If Virtue contradict the voice
Of public Fame, applause is noise
Ev'n victors are by conquest curs'd,
The bravest warrior is the worst.
Look round on all that man below
Idly calls great, and all is show!
All, to the coffin from our birth,
In this vast toy-shop of the earth.
Come then, O friend of virtuous wo,
With solemn pace, demure, and slow:
Lo! sad and serious, I pursue
Thy steps-adieu, vain world, adieu!
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.
THE peace of Heaven attend thy shade,
My early friend, my favourite maid!
When life was new, companions gay,
We hail'd the morning of our day.
Ah, with what joy did I behold
The flower of beauty fair unfold!
And fear'd no storm to blast thy bloom,.
Or bring thee to an early tomb!
Untimely gone! for ever fled
The roses of the cheek so red:
Th' affection warm, the temper mild,
The sweetness that in sorrow smil'd.
Alas! the cheek where beauty glow'd;
The heart where goodness overflow'd,
A clod amid the valley lies,
O from thy kindred early torn,
And to thy grave untimely borne !
Vanish'd for ever from my view,
Thou sister of my soul, adieu!
Fair, with my first ideas twin'd,
Thine image oft will meet my mind;
And, while remembrance brings thee near,
Affection sad will drop a tear.
How oft does sorrow bend the head,
Before we dwell among the dead!
Scarce in the years of manly prime,
I've often wept the wrecks of time.
What tragic tears bedew the eye!
What deaths we suffer ere we die!
Our broken friendships we deplore,
And loves of youth that are no more!
No after-friendship e'er can raise
Th' endearments of our early days;
And ne'er the heart such fondness prove,
As when it first began to love.
Affection dies, a vernal flower;
And love, the blossom of an hour;
The spring of fancy cares control,
And mar the beauty of the soul.
Vers'd in the commerce of deceit,
How soon the heart forgets to beat!
The blood runs cold at Interest's call:-
They look with equal eyes on all.
Then lovely Nature is expell'd,
And Friendship is romantic held;
Then Prudence comes with hundred eyes:
The veil is rent-the vision flies.
The dear illusions will not last;
The era of enchantment's past;
The wild romance of life is done;
The real history is begun.
The sallies of the soul are o'er,
The feast of fancy is no more;
And ill the banquet is supplied
By form, by gravity, by pride.
Ye gods! whatever ye withhold,
Let my affections ne'er grow old;
Ne'er may the human glow depart,
Nor Nature yield to frigid Art!
Still may the generous bosom burn,
Though doom'd to bleed o'er Beauty's urn;
And still the friendly face appear,
Though moisten'd with a tender tear!
ON THE DEATH OF MR. ADDISON.
Ir, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stay'd,
And left her debt to Addison unpaid,
Blame not her silence, Warwick! but bemoan,
And judge, oh judge my bosom, by your own.
What mourner ever felt poetic fires?
Slow comes the verse that real wo inspires;
Grief unaffected suits but ill with art,
Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.
Can I forget the dismal night that gave
My soul's best part for ever to the grave!
How silent did his old companions tread,
By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead,
Through breathing statues, then unheeded things,
Through rows of warriors and through walks of
What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire,
The pealing organ and the pausing choir,
The duties by the law-rob'd prelate paid,
And the last words that dust to dust convey'd!
While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend,
Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend!
Oh, gone for ever! take this long adieu,
And sleep in peace next thy lov'd Montague.
To strew fresh laurels let the task be mine,
A frequent pilgrim at thy sacred shrine;
Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan,
And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone.
If e'er from me thy lov'd memorial part,
May shame afflict this alienated heart!
Of thee forgetful if I form a song,
My lyre be broken, and untun'd my tongue ;
My grief be doubled, from thy image free,
And mirth a torment, unchastis'd by thee!
Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,
Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown;
Along the walls where speaking marbles show
What worthies form the hallow'd mould below:
Proud names! who once the reins of empire held,
In arms who triumph'd, or in arts excell'd;
Chiefs, grac'd with scars and prodigal of blood,
Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood,
Just men, by whom impartial laws were giv'n,
And saints, who taught and led the way to Heav'n.
Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest,
Since their foundation came a nobler guest,
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd
A fairer spirit, or more welcome shade.
In what new region to the just assign'd,
What new employments please th' unbodied mind!
A winged Virtue through th' ethereal sky
From world to world unwearied does he fly,
Or curious trace the long laborious maze
Of Heaven's decrees where wondering angels gaze
Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell
How Michael battled, and the dragon fell;
Or, mix'd with milder cherubim, to glow
In hymns of love not ill essay'd below?
Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind?
A task well suited to thy gentle mind.
Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend,
To me thy aid, thou guardian genius! lend.
When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms,
When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms,
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