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TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL
[ON THE DEATH OF MR. ADDISON. ]
BY THOMAS TICKELL, ESQ:*
If, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath ftay'd,
Can I forget the dismal night, that gave My soul's best part for ever to the grave! How silent did his old companions tread, By mid-night lamps, the mansions of the dead, Thro' breathing statues, then unheeded things, Thro' rowes of warriors, and thro' walks of kings! What awe did the slow folemn bell inspire ; 15 The pealing organ, and the pausing choir;
* Born 1686; dyed 1740.
The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate pay'd;
To strew fresh laurels let the talk be mine,
Oft let me range the gloomy .ailes' alone, (Sad luxury ! to vulgar minds unknown) Along the walls where speaking marbles show 35 What worthies form the hallow'd mold below : Proud names, who once the reins of empire held; In arms who triumph’d; or in arts excell'd; Chiefs, grac'd with scars, and prodigal of blood; Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom ftood; 40 Just men, by whom impartial laws were given'; And saints, who taught, and led, the way to heav'n.
V. 33. Iles.
Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest,
In what new region, to the juft affign'd,
55 In hymns of love, not ill-essay'd below? Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, A talk well suited to thy gentle mind ? Oh, if sometimes thy spotless form descend, To me thy aid, thou guardian Genius, lend! 60 When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, In filent whisp'rings purer thoughts impart, And turn from Ill a frail and feeble heart; Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, 65 'Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
That awful form (which, so ye heav'ns decree, Must still be lov'd and still deplor'd by me) In nightly visions seldom fails to rise, Or, rous'd by fancy, meets my waking eyes. 70
If business calls, or crouded courts invite,
75 His fhape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove: 'Twas there of Just and Good he reason'd strong, Clear'd some great truth, or rais'd some serious song; There patient show'd us the wise course to steer, A candid censor, and a friend severe;
80 There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.
Thou Hill, whose brow the antique structures grace, Rear'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race, Why, once so lov'd, when-e'er thy bower appears, O'er my dim eye-balls glance the sudden tears! How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair, Thy floping walks, and unpolluted air! How sweet the gloomes beneath thy aged trees, Thy noon-tide shadow, and thy evening breeze! His image thy forsaken bowers restore ; Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more. No more the summer in thy gloomes allay'd, Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade.
From other ills, however fortune frown'd, 95 Some refuge in the muse's art I found; Reluctant now I touch the trembling ftring, Bereft of him, who taught me how to sing i
And these fad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn,
These works divine, which on his death-bed laid,
THE FATAL CURIOSITY,
BY THE SAME.
Much had I heard of fair Francelia's name,