That earthly meed shall his compeers enjoy,
Britain's true counsellors,

Who see with just success their councils crown'd.
They have their triumph now, to him denied.
Proud day for them is this.
Prince of the mighty Isle !
Proud day for them and thee,
When Britain round her spear
The olive garland twines, by Victory won.

T

MOONLIGHT.

[By EDWARD LORD THURLOW.]

HEN now, O Muse, alighting from the car

Of that pale traveller, the crescent Moon,
Wakeful Diana, let us sit, and think,

By the bright glow-worm's lamp, that twinkling plays
Upon the dewy grass, what causes lead

The unembodied spirit to appear

In semblance of its person, to dislodge

Clear courage from the startled hearts of men?
Love opes the gate of Erebus; and God
Permits the streaming spirit to ascend,
Impatient of its woe, the while the Moon
Beguiles the over-dreaming Night, and sinks
The fair Creation in a deep repose.

Then walk the silent Spirits to the beds

Of Lovers, on whose lids the tears are wet,

And, waking their o'er-wearied sense, present

The image too belov'd, with gentle hope

And soft assurance of renew'd delight,

When Death shall lead them thro' the World's sad gate.
Revenge, too, and immortal Pity draw

The Spirit from its home, where'er it be ;

To wander by the glimpses of the Moon,
And overcome the guilty with the sight
Of re-appearance in the form of woe:
Or else to warn the soft and trusting soul,
That in its safety joys, and fondly sleeps
Upon the edge of peril, of new woe,
That shall awake it to eternal doom.
By rivers, and on lawns, in cyprus shades,
In monumental yards, and ivied towers,
Whilst the owl hoots to the uprising fires
Of Hesperus, they haunt, and thence divide
Upon their sev'ral errands, till the lamp,
The harbinger of Morn, awake the East.
Kings, Poets, Virgins, Warriors, whose renown
Has till'd th' expansive circle of the World,
And Shepherds, that of love disastrous died;
In armour, in soft stoles, in peasant weeds,
Or in the robes of thought, with laurel crown'd;
Touch'd by the dream of Life, they re-ascend
From their oblivious haunt, and feed their sense
With expectation of the matin ray,

Not less in number, than the nascent stars
That shine upon their woe, or the soft crowds
Of Daffodils, that in the early Spring
Awake the hill of Mountfield to delight:
But long ere Morn with her awak'ning trump
Disperse the shadows of thin night, they flee,
Thick as autumnal leaves upon the shore
Of Vallombrosa, at Proserpine's call,
And warn'd by Phosphor to their penal home.
Ah, hapless Spirits! but the day shall come,
When Mercy on that silent shore shall reign,
And that too-troubled dream of endless woe,
In which the senses wander, as a pool,
Conclude in bliss, amid immortal bow'rs!

I question then, O Muse, in love divine,
Where that immortal Spirit* may abide,
That in his just vacation of this world,
With favour of the King, maintain'd the sway
Of jurisprudence in this triple realm ?

Well known to thee: that, in his aged thought,
With Homer and great Danté did converse,
And sweet Euripides, whose mournful song
Flows in his numbers, like the silver Po,

In weeping tribute to the Adrian sea. †

* Edward, Lord Thurlow, Chancellor of England.

This alludes to the Chorus, translated by the late Lord Thurlow, from Euripides; which is printed at the end of this Poem.

For

For since the stars have shed discursive light,
With favour on our globe, no greater mind
E'er sat in judgment on the thoughts of men,
Or brought its noble faculties to bear
With more advantage on the public weal :
In thought, in word, in action, ever just:
Shield of the Poor; and, raising for his King,
Th' upright defender of his awful throne.
Then, oh, may God forsake him not in death!
But that pure Spirit, that on cloudy earth
Stood faithful to his King, and still upheld
His gracious Master's cause, be crown'd with light,
And in the fields of æther sit, enclos'd
With glory, on a sempiternal throne!

