Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

I'le take my Leave of Business, Noise and Care,
And trust this stormy Sea no more:
Condemn'd to Toil, and fed with Air,
I've often sighing look'd towards the Shore:
And when the boistrous Winds did cease,
And all was still, and all was Peace,
Afraid of Calms, and flatt'ring Skies,
On the deceitful Waves I fixt my Eyes,
And on a sudden saw the threatning Billows rise:
Then trembling beg'd the Pow'rs Divine,
Some little safe Retreat might be for ever mine:
O give, I cry'd, where e'er you please,
Those Gifts which Mortals prize,
Grown fond of Privacy and Ease,
I now the gaudy Pomps of Life despise.
Still let the Greedy strive with Pain,
T'augment their shining Heaps of Clay;
And punish'd with the Thirst of Gain,
Their Honour lose, their Conscience stain:
Let th'ambitious Thrones desire
And still with guilty hast aspire;
Thro' Blood and Dangers force their Way,
And o'er the World extend their Sway,

While I my time to nobler Uses give,
And to my Books, and Thoughts entirely live;
Those dear Delights, in which I still shall find
Ten thousand Joys to feast my Mind,
Joys, great as Sense can bear, from all its Dross refin'd.

2.

The Muse well pleas'd, my choice approv'd,
And led me to the Shades she lov'd:
To Shades, like those first fam'd Abodes
Of happy Men, and rural Gods;
Where, in the World's blest Infant State,
When all in Friendship were combin'd
And all were just, and all were kind;
E're glitt'ring Show'rs, dispers'd by Jove,
And Gold were made the Price of Love,
The Nymphs and Swains did bless their Fate,
And all their mutual Joys relate,
Danc'd and sung, and void of Strife.
Enjoy'd all Harmless Sweets of Life;
While on their tuneful Reeds their Poets play'd,
And their chast Loves to future Times convey'd.

3.

Cool was the place, and quiet as my Mind,
The Sun cou'd there no Entrance find:
No ruffling Winds the Boughs did move:
The Waters gently crept along,
As with their flowry Banks in Love:
The Birds with soft harmonious Strains,
Did entertain my Ear;
Sad Philomela sung her Pains,

Express'd her Wrongs, and her Despair;
I listen'd to her mournful Song,
The charming Warbler pleas'd,
And I, me thought, with new Delight was seiz'd:
Her Voice with tender'st Passions fill'd my Breast,
And I felt Raptures not to be express'd;
Raptures, till that soft Hour unknown,
My Soul seem'd from my Body flown:
Vain World, said I, take, take my last adieu,
I'le to my self, and to my Muse be true,
And never more phantastick Forms pursue:
Such glorious Nothings let the Great adore,
Let them their airy Juno's court,
I'le be deceiv'd no more,
Nor to the Marts of Fame resort:
From this dear Solitude no more remove,
But here confine my Joy, my Hope, my Love.

4.

Thus were my Hours in Extasies employ'd,
And I the secret Sweets of Life enjoy'd:
Serene, and calm, from every Pressure free,
Inslav'd alone by flatt'ring Poesie:
But Oh! how pleasing did her Fetters prove!
How much did I, th' endearing Charmer Love!
No former Cares durst once my Soul molest,
No past Unkindness discompos'd my Breast;
All was forgot, as if in Lethe's Stream
I'd quench'd my Thirst, the past was all a Dream:
But as I pleas'd my self with this unenvy'd state,
Behold! a wondrous Turn of Fate!
A hollow Melancholy Sound
Dispers'd an awful Horror round,

And hideous Groans thro' all the Grove resound
Nature the dismal Noise did hear,
Nature her self did seem to fear:
The bleating Flocks lay trembling on the Plains;
The Brooks ran murmuring by,
And Echo to their Murmurs made reply:
The lofty Trees their verdant Honours shake;
The frighted Birds with hast their Boughs forsake,
And for securer Seats to distant Groves repair.
The much wrong'd Philomel durst now no more
Her former Injuries deplore;
Forgot were all her moving Strains,
Forgot each sweet melodious Air;
The weaker Passion, Grief, surrendred to her Fear.

