BY THE REV. THOMAS MAURICE.
WHEN kingdoms, long to factious rage a prey,
Reluctant bend, at length, to tyrant sway,
To freedom dear! amid the dastard train
That crouch around, a GLORIOUS FEW remain,
A patriot band! beyond all titles GREAT,
Of soul superior to the storms of fate,
Whose love of cherish'd arts, whose worth sublime
Endear them to the good of every clime;
These, 'mid their country's wreck, the tyrant's frown,
Uphold the trophies of her fair renown *.
Such was His honest fame, whose passing bier
From many a Briton claims the grateful tear;
Such was HIS SOUL, by sterling virtue fired,
Nor fell BATAVIA till her HOPE expired.
* Although Mr. HOPE was not a native of Holland, yet by consanguinity and long residence in that country, as well as by the extent of his commercial transactions, carried on there, he may justly be considered as having for it the interest and affection of -a native.
Swell high the solemn dirge-and, round his tomb, Bid the rich amaranth immortal bloom
There let the sister Arts afflicted bend,
And every Muse bewail her buried friend;
While Genius, kindling with its noblest flame,
In deathless characters inscribes his name.
Pure in thy principles, lamented Shade,
Thy youth, thy age, unblemish'd faith display'd;
Stern, rigid Honour thy unerring guide,
Thy radiant POLE-STAR, through life's stormy tide;
Whether 'midst crowded marts caress'd, admired,
Or in the bowers of thy loved Sheen retired;
Those bowers, where TEMPLE once delighted stray'd,
With wisdom musing in the hallow'd* shade.
Sacred to thee was each dear kindred tie,
With fond fraternal love thy heart beat high;
And where, by friendship's chain thy soul was bound
That friendship firm as adamant was found †.
Nor coldly was thy partial zeal return'd,
With warm affection friends and kindred burn'd;
Affection genuine as the tears that fell
When thy torn bosom sigh'd the last farewell.
In manners polish'd, affable, and kind,
Sound in thy judgment, in thy taste refin'd;
Hallow'd by its remains of ancient regal and monastic gran deur. In those shades the great Sir William Temple, long the British Ambassador in Holland, composed the greater part of his political writings.
Mr. WILLIAMS HOPE, the Author trusts, will not be offended at his mentioning himself as an instance of the inviolable attachment of the late Mr. Hope to those whom he esteemed for their superior virtues and abilities. A similar instance of disinterested, and almost boundless, generosity, has scarcely ever occurred in the annals of modern times.
In the great school of life and business taught,
The wise, the good, the great thy converse sought;
Courted, rever'd by all; by all beloved
Who sterling sense admired, or worth approved.
Though train'd to commerce, from thy earliest day,
And fortune smiled with full meridian ray;
With honest love of fame and science fraught,
Far above commerce soared thy liberal thought.
Unbounded wealth inspir'd thy generous mind
To heap unbounded blessings on mankind;
'Twas thine through many a dark revolving year,
From misery's eye to wipe the streaming tear;
To soothe the widow's plaint, the orphan's sighs,
Whose vows to heav'n in grateful transport rise;
And where, in bonds, the pining debtor lay,
To burst the dungeon gloom, and pour the day.
Dear to thy heart, and welcome to thy board,
The virtuous ne'er in vain thy aid implored;
Was toiling Probity by want oppress'd ?
Thy smile consoled him, and thy bounty bless'd.
Did heav'n-born Talent droop? If aim'd aright,
Thy potent arm sustain'd its daring flight:
Nor mean the boon thy liberal hand bestow'd
Where Honour fired the breast, and Genius glow'd.
Warm'd by thy plaudits, by that bounty cheer'd,
His drooping head the friendless artist rear'd;
With matchless splendour through thy dome display'd,
He mark'd the radiant tints that never fade;
Whatever bold in style, or warm in thought,
The masters of the glowing pencil taught.
His fancy kindles, by the view inspired,
His faculties expand, his soul is fired;
With nobler force he draws th' expressive lines,
And a new RAPHAEL on the canvas shines.
Swell high the solemn dirge-and let the sound
Roll through extended Europe's farthest bound-
Who sway'd her commerce sleeps on Britain's shore,
And Art's distinguish'd Patron is no more.
With trophied pomp to deck the gorgeous shrine
Where luxury's proud and pamper'd race recline,
Let the triumphal arch to heav'n ascend,
And all her pow'rs devoted Genius lend-
From righteous deeds the proudest trophies rise,
Thy virtue, HOPE! a nobler shrine supplies-
Just dealings round the good a lustre throw,
Greater than brass and marbles can bestow!
Soon shall the sculptured urn, the breathing bust,
Their charms resign, and crumble into dust,
But, while Time's rapid cycles glide away,
And sinking nature rushes to decay,
VIRTUE still towers, immortal and sublime!
Beyond the rage of fate, the bounds of time;
Survives the wreck, survives the burning sphere,
Blooming and bright through heav'ns eternal year!
FROM THE FRENCH OF MONTREUIL.
WHAT Woes my hapless bosom rend,
Ah! dearest Sylvia! ask no more.
Those woes must last till life shall end;
But soon will they be o'er!
FROM THE ITALIAN OF GAETANO POLIVOZI,
as the wind, the beauteous flower Of youth swift hastens to decay; And with it, to return no more,
Each laughing love, each pleasure gay!
Then, fair MIRANDA, timely wise,
Enjoy the spring of beauty's bloom;
For soon life's halcyon season flies,
And comes the tempest's cheerless gloom!
Adorned with flowers of perfume sweet,
Spring opes her bosom to the gale, Pursued by Summer's sultry heat,
Brown Autumn's glooms, and Winter's hail:
Thus flowers and fruits successive show,
The tree resigns its ripened load,
And bare appears each sapless bough,
Where late Pomona's treasure glowed!
Yet, (such Creation's changeless doom,)
When past is Winter's icy reign,
The naked boughs their flowers resume,
And in fresh verdure bloom again!
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