Farewell to Friendship and its peaceful joys,
If the mind riot in those gaudy toys
Which the gay worldling in his routs enjoys;
Far other charms assuage the widow's grief,
To other helps she looks for sure relief.
Far other charms assuage the keener woe,
"Which lovers tender hearts are doomed to know."
Deep in the shade of some embowering wood
They find a shelter from the whelming flood.
And now whilst sorrows in my bosom reign,
Which festive pleasures strive to heal in vain;
Sick'ning and sad, I leave the sportive road,
Where mirth and laughter fix their mad abode;
Wand'ring alone, whilst Cynthia rules on high,
I pour my sad notes to the midnight sky.
To you, my friends, whose bosoms ever heave,
With sighs of sympathy, when others grieve;
The plaintive strains of weeping elegy,
A source of real happiness supply.
To fling the notes of rapture from my lyre,
Whilst wond'ring nations listen and admire,
A tardy fancy and an unfledged muse,
To all my hopes and diligence refuse.
Yet friends regard the motive which commands
This simple tribute from my willing hands;
Nor in the poet's faults forget to view
A mind to ev'ry grateful feeling true.
Tho' Camus' sons invite me to his shore,
Where genius rambles and where sages pore;
With unfeigned grief I turn my tearful eyes
To where yon hills in sullen grandeur rise.
Oft in the farthest wilds by man untrod
Sweet violets flourish, and tall cedars nod.
Nor is the shepherd's hut, the woodman's cot,
By bounteous nature in her gifts forgot.
The ruddy hue, which decks Maria's face,
Her bliss declares, and heightens every grace.
Far from the tainted air of cities born,
She daily rises with the blushing morn,
In sweet domestic cares, in innocence and peace,
Each flitting moment sees her bliss increase.
No cankering care corrodes her simple breast,
No sad reflections haunt her hours of rest.
Sweet state of nature! O, most envied bliss!
Why from your placid joys a friend dismiss?
When in the busy scenes of life I roam,
Where syren pleasures find a welcome home
O, may my devious feet be ever led,
Still in the paths of happiness to tread,
Nor ever wander from that tranquil road,
Which through the vale of peace ascends to God!
DEATH OF JOHN EGERTON, ESQ. †
BY OSMUND BEAUVOIR, LL.D.
PERMIT, blest shade, the pious Muse to pay
This humble tribute of the mournful lay;
With artless grief thy hapless fate to mourn,
With widow'd cypress shade thy hallow'd urn;
With short-liv'd flowers to deck thy verdent grave!
What more can she bestow, or you receive?
Dark and perplex'd with many a various maze
Are heaven's decrees, and intricate its ways.
The gleam of hope, that dawns within the breast,
Soon is o'ercast; the rising joy supprest.
Superior virtue, like the comet's fires,
Breaks on the world, is gaz'd at, and retires.
+ Grandson of the Hon. Thomas Egerton, of Tatton Park, in Cheshire; he died Nov. 1740, Æt. 17.
'Twas thus amaz'd we saw the wondrous youth
Array'd with native innocence and truth,
Rise to revive fall'n Virtue's purer state;
And hail'd the omen of an happier fate.
'Twas thus amaz'd we saw the fatal dart
Baffle the pride of youth and power of art;
And snatch him ere the callow down began
His blooming cheeks to shade, and speak the man.
Had Heaven indulg'd a parent's fond desires,
Check'd the fierce fever, and recall'd its fires;
Till ripening time, with deepest knowlege fraught,
Had infant wisdom to perfection brought;
Albion with equal gladness and surprise
Had seen in him another ELLESMERE rise;
Seen him all-glorious in his country's cause
Direct her counsels, and defend her laws;
While sable crowds had on each accent hung,
And caught the precepts falling from his tongue!
When on the banks of Lethe's baleful flood,
Rome's future sons in mystic order stood,
A fate like this bade tender sorrows rise,
And tears prophetic veil'd Anchises' eyes:
The father's shade bewail'd Marcellus' doom,
And wept the loss of Cæsar, and of Rome.
See breathless there, a senseless lump of earth, That life of humour, and that soul of mirth! Where's now the wit, which flowing with such ease Could with just thought, and without satire, please?
Where is that chearful innocence? Where now
The smile that sat and play'd around that brow?
See there that form so pleasing once, so gay,
A loathsome heap of monumental clay!
'Tis this alone, blest youth, remains of thee;
"Tis this is all, the great, the good shall be.
Meanwhile the soul, exulting, unconfin'd,
Bright emanation of th' all-knowing mind,"
Pure from the dregs of earth directs its flight,
And seeks the regions of eternal light;
Her powers enlarg'd, and faculties improv'd,
With holy wonder and amazement mov'd,
Creation's ample field expatiates o'er,
Sees what dim reason shadow'd out before;
Orbs rise o'er orbs, and system system join,
To form th' Almighty's unexplor'd design!
Struck with the aweful scene, to him she pays
The grateful homage of unfeigned praise!
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