Then, hovering, dart their beams of heavenly light: | Around their Oxford and their St. John stand,
She starts, the fury stands confess'd to sight;
And grieves to leave the soil, and yells aloud,
Her yells are answer'd by the sable crowd;
And all on bat-like wings (if fame be true)
From Christian lands to northern climates flew.
But rising murmurs from Britannia's shore
With speed recall her watchful guardian o'er.
He spreads his pinions, and, approaching near,
These hints, in scatter'd words, assault his ear:
"The people's power-The grand alliance cross'd,
The peace is separate-Our religion's lost."
Led by the blatant voice along the skies,
He comes, where Faction over cities flies;
A talking fiend, whom snaky locks disgrace,
And numerous mouths deform her dusky face;
Whence lies are utter'd, whisper softly sounds,
Sly doubts amaze, or inuendo wounds.
Within her arms are heaps of pamphlets seen,
And these blaspheme the Saviour, those the queen;
Associate vices: thus with tongue and hand,
She shed her venom o'er the troubled land.
Now vex'd that Discord, and the baneful train
That tends on Discord, fled the neighbouring
plain,
She rag'd to madness; when the guardian came,
And downwards drove her with a sword of flame.
A mountain, gaping to the nether Hell,
Receiv'd the fury, railing as she fell:
The mountain closing o'er the fury lies,
And stops her passage, where she means to rise;
And when she strives, or shifts her side for ease,
All Britain rocks amidst her circling seas.
Now Peace, returning after tedious woes,
Restores the comforts of a calm repose;
Then bid the warriors sheathe their sanguin'd arms,
Bid angry trumpets cease to sound alarms:
Guns leave to thunder in the tortur'd air,
Red streaming colours furl around the spear;
And each contending realm no longer jar,
But, pleas'd with rest, unharness all the war.
She comes, the blessing comes; where'er she
New-springing beauty all the land improves:
More heaps of fragrant flowers the field adorn,
More sweet the birds salute the rosy morn;
More lively green refreshes all the leaves,
And in the breeze the corn more thickly waves.
She comes, the blessing comes in easy state,
And forms of brightness all around her wait:
Here smiling Safety, with her bosom bare,
Securely walks, and cheerful Plenty there;
Here wondrous Sciences with eagles' sight:
There Liberal Arts, which make the world polite;
And open Traffic, joining hand in hand,
With honest Industry, approach the land.
O, welcome, long-desir'd, and lately found!
Here fix thy seat upon the British ground;
Thy shining train around the nation send,
While by degrees the loading taxes end:
While Caution calm, yet still prepar'd for arms,
And foreign treaties, guard from foreign harms:
While equal Justice, hearing every cause,
Makes every subject join to love the laws.
Where Britain's patriots in council meet,
Let public Safety rest at Anna's feet:
Let Oxford's schemes the path to Plenty show,
And through the realm increasing Plenty go.
Let Arts and Sciences in glory rise,
And pleas'd the world has leisure to be wise;
Like plants that flourish by the master's hand:
And safe in hope the sons of Learning wait,
Where Learning's self has fix'd her fair retreat.
Let Traffic, cherish'd by the senate's care,
On all the seas employ the wasting air:
And Industry, with circulating wing,
Through all the land the goods of Traffic bring.
The blessings so dispos'd will long abide,
Since Anna reigns, and Harley's thoughts preside,
Great Ormond's arms the sword of caution wield,
And hold Britannia's broad-protecting shield;
Bright Bolingbroke and worthy Dartmouth treat,
By fair dispatch, with every foreign state;
And Harcourt's knowledge, equitably shown,
Makes Justice call his firm deerees her own.
Thus all that poets fancied Heaven of old,
May for the nation's present emblem hold:
That Jove imperial sway'd; Minerva wise,
And Phoebus eloquent, adorn'd the skies;
On arts Cyllenius fix'd his full delight,
Mars rein'd the war, and Themis judg'd the right:
All mortals, once beneficently great,
(As Fame reports) and rais'd in heavenly state;
Yet, sharing labours, still they shunn'd repose,
To shed the blessings down by which they rose.
Illustrious queen, how Heaven hath heard thy
prayers!
What stores of happiness attend thy cares!
A church in safety fix'd, a state in rest,
A faithful ministry, a people bless'd;
And kings, submissive at thy foot-stool thrown,
That others rights restore, or beg their own.
