« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »
Chomas TICKELL, a poet of considerable ele- | Gentleman at Avignon.” Both these are selected ance, born at Bridekirk, near Carlisle, in 1686, for the purpose of the present volume. He was 'as the son of a clergyman in the county of Cum- about this time taken to Ireland, by Addison, who erland. He was entered of Queen's College, went over as secretary to Lord Sunderland. When )xford, in 1701, and having taken the degree of Pope published the first volume of his translation of 1. A. in 1708, was elected fellow of his college, the Iliad, Tickell gave a translation of the first rst obtaining from the crown a dispensation from book of that poem, which was patronized by le statute requiring him to be in orders. He then Addison, and occasioned a breach between those ime to the metropolis, where he made himself eminent men. Tickell's composition, however, nown to several persons distinguished in letters. will bear no poetical comparison with that of Pope, Then the negotiations were carrying on which and accordingly he did not proceed with the task. ought on the peace of Utrecht, he published a On the death of Addison, he was entrusted with vem entitled “ The Prospect of Peace,” which the charge of publishing his works, a distinction n through six editions. Addison, with whom he which he repaid by prefixing a life of that celebrated od ingratiated himself by an elegant poem on his man, with an elegy on his death, of which Dr. Johnsera of Rosamond, speaks highly of « The Pro- son says, “ That a more sublime or elegant funeral ect of Peace,” in a paper of the Spectator, in which poem is not to be found in the whole compass of .? expresses himself as particularly pleased to find English literature.” Another piece, which might at the author had not amused himself with fables be justly placed at the head of sober lyrics, is his It of the Pagan theology. This commendation “ Ode to the Earl of Sunderland," on his instalickell amply repaid by his lines on Addison's lation as a knight of the Garter ; which keeping ato, which are superior to all others on that sub- within the limits of truth, consigns a favourite name ct, with the exception of Pope's Prologue. to its real honours. Tickell, being attached to the succession of the Tickell is represented as a man of pleasing manlouse of Hanover, presented George I. with a poem ners, fond of society, very agreeable in conversation, ititled “ The Royal Progress ;” and more effec- and upright and honourable in his conduct. He ially served the cause by two pieces, one called was married, and left a family. His death took An Imitation of the Prophecy of Nereus ;" the place at Bath, in 1740, the 54th year of his age. her, “ An Epistle from a Lady in England, to a
Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
The raven flap'd his wing.
The solemn boding sound :
The virgins weeping round :
Or Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace ;
Reflect so sweet a face :
Impair'd her rosy hue,
And eyes of glossy blue.
When beating rains descend ?
Her life now near its end.
Take heed, ye easy fair :
Ye perjur'd swains, beware,
“ I hear a voice, you cannot hear,
Which says, I must not stay;
Which beckons me away.
In early youth I die :
Was thrice as rich as I ?
“ Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows,
Vows due to me alone :
Nor think him all thy own.
To-morrow, in the church to wed,
Oh, gone for ever ; take this long adieu ;
And sleep in peace, next thy lovd Montague. But know, fond maid ; and know, false man, To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine, That Lucy will be there!
A frequent pilgrim, at thy sacred shrine;
Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, “ Then bear my corse, my comrades, bear, And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone. This bridegroom blithe to meet,
If e'er from me thy lov'd memorial part,
May shame afflict this alienated heart;
Of thee forgetful if I form a song,
My grief be doubled from thy image free,
And mirth a torment, unchastis'd by thee.
Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,
Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown, Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts? Along the walls where speaking marbles show How were these nuptials kept ?
What worthies form the hallow'd mould below; The bridesmen flock'd round Lucy dead, Proud names, who once the reins of empire beid; And all the village wept.
In arms who triumph'd; or in arts excell'd; Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,
Chiefs, grac'd with scars, and prodigal of blood; At once his bosom swell:
Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood; The damps of death bedew'd his brow, Just men, by whom impartial laws were given; He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
And saints who taught, and led, the way to heave; ;
Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty res, From the vain bride, ah, bride no more! Since their foundation, came a nobler guest; The varying crimson fled,
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, A fairer spirit or more welcome shade. She saw her husband dead.
In what new region, to the just assign'd, Then to his Lucy's new-inade grave,
What new employments please th' uobody'd mad Convey'd by trembling swains,
A winged Virtue, through th' etherial sky, One mould with her, beneath one sod, From world to world unweary'd does he fly? For ever he remains.
Or curious trace the long laborious maze
Of Heaven's decrees, where wondering angel ca Oft at this grave, the constant hind
Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell
How Michael battl'd, and the dragon fell;
In hymns of love, not ill essay'd below? But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, This hallow'd spot forbear;
A task well suited to thy gentle mind? Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend:
To me thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend !
Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before,
bliss shall join, nor death can part us mere
That awful form, which, so the Heavens decree Must still be lov'd and still deplor'd by me;
In nightly visions seldom fails to rise, If, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stay'd, Or, rousd by Fancy, meets my waking eyes And left her debt to Addison unpaid,
If business calls, or crowded courts invite, Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan, Th' unblemish'd statesman seems to strike mys And judge, oh judge, my bosom by your own. If in the stage I seek to sooth my care, What mourner ever felt poetic fires !
I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there ; Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires : If pensive to the rural shades I rove, Grief unaffected suits but ill with art,
Yis shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove; Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart. 'Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong Can I forget the dismal night that gave
Clear'd some great truth, or rais'd some serious see My soul's best part for ever to the grave!
There patient show'd us the wise course to steer, How silent did his old companions tread,
A candid censor, and a friend severe; By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead, There taught us how to live ; and (oh! too tigh Thrcugh breathing statues, then unheeded things, The price for knowledge) taught us how to die. Through rows of warriors, and through walks of Thou Hill, whose brow the antique stru: kings!
grace, What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire; Rear'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race, The pealing organ, and the pausing choir ;
Why, once so lov'd, whene'er thy bower appears The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate pay'd; O'er my dim eye-balls glance the sudden tears And the last words that dust to dust convey'd). How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and is While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, Thy sloping walks, and unpolluted air ! Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend.
ON THE DEATH OF MR. ADDISON.
OF THE PROPHESY OF NEREUS.
How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees, And oft have sally'd out to pillage
Thy noon-tide shadow, and thy evening breeze! The hen-roosts of some peaceful village,
Or, while their neighbours were asleep,
“ What boots thy high-born host of beggers, Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade. Mac-leans, Mac-kenzies, and Mac-gregors,
From other hills, however Fortune frown'd; With popish cut-throats, perjur'd ruffians, Some refuge in the Muse's art I found :
And Foster's troop of raggamuffins ? Reluctant now I touch the trembling string,
“ In vain thy lads around thee bandy, Bereft of him, who taught me how to sing ;
Inflam'd with bag-pipe and with brandy. And these sad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn, Doth not bold Sutherland the trusty, Betray that absence they attempt to mourn.
With heart so true, and voice so rusty, !! must I then (now fresh my bosom bleeds, (A loyal soul) thy troops affright, And Craggs in death to Addison succeeds)
While hoarsely he demands the fight? t'he verse, begun to one lost friend, prolong,
Dost thou not generous Ilay dread, And weep a second in th' unfinish'd song!
The bravest hand, the wisest head? These works divine, which, on his death-bed laid, Undaunted dost thou hear th' alarms Co thee, O Craggs, th' expiring sage convey'd, Of hoary Athol sheath'd in arms ? Great, but ill-omen'd, monument of fame,
“ Douglas, who draws his lineage down For he surviv'd to give, nor thou to claim.
From thanes and peers of high renown, wift after him thy social spirit flies,
Fiery, and young, and uncontrollid, ind close to his, how soon! thy coffin lies.
With knights, and squires, and barons bold, flest pair! whose union future bards shall tell (His noble household-band) advances, a future tongues : each other's boast ! farewell, And on the milk-white courser prances. 'arewell! whom join'd in fame, in friendship try'd, Thee Forfar to the combat dares, Jo chance could sever, nor the grave divide.
Grown swarthy in Iberian wars;
He'll rout thy foot, though ne'er so many,
And horse to boot — if thou hadst any.
“ But see Argyll, with watchful eyes,
Lodg'd in his deep intrenchments lies, FROM HORACE. Book II. ODE XV.
Couch'd like a lion in thy way,
He waits to spring upon his prey;
While, like a herd of timorous deer,
Thy army shakes and pants with fear,
Led by their doughty general's skill,
From frith to frith, from hill to hill.
“ Is thus thy haughty promise paid
That to the Chevalier was made, As Mar his round one morning took,
When thou didst oaths and duty barter, (Whom some call earl, and sume call duke,) For dukedom, generalship, and garter ? And his new brethren of the blade,
Three moons thy Jemmy shall command, Shivering with fear and frost, survey'd,
With Highland sceptre in his hand, On Perth’s bleak hills he chanc'd to spy
Too good for his pretended birth, An aged wizard six feet high,
Then down shall fall the king of Perth. With bristled hair and visage blighted,
“ 'Tis so decreed: for George shall reign, Wall-ey'd, bare-haunch'd, and second-sighted. And traitors be forsworn in vain. The grisly sage in thought profound
Heaven shall for ever on him smile, Beheld the chief with back so round,
And bless him still with an Argyll. Then roll'd his eye-balls to and fro
While thou, pursued by vengeful foes, O'er his paternal hills of snow,
Condemn'd to barren rocks and snows, And into these tremendous speeches
And hinder'd passing Inverlocky, Broke forth the prophet without breeches.
