To the Memory of the Right Hon. Lord TALBOT, Lord Chancellor of Great-Britain. Addressed to his SON.
HILE, with the public, you, my Lord, lament
A friend and father loft; permit the Muse,
The Mufe affign'd of old a double theme,
To praise dead worth, and humble living pride,
Whofe generous task begins where interest ends,
Permit her on a Talbot's tomb to lay
This cordial verfe fincere, by truth infpir'd,"
Which means not to bestow, but borrow fame.
Yes, the may fing his matchless virtues now—
Unhappy that she may.—But where begin?
How from the diamond fingle out each ray,
Where all, though trembling with ten thousand hues,
Effufe one dazzling undivided light?
Let the low-minded of thefe narrow days
No more prefume to deem the lofty tale
Of ancient times, in pity to their own,
Romance. In Talbot we united faw
The piercing eye, the quick enlighten'd foul,
The graceful ease, the flowing tongue of Greece,
Join'd to the virtues and the force of Rome.
Eternal Wisdom, that all-quickening fun,
Whence every life, in just proportion, draws
Directing light and actuating flame,
with a larger portion of its beams
Awaken'd mortal clay. Hence fteady, calm,
Diffufive, deep, and clear, his reafon faw,
With inftantaneous view, the truth of things;
Chief what to human life and human blifs
Pertains, that nobleft science, fit for man:
And hence, refponfive to his knowledge, glow'd
His ardent virtue. Ignorance and vice,
In confort foul agree; each heightening each ;
While virtue draws from knowledge brighter fire.
What grand, what comely, or what tender sense,
What talent, or what virtue, was not his;
What that can render man or great, or good,
Give useful worth, or amiable grace?
Nor could he brook in ftudious fhade to lie,
In foft retirement, indolently pleas'd
With felfish peace. The fyren of the wife,
(Who fteals th' Aonian fong, and, in the shape
Of virtue, wooes them from a worthless world)
Though deep he felt her charms, could never melt
His ftrenuous fpirit, recollected, calm,
As filent night, yet active as the day.
The more the bold, the bustling, and the bad,
Prefs to ufurp the reins of power, the more
Behoves it virtue, with indignant zeal,
To check their combination. Shall low views
Of sneaking intereft or luxurious vice,
The villain's paffions, quicken more to toil,
And dart a livelier vigour through the foul,
Than those that, mingled with our trueft good,
With present honour and immortal fame,
Involve the good of all? An empty form
Is the weak virtue, that amid the shade
Lamenting lies, with future schemes amus'd,
While wickedness and folly, kindred powers,
Confound the world. A Talbot's, different far,
Sprung ardent into action: action, that disdain'd
To lofe in deathlike floth one pulfe of life,
That might be fav'd; disdain'd for coward ease,
And her infipid pleafures, to refign
The prize of glory, the keen sweets of toil,
And thofe high joys that teach the truly great
To live for others, and for others die.
Early, behold! he breaks benign on life. Not breathing more beneficence, the spring Leads in her swelling train the gentle airs t
While gay, behind her, fimiles the kindling waste
Of ruffian ftorms and winter's lawless rage.
In him Aftrea, to this dim abode
Of ever-wandering men, return'd again:
To bless them his delight, to bring them back,
From thorny error, from unjoyous wrong,
Into the paths of kind primeval faith,
Of happiness and juftice. All his parts,
His virtues all, collected, fought the good
Of human-kind. For that he, fervent, felt
The throb of patriots, when they model states:
Anxious for that, nor needful fleep could hold
His ftill-awaken'd foul; nor friends had charms
To steal, with pleafing guile, one useful hour;
Toil knew no languor, no attraction joy.
Thus with unwearied fteps, by virtue led,
He gain'd the fummit of that facred hill,
Where, rais'd above black envy's darkening clouds,
Her fpotlefs temple lifts its radiant front.
Be nam'd, victorious ravagers, no more!
Vanish, ye human comets! fhrink your blaze!
Ye that your glory to your terrors owe,
As, o'er the gazing desolated earth,
You scatter famine, peftilence, and war;
Vanish before this vernal fun of fame;
Effulgent sweetness! beaming life and joy.
How the heart liften'd while he, pleading, fpoke!
While on th' enlighten'd mind, with winning art,
His gentle reafon fo perfuafive ftole,
That the charm'd hearer thought it was his own.
Ah! when, ye ftudious of the laws, again
Shall fuch enchanting lessons bless your ear?
When shall again the darkest truths, perplext,
Be fet in ample day? when shall the harsh
And arduous open into fmiling cafe?
The folid mix with elegant delight?
His was the talent with the pureft light
At once to pour conviction on the foul,
And warm with lawful flame th' impaffion'd heart.
That dangerous gift with him was safely lodg'd
By Heaven-He, facred to his country's cause,
To trampled want and worth, to fuffering right,
To the lone widow's and her orphan's woes,
Referv'd the mighty charm. With equal brow,
Defpifing then the finiles or frowns of power,
He all that noblest eloquence effus'd,
With generous paffion, taught by reason, breathes :
Then spoke the man; and, over barren art,
Prevail'd abundant nature. Freedom then
His client was, humanity and truth.
Plac'd on the feat of justice, there he reign'd,
In a fuperior sphere of cloudlefs day,
A pure intelligence. No tumult there,
No dark emotion, no intemperate heat
No paffion e'er disturb'd the clear ferene
That round him spread. A zeal for right alone,
The love of justice, like the steady fun,
Its equal ardour lent; and fometimes rais'd
Against the fons of violence, of pride,
And bold deceit, his indignation gleam'd,
Yet ftill by fober dignity reftrain'd.
As intuition quick, he fnatch'd the truth,
Yet with progreffive patience, step by step,
Self-diffident, or to the flower kind,
He through the maze of falsehood trac'd it on,
Till, at the laft, evolv'd, it full appear'd,
And ev'n the loser own'd the just decree.
But when, in fenates, he, to freedom firm,
Enlighten'd freedom, plann'd falubrious laws,
His various learning, his wide knowledge, then,
His infight deep into Britannia's weal,
Spontaneous feem'd from fimple sense to flow,
And the plain patriot smooth'd the brow of law.
No fpecious fwell, no frothy pomp of words,
Fell on the cheated ear; no ftudy'd maze
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