Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

4

Plain truths enough for needful use they found,
But men would still be itching to expound:
Each was ambitious of th' obscurest place,
No measure ta'en from knowledge all from grace
Study and pains were now no more their care,
Texts were explain'd by fasting and by pray'r;
This was the fruit the private spirit brought,
Occasion'd by great zeal and little thought.
While crowds unlearn'd, with rude devotion wa

About the sacred viands buz and swarm,
The fly-blown text creates a crawling brood,
And turns to maggots what was meant for food..
A thousand daily sects rise up and die;
A thousand more the perish'd race supply:
So all we make of heav'n's discover'd will,
Is not to have it, or to use it ill.

The danger's much the same, on sev'ral shelves,
If others wreck us, or we wreck ourselves.

What then remains, but waving each extreme The tides of ignorance and pride to stem. Neither so rich a treasure to forego, Nor proudly seek beyond our pow'r to know; Faith is not built on disquisitions vain ; The things we must believe are few and plain: But since men will believe more than they need, And ev'ry man will make himself a creed, In doubtful questions 'tis the fafest way To learn what unsuspected Ancients say;

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

A FUNERAL PINDARIC РОЕМ,

SACRED TO THE HAPPY MEMORY OF K. CHARLES II.

Fortunati ambo! si quid mea carmina possunt,
Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet ævo.

Virg.

I.

THUS long my grief has kept me dumbi

Sure there's a lethargy in mighty woe,

Tears stand congeal'd, and cannot flow:

And the sad soul retires into her inmost room.

Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief;

But, unprovided for a sudden blow,

Like Niobe we marble grow,

And petrify with grief.

Our British heav'n was all serene;

No threat'ning cloud was nigh,

Not the least wrinkle to deform the sky;

We liv'd as unconcern'd and happily

As the first age in Nature's golden scene.
Supine amidst our flowing store,
We slept securely, and we dream'd of more;
When suddenly the thunder-clap was heard:
It took us unprepar'd, and out of guard,

Already lost before we fear'd.

5

19

15

:

Th' amazing news of Charles at once were spread;

At once the general voice declar'd

"Our gracious Prince was dead."

No sickness known before, no slow disease,

To soften grief by just degrees;
But, like an hurricane on Indian seas,

The tempest rose;

20

as

An unexpected burst of woes;

With scarce a breathing space betwixt,
This now becalm'd, and perishing the next.

As if great Atlas from his height

Should sink beneath his heav'nly weight,

30

And, with a mighty flaw, the flaming wall,

As once it shall,

Should gape immense, and, rushing down, o'erwhelm

this nether ball;

So swift and so surprising was our fear:
Our Atlas fell indeed; but Hercules was near.

II.

His pious brother, sure the best

35

Who ever bore that name,

Was newly risen from his rest,

And with a fervent flame

His usual morning vows had just addrest,

For his dear Sov'reign's health;

And hop'd to have 'em heard,

In long increase of years,

In honour, fame, and wealth.

40

45

Guiltless of greatness thus he always pray'd,
Nor knew nor wish'd those vows he made

On his own head should be repaid.

Soon as th' ill-omen'd rumour reach'd his ear,

(Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace) Who can describe th' amazement of his face!

50

Horror in all his pomp was there,
Mute and magnificent without a tear;
And then the hero first was seen to fear.

[blocks in formation]

But look'd so ghastly in a brother's fate,
He shook her from his arms.

60

Arriv'd within the mournful room, he saw
A wild distraction, void of awe,
And arbitrary grief unbounded by a law;

65

God's image, God's anointed, lay
Without motion, pulse, or breath,
A senseless lump of sacred clay,

An image, now, of death.

Amidst his sad attendants groans and cries;
The lines of that ador'd, forgiving face,

Distorted from their native grace;

An iron slumber sat on his majestic eyes.

The pious Duke

70

forbear, audacious Muse,

No terms thy feeble art can use,

« VorigeDoorgaan »