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To-morrow, in the church to wed,
"Then bear my corse, my comrades, bear,
I in my winding-sheet."
She spoke, she died, her corse was borne,
He in his wedding-trim
Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
From the vain bride, ah, bride no more!
Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Oft at this grave, the constant hind
EARL OF WARWICK,
IF, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stay'd,
Can I forget the dismal night that gave
What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire;
Oh, gone for ever; take this long adieu;
My lyre be broken, and untun'd my tongue.
Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,
In what new region, to the just assign'd, What new employments please th' unbodied mind! A winged Virtue, through th' ethereal sky, From world to world unwearied does he fly? Or curious trace the long laborious maze Of Heaven's decrees, where wondering angels gaze? Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell How Michael battled, and the dragon fell; Or, mix'd with milder cherubim, to glow In hymns of love, not ill essay'd below? Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, A task well suited to thy gentle mind? Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend: To me thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend! When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, And turn from ill, a frail and feeble heart; Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before. Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
That awful form, which, so the Heavens decree
Or, rous'd by Fancy, meets my waking eyes
I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there;
His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove;
Thou Hill, whose brow the antique structures grace,
Rear'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race,
How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees, And oft have sallied out to pillage
Or, while their neighbors were asleep,
“What boots thy high-born host of beggars, Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade. Mac-leans, Mac-kenzies, and Mac-gregors,
From other hills, however Fortune frown'd; With popish cut-throats, perjur'd ruffians, Some refuge in the Muse's art I found:
And Foster's troop of ragamuffins ? Reluctant now I touch the trembling string,
" In vain thy lads around thee bandy, Bereft of him, who taught me how to sing ;
Inflam'd with bagpipe and with brandy. And these sad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn, Doth not bold Sutherland the trusty, Betray that absence they attempt to mourn.
With heart so true, and voice so rusty,
While hoarsely he demands the fight?
The bravest hand, the wisest head ?
" Douglas, who draws his lineage down Nor he surviv'd to give, nor thou to claim.
From thanes and peers of high renown, Swift after him thy social spirit flies,
Fiery, and young, and uncontrollid, And close to his, how soon! thy coffin lies.
With knights, and squires, and barons bold,
And Monroe, kindled into rage,
And horse to boot—if thou hadst any.
“ But see Argyle, with watchful eyes,
Lodg'd in his deep intrenchments lies,
Couch'd like a lion in thy way,
While, like a herd of timorous deer,
Thy army shakes and pants with fear,
Led by their doughty general's skill,
From frith to frith, from hill to hill.
" Is thus thy baughty promise paid
That to the Chevalier was made, As Mar his round one morning took,
When thou didst oaths and duty barter, (Whoin some call earl, and some call duke), For dukedom, generalship, and garter ? And his new brethren of the blade,
Three moons thy Jemmy shall cornmand, Shivering with fear and frost, survey'd,
With Highland sceptre in his hand, On Perth's bleak hills he chanc'd to spy
Too good for his pretended birth, An aged wizard six feet high,
...Then down shall fall the king of Perth. With bristled hair and visage blighted,
“ 'Tis so decreed: for George shall reign Wall-ey'd, bare-haunch'd, and second-sighted. And traitors be forsworn in vain. The grisly sage in thought profound
Heaven shall for ever on him smile, Beheld the chief with back so round,
And bless him still with an Argyle. Then rolld his eyeballs to and fro
While thou, pursu'd by vengeful foes, O'er his paternal hills of snow,
Condemn'd to barren rocks and snows, And into these tremendous speeches
And hinder'd passing Inverlocky,
"Into what ills betray'd, by thee,
FROM A LADY IN ENGLAND TO A GENTLEMAN I see them drest in bonnets blue
AT AVIGNON. (The spoils of thy rebellious crew); I see the target cast away,
To thee, dear rover, and thy vanquish'd friends, And chequer'd plaid become their prey, The health, she wants, thy gentle Chloe sends. The chequer'd plaid to make a gown
Though much you suffer, think I suffer more, For many a lass in London town.
Worse than an exile on my native shore. " In vain thy hungry mountaineers
Companions in your master's flight, you roam, Come forth in all thy warlike gears,
Unenvied by your haughty foes at home;
You share his fortunes, and his hopes divide.
