From real grief they flow;
I catch the' alarm from Britain's fears,
My sorrows fall with Britain's tears,
And join a nation's woe.
See, as you pass the crowded street,
Despondence clouds each face you meet,
All their lost friend deplore:
You read in every pensive eye,
You hear in every broken sigh,
That Pelham is no more.
If thus each Briton is alarm'd
Whom but his distant influence warm'd,
What griefs their breasts must rend,
Who, in his private virtues bless'd,
By Nature's dearest ties possess'd
The husband, father, friend!
What! mute, ye bards?—no mournful verse,
No chaplets to adorn his hearse,
To crown the good and just?
Your flowers in warmer regions bloom,
You seek no pensions from the tomb,
No laurels from the dust.
When power departed with his breath,
The sons of Flattery fled from death:
Such insects swarm at noon.
Not for herself my Muse is grieved,
She never ask'd nor e'er received
One ministerial boon.
Hath some peculiar strange offence
Against us arm'd Omnipotence,
To check the nation's pride?
Behold the' appointed punishment!
At length the vengeful bolt is sent,
It fell-when Pelham died.
Uncheck'd by shame, unawed by dread,
When Vice triumphant rears her head,
Vengeance can sleep no more;
The evil angel stalks at large,
The good submits, resigns his charge,
And quits the' unhallow'd shore.
The same sad morn
to church and state
(So for our sins 'twas fix'd by fate)
A double stroke was given;
Black as the whirlwinds of the north
St. John's fell genius issued forth,
And Pelham fled to heaven!
By angels watch'd in Eden's bowers,
Our parents pass'd their peaceful hours,
Nor guilt nor pain they knew ;
But on the day which usher'd in
The hell-born train of mortal sin,
The heavenly guards withdrew.
Look down, much honour'd shade, below!
Still let thy pity aid our woe;
Stretch out thy healing hand;
Resume those feelings which on earth
Proclaim'd thy patriot love and worth,
And saved a sinking land.
Search, with thy more than mortal eye,
The breasts of all thy friends: descry
*The 6th of March, 1754, was remarkable for the publication of the works of the late lord, and the death of Mr. Pelham.
What there has got possession.
See if thy unsuspecting heart,
In some for truth mistook not art,
For principle profession.
From these, the pests of humankind,
Whom royal bounty cannot bind,
Protect our parent king:
Unmask their treachery to his sight,
Drag forth the vipers into light,
And crush them ere they sting.
If such his trust and honours share,
Again exert thy guardian care,
Each venom'd heart disclose;
On Him, on Him our all depends,
Oh, save him from his treacherous friends,
He cannot fear his foes.
Whoe'er shall at the helm preside,
Still let thy prudence be his guide,
To stem the troubled wave;
But chiefly whisper in his ear,
'That George is open, just, sincere,
And dares to scorn a knave.'
No selfish views to' oppress mankind,
No mad ambition fired thy mind,
To purchase fame with blood;
Thy bosom glow'd with purer heat;
Convinced that to be truly great
Is only to be good.
To hear no lawless passion's call,
To serve thy king yet feel for all,
Such was thy glorious plan!
Wisdom with generous love took part,
Together work thy head and heart,
The minister and man.
Unite, ye kindred sons of worth;
Strangle bold faction in its birth;
Be Britain's weal your view!
For this great end let all combine,
Let virtue link each fair design,
And Pelham live in you.
THE DEATH OF PRINCE LEOPOLD,
SON OF THE DUKE OF MECKLENBURGH SCHWERIN,
WHO WAS DROWNED IN THE RIVER ODER, DURING
THE INUNDATION IN 1785, IN ENDEAVOURING TO
RESCUE A FAMILY OF CHILDREN, WHOSE MOTHER
HAD INTREATED HIM TO GIVE ORDERS FOR THAT
PURPOSE.
LET praise the victor's act record,
And nations deify the sword
With human sacrifice impure;
To such, when Fate has given the blow,
The service of external woe
Shall long-prescriptive right secure :
But ah! the tears, the sighs that part
Spontaneous from the deep-charged heart
The formal summons disobey;
This envied meed from distant lands
The name of Leopold commands,
And every friend of man shall pay.
Lamented youth! I never trod
The banks where rapid Oder flow'd,
Whose latest sons shall weep thy doom; Nor ever hail'd thy gracious form,
Whose promised worth the' unkindly storm
Hath crush'd in manhood's opening bloom.
Yet, all confess'd to Fancy's eyes,
Thy gentle spirit seems to rise
With amaranthine splendour crown'd,
And recent from their watery grave
The tender group thou died'st to save
On snowy pinions hover round.
Though now to better worlds resign'd,
Thy bright example left behind
Shall still to man extend thy care;
Disclose the surer paths of Fame,
And nobly point the social aim,
'To save, to pity, and to spare.'
ON SEEING A NEGRO FUNERAL.
MAHALI dies! o'er yonder plain
His bier is borne: the sable train
By youthful virgins led:
Daughters of injured Afric, say
Why raise ye thus the heroic lay,
Why triumph o'er the dead?
No tear bedews their fixed eye:
'Tis now the hero lives, they cry—
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