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

Take, holy earth! all that my soul holds dear:
Take that best gift which Heav'n so lately gave:
To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care
Her faded form: she bow'd to taste the wave,
And died. Does Youth, does Beauty, read the line?
Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm?
Speak, dead Maria! breathe a strain divine:
Ev'n from the grave thou shalt have power to charm.
Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee;
Bid them in Duty's sphere as meekly move;
And if so fair, from vanity as free;
As firm in friendship, and as fond in love.
Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die,
('Twas ev'n to thee) yet the dread path once trod,
Heav'n lifts its everlasting portals high,
And bids “the pure in heart behold their God.”

138

EPITAPH II. ON MISS DRUMMOND,

IN THE CHURCH OF BRODSWORTH, YORKSHIRE.

Here sleeps what once was Beauty, once was Grace;
Grace, that with tenderness and sense combin'd
To form that harmony of soul and face,
Where beauty shines the mirror of the mind.
Such was the Maid, that in the morn of youth,
In virgin innocence, in Nature's pride,
Blest with each art that owes its charm to truth,
Sunk in her Father's fond embrace, and died.
He weeps: Oh venerate the holy tear:
Faith lends her aid to ease affliction's load;
The Parent mourns his Child upon her bier,
The Christian yields an Angel to his God.

139

EPITAPH III. ON JOHN DEALTRY, M. D.

IN THE CATHEDRAE OF YORK.

Here o'er the tomb, where Dealtry's ashes sleep,
See Health, in emblematic anguish weep!
She drops her faded wreath; “No more,” she cries,
“Let languid mortals, with beseeching eyes,
“Implore my feeble aid: it fail'd to save
“My own and Nature's guardian from the grave.”

This inscription alludes to the design of the sculpture, which is a figure of Health, with her ancient insignia, in alto relievo, dropping a chaplet on the side of a monumental urn.

140

EPITAPH IV. ON MRS. TATTON,

IN THE CHURCH OF WITHENSHAW IN CHESHIRE.

If e'er on earth true happiness were found
'Twas thine, blest Shade! that happiness to prove;
A father's fondest wish thy duty crown'd,
Thy softer virtues fix'd a husband's love.
Ah! when he led thee to the nuptial fane,
How smil'd the morning with auspicious rays!
How triumph'd Youth, and Beauty, in thy train,
And flatt'ring Health that promis'd length of days!
Heav'n join'd your hearts. Three pledges of your joy
Were giv'n, in thrice the years revolving round—
Here, Reader! pause; and own, with pitying eye,
That “not on earth true happiness is found.”

141

EPITAPH V. ON MR. GRAY,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

No more the Grecian Muse unrivall'd reigns,
To Britain let the nations homage pay;
She felt a Homer's fire in Milton's strains,
A Pindar's rapture from the lyre of Gray.

The cenotaph is placed immediately under that of Milton, and represents, in alto relievo, a female figure with a lyre, as emblematical of the higher kinds of poetry, pointing with one hand to the bust above, and supporting with the other a medallion, on which is a profile head inscribed, “Thomas Gray.” On the plinth is the following date; “He died July 31, 1771.”

The sculpture was executed by that eminent artist Mr. Bacon, in Newman-street, at the joint expense of Dr. James Browne, Master of Pembroke College, Cambridge; Richard Stonhewer, Esq. Auditor of Excise; and the Author.

142

EPITAPH VI. ON THOMAS FOUNTAYNE, ESQ.

ONLY SON OF THE DEAN OF YORK, IN THE CHURCH OF MELTON, YORKSHIRE.

O here, if ever, holy Patience bend
Thy duteous knee! the hand of Heav'n revere!
Here bid the father, mother, sister, friend
In mute submission drop the christian tear!
Nor blame, that in the vernal noon of youth
The buds of manly worth, whose opening bloom
Had glow'd with Honour, Fortitude, and Truth,
Sunk in th' eternal winter of the tomb:
That he, whose form with health, with beauty charm'd,
For whom fair Fortune's liberal feast was spread,
Whom Science nurtur'd, bright example warm'd,
Was torn by ling'ring torture to the dead.
“Hark!” cries a voice that awes the silenc'd air,
“The doom of man in my dread bosom lies;
“Be your's awhile to pace this vale of care,
“Be his to soar with seraphs in the skies.”

