The Works of William Mason :: :: University of Virginia Library

Deign, mournful Maid, while o'er yon sacred bier
Thy streaming eyes with duteous sorrows flow;
Deign, mournful Maid, to lend a list'ning ear
To strains, that swell with sympathetic woe.
Attend that Muse, who late in happier hour
Heard thy soft voice its tuneful pow'rs employ,
Where D'Arcy call'd to Chiswick's social bower
Mild mirth, and polish'd ease, and decent joy.

How did bleak Winter smooth his rugged frown!
What genial Zephyrs fann'd each budding spray!
How glow'd the Sun, as if in haste to crown
The sullen brows of March with wreaths of May!
Ah! did we think, while on thy warbling strain
Our rapt attention hung with mute delight,
That fell disease, that agonizing pain,
That Death then sail'd upon the wings of night,
To strike that stroke, which not thy breast alone,
But ev'ry Briton's honest heart must rend,
At which a nation's tears must join thy own,
And, whilst you wept a father, weep a friend?
Yet such th' irrevocable doom of Jove.
Let then that Muse, who shar'd thy happier hour,
Now lead thee pensive to the cypress grove,
Where pansies spring, and each funereal flower.
There, while thy tender hand, his grave to strew,
The modest snow-drop's vernal silver bears,
The violet sad of pallid purple hue,
The crocus glist'ning with the morn's first tears;
My bolder arm shall crop the laureat shade;
By me the olive and the palm be borne,
And from the British oak's majestic head
A civic wreath for his illustrious urn.
But see! while in the solemn task we join,
Soft gleams of lustre tremble through the grove,
And sacred airs of minstrelsy divine
Are harp'd around, and flutt'ring pinions move.

Ah, hark! a voice, to which the vocal rill,
The lark's extatic harmony is rude;
Distant it swells with many a holy trill,
Now breaks wide warbling from yon orient cloud!
“Rise, Patriot Shade, on seraph wing upborn!
“Behold we waft thee to the realms of rest!
“Glory is thine, and Heav'n's eternal morn;
“Ascend and share thy blessings with the blest.
“Whoe'er on earth, with conscious honour dar'd
“Beyond the flight of these inglorious days,
“Lords of themselves, here find their bright reward;
“And these shall crown thee with congenial rays.
“Whoe'er, through private life's domestic scene,
“Taught social love to spread its cheerful reign,
“Friends of mankind, here bathe in joys serene,
“And these shall hail thee 'mid their gentle train.
“The few, who bright with public virtue shone,
“Who shot the beams of peace from land to land,
“Fathers of countries, round the sapphire throne
“Shall bow, and welcome Pelham to their band.
“Rise, Patriot Shade! on seraph wing upborn,
“Behold we waft thee to the realms of rest!
“Glory is thine, and Heav'n's eternal morn;
“Ascend and share thy blessings with the blest!”

He died March 6th, 1754. This Poem was presented to her soon after. At the very beginning of that month the Lady had been with a select party at a small villa in Chiswick, then rented by the Earl of Holdernesse. The Author was, at the time, advised by several of his friends, to publish it; but an Ode, written by Mr. Garrick on the same subject (see Dodsley's Miscellany, Vol. IV. page 198,) had got the start of him. He therefore retained it in manuscript, being by this time sufficiently apprized, that a poem, whose merit rested chiefly on picturesque imagery, and what is termed pure (or mere) poetry, was not calculated to vie, in point of popularity, with what was written in a plainer and less figurative mode, and conveyed in a more familiar style and stanza. First published 1797.