페이지 이미지

Paul and Hubert too sleep, in the valley of Cressy;
For the safety of Edward and England they fell;
My fathers! the tears of your country redress ye;
How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell.
On Marston* with Rupert + 'gainst traitors contending,

Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak field;
For the rights of a monarch their country defending,
Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd.
Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant, departing
From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu!
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
New courage, he'll think upon glory and you.
Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,
'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret:
Far distant he goes, with the same emulation;

The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget.
That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish;

He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown:
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish;
When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own!


Αστηρ πριν μεν ελαμτες ενι ξωοισιν ἕωος.--LAERTIUS.

Oh! friend for ever lov'd for ever dear!

What fruitless tears have bath'd thy honour'd bier!
What sighs re-echoed to thy parting breath
Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death!
Could tears retard the tyrant in his course;
Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey;
Thou still hadst lived to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight.
If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh
The spot where now thy mouldering ashes iie,

• The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were defeated.

Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charles 1. He afterwards commanded the fleet in the reign of Charles II.


Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart,
A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art.
No marble marks the couch of lowly sleep,
But living statues there are seen to weep;
Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb,
Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom.
What though thy sire lament his failing line,
A father's sorrows cannot equal mine!
Though none like thee his dying hour will cheer,
Yet other offspring sooth his anguish here:
But who with me shall hold thy former place?
Thine image what new friendship can efface?
Ah! none! a father's tears will cease to flow,
Time will assuage an infant brother's woe;
To all, save one, is consolation known,
While solitary friendship sighs alone.


When to their airy hall my father's voice
Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice;
When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride,
Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side;
Oh! may my shade behold no sculptured urns
To mark the spot where earth to earth returns;
No lengthened scroll, no praise-encumbered stone;
My epitaph shall be-my name alone:
If that with honour fail to crown my clay,
Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay:
That, only that, shall single out the spot;
By that remembered, or with that forgot.

[blocks in formation]




The lips may beguile

With a dimple or smile,

But the test of affection 's a Tear.

Too oft is a smile

But the hypocrite's wile,
To mark detestation or fear;
Give me the soft sigh,
Whilst the soul-telling eye
Is dimm'd for a time with a Tear.

Mild Charity's glow,
To us mortals below,

Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
Compassion will melt

Where this virtue is felt,

And its dew is diffused in a Tear.

The man doom'd to sail
With the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
As he bends o'er the wave,
Which may soon be his grave,

The green sparkles bright with a Tear.

The soldier braves death

For a fanciful wreath,

In glory's romantic career;

But he raises the foe,
When in battle laid low,

And bathes every wound with a Tear.

If with high-bounding pride
He return to his bride,

Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear,

All his toils are repaid,
When, embracing the maid,

From her eyelid he kisses the Tear,

Sweet scene of my youth,
Seat of friendship and truth,

Where love chased each fast-fleeting year,

[ocr errors]

Loath to leave thee. I mourn'],
For a last look I turn'd,

But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear.

[blocks in formation]



Since the refinement of this polish'd age
Has swept immoral raillery from the stage;
Since taste has now expung'd licentious wit,
Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ;
Siuce now to please with purer scenes we seek,
Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek;
Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim,
And meet indulgence, though she find not fame!
Still, not for her alene we wish respect,
Others appear more conscious of defect;
To-night no veteran Roscii you behold,
In all the arts of scenic action old;
No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here,
No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear;
To night you throng to witness the debut
Of embryo actors, to the drama new.

Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try,
Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly :
Failing in this our first attempt to soar,
Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more.
Not one poor trembler only fear betrays,
Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise;
But all our dramatis persona wait,

In fond suspense, this crisis of their fate.
No venal views our progress can retard,
Your generous plaudits are our sole reward;
For these each hero all his power displays,
Each timid heroine shrinks before your gaze.
Surely the last will some protection find;
None to the softer sex can prove unkind:
Whilst youth and beauty form the female shield,
The sternest censor to the fair must yield.
Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail;
Should, after all, our best endeavours fail;
Still let some mercy in your bosoms live,
And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive.

« 이전계속 »