 | Poems on several occasions |  |
487
AN EPISTLE TO MY LORD OXFORD, 1732.
Busied from morn to noon, from noon to night;
With little time to read, and less to write;
A few short moments I on thought bestow,
While through the Strand's long emptiness I go.
No laden carts divert my studies there,
Nor rattling coaches shake the quiet air.
No din of wonted trade the town employs;
'Change has no buzz, and Billingsgate no noise.
Silent and few, like ghosts, the walkers glide
Through desert Fleet-street and forlorn Cheapside.
Thames rolls, unpress'd with ships, an idle flood;
Shops vacant mourn, where trade was once so good;
And corn may almost grow, where Troy-novant has stood:
Whether retiring crowds the summer fear,
Or Sirius Walpole cause a desert here;
Whose pestilential breathing death inspires,
And into tenfold rage the Lion fires.
Justice perhaps may grace the ethereal plains;
Still in the Zodiac feign'd Astræa reigns,
Stranger, alas! on earth; unhappy we
Nor meet the Virgin, nor the Balance see.
Nor hopes of sweet vicissitude appear,
But Walpole's dog-days burn us through the year.
With little time to read, and less to write;
A few short moments I on thought bestow,
While through the Strand's long emptiness I go.
488
Nor rattling coaches shake the quiet air.
No din of wonted trade the town employs;
'Change has no buzz, and Billingsgate no noise.
Silent and few, like ghosts, the walkers glide
Through desert Fleet-street and forlorn Cheapside.
Thames rolls, unpress'd with ships, an idle flood;
Shops vacant mourn, where trade was once so good;
And corn may almost grow, where Troy-novant has stood:
Whether retiring crowds the summer fear,
Or Sirius Walpole cause a desert here;
Whose pestilential breathing death inspires,
And into tenfold rage the Lion fires.
Justice perhaps may grace the ethereal plains;
Still in the Zodiac feign'd Astræa reigns,
Stranger, alas! on earth; unhappy we
Nor meet the Virgin, nor the Balance see.
Nor hopes of sweet vicissitude appear,
But Walpole's dog-days burn us through the year.
Nor yet shall sad despair our courage seize,
If lazy senators forget their ease;
Stoutly oppose the measures which they blame;
Nor throw the cards up, though they lose the game;
Dare to be overcome, though not to yield;
And, beaten inch by inch, yet keep the field;
Endure the heat of noon and length of night;
Persist, secure as Oglethorpe from fright;
And die, like Lyster, on the field of fight!
The spirit raised within St. Stephen's walls
A little wider spread, the robber falls.
That spirit brave the boaster may confound,
And make his head against his heart compound;
Who ne'er with good the least compliance show'd,
Except for hinderance of a greater good:
That spirit, long in Harley's house admired,
Through change of times unbroken and untired;
Whose perseverance has at length prevail'd,
The son succeeding where the father fail'd.
Hereditary friend to virtue's cause,
To real freedom, and to righteous laws;
He bids unbiass'd juries verdict give,
By whose decisive breath we die or live.
To laws yet nobler let his worth aspire,
With all his father's, nay, his uncle's, fire.
Sooner than Oxford shall be lost to fame,
And Harley be esteem'd a vulgar name,
The miscreant Gordon shall a Christian turn,
And Tindal martyr for religion burn;
Walpole shall tricks and tyranny give o'er,
And call back Francis to his native shore;
The world in Wilmot chastity shall see,
In Dunton wit, in Dryden piety!
If lazy senators forget their ease;
Stoutly oppose the measures which they blame;
Nor throw the cards up, though they lose the game;
Dare to be overcome, though not to yield;
And, beaten inch by inch, yet keep the field;
Endure the heat of noon and length of night;
Persist, secure as Oglethorpe from fright;
And die, like Lyster, on the field of fight!
The spirit raised within St. Stephen's walls
A little wider spread, the robber falls.
489
And make his head against his heart compound;
Who ne'er with good the least compliance show'd,
Except for hinderance of a greater good:
That spirit, long in Harley's house admired,
Through change of times unbroken and untired;
Whose perseverance has at length prevail'd,
The son succeeding where the father fail'd.
Hereditary friend to virtue's cause,
To real freedom, and to righteous laws;
He bids unbiass'd juries verdict give,
By whose decisive breath we die or live.
To laws yet nobler let his worth aspire,
With all his father's, nay, his uncle's, fire.
Sooner than Oxford shall be lost to fame,
And Harley be esteem'd a vulgar name,
The miscreant Gordon shall a Christian turn,
And Tindal martyr for religion burn;
Walpole shall tricks and tyranny give o'er,
And call back Francis to his native shore;
The world in Wilmot chastity shall see,
In Dunton wit, in Dryden piety!
O could a Harley farther yet proceed,
Our Holts and Hales recalling from the dead;
Or give to Price his ancient strength of mind,
Before his glory from its height declined;
Dismiss each wretch unfaithful to his trust,
And teach the reverend ermine to be just;
The streams untainted and the fountain clear,
Justice in native splendour might appear,
And none but Walpole and his minions fear!
So while departed ghosts their vices mourn,
Impartial Minos shook the dreadful urn;
(A judge of firm, inexorable mind,
Except in fable, we can hardly find;)
The truth, of colours stripp'd, severe he weigh'd,
By love unsoften'd, and by hate unsway'd;
Then, stern, consign'd them to their changeless state:
The' award was righteous, and the doom was fate.
Our Holts and Hales recalling from the dead;
Or give to Price his ancient strength of mind,
Before his glory from its height declined;
Dismiss each wretch unfaithful to his trust,
And teach the reverend ermine to be just;
The streams untainted and the fountain clear,
Justice in native splendour might appear,
And none but Walpole and his minions fear!
490
Impartial Minos shook the dreadful urn;
(A judge of firm, inexorable mind,
Except in fable, we can hardly find;)
The truth, of colours stripp'd, severe he weigh'd,
By love unsoften'd, and by hate unsway'd;
Then, stern, consign'd them to their changeless state:
The' award was righteous, and the doom was fate.
Accept, my lord, these unpretending lays;
And give them pardon, where you cannot praise.
Who now to charm an Oxford shall aspire?
His Pope is waning, and deceased his Prior.
Though tinsel verse weighs not with sterling prose,
Yet still some small regard a rhymer shows,—
Not to discharge his debt, but to confess he owes.
And give them pardon, where you cannot praise.
Who now to charm an Oxford shall aspire?
His Pope is waning, and deceased his Prior.
Though tinsel verse weighs not with sterling prose,
Yet still some small regard a rhymer shows,—
Not to discharge his debt, but to confess he owes.
| Poems on several occasions | |