Led by his hand, I first essay'd to walk,
O dear Companion of my earliest steps,

With thee, O Muse; and from the beams of Morn
To the pale twilight sought thy converse sweet.
Whate'er in old Greece or Rome was done,
Or else recorded of those actions pure,
From thee I learnt, and from his counsel sage,
Grave was he, and severe; but gentle too,
And underneath a rough exterior hid
A heart, which pity melted into tears.
Farewell, my Master, and my earliest Friend!
But not farewell of thee the memory;
Since all I am in fortune, or in rank,
In thought, or my inheritance of fame,
Bating my nature, to thy care I owe;
I should be viler than the dog, that tears
The hand that fed him from his earliest youth,
If I forsook thee, or thy gen'rous cause :
The Seasons may pass on, and blanch my head,
And wither my shrunk cheek, and paint a map
Of woeful age upon my wrinkled brow;
But till the tomb outshuts me from the day,
And time disparts me from the things that were,
Thy memory shall unimpair'd remain,
Boundless, as I must still be less than thee:
Whilst Spring shall for her blossoms be desir'd,
Or Summer for her sweets; while Autumn pale
With fruitage shall be crown'd, or Winter rule
In storms and tempests the dejected year,
So long, O my first Master, while I live,
Shall I forget not either thee or thine.

I

VIRGIL'S GHOST.

[From the same.]

WALK in woods from morning until eve,
From eve to dewy night: and pitch my camp
In the sepulchral forests, where the bird
That fled from Tereus, weeps the livelong day:
And all the starry night she weeps, and sings
Before the gate of Proserpine; a cave
That leads from Dis into this upper world :
There dwell I, whereso'er that dwelling be,
Apart from kings: and with discursive ghosts,
Upon the edge of morning, sweetly talk,
Now pale Böotes on the cavern shone;
And I, forsaking great Malvizzi's page,
Call'd with sweet voice unto that ghostly herd
Which they are wont t' obey, for Maro's soul,
T' uprise, and visit the o'er-wakeful Moon.
I call'd; and Maro at the summons came :
"What would'st thou, Son, with me?" I straight reply'd,
"O Poet, above all divinely wise,

"To whom the sun and moon were strictly known,
"The sprinkled stars, and seasons, that o'er-sway
"This fickle globe, the earth, and what it bears,
"Of fruit, of creatures, of immortal man,
"With all, that in the lower realms of Dis,
"Far underneath the glimpses of the moon,
"Have wakeful being; tell me now, I pray,
"What, in this wand'ring errour of the world,
"Best medicine for sorrow, may be found
"To lull th' oblivious evil into peace?"
I said; and Maro, with sad tears, reply'd;
While, overhead, the wakeful thunder roll'd,
As when it passes o'er oblivion's shore :
"Great is the task, O Son, and various minds
"With various solace lull the poignant woe :
"Some in wild passion steep the troubled breast,
"And some with sweet Nepenthe lull the mind,
"And some with herbs of mere forgetfulness:
"Their potency is much; and men may stay
"The orbit of the moon with herb and song;
"And so the sov'reign reason may assuage:
"But open wide the porches of thine ear;
"Believe it, with the sanction of my soul,

"That

"That worn with study, sought Proserpine's shore ;
"A Pot of Porter, O my Gracious Son,
"Shall best resolve thy question, if 'tis drawn
"From a sweet tap, where the resort is much.”
"He said; and vanish'd, like the dews of night.

The FROG-AND-MOUSE-FIGHT. Translated from the Greek,

High-croak first wounded Lap-well with his spear;
Among the foremost through the belly pierc'd
In the mid-liver, down he tumbled prone,

And soil'd his soft down: next him Creep-hole spear'd
The son of Mud-born, and his stubborn lance
Fix'd in his breast; him falling sable Death
Surpris'd, and from the body fled the soul.
But Loye-beet struck Pot-diver to the heart,
And slew him; Munch-loaf in the belly hit
Loud-clack, who falling prone, the soul forsook
His limbs. When Pool-diver saw Loud-clack slain,
With rock as millstone vast, he by surprise
Struck Creep-hole on mid-neck, and darkness veil'd
His eyes at him again with glitt'ring spear
Lap-well aim'd right, and in the liver struck.
When Suck-cabbage, saw this, he fled, and fell
Down the deep bank; but he escap'd not so;
He plung'd himself into the flood: he fell;
And never more look'd up; the Lake was stain'd
With purple blood; he lay upon the shore/
Outstretch'd, his small guts and fat bowels mash'd.
Then Marsh-love slew Scoop-cheese upon the bank;
At sight of Scrape-ham, Calamint took fright:
Flying, he plung'd into the Lake, and threw
His shield away. Water-love slew the King
Gnaw-gammon with a stone in hand he struck
The fore-part of his head, and through his nose
The brain rill'd; and the earth was splash'd with blood.
Lick-table slew good Mud-bed with his spear,
Assailing him, and darkness veil'd his eyes.

Weed