The Wiccamical Chaplet a selection of original poetry; comprising smaller poems, serious and comic; classical trifles; sonnets; inscriptions and epitaphs; songs and ballads; mock-heroics, epigrams, fragments, &c. &c. Edited by George Huddesford |
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 | INSCRIPTIONS AND EPITAPHS. |
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 | The Wiccamical Chaplet |  |
89
INSCRIPTIONS AND EPITAPHS.
92
ON THE SAME.
[Farewell, dear youth, whom Wykeham's wide-spread name]
Farewell, dear youth, whom Wykeham's wide-spread name,Far from thy native isle, to Albion brought,
Warm'd with the love of science, to the walls
Whence Chiefs and Bards and holy Priests have sprung
Of ancient wisdom; for relentless Death
Hath swept thee to the grave! but as I tread
The solemn isle by the dim taper's gleam,
A sudden voice thus strikes my wand'ring ear:
“Weep not for me, to Heav'n's high mansions snatch'd
“From earth's low trifles, from life's pains and woes:
“I conquer Death, and triumph o'er the grave.”
93
Inscribed beneath the Picture of an ASS.
Meek animal, whose simple mien,
Provokes th'insulting eye of Spleen
To mock the melancholy trait
Of patience in thy front display'd,
By thy Great Author fitly so pourtray'd,
To character the sorrows of thy fate.
Provokes th'insulting eye of Spleen
To mock the melancholy trait
Of patience in thy front display'd,
By thy Great Author fitly so pourtray'd,
To character the sorrows of thy fate.
Say, Heir of misery, what to thee
Is life!—A long, long gloomy stage
Thro' the sad vale of labour and of pain!
No pleasure hath thine youth, no rest thine age,
Nor in the vasty round of this Terrene
A friend to set thee free,
Till Death, perhaps too late,
In the dark ev'ning of thy chearless day,
Shall take thee, fainting on thy way,
From the rude storm of unresisted hate.
Is life!—A long, long gloomy stage
Thro' the sad vale of labour and of pain!
No pleasure hath thine youth, no rest thine age,
Nor in the vasty round of this Terrene
A friend to set thee free,
Till Death, perhaps too late,
In the dark ev'ning of thy chearless day,
Shall take thee, fainting on thy way,
From the rude storm of unresisted hate.
Yet dares th'erroneous crowd to mark
With Folly this despised race,
Th'ungovernable Pack, who bark
With impious howlings in Heav'n's awful face,
If e'er on their impatient head
Affliction's bitter show'r is shed.
With Folly this despised race,
Th'ungovernable Pack, who bark
With impious howlings in Heav'n's awful face,
If e'er on their impatient head
Affliction's bitter show'r is shed.
But 'tis the weakness of thy kind
Meekly to bear th'inevitable sway;
The wisdom of the human mind
Is to murmur and obey.
Meekly to bear th'inevitable sway;
The wisdom of the human mind
Is to murmur and obey.
94
EPITAPH ON AN INFIRM OLD LADY, Who died aged 96.
Worn with old Time in many a circling year,Nor young in faith and truth, with nought to fear
And all to hope, I dropt this trembling load,
And on the wings of Virtue soar'd to God.
INSCRIPTION IN AN ARBOUR.
Come, gentle Air! my bower in bloom
Returns the Jess'mine's breath for thine,
Returns the Rose's fresh perfume
And incense from the Eglantine!
Returns the Jess'mine's breath for thine,
Returns the Rose's fresh perfume
And incense from the Eglantine!
Come, gentle Air, and bring along
(While Sirius darts his fiercest fire)
With thee the Muse, with thee the Song,
With thee the sweetness of the Lyre.
(While Sirius darts his fiercest fire)
With thee the Muse, with thee the Song,
With thee the sweetness of the Lyre.
When thou art gone, O gentle Air!
And storms succeed thy genial power,
The Lyre can charm, tho' Winter tear
My tendrils and destroy my bower.
And storms succeed thy genial power,
The Lyre can charm, tho' Winter tear
My tendrils and destroy my bower.
95
EPITAPH On a late LIBERAL and LEARNED LIMB OF THE LAW.
There's a Proverb we've all of us heard of and read,“Say nothing but that which is good of the dead:”
Since John H***y's gone, keep this proverb in view,
And be sure you say nothing of John that is true.
AN INSCRIPTION ON AN OBELISK AT LONGFORD IN WILTS, The Seat of the Earl of Radnor,
Commemorating the unhappy Fate of a Mr. Cervington, who was formerly in Possession of that Estate.
While o'er these Lawns thine eye delighted strays,Allow a pause to hear the tale of woe.—
Here stood the parent Elm in elder days,
Here, o'er its Lord, slow wav'd the wither'd bough;
While pale and cold his famish'd cheek full low,
On the rude turf, in Death's last swooning lay. [OMITTED]
96
As by the menials taunted from the door,
Fainting, he wander'd; then beneath the tree
Sunk down:—Sweet Heav'n! what pangs his bosom tore,
When o'er yon lordly dome, his own no more,
He roll'd his dying eyes!—Ah, what compare
To this the lessons taught of sages hoar!—
By his mad revels, by the gilded snare,
By all thy hopes of joy, O Fortune's Child, “Beware!”
