Firmer than polish'd brass, or sculptur'd stone
Shall long preserve her Memory, and thine own
On the Occasion of the DUKE of NORTHUMBERLAND's being detained at Bath by a return of his Disorder.
WORN with the raging gout's consuming fires,
The good NORTHUMBERLAND to Bath retires :
There Health awhile her flattering respite brings
From healing medicines, and salubrious springs;
But soon as homeward he directs his way
Th' imperious foe returns, and bids him stay.
How hard, alas! that those who truly know
What social pleasures from his converse flow,
Who feel his virtues, and so rarely find
Candour and truth with courtly manners join'd,
On terms like these his presence must obtain,
And owe their pleasure to his grief and pain!
Inscribed to the memory of Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON, occasioned
by reading Mrs. Piozzi's Anecdotes, Mr. BoswELL's Tour to the Hebrides, &c. &c.
! JOHNSON, learned, venerable shade,
What havock of thy fame hath friendship made,
What childish trophies round thy manly bust,
What noisome weeds are planted in thy dust!
Yet sleep in peace-and though to me unknown
(Save from the musick of thy learn'd renown)
Accept this verse, if aught my verse can boast
To sooth the anguish of thy injured Ghost.
What though thy friends, thy dearest friends, have tried,
To blaze those faults, which e'en thy foes would hide,
Though like a gem by some rude artist set,
We mark thy flaws, thy brilliancy forget,
Yet rest assured, when all their triumph's o'er,
Thy friends and enemies are known no more,
When time shall mould the sprightly works of Thrale, And turn to vinegar her choicest ale,
When Boswell, of his birth and friendships proud,
Mac Lean, Mac Sweyn, Mac Cromheil, and Mac Cloud, Indignant round the savoury steak shall fry,
Or light Mundungus in the Isle of Sky,
When Pindar* too, Soame Jennyngs,+ and myself,
Shall lie, meet victims, on a grocer's shelf:
Still shalt thou last, and o'er thy hallow'd tomb,
Fair Science weep, and bays perennial bloom,
O PATRIE dilecte Pater, cùm fœmina frustrà
Armatâ petiit Te malesana manu !
Te Regem plausu excipimus, sceptroque Britannûm
Præsentem agnoscent sæc'la futura Deum:
Quin fruere, in longum precor, et gratare peric❜lo,
Cui sic nota DEI GRATIA, GENTIS AMOR.
* Peter Pindar. Vide Town Eclogues; Bossy, Piozzi, &c. &c. &c. + Vide Epitaph on Dr. Johnson, written by this celebrated Author.
OPATER! humanæ sortes et munera genti
Omnipotente datur cui tribuisse manu,
Da mihi, da patriæ quodcunque sit utile, vitæ
Tempore, da propriæ quod sit amicitia;
Quà nihil humani, nihil aut mihi desit honesti,
Nil sine amore tui, vel pielate siet.
Ingenii quodcunque dedit tua gratia menti
Id, Pater, in laudes prodeat omne tuas;
Sit mihi, sit vitæ conjux dilecta superstes,
Sil felix vario prolis amore parens,
Idem optent sperentque, et lapso tempore vitæ,
Mecum und in gremio sint Patris atque Dei.
Pura resurgamus comites ad guadia cæli,
Gaudia, terrenus quæ dare nescit amor:
Hoc satis est orare Deum, qui donat et aufert,
Nec placet ulterius solicitare Patrem:
Ille regit vitaque vices et tempora mortis,
Ille suum justo cuique rependet opus :
Nec sim ita vivendi cupidus, quam vivere rectè,
Et plenos meritæ laudis habere dies,
Quandocunque rapax mihi venerit hora sepulchri
Fac modo forti animo, fac patiente feram
The Same, translated at the Request of the Widow of
ARENT supreme! whose all discerning mind Appoints the various portions of mankind,
On me, my country, and on all, bestow
Such needful gifts as from thy wisdom flow:
Fix'd in thy love, to me the joys impart
Which virtuous Friendship gives the feeling heart:
Such talents as to me thy grace conveys
Be all repaid in gratitude and praise:
O may my much lov'd wife survive to share
Her children's love, and they her fost'ring care:
One mind be theirs, with mutual wishes blest,
Till in the bosom of their God they rest,
And wake with me in yon bright realms above,
To purer joys, and more than earthly love.
Enough to ask-thy wise paternal care
Knows when to grant and when deny the prayer,
By thee our life is given, our death decreed,
From thee the just shall reap their promis'd meed.
Yet give me to prefer the good man's praise
To fading honours, or to length of days,
At death's dread summons be prepar'd to go,
With patience wait, nor fear th' impending blow.
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