<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416355" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To The Memory Of The Right Honourable Lord Talbot, Late Chancellor Of Great Britain. Addressed To His Son.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">While with the public, you, my Lord, lament<br>A friend and father lost; permit the muse,<br>The muse assigned of old a double theme, <br>To praise the dead worth and humble living pride,<br>Whose generous task begins where interest ends;<br>Permit her on a Talbot's tomb to lay<br>This cordial verse sincere, by truth inspired,<br>Which means not to bestow but borrow fame.<br>Yes, she may sing his matchless virtues now -<br>Unhappy that she may. - But where begin?<br>How from the diamond single out each ray,<br>Where all, though trembling with ten thousand hues,<br>Effuse one dazzling undivided light?<br>Let the low-minded of these narrow days<br>No more presume to deem the lofty tale <br>Of ancient times, in pity to their own,<br>Romance. In Talbot we united saw<br>The piercing eye, the quick enlightened soul,<br>The graceful ease, the flowing tongue of Greece,<br>Joined to the virtues and the force of Rome.<br>Eternal wisdom, that all-quickening sun,<br>Whence every life, in just proportion, draws<br>Directing light and actuating flame, <br>Ne'er with a larger portion of its beams<br>Awakened mortal clay. Hence steady, calm, <br>Diffusive, deep, and clear, his reason saw,<br>With instantaneous view, the truth of things;<br>Chief what to human life and human bliss<br>Pertains, that noblest science, fit for man:<br>And hence, responsive to his knowledge, glowed<br>His ardent virtue. Ignorance and vice,<br>In consort foul, agree; each heightening each;<br>While virtue draws from knowledge brighter fire.<br>What grand, what comely, or what tender sense,<br>What talent, or what virtue was not his;<br>What that can render man or great, or good,<br>Give useful worth, or amiable grace?<br>Nor could he brook in studious shade to lie,<br>In soft retirement, indolently pleased<br>With selfish peace. The syren of the wise,<br>(Who steals the Aonian song, and, in the shape<br>Of Virtue, woos them from a worthless world)<br>Though deep he felt her charms, could never melt <br>His strenuous spirit, recollected, calm,<br>As silent night, yet active as the day.<br>The more the bold, the bustling, and the bad,<br>Press to usurp the reins of power, the more<br>Behoves it virtue, with indignant zeal,<br>To check their combination. Shall low views<br>Of sneaking interest or luxurious vice,<br>The villain's passions, quicken more to toil,<br>And dart a livelier vigour through the soul,<br>Than those that, mingled with our truest good,<br>With present honour and immortal fame,<br>Involve the good of all? An empty form<br>Is the weak Virtue, that amid the shade<br>Lamenting lies, with future schemes amused,<br>While Wickedness and Folly, kindred powers,<br>Confound the world. A Talbot's, different far,<br>To lose in deathlike sloth one pulse of life,<br>That might be saved; disdained for coward ease,<br>And her insipid pleasures, to resign<br>The prize of glory, the keen sweets of toil,<br>And those high joys that teach the truly great<br>To live for others, and for others die.<br>Early, behold! he breaks benign on life.<br>Not breathing more beneficence, the Spring<br>Leads in her swelling train the gentle airs;<br>While gay, behind her, smiles the kindling waste<br>Of ruffian storms and Winter's lawless rage.<br>In him Astrea, to this dim abode<br>Of ever wandering men, returned again:<br>To bless them his delight, to bring them back <br>From thorny error, from unjoyous wrong,<br>Into the paths of kind primeval faith,<br>Of happiness and justice. All his parts,<br>His virtues all, collected, sought the good<br>Of humankind. For that he, fervent, felt <br>The throb of patriots, when they model states;<br>Anxious for that, nor needful sleep could hold<br>His still-awakened soul; nor friends had charms<br>To steal, with pleasing guile, one useful hour;<br>Toil knew no languor, no attraction joy. <br>Thus with unwearied steps, by Virtue led,<br>He gained the summit of that sacred hill,<br>Where, raised above black Envy's darkening clouds,<br>Her spotless temple lifts its radiant front.<br>Be named, victorious ravagers, no more!<br>Vanish, ye human comets! shrink your blaze!