 | Poems on several occasions |  |
296
AN ELEGY ON DR. FRANCIS ATTERBURY,
BISHOP OF ROCHESTER.
“There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary are at rest.”
—Job.
—Job.
Love, strong as death, my glowing heart inspire,
And blend the Christian's with the poet's fire;
Adorn a father's fame with pious lays,
Till Faction pardon, if she dare not praise!
Should miscreants base their impious malice shed,
To insult the great, the venerable dead;
Let truth, resistless, blast their guilty eyes,
Bright as from clouds the red-wing'd lightning flies,
Bright as the sword of flame that guarded Paradise,
And blend the Christian's with the poet's fire;
Adorn a father's fame with pious lays,
Till Faction pardon, if she dare not praise!
Should miscreants base their impious malice shed,
To insult the great, the venerable dead;
Let truth, resistless, blast their guilty eyes,
Bright as from clouds the red-wing'd lightning flies,
Bright as the sword of flame that guarded Paradise,
Attend, ye good! whose zeal, unshaken, owns
The churches' altars, and the prelates' thrones:
Ye wise and just! who hate the devil's plea,
Excusing crimes by feign'd necessity:
Ye firm and brave! whose courage scorns to bend,
Nor stoops in danger to desert a friend:
Ye plain and true! who, scann'd by hostile eyes,
Disdain the mean advantage of disguise:
Ye pure of hand! whom knaves for idiots hold,
Despising lustre of ill-gotten gold:
Faithful, but few! to you my strains belong;
Applaud my friendship, and accept my song.
The churches' altars, and the prelates' thrones:
Ye wise and just! who hate the devil's plea,
Excusing crimes by feign'd necessity:
Ye firm and brave! whose courage scorns to bend,
Nor stoops in danger to desert a friend:
Ye plain and true! who, scann'd by hostile eyes,
Disdain the mean advantage of disguise:
Ye pure of hand! whom knaves for idiots hold,
Despising lustre of ill-gotten gold:
Faithful, but few! to you my strains belong;
Applaud my friendship, and accept my song.
Hail, happy sire! The pain of life is o'er,
Stranger and wandering pilgrim now no more;
At home,—at rest,—secure in blissful skies,
Where envy drops its snakes, and fraud its guise.
See, seraph-guards the starry crown prepare!
See, smiling angels fly to greet thee there!
Lo, Hyde, to exile doom'd on earth alone,
Springs to salute thee from his azure throne!
Nor yet, below, thy envied glory dies:
Long as the sun rolls o'er the empyreal skies;
When pyramids, unfaithful to their trust,
Crumble to atoms, with their founders' dust;
When solid marble, mouldering, wastes away,
And lies desert the monumented clay;
Thou still shalt live, to deathless fame consign'd;
Live like the best and bravest of mankind.
Stranger and wandering pilgrim now no more;
297
Where envy drops its snakes, and fraud its guise.
See, seraph-guards the starry crown prepare!
See, smiling angels fly to greet thee there!
Lo, Hyde, to exile doom'd on earth alone,
Springs to salute thee from his azure throne!
Nor yet, below, thy envied glory dies:
Long as the sun rolls o'er the empyreal skies;
When pyramids, unfaithful to their trust,
Crumble to atoms, with their founders' dust;
When solid marble, mouldering, wastes away,
And lies desert the monumented clay;
Thou still shalt live, to deathless fame consign'd;
Live like the best and bravest of mankind.
Where sleeps great Hannibal, the scourge of Rome?
Or who can point out awful Cato's tomb?
What breathing busts—what sculptured angels rise,
To adorn the place where Charles the Martyr lies?
No burial rites his impious hangmen gave,
Not the poor favour of a decent grave.
When Anna rests, with kindred ashes laid,
What funeral honours grace her injured shade?
A few faint tapers glimmer'd through the night,
And scanty sable shock'd the loyal sight.
Though millions wail'd her, none composed her train,
Compell'd to grieve, forbidden to complain.
How idly scornful the contempt express'd!
How mean the triumph o'er a saint deceased!
So when death's bloodiest paths the martyrs trod,
To conscience faithful, firm to heaven and God,
The insulting foe their bones, to dust calcined,
Gave to the flowing stream, and flying wind.
Vain was the tyrant's art, the demon's vain,
In heights, in depths, their atoms safe remain:
Heaven views its treasure, with a watchful eye,
Till the last trumpet calls it to the sky.
Or who can point out awful Cato's tomb?