5.

A sudden Gloom its dusky Empire spread,
And I was seiz'd with an unusual dread:
Where e'er I look'd, each Object brought affright:
And I cou'd only mournful Accents hear,
Which from th' adjacent Hills did wound my Ear;
Th' adjacent Hills the gen'ral Horror share:
Amaz'd I sat, depriv'd of all Delight,
The Muse was fled, fled ev'ry pleasing Thought,
And in their Room were black Ideas brought,
By busie Fear, and active Fancy wrought.
At length the doleful Sound drew near,
And lo, the British Genius did appear!
Solemn his Pace,
Dejected were his Eyes,
And from his Breast thick thronging Sighs arise:
The Tears ran down his venerable Face,
And he with Lamentations loud fill'd all the sacred Place.

6.

He's Dead he cry'd! the young, the much belov'd!
From us too soon, Ah! much too soon remov'd!
Snatch'd hence in his first Dawn, his Infant Bloom!
So fell Marcellus by a rigorous Doom.
The Good, the Great, the Joy, the Pride of Rome!
But Oh! he wants like him a Maro to rehearse
His early worth in never dying Verse:
To sing those rising Wonders which in him were seen,
That Morning light which did it self display,
Presaging earnest of a glorious Day;
His Face was Charming, and his Make Divine,
As if in him assembl'd did combine
The num'rous Graces of his Royal Line:
Such was Ascanius, when from flaming Troy
Pious Æneas led the lovely Boy,
And such the God when to the Tyrian Queen
A welcom Guest he came;
And in his Shape caress'd th' illustrious Dame
And kindled in her Breast the inauspicious Flame.

7.

But this, alas! was but th' exterior part;
For the chief Beauties were within:
There Nature shew'd her greatest Art,
And did a Master-piece begin:
But ah! the Strokes were much too fine,
Too delicate to last:
Sweet was his Temper, generous his Mind,
And much beyond his Years, to Martial Arts inclin'd:
Averse to Softness, and for one so young,

His Sense was manly, and his Reason strong:
What e'er was taught him he would learn so fast
As if 'twas his design
When he to full Maturity was grown,
Th' applauding World amaz'd should find
What e'er was worthy to be known,
He with the noblest Toil had early made his own.

8.

Such, such was he, whose Loss I now lament;
O Heav'n! why was this matchless Blessing sent!
Why but just shewn, and then, our Grief to raise,
Cut off in the beginning of his Days!
Had you beheld th' afflicted Royal Pair
Stand by that Bed, where the dear Suff'rer lay
To his Disease a helpless Prey,
And seen them gaze on the sad doubtful Strife,
Between contending Death, and strugling Life,
Observ'd those Passions which their Souls did move,
Those kind Effects of tender'st Love;
Seen how their Joys a while did strive
To keep their fainty Hopes alive,
But soon alas! were forc'd to yield
To Grief and dire Despair,
The short contested Field:
And them in that curst Moment view'd,
When by prevailing Death subdu'd,
Breathless and pale, the beauteous Victim lay,
When his unwilling Soul was forc'd away
From that lov'd Body which it lately blest,
That Mansion worthy so divine a Guest,
You must have own'd, no Age could ever show
A sadder Sight, a Scene of vaster Woe.

9.

