Mr. Cooke's Original Poems with Imitations and Translations of Several Select Passages of the Antients, In Four Parts: To which are added Proposals For perfecting the English Language |
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TYRTÆUS on MARTIAL
Virtue.
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 | Mr. Cooke's Original Poems |  |
257
TYRTÆUS on MARTIAL Virtue.
To the Duke of Marlborough.
To thee, departed Chief, this Debt I pay,
The Song of Justice, and no venal Lay.
Thy martial Virtues, each advent'rous Deed,
A Tyrant humbled, and a Kingdom freed,
Thy Name above preceding Heros raise,
Excite our Wonder, and demand our Praise.
For thee, immortal Shade, the Lyre is strung
To Strains which erst the brave Tyrtæus sung;
Whose Verse the Youth of Lacedæmon fir'd,
And to the Fight the Blood of Age inspir'd;
O! had he liv'd thy mighty Acts to tell,
How had the Battel rag'd, the valiant fell!
Thee had we seen in thy triumphant Car,
And round thee all the Virtues of the War:
But Nature gave him to a grateful Age,
That saw the Beautys of the Warrior's Page.
Thus the bless'd Bard began the martial Strain,
And to his Country sung, nor sung in vain.
The Song of Justice, and no venal Lay.
Thy martial Virtues, each advent'rous Deed,
A Tyrant humbled, and a Kingdom freed,
Thy Name above preceding Heros raise,
Excite our Wonder, and demand our Praise.
For thee, immortal Shade, the Lyre is strung
To Strains which erst the brave Tyrtæus sung;
Whose Verse the Youth of Lacedæmon fir'd,
And to the Fight the Blood of Age inspir'd;
O! had he liv'd thy mighty Acts to tell,
How had the Battel rag'd, the valiant fell!
Thee had we seen in thy triumphant Car,
And round thee all the Virtues of the War:
But Nature gave him to a grateful Age,
That saw the Beautys of the Warrior's Page.
Thus the bless'd Bard began the martial Strain,
And to his Country sung, nor sung in vain.
258
“No Place he merits in recording Song,
“Whose only Boast is that he's swift and strong,
“Not tho in Might he with the Cyclops vys,
“And from the Goal swift as the Wind he flys,
“Nor he whom Nature, with indulgent Care,
“Has form'd more graceful than Tithonus fair,
“Not tho he hoards of Cinyras the Store,
“And to him Midas, wealthy Prince, is poor;
“Nor o'er Dominions large who greater reigns
“Than Pelops, Monarch of the Phrygian Plains;
“Nor he who sweeter than Adrastus spoke,
“Who forc'd Attention when he Silence broke:
“All human Glory let him proudly gain,
“To me all Glory but of War is vain.
“Whose only Boast is that he's swift and strong,
“Not tho in Might he with the Cyclops vys,
“And from the Goal swift as the Wind he flys,
“Nor he whom Nature, with indulgent Care,
“Has form'd more graceful than Tithonus fair,
“Not tho he hoards of Cinyras the Store,
“And to him Midas, wealthy Prince, is poor;
“Nor o'er Dominions large who greater reigns
“Than Pelops, Monarch of the Phrygian Plains;
“Nor he who sweeter than Adrastus spoke,
“Who forc'd Attention when he Silence broke:
“All human Glory let him proudly gain,
“To me all Glory but of War is vain.
“He is not form'd for Arms, the Soldier's Pride,
“Who shudders when he views the sanguine Tyde:
“'Tis brave where Slaughter rages most to stand,
“And with the Foreman grapple Hand to Hand:
“This Virtue is, and this the foremost Praise;
“And this to Fame the glowing Youth shall raise.
“Who shudders when he views the sanguine Tyde:
“'Tis brave where Slaughter rages most to stand,
“And with the Foreman grapple Hand to Hand:
“This Virtue is, and this the foremost Praise;
“And this to Fame the glowing Youth shall raise.