What breathing busts—what sculptured angels rise,
To adorn the place where Charles the Martyr lies?
No burial rites his impious hangmen gave,
Not the poor favour of a decent grave.
When Anna rests, with kindred ashes laid,
What funeral honours grace her injured shade?
A few faint tapers glimmer'd through the night,
And scanty sable shock'd the loyal sight.
Though millions wail'd her, none composed her train,
Compell'd to grieve, forbidden to complain.
298
How mean the triumph o'er a saint deceased!
So when death's bloodiest paths the martyrs trod,
To conscience faithful, firm to heaven and God,
The insulting foe their bones, to dust calcined,
Gave to the flowing stream, and flying wind.
Vain was the tyrant's art, the demon's vain,
In heights, in depths, their atoms safe remain:
Heaven views its treasure, with a watchful eye,
Till the last trumpet calls it to the sky.
Nor more can powers infernal strike with dread
The soul when living, than the body dead,
Where grace divine, with native courage join'd,
Inspirits and exalts the Christian's mind.
The soul when living, than the body dead,
Where grace divine, with native courage join'd,
Inspirits and exalts the Christian's mind.
When hapless James, with rage untimely shown,
For Rome's ungrateful pontiff risk'd his throne;
And boastful Jesuits hoped our fall to see,
With Julian's spite, without his subtlety;
The faithful priest our suffering church defends,
Careless of mighty foes and feeble friends;
His early pen for pure religion draws,
With strength and fervour worthy of its cause.
So when brave Luther stemm'd corruption's tide,
With zeal, and truth, and conscience on his side;
Him nor loud threats nor whispers low could stay,
Nor chains, nor racks, nor fires obstruct his way,—
Resolved to oppose proud Babel's haughty powers,
And make Rome tremble through her seven-fold towers.
For Rome's ungrateful pontiff risk'd his throne;
And boastful Jesuits hoped our fall to see,
With Julian's spite, without his subtlety;
The faithful priest our suffering church defends,
Careless of mighty foes and feeble friends;
His early pen for pure religion draws,
With strength and fervour worthy of its cause.
So when brave Luther stemm'd corruption's tide,
With zeal, and truth, and conscience on his side;
Him nor loud threats nor whispers low could stay,
Nor chains, nor racks, nor fires obstruct his way,—
Resolved to oppose proud Babel's haughty powers,
And make Rome tremble through her seven-fold towers.
299
When William reigns, the valiant and the wise,
And foes profess'd to priestly synods rise,
To check encroaching power, the champion fights
For long-neglected sacerdotal rights.
Scarcely the adverse chief his force withstands,
Till raised and strengthen'd by imperial hands.
These point the labour, and reward assign,
Direct the battery, and instruct the mine;
The exhausted war renew with weapons keen,
Near, though in clouds, and mighty, though unseen.
So the good Dardan prince, as Virgil feign'd,
With fates and gods averse a war maintain'd,
Dauntless in flames:—till his enlighten'd eyes
Against his Troy beheld immortals rise;
Juno and Pallas lead their Greeks to charge,
And Jove o'ershades them with his sovereign targe;
Neptune, enraged, o'erwhelms the smoking walls,
And, by the hand that raised her, Ilium falls.
And foes profess'd to priestly synods rise,
To check encroaching power, the champion fights
For long-neglected sacerdotal rights.
Scarcely the adverse chief his force withstands,
Till raised and strengthen'd by imperial hands.
These point the labour, and reward assign,
Direct the battery, and instruct the mine;
The exhausted war renew with weapons keen,
Near, though in clouds, and mighty, though unseen.
So the good Dardan prince, as Virgil feign'd,
With fates and gods averse a war maintain'd,
Dauntless in flames:—till his enlighten'd eyes
Against his Troy beheld immortals rise;
Juno and Pallas lead their Greeks to charge,
And Jove o'ershades them with his sovereign targe;
Neptune, enraged, o'erwhelms the smoking walls,
And, by the hand that raised her, Ilium falls.
Perpetual storms his steady mind engage,
Trials of warmest youth and wisest age.
—Whatever frauds to legal craft belong,
Mazes of lies, and labyrinths of wrong;
—Whate'er unjust in precedent appears,
Shaded with darkness of revolving years,
Till wrong seems ripen'd into right by time,
And age makes theft a venerable crime;
(While, fond of present rest, the reverend drone
Buys his own ease with treasure not his own;)
—Whate'er of weight is cast on friendship's side,
By ministerial guile and lordly pride;
—Skilful to search, and faithful to display,
And bold to call forth midnight into day,
To no base arts his steady virtue leans,
Disdaining conquest by ignoble means;
Pursuing truth with ever-active fire,
And dauntless to assert as to inquire.
