Translations and Poems Written on Several Occasions [by Samuel Boyse] |
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Written in the ancient Palace of Falkland, Sept. 1735. |
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 | Translations and Poems |  |
Written in the ancient Palace of Falkland, Sept. 1735.
Da Veniam!—si quid sensus post fata relictum est.
Lucan.
“It gives me Grief—but gives me Wonder too;
“Wonder, the noble Hand, that has thy Trust,
“Leaves thee to fall a mould'ring Heap of Dust!
“To see the fine Effects of James's Taste
“A Mass of Ruin, beautifully waste!
“Grief, in thy ruin'd yet majestic State,
“To mark the Picture of thy Country's Fate!”
Along the fractur'd Walls with Ivy bound!
Where the worn Bust display'd a dubious Face,
As if it mourn'd insulting Time's Disgrace;
Faint from beneath a hollow Murmur broke,
Resembling human Voice—and thus it spoke.
“These faithless Walls and sacrilegious Tow'rs?
“Oh rather wonder they so long have stood,
“Stain'd with black Parricide, and rais'd in Blood!
“Here regal Murder fix'd its deepest Dye,
“A Prince by Famine lost—that Shade am I!
“From a fond Father's tender Arms betray'd,
“To linger here unpity'd, unsurvey'd!
“Nor think a Stranger gave the deadly Blow,
“A barbarous Uncle bid me perish so!
“First to his Pow'r my heedless Steps allur'd,
“Then in a Dungeon's dismal Depth immur'd.
“Think I the Heir immediate to the Crown;
“Brought up in Elegance, and nurs'd in Down;
“Could form a Wish for nothing unpossess'd;
“While head-strong Passion, deaf to Reason's Law,
“Pursued intensely every Bliss it saw;
“Consum'd the short-liv'd Day in new Delight,
“In wasteful Riot lengthen'd out the Night;
“Think on the Change—the sad Reverse I found!
“Intomb'd alive, and shackled to the Ground;
“Where then was Minstrelsy? the Voice of Joy?
“The lavish Banquet, and the wanton Eye?
“The high Respect by menial Slaves bestow'd,
“The gay Attendance? and deceitful Crowd?
“All the wild Luxury, my Youth had known,
“Vanish'd at once—for ever, ever flown!
“Nine Days I struggled—think the cruel Strife!
“The Gnaw of Anguish, and the Waste of Life!
“No Cup of Water, and no Crust of Bread,
“And the cold Stone a Pillow for my Head!
“The Tenth—unable longer to sustain
“The cruel Smart, and Strength-consuming Pain,
“To my devoted Arm I turn'd for Food,
“And broke the vital Channels of my Blood!
“But Nature wasted now refus'd Supply,
“For Life's exhausted Fountains all were dry!
“In Clouds of Dizziness, involv'd my Sight,
“Dim grew all Objects, and confus'd the Light!
“The trembling Accents falter'd on my Tongue!
“Wearied I sunk in Death's embracing Shade,
“And mingled with that Earth which now you tread.”
And left with hasty Steps the fatal Ground.
It were to be wish'd those noble Persons to whom the Care of Royal Palaces, and other ancient Buildings, both sacred and profane, belongs either by Commission or Right, would take some more Care to preserve those venerable Remains of Antiquity, as entire as possible to Posterity.
James V. the politest and most elegant Prince of his Time, repaired and beautified this Palace, and built that of Linlithgow, which are both in a fine Taste for that Age, and both much superior to some celebrated Pieces of modern Architecture.
The Person introduc'd speaking here is Robert, Prince of Scotland, eldest Son to Robert III. and Brother to James I. who was betray'd to this Place, and most inhumanly starv'd to Death by his Uncle Murdoc, Duke of Albany, at the Age of nineteen Years; for which Story see Buchanan. It is remarkable this Prince had been very wild, which makes the Contraste remarkably strong.
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