Now rais'd with thankful mind; and rolling slow,
In grand procession to the temple go,
By snow-white horses drawn; while sounding Fame
Proclaims thy coming, Praise exalts thy name;
Fair Honour, dress'd in robes, adorns thy state,
And on thy train the crowded nations wait;
Who, pressing, view with what a temper'd grace
The looks of majesty compose thy face,
And mingling sweetness shines, or how thy dress
And how thy pomp, an inward joy confess;
Then, fill'd with pleasures to thy glory due,
With shouts, the chariot moving on, pursue.
As when the phenix from Arabia flown
(If any phenix were by Anna known)
His spice at Phoebus' shrine prepar'd to lay,
Where'er their monarch cut his airy way;
The gathering birds around the wonder flew,
And much admir'd his shape, and much his hue;
The tuft of gold that glow'd above his head,
His spacious train with golden feathers spread;
His gilded bosom, speck'd with purple pride,
And both his wings in glossy purple dy'd:
He still pursues his way; with wondering eyes
The birds attend, and follow where he flies.
Thrice happy Britons, if at last you know
'Tis less to conquer, than to want a foe;
That triumphs still are made for war's decrease,
When men, by conquest, rise to views of peace;
That over toils for peace in view we run,
Which gain'd, the world is pleas'd, and war is done.
Fam'd Blenheim's field, Ramillies' noble seat,
Blaregni's desperate act of gallant heat,
Or wondrous Winendale, are war pursued,
By wounds and deaths, through plains with blood
But good design, to make the world be still,
With human grace adorns the needful ill,
This end obtain'd, we close the scenes of rage,
And gentler glories deck the rising age.
Such gentler glories, such reviving days,
The nation's wishes, and the statesman's praise;
Now pleas'd to shine, in golden order throng,
Demand our annals, and enrich our song.
Then go where Albion's cliffs approach the skies
(The fame of Albion so deserves to rise);
And, deep engrav'd for time, till time shall cease,
Upon the stones their fair inscription place.
Iberia rent, the power of Gallia broke,
Batavia rescued from the threaten'd yoke;
The royal Austrian rais'd, his realms restor'd,
Great Britain arm'd, triumphant and ador'd;
Its state enlarg'd, its peace restor❜d again,
Are blessings all adorning Anna's reign.
ON HIS BIRTH-DAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1713.
URG'D by the warmth of Friendship's sacred flame,
But more by all the glories of thy fame;
By all those offsprings of thy learned mind,
In judgment solid, as in wit refin'd,
Resolv'd I sing. Though labouring up the way
To reach my theme, O Swift, accept my lay.
Rapt by the force of thought, and rais'd above,
Through Contemplation's airy fields I rove;
Where powerful Fancy purifies my eye,
And lights the beauties of a brighter sky; [cend,
Fresh paints the meadows, bids green shades as-
Clear rivers wind, and opening plains extend;
Then fills its landscape through the varied parts
With Virtues, Graces, Sciences, and Arts:
Superior forms, of more than mortal air,
More large than mortals, more serenely fair.
Of these two chiefs, the guardians of thy name,
Conspire to raise thee to the point of fame.
Ye future times, I heard the silver sound!
I saw the Graces form a circle round!
Each, where she fix'd, attentive seem'd to root,
And all, but Eloquence herself, was mute.
High o'er the rest I see the goddess rise, Loose to the breeze her upper garment flies: By turns, within her eyes the passions burn, And softer passions languish in their turn: Upon her tongue persuasion or command, And decent action dwells upon her hand. From out her breast ('t was there the treasure She drew thy labours to the blaze of day; Then gaz'd, and read the charms she could inspire, And taught the listening audience to admire, How strong thy flight, how large thy grasp of thought,
How just thy schemes, how regularly wrought; How sure you wound when ironies deride, Which must be seen, and feign to turn aside. 'T was thus exploring she rejoic'd to see Her brightest features drawn so near by thee: "Then here," she cries, "let future ages dwell, And learn to copy, where they can't excel."