Shall burn the clan, and curse poor Jocky."
FROM A LADY IN ENGLAND TO A GENTLEMAX AT
To thee, dear rover, and thy vanquish'd friends, And chequer'd plaid become their prey, The health, she wants, thy gentle Chloe sends. The chequer'd plaid to make a gown
Though much you suffer, think I suffer more, For many a lass in London town.
Worse than an exile on my native shore. “ In vain thy hungry mountaineers
Companions in your master's flight you roam, Come forth in all thy warlike geers,
Unenvy'd by your haughty foes at home;
You share his fortunes, and his hopes divide,
On glorious schemes, and thoughts of empire dwell, Nor fears the hawker in her warbling note And with imaginary titles swell.
To vend the discontented statesman's thought, Say, for thou know'st I own his sacred line, Though red with stripes, and recent from the theo The passive doctrine, and the right divine,
Sore smitten for the love of sacred song, Say, what new succours does the chief prepare ? The tuneful sisters still pursue their trade, The strength of armies ? or the force of prayer ? Like Philomela darkling in the shade. Does he from Heaven or Earth his hopes derive? Poor Trott attends, forgetful of a fare, From saints departed, or from priests alive? (stand, And hums in concert o'er his easy chair. Nor saints nor priests can Brunswick's troops with Meanwhile, regardless of the royal cause, And beads drop useless through the zealot's hand; His sword for James no brother sovereign draws Heaven to our vows may future kingdoms owe, The pope himself, surrounded with alarms, But skill and courage win the crowns below. To France his bulls, to Corfu sends his arms,
Ere to thy cause, and thee, my heart inclin'd, And though he hears his darling son's complair, Or love to party had seduc'd my mind,
Can hardly spare one tutelary saint, In female joys I took a dull delight,
But lists them all to guard his own abodes, Slept all the morn, and punted half the night: And into ready money coins his gods. But now, with fears and public cares possest, The dauntless Swede, pursued by vengeful foes, The church, the church, for ever breaks my rest. Scarce keeps his own hereditary snows; The postboy on my pillow I explore,
Nor must the friendly roof of kind Lorrain And sift the news of every foreign shore,
With feasts regale our garter'd youth again. Studious to find new friends, and new allies; Safe, Bar-le-Duc, within thy silent grove What armies march from Sweden in disguise ; The pheasant now may perch, the lare may not How Spain prepares her banners to unfold, The knight, who aims unerring from afar, And Rome deals out her blessings, and her gold : Th’adventurous knight, now quits the sylran wu Then o'er the map my finger, taught to stray, Thy brinded boars may slumber undismay'd, Cross many a region marks the winding way; Or grunt secure beneath the chesnut shade. From sea to sea, from realm to realm I rove, Inconstant Orleans (still we mourn the day And grow a mere geographer by love:
That trusted Orleans with imperial sway) But still Avignon, and the pleasing coast
Far o'er the Alps our helpless monarch sends, That holds thee banish'd, claims my care the most : Far from the call of his desponding friends. Oft on the well-known spot I fix my eyes,
Such are the terms, to gain Britannia's grace! And span the distance that between us lies.
And such the terrours of the Brunswick race! Let not our James, though foil'd in arms, despair, Was it for this the Sun's whole lustre fail'd. Whilst on his side he reckons half the fair :
And sudden midnight o'er the Moon preval'd! In Britain's lovely isle a shining throng
For this did Heaven display to mortal eyes War in his cause, a thousand beauties strong. Aërial knights and combats in the skies! Th' unthinking victors vainly boast their powers ; Was it for this Northumbrian streams look'd med Be theirs the musket, while the tongue is ours. And Thames driv’n backward show'd his secret bat We reason with such fluency and fire,
False auguries! th' insulting victor's seern! The beaux we baffle, and the learned tire,
Ev'n our own prodigies against us turn! Against her prelates plead the church's cause, O portents construed on our side in vain! And from our judges vindicate the laws.
Let never Tory trust eclipse again! Then mourn not, hapless prince, thy kingdoms lost ; Run clear, ye fountains ! be at peace, ye skies: A crown, though late, thy sacred brows may boast; And, Thaines, henceforth to thy green borders ex Heaven seems through us thy empire to decree ; To Rome then must the royal wanderer 6 Those who win hearts, have given their hearts to thee. And fall a suppliant at the papal toe?