In vain or power or wealth the tempter shows,
Or friends entreating turn insidious foes;
Nor smoothest prayers divert, nor danger awes
From gaining malice, while he gains his cause.
So when to Abram's first-born son were given
The temporal blessings of propitious Heaven,
Though doom'd from Canaan banishment to bear,
The fate was prosperous, and the lot was fair.
Behold him great in height of battle grow!
Still strong his arm, still prevalent of bow!
Ordain'd by none to fall, yet all to oppose,
A single conqueror, with the world his foes.
Trials of warmest youth and wisest age.
—Whatever frauds to legal craft belong,
Mazes of lies, and labyrinths of wrong;
300
Shaded with darkness of revolving years,
Till wrong seems ripen'd into right by time,
And age makes theft a venerable crime;
(While, fond of present rest, the reverend drone
Buys his own ease with treasure not his own;)
—Whate'er of weight is cast on friendship's side,
By ministerial guile and lordly pride;
—Skilful to search, and faithful to display,
And bold to call forth midnight into day,
To no base arts his steady virtue leans,
Disdaining conquest by ignoble means;
Pursuing truth with ever-active fire,
And dauntless to assert as to inquire.
In vain or power or wealth the tempter shows,
Or friends entreating turn insidious foes;
Nor smoothest prayers divert, nor danger awes
From gaining malice, while he gains his cause.
So when to Abram's first-born son were given
The temporal blessings of propitious Heaven,
Though doom'd from Canaan banishment to bear,
The fate was prosperous, and the lot was fair.
Behold him great in height of battle grow!
Still strong his arm, still prevalent of bow!
Ordain'd by none to fall, yet all to oppose,
A single conqueror, with the world his foes.
To mightier dangers yet his virtues rise,
His panoply no common vengeance tries,
From long-collecting stores the treasured thunder flies.
Lightnings, thick shot, around his temples glare,
Aim'd rightly by the regent of the air;
Actors were chose, skill'd in hell's deepest plots;
Actors, to whom the arch-fiend himself allots
The very essence of a devil's sin,
His rage to ruin, and his craft to win;—
He who to gold perpetual worship gave,
Secret as night, unsated as the grave,
To friendship blind, sharp-sighted to a bribe,
The subtlest artist of the subtle tribe;
Whose deep-affronted avarice combines
With craft, outwitted by its own designs,
Full on that head their utmost rage to shower,
Who spurn'd at tender'd gold and offer'd power;—
He who, by fortune raised, is vain of skill;
Who laughs at right and wrong, at good and ill;
Patron of every art, in every kind,
To unnerve the body, and debase the mind;
Provoked by virtues of the wise and brave,
Of blackest crimes protector, friend, and slave;—
He who with self-importance swells debate,
Whose rancour no revenge can ever sate,
Ravenous for gain, yet loud for common-weal,
With party-madness and invented zeal,
With more than lordly haughtiness possess'd,
And proudly prates of honour long deceased!
Eternal, restless enemy to good,
By pride, by sect, by climate, and by blood.
To dark oblivion let the rest be given,
Lost to the world as they are lost to heaven.
His panoply no common vengeance tries,
From long-collecting stores the treasured thunder flies.
301
Aim'd rightly by the regent of the air;
Actors were chose, skill'd in hell's deepest plots;
Actors, to whom the arch-fiend himself allots
The very essence of a devil's sin,
His rage to ruin, and his craft to win;—
He who to gold perpetual worship gave,
Secret as night, unsated as the grave,
To friendship blind, sharp-sighted to a bribe,
The subtlest artist of the subtle tribe;
Whose deep-affronted avarice combines
With craft, outwitted by its own designs,
Full on that head their utmost rage to shower,
Who spurn'd at tender'd gold and offer'd power;—
He who, by fortune raised, is vain of skill;
Who laughs at right and wrong, at good and ill;
Patron of every art, in every kind,
To unnerve the body, and debase the mind;
Provoked by virtues of the wise and brave,
Of blackest crimes protector, friend, and slave;—
He who with self-importance swells debate,
Whose rancour no revenge can ever sate,
Ravenous for gain, yet loud for common-weal,
With party-madness and invented zeal,
302
And proudly prates of honour long deceased!
