An elegy on the death of The Honourable Sir William Jones a judge of the supreme court of judicature in Bengal, and president of the Asiatic Society. By William Hayley |
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 | An elegy on the death of The Honourable Sir William Jones |  |
1
AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF The Honourable Sir William Jones, A JUDGE OF THE SUPREME COURT OF JUDICATURE IN BENGAL, AND PRESIDENT OF THE ASIATIC SOCIETY.
I
Science of late, with quick maternal eye,Pensive and kind, with Glory by her side,
Watch'd every sail from India, to descry
That Son's return, whose talents are her pride.
II
Sudden across the tutelary QueenDeath's Angel pass'd, and shook his potent dart:
Then, in stern triumph, said, Behold a scene
At once to wound, and to console thy heart!
III
Far off she finds her darling JONES inurn'd;India's mild sages, dropping many a tear,
With admiration into anguish turn'd,
Mourn that enlighten'd Judge they joy'd to hear.
2
IV
The Fane, he rear'd to Asiatic lore,On which his mind immortal lustre shed,
Echoing the liberal voice of friendly Shore,
Sounds the sweet praises of the hero dead;
V
The Hero! who, in fields of highest fame,Beyond his peers the dart of conquest hurl'd;
Surpass'd ambitious Ammon's weaker aim,
And nobly grasp'd the intellectual world.
VI
Thro' every province in that spacious sphereHis dauntless thoughts exulting Genius led;
At whose bold march, thro' deserts deep and drear,
Darkness, dispers'd, and Difficulty fled.
VII
O most accomplish'd of the favour'd few,Who to the heights of Learning's empire climb,
Sharing with her, in prospects ever new,
A calm dominion over space and time!
3
VIII
Early to thee obedient Language broughtHer keys, commanding many a secret store;
Youth, of ingenuous and aspiring thought,
'Tis thine, she said, these treasures to explore;
IX
To thee, reserved in Asia's richest spoil,Fancy and Wisdom will their wealth impart;
Deck with their jewels, won by letter'd toil,
The throne of Virtue in thy steadfast heart!
X
Glowing with youthful joy in Learning's seats,Thy mind embrac'd the glorious lot prescrib'd;
And richly redolent of classic sweets,
The mental perfumes of the East imbib'd.
XI
As spicy gales wak'd, with delicious power,The pride of joy in Gama's gallant frame,
When to his fervid hope, in happy hour,
They seem'd an earnest of eternal fame;
4
XII
So, and with stronger breathings of delight,The Muse of Asia's balmy flowers and fruit
Rais'd thy young spirit to pure Rapture's height,
And promised Glory to thy keen pursuit.
XIII
How patient Toil and eager Transport join'd,When Eastern bards awak'd thy kindred fire,
And Europe saw thee, with a skill refin'd,
Adapt to Asian airs an Attic lyre!
XIV
How (ere thy mind could rest on Duty's rock)Thy early vigils patriot zeal evince!
When thy free hand disdain'd not to unlock
A Persian casket for a Northern Prince:
XV
But from thy spirit, with just pride elate,What generous plaints of indignation burst,
When Wisdom bade thee mark the scholar's fate,
The child of Fancy, by Delusion nurs'd!
5
XVI
The quicksand, covered by a tempting tide,Thy piercing eyes perceiv'd; that latent snare,
Where many a son of letter'd fame has died,
Dupe of Delight, and victim of Despair!
XVII
Thou saw'st, that often, with insidious song,Sweet Learning, to indulge a Syren's joy,
Lures her fond slave from life's more active throng,
Smiling to cheat, and charming to destroy.
XVIII
Thy genius soar'd the soft'ning spell above,With manly vigilance, with noble spleen;
And gave the Muse thy secondary love,
Proclaiming Law thy life's acknowledg'd queen.
XIX
Thou would'st be vassal only to the power,Who bears immutable Dominion's rod,
Ruling the least and loftiest; peace her dower,
Her throne the bosom of her parent, God.
6
XX
She, awful patroness! with love sincere,Blest her young champion from sweet snares releas'd;
And sent thee to ennoble and endear
Her English empire in the radiant East.
XXI
The sciences, the arts, and every power,That holds o'er earth beneficent controul,
Hail'd thee so entering, in their happiest hour,
A scene adapted to thy fervid soul.
XXII
With pensive zeal, and exultation just,O'er that new scene thy active spirit ran,
From Heav'n receiving, as a glorious trust,
The bright occasion of befriending man.
XXIII
Thy country sent thee forth with joyous pride,Mix'd with maternal fears, and fond concern:
Of mental wealth, Hope's sparkling eye descry'd
The richest freight in thy remote return.
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XXIV
Illusive vision! He whose ample mindEmbrac'd the treasury of Asian thought,
He, to whom Science her rich depths consign'd,
He dies, untimely, in the mine he wrought.
XXV
No more can Fancy, whom he us'd to chear,Take from his hand her scattered pearl new strung,
Or Love, or Friendship, hope again to hear
Their songs of sweetness, sweeter from his tongue.
XXVI
Kind Heav'n yet bids them not too wildly grieve,Or deem too short the mortal path he trod;
Did he not live to merit, and receive,
Praise from the world, and recompence from God?
