Courier and patriot cannot mix Without an effervescence, Such as of salts with lemon juice Religion should extinguish strife, To prove, alas! my main intent, No cutting and contriving; Seeking a real friend, we seem T'adopt the chymist's golden dream Then judge, or ere you choose your mar As circumspectly as you can, And, having made election, See that no disrespect of yours, Such as a friend but ill endures, Enfeeble his affection. It is not timber, lead, and stone, To finish a great building ; The palace were but half complete. As similarity of mind, Or something not to be defin'd, So, manners decent and polite, The same we practis'd at first sight, Must save it from declension The man who hails you Tom-or Jack, Is such a friend, that one had need Some friends make this their prudent plan"Say little, and hear all you can ?” Safe policy, but hateful. So barren sands imbibe the show'r, They whisper trivial things, and small; Things serious, deem improper ; These samples (for alas! at last Pursue the theme, and you shall find True friendship has, in short, a grace That proves it heav'n-descended: ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE [To the March in Scipio.] WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED [September, 1782.] TOLL for the brave! The brave that are no more, All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore! Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land breeze shook the shrouds, Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone: His last sea-fight is fought; His work of glory done it was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak ; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in his sheath; Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup, The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full-charg'd with England's thunder, And plough the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er ; And he and his eight hundred, Shall plougn the wave no more. 10. IN SUBMERSIONEM NAVIGII, CUI GEORGIUS REGALIS NOMEN, INDITUM. PLANGIMUS fortes. Periere fortes, Patrium propter periere littus His quater centum; subito sub alto Navis, innitens lateri, jacebat, Plangimus fortes. Nimis, heu, caducam Nec sinunt ultra tibi nos recentes Magno, qui nomen, licet incanorum, Non hyems illos furibunda mersit, Navitæ sed tum nimium jocosi Vos, quibus cordi est grave opus piuinque, Humidum ex alto spolium levate, Et putrescentes sub aquis amicos Reddite amicis! |