Poems by Sir John Carr - LightNovelsOnl.com
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A wreath from an immortal bough Should deck that gen'rous victor's brow, Who hears his captive's grateful praise Augment the thanks his country pays; For him the minstrel's song shall flow, The canva.s.s breathe, the marble glow.
LINES
UPON A LADY DYING
_Soon after she had been wrecked on the Cornish Coast_,
LEAVING A LITTLE INFANT BEHIND HER.
Sweet stranger! tho' the merc'less storm Here sternly cast thy fainting form, What tho' no kindred hand was near To wipe away Affliction's tear,
Yet shall thy gentle spirit own, Amidst these sea-girt sh.o.r.es unknown, That Pity pour'd her balmy store, And kindred hands could do no more.
Ne'er shall that pang disturb thy rest, That moves the parted mother's breast; The object of thy dying fear Shall want no father's fondness here.
Oft shall his little lips proclaim, With April-tears, thy treasur'd name; His little hands, when summers bloom, Shall gather flow'rs to deck thy tomb.
JEU D'ESPRIT
UPON A VERY PRETTY WOMAN ASKING THE AUTHOR HIS OPINION OF BEAUTY.
Madam! you ask what marks for beauty pa.s.s: Require them rather from your looking-gla.s.s!
LINES
TO THE MEMORY OF ERASMUS,
BY OUDAAN,
Inscribed on the Pedestal of the Statue raised in Honour of the former, in Rotterdam.
[_The Original in Dutch_.]
_ORIGINAL_.
Hier rees die groote zon, en ging te Bazel onder!
De Rykstad eer' en vier' dien Heilig in zyn grav; Dit tweede leeven geevt, die't eerste leeven gav: Maar 't ligt der taalen, 't zout der zeden, 't heerlyk wonder.
Waar met de Lievde, en Vreede, en G.o.dgeleerdheid praald, Word met geen grav geerd nog met zeen beeld betaald: Dies moet hier't lugtgewele Erasmus overdekken, Nadien geen mind're plaats zyn tempel kan verstrekken!
_TRANSLATION_.
Erasmus, here, the eloquent and wise, That Sun of Learning! rose, and spread his beam O'er a benighted world, thro' low'ring skies, And shed on Basil's tow'rs his parting gleam.
There his great relics lie: he bless'd the place: No proud preserver of his fame shall prove The Parian pile, tho' fraught with sculptur'd grace: Reader! his mausoleum is above.
THE FOLLOWING TWO SONGS
Were written during a Period when it was confidently believed that the French would invade our Country.
SONG.
_To the Tune of "Ye Gentlemen of England_."
No gentleman of England now sits at home at ease, But emulates on sh.o.r.e the heroes of the seas; A common cause unites them, to meet the daring foe, All they wish, all they ask, is a fav'ring wind to blow.
Oh! let them come along, and may no tempests low'r, But fairly may we try our valour and our pow'r, That Hist'ry may not say, should these robbers be laid low, To the storm 'tis alone the victory we owe.
Soon shall these infidels the dreadful diff'rence prove, 'Twixt slaves impell'd by fear, and freemen bound by love; Our foes shall never rise again, when once they are laid low, On the sea, on the sh.o.r.e, for justice strikes the blow.
SONG.
When storms on the ocean Create high emotion, It pleases the wish Of the monarch of fish, For he gambols and sports in the motion.
Should a shoal of small fry Attempt to draw nigh, With a flap of his tail, Th' imperial whale Makes them pay for their rashness, and die.
Oh! thus, on the seas, Just with the same ease, Should the enemy come, In s.h.i.+p, boat, or bomb, We will knock them about as we please;
Till at last they shall cry, "We are the small fry, And Britannia's the whale, By a flap of whose tail, If we dare to approach her we die."
SONNET,
Occasioned by reading an Inscription on the Tombstone of Captain Christensen, of Krajore, in Norway, who died in consequence of the Bite of his Dog, when it was mad.
