INSCRIBED, WITH ALL DUE REVERENCE, TO
ONCE COUNTESS OF MACCLESFIELD.
Decet hæc dare dona novercam. OV. MET.
hours, when high my fancy ran,
The muse, exulting, thus her lay began.
Bleft be the Baftard's birth! thro' wond'rous
He shines eccentric like a comet's blaze!
No fickly fruit of faint compliance He!
He! ftampt in nature's mint of ecstasy!
He lives to build, not boaft a generous race:
No tenth tranfmitter of a foolish, face.
His daring hope, no fire's example hounds;
His first-born lights, no prejudice confounds.
He, kindling from within, requires no flame;
He glories in a Bastard's glowing name.
Born to himself, by no poffeffion led,
In freedom fofter'd, and by fortune fed;
Nor guides, nor rules, his fov'reign choice control,
His body independent as his foul;
16
Loos'd to the world's wide range-enjoin'd no aim,"
Prefcrib'd no duty, and affign'd no name:
Nature's unbounded fon, he stands alone,
His heart unbiass'd, and his mind his own.
O Mother, yet no Mother!-'tis to you, My thanks for fuch diftinguifh'd claims are due. You, unenflav'd to Nature's narrow laws, Warm championefs for freedom's facred cause, From all the dry devoirs of blood and line, 25 From ties maternal, moral and divine, Discharg'd my grafping foul; push'd me from shore, And launch'd me into life without an oar.
What had I loft, if conjugally kind,
By nature hating, yet by vows confin'd,
Untaught the matrimonial bands to flight,
And coldly confcious of a hufband's right,
You had faint-drawn me with a form alone,
A lawful lump of life by force your own!
Then, while your backward will retrench'd defire,
And unconcurring spirits lent no fire,
I had been born your dull, domestic heir,
Load of your life, and motive of your care;
Perhaps been poorly rich, and meanly great,
The flave of pomp, a cypher in the state;
Lordly neglectful of a worth unknown,
And flumb'ring in a feat, by chance my own.
Far nobler bleffings wait the Baftard's lot;
Conceiv'd in rapture, and with fire begot!
Strong as neceffity, he starts away,
Climbs against wrongs, and brightens into day.
Thus unprophetic, lately misinfpir'd,
I fung: gay flutt'ring hope, my fancy fir'd;
Inly fecure, thro' confcious fcorn of ill,
Nor taught by wisdom, how to ballance will, 50
Rafhly deceiv'd, I faw no pits to shun,
But thought to purpose and to act were one;
Heedless what pointed cares pervert his way
Whom caution arms not, and whom woes betray;
But now expos'd, and shrinking from diftrefs, 55
I fly to fhelter, while the tempefts press;
My Mufe to grief refigns the varying tone,
The raptures languish, and the numbers groan,
a.memory! thou foul of joy and pain!
Thou actor of our paffions o'er again!
Why doft thou aggravate the wretch's woe?
Why add continuous smart to ev'ry blow?
Few are my joys; alas! how foon forgot!
On that kind quarter thou invad'ft me not:
While sharp, and numberless my forrows fall; 65
Yet thou repeat'ft, and multiply'st 'em all!
Is chance a guilt? that my disast'rous heart,
For mischief never meant, must ever smart? *
Can felf-defence be fin?-Ah, plead no more!
What tho' no purpos'd malice stain'd thee o'er ?
Had heav'n befriended thy unhappy fide,
Thou had'ft not been provok'd-or thou had❜ft died.
Far be the guilt of homeshed blood, from all
On whom, unfought, embroiling dangers fall!
Still the pale Dead revives, and lives to me, 75
To me! thro' Pity's eye condemn'd to fee.
Remembrance veils his rage, but fwells his fate;
Griev'd I forgive, and am grown cool too late.
Young and unthoughtful then; who knows, one day,
What ripening virtues might have made their way!
He might have liv'd, till folly died in shame, 81
Till kindling wisdom felt a thirst for fame.
He might perhaps his country's friend have prov'd;
Both happy, gen❜rous, candid and belov❜d.
He might have fav'd fome worth, now doom'd to
fall;
And I, perchance, in him, have murder'd all.
O fate of late repentance! always vain:
Thy remedies but lull undying pain.
Where shall my hopes find reft?—No Mother's care
Shielded my infant innocence with pray'r:
* In a fudden broil at a coffee-house the author had killed a man; for whofe murder he had been tryed, convicted, and Lentenced; but, on the queens interceffion, had obtained his pardon.
No Father's guardian hand my youth maintain'd,
Call'd forth my virtues, or from vice restrain'd.
Is it not thine to fnatch fome pow'rful arm,
Firft to advance, then fkreen from future harm?
Am I return'd from death, to live in pain?
Or wou'd Imperial Pity fave in vain ?
Diftruft it not-What blame can Mercy find,
Which gives at once a life, and rears a mind?
: Mother, mifcall'd, farewell-of foul fevere,*
This fad reflection yet may force one tear:
All I was wretched by to you I ow'd,
Alone from ftrangers ev'ry comfort flow'd!
Loft to the life you gave, your Son no more,
And now adopted, who was doom❜d before,
New-born, I may a nobler Mother claim,
But dare not whisper her immortal name;
Supremely lovely, and ferenely great!
Majestic Mother of a kneeling State!
QUEEN of a People's hearts, who ne'er before
Agreed-yet now with one confent adore!
One contest yet remains in this defire,
Who most shall give applause, where all admire.
* This "auretch, who had without fcruple proclaimed berfelf an adulterefs, had firft endeavoured to ftarve her fon, then to transport him, and afterwards to hang him." See the authors Life admirably written by Dr. Johnson.
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