Sorrow like theirs, what Language can express!
Their All was lost, their only Happiness!
The good Ægeus could not more be griev'd
When he the Sable Flag perceiv'd,
Than was the Prince; but we this difference find,
The last was calmer, more resign'd,
And had the stronger, more Majestick Mind:
He knew Complaints could give him no Relief,
And therefore cast a Veil upon his sullen Grief:
Th' afflicted Princess could not thus controul
The tender Motions of her troubled Soul:
Unable to resist, she gave her Sorrows way,
And did the Dictates of her Grief obey:
Maternal Kindness still does preference claim,
And always burns with a more ardent Flame:
But sure no Heart was ever thus opprest,
The Load is much too great to bear;
In sad Complaints are all her Minutes spent,
And she lives only to lament:
All soft Delights are Strangers to her Breast:
His unexpected Fate does all her Thoughts ingross,
And she speaks nothing but her mighty Loss.
So mourn'd Andromache when she beheld
Astyanax expos'd to lawless Pow'r,
Precipitated from a lofty Tow'r:
Depriv'd of Life the Royal Youth remain'd,
And with the richest Trojan Blood the Pavement stain'd:
Speechless she gaz'd, and by her Grief impell'd,
Fearless amidst the Græcian Troops she run,
And to her panting Bosom clasp'd her mangl'd Son.

10.

As thus he spoke Britannia did appear,
Attended by a Sylvan Throng,
And with her brought the River Nymphs along:
He's dead! he's dead! the Genius loudly cry'd,
On whose dear Life you did so much depend,
He's dead, He's dead, she mournfully reply'd:
Heav'n would not long the mighty Blessing lend:
Some envious Pow'r, who does my Greatness fear,
Foreseeing if he shou'd to Manhood live,
He'd glorious Proofs of wondrous Valor give:
To distant Lands extend his Sway,
And teach remotest Nations to obey:
Resolv'd no pow'rful Art his Life should save,
Nor I should longer my lov'd Gloucester have.
No more they said, but to their Sighs gave way,
The Nymphs and Swains all griev'd no less than they.
He's dead! he's dead! they weeping said;
In his cold Tomb the lovely Youth is laid,
And has too soon, alas! too soon the Laws of Fate obey'd.
No more, no more shall he these Groves adorn,
No more by him shall flow'ry Wreaths be worn:
No more, no more we now on him shall gaze,
No more divert him with our rural Lays,
Nor see him with a godlike Smile receive our humble Praise.
Their loud Laments the Nereids hear,
And full of Grief, and full of Fear,
Their watry Beds in haste forsake;
And from their Locks the pearly Moisture shake:
All with one Voice the much lov'd Youth lament,
And in pathetic Strains their boundless Sorrow vent.

11.

Upon the Ground I pensive lay;
Complain'd and wept as much as they:
My Country's Loss became my own,
And I was void of Comfort grown.
He's dead! he's dead! with them I cry'd,
And to each Sigh, each Groan reply'd.
The Thracian Bard was not more mov'd,
When he had lost the Fair he lov'd;
When looking back to please his Sight
With all that could his Soul delight,
He saw her sink int' everlasting Night.
The Sorrows of the Princess pierc'd my Heart,
And I, me thought, felt all her Smart:
I wish'd I cou'd allay her Pain,
Or part of her Affliction share;
But Oh! such Wishes are in vain,
She must alone the pond'rous Burthen bear.
O Fate unjust! I then did cry,
Why must the young, the virtuous die!
Why in their Prime be snatch'd away,
Like beauteous Flow'rs which soon decay,
While Weeds enjoy the Warmth of each succeeding Day?

12.

While thus I mourn'd, a sudden Light the Place o'er spread
Back to their genuine Night the frighted Shadows fled:
Dilating Skies disclos'd a brighter Day,
And for a glorious Form made way;
For the fam'd Guardian of our Isle:
The wondrous Vision did with Pomp descend,

With awful State his kind Approaches made,
And thus with an obliging Smile
To the much griev'd Britannia said,
No more, my much lov'd Charge, no more
Your time in useless Sorrows spend;
He's blest whose Loss you thus deplore:
Above he lives a Life Divine,
And does with dazling Splendor shine:
I met him on th' Æthereal Shore,
With Joy I did th' illustrious Youth embrace,
And led him to his God-like Race,
Who sit inthron'd in wondrous State,
Above the Reach of Death or Fate:
The Caledonian Chiefs were there,
Who thro' the World have spread their Fame,
And justly might immortal Trophies claim:
A long Descent of glorious Kings,
Who did, and suffer'd mighty things:
With them the Danish Heroes were,
Who long had ancient Kingdoms sway'd,
And been by Warlike States obey'd:
With them they did their Honours share,
With them refulgent Crowns did wear,
From all their Toils at length they cease,
Blest with the Sweets of everlasting Peace.

