Mix'd gore and cider flow. What shall we say Of rash Elpenor, who in evil hour Dry'd an immeasurable bowl, and thought T'exhale his surfeit by irriguous sleep, Imprudent? him Death's iron-sleep opprest, Descending careless from his couch; the fall Luxt his neck-joint, and spinal marrow bruis'd. Nor need we tell what anxious cares attend The turbulent mirth of wine; nor all the kinds Of maladies, that lead to Death's grim cave, Wrought by intemperance, joint-racking gout, Intestine stone, and pining atrophy, Chill even when the Sun with July heats Fries the scorch'd soil, and dropsy all a-float, Yet craving liquids: nor the Centaurs tale Be bere repeated; how, with lust and wine Inflam'd, they fought, and split their drunken souls At feasting hour. Ye heavenly Powers, that guard The British isles, such dire events remove Far from fair Albion, nor let civil broils Ferment from social cups: may we, remote From the hoarse, brazen sound of war, enjoy Our humid products, and with seemly draughts Enkindle mirth, and hospitable love. Too oft, alas! has mutual hatred drench'd Our swords in native blood; too oft has pride, And hellish discord, and insatiate thirst Of others rights, our quiet discompos'd. Have we forgot, how fell Destruction rag'd Wide-spreading, when by Eris' torch incens'd Our fathers warr'd? what beroes, signalis'd For loyalty and prowess, met their fate Untimely, undeserv'd! how Bertie fell, Compton, and Granville, dauntless sons of Mars, Fit themes of endless grief, but that we view Their virtues yet surviving in their race! Can we forget, how the mad, headstrong rout Defy'd their prince to arms, nor made account Of faith or duty, or allegiance sworn? Apostate, atheist rebels! bent to ill, With seeming sanctity, and cover'd fraud, Instill'd by him, who first presum'd t' oppose Omnipotence; alike their crime, th' event Was not alike; these triumph'd, and in height Of barbarous malice, and insulting pride, Abstain'd not from imperial blood. O fact Unparallel'd! O Charles, O best of kings! What stars their black disastrous influence shed On thy nativity, that thou should'st fall Thus, by inglorious hands, in this thy realm, Supreme and innocent, adjudg'd to death By those thy mercy only would have sav'd! Yet was the Cider-land unstain'd with guilt; The Cider-land, obsequious still to thrones, Abhorr'd such base disloyal deeds, and all Her pruning-hooks extended into swords, Undaunted, to assert the trampled rights Of monarchy: but, ah! successless she, However faithful! then was no regard
Of right, or wrong. And this once happy land, By homebred fury rent, long groan'd beneath Tyrannic sway, till fair revolving years Our exil'd kings and liberty restor❜d. Now we exult, by mighty Anna's care Secure at home, while she to foreign realms Sends forth her dreadful legions, and restrains The rage of kings: here, nobly she supports Justice oppress'd; here, her victorious arms Quell the ambitious: from her hand alone All Europe fears revenge, or hopes redress.
Rejoice, O Albion! sever'd from the world By Nature's wise indulgence, indigent Of nothing from without; in one supreme Entirely blest; and from beginning time Design'd thus happy; but the fond desire Of rule and grandeur multiply'd a race Of kings, and numerous sceptres introduc'd, Destructive of the public weal. For now Each potentate, as wary fear, or strength, Or emulation urg'd, his neighbour's bounds Invades, and ampler territory seeks With ruinous assault; on every plain Host cop'd with host, dire was the din of war, And ceaseless, or short truce haply procur'd By havoc, and dismay, till jealousy
Rais'd new combustion. Thus was peace in vain Sought for by martial deeds, and conflict stern: Till Edgar grateful (as to those who pine A dismal half-year night, the orient beam Of Phoebus' lamp) arose, and into one Cemented all the long-contending powers, Pacific monarch; then her lovely head Concord rear'd high, and all around diffus'd The spirit of love. At ease, the bards new strung Their silent harps, and taught the woods and vales, In uncouth rhymes, to echo Edgar's name. Then gladness smil'd in every eye; the years Ran smoothly on, productive of a line Of wise, heroic kings, that by just laws Establish'd happiness at home, or crush'd Insulting enemies in furthest climes.
