"Our Nation's foes lament on _Fox's_ death,
But bless the hour, when PITT resign'd his breath:
These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue,
We give the palm, where Justice points its due."
TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES SENT THE FOLLOWING REPLY [i]
FOR INSERTION IN THE "MORNING CHRONICLE."
Oh, factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth
Would mangle, still, the dead, perverting truth; [ii]
What, though our "nation's foes" lament the fate,
With generous feeling, of the good and great;
Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name [iii]
Of him, whose meed exists in endless fame?
When PITT expir'd in plenitude of power,
Though ill success obscur'd his dying hour,
Pity her dewy wings before him spread,
For noble spirits "war not with the dead:"
His friends in tears, a last sad requiem gave,
As all his errors slumber'd in the grave; [iv]
He sunk, an Atlas bending "'neath the weight" [v]
Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state.
When, lo! a Hercules, in Fox, appear'd,
Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd:
He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied, [vi]
With him, our fast reviving hopes have died;
Not one great people, only, raise his urn,
All Europe's far-extended regions mourn.
"These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth undue,
To give the palm where Justice points its due;" [vii]
Yet, let not canker'd Calumny assail, [viii]
Or round her statesman wind her gloomy veil.
FOX! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep,
Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep;
For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan,
While friends and foes, alike, his talents own.--[ix]
Fox! shall, in Britain's future annals, shine,
Nor e'en to PITT, the patriot's 'palm' resign;
Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask,
For PITT, and PITT alone, has dar'd to ask. [x]
(Southwell, Oct., 1806. [1])
[Footnote 1: The stanza on the death of Fox appeared in the _Morning
Post_, September 26, 1806.]
[Footnote 2: This MS. is preserved at Newstead.]
[Footnote i:
_The subjoined Reply._
[4to] ]
[Footnote ii:
_Would mangle, still, the dead, in spite of truth._
[4to] ]
[Footnote iii:
_Shall, therefore, dastard tongues assail the name
Of him, whose virtues claim eternal fame?_
[4to] ]
[Footnote iv: _And all his errors._--[4to] ]
[Footnote v:
_He died, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight
Of cares oppressing our unhappy state.
But lo! another Hercules appeared._
[4to] ]
[Footnote vi:
_He too is dead who still our England propp'd
With him our fast reviving hopes have dropp'd._
[4to] ]
[Footnote vii: _And give the palm._ [4to] ]
[Footnote viii:
_But let not canker'd Calumny assail
And round.--
[4to] ]
[Footnote ix: _And friends and foes._ [4to] ]
[Footnote x: '--would dare to ask.' [410]]
TO A LADY WHO PRESENTED TO THE AUTHOR A LOCK OF HAIR BRAIDED WITH HIS
OWN, AND APPOINTED A NIGHT IN DECEMBER TO MEET HIM IN THE GARDEN. [1]
These locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine,
Than all th' unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense, love orations.
Our love is fix'd, I think we've prov'd it;
Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov'd it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine;
With silly whims, and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic?
Why should you weep, like _Lydia Languish_,
And fret with self-created anguish?
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen;
In leafless shades, to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene's a garden?
For gardens seem, by one consent,
(Since Shakespeare set the precedent;
Since Juliet first declar'd her passion)
To form the place of assignation.
Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a _sea-coal_ fire;
Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain;
He surely, in commiseration,
Had chang'd the place of declaration.
In Italy, I've no objection,
Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself, is rather frigid:
Think on our chilly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation.
Then let us meet, as oft we've done,
Beneath the influence of the sun;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you,
Within your mansion let me greet you: [i.]
'There', we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than plac'd in all th' Arcadian groves,
That ever witness'd rural loves;
'Then', if my passion fail to please, [ii.]
Next night I'll be content to freeze;
No more I'll give a loose to laughter,
But curse my fate, for ever after. [2]
[Footnote 1: These lines are addressed to the same Mary referred to in
the lines beginning, "This faint resemblance of thy charms." ('Vide
ante', p. 32.)]
[Footnote 2: In the above little piece the author has been accused by
some 'candid readers' of introducing the name of a lady [Julia
Leacroft] from whom he was some hundred miles distant at the time this
was written; and poor Juliet, who has slept so long in "the tomb of all
the Capulets," has been converted, with a trifling alteration of her
name, into an English damsel, walking in a garden of their own creation,
during the month of 'December', in a village where the author never
passed a winter. Such has been the candour of some ingenious critics. We
would advise these 'liberal' commentators on taste and arbiters of
decorum to read 'Shakespeare'.
Having heard that a very severe and indelicate censure has been passed
on the above poem, I beg leave to reply in a quotation from an admired
work, 'Carr's Stranger in France'.--"As we were contemplating a
painting on a large scale, in which, among other figures, is the
uncovered whole length of a warrior, a prudish-looking lady, who seemed
to have touched the age of desperation, after having attentively
surveyed it through her glass, observed to her party that there was a
great deal of indecorum in that picture. Madame S. shrewdly whispered in
my ear 'that the indecorum was in the remark.'"--[Ed. 1803, cap. xvi, p.
171. Compare the note on verses addressed "To a Knot of Ungenerous
Critics," p. 213.]]
[Footnote i:
'Oh! let me in your chamber greet you.'
[4to]]
[Footnote ii:
'There if my passion'
[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions]]