 | The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison |  |
202
VERSES:
Humbly Inscribed to the Right Honourable Brownlow, Earl of Exeter, &c. Occasioned by the Birth of his Son and Heir the Lord Burleigh.
My Root was spread out by the Waters, and the Dew lay all Night upon the Branch: My Glory was fresh in me, and my Bow was renewed in my Hand,
Job xxix. 19, 20.
From this auspicious Hour let Glory trace,
The lengthened Honours of the Cecil's Race;
And, as her Eyes indulge the Purple Scene,
The glad Procession, and the shining Train,
Of Ermin'd Ancestors, and Burleigh's Son,
And Annals ever-blending with her own;
Weigh ev'ry Worth, and each distinguish'd Claim,
To the vast Splendor of superior Fame;
Till fairest Omens check her fruitless Care,
And fix the long-disputed Lustre here.
The lengthened Honours of the Cecil's Race;
And, as her Eyes indulge the Purple Scene,
The glad Procession, and the shining Train,
Of Ermin'd Ancestors, and Burleigh's Son,
And Annals ever-blending with her own;
Weigh ev'ry Worth, and each distinguish'd Claim,
To the vast Splendor of superior Fame;
203
And fix the long-disputed Lustre here.
To polish Worth, and fill the glowing Heart
With purest Strains of Honour and Desert;
Till finish'd Merit can refine no more,
And Nature gives the generous Conflict o'er;
Till the last Touch compleats the labour'd Piece,
And Glory cries, I'm satisfy'd with This:
The Toil of rowling Seasons must engage,
The Pangs of Years, the Labour of an Age.
With purest Strains of Honour and Desert;
Till finish'd Merit can refine no more,
And Nature gives the generous Conflict o'er;
Till the last Touch compleats the labour'd Piece,
And Glory cries, I'm satisfy'd with This:
The Toil of rowling Seasons must engage,
The Pangs of Years, the Labour of an Age.
In this fair Pledge of Burleigh's endless Name,
This happy Earnest of continuing Fame;
Let gen'rous Cecil lend one falling Tear,
And read the narrow Date Mortality must share.
Pass but an Year, an Age, or Æra by,
Our Selves, our Merits, and our Names shall dye:
The poor capricious Being of a Day,
The slender Vassals of a swift Decay.
Like shadowy Heroes of a Theatre,
Born for a while to Blaze—and disappear;
The mould'ring Subject of a scanty Date,
Prais'd in this Age—and in the next forgot.
This happy Earnest of continuing Fame;
Let gen'rous Cecil lend one falling Tear,
And read the narrow Date Mortality must share.
Pass but an Year, an Age, or Æra by,
Our Selves, our Merits, and our Names shall dye:
The poor capricious Being of a Day,
The slender Vassals of a swift Decay.
204
Born for a while to Blaze—and disappear;
The mould'ring Subject of a scanty Date,
Prais'd in this Age—and in the next forgot.
But gracious Heaven with healing Care ordains,
For transient Merit still its kind Remains;
Thus God-like Stems she Labours to retrieve
From the dark Bosom of the silent Grave:
And by successive Blooms of Worth repays,
The hasty Flow of quick-expiring Days.
For transient Merit still its kind Remains;
Thus God-like Stems she Labours to retrieve
From the dark Bosom of the silent Grave:
And by successive Blooms of Worth repays,
The hasty Flow of quick-expiring Days.
His Course of Glory well has Cecil run;
“He ow'd his Britain nothing but a Son,
To speed th' immortal Glories of his Line
Along the Flood of Ages, and the Flow of Time.
If Patriots claim an Int'rest in the Praise,
And share the future Glories of their Race:
The Father blooms with Triumphs of the Son,
And all the distant Merit is his own;
Repaid is He that watch'd for Britain's Queen,
Nor has great Burleigh merited in vain.
“He ow'd his Britain nothing but a Son,
To speed th' immortal Glories of his Line
Along the Flood of Ages, and the Flow of Time.
If Patriots claim an Int'rest in the Praise,
And share the future Glories of their Race:
The Father blooms with Triumphs of the Son,
And all the distant Merit is his own;
205
Nor has great Burleigh merited in vain.
Illustrious Youth! to early Fame appear,
And answer all Eliza's forming Care:
Here in thy own Britannia's Annals learn,
What Time and Glory ask from Cecil's Son.
Already I survey this watchful Care,
To crush the Embryo Seeds of rising War;
To Prop the awful Pile of Britain's State,
To curb the Rhine, and balance Europe's Fate:
Hear Thee proclaim'd thy Country's best Defence,
And chose to speak a Loyal Nation's Sense.
But O! when Heaven grows envious of his Days,
And re-demands her Blessing to the Skies;
Let Burleigh join his Labours with thy own,
And be the Tutelary Saints of Britain's Throne.
And answer all Eliza's forming Care:
Here in thy own Britannia's Annals learn,
What Time and Glory ask from Cecil's Son.
Already I survey this watchful Care,
To crush the Embryo Seeds of rising War;
To Prop the awful Pile of Britain's State,
To curb the Rhine, and balance Europe's Fate:
Hear Thee proclaim'd thy Country's best Defence,
And chose to speak a Loyal Nation's Sense.
But O! when Heaven grows envious of his Days,
And re-demands her Blessing to the Skies;
Let Burleigh join his Labours with thy own,
And be the Tutelary Saints of Britain's Throne.
J. Taylor, A. B. Div. Johan. Coll. Cant.
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