A POEM, &c.
[]LET gaudy Mirth, to the blithe Carrol-ſong,
In looſe light-meaſur'd Numbers dance along;
Thou, Muſe no flow'ry Fancies here diſ⯑play,
Nor warble with the chearful Lark thy Lay.
In the dark Cypreſs Grove, or moſs-grown Cell,
Where dreary Ravens haunt, would Sorrow dwell!
Where Ghoſts, that ſhun the Day, come ſweeping by,
Or fix in melancholy Frenzy's Eye;
Yet now ſhe turns her Flight to Scenes of State,
Where Wealth and Grandeur weep the Frowns of Fate!
Wealth, Want, Rank, Power, here each alike partakes,
As the Shrub bends, the lofty Cedar ſhakes;
To her wide View is no Contraction known,
Tis Youth, 'tis Age, the Cottage and the Throne.
[4]
O Exclamation! lend thy ſad Relief!
O Dodington! indulge the righteous Grief!
Diſtant, I've long beheld, in Thee, tranſcend
The Poet, Patron, Patriot, and the Friend.
Thou, who muſt live in Truth's remoteſt Page,
Form'd to delight, and dignify an Age;
Whoſe Words, whoſe Manners, and whoſe Mind declare,
Each Grace, each Moral, and each Muſe are there;
Accept this Po'eſy, void of venal Aim,
Made ſacred by thy Royal Maſter's Name.
But why, O Muſe! are ſongful-Hours thy Choice?
Loſt is the Life, whoſe Glory lifts thy Voice!
GEORGE is no more! As at the doomful ſound
Of the laſt Trump, all Nature feels the Wound!
Each private, each diſtinguiſh'd Virtue bleeds!
And what but Lamentation long ſucceeds?
Where wilt thou then for apt Alluſions fly?
What Eloquence can throbbing Grief ſupply?
Late, golden Pleaſures urg'd their ſhining Way,
With GEORGE they flouriſh'd, and with GEORGE decay!
Now dusky Woes, o'er varied Scenes extend,
Groans riſe! Rocks echo! and chill Damps deſcend!
Grief ſtrikes my View with ever-weeping Eyes,
At her wan Look, each lively Fancy dies.
In fear, in hope, dull reſt, or rufling Storms,
Thus Woe beſets us, tho in various Forms!
[5] That dire Event of Youth's ungovern'd Rage!
That dear-bought Knowledge to declining Age!
In Want, in Scorn, it haunts an humble State,
Tis Care, 'tis Envy, to perplex the Great!
A Kingdom's Curſe, it in Diſſention brings;
Or heavier falls, when falls the beſt of Kings!
Worth it exalts, when aiming to debaſe;
Tis Virtue's Triumph, or 'tis Guilt's Diſgrace!
It humbles Life, yet dignifies our End;
Reflection's Torment, yet Reflection's Friend!
Then let the Muſe her meaning Notes reſume,
And pay due Sorrows to the hallow'd Tomb.
Was there a Glory, yet to Greatneſs known,
That not in Brunſwick's Soul ſuperiour ſhone?
Ill fare the Man, who, rob'd in purple Pride,
To wounded Worth has no Relief apply'd!
Benevolence makes Pow'r to Prudence dear,
When Pity weeps, what Pearl excells the Tear?
When not one Virtue glows to bleſs Mankind,
When Pride's cold Influence petrifies the Mind;
Let the Prince blaze with Jems!—in Wiſdom's View,
An Emblem of the Rock, where once they grew!
Yet Springs guſh out, to prove ev'n Rocks can flow
In Rills refreſhful to the Vales below.
Why has he pow'r, and why no heart to chear,
Unſeeing Eyes, and Ears that will not hear?
[6] Swift, as his Bliſs, ſhall his light Name decay,
Who, ſelf-indulgent, ſports his Hours away!
