A new collection of Original poems Never Printed in any miscellany. By the Author of Sir Walter Raleigh [i.e. George Sewell] |
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To his GRACE the Duke of Newcastle. |
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 | A new collection of Original poems |  |
To his GRACE the Duke of Newcastle.
While Flatt'ry stains the venal Poet's Page,
And dull Prose-Politics hide private Rage,
The Muse to You directs her freer Pen,
Patron of Poetry, and Judge of Men.
To please the Great is Glory—and if crost,
'Tis but Ambition in the soaring lost.
And dull Prose-Politics hide private Rage,
The Muse to You directs her freer Pen,
Patron of Poetry, and Judge of Men.
To please the Great is Glory—and if crost,
'Tis but Ambition in the soaring lost.
Thee, Letter'd Peer, when first thy Athens held,
The Muse with Wonder, and with Joy beheld,
And as she mark'd thy dawn of Morning bright,
Securely prophecy'd the Noon-day Light:
For tho' mean Stars uncertain Courses run,
Yet none can doubt the Progress of the Sun.
The Muse with Wonder, and with Joy beheld,
Securely prophecy'd the Noon-day Light:
For tho' mean Stars uncertain Courses run,
Yet none can doubt the Progress of the Sun.
Hail happy Cam! thy Groves more glady grow!
Thy fruitful Streams with rich abundance flow,
Uncommon Rev'rence may thy Mansions claim!
Since bless'd and hallow'd by NEWCASTLE's Name.
Thus once of old the Poplar was rever'd,
Where Socrates pronounc'd, and Plato heard.
How bright shines Honour, when the Wearer came
Thro' Learning's Gates to reach the House of Fame.
He woo'd the Muse e'er yet her Patron grown,
Her Darling first, then Guardian of her Throne.
Discoverers thus with studious Toil explore
The happy Island, or the Golden Shore;
Thro' Dangers force their Way, successful Fight,
Then hold the Province in the Royal Right.
Thy fruitful Streams with rich abundance flow,
Uncommon Rev'rence may thy Mansions claim!
Since bless'd and hallow'd by NEWCASTLE's Name.
Thus once of old the Poplar was rever'd,
Where Socrates pronounc'd, and Plato heard.
How bright shines Honour, when the Wearer came
Thro' Learning's Gates to reach the House of Fame.
He woo'd the Muse e'er yet her Patron grown,
Her Darling first, then Guardian of her Throne.
The happy Island, or the Golden Shore;
Thro' Dangers force their Way, successful Fight,
Then hold the Province in the Royal Right.
Well may the Living thy Protection share,
That stretches to the Dead a Father's Care;
Makes his own Bough the Poet's Ashes skreen,
Elude the Fates, and bid his Urn look green.
O Dryden! (if our After-Thanks display'd,
Give Joy, or Triumph to the loosen'd Shade)
Smile on the pious Office, and inspire
A Genius like thy own to strike the Lyre.
But I transgress—the glorious Deed is done—
Congreve to such a Sire the Lineal Son,
(Like next Relations in the Roman Days)
Has sir'd the Pile, and spread the Fun'ral Blaze.
That Debt of Friendship, and of Honour too,
Is doubly paid, by being paid to You.
That stretches to the Dead a Father's Care;
Makes his own Bough the Poet's Ashes skreen,
Elude the Fates, and bid his Urn look green.
O Dryden! (if our After-Thanks display'd,
Give Joy, or Triumph to the loosen'd Shade)
Smile on the pious Office, and inspire
A Genius like thy own to strike the Lyre.
But I transgress—the glorious Deed is done—
Congreve to such a Sire the Lineal Son,
(Like next Relations in the Roman Days)
Has sir'd the Pile, and spread the Fun'ral Blaze.
That Debt of Friendship, and of Honour too,
Is doubly paid, by being paid to You.
Shines any Genius by the Muse belov'd,
Whom your indulgent Smiles have not approv'd?
Is any worthy of Apollo's Ear,
Whom his Vicegerent has refus'd to hear?
You fat to Garth, when he his Patriot drew,
And Cato's Spirit caught new Fire from You.
Whom your indulgent Smiles have not approv'd?
Is any worthy of Apollo's Ear,
Whom his Vicegerent has refus'd to hear?
You fat to Garth, when he his Patriot drew,
And Cato's Spirit caught new Fire from You.
Forgive great Shades! the Tribute that I bring,
By you directed to the Muses King.
O! had You liv'd to fann the kindled Rage,
E'en I the least, the lowest of the Stage,
To your own fav'rite Theme the Lyre had strung,
And great Plantagenet triumphant sung,
First of his Line , which mighty in extent,
Shines forth in George, and brightens by descent.
Then had you heard the Poet-Monarch's Strains,
And view'd your Garter first on Jewry's Plains.
By you directed to the Muses King.
O! had You liv'd to fann the kindled Rage,
E'en I the least, the lowest of the Stage,
To your own fav'rite Theme the Lyre had strung,
And great Plantagenet triumphant sung,
First of his Line , which mighty in extent,
Shines forth in George, and brightens by descent.
And view'd your Garter first on Jewry's Plains.
Mean time, My Lord, receive these humble Lays,
Which Pardon crave, but dare not hope for Praise;
Happy their Fortune, if by You they spread,
The best Names Living, and the Greatest Dead.
Which Pardon crave, but dare not hope for Praise;
Happy their Fortune, if by You they spread,
The best Names Living, and the Greatest Dead.
G. Sewell.
| A new collection of Original poems | |