She spake. Applause attended on the close: Then Poësy, her sister-art, arose; Her fairer sister, born in deeper ease, Not made so much for business, more to please. Upon her check sits Beauty, ever young; The soul of Music warbles on her tongue;
Bright in her eyes a pleasing ardour glows,
And from her heart the sweetest temper flows:
A laurel-wreath adorns her curls of hair,
And binds their order to the dancing air:
She shakes the colours of her radiant wing,
And, from the spheres, she takes a pitch to sing.
"Thrice happy genius his, whose works have hit
The lucky point of business and of wit.
They seem like showers, which April months pre-
To call their flowery glories up to air: [pare
The drops, descending, take the painted bow,
And dress with sunshine, while for good they flow.
To me retiring oft, he finds relief
In slowly-wasting care and biting grief:
From me retreating oft, he gives to view
What eases care and grief in others too.
Ye fondly grave, be wise enough to know,
'Life, ne'er unbent, were but a life of woe.'
Some, full in stretch for greatness, some for gain,
On his own rack each puts himself to pain.
I'll gently steal you from your toils away,
Where balmy winds with scents ambrosial play;
Where, on the banks as crystal rivers flow,
They teach immortal amaranths to grow:
Then, from the mild indulgence of the scene,
Restore your tempers strong for toils again."
She ceas'd. Soft music trembled in the wind,
And sweet delight diffus'd through every mind:
The little Smiles, which still the goddess grace,
Sportive arose, and ran from face to face.
But chief (and in that place the Virtues bless)
A gentle band their eager joys express:
Here, Friendship asks, and Love of Merit longs
To hear the goddesses renew their songs;
Here great Benevolence to Man is pleas'd;
These own their Swift, and grateful hear him
prais'd.
You gentle band, you well may bear your part, You reign superior graces in his heart.
O Swift! if fame be life (as well we know That bards and heroes have esteem'd it so); Thou canst not wholly die. Thy works will shine To future times, and life in fame be thine.
ON BISHOP BURNET'S BEING SET ON FIRE IN HIS CLOSET. FROM that dire era, bane to Sarum's pride, Which broke his schemes, and laid his friends aside, He talks and writes that Popery will return, And we, and he, and all his works will burn. What touch'd himself was almost fairly prov'd: (Oh, far from Britain be the rest remov'd!). For, as of late he meant to bless the age, With flagrant prefaces of party-rage, O'er-wrought with passion, and the subject's Lolling, he nodded in his elbow-seat; [weight, Down fell the candle; grease and zeal conspire, Heat meets with heat, and pamphlets burn their sire.
Here crawls a Preface on its half-burn'd maggots, And there an Introduction brings its faggots: Then roars the prophet of the northern nation, Scorch'd by a flaming speech on moderation.
Unwarn'd by this, go on, the realm to fright, Thou Briton vaunting in thy second-sight} In such a ministry you safely tell, How much you'd suffer, if religion fell.
IN airy fields, the fields of bliss below,
Where woods of myrtle, set by Maro, grow;
Where grass beneath, and shade diffus'd above,
Refresh the fevers of distracted love:
There, at a solemn tide, the beauties, slain
By tender passion, act their fates again,
Through gloomy light, that just betrays the grove,
In orgies, all disconsolately rove:
They range the reeds, and o'er the poppies sweep,
That nodding bend beneath their load of sleep,
By lakes subsiding with a gentle face,
And rivers gliding with a silent pace;
Where kings and swains, by ancient authors sung,
Now chang'd to flowerets o'er the margin hung;
The self-admirer, white Narcissus, so
Fades at the brink, his picture fades below:
In bells of azure, Hyacinth arose ;
In crimson painted, young Adonis glows;
The fragrant Crocus shone with golden flame,
And leaves inscrib'd with Ajax' haughty name.
A sad remembrance brings their lives to view,
And, with their passion, makes their tears renew;
Unwinds the years, and lays the former scene,
Where, after death, they live for deaths again.
Lost by the glories of her lover's state,
Deluded Semele bewails her fate;
And runs, and seems to burn, the flames arise,
And fan with idle fury as she flies.
The lovely Canis, whose transforming shape
Secur'd her honour from a second rape,
Now moans the first, with ruffled dress appears,
Feels her whole sex return, and bathes with tears.
The jealous Procris wipes a seeming wound,
Whose trickling crimson dyes the bushy ground;
Knows the sad shaft, and calls before she go,
To kiss the favourite hand that gave the blow.
