Say, then, through ages by what fate confin'd To different climes seem different souls assign'd? Here measur'd laws and philosophic ease Fix, and improve the polish'd arts of peace: There industry and gain their vigils keep, Command the winds, and tame the' unwilling deep: Here force and hardy deeds of blood prevail; There languid pleasure sighs in every gale. Oft o'er the trembling nations from afar Has Scythia breath'd the living cloud of war: And, where the deluge burst, with sweepy sway Their arms, their kings, their gods were roll'd As oft have issued, host impelling host, The blue-eyed myriads from the Baltic coast. The prostrate South to the Destroyer yields Her boasted titles, and her golden fields: With grim delight the brood of winter view A brighter day, and heavens of azure hue: Scent the new fragrance of the breathing rose, And quaff the pendent vintage as it grows. Proud of the yoke, and pliant to the rod, Why yet does Asia dread a monarch's nod, While European freedom still withstands away. The' encroaching tide that drowns her lessening lands; And sees far off, with an indignant groan, And, where the face of Nature laughs around, By Reason's light, on Resolution's wings, Spite of her frail companion, dauntless goes Suspends the' inferior laws that rule our clay : (As lawless force from confidence will grow) What wonder, in the sultry climes, that spread From his broad bosom life and verdure flings, SONNET ON THE DEATH OF MR. RICHARD WEST.* In vain to me the smiling mornings shine, A different object do these eyes require : To warm their little loves the birds complain; I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear, And weep the more, because I weep in vain. * Only son of the Right Hon. Richard West, Lord Chancellor of Ireland. He died, June 1, 1742, in the 26th year of his age. 84 EPITAPH ON MRS. CLARKE. Lo! where this silent marble weeps, She felt the wound she left behind. Sits smiling on a Father's woe: Whom what awaits, while yet he strays A pang, to secret sorrow dear; Till Time shall every grief remove, EPITAPH ON SIR WILLIAM PEERE WILLIAMS, Captain in Burgoyne's Dragoons. HERE, foremost in the dangerous paths of fame, Young Williams fought for England's fair renown; His mind each Muse, each Grace adorn'd his frame, Nor Envy dar'd to view him with a frown. The wife of Dr. Clarke, Physician at Epsom; died April 27, 1757; and is buried in the Church of Beckenham, Kent. This Epitaph was written at the request of Mr. Frederick Montagu, who intended to have inscribed it on a Monument at At Aix, his voluntary sword he drew,* There first in blood his infant honour seal'd; From fortune, pleasure, science, love he flew, And scorn'd repose when Britain took the field. With eyes of flame, and cool undaunted breast, STANZAS TO MR. BENTLEY.† A FRAGMENT. IN silent gaze the tuneful choir among, Half pleas'd, half blushing, let the Muse admire, While Bentley leads her Sister-Art along, And bids the pencil answer to the lyre. See, in their course, each transitory thought Belleisle, at the siege of which this accomplished youth was killed, 1761; but from some difficulty attending the erection of it, this design was not executed. * In the Expedition to Aix, he was on board the Magnanime, with Lord Howe; and was deputed to receive the capitulation. Mr. Bentley had made a set of Designs for Mr. Gray's Poems. |