TO THE MEMORY OF THORNTON.

279

In life's last stage (O blessings rarely found!) Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd; Through every period of this changeful state Unchanged thyself-wise, good, affectionate!

Marble may flatter; and lest this should seem O'ercharged with praises on so dear a theme, Although thy worth be more than half suppress'd, Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest.

TO THE MEMORY

OF THE LATE

JOHN THORNTON, ESQ.

1790.

POETS attempt the noblest task they can,
Praising the Author of all good in man;
And, next, commemorating worthies lost,
The dead in whom that good abounded most.
Thee, therefore, of commercial fame, but more
Famed for thy probity from shore to shore,
Thee, Thornton! worthy in some page to shine,
As honest and more eloquent than mine,
I mourn; or, since thrice happy thou must be,
The world no longer thy abode, not thee.
Thee to deplore were grief mispent indeed;
It were to weep that goodness has its meed,
That there is bliss prepared in yonder sky,
And glory for the virtuous when they die.
What pleasure can the miser's fondled hoard
Or spendthrift's prodigal excess afford,

280 TO THE MEMORY OF THORNTON.

Sweet as the privilege of healing woe
By virtue suffer'd combating below?

That privilege was thine; Heaven gave thee means
To' illumine with delight the saddest scenes,
Till thy appearance chased the gloom, forlorn
As midnight, and despairing of a morn.
Thou hadst an industry in doing good,
Restless as his who toils and sweats for food;
Avarice, in thee, was the desire of wealth
By rust unperishable or by stealth;
And if the genuine worth of gold depend
On application to its noblest end,

Thine had a value in the scales of Heaven,
Surpassing all that mine or mint had given.
And, though God made thee of a nature prone
To distribution boundless of thy own,
And still by motives of religious force
Impell'd thee more to that heroic course;
Yet was thy liberality discreet,

Nice in its choice, and of a temper'd heat,
And, though in act unwearied, secret still,
As in some solitude the summer rill
Refreshes, where it winds, the faded green,
And cheers the drooping flowers, unheard, unseen.
Such was thy charity; no sudden start,
After long sleep, of passion in the heart.
But steadfast principle, and, in its kind,
Of close relation to the Eternal Mind,
Traced easily to its true source above,

To Him, whose works bespeak his nature, Love.
Thy bounties all were Christian, and I make
This record of thee for the Gospel's sake;
That the incredulous themselves may see
Its use and power exemplified in Thee.

TO THE

MEMORY OF DR. LLOYD.

OUR good, old friend is gone, gone to his rest, Whose social converse was itself a feast.

ye of riper age, who recollect

How once ye loved, and eyed him with respect,
Both in the firmness of his better day,

While yet he ruled with a
you
father's sway,
And when impair'd by time and glad to rest,
Yet still with looks, in mild complacence dress'd,
He took his annual seat, and mingled here
His sprightly vein with yours-now drop a tear.
In morals blameless as in manners meek,
He knew no wish that he might blush to speak;
But, happy in whatever state below,

And richer than the rich in being so,

Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a meed
At length from One', as made him rich indeed.
Hence then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here,
Go, garnish merit in a brighter sphere,
The brows of those whose more exalted lot
He could congratulate, but envied not.

Light lie the turf, good Senior! on thy breast, And tranquil as thy mind was be thy rest! Though, living, thou hadst more desert than fame, And not a stone now chronicles thy name.

1 He was usher and under master of Westminster near fifty years, and retired from his occupation when he was near seventy, with a handsome pension from the king.

VOL. II.

BB

EPITAPHS.

ON

MRS. M. HIGGINS, OF WESTON.

LAURELS may flourish round the conqueror's

tomb,

But happiest they who win the world to come:
Believers have a silent field to fight,

And their exploits are,veil'd from human sight.
They, in some nook, where little known they dwell,
Kneel, pray in faith, and rout the hosts of hell;
Eternal triumphs crown their toils divine,
And all those triumphs, Mary, now are thine.

ON MR. HAMILTON.

PAUSE here, and think: a monitory rhyme
Demands one moment of thy fleeting time.

Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein; Seems it to say Health here has long to reign?' Hast thou the vigour of thy youth? an eye

That beams delight? a heart untaught to sigh? Yet fear. Youth ofttimes, healthful and at ease, Anticipates a day it never sees;

And many a tomb, like Hamilton's, aloud

6

Exclaims, Prepare thee for an early shroud.'

ON FOP,

A Dog belonging to Lady Throckmorton.
AUGUST, 1792.

THOUGH Once a puppy, and though Fop by name,
Here moulders one whose bones some honour

claim.

No sycophant, although of spaniel race,

And though no hound, a martyr to the chase-
Ye squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice,
Your haunts no longer echo to his voice;
This record of his fate exulting view,

He died worn out with vain pursuit of

you. 'Yes (the indignant shade of Fop replies)— And worn with vain pursuit Man also dies.'

ON A HARE.

HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo,

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,

Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.

Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance every night,

He did it with a jealous look,

And, when he could, would bite,