<br>Ye that your glory to your terrors owe,<br>As, o'er the gazing desolated earth,<br>You scatter famine, pestilence, and war;<br>Vanish! before this vernal sun of fame;<br>Effulgent sweetness! beaming life and joy. <br>How the heart listened while he, pleading, spoke!<br>While on the enlightened mind, with winning art,<br>His gentle reason so persuasive stole,<br>That the charmed hearer thought it was his own.<br>Ah! when, ye studious of the laws, again<br>Shall such enchanting lessons bless your ear?<br>When shall again the darkest truths, perplexed,<br>Be set in ample day? when shall the harsh<br>And arduous open into smiling ease?<br>The solid mix with elegant delight?<br>His was the talent, with the purest light<br>At once to pour conviction on the soul,<br>And warm with lawful flame the impassioned heart.<br>That dangerous gift with him was safely lodged <br>By heaven - He, sacred to his country's cause,<br>To trampled want and worth, to suffering right,<br>To the lone widow's and her orphan's woes,<br>Reserved the mighty charm. With equal brow,<br>Despising then the smiles or frowns of power,<br>He all that noblest eloquence effused,<br>Which generous passion, taught by reason, breathes:<br>Then spoke the man; and, over barren art,<br>Prevailed abundant nature. Freedom then<br>His client was, humanity and truth.<br>Placed on the seat of justice, there he reigned,<br>In a superior sphere of cloudless day,<br>A pure intelligence. No tumult there,<br>No dark emotion, no intemperate heat,<br>No passion e'er disturbed the clear serene<br>That round him spread. A zeal for right alone,<br>The love of justice, like the steady sun,<br>Its equal ardour lent; and sometimes, raised <br>Against the sons of violence, of pride,<br>And bold deceit, his indignation gleamed,<br>Yet still by sober dignity restrained.<br>As intuition quick, he snatched the truth, <br>Yet with progressive patience, step by step,<br>Self-diffident, or to the slower kind,<br>He through the maze of falsehood traced it on,<br>Till, at the last, evolved, it full appeared,<br>And e'en the loser owned the just decree.<br>But when, in senates, he, to freedom firm,<br>Enlightened freedom, planned salubrious laws,<br>His various learning, his wide knowledge, then,<br>His insight deep into Britannia's weal, <br>Spontaneous seemed from simple sense to flow,<br>And the plain patriot smoothed the brow of law.<br>No specious swell, no frothy pomp of words<br>Fell on the cheated ear; no studied maze<br>Of declamation, to perplex the right,<br>He darkening threw around; safe in itself,<br>In its own force, all-powerful Reason spoke;<br>While on the great, the ruling point, at once,<br>He streamed decisive day, and showed it vain<br>To lengthen further out the clear debate.<br>Conviction breathes conviction; to the heart,<br>Poured ardent forth in eloquence unbid,<br>The heart attends: for let the venal try<br>Their every hardening, stupifying art,<br>Truth must prevail, zeal will enkindle zeal,<br>And Nature, skilful touched, is honest still.<br>Behold him in the councils of his prince.<br>What faithful light he lends! How rare, in courts,<br>Such wisdom! such abilities! and joined<br>To virtue so determined, public zeal,<br>And honour of such adamantine proof,<br>As e'en corruption, hopeless, and o'erawed,<br>Durst not have tempted! yet of manners mild,<br>And winning every heart, he knew to please, <br>Nobly to please; while equally he scorned <br>Or adulation to receive, or give.<br>Happy the state, where wakes a ruling eye<br>Of such inspection keen, and general care!<br>Beneath a guard so vigilant, so pure,<br>Toil may resign his careless head to rest,<br>And ever-jealous freedom sleep in peace.<br>Ah! lost untimely! lost in downward days!<br>And many a patriot-counsel have with him lost!<br>Counsels, that might have humbled Britain's foe,<br>Her native foe, from eldest time by fate<br>Appointed, as did once a Talbot's arms.<br>Let learning, arts, let universal worth,<br>Lament a patron lost, a friend and judge,<br>Unlike the sons of vanity, that, veiled<br>Beneath the patron's prostituted name,<br>Dare sacrifice a worthy man to pride,<br>And flush confusion o'er an honest cheek.<br>When he conferred a grace, it seemed a debt<br>Which he to merit, to the public, paid, <br>And to the great all-bounteous Source of good!<br>His sympathizing heart itself received<br>The generous obligation he bestowed.