See lion-hearted Richard, with his force Drawn from the North, to Jewry's hallow'd plains! Piously valiant (like a torrent swell'd
With wintry tempests, that disdains all mounds, Breaking a way impetuous, and involves Within its sweep, trees, houses, men) he press'd Amidst the thickest battle, and o'erthrew Whate'er withstood his zealous rage: no pause, No stay of slaughter, found his vigorous arm, But th' unbelieving squadrons turn'd to flight, Smote in the rear, and with dishonest wounds Mangled behind. The Soldan, as he fled, Oft call'd on Alla, gnashing with despite, And shame, and murmur'd many an empty curse. Behold third Edward's streamers blazing high On Gallia's hostile ground! his right withheld, Awakens vengeance. O imprudent Gauls, Relying on false hopes, thus to incense The warlike English! One important day Shall teach you meaner thoughts. Eager of fight, Fierce Brutus' offspring to the adverse front Advance resistless, and their deep array With furious inroad pierce the mighty force Of Edward twice o'erturn'd their desperate king; Twice he arose, and join'd the horrid shock: The third time, with his wide-extended wings, He fugitive declin'd superior strength, Discomfited; pursued, in the sad chase Ten thousand ignominious fall; with blood The vallies float. Great Edward thus aveng'd, With golden Iris his broad shield emboss'd. Thrice glorious prince! whom Fame with all her
By inclination, or vain hope, repair'd
To either camp, and breath'd immortal hate, Now horrid Slaughter reigns: Sons against fathers tilt the fatal lance, Careless of duty, and their native grounds Distain with kindred blood; the twanging bows Send showers of shafts, that on their barbed points Alternate ruin bear. Here might you see Barons, and peasants on th' embattled field Slain, or half-dead, in one huge, ghastly heap Promiscuously amass'd. With dismal groans, And ejulation, in the pangs of death
Some call for aid, neglected; some o'erturn'd In the fierce shock, lie gasping, and expire, Trampled by fiery coursers: Horrour thus, And wild Uproar, and Desolation, reign'd Unrespited. Ah! who at length will end This long, pernicious fray? what man has Fate Reserv'd for this great work? - Hail, happy prince Of Tudor's race, whom in the womb of Time Cadwallador foresaw! thou, thou art he, Great Richmond Henry, that by nuptial rites Must close the gates of Janus, and remove Destructive Discord. Now no more the drum Provokes to arms, or trumpet's clangour shrill Affrights the wives, or chills the virgin's blood; But joy and pleasure open to the view Uninterrupted! with presaging skill Thou to thy own unitest Fergus' line By wise alliance: from thee James descends, Heaven's chosen favourite, first Britannic king. To him alone hereditary right
Gave power supreme; yet still some seeds remain'd Of discontent: two nations under one, In laws and interest diverse, still pursued
Peculiar ends, on each side resolute To fly conjunction; neither fear, nor hope, Nor the sweet prospect of a mutual gain, Could aught avail, till prudent Anna said, Let there be union: strait with reverence due To her command, they willingly unite, One in affection, laws and government, Indissolubly firm; from Dubris south, To northern Orcades, her long domain.
And now, thus leagued by an eternal bond, What shall retard the Britons' bold designs, Or who sustain their force, in union knit, Sufficient to withstand the powers combin'd Of all this globe? At this important act The Mauritanian and Cathaian kings Already tremble, and th' unbaptis'd Turk Dreads war from utmost Thule. Uncontroll'd The British navy through the ocean vast Shall wave her double cross, t' extremest climes Terrific, and return with odorous spoils Of Araby well fraught, or Indus' wealth, Pearl, and barbaric gold: meanwhile the swains Shall unmolested reap what Plenty strows From well-stor❜d horn, rich grain, and timely fruits. The elder year, Pomona, pleas'd, shall deck With ruby-tinctur'd births, whose liquid store Abundant, flowing in well-blended streams, The native shall applaud; while glad they talk Of baleful ills, caus'd by Bellona's wrath In other realms; where'er the British spread Triumphant banners, or their fame has reach'd Diffusive, to the utmost bounds of this Wide universe, Silurian cider borne
Shall please all tastes, and triumph o'er the vine.
His domestic happiness received a severe shock in 1712, by the death of his beloved wife; and it was the effect on his spirits of this affliction which led him into such a habit of intemperance in wine as shortened his days. This, at least, is the gloss put upon the circumstance by his historian, Goldsmith, who represents him, " as in some measure a martyr to conjugal fidelity." But it can scarcely be doubted, that this mode of life had already been formed when his very unequal spirits had required the aid of a glass for his support. He died at Chester, on his way to Ireland, in July 1717, in the thirty-eighth year of his age, and was buried in Trinity Church, in that city.
