The foft remembrance of thy charms to fave,
She plants with all her bays thy hallow'd grave.
Ye too, companions of her happier days,
Heirs of her charms, and rivals of her praife,
Amid the circles of the young and gay,
Your years, unheeded, urge their stealing way;
While mix'd with Pleafure's ever-fmiling train,
Ye know no forrows, and ye feel no pain:
Yet, when no more the pulfe tumultuous beats,
Nor the pleas'd fenfe each flattering tale repeats,
Let calm Reflection the fad moral teach,
That blifs below evades our eager reach;
That Virtue only grants the real charm,
Gives wit to win, and beauty power to warm;
And tho', like her's, whose recent fate we mourn,
And ask your pity for a fifter's urn,
Your beauties fhine in all their bloom confefs'd,
'Mid gazing flaves contending to be bless'd,
Yet think, like her's may foon thofe beauties fade;
Like her's, your glories in the dust be laid !
Time's hardy fteps in filence fwift advance,
Dim the bright ray that darts the fiery glance;
And Age, dread herald of Death's awful reign,
Blafts ev'ry grace, and freezes ev'ry vein.
When with a mother's joy, a mother's fear,
The thoughtful parent dropp'd the filent tear,
Gaz'd on her child, and faw new beauties rife,
Glow in her cheeks, and fparkle in her eyes,
In expectation plann'd each hope of life,
The fifter, daughter, mother, friend, and wife;
Ah, fleeting joys! how foon thofe hopes were o'er!
We doom'd to mourn, and fhe to charm no more.
The waning moon shall fill her wafted horn,
And Nature's radiance gild the orient morn;
The fmiling fpring with charms renew'd appear,
The fleeping bloffoms hafte to deck the year;
But bloom no more this fair departed flower,
Nor wak'd by genial fun, nor vernal shower.
How vain, alas! was all thy father's art,
Vain were the fighs which fwell'd thy mother's heart!
Again I fee thee, juft expiring lie,
Pale thy cold lip, half-clos'd thy languid eye;
The guardian, Innocence, befide thee ftands,
And patient Faith uplifts her holy hands;
Teach thee with fmiles to meet the ftroke of Death,
Calm all thy pangs, and ease thy ftruggling breath.
Refign'd, dear maid, to earth's maternal breaft,
May fifter feraphs chaunt thy foul to reft!
There fhall the conftant Amaranthus bloom,
And wings of zephyrs fhed the morn's perfume:
O'er thy fad hearse, fair emblems of the dead,
By virgin hands are dying lilies thed.
The weeping Graces fhall thy tomb surround;
The Loves with broken darts fhall ftrew the ground;
In vain for thee they wak'd the fond defires,
Wove myrtle wreathes, and fann'd their purer fires.
The youthful god, who joins the nuptial bands,
In vain expecting, near his altar ftands;
Fate spread the cloud! his torch extinct, he flies;
And veils with faffron robe his ftreaming eyes.
Yet, oh! while crown'd with never-fading flowers,
Thy fpirit wanders thro' Elyfian bowers,
If plaintive founds of mortal grief below
Reach the blefs'd feats, and waft our tender woe,
Hear, happy fhade; while thus our mortal lays
This monument of foft affection raise.
By gentle ties of kindred birth ally'd,
The Mufe, that fports on Camus' willow'd fide,
In Memory's lofty dome infcribes thy name,
And with thy beauties ftrives to mix her fame.
No bounty past provokes my praife,
No future prospects prompt my lays,
From real grief they flow;
I catch th' alarm from Britain's fears,
My forrows fall with Britain's tears,
And join a nation's woe.
See, as you pass th' crouded street,
Defpondence clouds each face you meet }
All their loft friend deplore:
You read in ev'ry penfivé eye,
You hear in ev'ry broken figh,
That Pelham is no more!
If thus each Briton be alarm'd,
Whom but his diftant influence warm'd;
What grief their breafts must rend,
Who, in his private virtues blefs'd,
By Nature's dearest ties poffefs'd
The hufband, father, friend!
What! mute, ye bards?-no mournful verse,
No chaplets to adorn his hearfe,
To crown the good and juft?
Your flow'rs in warmer regions bloom,
You feek no penfions from the tomb,
No laurels from the duft.
When pow'r departed with his breath,
The fons of Flatt'ry fled from Death :
Such infects fwarm at noon.
Not for herself my Mufe is griev'd,
She never ask'd, nor e'er receiv'd,
One minifterial boon.
Hath fome peculiar, ftrange offence,
Against us arm'd Omnipotence,
To check the nation's pride?
Behold th' appointed punishment!
At length the vengeful bolt is fent;
It fell-when Pelham dy'd!
Uncheck'd by fhame, unaw'd by dread,
When Vice triumphant rears her head,
Vengeance can fleep no more:
The evil angel stalks at large;
The good fubmits, refigns his charge,
And quits th' unhallow'd fhore.
The fame fad morn *, to church and state,
(So for our fins 'twas fix'd by fate)
A double stroke was giv'n;
Black as the whirlwinds of the north,
St. John's fell Genius iffu'd forth,
And Pelham fled to heav'n!,
* The 6th of March 1754, was remarkable for the publication of the works
of a late lord, and the death of Mr. Pelham.
By angels watch'd in Eden's bow'rs,
Our parents pafs'd their peaceful hours,
Nor guilt nor pain they knew;
But on the day which usher'd in
The hell-born train of mortal fin,
The heav'nly guards withdrew.
Look down, much honour'd fhade, below;
Still let thy pity aid our woe;
Stretch out thy healing hand:
Refume those feelings, which on earth
Proclaim'd thy patriot love and worth,
And fav'd a finking land.
Search with thy more than mortal eye
The breafts of all thy friends; defcry
What there has got poffeffion :
See if thy unfufpecting heart,
In fome for truth mistook not art,
For principle, profeffion.
From these, the pefts of human kind,
Whom royal bounty cannot bind,
Protect our parent king:
Unmask their treach'ry to his fight;
Drag forth the vipers into light,
And crush them ere they fting.
If fuch his truft and honours share,
Again exert thy guardian care,
Each venom'd heart disclose :
On him, on him, our all depends;
Oh, fave him from his treach'rous friends!
He cannot fear his foes.
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