Eternal, restless enemy to good,
By pride, by sect, by climate, and by blood.
To dark oblivion let the rest be given,
Lost to the world as they are lost to heaven.
When Britain wept for avarice of state,
And threatenings loud alarm'd the guilty great,
Wide and more wide were spread the wretches' moans,
The widows' wailings, and the orphans' groans;
While injured thousands vengeance just require,
Convulsed like Ætna ere it bursts in fire;
What secret art, what Machiavellian hand,
Could turn the torrent no man could withstand?
What spell could universal wrath appease?
Could deep amazement bid their tumult cease?
Unusual objects charm their angry eyes,
Amuse the curious, and perplex the wise?
No!—Let the weight on Atterbury fall,
“Devoted victim to atone for all!”
So (if old tales to illustrate truth presume)
When earth, wide-opening, threaten'd general doom,
Nor prayers nor tears could calm her labouring breast;
Nought but the richest treasure Rome possess'd,
The demon-gods pronounced avoidless fate,
And all Jove's ministers of wrath and state:
In vain their much-loved stores the wealthy bear,
Their arms the brave, their ornaments the fair;
A growing sepulchre the gulf exposed,
And not till Curtius plunged, the cavern closed.
And threatenings loud alarm'd the guilty great,
Wide and more wide were spread the wretches' moans,
The widows' wailings, and the orphans' groans;
While injured thousands vengeance just require,
Convulsed like Ætna ere it bursts in fire;
What secret art, what Machiavellian hand,
Could turn the torrent no man could withstand?
What spell could universal wrath appease?
Could deep amazement bid their tumult cease?
Unusual objects charm their angry eyes,
Amuse the curious, and perplex the wise?
No!—Let the weight on Atterbury fall,
“Devoted victim to atone for all!”
So (if old tales to illustrate truth presume)
When earth, wide-opening, threaten'd general doom,
Nor prayers nor tears could calm her labouring breast;
Nought but the richest treasure Rome possess'd,
The demon-gods pronounced avoidless fate,
And all Jove's ministers of wrath and state:
In vain their much-loved stores the wealthy bear,
Their arms the brave, their ornaments the fair;
303
And not till Curtius plunged, the cavern closed.
But not to death his foes their hate pursued,
Nor stain the blushing earth with hallow'd blood.
For, lo! imperial mercy found the way
To call the bloodhounds from their destined prey.
Soon as the sovereign will their purpose cross'd,
The rage of faction for a space was lost:
The deepest throats their cries for death suspend,
And those who late accused him, now commend.
Unmark'd before, what great endowments rise!
What matchless virtue sparkles to their eyes!
So Satan view'd the parent of mankind,
And felt soft pity melt his stubborn mind.
Unknown remorse his wondering thought employs,
He mourns the Eden that himself destroys.
Awhile the sight his cursed intent removed,
And, had he not betray'd her, he had loved.
Nor stain the blushing earth with hallow'd blood.
For, lo! imperial mercy found the way
To call the bloodhounds from their destined prey.
Soon as the sovereign will their purpose cross'd,
The rage of faction for a space was lost:
The deepest throats their cries for death suspend,
And those who late accused him, now commend.
Unmark'd before, what great endowments rise!
What matchless virtue sparkles to their eyes!
So Satan view'd the parent of mankind,
And felt soft pity melt his stubborn mind.
Unknown remorse his wondering thought employs,
He mourns the Eden that himself destroys.
Awhile the sight his cursed intent removed,
And, had he not betray'd her, he had loved.
What last remains to crown each glorious deed,
Such virtues to reward and to exceed?
What but to meet unmoved the judgment-day,
When all the scenes of nature shall decay?
When penal fire consumes each trembling coast,
And seas, co-eval with the world, are lost;
When discord blends the orders of the sky
In wild confusion: then to lift the eye
Dauntless and firm, 'midst ruins to rejoice,
When Power Divine its own effect destroys;
With gratulations hymn the Almighty's rod,
Strong, not in nature, but in nature's God.
Such virtues to reward and to exceed?
What but to meet unmoved the judgment-day,
When all the scenes of nature shall decay?
When penal fire consumes each trembling coast,
And seas, co-eval with the world, are lost;
When discord blends the orders of the sky
In wild confusion: then to lift the eye
Dauntless and firm, 'midst ruins to rejoice,
When Power Divine its own effect destroys;
With gratulations hymn the Almighty's rod,
Strong, not in nature, but in nature's God.
| Poems on several occasions | |