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The high cultur'd sense of his masculine mind, By a love of the arts, and by taste was refin'd; Despis’d each vain pomp of the wealthy or great, And forc'd envy to pardon a princely estate. With a talent exhaustless around his gay fire, The dull to instruct, and the grave to inspire; From Antiquity's mine, all her treasure he drew, And each actor in Life's busy circle well knew ;

Too enlighten'd-the vassal of party to stoop, Or submit to her trammels, a cypher and dupe ; Yet a steady supporter, throughout his career, Of all that to Britain is sacred or dear;

Of all she acquird on Runnimede's plain,
Or her sages and heroes attempted to gain ;

Resign’d and undaunted at life's final close,

He receiv'd the great mandate for Nature's repose;

And prov'd, tho' his objects were upright and true, “ What shadows we are, and what shadows pursue ;"

While the mind that creation itself could explore,

No art can revive, or endearment restore.



“ We lov'd, but not enough, the gentle hand
“ That rear'd us.—At a thoughtless age, allur'd

By ev'ry gilded folly, we renounced

“ His sheltring side, and wilfully forewent,
“That converse, which we now in vain regret.”


Can you raise the dead?
Pursue, and overtake the wings of Time ?
“Once more recall the hours, the days and years,
“ That made me happy ?”

Oronooko, Act II.

How cold is the mansion ! how dreary the hall;
How many gay moments, alas ! they recall;
Which appear to have vanish’d, and fled like a dream,
Or as dew-drops exhald by the morning's first beam.

Each tree on the lawn, and each shrub on the


Awake the remembrance of some festive scene ;

Revive some endearment, or some broken tie,

Of friends who were summon'd long since to the sky.

Then rise to the view, ye bright scenes of

my youth,

When each prospect was sunshine, each vision was truth; Thy surface, old Thames, let me cleave with the oar,

Or plunge thro' thy wave, as in summers of yore.

Rise! rise ! ye fair forms, who each heart could subdue,
And scenes of wild rapture, oh ! let me renew;
Again grace the Drama, the Boudoir, and Ball,
As fancy each feature would fondly recall.

Rise ! rise! ye lost comrades, so ardent and gay,
(How many, long since, are converted to clay,)
Again share the triumphs and toils of the chase,
The equipage, banquet, the song, and the race.

Rise! rise! ye great Statesmen, their rivals e'en sung,

On whose precepts, the Senate attentively hung;
Whose eloquence, Bigotry's self could persuade,
(Tho' ye now but illumine, like Tully, the shade !)



Rise! rise ! ye regretted and far distant hours,
When the Muses have deign'd to entrance in their bowers;
When at midnight, each sage from his time-hallow'd tomb,
As once at Philippi, appear'd thro' the gloom.

Nor forget the fond parent, the source of my birth,

Whose kindness bestow'd all we value on earth;

Who my footsteps thro' childhood and infancy train'd,
And whose spotless integrity ever sustain'd.*

When the struggle is finish'd, the bustle is o’er,
And ambition, or folly, attract me no more ;
When the passions subside, as decreed they all must,
And both rivals and friends are consign'd to the dust.

Like him, may remorse, ne'er embitter the close,

Nor disturb, with her scorpion-like sting my repose ;
And when Nature is summond to yield her last breath,
View, like him, unappall'd, the approaches of death.

Upon his death-bed he told the writer, that endeavouring to review all his past actions, he had the happiness to say, nothing gave him a moment's uneasiness or regret.


Light be the turf upon thee;
“ Friend of my youthful days !
“None ever knew, but lov’d thee;
“ Or named thee, but to praise."

American Ballad.

Neque semper arcum ; tendit Apollo.”


IlL fated year! what angry tempests rag'd;
Each feeling harass’d, and each thought engag’d !
When long-tried friendship no advice could save,
Sunk prematurely in the silent grave.

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