143

EPITAPH VII. ON LAUNCELOT BROWNE, ESQ.

IN THE CHURCH OF FEN-STANTON, HUNTINGDONSHIRE.

Ye Sons of Elegance; who truly taste
The simple charms which genuine Art supplies,
Come from the sylvan scenes his Genius grac'd,
And offer here your tributary sighs:
But know, that more than Genius slumbers here;
Virtues were his, that Art's best powers transcend:
Come, ye superior train! who these revere,
And weep the Christian, Husband, Father, Friend!

This and the foregoing Epitaph, with some others, come under that stricture, which Dr. Johnson has imposed on several of Mr. Pope's. The Author knows, but despises it. Personal appellatives in Greek appear gracefully in the Anthologia. In English poetry they almost constantly induce an air of vulgarity. That species of criticism, therefore, which either in the verse or prose of any language militates against what Horace calls its jus et norma loquendi, he holds to be futile. Besides this, when, on a monumental tablet, a prose inscription precedes (as is ever the modern mode) the verses, why should these be loaded with any unnecessary repetition?

144

EPITAPH VIII. ON MRS. ANN E. MORRITT,

IN THE CHURCH OF SELBY, DISTINGUISHED FOR COPYING, IN NEEDLE-WORK, SEVERAL PICTURES OF SOME OF THE FIRST ARTISTS.

Blest Shade, whose Genius in thy earliest days
Fir'd thee to emulate the Pencil's praise,
To seize the Painter's powers without the name,
And soar on female attributes to Fame!
This verse records how to those powers were join'd
The strongest manliest energies of mind,
Records those years of pain thy frame sustain'd
With patience firm, with Love and Faith unfeign'd,
And Hope, that ever hov'ring o'er thy head,
The brilliant palm of bliss eternal spread.

Her works, deservedly admired, are now in the possession of J. B. S. Morritt, Esq. at Rokeby Park, Yorkshire.

145

INSCRIPTION IX. ON A TRIPOD TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, ESQ. P. L.

IN THE PLEASURE GROUND OF EARL HARCOURT, NEWNAM, OXFORDSHIRE.

Harcourt and Friendship this memorial rais'd
Near to the oak, where Whitehead oft reclin'd;
Where all that Nature, rob'd by Art, displays
With charms congenial sooth'd his polish'd mind.
Let Fashion's votaries, let the Sons of Fire
The genius of that modest Bard despise,
Who bad Discretion regulate his lyre,
Studious to please, yet scorning to surprise.
Enough for him if those, who shar'd his love
Through life, who virtue more than verse revere,
Here pensive pause, when circling round the grove,
And drop the heart-paid tribute of a tear.

Alluding to an expression of his in his Charge to the Poets, which excited the rancour of Churchill, Lloyd, &c. See Memoirs of his Life, page 108.

146

INSCRIPTION X. UNDER A PICTURE OF THE EDITOR OF SHAKSPEARE'S MANUSCRIPTS, 1796.

PARODY.

Four Forgers, born in one prolific age,
Much critical acumen did engage.
The first was soon by doughty Douglas scar'd,
Though Johnson would have screen'd him, had he dar'd;
The next had all the cunning of a Scot
The third invention, genius—nay, what not?
Fraud, now exhausted, only could dispense
To her fourth son, their three-fold impudence.

When Lauder first produced his forgery respecting Milton, Dr. Johnson ushered it into the world by a preface, and afterwards writ Lauder's recantation. Some of his numerous biographers have endeavoured to prove the Doctor no party concerned; however this be, the virulence he afterwards shewed to Milton in the Life which he writ of him for the booksellers, leads fairly to support my assertion, that he would have defended Lauder, had he been in any sort defensible.

The translator of Fingal, Temora, &c.

The discoverer and transcriber of Rowley's Poems.