<br>This, this indeed, is patronizing worth.<br>Their kind protector him the Muses own,<br>But scorn with noble ride the boasted aid<br>Of tasteless vanity's insulting hand.<br>The gracious stream, that cheers the lettered world,<br>Is not the noisy gift of summer's noon,<br>Whose sudden current, from the naked root,<br>Washes the little soil which yet remained,<br>And only more dejects the blushing flowers:<br>No, 'tis the soft-descending dews at eve,<br>The silent treasures of the vernal year,<br>Indulging deep their stores, the still night long;<br>Till, with returning morn, the freshened world,<br>Is fragrance all, all beauty, joy, and song.<br>Still let me view him in the pleasing light<br>Of private life, where pomp forgets to glare,<br>And where the plain unguarded soul is seen.<br>There, with that truest greatness he appeared,<br>Which thinks not of appearing; kindly veiled<br>In the soft graces of the friendly scene,<br>Inspiring social confidence and ease.<br>As free the converse of the wise and good,<br>As joyous, disentangling every power,<br>And breathing mixed improvement with delight,<br>As when amid the various-blossomed spring,<br>Or gentle beaming autumn's pensive shade,<br>The philosophic mind with nature talks.<br>Say ye, his sons, his dear remains, with whom<br>The father laid superfluous state aside,<br>Yet raised your filial duty thence the more,<br>With friendship raised it, with esteem, with love, <br>Beyond the ties of love, oh! speak the joy,<br>The pure serene, the cheerful vision mild, <br>The virtuous spirit, which his vacant hours,<br>In semblance of amusement, through the breast,<br>Infused. And thou, O Rundle! lend thy strain,<br>Thou darling friend! thou brother of his soul!<br>In whom the head and heart their stores unite;<br>Whatever fancy paints, invention pours,<br>Judgment digests, the well-tuned bosom feels,<br>Truth natural, moral, or divine, has taught,<br>The virtues dictate, or the Muses sing.<br>Lend me the plaint, which, to the lonely main,<br>With memory conversing, you will pour,<br>As on the pebbled shore you, pensive, stray,<br>Where Derry's mountains a bleak crescent form,<br>And mid their ample round receive the waves,<br>That from the frozen pole, resounding, rush,<br>Impetuous. Though from native sunshine driven,<br>Driven from your friends, th sunshine of the soul,<br>By slanderous zeal, and politics infirm,<br>Jealous of worth; yet will you bless your lot,<br>Yet will you triumph in your glorious fate,<br>Whence Talbot's friendship glows to future times,<br>Intrepid, warm; of kindred tempers born;<br>Nursed, by experience, into slow esteem,<br>Calm confidence unbounded, love not blind,<br>And the sweet light from mingled minds disclosed,<br>From mingled chymic oils as bursts the fire.<br>I too remember well that cheerful bowl,<br>Which round his table flowed. The serious there<br>Mixed with the sportive, with the learned the plain; <br>Mirth softened wisdom, candour tempered mirth;<br>And wit its honey lent, without the sting.<br>Not simple nature's unaffected sons,<br>The blameless Indians, round their forest-cheer,<br>In sunny lawn or shady covert set,<br>Hold more unspotted converse; nor, of old,<br>Rome's awful consuls, her dictator swains,<br>As on the product of their Sabine farms<br>They fared, with stricter virtue fed the soul;<br>Nor yet in Athens, at an Attic meal,<br>Where Socrates presided, fairer truth,<br>More elegant humanity, more grace,<br>Wit more refined, or deeper science reigned.<br>But far beyond the little vulgar bounds<br>Of family, or friends, or native land,<br>By just degrees, and with proportioned flame, <br>Extended his benevolence: a friend<br>To humankind, to parent nature's works.<br>Of free access, and of engaging grace,<br>Such as a brother to a brother owes,<br>He kept an open judging ear for all,<br>And spread an open countenance, where smiled<br>The fair effulgence of an open heart;<br>While on the rich, the poor, the high, the low,<br>With equal ray, his ready goodness shone:<br>For nothing human foreign was to him. <br>Thus to a dread inheritance, my Lord,<br>And hard to be supported, you succeed:<br>But, kept by virtue, as by virtue gained,<br>It will, through latest time, enrich your race,<br>When grosser wealth shall moulder into dust,<br>And with their authors in oblivion sunk <br>Vain titles lie, the servile badges oft <br>Of mean submission, not the meed of worth.