Where Ocean feigns a rage, the Sestian fair
Holds a dim taper from a tower of air;
A noiseless wind assaults the wavering light,
The beauty tumbling mingles with the night.
Where curling shades for rough Leucate rose,
With love distracted tuneful Sappho goes;
Sings to mock clifts a melancholy lay,
And with a lover's leap affrights the sea.
The sad Eryphile retreats to moan,
What wrought her husband's death, and caus'd her
Surveys the glittering veil, the bribe of fate,
And tears the shadow, but she tears too late.
In thin design, and airy picture, fleet
The tales that stain the royal house of Crete;
To court a lovely bull, Pasiphaë flies,
The snowy phantom feeds before her eyes.
Lost Ariadne raves, the thread she bore
Trails on unwinding, as she walks the shore;
And Phædra, desperate, seeks the lonely groves,
To read her guilty letter while she`roves;
Red shame confounds the first, the second wears
starry crown, the third a halter bears.
Fair Leodamia mourns her nuptial night
Of love defrauded by the thirst of fight;
Yet, for another as delusive cries,
And, dauntless, sees her hero's ghost arise.
Here Thisbe, Canace, and Dido, stand,
All arm'd with swords, a fair but angry band:
This sword a lover own'd; a fauer gave
The next; a stranger chanc'd the last to leave.
And there ev'n she, the goddess of the grove,
Join'd with the phantom-fairs, affects to rove,
As once, for Latmos, she forsook the plain,
To steal the kisses of a slumbering swain:
Around her head a starry fillet twines,
And at the front a silver crescent shines.
These, and a thousand, and a thousand more,
With sacred rage recall the pangs they bore,
Strike the deep dart afresh, and ask relief,
At such a tide, unheedful Love invades
Or sooth the wound with softening words of grief.
Through long descent he fans the fogs around;
The dark recesses of the madding shades;
His purple feathers, as he flies, resound.
The nimble beauties, crowding all to gaze,
Though dulling mists and dubious day destroy
Perceive the common troubler of their ease;
The fine appearance of the fluttering boy,
Though all the pomp that glitters at his side,
The golden belt, the clasp and quiver hide;
And though the torch appear a gleam of white,
That faintly spots, and moves in hazy night,
Yet still they know the god, the general foe,
And threatening lift their airy hands below.
From hence they lead him where a myrtle stood,
The saddest myrtle in the mournful wood;
Devote to vex the gods, 't was here before
Hell's awful empress soft Adonis bore,
When the young hunter scorn'd her graver air,
And only Venus warm'd his shadow there.
Fix'd to the trunk the tender boy they bind,
They cord his feet beneath, his hands behind;
He mourns, but vainly mourns his angry fate,
For Beauty, still relentless, acts in hate.
Though no offence be done, no judge be nigh,
Love must be guilty by the common cry;
For all are pleas'd, by partial passion led,
To shift their follies on another's head.
Now sharp reproaches ring their shrill alarms,
And all the heroines brandish all their arms;
And every heroine makes it her decree,
That Cupid suffer just the same as she.
To fix the desperate halter one essay'd,
One seeks to wound him with an empty blade.
Some headlong hang the nodding rocks of air,
They fall in fancy, and he feels despair.
Some toss the hollow seas around his head
(The seas that want a wave afford a dread).
And flames that never burn'd afflict his eyes.
Or shake the torch, the sparkling fury flies,
The mournful Myrrha bursts her rended womb,
And drowns his visage in a moist perfume.
While others, seeming mild, advise to wound
With humorous pains by sly derision found.
That prickling bodkins teach the blood to flow,
From whence the roses first begin to glow;
Or in their flames, to singe the boy prepare,
That all should choose by wanton Fancy where.
The lovely Venus, with a bleeding breast,
She too securely through the circle prest,
Forgot the parent, urg'd his hasty fate,
And spurr'd the female rage beyond debate;
O'er all her scenes of frailty swiftly runs,
Absolves herself, and makes the crime her son's,
That clasp'd in chains with Mars she chanc'd to
A noted fable of the laughing sky;
[iie,
That, from her love's intemperate heat, began
Sicanian Eryx, born a savage man;
The loose Priapus, and the monster-wight,
In whom the sexes shamefully unite.