13.

Among the rest, that beauteous suff'ring Queen
Who'd all the Turns of adverse Fortune seen;
Robb'd of a Crown, and forc'd to mourn in Chains,
And on a Scaffold end her num'rous Pains,
Receiv'd him with a cheerful Look,
And to her Arms her dearest Off-spring took:

Next came the martyr'd Prince, who liv'd to know
The last Extremities of Woe:
Expos'd unjustly to his People's hate,
He felt the Rigor of remorseless Fate.
Virtue and spotless Innocence,
Alas! are no Defence:
They rather to the Rage expose
Of bloody and relentless Foes:
Too fierce they shine, too glaring bright,
The Vicious cannot bear their Light.
Next came his Son, who long your Sceptre sway'd,
And whom his Subjects joyfully obey'd;
Then last of all the fair Maria came,
Who lately grac'd the British Throne;
And there with a reviving Splendor shone,
But made a short, a transient Stay,
By Death from all her Glories snatch'd away:
How vain is Beauty, Wealth, or Fame,
How few the Trophies of a boasted Name!
Death can't be brib'd, be won by none:
To Slaves and Kings a Fate a like, a like Regard is shown.

14.

All these the lovely Youth carest,
And welcom'd him to their eternal Rest:
Welcome, they said, to this our blissful Shore,
To never ending Joys, and Seats Divine,
To Realms where clear unclouded Glories shine,
Here you may safely stand and hear the Billows roar,
But shall be toss'd on that tempestuous Sea no more:
No more shall grieve, no more complain,
But free from Care, and free from Pain,
With us for ever shall remain.

While thus they spoke, celestial Musick play'd,
And welcom! welcom! every Angel said:
With eager hast their Royal Guest they crown'd,
While welcom! welcom! echo'd all around,
And fill'd th' Æthereal Court with the loud cheerful Sound.

15.

He said; and to superior Joys return'd;
Britannia now no longer mourn'd:
No more the Nymphs, no more the Swains,
With Lamentations fill'd the Plains:
The Muse came back, and with her brought
Each sprightly, each delightful Thought:
Kindly she rais'd me from the Ground,
And smiling wip'd my Tears away:
While Joy, she said, is spread around,
And do's thro' all the Groves resound,
Will you to Grief a Tribute pay,
And mourn for one who's far more blest,
Than those that are of Crowns possest?
No more, no more you must complain,
But with Britannia now rejoice:
Britannia to the Choir above
Will add her charming Voice:
Not one of all her beauteous Train
But will obsequious prove;
And each will try who best can sing,
Who can the highest Praises bring;
Who best describe his happy State,
And best his present Joys relate.
Hark! Hark! the Birds are come again,
And each renews his sweet melodious Strain.
Clear is the Skie, and bright the Day,

Among the Boughs sweet Zephyrs play,
And all are pleas'd, and all are gay.
And dare you still your Grief express,
As if you wish'd his Honours less,
And with an envious Eye beheld his Happiness?

16.

Ah! cruel Muse, with Sighs I said,
Why do you thus your Slave upbraid?
I neither at his Bliss repine;
Nor is't my choice to disobey:
Your Will, you know, has still been mine;
And I would now my ready def'rence pay:
But Oh! in vain I strive, in vain I try,
While my lov'd Princess grieves, I can't comply:
Her Tears forbid me to rejoice,
And when my Soul is on the Wing,
And I would with Britannia sing,
Her Sighs arrest my Voice.
But if once more you'd have me cheerful prove,
And with your Shades again in Love,
Strive by your Charms to calm her troubled Mind;
Let her the Force of pow'rful Numbers find:
And by the Magick of your Verse restore
Her former Peace, then add Delights unknown before
Let her be blest, my Joys will soon return,
But while she grieves, I ne'er can cease to mourn.