THOMAS PARNELL, an agreeable poet, was de- don pulpits, with the intention of rising to notice; but scended from an ancient family in Cheshire. His the change of the ministry at Queen Anne's death father, who was attached to the cause of the Par-put an end to his more brilliant prospects in the liament in the civil wars of Charles I., withdrew to church. By means, however, of Swift's recomIreland after the Restoration, where he purchased mendation to Archbishop King, he obtained a prean estate. His eldest son, Thomas, was born at bend, and the valuable living of Finglass. Dublin, in 1679, and received his school education in that city. At an early age he was removed to the college, where he was admitted to the degree of M. A. in 1700, took deacon's orders in the same year, and was ordained priest three years afterwards. In 1705 he was presented to the archdeaconry of Clogher, and about the same time married a lady of great beauty and merit. He now began to make those frequent excursions to England, in which the most desirable part of his life was thenceforth spent. His first connections were principally with the Whigs, at that time in power; and Addison, Congreve, and Steele are named among his chief companions. When, at the latter part of Queen Anne's reign, the Tories were Parnell was the author of several pieces, both in triumphant, Parnell deserted his former friends, prose and verse; but it is only by the latter that he and associated with Swift, Pope, Gay, and Ar- is now known. Of these a collection was published buthnot. Swift introduced him to Lord-Treasurer by Pope, with a dedication to the Earl of Oxford. Harley; and, with the dictatorial air which he was Their characters are ease, sprightliness, fancy, fond of assuming, insisted upon the Treasurer's clearness of language, and melody of versification; going with his staff in his hand into the anti-and though not ranking among the most finished chamber, where Parnell was waiting to welcome him. It is said of this poet, that every year, as soon as he had collected the rents of his estate, and the revenue of his benefices, he came over to England, and spent some months, living in an elegant style, and rather impairing than improving his fortune. At this time he was an assiduous preacher in the Lon
productions of the British muse, they claim a place among the most pleasing. A large addition to these was made in a work printed in Dublin, in 1758, of which Dr. Johnson says, "I know not whence they came, nor have ever enquired whither they are going."
Edwin, if right I read my song, With slighted passion pac'd along All in the moony light; 'Twas near an old enchanted court, Where sportive fairies made resort To revel out the night.
His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd, 'Twas late, 'twas far, the path was lost
That reach'd the neighbour-town; With weary steps he quits the shades, Resolv'd, the darkling dome he treads, And drops his limbs adown.
But scant he lays him on the floor, When hollow winds remove the door,
And trembling rocks the ground: And, well I ween to count aright, At once a hundred tapers light
On all the walls around.
Now sounding tongues assail his ear, Now sounding feet approached near, And now the sounds increase : And from the corner where he lay He sees a train profusely gay,
Come prankling o'er the place.
But (trust me, gentles!) never yet Was dight a masquing half so neat, Or half so rich before; The country lent the sweet perfumes, The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes,
The town its silken store.
Now whilst he gaz'd, a gallant drest In flaunting robes above the rest,
With awful accent cry'd; What mortal of a wretched mind, Whose sighs infect the balmy wind, Has here presum❜d to hide?
At this the swain, whose venturous soul No fears of magic art control,
Advanc'd in open sight; "Nor have I cause of dreed," he said, "Who view, by no presumption led,
Your revels of the night.
" 'Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love, Which made my steps unweeting rove
Amid the nightly dew."
" "Tis well," the gallant cries again, "We fairies never injure men
Who dare to tell us true.
"Exalt thy love-dejected heart, Be mine the task, or ere we part, To make thee grief resign; Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce; Whilst I with Mab, my partner, daunce, Be little Mable thine."
He spoke, and all a sudden there Light music floats in wanton air;
The monarch leads the queen: The rest their fairy partners found: And Mable trimly tript the ground With Edwin of the Green.
The dauncing past, the board was laid, And siker such a feast was made, As heart and lip desire, Withouten hands the dishes fly, The glasses with a wish come nigh, And with a wish retire..
But, now to please the fairy king, Full every deal they laugh and sing, And antic feats devise;
Some wind and tumble like an ape, And other some transmute their shape In Edwin's wondering eyes.
Till one at last, that Robin hight, Renown'd for pinching maids by night, Has bent him up aloof:
And full against the beam he flung, Where by the back the youth he hung
To spraul unneath the roof.
From thence, "Reverse my charm," he cries, "And let it fairly now suffice
The gambol has been shown." But Oberon answers with a smile, "Content thee, Edwin, for a while, The vantage is thine own."
Here ended all the phantom-play; They smelt the fresh approach of day,
And heard a cock to crow; The whirling wind that bore the crowd Has clapp'd the door, and whistled loud, To warn them all to go.