<br>True genuine honour its large patent holds<br>Of all mankind, through every land and age,<br>Of universal reason's various sons,<br>And e'en of God himself, sole perfect Judge!<br>Yet know, these noblest honours of the mind <br>On rigid terms descend: the high-placed heir,<br>Scanned by the public eye, that, with keen gaze,<br>Malignant seeks out faults, cannot through life,<br>Amid the nameless insects of a court,<br>Unheeded steal: but, with his sire compared,<br>He must be glorious, or he must be scorned.<br>This truth to you, who merit well to bear<br>A name to Britons dear, the officious Muse<br>May safely sing, and sing without reserve.<br>Vain were the plaint, and ignorant the tear<br>That should a Talbot mourn. Ourselves, indeed,<br>Our country robbed of her delight and strength,<br>We may lament. Yet let us, grateful, joy<br>That we such virtues knew, such virtues felt, <br>And feel them still, teaching our views to rise <br>Through ever-brightening scenes of future worlds,<br>Be dumb, ye worst of zealots! ye that, prone<br>To thoughtless dust, renounce that generous hope,<br>Whence every joy below its spirit draws,<br>And every pain its balm: a Talbot's light,<br>A Talbot's virtues, claim another source,<br>Than the blind maze of undesigning blood;<br>Nor when that vital fountain plays no more,<br>Can they be quenched beneath the gelid stream.<br>Methinks I see his mounting spirit, freed<br>From tangling earth, regain the realms of day,<br>Its native country; whence to bless mankind,<br>Eternal goodness on this darksome spot <br>Had rayed it down a while. Behold! approved<br>By the tremendous Judge of heaven and earth,<br>And to the Almighty Father's presence joined, <br>He takes his rank, in glory, and in bliss,<br>Amid the human worthies. Glad around<br>Crowd his compatriot shades, and point him out,<br>With joyful pride, Britannia's blameless boast.<br>Ah! who is he, that with a fonder eye<br>Meets thine enraptured? - 'Tis the best of sons!<br>The best of friends! -- Too soon is realized<br>That hope, which once forbad thy tears to flow!<br>Meanwhile the kindred souls of every land.<br>(Howe'er divided in the fretful days<br>Of prejudice and error) mingled now,<br>In one selected, never-jarring state,<br>Where God himself their only monarch reigns,<br>Partake the joy; yet, such the sense that still<br>Remains of earthly woes, for us below,<br>And for our loss, they drop a pitying tear.<br>But cease, presumptuous Muse, nor vainly strive<br>To quit this cloudy sphere, that binds thee down:<br>'Tis not for mortal hand to trace these scenes -<br>Scenes, that our gross ideas grovelling cast<br>Behind, and strike our boldest language dumb.<br>Forgive, immortal shade! if aught from earth, <br>From dust low warbled, to those groves can rise,<br>Where flows celestial harmony, forgive<br>This fond superfluous verse. With deep-felt voice,<br>On every heart impressed, thy deeds themselves<br>Attest thy praise. Thy praise the widow's sighs,<br>And orphan's tears, embalm. The good, the bad,<br>The sons of justice and the sons of strife,<br>All who or freedom or who interest prize,<br>A deep-divided nation's parties, all,<br>Conspire to swell thy spotless praise to Heaven.<br>Glad Heaven receives it, and seraphic lyres<br>With songs of triumph thy arrival hail. <br>How vain this tribute then! this lowly lay! <br>Yet nought is vain that gratitude inspires.<br>The Muse, besides, her duty thus approves<br>To virtue, to her country, to mankind,<br>To ruling nature, that, in glorious charge, <br>As to her priestess, gives it her to hymn<br>Whatever good and excellent she forms.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Thomson">James Thomson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416355" data-title="To The Memory Of The Right Honourable Lord Talbot, Late Chancellor Of Great Britain. Addressed To His Son." data-description="While with the public, you, my Lord, lament A friend and father lost; permit the muse, The muse assigned of old a double theme, To praise the dead worth and humble living pride, Whose generous task begins where interest ends; Permit her on a Talb..."></div> </div> </div>

solid border dashed border dotted border double border groove border ridge border inset border outset border no border blue green red purple cyan gold silver black