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النشر الإلكتروني

Thou didst deserve no less; and here in jet,
Gold, touch, brass, porphyry, or Parian stone,
That by a prince's hand no lines are set
For thee-the cause is, now this land hath none.
Such giant moods our parity forth brings,
We all will nothing be, or all be kings.

ON THE DEATH OF

A NOBLEMAN IN SCOTLAND,

BURIED AT AITHEN.

CLXXV.

AITHEN, thy pearly coronet let fall;
Clad in sad robes, upon thy temples set
The weeping cypress, or the sable jet.

Mourn this thy nurseling's loss, a loss which all
Apollo's choir bemoans, which many years
Cannot repair, nor influence of spheres.

Ah! when shalt thou find shepherd like to him,
Who made thy banks more famous by his worth,
Than all those gems thy rocks and streams send forth?

His splendour others glow-worm light did dim :
Sprung of an ancient and a virtuous race,

He virtue more than many did embrace.

He fram'd to mildness thy half-barbarous swains ; The good man's refuge, of the bad the fright, Unparallel'd in friendship, world's delight!

For hospitality along thy plains
Far-fam'd a patron; and a pattern fair
Of piety; the Muses' chief repair;

Most debonnaire, in courtesy supreme;
Lov'd of the mean, and honour'd by the great;
Ne'er dash'd by Fortune, nor cast down by Fate;
To present and to after times a theme.

Aithen, thy tears pour on this silent grave,
And drop them in thy alabaster cave,
And Niobe's imagery here become;

And, when thou hast distilled here a tomb,
Enchase in it thy pearls, and let it bear,
"Aithen's best gem and honour shrin'd lies here."

FAME, register of time,

CLXXVI.

Write in thy scroll that I,

Of wisdom lover, and sweet poesy,

Was cropped in my prime ;

And ripe in worth, though green in years, did die.

CLXXVII.

JUSTICE, Truth, Peace, and Hospitality,

Friendship, and Love, being resolv'd to die,

In these lewd times, have chosen here to have
With just, true, pious * * * their grave;
Them cherish'd he so much, so much did grace,
That they on earth would chuse none other place.

CLXXVIII.

WHEN Death, to deck his trophies, stopt thy breath,
Rare ornament and glory of these parts!

All with moist eyes might say, and ruthful hearts,
That things immortal vassal'd were to death.

What good in parts on many shar'd we see,
From Nature, gracious Heaven, or Fortune flow;
To make a master-piece of worth below,
Heaven, Nature, Fortune gave in gross to thee.

In honour, bounty, rich-in valour, wit,
In courtesy; born of an ancient race;

With bays in war, with olives crown'd in peace;
Match'd great with offspring for great actions fit.

No rust of times, nor change, thy virtue wan
With times to change; when truth, faith, love, decay'd,
In this new age, like Fate thou fixed staid,
Of the first world an all-substantial man.

As erst this kingdom given was to thy sire,
The prince his daughter trusted to thy care,
And well the credit of a gem so rare
Thy loyalty and merit did require.

T

D

Years cannot wrong thy worth, that now appears
By others set as diamonds among pearls ;
A queen's dear foster, father to three earls,
Enough on earth to triumph are o'er years.

Life a sea voyage is, death is the haven,

And freight with honour there thou hast arriv'd ; Which thousands seeking, have on rocks been driven : That good adorns thy grave which with thee liv'd.

For a frail life, which here thou didst enjoy,
Thou now a lasting hast, freed of annoy.

TO THE

OBSEQUIES

OF THE

BLESSED PRINCE JAMES,

KING OF GREAT BRITAIN.

CLXXIX.

LET holy David, Solomon the wise,

That king whose breast Egeria did inflame,
Augustus, Helen's son, great in all eyes,
Do homage low to thy mausolean frame;
And bow before thy laurel's anadem;

Let all those sacred swans, which to the skies
By never-dying lays have rais'd their name,
From north to south, where sun doth set and rise.
Religion, orphan'd, waileth o'er thy urn;
Justice weeps out her eyes, now truly blind;

To Niobes the remnant virtues turn;

Fame, but to blaze thy glories, stays behind

I' th' world, which late was golden by thy breath, Is iron turn'd, and horrid by thy death.

CLXXX.

FOND wight, who dream'st of greatness, glory, state;
And worlds of pleasures, honours, dost devise ;
Awake, learn how that here thou art not great
Nor glorious by this monument turn wise.

One it enshrineth sprung of ancient stem,
And (if that blood nobility can make)

From which some kings have not disdain'd to take
Their proud descent, a rare and matchless gem.

A beauty here it holds by full assurance,
Than which no blooming rose was more refin'd,
Nor morning's blush more radiant ever shin'd;
Ah! too, too like to morn and rose at last!

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