THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.

THUS

I.

HUS long my grief has kept me dumb:
Sure there's a lethargy in mighty woe,
Tears stand congealed, and cannot flow;
And the sad soul retires into her inmost room:
Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief;
But, unprovided for a sudden blow,
Like Niobe, we marble grow,

And petrify with grief.

Our British heaven was all serene,
No threatening cloud was nigh,

Not the least wrinkle to deform the sky;
We lived as unconcerned and happily
As the first age in nature's golden scene;
Supine amidst our flowing store,

We slept securely, and we dreamt of more;
When suddenly the thunder-clap was heard,
It took us, unprepared, and out of guard,
Already lost before we feared.

The amazing news of Charles at once were spread,

At once the general voice declared,
"Our gracious prince was dead."
No sickness known before, no slow disease,
To soften griet by just degrees;
But, like an hurricane on Indian seas,
The tempest rose;

An unexpected burst of woes, t
With scarce a breathing space betwixt,
This now becalmed, and perishing the next.
As if great Atlas from his height

Should sink beneath his heavenly weight,
And, with a mighty flaw, the flaming wall,
As once it shall,

Should gape immense, and, rushing down, o'er whelm this nether ball;

So swift and so surprising was our fear:
Our Atlas fell indeed; but Hercules was near.

II.

His pious brother, sure the best
Who ever bore that name,
Was newly risen from his rest,

And, with a fervent flame,

His usual morning vows had just addrest,
For his dear sovereign's health;

And hoped to have them heard,

In long increase of

years,

In honour, fame, and wealth:

Guiltless of greatness, thus he always prayed,
Nor knew nor wished those vows he made,
On his own head should be repaid.

+ Note 1.

*Alluding to the fable of Hercules supporting the heavenly sphere when Atlas was fatigued.

Soon as the ill-omen'd rumour reached his ear,
(Ill news is winged with fate, and flies apace,)
Who can describe the amazement of his face!
Horror in all his pomp was there,

Mute and magnificent, without a tear;
And then the hero first was seen to fear.
Half unarrayed he ran to his relief,
So hasty and so artless was his grief:
Approaching greatness met him with her charms.
Of power and future state;

But looked so ghastly in a brother's fate,
He shook her from his arms.
Arrived within the mournful room, he saw
A wild distraction, void of awe,
And arbitrary grief unbounded by a law.
God's image, God's anointed, lay
Without motion, pulse, or breath,
A senseless lump of sacred clay,
An image now of death,

Amidst his sad attendants' groans and cries,
The lines of that adored forgiving face,
Distorted from their native grace;
An iron slumber sat on his majestic eyes.
The pious duke-Forbear, audacious muse!
No terms thy feeble art can use

Are able to adorn so vast a woe:

The grief of all the rest like subject-grief did show,
His, like a sovereign's, did transcend;
No wife, no brother, such a grief could know,
Nor any name but friend.

III.

O wondrous changes of a fatal scene,
Still varying to the last!

Heaven, though its hard decree was past,
Seemed pointing to a gracious turn again:
And death's uplifted arm arrested in its haste.

3

Heaven half repented of the doom, And almost grieved it had foreseen,

What by foresight it willed eternally to come. Mercy above did hourly plead

For her resemblance here below; And mild forgiveness intercede

To stop the coming blow.

New miracles approached the etherial throne,
Such as his wonderous life had oft and lately known,
And urged that still they might be shown.
On earth his pious brother prayed and vowed,
Renouncing greatness at so dear a rate,

Himself defending what he could,

From all the glories of his future fate. With him the innumerable crowd

Of armed prayers

Knocked at the gates of heaven, and knocked aloud; The first well-meaning rude petitioners. *

All for his life assailed the throne,

All would have bribed the skies by offering up their

own.

So great a throng, not heaven itself could bar;
'Twas almost borne by force, as in the giants' war.
The prayers, at least, for his reprieve were heard;
His death, like Hezekiah's, was deferred:
Against the sun the shadow went;

Five days, those five degrees, were lent,

To form our patience, and prepare the event. ‡ The second causes took the swift command, The medicinal head, the ready hand,

All eager to perform their part; †

All but eternal doom was conquered by their art:

*

A very

ill-timed sarcasm on those, who petitioned Charles to call his parliament. See p. 311.

2 Kings, chap. xx.

+ Note II.

Once more the fleeting soul came back
To inspire the mortal frame;

And in the body took a doubtful stand,

Doubtful and hovering, like expiring flame, That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o'er the brand.

IV.

The joyful short-lived news soon spread around,* Took the same train, the same impetuous bound: The drooping town in smiles again was drest, Gladness in every face exprest,

Their eyes before their tongues confest. Men met each other with erected look, The steps were higher that they took; Friends to congratulate their friends made haste, And long inveterate foes saluted as they past. Above the rest heroic James appeared, Exalted more, because he more had feared. His manly heart, whose noble pride

Was still above

Dissembled hate, or varnished love,

Its more than common transport could not hide; But like an eagre † rode in triumph o'er the tide.

* Note III.

An eagre is a tide swelling above another tide, which I have myself observed in the river Trent.-DRYDEN. This species of combat between the current and the tide is well known on the Severn; and, so far back as the days of William of Malmesbury, was called the Higre. Unhappy is the vessel, says that ancient historian, on whom its force falls laterally. De Gestis Pontificum, Lib. IV.---Drayton describes the same river,

With whose tumultuous waves,

Shut up in narrower bounds, the Higre wildly raves,
And frights the straggling flocks the neighbouring shores to fly.
Afar as from the main it comes with hideous cry;

And on the angry front the curled foam doth bring,

The billows 'gainst the bank when fiercely it doth fling,