“The Voice of Honour is a gen'ral Call,
“The Scene of Battel open lys to all;
“The City there the Townsman may defend,
“And prove, in Danger, most her faithful Friend.
“May none inlist and then ignobly fly,
“But boldly face the War nor fear to dy.
“The Man who dauntless can resign his Breath,
“And animate his Friend to rush on Death,
“Is form'd for Arms; him Glory calls afar
“To shine illustrious in the Garb of War;
“He the dread Phalanx shall compel to Flight,
“And drive impetuous, like the Waves, the Fight.
“See the brave Man in the first Ranks expire,
“Boast of his Country, and his aged Sire!
“His bleeding Breast declares he nobly fell,
“And the pierc'd Shield and wounded Corslet tell.
“Their Hero dead the hoary Sires deplore,
“And the Youth grieve who know'd no Grief before;
“From all her Eyes the City mourns the slain,
“And follows to the Grave a dismal Train;
“All Men his Tomb, all Men his Sons, adore,
“And his Son's Sons, till they shall be no more:
“His fair Renown shall never fade away,
“Nor shall the Mention of his Name decay,
“Who glorious falls beneath the Conqu'rer's Hand
“For his dear Children and his native Land;
“Tho to the Dust his mortal Part we give,
“His Fame, in Triumph o'er the Grave, shall live.
“The Scene of Battel open lys to all;
“The City there the Townsman may defend,
“And prove, in Danger, most her faithful Friend.
259
“But boldly face the War nor fear to dy.
“The Man who dauntless can resign his Breath,
“And animate his Friend to rush on Death,
“Is form'd for Arms; him Glory calls afar
“To shine illustrious in the Garb of War;
“He the dread Phalanx shall compel to Flight,
“And drive impetuous, like the Waves, the Fight.
“See the brave Man in the first Ranks expire,
“Boast of his Country, and his aged Sire!
“His bleeding Breast declares he nobly fell,
“And the pierc'd Shield and wounded Corslet tell.
“Their Hero dead the hoary Sires deplore,
“And the Youth grieve who know'd no Grief before;
“From all her Eyes the City mourns the slain,
“And follows to the Grave a dismal Train;
“All Men his Tomb, all Men his Sons, adore,
“And his Son's Sons, till they shall be no more:
“His fair Renown shall never fade away,
“Nor shall the Mention of his Name decay,
“Who glorious falls beneath the Conqu'rer's Hand
“For his dear Children and his native Land;
“Tho to the Dust his mortal Part we give,
“His Fame, in Triumph o'er the Grave, shall live.
260
“If with Success he wards the fatal Blow,
“And home returns safe from the vanquish'd Foe,
“The young and old their grateful Homage pay
“To him, the Victor of the well-fought Day:
“Uninterrupted Joys his Hours attend,
“And in Abundance wait him to his End;
“His Glory all consult, and all his Peace;
“And lo! his Honours with his Days encrease;
“Him, proud to rev'rence, shall the noblest grace,
“And to their Soldier rise in ev'ry Place;
“Each Sex, and ev'ry Age, of all Degrees,
“Fear to offend him, and rejoice to please.
“And home returns safe from the vanquish'd Foe,
“The young and old their grateful Homage pay
“To him, the Victor of the well-fought Day:
“Uninterrupted Joys his Hours attend,
“And in Abundance wait him to his End;
“His Glory all consult, and all his Peace;
“And lo! his Honours with his Days encrease;
“Him, proud to rev'rence, shall the noblest grace,
“And to their Soldier rise in ev'ry Place;
“Each Sex, and ev'ry Age, of all Degrees,
“Fear to offend him, and rejoice to please.
“Who to this Height of Virtue hopes to rise,
“Must Toil, must Danger, and must Death, despise;
“Undaunted he must take the martial Field,
“In Resolution strong, untaught to yield.
“Must Toil, must Danger, and must Death, despise;
“Undaunted he must take the martial Field,
“In Resolution strong, untaught to yield.
| Mr. Cooke's Original Poems | |