her Wak'd,
Ah Europe! in eternal Sleep is lost.
Thus to her Sons, Disconsolate, she spoke,
Then Paus'd—and starting from her Throne, she cry'd,
Let Myriads of his Foes attend his Shade,
To the Bright Verge of ever-during Day.
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And Italy again be mine—To Arms,
We'll Conquer in his Name—
Still hurry'd by the Heav'nly Maid along,
The Savage Dwellers of the North I view,
The Sweed Victorious, and the Vanquish'd Pole,
The Russ and Dane, lament with hideous Howls,
Peace from his Piety and Arts unknown,
They long expected, but expect no more.
Now Southward as the Muse returns, she sees
The Strumpet Gallia with Insulting Smiles,
And Proud Iberia in their Safety, Joy:
Fill up the Measure of your Crimes—Rejoyce,
Prophane your Pleasure as your Fear was base;
Provoke the Brittains to Revenge their King,
And punish, as they ought, your Impious Mirth.
The Strumpet Gallia with Insulting Smiles,
And Proud Iberia in their Safety, Joy:
Fill up the Measure of your Crimes—Rejoyce,
Prophane your Pleasure as your Fear was base;
Provoke the Brittains to Revenge their King,
And punish, as they ought, your Impious Mirth.
Hence—Bear me from this cruel Vision home,
Yon rising Star will guide us through the Gloom,
A welcome Omen of Elisa's Days:
Bless it, ye Brittains, with your Vows sincere.
Thus Fair she rose, and with continu'd Light,
Dispers'd her Beams around the neighb'ring Spheres.
Thus long, Oh Queen! Thus Happy be your Reign,
The fame your Royal Vertue, and your Fate,
Belov'd, Obey'd, and o're the World Renown'd.
Yon rising Star will guide us through the Gloom,
A welcome Omen of Elisa's Days:
Bless it, ye Brittains, with your Vows sincere.
Thus Fair she rose, and with continu'd Light,
Dispers'd her Beams around the neighb'ring Spheres.
Thus long, Oh Queen! Thus Happy be your Reign,
The fame your Royal Vertue, and your Fate,
Belov'd, Obey'd, and o're the World Renown'd.
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Descend Melpomene! Descend and leave
Thy Shepherd with his Fellow-Swains to Mourn;
The Goddess Clio will her Trumpet sound,
And loud Calliope Inspire her Sons,
In Numbers Mighty as the Theam to sing.
Thy Shepherd with his Fellow-Swains to Mourn;
The Goddess Clio will her Trumpet sound,
And loud Calliope Inspire her Sons,
In Numbers Mighty as the Theam to sing.
Thyrsis.
How Sweet, the Musick that can Charm Despair,
Sing on, Menalcas! See—the Flocks and Herds
Their Pasture leave, to listen to thy Song.
Menalcas.
See—rather, Thyrsis, how the lengthning Shades,
And Phœbus hastning to the West—Invite
The Shepherds and the Nymphs to Love and Rest.
Hence—Love and Rest, and ev'ry Sylvan Joy,
For Pan, I dye to say it, is no more.
FINIS.
| A Funeral Idyll | |