Poems on Several Occasions By Henry Jones |
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To the Right Honourable the Countess of
Chesterfield, occasioned by her procureing
a Pardon for two Soldiers condemned for Desertion.
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
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To the Right Honourable the Countess of Chesterfield, occasioned by her procureing a Pardon for two Soldiers condemned for Desertion.
What means this dismal Sound, that March so slow,
This solemn Sadness, and this Pomp of Woe?
Behold two Victims pale and trembling led,
Already number'd with th'unheeded Dead!
What ghastly Terrors on each Brow we trace!
See Death imprinted on each dying Face!
Yet Love of Life asserts its eager Claim,
But Hope, alas! affords no flatt'ring Gleam.
Lo! the pale King in horrid Pomp appears:
What cruel Eye could then refrain from Tears?
What Heart relentless then forbear to melt?
Who saw their Sorrows, but like Sorrows felt?
How sad the Conflict, how severe the Strife
Of Wretches clinging to the Verge of Life!
When angry Justice claim'd her promis'd Prey,
And frown'd vindictive on the kind Delay;
Thy saving Mercy in that Moment flew,
(The darling Attribute of Heav'n and You)
To soft Compassion won thy willing Lord,
His Justice temp'ring sheath'd th'uplifted Sword;
And, in that dismal, that tremendous Hour,
Snatch'd the pale Victims from th'offended Pow'r.
This solemn Sadness, and this Pomp of Woe?
Behold two Victims pale and trembling led,
Already number'd with th'unheeded Dead!
What ghastly Terrors on each Brow we trace!
See Death imprinted on each dying Face!
Yet Love of Life asserts its eager Claim,
But Hope, alas! affords no flatt'ring Gleam.
Lo! the pale King in horrid Pomp appears:
What cruel Eye could then refrain from Tears?
What Heart relentless then forbear to melt?
Who saw their Sorrows, but like Sorrows felt?
How sad the Conflict, how severe the Strife
Of Wretches clinging to the Verge of Life!
When angry Justice claim'd her promis'd Prey,
And frown'd vindictive on the kind Delay;
Thy saving Mercy in that Moment flew,
(The darling Attribute of Heav'n and You)
To soft Compassion won thy willing Lord,
His Justice temp'ring sheath'd th'uplifted Sword;
And, in that dismal, that tremendous Hour,
Snatch'd the pale Victims from th'offended Pow'r.
As when by adverse Stars, or Chance misled,
Entic'd by Lucre, or impell'd by Dread,
A Wretch from some high Rock's stupendous Brow
Hangs o'er the Waves and dreadful Depths below,
The slender Bough he grasps, his only Stay,
Yields to his Weight, and more and more gives Way;
Of Hope abandon'd, as the Branch he tears,
He views th'Abyss, and as he views, despairs;
'Till some unhop'd-for Hand prevents his Doom,
Lifts him to Life, and lengthen'd Years to come:
Redeem'd from Fate, nor yet restor'd to Life,
They wond'ring pause, and feel a doubtful Strife,
If still on Earth they breathe with Human Race,
Or mix with Shades in Death's obscure Embrace;
'Till dawning Hope the dubious Horror clears,
Reveals their Safety, and dispels their Fears.
Loud Shouts of Triumph waft thy Name on high,
And Stanhope's Goodness fills the vaulted Sky.
Entic'd by Lucre, or impell'd by Dread,
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Hangs o'er the Waves and dreadful Depths below,
The slender Bough he grasps, his only Stay,
Yields to his Weight, and more and more gives Way;
Of Hope abandon'd, as the Branch he tears,
He views th'Abyss, and as he views, despairs;
'Till some unhop'd-for Hand prevents his Doom,
Lifts him to Life, and lengthen'd Years to come:
Redeem'd from Fate, nor yet restor'd to Life,
They wond'ring pause, and feel a doubtful Strife,
If still on Earth they breathe with Human Race,
Or mix with Shades in Death's obscure Embrace;
'Till dawning Hope the dubious Horror clears,
Reveals their Safety, and dispels their Fears.
Loud Shouts of Triumph waft thy Name on high,
And Stanhope's Goodness fills the vaulted Sky.
Oh! hadst thou Pow'r afflicted Realms to spare,
And rescue Europe from the Waste of War;
Fell Rage and Discord at thy Nod should cease,
And all Mankind enjoy the Sweets of Peace.
Then human Blood should deluge Earth no more,
But Leagues of Commerce join each distant Shore.
You, like the Dove, the friendly Branch should bring,
And blooming Olives in each Climate spring:
A golden Age the guilty Globe should see,
And Scotia faithful as Hibernia be.
No Feuds intestine in her Bosom jar,
No Breath rebellious wakes the Trump of War:
Her martial Tribe a generous Fervour feels,
And Virtue's Strength each steadfast Hero steels;
For Truth and Freedom firmly they unite,
And stand resolv'd to tempt the hardy Fight.
Thy Stanhope's Presence shall each Patriot fire,
And George's Glory all their Souls inspire.
And rescue Europe from the Waste of War;
Fell Rage and Discord at thy Nod should cease,
And all Mankind enjoy the Sweets of Peace.
Then human Blood should deluge Earth no more,
But Leagues of Commerce join each distant Shore.
You, like the Dove, the friendly Branch should bring,
And blooming Olives in each Climate spring:
A golden Age the guilty Globe should see,
And Scotia faithful as Hibernia be.
No Feuds intestine in her Bosom jar,
No Breath rebellious wakes the Trump of War:
Her martial Tribe a generous Fervour feels,
And Virtue's Strength each steadfast Hero steels;
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And stand resolv'd to tempt the hardy Fight.
Thy Stanhope's Presence shall each Patriot fire,
And George's Glory all their Souls inspire.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |