I make no apology for the introduction of the following lines, though I have never learned who wrote them. Their elegance will sufficiently recommend them to persons of classical taste and erudition, and I shall be happy if the English version that they have received from me, be found not to dishonour them. Affection for the memory of the worthy man whom they celebrate, alone prompted me to this endeavour. W. COWPER. VERSES ΤΟ THE MEMORY OF DR. LLOYD, SPOKEN AT THE WESTMINSTER ELECTION NEXT AFTER HIS DECEASE. ABIIT senex! periit senex amabilis ! Quo non fuit jucundior. Senem colendum præstitit, Seu quando, viribus valentioribus Firmoque fretus pectore, Florentiori vos juventute excoleus Seu quando fractus, jamque donatus rude, Miscere gaudebat suas facetias Vixit probus, purâque simplex indole, Et dives æquâ mente-charus omnibus; * Ite tituli! meritis beatioribus Aptate laudes debitas! Nec invidebat ille, si quibus favens Decus sit inditum, nec mortuo THE SAME IN ENGLISH. OUR good old friend is gone, gone to his rest, How once ye loved, and eyed him with respect, While yet he ruled you with a father's sway, He was usher and under-master of Westminster near fifty years, and retired from his occupation when he was near seventy, with a handsome pension from the King. And when, impair'd by time, and glad to rest, And richer than the rich in being so, Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a meed At length from One, * as made him rich indeed. Hence, then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here, Light lie the turf, good Senior! on thy breast, TO MRS. THROCKMORTON, ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE'S ODE, AD LIBRUM SUUM. [February, 1790.] MARIA, Could Horace have guess'd What honour awaited his ode, See the note in the Latin copy. To his own little volume address'd, The honour which you have bestow, He had laugh'd at the critical sneer Which he seems to have trembled to meet. And sneer if you please he had said, A nymph shall hereafter arise, Who shall give me, when you are all dead,. Shall dignity give to my lay, Although but a mere bagatelle; And even a poet shall say, Nothing ever was written so well, INSCRIPTION For a Stone erected at the Sowing of a Grove of Oaks at Chillington, the Seat of T. Giffard, Esq. 1790. [June, 1790.] OTHER stones the era tell, Which shall longest brave the sky, Pass an age or two away, I must moulder and decay, Spread its branch, dilate its size, Cherish honour, virtue, truth, Stone at heart, and cannot grow. ANOTHER, For a Stone erected on a similar occasion at the same place in the following year. [June, 1790.] READER! Behold a monument That asks no sigh or tear, Though it perpetuate the event Anno 1791. |