EPITAPH ON AN OLD MAID IN A COUNTRY VILLAGE.
Good Friends, farewell; here end my cares,
And all my virgin hopes and fears;
Tho' I'm persuaded, had I tarried
Much longer here, I'd ne'er been married.
My manners, troth, were plain and downright,
Not the fine lady, nor the clown quite:—
Throughout my life, whate'er I cou'd,
I daily aim'd at doing good;
Kind office ne'er refus'd to neighbour;
A handy body at a labour;
At wedding-feasts I've bak'd and boil'd,
And ne'er one dish for malice spoil'd:
I milk'd the kine, I penn'd the fold;
Content, my richest mine of gold;
Cheerfulness clos'd the busy day:—
Themselves sure meed the Virtues pay.
And all my virgin hopes and fears;
Tho' I'm persuaded, had I tarried
Much longer here, I'd ne'er been married.
My manners, troth, were plain and downright,
Not the fine lady, nor the clown quite:—
Throughout my life, whate'er I cou'd,
I daily aim'd at doing good;
Kind office ne'er refus'd to neighbour;
A handy body at a labour;
At wedding-feasts I've bak'd and boil'd,
And ne'er one dish for malice spoil'd:
97
Content, my richest mine of gold;
Cheerfulness clos'd the busy day:—
Themselves sure meed the Virtues pay.
At harvest-home I shone away,
Tho' but an indiff. Queen o' the May:
'Tis true my features were but coarse,
And yet, they would not fright a horse:
Some 've said, that I'd prefer a halter
E'er go with man unto the altar;
Ne'er but in this I gave denial—
Tho' I don't say that here I'd trial:
Proud Miss! suppose the worst, the most,
'Tis the fate of many a flaunting toast;
If ne'er a sorry fellow ask'd me:—
Haply, for you they ne'er had pass'd me.
And still I've left good fame behind me,
So see that no reproach you find me.
Tho' but an indiff. Queen o' the May:
'Tis true my features were but coarse,
And yet, they would not fright a horse:
Some 've said, that I'd prefer a halter
E'er go with man unto the altar;
Ne'er but in this I gave denial—
Tho' I don't say that here I'd trial:
Proud Miss! suppose the worst, the most,
'Tis the fate of many a flaunting toast;
If ne'er a sorry fellow ask'd me:—
Haply, for you they ne'er had pass'd me.
And still I've left good fame behind me,
So see that no reproach you find me.
ON THE SAME.
[If unaffected manners, plain good sense]
If unaffected manners, plain good sense,
Kindness of heart and true benevolence
United, ever grac'd a matron's tomb;
Hither, ye antient Virgins, hither come!
Spleen, bigotry, ill-nature, left behind,
Form from this glass the features of your mind.
Kindness of heart and true benevolence
United, ever grac'd a matron's tomb;
Hither, ye antient Virgins, hither come!
Spleen, bigotry, ill-nature, left behind,
Form from this glass the features of your mind.
98
Sour'd by no disappointed hopes of youth
The wounds she could not heal she still would sooth:
In the hot pulse of youth when fevers rage,
Where penury chills the bed of palsied age,
Far as the village round her hamlets spread,
Far as her power her bounty round was shed
The cordial blessing of th'industrious poor,
A richer offering to the Heav'ns she bore,
Than regal pomp or mitred pride e'er gave
Or at the font, the altar, or the grave.
The wounds she could not heal she still would sooth:
In the hot pulse of youth when fevers rage,
Where penury chills the bed of palsied age,
Far as the village round her hamlets spread,
Far as her power her bounty round was shed
The cordial blessing of th'industrious poor,
A richer offering to the Heav'ns she bore,
Than regal pomp or mitred pride e'er gave
Or at the font, the altar, or the grave.
Know then, and prove this sacred truth! to Bless
Is present, and is future Happiness.
Is present, and is future Happiness.
WRITTEN IN A WINDOW, Under some scandalous Reflections on several Ladies.
Behold, ye Fair, on every pane
To rhyme where puny witlings try,
Some lady's reputation slain,
Which there, as in its grave, does lie.
To rhyme where puny witlings try,
Some lady's reputation slain,
Which there, as in its grave, does lie.
Be cautious then to whom ye trust,
Nor credit every Fop's pretence;
But yield, as soon or late ye must,
To youths of secrecy and sense!
Nor credit every Fop's pretence;
But yield, as soon or late ye must,
To youths of secrecy and sense!
99
INSCRIPTION ON A PANE OF GLASS.