Nor words suffice the goddess of the fair,
She snaps the rosy wreath that binds her hair;
Then on the god, who fear'd a fiercer woe,
Her hands, unpitying, dealt the frequent blow:
From all his tender skin a purple dew
The dreadful scourges of the chaplet drew,
From whence the rose, by Cupid ting'd before,
Now, doubly tinging, flames with lustre more.
Here ends their wrath, the parent seems severe,
The stroke's unfit for little Love to bear;
To save their foe the melting beauties fly,
And, cruel mother, spare thy child, they cry.
To Love's account they plac'd their death of late,
And now transfer the sad account to Fate:
The mother, pleas'd, beheld the storm asswage,
Thank'd the calm mourners, and dismiss'd her
rage.
Thus Fancy, once in dusky shade express'd,
With empty terrours work'd the time of rest.
Where wretched Love endur'd a world of woe,
For all a winter's length of night below.
Then soar'd, as sleep dissolv'd, unchain'd away,
And through the port of ivory reach'd the day.
As, mindless of their rage, he slowly sails
On pinions cumber'd in the misty vales;
(Ah, fool to light!) the nymphs no more obey,
Nor was this region ever his to sway:
Cast in a deepen'd ring they close the plain,
And seize the god, reluctant all in vain.
THE JUDGEMENT OF PARIS. WHERE waving pines the brows of Ida shade, The swain, young Paris, half supinely laid, Saw the loose flocks through shrubs unnumber'd rove,
And, piping, call'd them to the gladded grove.
'T was there he met the message of the skies,
That he, the judge of beauty, deal the prize.
The message known; one Love with anxious mind,
To make his mother guard the time assign'd,
Drew forth her proud white swans, and trac'd the
That wheel her chariot in the purple air:
A golden bow behind his shoulder bends,
A golden quiver at his side depends;
Pointing to these he nods, with fearless state,
And bids her safely meet the grand debate.
Another Love proceeds, with anxious care,
To make his ivory sleek the shining hair;
Moves the loose curls, and bids the forehead show,
In full expansion, all its native snow.
A third enclasps the many-colour'd cest,
And, rul'd by Fancy, sets the silver vest;
When, to her sons, with intermingled sighs,
The goddess of the rosy lips applies:
""T is now, my darling boys, a time to show
The love you feel, the filial aids you owe:
Yet, would we think that any dar'd to strive
For charms, when Venus and her Love's alive?
Or should the prize of beauty be deny'd,
Has beauty's empress aught to boast beside?
And, ting'd with poison, pleasing while it harins,
My darts I trusted to your infant arms;
If, when your hands have archi'd the golden bow,
The world's great ruler, bending, owns the blow,
Let no contending form invade my due,
Tall Juno's mien, nor Pallas' eyes of blue.
But, grac'd with triumph, to the Paphian shore
Your Venus bears the palms of conquest o'er;
And joyful see my hundred altars there,
With costly gums perfone the wanton air."
While thus the Cupids hear the Cyprian dame, The groves resounded where a goddess came. The warlike Pallas march'd with mighty stride, Her shield forgot, her helmet laid aside. Her hair unbound, in curls and order flow'd, And peace, or something like, her visage show'd; So, with her eyes serene, and hopeful haste, The long-stretch'd alleys of the wood she trac3'd; But, where the woods a second entrance found, With scepter'd pomp and golden glory crown'd, The stately Juno stalk'd, to reach the seat, And hear the sentence in the last debate; And long, severely long, resent the grove; In this, what boots it she's the wife of Jove? Arm'd with a grace at length, secure to win, The lovely Venus, smiling, enters in; All sweet and shining, near the youth she drew, Her rosy neck ambrosial odours threw ; The sacred scents diffus'd among the leaves, Ran down the woods, and fill'd their boary caves; The charms, so amorous all, and each so great, The conquer'd judge no longer keeps his seat; Oppress'd with light, he drops his weary'd eyes, And fears he should be thought to doubt the prize.
ON MRS. ARABELLA FERMOR LEAVING
FROM town fair Arabella flies:
The beaux unpowder'd grieve; The rivers play before her eyes; The breezes, softly breathing, rise; The Spring begins to live.
Her lovers swore, they must expire:
Yet quickly find their ease; For, as she goes, their flames retire, Love thrives before a nearer fire, Esteem by distant rays.
Yet soon the fair-one will return,
When Summer quits the plain : Ye rivers, pour the weeping urn; Ye breezes, sadly s`ghing, mourn; Ye lovers, burn again.
