Save from the gulf of years this glorious age,
And thus illustrate their historian's page.
The crown of Spain in doubtful balance hung, And Anna Britain sway'd when Granville sung; That noted year Europa sheath'd her sword,
When this great man was first saluted Lord.
Occasioned by the death of the
RIGHT HONOURABLE JOSEPH ADDISON.
.........Tu nunc eris alter ab illo.
O LONG with me in Oxford groves confin'd, In social arts and sacred friendship join'd; Fair Isis' sorrow, and fair Isis' boast, Lost from her side, but fortunately lost; Thy wonted aid, my dear companion! bring, And teach me thy departed friend to sing: A darling theme! once pow'rful to inspire, And now to melt the Muses' mournful choir: Now, and now first, we freely dare commend His modest worth, nor shall our praise offend. Early he bloom'd amid the learned train, And ravish'd Isis listen'd to his strain. See, see, she cry'd, old Maro's muse appears, Wak'd from her slumber of two thousand years
Her finish'd charms to Addison she brings,
Thinks in his thought, and in his number sings.
All read transported his pure classic page;
Read and forget their climate and their age.
The state, when now his rising fame was known,
Th' unrivall'd genius challeng'd for her own,
Nor would that one for scenes or action strong,
Should let a life evaporate in song.
As health and strength the brightest charms dispense,
Wit is the blossom of the soundest sense:
Yet few, how few, with lofty thoughts inspir'd,
With quickness pointed, and with rapture fir'd,
In conscious pride their own importance find,
Blind to themselves, as the hard world is blind!
Wit they esteem a gay but worthless power,
The slight amusement of a leisure hour,
Unmindful that, conceal'd from vulgar eyes,
Majestic Wisdom wears the bright disguise.
Poor Dido fondled thus, with idle joy,
Dread Cupid lurking in the Trojan boy ;
Lightly she toy'd and trifled with his charms,
And knew not that a god was in her arms.
Who greatest excellence of thought could boast,
In action, too, have been distinguish'd most :
This Sommers knew, and Addison sent forth
From the malignant regions of the north,
To be matur'd in more indulgent skies,
Where all the vigour of the soul can rise;
Through warmer veins where sprightlier spirits run,
And sense, enliven❜d, sparkles in the sun.
With secret pain the prudent patriot gave
The hopes of Britain to the rolling wave,
Anxious, the charge to all the stars resign'd,
And plac'd a confidence in sea and wind.
Ausonia soon receiv'd her wond'ring guest,
And equal wonder in her turn confest,
To see her fervours rivall'd by the pole,
Her lustre beaming from a northern soul:
In like surprise was her Æneas lost,
To find his picture grace a foreign coast.
Now the wide field of Europe he surveys, Compares her kings, her thrones and empires weighs, In ripen'd judgment and consummate thought; Great work! By Nassau's favour cheaply bought. He now returns to Britain, a support,
Wise in her senate, graceful in her court;
And when the public welfare would permit,
The source of learning, and the soul of wit.
O Warwick! (whom the muse is fond to name,
And kindles, conscious of her future theme)
O Warwick! by divine contagion bright,
How early didst thou catch his radiant light !
By him inspir'd, how shine before thy time,
And leave thy years, and leap into thy prime !
On some warm bank, thus, fortunately borne,
A rose-bud opens to a summer's morn,
Full blown ere noon her fragrant pride displays,
And shews th' abundance of her purple rays.
Wit, as her bays, was once a barren tree;
We now, surpris'd, her fruitful branches see;
Or, orange-like, till his auspicious time
It grew indeed, but shiver'd in our clime:
He first the plant to richer gardens led,
And fix'd, indulgent, in a warmer bed:
The nation, pleas'd, enjoys the rich produce,
And gathers from her ornament her use.
When loose from public cares, the grove he sought,
And fill'd, the leisure interval with thought,
The various labours of his easy page,
A chance amusement, polish'd half an age.
Beyond this truth old bards could scarce invent,
Who durst to frame a world by accident.
What he has sung, how early, and how well,
The Thames shall boast, and Roman Tiber tell.
A glory more sublime remains in store,
Since such his talents, that he sung no more.
No fuller proof of pow'r the Almighty gave,
Making the sea, than curbing her proud wave.
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