Wise was the man, with emblematic hand,Who first on this transparent plate of sand
The name of Woman, Nature's fairest Queen,
Display'd, engraven with the diamond keen.—
Well knew he that the Glass and Jewel join'd
Were truest emblems of her Face and Mind.—
In lovely Woman (for from Woman flows
The chief, the truest blessing life bestows)
A thousand charms, a thousand faults, unite;
As frail as Glass, tho' as the Diamond bright.
EPITAPH OF AN INJURED LOVER.
The Soul is supposed to address the dead Corpse.
Envied and happy is your peaceful state,
Ye ashes of my once tumultuous flame!
Here reach no injuries that end in hate;
No pangs of slighted love, nor conscious shame.
Ye ashes of my once tumultuous flame!
Here reach no injuries that end in hate;
No pangs of slighted love, nor conscious shame.
Rage is not to conviction here oppos'd,
(Ill bear we proofs of guiltiness of mind!)
Here Jealousy's wild, jaundic'd eye is clos'd:
The Cave of Death is silent, cold and blind.
(Ill bear we proofs of guiltiness of mind!)
Here Jealousy's wild, jaundic'd eye is clos'd:
The Cave of Death is silent, cold and blind.
100
INSCRIPTIO URNÆ.
TRANSLATION.
With every Virtue, every Charm, in bloom,Swept, how untimely! to the ruthless tomb,
Maria, gentlest Fair, adieu!
Caress'd by every other Maid,
Alas! how coldly is repaid
The wish that dwells on you.
T C.
EPITAPH ON A YOUTH.
Here Virtue lies—refrain the pious tear!He meets that judgement which he cannot fear.
101
MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION.
Hosanna! to the Prince of Peace,That clothed himself in clay;
Enter'd the iron gates of Death,
And tore the bars away!
WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS.
This once was flint, but soon it takesTh'impression that the diamond makes:
What sighs, what tears, what truth, what art,
Can write on Myra's flinty heart?
INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB OF Mrs. ELIZABETH PIDGEON, Who died suddenly.
Weep, Reader, the sad tidings here announc'd!Death, that fell Kite, on Betty Pidgeon pounc'd:
Yet, tho' her sudden flight our grief demands,
Her's is the Pidgeon-house not made with hands;
For in her life the Serpent's wisdom shone,
And the Dove's innocency was her own.
Then, till Heav'n wakes to happiness thy soul,
Rest, gentle Pidgeon, in this Pidgeon-hole.
102
INSCRIPTION FOR THE PEDESTAL OF A STATUE OF PRINCE FIELD-MARSHAL SOUWAROFF RIMNISKI ITALISKI.
This was a Warrior of renown,
A Hero, bred and born to kill;
Who scrupled not to shed his own,
When he lack'd other blood to spill.
A Hero, bred and born to kill;
Who scrupled not to shed his own,
When he lack'd other blood to spill.
103
And often would he turn his arms
On those within his bosom bred,
And quell by fire the mighty swarms
That with his life-blood he had fed.
On those within his bosom bred,
And quell by fire the mighty swarms
That with his life-blood he had fed.
His person, cover'd o'er with glory,
In truth was little clean or nice;
And 'tis a question in his story,
Whether he kill'd more men or lice.
In truth was little clean or nice;
And 'tis a question in his story,
Whether he kill'd more men or lice.
—He was of that noble trade
That demi gods and heroes made;
Slaughter, and knocking on the head,
The trade to which they all were bred.
That demi gods and heroes made;
Slaughter, and knocking on the head,
The trade to which they all were bred.
In his march to the attack of Ockzakow, he proceeded with such rapidity at the head of his advanced guard, that his men began to murmur at the fatigues which they endured. The Marshal, apprised of this circumstance, after a long day's march, drew his men up in a hollow square, and addressing them said, “that his legs had that day discovered some symptoms of mutiny, as they refused to second the impulses of his mind, which urged him forward to the attack of the enemy's fortress.” He then ordered his boots to be taken off, and some of the drummers to advance with their cats, and flog his legs, which ceremony was continued till they bled very considerably. He put on his boots again very coolly, expressing his hope that his legs would in future better know how to discharge their duty. His army afterwards marched on without a murmur.
Souwaroff affectoit beaucoup de simplicité et de rudesse. On le voyoit quelquefois ôter sa chemise au milieu des Cosaques et le fair chauffer, en disant que c'etoit pour tuer ses pour. Vie de Catharine II. tome second, p. 373.
Potemkin envoye à Souwaroff l'ordre de prendre Ismail dans trois jours. Souwaroff se prépare. Le troisième jour il assemble ses soldats et leur dit: “Mes enfants! point d{e} quartier! Les provisions sont cheres.”—Aussitôt il donne l'assaut. Les Russes sont repousses deux foix avec beaucoup de perte: mais, enfin, ils escaladent les remparts, penetrent dans la ville, et passent tout au fil de l'épée. Quinze mille Russes et trente cinq mille Turcs payèrent de leur vie les sanglans lauriers de Souwaroff. Tome 2, p. 374.
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