But in this parallel my best pretence is, How can the piece expect or hope for quarter? THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS; ( SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS DOWAGER OF WALES. (2) ADVERTISEMENT. THE following may more properly be termed a compilation than a poem. It was prepared for the composer in little more than two days; and may therefore rather be considered as an industrious effort of gratitude than of genius. In justice to the composer it may likewise be right to inform the public, that the music was composed in a period of time equally short. OVERTURE. A solemn Dirge. Air-Trio. Arise, ye sons of worth, arise, And waken every note of woe! When truth and virtue reach the skies, 'Tis ours to weep the want below. Chorus. When truth and virtue, &c. MAN Speaker. The praise attending pomp and power, The incense given to Kings, Are but the trappings of an hour— (1) [Printed from the copy belonging to Mr. Isaac Reed, who has written on the title-page: This poem was written, or, as he says, compiled by Dr. Oliver Goldsmith. It is very scarce, and ought to be in his works." It was performed in the Great Room, Soho Square, the 20th February 1772. The composer was Signor Vento; the speakers Mr. Lee and Mrs. Bellemy; and the singers Mr. Champness, Mr. Dine, and Miss Jameson.-See Life, ch. xxi.] (2) [Daughter of Frederick II., Duke of Saxe Gotha, and mother of King George III.] The base bestow them; but the good agree When titles are the smallest claim ; When wealth and rank and noble blood, But aid the power of doing good; Then all their trophies last-and flattery turns to fame. Blest spirit thou, whose fame, just born to bloom, Shall spread and flourish from the tomb; E'en now reproach and faction mourn, Alas! they never had thy hate; Thy towering mind self-centred stood, Like some well-fashioned arch thy patience stood, SONG.-By a MAN. Virtue, on herself relying, And ev'ry shock that malice offers, WOMAN Speaker. Yet, ah! what terrors frown'd upon her fate- Fever, and pain, and pale consumptive care, Nor did the cruel ravagers design To finish all their efforts at a blow; But, mischievously slow, They robb'd the relic and defaced the shrine. Despairing of relief, Her weeping children round, Beheld each hour Death's growing power, And trembled as he frown'd. As helpless friends who view from shore The labouring ship, and hear the tempest roar, They stood, while hope and comfort fail, The inevitable loss. Relentless tyrant, at thy call How do the good, the virtuous fall! Truth, beauty, worth, and all that most engage, But wake thy vengeance and provoke thy rage. SONG.-By a Man. When vice my dart and scythe supply, How great a king of terrors I! If folly, fraud, your hearts engage, Fall, round me fall, ye little things, Tremble, ye mortals, at my rage! MAN Speaker. Yet let that wisdom, urged by her example, When they have journey'd through a world of cares, Groans, weeping friends, indeed, and gloomy sables, Death, when unmask'd, shows me a friendly face, For as the line of life conducts me on To Death's great court, the prospect seems more fair. "Tis Nature's kind retreat, that's always open To take us in when we have drain'd the cup Of life, or worn our days to wretchedness. In that secure, serene retreat, Where all the humble, all the great, Promiscuously recline ; Where wildly huddled to the eye, The beggar's pouch and prince's purple lie, And, ah! blest spirit, wheresoe'er thy flight, |