CCCII. And, while this fam'd emporium we prepare, The British ocean fhall fuch triumphs boaft, That thofe, who now difdain our trade to flare, Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast. CCCIII. Already we have conquer'd half the war, And the lefs dangerous part is left behind; Thus to the Eaftern wealth through ftorms we go, THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS: A Funeral PINDARIC POEM, facred to the happy Memory of King CHARLES II. Fortunati ambo! fi quid mea carmina poffunt, THUS I. long my grief has kept me dumb: Sure there's a lethargy in mighty woe; Tears ftand congeal'd, and cannot flow; And the fad foul retires into her inmoft room: VIRG. Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief;' Our British heav'n was all ferene ; We slept fecurely, and we dream'd of more: Th' amazing news of Charles at once was spread; "Our gracious prince was dead." No fick nefs known before, no flow disease, The tempeft rose; An unexpected burst of woes; With fcarce a breathing place betwixt, And, with a mighty flaw, the flaming wall (As once it shall) [this nether ball; Shou'd gape immenfe, and, rushing down, o'er whelm VOL. I. G II. His pious brother, fure the best In honour, fame, and wealth. Guiltless of greatnefs thus he always pray'd, Soon as th' ill-omen'd rumour reach'd his ear, Mute and magnificent without a tear; Half unarray'd he ran to his relief, So hafty and fo artless was his grief: Of pow'r and future state; But look'd fo ghaftly in a brother's fate, He fhook her from his arms. A wild distraction, void of awe, Amidft his fad attendants groans and cries; Are able to adorn to vaft a woe: The grief of all the rest like fubject-grief did show; No wife, no brother, fuch a grief cou'd know, III. O wondrous changes of a fatal scene, Heav'n, though its hard decree was past, And almoft griev'd it had foreseen, To stop the coming blow. New miracles apprach'd th' etherial throne, Such as his wond'rous life had oft and lately known, And urg'd that still they might be shown. On earth his pious brother pray'd and vow'd, Renouncing greatness at so dear a rate, Himself defending what he cou'd From all the glories of his future fate. With him th' innumerable croud 654889 A Of armed prayers Knock'd at the gates of Heav'n, and knock'd aloud; The first well-meaning rude petitioners, All for his life aflail'd the throne, All wou'd have brib'd the skies, by offering up their own. Five days, thofe five degrees, were lent All eager to perform their part; All but eternal doom was conquer'd by their art; T' infpire the mortal frame, And in the body took a doubtful stand, Doubtful and hov'ring like expiring flame, [brand. That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o'er the IV. The joyful fhort-liv'd news, foon fpread around, Their eyes before their tongues confest. |