An honeft man's the nobleft work of God! POPE.
ET others hail the rising fun,
I bow to that whose course is
Which fets in endless night;
Whofe rays benignant blefs'd this ifle,
Made peaceful Nature round us fmile
With calm, but chearful light.
No bounty paft provokes my praife,
No future profpects prompt my lays,
From real grief they flow;
I catch th' alarm from Britain's fears,
My forrows fall with Britain's tears,
And join a nation's woe.
See- as you pass the crowded street,
Defpondence clouds each face you meet,
All their loft friend deplore:
You read in ev'ry penfive eye,
You hear in ev'ry broken figh,
That Pelham is no more.
If thus each Briton be alarm'd,
Whom but his diftant influence warm'd,
What grief their breasts must rend,
Who in his private virtues bless'd,
By Nature's dearest tyes poffefs'd
The Hufband, Father, Friend.
What! mute ye bards? -no mournful verfe,
No chaplets to adorn his hearse,
To crown the good and just ?
Your flow'rs in warmer regions bloom,
You seek no pensions from the tomb,
No laurels from the duft.
When pow'r departed with his breath,
The fons of Flatt'ry fled from death:
Such infects fwarm at noon.
Not for herself my Mufe is griev'd,
She never afk'd, nor e'er receiv'd,
One minifterial boon.
Hath fome peculiar ftrange offence,
Against us arm'd Omnipotence,
To check the nation's pride ?
Behold th' appointed punishment!
At length the vengeful bolt is fent,
It fell—when Pelham dy'd!
Uncheck'd by fhame, unaw'd by dread,
When Vice triumphant rears her head,
Vengeance can fleep no more;
The evil angel ftalks at large,
The good fubmits, refigns his charge,
And quits th' unhallow'd shore.
The fame fad morn* to church and state
(So for our fins 'twas fix'd by fate)
A double ftroke was giv'n;
Black as the whirlwinds of the north,
St. J-n's fell Genius iffu'd forth,
And Pelham fled to heav'n!
By angels watch'd in Eden's bow'rs,
Our parents pafs'd their peaceful hours,
Nor guilt nor pain they knew ;
But on the day which usher'd in
The hell-born train of mortal fin,
The heav'nly guards withdrew.
*The 6th of March, 1754, was remarkable for the publicaeu of the works of a lute Lard, and the death of Mr. Pelham.
Look down, much honor'd shade, below!
Still let thy pity aid our woe;
Stretch out thy healing hand;
Refume those feelings, which on earth
Proclaim'd thy patriot love and worth,
And fav'd a finking land.
Search, with thy more than mortal eye,
The breafts of all thy friends: defcry
What there has got poffeffion.
See if thy unfufpecting heart,
In fome for truth mistook not art,
For principle, profeffion.
From these, the pests of human kind,
Whom royal bounty cannot bind,
Protect our parent King :
Unmask their treach'ry to his fight,
Drag forth the vipers into light,
And crush them ere they fting.
If fuch his truft and honors share,
Again exert thy guardian care,
Each venom'd heart disclose;
On Him, on Him, our all depends,
Oh fave him from his treach'rous friends,
He cannot fear his foes.
Whoe'er fhall at the helm prefide,
Still let thy prudence be his guide,
To ftem the troubled wave;
But chiefly whisper in his ear,
"That GEORGE is open, juft, fincere, "And dares to feorn a knave."
No selfish views t' opprefs mankind,
No mad ambition fir'd thy mind,
To purchase fame with blood;
Thy bofom glow'd with purer heat;
Convinc'd that to be truly great,
Is only to be good.
To hear no lawless paffion's call,
To ferve thy King, yet feel for all,
Such was thy glorious plan!
Wisdom with gen'rous love took part,
Together work'd thy head and heart,
The Minifter and Man.
Unite, ye kindred fons of worth;
Strangle bold Faction in its birth;
Be Britain's weal your view!
For this great end let all combine,
Let virtue link each fair defign,
And Pelham live in you.
|