On glorious schemes and thoughts of empire dwell, Nor fears the hawker in her warbling note
To vend the discontented statesman's thought,
Ere to thy cause, and thee, my heart inclin'd, And though he hears his darling son's complaint, Or love to party had seduc'd my mind,
Can hardly spare one tutelary saint, In female joys I took a dull delight,
But lists them all to guard his own abodes, Slept all the morn, and punted half the night: And into ready money coins his gods. But now, with fears and public cares possest, The dauntless Swede, pursued by vengeful foes, The church, the church, for ever breaks my rest. Scarce keeps his own hereditary snows; The postboy on my pillow I explore,
Nor must the friendly roof of kind Lorrain And sift the news of every foreign shore,
With feasts regale our garter'd youth again. Studious to find new friends, and new allies; Safe, Bar-le-Duc, within thy silent grove What armies march from Sweden in disguise ; The pheasant now may perch, the hare may rore, How Spain prepares her banners to unfold, The knight, who aims unerring from afar, And Rome deals out her blessings, and her gold: Th' adventurous knight, now quits the sylvan war: Then o'er the map my finger, taught to stray, Thy brinded boars may slumber undismay'd, Cross many a region marks the winding way'; Or grunt secure beneath the chestnut shade. From sea to sea, from realm to realın I rove, Inconstant Orleans (still we mourn the day And grow a mere geographer by love :
That trusted Orleans with imperial sway) But still Avignon, and the pleasing coast
Far o'er the Alps our helpless monarch sends, That holds thee banish'd, claims my care the most : Far from the call of his desponding friends. Oft on the well-known spot I fix my eyes, Such are the terms, to gain Britannia's grace! And span the distance that between us lies. And such the terrors of the Brunswick race!
Let not our James, though foil'd in arms, despair, Was it for this the Sun's whole lustre fail'd, Whilst on his side he reckons half the fair : And sudden midnight o'er the Moon prevail'd! In Britain's lovely isle a shining throng
For this did Heaven display to mortal eyes War in his cause, a thousand beauties strong. Aërial knights and combats in the skies! Th' unthinking victors vainly boast their powers ; Was it for this Northumbrian streams look'd red! Be theirs the musket, while the tongue is ours.
And Thames driv'n backward show'd his secret bed We reason with such fluency and fire,
False auguries! th' insulting victor's scorn! The beaux we bassle, and the learned tire,
Ev'n our own prodigies against us turn! Against her prelates plead the church's cause, O portents construed on our side in vain! And from our judges vindicate the laws.
Let never Tory trust eclipse again! Then mourn not, hapless prince, thy kingdoms lost; Run clear, ye fountains! be at peace, ye skies! A crown, though late, thy sacred brows may boast; And, Thames, henceforth to thy green borders rise : Heaven seems through us thy empire to decree; To Rome then must the royal wanderer go, Those who win hearts, have given their hearts to thee. And fall a suppliant at the papal toe?
Hast thou not heard that when, profusely gay, His life in sloth inglorious must he wear, Our well-drest rivals grac'd their sovereign's day, One half in luxury, and one in prayer ? We stubborn damsels met the public view His mind perhaps at length debauch'd with ease, In lothesome wormwood, and repenting rue ? The proffer'd purple and the hat may please. What Whig but trembled, when our spotless band Shall he, whose ancient patriarchal race In virgin roses whiten'd half the land !
To mighty Nimrod in one line we trace, Who can forget what fears the foe possest, In solemn conclave sit, devoid of thought, When oaken-boughs mark'd every loyal breast! And poll for points of faith his trusty vote! Less scard than Medway's stream the Norman stood, Be summond to his stall in time of need, When cross the plain he spied a marching wood, And with his casting suffrage fix a creed ! Till, near at hand, a gleam of swords belray'd Shall he in robes on stated days appear, The youth of Kent beneath its wandering shade ? And English heretics curse once a year!
Those who the succors of the fair despise, Garnet and Faux shall he with prayers invoke, May find that we have nails as well as eyes. And beg that Smithfield piles once more may smoke! Thy female bards, O prince by fortune crost, Forbid it, Heaven! my soul, to fury wrought, At least more courage than thy men can boast : Turns almost Hanoverian at the thought. Our sex has dar'd the mug-house chiefs to meet, From James and Rome I feel my heart decline, And purchas'd fame in many a well-fought street. And fear, O Brunswick, 'twill be wholly thine ; From Drury-Lane, the region of renown,
Yet still his share thy rival will contest, The land of love, the Paphos of the town, And still the double claim divides my breast. Fair patriots sallying oft have put to flight The fate of James with pitying eyes I view, With all their poles the guardians of the night, And wish my homage were not Brunswick's due : And bore, with screams of triumph, to their side To James my passion and my weakness guide, The leader's staff in all its painted pride. But reason sways me to the victor's side.
Where Britain's foremost names are found,
Once more a son of Spencer waits. A name familiar to thy gates ; Sprung from the chief whose prowess gain'd The Garter while thy founder reign'd, He offer'd here his dinted shield, The dread of Gauls in Cressi's field, Which, in thy high-arch'd temple rais'd, For four long centuries hath blaz’d.