XXVII
Let tender Truth, to temper selfish Grief,Count the heap'd measure of his merits o'er;
Nor blame the term of harvest as too brief,
When Heav'n with plenitude has blest the store.
8
XXVIII
Few were thy years, to count their real date,And quick thy exit prov'd, thou early sage!
But from thy toil's variety and weight,
Thou seem'st to have enjoy'd the longest age.
XXIX
In thy career, tho' short, all powers we traceThis course of transient being can display;
And no appropriate charm has fail'd to grace
The morn, or noon, or ev'ning of thy day.
XXX
Thy life, a scene with pleasing wonder view'd!A perfect garden on a narrow plot!
Whose bounds unseen the busy thought elude,
While sweet Deception magnifies the spot.
XXXI
What bright diversities that garden boreOf all that Art can raise, or Nature grant;
There grew the palm, that conscious virtue wore,
There the Bard's laurel, as an humbler plant.
9
XXXII
Oh, all-accomplished Jones! how sweet, how strongThy streams of music from the Muses' hill!
Thine the loud torrent of her Epic song,
And thine the murmur of her softest rill.
XXXIII
Love's tender force, and Fancy's sportive fireConspir'd to decorate the nuptial strain,
When, fondly re-assum'd, thy rapturous lyre
Usher'd young Althorp into Hymen's fane.
XXXIV
Alas! mild Spencer! Learning's fav'rite friend!In this, her public loss, how large thy part;
Early 'twas thine to value and commend
The Poet's genius, and the Judge's heart.
XXXV
For long ere Themis gave his glory birth,Or Eastern Muses idoliz'd his name,
Thy well-train'd youth attested all his worth,
Thy friendship was the herald of his fame.
10
XXXVI
Largely hast thou thy noble mansion grac'dWith volumes minist'ring to mental health;
Thy treasury of books proclaims thy taste
Magnificent in literary wealth.
XXXVII
And thou, whose mental eye on Nature looks,Hast learn'd, in busy life's contentious state,
To read those rare illuminated books,
The virtuous bosoms of the truly great.
XXXVIII
But of the authors, that adorn thy seat,And of the living hearts, which thou hast read,
In talents and in worth, thou canst not meet
Superiors to thy friend, so early dead.
XXXIX
Wilt thou not, Spencer, whose exalted mindDelights to animate each graceful art,
That triumphs over time (by toil refin'd,
Enshrining genius in Affection's heart),
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XL
Command chaste Sculpture, with her marble scroll,Oblivion's torrent for that friend to stem?
Or bid his form, expressive of his soul,
Speak thro' all ages in the deathless gem?
XLI
Mem'ry's fond tribute, howsoever paid,Must please his spirit, from a heart sincere;
But his fame rests upon no single aid,
Not e'en on thine, which taste and truth endear.
XLII
Behold, in regions bright with Fancy's beam,Two more than mortal shapes, by justice sway'd;
Shapes like the two, that in Atossa's dream,
The daring hand of Æschylus pourtray'd!
XLIII
First, Asia, mighty queen of gorgeous charms!Of Art, of Science, the primæval nurse!
Who gave to Eloquence her earliest arms,
And first saluted Heav'n with sacred verse.
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XLIV
Next, with a younger sister's softer air,With eyes more piercing, tho' of calmer mien,
Europe, of simpler grace, more chastly fair,
Benign improver of each earthly scene!
XLV
These kindred powers in kind contention vieTo honour their lost darling, doubly dear;
Each owns his merits with a mutual sigh,
And rival monuments of grief they rear.
XLVI
Magnific Asia to her Jones's nameBids high in air the mausoleum spread,
And, by its various ornaments, proclaim
The varied powers and virtues of the dead.
XLVII
See! where in sculptur'd pomp, poetic forms!The Muse of Araby, the Persic Muse,
The Eastern quire, whose blaze of beauty warms,
Lament the sweet interpreter they lose.
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XLVIII
Mark where, like stars of richly blended fire,The seven selected bards of Mecca stand,
Mourning their western brother of the lyre,
Who raised to new renown their social band.
XLIX
The Sufi tribe, in fond Devotion's trance,(Poets, whose higher lays to Heav'n belong!)
Weep their lost friend, whose penetrating glance
Pierc'd the deep moral of their mystic song.
L
Behold, with mental dignity elate,Elders of solemn air, and gentle mien!
One sage as Solon, one as Shakespear great,
Menu and Calidasa grace the scene.
LI
The bard, whom Asian age and wisdom cite,Seems to his heart a foreign book to press;
Caressing, with a parent's proud delight,
His Sacontala in an English dress.
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LII
In triumph see the Legislator stand,With such grief-temper'd pride, such fond applause,
Viewing the lustre that an English hand
Gave to the code of his benignant laws!
LIII
To Jones alike they boast their pleasing debt,Skill'd equal fame from different founts to draw!
Him Art and Science must alike regret;
His language poetry; his conduct law.
LIV
Our light is sunk, the mourning Indians say;Protection perish'd with his parting breath;
His fost'ring care was like the beam of day,
And Knowledge dies by his untimely death.
