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VERSES TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE, ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY PELHAM.
By HENRY JONES, AUTHOR of the Earl of ESSEX.
LONDON: Printed for R. and J. DODSLEY, in Pall-mall; And ſold by M. COOPER, at the Globe in Pater-noſter-Row. 1754. (Price Six-pence.)
VERSES TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE.
[3]IF yet your throbbing boſom finds relief;
If Reaſon yet one moment ſteals from Grief;
Forgive, my Lord, the Muſe that late appears,
To join with Britain's ſighs,—NEWCASTLE's tears;
The Muſe, that joins her well intended ſtrain,
With GEORGE's ſacred ſighs, but joins in vain.
Not regal ſorrows can that life reſtore,
In vain the kingly fountains rich run o'er;
[4]'Tis hers, to join with all who truly mourn,
Who pour the plaintive note on PELHAM's urn.
Miſtaken mortals in this vale below,
Sons of Adverſity, and heirs of Woe,
The ſad inheritance tenacious keep,
Too ſoon they triumph, or too late they weep.
The good poſſeſs'd, with liſtleſs hearts they rate,
Nor prize the bliſs enjoy'd, till ſnatch'd by Fate;
Reflection then, and Gratitude conſpire;
Then, every virtue kindles every fire;
The breaſt humane, with ſudden fervour burns;
Then, all the ſoul alarm'd, regrets and mourns;
This tribute Virtue from the heart demands,
And Nature pays it with obedient hands.
To vice high rais'd, no hallow'd mark remains,
Her ſprings of pleaſures, and her ſource of pains,
Ambition's frenzy, Luſt, and Lucre fly
To black Obſcurity; far off they lie
[]Sunk in the maſs confus'd, Oblivion's lot,
By Time rejected, and by Fame forgot.
The all-revered pile, erect to Fame,
With Virtue's trophies charg'd, with Trajan's name,
O'er vanquiſh'd Time ſhall ſtand, with ſtory'd pride,
With each immortal witneſs at its ſide;
The world's applauſe, by claſſic pow'r expreſs'd,
Which thunder ſpar'd to ſtrike; and Goths moleſt!
O ſacred Avarice! O thirſt divine!
Th' immortal ſprings of paradiſe are thine;
The treaſures thine in Time's diminiſh'd ſtore;
For thou ſhalt claim, when he can give no more.
Illuſtrious PELHAM, to thy country dear,
For whom thy prince ſtill ſheds the ſocial tear,
Thy honour'd worth, with laſting wreaths ſhall ſhine,
And ev'ry Britiſh trophy ſhall be thine;
Not Latian marble nobler praiſe can give,
In ev'ry patriot heart thy name ſhall live.
[]Nor yet, Britannia, let thy boſom ceaſe,
Thy beating boſom, ſtranger yet to peace,
The fatal ſtorm that tore thy bulwark wide,
With dread irruption, cannot yet ſubſide;
Thy agitated heart yet feels the blow,
And Juſtice muſt approve the grateful woe.
'Tis due to merit in the humbleſt ſphere,
Where private virtue claims the private tear;
A ſecret tranſport mingles with ſuch grief,
Such gen'rous ſorrow brings the ſoul relief;
Reaſon approves, what Paſſion then beſtows,
And Nature pays the debt, that Friendſhip owes.
Ah! ſay, what ſad memorial can expreſs
A people's anguiſh, and a king's diſtreſs!
Alas! what monumental mark make known
The ſighs of millions, griev'd—a monarch's moan!
What equal witneſs ſhall invention find,
Worthy the friend of truth,—of human-kind!
[7]Let Gratitude her ſacred ſource explore,
Let Genius turn her treaſur'd talents o'er,
Let Greece, let Rome beſtow their rev'rend aid,
And rear the awful pile to PELHAM's ſhade.
Let Envy come, by factious Malice nurs'd,
With all her black ſeditious brood accurs'd,
Come forth at once, and witneſs if ſhe can,
That e'er thy ſhadow, Fraud, eclips'd the man.
She growls conviction, with reluctant tone,
And grinds the ſacred truth, ſhe's forc'd to own.
The vanquiſh'd peſt retreats, that bane of men,
Drove back by Truth ſhe ſeeks her horrid den.
A ſtateſman die, and not one arrow move!
