In silent whisperings, purer thoughts impart,
And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart;
Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before,
Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
That awful form which, so the Heavens decree,
Must still be lov'd and still deplor'd by me,
In nightly visions seldom fails to rise,
Or, rous'd by fancy, meets my waking eyes.
If business calls, or crowded courts invite,
Th' unblemish'd statesman seems to strike my sight;
If in the stage I seek to sooth my care,
1 meet his soul, which breathes in Cato, there ; If pensive to the rural shades I rove,
His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove; "Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong, Clear'd some great truth, or rais'd some serious
There patient show'd us the wise course to steer, A candid censor and a friend sincere ;
There taught us how to live, and (oh! too high
The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.
Thou hill! whose brow the antique structures
grace,
Rear'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race,
Why, once so lov'd, whene'er thy bower appears,
O'er my din eye-balls glance the sudden tears!
How sweet were once thy prospects, fresh and
Thy sloping walks and unpolluted air! [fair,
How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees,
Thy noontide shadow and thy evening breeze!
His image thy forsaken bowers restore,
Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more;
No more the summer, in thy glooms allay'd,
Thy evening breezes and thy noonday shade.
21*
From other ills, however Fortune frown'd,
Some refuge in the Muse's art I found;
Reluctant now I touch the trembling string,
Bereft of him who taught me how to sing;
And these sad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn,
Betray that absence they attempt to mourn.
O! must I then (now fresh my bosom bleeds,
And Craggs, in death, to Addison succeeds)
The verse, begun to one lost friend, prolong,
And weep a second in th' unfinish'd song!
These works divine, which on his death-bed laid,
To thee, O Craggs! th' expiring sage convey'd,
Great but ill omen'd monument of fame,
Nor he surviv'd to give, nor thou to claim;
Swift after him thy social spirit flies,
And close to his, how soon! thy coffin lies.
Bless'd pair! whose union future bards shall tell
In future tongues: each other's boast, farewell !
Farewell! whom join'd in fame, in friendship tried,
No chance could sever, nor the grave divide.
Tickell.
ON THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER.
YE fabled muses, I your aid disclaim,
Your airy raptures, and your fancied flame:
True genuine wo my throbbing breast inspires,
Love promps my lays, and filial duty fires;
The soul springs instant at the warm design,
And the heart dictates every flowing line.
See! where the kindest, best of mothers lies,
And Death has shut her ever-weeping eyes:
Has lodg'd at last peace in her weary breast,
And lull'd her many piercing cares to rest.
No more the orphan train around her stands,
While her full heart upbraids her needy hands!
No more the widow's lonely fate she feels,
The shock severe that modest want conceals,
Th' oppressor's scourge, the scorn of wealthy pride,
And poverty's unnumber'd ills beside.
For see! attended by th' angelic throng,
Through yonder worlds of light she glides along,
And claims the well-earn'd raptures of the sky:
Yet fond concern recalls the mother's eye;
She seeks the helpless orphan left behind;
So hardly left! so bitterly resign'd!
Still, still! is she my soul's divinest theme,
The waking vision, and the wailing dream :
Amid the ruddy Sun's enlivening blaze
O'er my dark eyes her dewy image plays,
And in the dread dominion of the night
Shines out again the sadly pleasing sight.
Triumphant virtue all around her darts,
And more than volumes every look imparts-
Looks, soft, yet awful, melting, yet serene,
Where both the mother and the saint are seen.
But ah! that night-that torturing night remains;
May darkness dye it with the deepest stains,
May Joy on it forsake her rosy bow'rs,
And screaming Sorrow blast its baleful hours,
When on the margin of the briny flood*
Chill'd with a sad presaging damp I stood,
Took the last look, ne'er to behold her more,
And mix'd our murmurs with the wavy roar,
* On the shore of Leith, when he embarked for London.
Heard the last words fall from her pious tongue,
Then, wild into the bulging vessel flung,
Which soon, too soon convey'd me from her sight,
Dearer than life, and liberty and light!
Why was I then, ye powers, reserv'd for this?
Nor sunk that moment in the vast abyss?
Devour'd at once by the relentless wave,
And whelin'd for ever in a wat❜ry grave ?—
Down, ye wild wishes of unruly wo!
I see her with immortal beauty glow,
The early wrinkle, care-contracted, gone,
Her tears all wip'd, and all her sorrows flown:
Th' exalted voice of Heav'n I hear her breathe,
To sooth her soul in agonies of death.
I see her through the mansions bless'd above,
And now she meets her dear expecting love.
Heart-cheering sight! but yet, alas! o'erspread
By the damp gloom of Grief's uncheerful shade.
Come then of reason the reflecting hour,
And let me trust the kind o'er-ruling PowER,
Who from the right commands the shining day,
The poor man's portion, and the orphan's stay!
Thomson.
TO THE MEMORY OF SIR ISAAC NEWTON,
INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR ROBERT
SHALL the great soul of Newton quit this earth
To mingle with his stars, and every Muse,
Astonish'd into silence, shun the weight
Of honours due to his illustrious name?
But what can man ?-Ev'n now the sons of light, In strains high warbled to seraphic lyre,
Hail his arrival on the coast of bliss.
Yet am not I deterr'd, though high the theme,
And sung to harps of angels, for with you,
Ethereal flames! ambitious, I aspire
In Nature's general symphony to join.
And what new wonders can ye show your guest?
Who, while on this dim spot, where mortals toil
Clouded in dust, from motion's simple laws,
Could trace the secret hand of Providence,
Wide-working through this universal frame.
Have ye not listen'd while he bound the suns
And planets, to their spheres! th' unequal task
Of human-kind till then. Oft had they roll'd
O'er erring man the year, and oft disgrac'd
The pride of schools, before their course was
Full in its causes and effects to him, [known
All piercing sage! Who sat not down and dream'd
Romantic schemes, defended by the din
Of specious words, and tyranny of names;
But, bidding his amazing mind attend,
And with heroic patience years on years
Deep searching, saw at last the system dawn,
And shine, of all his race, on him alone. [strong!
What were his raptures then! how pure! how
And what the triumphs of old Greece and Rome?
By his diminish'd, but the pride of boys
In some small fray victorious! when instead
Of shatter'd parcels of this Earth usurp'd
By violence unmanly, and sore deeds
Of cruelty and blood, Nature herself
Stood all subdued by him, and open laid
Her every latent glory to his view.
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