Hast thou not heard that when, profusely gay, His life in sloth inglorious must he wear, Our well-drest rivals grac'd their sovereign's day, One half in luxury, and one in prayer? We stubborn damsels met the public view
His mind perhaps at length debauch'd with ease, In loathsome wormwood, and repenting rue ? The proffer'd purple and the hat may please What Whig but trembled, when our spotless band Shall he, whose ancient patriarchal race In virgin roses whiten'd half the land !
To mighty Nimrod in one line we trace, Who can forget what fears the foe possest,
In solemn conclave sit, devoid of thought, When oaken-boughs mark'd every loyal breast! And poll for points of faith his trusty rote Less scar’d than Medway's stream the Norman stood, Be summond to his stall in time of need, When cross the plain he spy'd a marching wood, And with his casting suffrage fix a creed ! Till, near at hand, a gleam of swords betray'd Shall he in robes on stated days appear, The youth of Kent beneath its wandering shade? And English heretics curse once a year!
Those who the succours of the fair despise, Garnet and Faux shall he with prayers invoke, May find that we have nails as well as eyes. And beg that Smithfield piles once more mas su Thy female bards, O prince by fortune crost, Forbid it, Heaven! my soul, to fury wrougb At least more courage than thy men can boast : Turns almost Hanoverian at the thought. Our sex has dar'd the mug-house chiefs to meet, From James and Rome I feel my heart deden And purchas'd fame in many a well-fought street. And fear, O Brunswick, 'twill be wholly thir From Drury-Lane, the region of renown,
Yet still his share thy rival will contest, The land of love, the Paphos of the town,
And still the double claim divides my breast. Fair patriots sallying oft have put to flight The fate of James with pitying eyes I view, With all their poles the guardians of the night, And wish my homage were not Brunswick's dr And bore, with screams of triumph, to their side To James my passion and my weakness guide The leader's staff in all its painted pride.
But reason Sways me to the yictor's side
Though griev'd I speak it, let the truth appear ! Where Britain's foremost names are found,
Who made the hostile nations moan,
Sprung from the chief whose prowess gain'd
The dread of Gauls in Cressi's field, The pious town sees fifty churches rise :
Which, in thy high-arch'd temple rais'd, The hero triumphs as his worth is known,
For four long centuries hath blaz’d. And sits more firmly on his shaken throne. • To my sad thought no beam of hope appears
These seats our sires, a hardy kind, Through the long prospect of succeeding years. To the fierce sons of war confin'd, The son, aspiring to his father's fame,
The flower of chivalry, who drew Shows all his sire: another and the same.
With sinew'd arm the stubborn yew : He, blest in lovely Carolina's arms,
Or with heav'd pole-ax clear'd the field; To future ages propagates her charis :
Or who, in justs and tourneys skill'd, With pain and joy at strife, I often trace
Before their ladies' eyes renown'd, The mingled parents in each daughter's face ; Threw horse and horseman to the ground. Half sickening at the sight, too well I spy The father's spirit through the mother's eye:
In after-times, as courts refin'd, in vain new thoughts of rage I entertain,
Our patriots in the list were join'd. And strive to hate their innocence in vain.
Not only Warwick stain'd with blood, O princess ! happy by thy foes confest !
Or Marlborough near the Danube's flood, Blest in thy husband ! in thy children blest !
Have in their crimson crosses glow'd; As they from thee, from them new beauties born, But, on just lawgivers bestow'd, While Europe lasts, shall Europe's thrones adorn. These emblems Cecil did invest, l'ransplanted to each court, in times to come, And gleam'd on wise Godolphin's breast. Thy smile celestial and unfading bloom, Great Austria's sons with softer lines shall grace, So Greece, ere arts began to rise, And smooth the frowns of Bourbon's haughty race. Fix'd huge Orion in the skies, The fair descendants of thy sacred bed,
And stern Alcides, fam'd in wars, Wide-branching o'er the western world shall spread, Bespangled with a thousand stars ; Like the fam'd Banian tree, whose pliant shoot Till letter'd Athens round the Pole to earthward bending of itself takes root,
Made gentler constellations roll; Till, like their mother plant, ten thousand stand In the blue heavens the lyre she strung, in verdant arches on the fertile land;
And near the Maid the Balance * hung.
O thou, to whom these mournful lines I send, Where knights and kings promiscuous stand.
In doubtful days our home-bred foes!
Who rais'd his country's wealth so high, lir'd out at length, submit to fate's decree?
Or view'd with less desiring eye !
The sage, who, large of soul, surveys
A nobler name in Windsor's shrine
Why praise we, prodigal of fame,
The rage that sets the world on flame ?
Whose godlike bounty spares mankind.
For those, whom bloody garlands crown,
To him through every rescued land,
* Names of constellations. Ambitious emperors have sought :
INSCRIBED TO THE