LV
But hark! Imperial Asia, who presidesO'er all th'attendants at his Eastern tomb,
In her own voice, that warm Devotion guides,
Thus speaks her feelings on her darling's doom.
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LVI
Jones was a pearl, that might have deck'd a throne,Pure as the eye of judgment e'er explore'd:
But God, who deem'd its worth not duly known,
Soon to its parent shell the gem restored.
LVII
So Asia mourns.—With sorrow more intense,Europe, in love more tenderly sublime,
Of her deep loss to shew a mother's sense,
Calls her accomplish'd sons from every clime.
LVIII
These who may count?—Yet one to Friendship known,Whom fav'ring Art will fix on Glory's roll,
One whose firm studies have, like Jones's, shewn
Genius and virtue blended in his soul;
LIX
One even here (forgive me, modest friend!)My truth-devoted verse delights to name;
Pleas'd the congenial sculptor to commend,
As fit to minister to Jones's fame!
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LX
Flaxman! thy energy of thought benign,Thy feelings, tender as the mournful dove,
Teach stone to breathe those charms of chaste design,
That best may soothe the pangs of widow'd love.
LXI
In Fancy's fond anticipating eyes,Marble already, by thy quick'ning touch,
Appears the man we mourn; and Nature cries:
“Such his endearing form! his spirit such!
LXII
“So justly social, and benignly sage,“He searched what Indian wisdom could produce;
“So hoards of knowledge from the lips of Age
“He drew, and fashion'd for the public use.”
LXIII
But scarce, excelling friend! can all thy skill,Or Sculpture's self, with all her fondest care,
Image his mind, and what conspir'd to fill
So rich a temple of endowments rare.
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LXIV
His were those graces, who to life impartA lustre like the star that gilds the pole;
Freedom, the prime ennobler of the heart!
And Piety, the guardian of the soul!
LXV
What power, that strengthens, or adorns the mind,Its settled passion, or excursive sport,
Awake to excellence of every kind,
Did his unwearied spirit fail to court?
LXVI
That spirit, wreckless of unfriendly time,Clasp'd a new science with a lover's zeal;
When the hurt body, by the sickly clime,
Was doom'd a load of languid pain to feel.
LXVII
Bright Genius! worthy of unclouded Health!Thou shouldst have lived upon her fav'rite hills,
Where genial air, kind Nature's genuine wealth,
Annihilates the train of nervous ills.
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LXVIII
Fond, fruitless thought! is there on earth a spotWhere Sickness never strikes, who strikes around?
And has thy mourner scap'd, whose humbler lot
Heav'n kindly cast on this fair English ground?
LXIX
In these dear native scenes, to Pain a prey,Year after year he drew unvalue'd breath;
And view'd the vital spark in dull decay,
On a drear confine betwixt life and death.
LXX
Weak in his frame, as a dismantled tower,And his crush'd mind (a partner in the fall!)
Robb'd of its little lustre, use, and power,
A broken dial in a mould'ring wall!
LXXI
But in o'erclouded Health's uncertain light,When for her suffering votary alarm'd,
My silent Muse was banish'd from my sight,
Thy numbers chear'd me, and thy spirit charm'd.
19
LXXII
For still, accomplish'd Jones! whose early songI fondly greeted with fraternal praise,
My mind, tho' weaken'd, yet in justice strong,
Joy'd in the radiance of thy riper days.
LXXIII
It was the youthful passion of my lyre,(Passion, to which its willing chords revert!)
To blazon Genius with Affection's fire,
And, with melodious homage, hail desert.
LXXIV
And when has Truth to eulogy assign'dA theme more worthy of her fond regard?
In thee the Christian with the scholar join'd,
Temper'd the Judge, and dignified the Bard.
LXXV
Severe his loss, who never can renewSuch joy, as friends could in thy converse find;
But what is her's, who from that converse drew
The daily banquet of her nourish'd mind?
20
LXXVI
Thou feeling Daughter of a sainted sire!Meek heir of mitred Shipley's modest worth!
In its probation for the Seraph quire,
Thy soul must bear the sharpest pangs of earth.
LXXVII
Yet e'en in sorrow there's a virtuous pride,Tempering its anguish, that would else destroy;
The very pangs, by which thy soul is tried,
Thou would'st not change for apathy or joy.
LXXVIII
Thou feel'st, that Heav'n thy gratitude may claim,That thou hast liv'd a blameless happy wife,
The cherish'd partner of as clear a name,
As e'er won glory in the toil of life.
LXXIX
For him, if darkling mortals may presumeTo judge the feelings of the blest above,
E'en there, he deems thy heart his richest tomb,
His sweetest eulogy thy lasting love.
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LXXX
There, Heav'n's tried servant, and in service pure,His God he blesses for a kind decree,
That makes him still thy guardian, and secure
To share his bright beatitude with thee.
LXXXI
Just mourner! if too weak this plaintive songDuly to honour whom our grief reveres,
Pardon!—I add, as conscious of the wrong,
To failing language more expressive tears.
FINIS.
| An elegy on the death of The Honourable Sir William Jones | |