Ode to the Duke of Wellington, and other poems by Robert Charles Dallas ... Written between the ages of eleven and thirteen years |
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| LATIN LINES TO THE MEMORY OF SIR PETER PARKER, BART.
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 | Ode to the Duke of Wellington, and other poems |  |
109
LATIN LINES TO THE MEMORY OF SIR PETER PARKER, BART.
WITH AN ENGLISH VERSION.
115
LINES TO THE SAME.
Non ille pro caris amicis
Aut patriâ timidus perire
—Hor. Lib. 4. O. 14.
Aut patriâ timidus perire
—Hor. Lib. 4. O. 14.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
With all their country's wishes blest.
Collins.
With all their country's wishes blest.
Collins.
HAIL, hallow'd Grave, within whose sacred mould
Now rest the ashes of the brave, the bold:
O'er thy green sod, and consecrated tomb,
The wreathy laurel shall unfading bloom!
Distracted, kneeling near the awful bust,
Whose sainted image shrines her Husband's dust;
With broken sobs, and eyes which streaming flow,
An hapless Widow vents her madding woe;
While orphan Babes, with soft and lisping breath,
Mourn their fond Father, lock'd in icy death.
Weep, Britain, weep, and o'er brave Parker's bier
Heave the sad sigh, with many a gushing tear!
Bid thy bold sons, with grief till yet unknown,
Effuse their sorrows o'er his marbled stone,
And kindly soothe, with fun'ral tribute paid,
And martial honours, his illustrious Shade!
Emblazon'd, streaming o'er the silent grave,
Let the bright Union, low'ring, drooping wave!
Let the low dirge in solemn music toll
Its woeful requiem for his fleeting soul!
Let trailing palls diffuse their mournful gloom,
To match the horrors of the nodding plume!
Bid the dull drum, with hoarse and muffled knell,
A nation's grief, a nation's anguish tell;
While pealing vollies loud resounding roar,
Enwrapt in smoke along the echoing shore!
For, 'midst the ardour of a swelling soul,
His daring spirit nobly spurn'd control:
Bent its sole aim t' enhance his Country's good;
Firm, prompt to seal it with his martyr'd blood.
Fir'd by that wish, e'en 'midst the desperate strife
He laid no value on his gallant life;
Bade his high soul all fearful odds defy,
Seek sole to conquer, or as nobly die:
Confronted danger in the jaws of fate;
And dared be valiant, while he dared be great.
E'en when the ball his vital spark had found,
While life's warm tide pour'd gushing from the wound,
Though the chill hand of stern and ruthless death
Was chaining fast the Hero's noble breath;
His cheering voice strove still, in fate's despite,
To urge his foll'wers to the raging fight.
'Midst that dire scene, where shouts and dying cries
With deaf'ning clamour sought the vaulted skies;
'Midst thund'ring peals, 'midst dark and veiling smoke,
Whose sable gloom the flash, bright flaring, broke;
He bade them then, their Country's rights defend,
Be Conqu'rors still—or boldly meet their end!
Till weaken'd, fainting in receiving arms,
His life expiring 'midst the fierce alarms,
The gallant spirit wing'd its parting flight,
To the bright regions of celestial light.
Lo! valour, weeping, spurns the glitt'ring brand
With stricken sorrow from his slacken'd hand;
O'er the cold clay, where now his relics lie,
Entranc'd in grief he heaves the pensive sigh;
While the soft murmur of the whisp'ring gale,
His moans re-echoes through the silent vale!
See Beauty, deck'd in weeds of solemn woe,
Tear'd with pearl drops which glisten as they flow,
Weeps her lov'd Idol, who in valour's pride,
And youth fair blooming thus untimely died;
While Vict'ry, wailing, though alas! in vain,
With drooping accents mourns her Hero slain!
Now rest the ashes of the brave, the bold:
O'er thy green sod, and consecrated tomb,
The wreathy laurel shall unfading bloom!
Distracted, kneeling near the awful bust,
Whose sainted image shrines her Husband's dust;
With broken sobs, and eyes which streaming flow,
An hapless Widow vents her madding woe;
While orphan Babes, with soft and lisping breath,
Mourn their fond Father, lock'd in icy death.
Weep, Britain, weep, and o'er brave Parker's bier
Heave the sad sigh, with many a gushing tear!
116
Effuse their sorrows o'er his marbled stone,
And kindly soothe, with fun'ral tribute paid,
And martial honours, his illustrious Shade!
Emblazon'd, streaming o'er the silent grave,
Let the bright Union, low'ring, drooping wave!
Let the low dirge in solemn music toll
Its woeful requiem for his fleeting soul!
Let trailing palls diffuse their mournful gloom,
To match the horrors of the nodding plume!
Bid the dull drum, with hoarse and muffled knell,
A nation's grief, a nation's anguish tell;
While pealing vollies loud resounding roar,
Enwrapt in smoke along the echoing shore!