Has Faction loſt her nerve!—can Malice love
Science, Sincerity, or Truth? ſhe can,
The blameleſs miniſter, the upright man:
Ev'n in Britannia bleſs'd, a length of years,
In whoſe clear conduct not one ſtain appears.
[8]And will the jarring hydra this proclaim
From all her hoſtile mouths to PELHAM's fame?
Thrice happy PELHAM! bleſs'd beyond compare,
Bleſs'd in thy life, (and what few elſe could ſhare,
In publick ſtation and exalted truſt,)
Bleſs'd in thy death, and honour'd in the duſt.
With WALSINGHAM, with BURLEIGH blend thy rays,
Equal to each in merit, as in praiſe.
O if exalted to the realms of joy,
Th' immortal mind one moment may employ
On things terreſtrial, on th' affairs of men,
Bow down inraptur'd thy celeſtial ken;
Behold each rank, each faction, all agree,
(The patriot's rich reward reſerv'd for thee,)
Alike the prince's and the peaſant's tear,
In mingled current flowing o'er thy bier;
Extatic viſion to the virtuous given,
Felt with increaſing tranſport, tho' in heav'n.
[9]How wretched now from thy ſeraphic ſphere,
Does Fraud, does Flatt'ry, to thy ſight appear!
Ambition's creſt how abject does it ſhew,
With Craft, with Avarice, thy ſcorn below!
How Pomp, how Pride, how Courts, to atoms ſhrink
From thy averted view! how ſudden ſink!
With gold, with grandeur, theſe miſrated things,
Theſe trappings of command, theſe toys of kings!
Whilſt in ſome lowly cottage, Truth's retreat,
Neglected Virtue to thy eye looks great;
Th' unbody'd mind affection's force retains,
And friendſhip with the bleſs'd, new fervour gains,
Exalted fervour, free from earth's cold droſs,
And each alloy, that ſenſual hearts engroſs;
Still helpful to the good, the virtuous mind,
Still fond, they caſt the friendly wiſh behind.
Faſt by the ſtream of life, that joyful roves
Through labyrinths of bliſs, immortal groves,
[10]Thy ardent ſpirit feels a ſocial care,
And Friendſhip ſtill imprints its image there.
With each endearing tie through life enjoy'd,
With each fond object, that the heart employ'd,
To Science wedded, in th' abſtracted bow'r,
To buſineſs ſacred, in th' important hour;
When deep Experience pois'd Europa's weal,
When Britain's genius watch'd the varying ſcale,
And O where heart-felt raptures oft inſpir'd
The throb reciprocal by Friendſhip fir'd,
By Senſe, by Truth, by Love, by Honour taught,
By rip'ning Time to rich perfection brought.
Angels themſelves might view a ſcene like this
With longing eyes, and envy human bliſs.
Such ſoul-felt extaſy, ſo deep impreſs'd,
Retains thy Cath'rine's form among the bleſs'd,
Takes off thy raptur'd thought, with tender care
Divides perhaps thy wiſhes even there.
[11]What mortal anguiſh tore each filial breaſt,
When dreadful ſtruck, in fix'd amaze!—expreſs'd
By guſhing tears, when Nature felt the blow;
And ev'ry voice was loſt in whelming woe!
By ſilent agonizing looks alone,
With heart-expreſſive force, to words unknown,
Sent from the agitated ſoul to tell,
That Britain loſt a friend, when PELHAM fell!
The parent dear,—but ſorrow ſtopt the reſt,
And Nature ſunk, beneath the load oppreſs'd.
O Thou, to whom my numbers would aſcend,
The tend'reſt brother, and the nobleſt friend,
NEWCASTLE, PELHAM, patriot, loyal, true,
From thy fraternal eye, ſtill falls the dew
Of genuine ſorrow, flowing from the heart
That melting feels—but Britain claims her part
In thee; thy country now demands thy care,
Thy Prince to thee inclines th' attentive ear,
[12]By anxious thoughts and toils of ſtate oppreſs'd,
He leans for counſel on thy faithful breaſt;
To thee his boſom's inmoſt weight makes known,
Thou firm ſupport, thou pillar to his throne!
O long ſupport him, long his cauſe defend,
Thy Prince's fav'rite and thy country's friend,
Another PELHAM to the grave deſcend.
FINIS.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4219 Verses to His Grace the Duke of Newcastle on the death of the Right Honourable Henry Pelham By Henry Jones. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5C4B-A