« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
This, after Tournay's fatal day,
Brought calm, and sure relief;
And peaceful slept the Chief
From thee he early learnt to feel
(True Valor's noblest spring); To vindicate her Church distrest; To fight for Liberty opprest ;
To perish for his King.
Yet say, if in thy fondest scope
That bounteous Heaven so soon
And all thy wishes crown?
We saw a wretch, with trait'rous aid,
And thine, fair Liberty !.
And set the Nation free.
Culloden's field, my glorious theme,
Hero's days: Yet can there be one English heart That does not give thee, Poyntz, thy part,
And own thy share of praise ?
Nor is thy fame to thee decreed
For victories to come,
And hang 'em on thy tomb.
WILLIAM PULTNEY, ESQ.
BY THE LATE EARL NUGENT.
REMOTE from liberty and truth,
Drank error's poison'd springs. Taught by dark creeds and mystic law, Wrapt up in reverential awe,
I bow'd to priests and kings.
Soon reason dawn’d, with troubled sight
Afflicted and afraid,
Along the dubious shade.
Restless I roam'd, when from afar
Sends forth a steady ray,
Locke spreads the realms of day.
Now warm'd with noble Sydney's page,
Now wrapt in Plato's dream,
And trace the flatt'ring scheme.
But soon the beauteous vision flies:
Corruption's direful train :
And senates slaves to gain.
Vainly the pious artist's toil
On some immortal plan :
Of empire and of man.
What though the good, the brave, the wise, With adverse force undaunted rise,
To break th' eternal doom! Though Caro liv'd, though Tulle spoke, Though Brutus dealt the godlike stroke,
Yet perish'd fated Rome.
To swell some future tyrant's pride, Good Fleury pours the golden tide
On Gallia's smiling shores ; Once more her fields shall thirst in vain For wholesome streams of honest gain,
While rapine wastes her stores.
Yet glorious is the great design,
To prop a nation's frame.
Shall tell the patriot's name,