Page images

Hic te sollicito requirit æstro
Urbanos fugiens procul tumultus.
Hic inter scopulos, vagosque fluctus
Spumantis pelagi latere credit.
Hic deserta petit loca, et per antra
Te quærens, varias peragrat oras
Qua lucens oritur, caditque Titan.
Hic, ut te celer adsequatur, aurum
Congestum colit, atque dignitatum
Regalem sibi præparat decorem.
Hic demens juga scandit, et remotos
Perscrutatur agros; tamen supernæ
Hi pacis nequeant bonis potiri.
Cur sic ergo tuum, benigna, numen
Celans, implacidum relinquis orbem?
Pacem sic ego sciscitabar. Illa
Respondet.-Proprio imperare cordi
Si nosti, tibi cognitumque numen
Possessumque meum est; sinu receptam
Sic me perpetuo coles amore."

See Sermons on subjects chiefly practical, by J. Jebb, D. D. F. R. S. Bishop of Limerick, Ardfert, and Aghadoe, third ed. London, 1824, p. 94.

Ded. Ep. The orig. MS. after line 14, p. xix. ran thus:
Soft thoughts by day, and many a pensive dream
Beguiling night are mine; by wood, and stream
Lone wanderings, and when shadowy eve recalls
My vagrant footsteps to the household walls,
Trimm'd is the lamp anew,-and one day more
Of study, and of solitude is o'er.




SUCH were the notes, thy once-lov'd poet sung, "Till death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue. O just beheld, and lost! admir'd, and mourn'd! With softest manners, gentlest arts, adorn'd! Blest in each science, blest in every strain! Dear to the Muse, to Harley dear-in vain!

For him, thou oft hast bid the world attend,
Fond to forget the statesman in the friend;
For Swift and him, despis'd the farce of state,
The sober follies of the wise and great;
Dexterous, the craving, fawning crowd to quit,
And pleas'd to 'scape from flattery to wit.

Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear,
(A sigh the absent claims, the dead a tear)
Recall those nights that clos'd thy toilsome days,
Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays :
Who careless, now, of interest, fame, or fate,
Perhaps forgets that Oxford e'er was great;
Or deeming meanest what we greatest call,
Beholds thee glorious only in thy fall.


And sure if ought below the seats divine
Can touch immortals, 'tis a soul like thine :
A soul supreme, in each hard instance tried,
Above all pain, all anger, and all pride,
The rage of power, the blast of public breath,
The lust of lucre, and the dread of death.

In vain to deserts thy retreat is made;
The Muse attends thee to the silent shade:
'Tis hers, the brave man's latest steps to trace,
Re-judge his acts, and dignify disgrace.
When Interest calls off all her sneaking train,
When all the oblig'd desert, and all the vain;
She waits, or to the scaffold, or the cell,
When the last lingering friend has bid farewell.
Ev'n now she shades thy evening walk with bays,
(No hireling she, no prostitute to praise)
Ev'n now, observant of the parting ray,
Eyes the calm sun-set of thy various day,
Through fortune's cloud one truly great can see,
Nor fears to tell, that Mortimer is he.


Sept. 25, 1721.

« PreviousContinue »