These seats our sires, a hardy kind, To the fierce sons of war confinid, The flower of chivalry, who drew With sinew'd arm the stubborn yew: Or with heav'd pole-ax clear'd the field ; Or who, in joust and tourneys skillid, Before their ladies' eyes renown'd, Threw horse and horseman to the ground.
Though grievd I speak it, let the truth appear!
To my sad thought no beam of hope appears
O princess ! happy by thy foes confest!
O thou, to whom these mournful lines I send,
spares whole thousands, may to thee extend.
In after-times, as courts refin'd, Our patriots in the list were join'd. Not only Warwick stain'd with blood, Or Marlborough near the Danube's flood, Have in their crimson crosses glow'd; But, on just lawgivers bestow'd, These emblems Cecil did invest, And gleam'd on wise Godolphin's breast
So Greece, ere arts began to rise, Fix'd huge Orion in the skies, And stern Alcides, fam'd in wars, Bespangled with a thousand stars ; Till letter'd Athens round the Pole Made gentler constellations roll; In the blue heavens the lyre she strung, And near the Maid the Balance* hung.
Then, Spencer, mount amid the band, Where knights and kings promiscuous stand. What though the hero's flame repress'd Burns calmly in thy generous breast ! Yet who more dauntless to oppose In doubtful days our home-bred foes ! Who rais'd his country's wealth so high, Or view'd with less desiring eye!
The sage, who, large of soul, surveys The globe and all its empires weighs, Watchful the various climes to guide, Which seas, and tongues, and faiths, divide, A nobler name in Windsor's shrine Shall leave, if right the Muse divine, Than sprung of old, abhorr'd and vain, From ravag'd realms and myriads slain.
INSCRIBED TO THE EARL OF SUNDERLAND,
Why praise we, prodigal of fame, The rage that sets the world on flame? My guiltless Muse his brow shall bind Whose godlike bounty spares mankind. For those, whom bloody garlands crown, The brass may breathe, the marble frown, To him through every rescued land, Ten thousand living trophies stand.
Thou Dome, where Edward first enroll'd His red-cross knights and barons bold, Whose vacant seats, by Virtue bought, Ambitious emperors have sought:
*Narnes of constellations.
JANES HAMMOND, a popular elegiac poet, was the Elegies” were published soon after his death by second son of Anthony Hammond, Esq. of Somer- Lord Chesterfield, and have been several times sham place, in Huntingdonshire. He was born in reprinted. It will seem extraordinary that the no1710, and was educated in Westminster school, ble editor has only once mentioned the name of where at an early age he obtained the friendship of Tibullus, and has asserted that Hammond, sincere several persons of distinction, among whom were in his love, as in his friendship, spoke only the Lords Cobbam, Chesterfield, and Lyttleton. He genuine sentiments of his heart, when there are so was appointed equerry to Frederic, Prince of Wales, many obvious imitations of the Roman poet, even and upon his interest was brought into parliament so far as the adoption of his names of Neera, Cyn. in 1741, for Truro in Cornwall. This was nearly thia, and Delia. It must, however, be acknow.he last stage of his life, for he died in June 1742, ledged, that he copies with the hand of a master, at the seat of Lord Cobham, at Stowe. An unfor- and that his imitations are generally managed with tunate passion for a young lady, Miss Dashwood, a grace that almost conceals their character. Still who was cold to his addresses, is thought to have as they are, in fact, poems of this class, however disordered his mind, and perhaps contributed to his skilfully transposed, we shall content ourselves with premature death.
transcribing one which introduces the name of his Hammond was a man of an amiable character, principal patron with peculiarly happy effect. and was much regretted by his friends. His “Love
What joy to hear the tempest howl in vain,
Or lull’d to slumber by the beating rain,
Secure and happy, sink at last to rest!
content with each other, they are retired into the By shady rivers indolently stray, country.
And with my Delia, walking side by side,
Hear how they murmur, as they glide away! Let others boast their heaps of shining gold, What joy to wind along the cool retreat, And view their fields, with waving plenty crown'd, To stop, and gaze on Delia as I go! Whom neighboring foes in constant terror hold, To mingle sweet discourse with kisses sweet, And trumpets break their slumbers, never sound. And teach my lovely scholar all I know! While calmly poor I trifle life away,
Thus pleas'd at heart, and not with fancy's dieam Enjoy sweet leisure by my cheerful fire,
In silent happiness I rest unknown;
Content with what I am, not what I seem,
Ah, foolish man, who thus of her possest,
With her I scorn the idle breath of praise, I meet a strolling kid, or bleating lamb,
Nor trust to happiness that's not our own; Under my arm I'll bring the wanderer home, The smile of fortune might suspicion raise, And not a little chide its thoughtless dam. But here I know that I am lov'd alone.