For, 'midst the ardour of a swelling soul,
His daring spirit nobly spurn'd control:
Bent its sole aim t' enhance his Country's good;
Firm, prompt to seal it with his martyr'd blood.
Fir'd by that wish, e'en 'midst the desperate strife
He laid no value on his gallant life;
Bade his high soul all fearful odds defy,
Seek sole to conquer, or as nobly die:
117
And dared be valiant, while he dared be great.
E'en when the ball his vital spark had found,
While life's warm tide pour'd gushing from the wound,
Though the chill hand of stern and ruthless death
Was chaining fast the Hero's noble breath;
His cheering voice strove still, in fate's despite,
To urge his foll'wers to the raging fight.
'Midst that dire scene, where shouts and dying cries
With deaf'ning clamour sought the vaulted skies;
'Midst thund'ring peals, 'midst dark and veiling smoke,
Whose sable gloom the flash, bright flaring, broke;
He bade them then, their Country's rights defend,
Be Conqu'rors still—or boldly meet their end!
Till weaken'd, fainting in receiving arms,
His life expiring 'midst the fierce alarms,
The gallant spirit wing'd its parting flight,
To the bright regions of celestial light.
118
With stricken sorrow from his slacken'd hand;
O'er the cold clay, where now his relics lie,
Entranc'd in grief he heaves the pensive sigh;
While the soft murmur of the whisp'ring gale,
His moans re-echoes through the silent vale!
See Beauty, deck'd in weeds of solemn woe,
Tear'd with pearl drops which glisten as they flow,
Weeps her lov'd Idol, who in valour's pride,
And youth fair blooming thus untimely died;
While Vict'ry, wailing, though alas! in vain,
With drooping accents mourns her Hero slain!
Yet cease your grief, for now his spirit brave,
Scorns the dark precincts of an earthly grave;
On soaring wing to happier regions flies,
Thron'd 'midst the dazzling splendour of the skies;
Where, in the choir of Heav'nly Saints enshrin'd,
Its just reward his daring soul shall find:
Where Valour's meed, and Glory's wreath shall twine,
With mutual lustre round his brows divine;
Where tuneful seraphs shall, with hallow'd praise,
Sing his bold feats, beyond all earthly lays;
His daring deeds with deathless fame record;
And martyr'd heroes his renown applaud.
Yes, much lov'd Shade! though thus, in rip'ning bloom,
Chill death hath snatch'd thee to an early tomb,
With nobler lustre thy resplendent name
Shall shine, emblazon'd, on the lists of Fame:
Thy matchless feats shall spread through ev'ry clime,
And Glory stamp them on the wings of Time:
The Warrior's breast with noble warmth inspire,
To catch the ardour of thy glowing fire:
The lisping mouths of new born babes shall tell,
How Parker fought—how nobly Parker fell!
So shall thy fame, till time shall be no more,
Undying flourish—and undying soar!
Sooth'd then to peace, sweet Mourner, cease to grieve,
Let Britain's love thy heartfelt woes relieve.
In thy dear Babes resembling beauty trace
The blooming features of thy Peter's face;
Whose blessed Spirit, now supremely great,
On tow'ring pinions scorns the bolts of Fate:
Whilst highly thron'd, 'midst happier worlds than this,
His manly virtues meet eternal bliss.
Scorns the dark precincts of an earthly grave;
On soaring wing to happier regions flies,
Thron'd 'midst the dazzling splendour of the skies;
Where, in the choir of Heav'nly Saints enshrin'd,
Its just reward his daring soul shall find:
Where Valour's meed, and Glory's wreath shall twine,
With mutual lustre round his brows divine;
119
Sing his bold feats, beyond all earthly lays;
His daring deeds with deathless fame record;
And martyr'd heroes his renown applaud.
Yes, much lov'd Shade! though thus, in rip'ning bloom,
Chill death hath snatch'd thee to an early tomb,
With nobler lustre thy resplendent name
Shall shine, emblazon'd, on the lists of Fame:
Thy matchless feats shall spread through ev'ry clime,
And Glory stamp them on the wings of Time:
The Warrior's breast with noble warmth inspire,
To catch the ardour of thy glowing fire:
The lisping mouths of new born babes shall tell,
How Parker fought—how nobly Parker fell!
So shall thy fame, till time shall be no more,
Undying flourish—and undying soar!
Sooth'd then to peace, sweet Mourner, cease to grieve,
Let Britain's love thy heartfelt woes relieve.
In thy dear Babes resembling beauty trace
The blooming features of thy Peter's face;
120
On tow'ring pinions scorns the bolts of Fate:
Whilst highly thron'd, 'midst happier worlds than this,
His manly virtues meet eternal bliss.
| Ode to the Duke of Wellington, and other poems | |