Mr. JOHN HUGHES,
ON HIS POEM, ENTITLED,
THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE.
INSPIR'D by what melodious HUGHES has fung,
I'll tune a lyre, that long has lain unftrung:
Awak'd from drowsy floth, and foothing rest,
Poetic tranfports fire my ravish'd breaft !
What pleasure must retiring DRYDEN find,
To fee that art his fkilful Mufe refin'd,
So much improv'd by those he leaves behind!
So when a father fees a careful fon
Enlarge thofe coffers, which were first his own,
With joy to heaven he lifts his aged eyes,
Bleffes his profperous heir, and calmly dies.
May all your fortune, like your numbers, shine,
And smoothly flow, without one rugged line!
Till we confess the genius is the fame,
That guides your fortune, and poetic flame.
So when of old fome sportive amorous god
Vouchfaf'd awhile to leave his bleft abode,
In whatfoever form the guest appear'd,
His heavenly luftre fhone, and was rever'd.
Catharine-Hall,
Cambridge.
W. Worts. February, 1697.
To the MEMORY of Mr. HUGHES. BY MISS JUDITH COWPER *.
OUND HUGHES's humble, though diftinguifh'd
The Mufes, wreath'd with baleful cypress, mourn; In every face a deep diftrefs appears,
Each eye o'erflows with tributary tears:
Such was the fcene, when, by the gods requir'd,
Majestic Homer from the world retir'd:
Such grief the Nine o'er Maro's tomb bestow'd;
And tears like these for Addison late flow'd.
Snatch'd from the earth, above its trifling praife,
Thee, HUGHES, to happier climes thy fate conveys; 10
Eas'd of its load, thy gentle spirit roves,
Through realms refulgent, and celestial groves;
The toils of life, the pangs of death, are o'er,
And care, and pain, and sickness, are no more.
O may the spot that holds thy bleft remains,
(The nobleft spoil earth's fpacious breast contains,)
Its tribute pay; may richest flowers around,
Spring lightly forth, and mark the facred ground;
There may thy bays its shady honours spread,
And o'er thy urn eternal odours shed;
* Daughter of Judge Cowper, afterwards married to Col. Martin Madan, author of the Progrefs of Poetry, &c. and ftill living, an ornament to her fex and age. Another of her compofitions is perfixed to the Poems of Mr. Pope.
Immortal as thy fame, and verse, ftill grow,
Till thofe fhall ceafe to live, and Thames to flow.
Nature fubdued foretold the great decline,
And every heart was plung'd in grief, but thine;
Thy foul, ferene, the conflict did maintain,
And trac'd the phantom death, in years of pain ;
years of pain thy fteady mind alarm'd,
By judgment ftrengthen'd, and with virtue arm'd;
Still like thyfelf, when finking life ebb'd low,
Nor rafhly dar'd, nor meanly fear'd the blow;
Loofe to the world, of every grace possest,
Greatly refign'd, thou fought'ft the stranger, REST:
Firm as his fate, fo thy own Phocyas dy`d,
While the barb'd arrow trembled in his fide.
Drawn by thy pen, the theory we see
The practic part, too foon! beheld in thee.
Who now shall strike the lyre with kill divine,
Who to harmonious founds * harmonious numbers join! Who the rapacious tide of vice control,
And, while they charin, the fenfe, reform the foul! 40
In whom the lovely fifter-arts unite,
With virtue, folid fenfe, and boundless wit?
Such was the turn of thy exalted mind,
Sparkling as polish'd gems, as pureft gold refin'd.
Great Ruler of our paffions! who with art Subdued the fierce, and warm'd the frozen heart, Bid glory in our breafts with temper beat,
And valour, feperate from feverish heat,
Opera of Calypfo and Telemachus.
Love, in its true, its genuine lustre rise,
And, in Eudocia, bid it charm our eyes.
Virtue diftreft, thy happy lines disclose,
With more of triumph than a conqueror knows ;
Touch'd by thy hand, our stubborn tempers bend,
And flowing tears the well-wrought scene attend,
That filent eloquence thy power approv'd
The caufe fo great, 'twas generous to be mov'd.
What pleasure can the bursting heart poffefs,
In the laft parting, and fevere distress ?
Can fame, wealth, honour, titles, joy beftow,
And make the labouring breaft with transport glow? 60.
Thefe gaudy trifles gild our morning bright,
But O! how weak their influence on our night!
Then fame, wealth, honour, titles, vainly bloom,
Nor dart one beam of comfort on the gloom;
But if the ftruggling foul a joy receives,
'Tis in the juft applaufe, that confcious virtue gives :.
This blameless pride the dying HUGHES poffeft,
Soften'd his pain, fat lightly on his breast,.
And footh'd his unoffending foul to reft.
Free from the bigot's fears, or ftoick's pride,
Calm as our chriftian hero liv'd, he dy'd.
As on the utmost verge of life he stood,
Ready to plunge, and feize th' immortal good,
Collecting all his rays diffus'd, in one,
His laft great work with heighten'd luftre fhone; 75 There his juft fentiments, transferr'd, we view'd!
But, while our eyes the fhining path purfu'd,
And steep afcent his steady judgment gain'd,
The fhining path, alas! alone remain'd.—
So when the fun to worlds unknown retires,
How ftrong! how boldly shoot his parting fires!
Larger his fetting orb our eyes confefs,
Eager we gaze, and the full glory.blefs;
As o'er the heavens, fublime, his course extends,
With equal state, the radiant globe descends,
Sinks, in a cloud of gold, and azure bright,
And leaves, behind, gay tracks of beamy light.
IF for ourselves the tears profufely flow,
Too juftly we indulge the tender woe,
Since thou in virtue's robes waft richly dreft,
And of fine arts abundantly poffest!
But if we rather fhould congratulate
A friend's enlargement and exalted state;-
Refign'd to Providence, what can we lefs
Than chearful hail thy long'd-for happiness,
Who now, releas'd from every piercing pain,
Doft in the realms of light triumphant reign!
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