Ah! why should Nature in an angel dress, Pride of thy country, Wilmot, and her shame! Yet must unbiass'd posterity admit, For all thou wrot'st and acted'st to atone, Thy failings were the age's, but thy wit, Thy parts and dying penitence, thine own. But now prevailing o'er the hubbub wild, And crouds triumphant echo Churchill's fame. And thronging senates in the glorious csuse, Repell'd oppression, liberty maintain’d, Accord with gratulant vote the loud applause; The fairest prize by British valor gain'd. Who erst implor'd, and soon obtain❜d relief, High-fated monarchs grateful homage pay, And fulgent honors crown the matchless chief. And verse harmonious, never to decay: And humbled Gallia kneels with distant awe, No longer to impose but wear the chain. But venom'd Faction spreading o'er the land, The victor's meed to blast and overthrow. And yet unfinish'd stands the votive dome, In vain auspicious Brunswick's happy reign, Too late to chear the dregs of lengthen'd life! The lofty column and the voice of praise In vain proclaim him great, and just, and brave; Tardy repentance merit ill repays, Unheard, unheeded, in the silent grave! In conquest equal, and alike in fate, Rome's mounting genius, godlike Scipio stood; And propp'd by worth and dignity innate, Contemn'd the venal censure of the crowd. Yet once again the visionary scene, Ductile, for sorrow social beauty yields; And tepid showers bedew the frolic herd, The wide expanded prospect gently clos'd, And more remote the cloister'd wings confine, A portall'd front where niches deep inshrine Unfolding wide the hospitable port On ready hinges, to the searching eye Reveals unblemish'd Childhood's harmless sport, And placid parents stand delighted by. For here unmindful of the call of State, The smile of Favor, or the voice of Power; In tranquil pleasure, even and sedate, Great Churchill's heir enjoy'd the wasting hour. And beaming rapture glisten'd on his brow, And glad dependants share their patron's joy, No frowns their heart-bred transports disallow, Debasing worth in Servitude's alloy. Such charms hath Innocence! such virtues Pride! The garish pomp of Grandeur to deride, A day he flourish'd in the peaceful soil, To match his great progenitor in war, Too high request in every sphere to shine, But he alone is great who's truly good. ELEGY III. WRITTEN AMONGST THE RUINS OF PONTEFRACT CASTLE. MDCCLVI. RIGHT sung the bard, that all-involving age, With hand impartial deals the ruthless blow ; That war, wide-wasting, with impetuous rage, Lays the tall spire, and sky-crown'd turret low. A pile stupendous, once of fair renown, Oft the pale matron from the threatning wall, Oft, as he views the meditated fall, Full swiftly steps the frighted peasant by. |