'Tis constancy enough in love
That nature's fairly shown: To search for more, will fruitless prove; Romances, and the turtle-dove, The virtue boast alone.
A RIDDLE.
UPON a bed of humble clay,
In all her garments loose,
A prostitute my mother lay,
To every comer's use.
Till one gallant, in heat of love,
His own peculiar made her;
And to a region far above,
And softer beds, convey'd her.
But, in his absence, to his place
His rougher rival came;
And, with a cold constrain'd embrace,
Begat me on the dame.
I then appear'd to public view
A creature wondrous bright; But shortly perishable too,
nconstant, nice, and light.
On feathers not together fast
I wildly flew about,
And from my father's country pass'd To find my mother out.
Where her gallant, of her beguil'd,
With me enamour'd grew, And 1, that was my mother's child, Brought forth my mother too.
ON THE DEATH OF MR. VINER. Is Viner dead? and shall each Muse become Silent as Death, and as his music dumb? Shall he depart without a poet's praise, Who oft to harmony has tun'd their lays? Shall be, who knew the elegance of sound, Find no one voice to sing him to the ground? Music and Poetry are sister-arts, Show a like genius, and consenting hearts: My soul with his is secretly ally'd, And I am forc'd to speak, since Viner dy'd. Oh, that my muse, as once his notes, could That I might all his praises fully tell; [swell! That I might say with how much skill he play'd, How nimbly four extended strings survey'd ; How bow and fingers, with a noble strife, Did raise the vocal fiddle into life; How various sounds, in various order rang'd, By unobserv'd degrees minutely chang'd, Through a vast space could in divisions run, Be all distinct, yet all agree in one: And how the fleeter notes could swiftly pass, And skip alternately from place to place; The strings could with a sudden impulse bound, Speak every touch, and tremble into sound.
The liquid harmony, a tuneful tide,
Now seem'd to rage, anon would gently glide;
By turns would ebb and flow, would rise and fall,
Be loudly daring, or be softly small:
While all was blended in one common name,
Wave push'd on wave, and all compos'd a stream.
The different tones melodiously combin'd,
Temper'd with art, in sweet confusion join'd;
The soft, the strong, the clear, the shrill, the deep,
Would sometimes soar aloft, and sometimes creep;
While every soul upon his motions hung,
As though it were in tuneful concert strung.
His touch did strike the fibres of the heart,
And a like trembling secretly impart;
Where various passions did by turns succeed,
He made it cheerful, and he made it bleed;
Could wind it up into a glowing fire,
Then shift the scene, and teach it to expire.
Oft have I seen him, on a public stage,
Alone the gaping multitude engage;
The eyes and ears of each spectator draw, [law;
Command their thoughts, and give their passions
While other music, in oblivion drown'd,
Seem'd a dead pulse, or a neglected sound.
Alas! he's gone, our great Apollo's dead,
And all that's sweet and tuneful with him fled;
Hibernia, with one universal cry,
Laments the loss, and speaks his elegy.
Farewell, thou author of refin'd delight,
Too little known, too soon remov'd from sight;
Those fingers, which such pleasure did convey,
Must now become to stupid worms a prey:
Thy grateful fiddle will for ever stand
A silent mourner for its master's hand:
Thy art is only to be match'd above,
Where music reigns, and in that music love:
Where thou wilt in the happy chorus join,
And quickly thy melodious soul refine
To the exalted pitch of harmony divine.
Haud facile emergunt, quorum virtutibus obstat
Res angusta domi-
THE greatest gifts that Nature does bestow,
Can't unassisted to perfection grow:
A scanty fortune clips the wings of fame,
And checks the progress of a rising name:
Each dastard virtue drags a captive's chain,
And moves but slowly, for it moves with pain:
Domestic cares sit hard upon the mind, [fin'd:
And cramp those thoughts which should be uncon-
The cries of poverty alarm the soul,
Abate its vigour, its designs control:
The stings of want inflict the wounds of death,
And motion always ceases with the breath.
The love of friends is found a languid fire,
That glares but faintly, and will soon expire;
Weak is its force, nor can its warmth be great,
A feeble light begets a feeble heat.
Wealth is the fuel that must feed the flame,
It dies in rags, and scarce deserves a name,
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