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To the Memory of John Courtenay, a Cadet in the Corps
of Engineers, who died at Calcutta, December 1794, in the 19th Year of his Age.
BY HIS FATHER, JOHN COURTENAY, ESQ, M. P.
O SHADE belov'd, still present to my sight,
head the low'ring moments roll, For ever set the sun-beam of my soul.
Is this, indeed, the universal doom ! No
ray of hope to cheer the lonely tomb! Perhaps the soul, a
ethereal flame, May still survive her frail and transient frame, And wrapp'd in bliss, the great Creator trace, Celestial Power! who lives thro' boundless space! See his benevolence unclouded shine, Where wisdom, virtue, dwell in joys divine;
* In an Elegy on Captain Courtney.
Search truths sublime; with sacred rapture scan
O Youth belov'd, now mouldering in the tomb,
When bards sublime attun'd the sounding lyre, His vivid breast display'd congenial fire: He bade TYRTÆUs' martial ardour shine, And breathes his spirit in each glowing line; With Henry's glory gilds his classic lays, And joins the Prince's in the Hero's praise ; Indignant scorn on Freedom's foe he fings, And spurns ambition, the mean vice of Kings; With Prior's graceful ease he moves along, And laughs at fiction in his sportive song; With pregnant fancy, brilliant wit defines, And blends examples in his playful lines;
* Extract of one of his letters from Portsmoutlı, April 20, 1794.
For the idea of being a service to, and of again seeing those who are so dear to me, is the most lively and pleasing sensation I can ever have."
In sprightly numbers chants Maria's * sway, While WALLER's groves resound the amorous lay.
How pleas’d with mine to mix thy tuneful strain 1, When Freedom's banner wav'd on Gallia's plain! There fervid & courage won thce early praise, And, wing'd with pleasure, flew our happy days: Never did Nature's bounteous hand impart A nobler spirit, or a gentler heart.
How dear to all ! by social love refin’d,
That promis'd bliss-that vital beam is past,
* Verses addressed to Miss M. L.
The Republican and Nuns Song, published in the Poetical Epistles from France.
A very young soldier at the door of the National Convention menaced him with his pointed • bayonet, which he instantly seized, and wrested the piece out of his hands. One of the Members was fortunately a witness of the transaction, and, after reprimanding the centinel, introduced my son into the Convention, and told me the fact, with high culogiuins on his spirit.
- Midst social joy, in festive pleasure gay,
That grief is vain--but tempts me to repine,
O shade benign, still at my couch arise,
my last wish to-mix my dust with thinc. For thee sweet Emma drops the tender tear, Sighs o'er thy verse, and thy untimely bier ; For thee Sophia heaves her aching breast, While plaintively she lulls her babe to rest. For thee thy Mother's eyes incessant flow; Thy fate alone could touch my heart with woe: With flow'rs I'll strew thy urn, and clasp thy bust, With my last numbers consecrate thy dust;
* Captain Grey, to R. J. Esq.--" In answer to your note of yesterday, I ain compelled to the painful task of coninrunicating the melancholy account of Mr. C- 's death. At a ball on the 14th of December, being over-heated with dancing, he imprudently drank a glass of lemonade, 'which proved alinost instantly fatal.”
+ Extract of a letter :- Cambridge, February 10, 1792: I am. more obliged to you than I can express : grateful I am to my father, and ever shall 'remain : "passion 'may at times have led me astray, yet still did I ever remember his kindness and affection, admire his talents, respect him as a parent, love him as a protector, a companion, and a friend.”
# Mr. Fox, with generous and consoling attention, and with that Syınpathizing friendship which distinguishes him, gave me the first intimation of this fåtal event.
Dwell on thy praise, and feel, while life remains,
ON SOME FLOWERS PAINTED BY A LADY,
BY W. PARSONS, ESQ.
'Twixt Art and Nature long has been the strife,