But, Oh!—what Love, what Honour ſhall he claim,
Whoſe Joy is Bounty, and whoſe Gift is Fame?
He (truly Great!) his uſeful Pow'r refines,
By him diſcover'd Worth exalted ſhines;
Exalted Worth, th' enlivening Act, repeats,
And draws new Virtues from obſcure Retreats;
He, as the firſt, creative Influence, prais'd,
Smiles o'er the Beings, which his Bounty rais'd.
Such Dodington, thy Royal Maſter ſhin'd,
Such Thou, the Image of thy Monarch's Mind.
Nations were ballanc'd by his guardian Skill,
Like the pois'd Planets by the all-powerful Will.
Mark the Swede ſuccour'd! mark th' aſpiring CZAR!
Check'd are his Hopes, and ſhun'd the naval War.
By GEORGE the Auſtrian Eagle learns to tower,
While the proud Turk ſhakes conſcious of her Power;
But when her Menace braves our envied Shore,
She trembles at the Britiſh Lyon's Roar;
Trembles, tho' aided by the Force of Spain,
And India's Wealth!—'gainſt Brunſwick, All how vain?
He bad thy Honour, Albion, foremoſt ſhine!
His was the Care, unmeaſur'd Bliſs was Thine!
Yet oft againſt his Virtue Faction roſe!
An Angel, if thy Monarch, would have Foes.
[7]
Come Charity, Firſt-born of Virtue's Line!
Come meek-ey'd Mercy from the Seat divine!
Pure Temp'rance, Miſtriſs of a tranquil Mind,
By whom each ſenſual Paſſion ſtands confin'd!
Fix'd Fortitude, from whom fierce Peril flies!
By whom (O Soul of Action!) Empires riſe!
Fair Juſtice, Author of a Godlike Reign!
Peace, Plenty, Liberty adorn thy Train!
Lov'd Prudence! Queen of Virtues! bliſsful Dame!
Parent, and Guide of each illuſtrious Aim!
From whoſe firm Step Confuſion turns in Flight,
That ſhapeleſs Spawn of Anarchy and Night!
From whom kind Harmony deduc'd her Race,
Then Order, all in one united Grace!
And thou Religion! trueſt, heav'nly Friend!
Whom theſe alone eſtabliſh, Theſe defend!
Aſſemble to the wailing Muſe's call!
Weep o'er the clay-cold Breaſt, that held you All!
O Death, rouze all thoſe Terrors to thy Aid,
Weak Fear, or wiſeſt Valour wou'd evade!
Whether foul Peſtilence in dire Array,
Red War, or pale-ey'd Famine point your Way,
What can you more than Kingdoms overthrow?
What aim'd you leſs, when Brunſwick felt the Blow?
But mark!—AUGUSTUS, ſtill above thy Rage,
Steps forth to give a ſecond GOLDEN AGE.
[8]
Ye great Plantagenets! diſtinguiſh'd Race!
One greater meets you on celeſtial Space.
And thou, Naſſau the faireſt nobleſt Name!
Ev'n mid the Bleſt, ſuperior ſtill thy Flame!
Behold an Equal now!—How dear th'Embrace!
Oh, fly!—preſent him at the Throne of Grace!
'Tis done!—He's crown'd with a reſplendent Joy,
Which Care ſhall never dim, nor Time deſtroy.
See!—from yon golden Cloud, amidſt a Band
Of Angel-Pow'rs, once Patriots of the Land,
Soft-leaning o'er Britania's weeping Iſle,
And ſhedding ſweet, a fond, paternal Smile;
Pointing, the viſionary Seraph cries,
Suſpend thy Tears!—Behold a Sov'reign riſe,
Thy Second GEORGE! whoſe Reign ſhall ſoon diſcloſe
All that mine gave, and Heav'n, in Grace beſtows.
He ſaid.—Again, with Majeſty refin'd,
Up-wing'd to Realms of Bliſs, th' Aetherial Mind.
FINIS.