Thy nurfelings, ancient Dome! to virtue form'd,
To mercy lift'ning whilst in fields they storm'd;
Fierce to the fierce, and warm th' oppreft to fave, 25
Thro' life rever'd, and worshipp'd in the grave.
In tenfold pride their mould'ring roofs shall shine, The stately work of bounteous Caroline,
And bleft Philippa with unenvious eyes
From heav'n behold her rival's fabrick rife.
If ftill, bright Saint! this spot deferves thy care
Incline thee to th' ambitious Mufe's pray'r;
O couldst thou win young William's bloom to grace
His mother's walls and fill thy Edward's place,
How would that genius whofe propitious wings 35
Have here twice hover'd o'er the fons of kings
Defcend triumphant to his ancient feat
And take in charge a third Plantagenet!
Or Marlb'rough's captains and Eugenio's friends
The laft Cadogan to the grave defcends.
Low lies each hand whence Blenheim's glory fprung,
The chiefs who conquer'd and the bards who fung.
From his cold corfe tho' ev'ry friend be fled
Lo! Envy waits, that lover of the dead.
Thus did fhe feign o'er Naffau's hearse to mourn,
Thus wept infidious, Churchill! o'er thy urn,
To blaft the living gave the dead their due,
And wreaths herfelf had tainted trimm'd anew.
Thou yet unnam'd to fill his empty place,
And lead to war thy country's growing race,
Take ev'ry wish a British heart can frame,
Add palm to palm and rife from fame to fame!
An hour must come when thou shalt hear with rage
Thyfelf traduc'd, and curse a thankless age:
Nor yet for this decline the gen'rous strife;
Thefe ills, brave Man! fhall quit thee with thy life: Alive tho' fn'd by ev'ry abje& slave
Secure of fame and juftice in the grave.
Ah! no-when once the mortal yields to Fate
The blast of Fame's fweet trumpet founds too late,
Too late to stay the fpirit on its flight,
Or footh the new inhabitant of light,
Who hears regardless, while fond man distrest
Hangs on the abfent and laments the bleft.
Farewell then Fame! ill fought thro' fields of blood, Farewell unfaithful promifer of good!
Thou musick warbling to the deafen'd ear!
Thou incenfe wafted on the fun'ral bier!
Thro' life purfu'd in vain, by death obtain'd,
When af'd deny'd us, and when giv'n disdain’d. 32
OXFORD, A POEM *,
INSCRIBED TO LORD LONSDALE, MDCCVII.
"Unum opus eft intacte Palladis urbem
"Carmine perpetuo celebrare”—
WHILST you my Lord adorn that stately feat
Where fhining Beauty makes her soft retreat,
Enjoying all thofe graces uncontroll'd
Which nobleft youths would die but to behold,
Whilft you inhabit Lowther's awful pile,
A ftructure worthy of the founder's toit,
Amaz'd we fee the former Lonsdale & shine
In each defcendant of his noble line,
But mon transported and furpris'd we view
His ancient glories all reviv'd in you,
Where charms and virtues join their equal grace,
Your father's godlike foul, your mother's lovely face.
*This poem is subjoined to Dr. Johnson's Life of Tickell, from which it is copied.
+ Richard, fecond Lord Viscount Lonfdale. He died of the fmall pox 1ft Dec. 1713.
Sir John Lowther, one of the early promoters of the Revolution, was conftituted Vicechamberlain to King William and Queen Mary on their advancement to the throne, created Baron Lowther and Viscount Lonfdale 28th May 1696, and appointed Lord Privy Seal in 1699. He died 10th July 1700.
Me Fortune and kind Heav'n's indulgent care To famous Oxford and the Mufes bear,
Where of all ranks the blooming youths combine 15
To pay due homage to the mighty Nine,
And fnatch with smiling joy the laurel crown
Due to the learned honours of the gown:
Here I the meanest of the tuneful throng
Delude the time with an unhallow'd fong,
Which thus my thanks to much lov'd Oxford pays
In no ungrateful tho' unartful lays.
Where fhall I firft the beauteous feene difclofe,
And all the gay variety expofe?
For wherefoe'er I turn my wond'ring eyes 25
Afpiring tow'rs and verdant groves arise,
Immortal greens the fmiling plains array,
And mazy rivers murmur all the way.
O! might your eyes behold each sparkling dome,
And freely o'er the beauteous prospect roam,
Lefs ravish'd your own Lowther you 'd furvey,
Tho' pomp and state the coftly feat display,
Where Art fo nicely has adorn'd the place
'That Nature's aid might feem an useless grace,
Yet Nature's smiles fuch various charms impart 35
That vain and needlefs are the ftrokes of Art.
In equal state our rising structures fhine,
Fram'd by fuch rules and form'd by fuch defign
That here at once furpris'd and pleas'd we view
Old Athens loft and conquer'd in the new ;
More fweet our fhades more fit our bright abodes
For warbling Mufes and infpiring gods.
Great Vanbrug's felf might own each artful draught Equal to models in his curious thought,
Nor fcorn a fabrick by our plans to frame,
Or in immortal labours fing their fame :
Both ways he faves them from deftroying Fate
If he but praife them or but imitate.
See where the facred Sheldon's haughty dome †
Rivals the flately pomp of ancient Rome,
Whofe form fo great and noble seems design'd
T'exprefs the grandeur of its founder's mind:
Here in one lofty building we behold
Whate'er the Latian pride could boaft of old.
True no dire combats feed the favage eye
And ftrew the fand with fportive cruelty,
But more adorn'd with what the Mufe inspires
It far outfhines their bloody theatres.
Delightful Scene! when here in equal verfe
The youthful bards their godlike queen rehearse, 60
'To Churchill's wreaths Apollo's laurel join,
And fing the plains of Hockstet and Judoign.
Next let the Mufe record our Bodley's feat ‡,
Nor aim at numbers like the fubject great.
All hail! thou Fabrick facred to the Nine,
Thy fame immortal and thy form divine!
Sir John Vanbrug.
+ The Theatre.
The Bodleian Library.
|