A Poem Sacred to the Memory of Mr. Congreve

Oft has the muse, with mean attempt, employed
Her heaven-born voice to flatter prosperous guilt
Or trivial greatness — often stooped her song
To soothe ambition in his frantic rage,
The dire destroyer ! while a bleeding world
Wept o'er his crimes. Of this pernicious skill
Unknowing, I these voluntary lays
To genuine worth devote — to worth by all
Confessed and mourned — to Congreve now no more.
First of the fairer kind ! by heaven adorned
With every nobler praise, whose smile can lift
The muse unknown to fame, indulgent now
Permit her strain, ennobled by a name,
To all the better few, and chief to thee,
Bright Marlborough, ever sacred, ever dear.
Lamented shade ! in him the comic muse,
Parent of gay instruction, lost her loved,
Her last remaining hope ; and pensive now
Resigns to folly and his mimic rout
Her throne usurped— presage of darker times,
And deeper woes to come ! with taste declined
Fallen virtue droops ; and o'er the ill-omened age,
Unseen, unfeared, impend the thousand ills
That wait on ignorance : no Congreve now
To scourge our crimes, or laugh to scorn our fools,
A new and nameless herd. Nature was his,
Bold, sprightly, various ; and superior art,
Curious to choose each better grace, unseen
Of vulgar eyes ; with delicacy free,
Though laboured happy, and though strong refined.
Judgement, severely cool, o'erlooked his toil,
And patient finished all ; each fair design
With freedom regular, correctly great,
A master's skilful daring. Closely wrought
His meaning fable, with deep art perplexed,
With striking ease unravelled ; no thin plot
Seen through at once and scorned ; or ill-concealed
By borrowed aids of mimicry and farce.
His characters strong-featured, equal, just,
From finer nature drawn ; and all the mind
Through all her mazes traced ; each darker vice,
And darling folly, under each disguise,
By either sex assumed, of studied ease,
False friendship, loose severity, vain wit,
Dull briskness, shallow depth, or coward rage.
Of the whole muse possessed, his piercing eye
Discerned each richer vein of genuine mirth,
Humour or wit ; where differing, where agreed ;
How counterfeited, or by folly's grin
Or affectation's air ; and what their force
To please, to move, to shake the ravished scene
With laughter unreproved. To him the soul,
In all her higher workings, too, was known ;
What passions' tumult there ; whence their prompt spring,
Their sudden flood of rage, and gradual fall ;
Infinite motion ! source supreme of bliss
Or woe to man ; our heaven or hell below !
Such was his public name ; nor less allowed
His private worth ; by nature made for praise.
A pleasing form ; a soul sincere and clear,
Where all the human graces mixed their charms,
Pure candour, easy goodness, open truth,
Spontaneous all : where strength and beauty joined,
With wit indulgent ; humble in the height
Of envied honours ; and, but rarely found,
The un jealous friend of every rival worth.
Adorned for social life, each talent his
To win each heart ; the charm of happy ease,
Free mirth, gay learning, ever smiling wit,
To all endeared, a pleasure without pain ;
What Halifax approved, and Marlborough mourns.
Not so the illiberal mind, where knowledge dwells
Uncouth and harsh, with her attendant, pride,
Impatient of attention, prone to blame,
Disdaining to be pleased ; condemning all,
By all condemned ; for social joys unfit,
In solitude self-cursed, the child of spleen.
Obliged, ungrateful ; unobliged, a foe,
Poor, vicious, old ; such fierce-eyed Asper was.
Now meaner Cenus, trivial with design,
Courts poor applause by levity of face,
And scorn of serious thought ; to mischief prompt,
Though impotent to wound ; profuse of wealth
Yet friendless and unloved ; vain, fluttering, false,
A vacant head, and an ungenerous heart.
But slighting these ignoble names, the muse
Pursues her favourite son, and sees him now,
From this dim spot enlarged, triumphant soar
Beyond the walk of time to better worlds,
Where all is new, all wondrous, and all blest !
What art thou, death ! by mankind poorly feared,
Yet period of their ills. On thy near shore,
Trembling they stand, and see through dreaded mists
The eternal port, irresolute to leave
This various misery, these air-fed dreams
Which men call life and fame. Mistaken minds !
'Tis reason's prime aspiring, greatly just ;
'Tis happiness supreme, to venture forth
In quest of nobler worlds ; to try the deeps
Of dark futurity, with Heaven our guide, ioo
The unerring hand that led us safe through time ;
That planted in the soul this powerful hope,
This infinite ambition of new life
And endless joys, still rising, ever new.
These Congreve tastes, safe on the ethereal coast,
Joined to the numberless immortal quire
Of spirits blest. High-seated among these,
He sees the public fathers of mankind,
The greatly good, those universal minds
Who drew the sword, or planned the holy scheme,
For liberty and right, to check the rage
Of blood-stained tyranny and save a world.
Such, high-born Marlborough, be thy sire divine
With wonder named ; fair freedom's champion he,
By Heaven approved, a conqueror without guilt,
And such, on earth his friend, and joined on high
By deathless love, Godolphin's patriot worth,
Just to his country's fame, yet of her wealth
With honour frugal ; above interest great.
Hail men immortal ! social virtues hail !
First heirs of praise ! — But I, with weak essay,
Wrong the superior theme ; while heavenly quires,
In strains high-warbled to celestial-harps,
Resound your names ; and Congreve's added voice
In Heaven exalts what he admired below.
With these he mixes, now no more to swerve
From reason's purest law ; no more to please,
Borne by the torrent down, a sensual age.
Pardon, loved shade, that I with friendly blame
Slight note thy error ; not to wrong thy worth
Or shade thy memory (far from my soul
Be that base aim!), but haply to deter
From flattering the gross vulgar future pens
Powerful like thine in every grace, and skilled
To win the listening soul with virtuous charms.
If manly thought and wit refined may hope
To please an age in aimless folly sunk,
And sliding swift into the depth of vice!
Consuming pleasure leads the gay and young
Through their vain round, and venal faith the old,
Or avarice mean of soul ; instructive arts
Pursued no more ; the general taste extinct,
Or all debased ; even sacred liberty
The great man's jest, and Britain's welfare named,
By her degenerate sons, the poet's dream,
Or fancy's air-built vision, gaily vain.
Such the lost age ; yet still the muse can find,
Superior and apart, a sacred band,
Heroic virtues, who ne'er bowed the knee
To sordid interest ; who dare greatly claim
The privilege of men, unfearing truth,
And freedom, heaven's first gift ; the ennobling bliss
That renders life of price, and cheaply saved
At life's expense ; our sum of happiness.
On these the drooping muses fix their eyes ;
From these expect their ancient fame restored.
Nor will the hope be vain ; the public weal
With theirs fast linked ; a generous truth concealed
From narrow-thoughted power, and known alone
To souls of highest rank. With these, the fair
Be joined in just applause ; the brighter few,
Who, raised above gay folly, and the whirl
Of fond amusements, emulate thy praise,
Illustrious Marlborough ! pleased, like thee, to shine
Propitious on the muse ; whose charms inspire
Her noblest raptures, and whose goodness crowns.