Then screaming all at once they fly, And all at once the tapers dye; Poor Edwin falls to floor; Forlorn his state, and dark the place, Was never wight in such a case
Through all the land before.
But soon as Dan Apollo rose, Full jolly creature home he goes,
He feels his back the less; His honest tongue and steady mind Had rid him of the lump behind,
Which made him want success.
With lusty livelyhed he talks, He seems a dauncing as he walks, His story soon took wind; And beauteous Edith sees the youth Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, Without a bunch behind.
The story told, sir Topaz mov'd, The youth of Edith erst approv'd,
To see the revel scene:
At close of eve he leaves his home, And wends to find the ruin'd dome All on the gloomy plain.
As there he bides, it so befell, The wind came rustling down a dell, A shaking seiz'd the wall; Up spring the tapers as before, The fairies bragly foot the floor, And music fills the hall.
But certes sorely sunk with woe Sir Topaz sees the elphin show,
His spirits in him dye : When Oberon cries, "A man is near, A mortal passion, cleeped fear,
Hangs flagging in the sky."
With that sir Topaz, hapless youth! In accents faultering, ay for ruth,
Entreats them pity graunt; For als he been a mister wight Betray'd by wandering in the night
To tread the circled haunt;
"Ah, losel vile," at once they roar : "And little skill'd of fairie lore,
Thy cause to come, we know: Now has thy kestrel courage fell; And fairies, since a lye you tell,
Are free to work thee woe."
Then Will, who bears the whispy fire To trail the swains among the mire, The caitiff upward flung; There, like a tortoise, in a shop He dangled from the chamber-top, Where whilome Edwin hung.
The revel now proceeds apace, Deftly they frisk it o'er the place,
They sit, they drink, and eat; The time with frolic mirth beguile, And poor sir Topaz hangs the while Till all the rout retreat.
By this the stars began to wink, They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink, And down y-drops the knight: For never spell by fairie laid With strong enchantment bound a glade, Beyond the length of night.
Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay, Till up the welkin rose the day, Then deem'd the dole was o'er; But wot ye well his harder lot? His seely back the bunch had got Which Edwin lost afore.
This tale a Sybil-nurse ared; She softly stroak'd my youngling head, And when the tale was done,
"Thus some are born, my son," she cries, "With base impediments to rise,
And some are born with none.
"But virtue can itself advance To what the favourite fools of chance By fortune seem design'd; Virtue can gain the odds of Fate, And from itself shake off the weight Upon th' unworthy mind."
A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH. By the blue taper's trembling light, No more I waste the wakeful night, Intent with endless view to pore The schoolmen and the sages o'er : Their books from wisdom widely stray, Or point at best the longest way I'll seek a readier path, and go Where wisdom 's surely taught below.
How deep yon azure dyes the sky! Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie, While through their ranks in silver pride The nether crescent seems to glide. The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe, The lake is smooth and clear beneath, Where once again the spangled show Descends to meet our eyes below. The grounds, which on the right aspire, In dimness from the view retire: The left presents a place of graves, Whose wall the silent water laves. That steeple guides thy doubtful sight Among the livid gleams of night. There pass with melancholy state By all the solemn heaps of Fate, And think, as softly-sad you tread Above the venerable dead,
Time was, like thee, they life possest, And time shall be, that thou shalt rest.
Those with bending osier bound, That nameless heave the crumbled ground, Quick to the glancing thought disclose, Where toil and poverty repose.
The flat smooth stones that bear a name, The chisel's slender help to fame, (Which ere our set of friends decay Their frequent steps may wear away) A middle race of mortals own, Men, half ambitious, all unknown.
The marble tombs that rise on high, Whose dead in vaulted arches lie, Whose pillars swell with sculptur'd stones, Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones, These, all the poor remains of state, Adorn the rich, or praise the great; Who, while on Earth in fame they live, Are senseless of the fame they give.
Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades, The bursting earth unveils the shades! All slow, and wan, and wrap'd with shrouds, They rise in visionary crowds,
And all with sober accent cry, "Think, mortal, what it is to die."
Now from yon black and funeral yew, That bathes the charnel-house with dew, Methinks, I hear a voice begin; (Ye ravens, cease your croaking din, Ye tolling clocks, no time resound O'er the long lake and midnight ground!) It sends a peal of hollow groans, Thus speaking from among the bones. "When men my scythe and darts supply, How great a king of fears am I!
They view me like the last of things;
They make, and then they draw, my strings. Fools! if you less provok'd your fears,
No more my spectre-form appears. Death's but a path that must be trod, If man would ever pass to God:
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