Classic Poem

Long did my muse expectant wish to see
Some hero paint the lofty Elegy :
Long did my weary mind impatient wait
To see a nobler pencil paint the great,
The good, the eloquent, the peerless man:
Who 'mong Apollo's fav'rites led the van,
C UTHBERT , whose name, that still so fresh remains,
Demands the Muses elevated strains.
I'm loath the features here so bright, so fine,
Be sully'd with a dusky draught of mine:
But since no curious limners had the heart,
On this fair image to improve their art;
My pen be artless, rather than unjust
To leave a name so precious in the dust.
My muse like Craesus' son, so long tongue-tied,
Had never spoke, had not his father died.
This filial passion sure is due from one
Once honour'd to be Timothy, his son.
Though critics justly may the censure pass,
That's here a matchless diamond set in brass;
Yet that which may excuse my feeble toil.
The jewel's thus enhanced by its foil:
And I escape (though by the portrait rude)
The charge of criminal ingratitude.
The muse that mourns a church, a nation's fall,
Should have attended C UTHBERT'S funeral;
To shew the universal loss, and tell
How Zion trembled when this pillar fell:
How sons of Zion weak and feeble grew,
When death so great a champion overthrew:
How Heav'n design'd by such a mighty blow,
No private, but a common overthrow:
And should have plac'd him bright 'mong shining names
That to far distant ages spread their beams.
Hark! ye that knew him, won't ye all avow
Wit charming sat triumphant on his brow?
Won't ye, like echoes, when ye hear his name,
Be soon resounding trumpets of his fame;
Whose soul, refin'd beyond the common race,
Was cultivate by nature, art, and grace?
He was by temper suited to his state,
Without inheritance both rich and great:
As generous spirits manage and command
The wealth that Heav'n bestows, with lib'ral hand;
So knew his happy mind the value just
Of earthly things, nor was enslav'd to dust.
His conversation's aromatic smell
Did strongly melancholic fogs dispel:
As rushing sun-beams kindly chase away
The gloomy vapours that obscure the day
Such wealth of wit both grace and nature brought
To fit his mind for loftiness of thought;
So native was his graceful eloquence,
Displaying always sublimated sense.
Such pleasure did his balmy lips impart,
That every sentence conquer'd every heart.
The lovely graces in his bosom found
Diffus'd ambrosial odours all around.
His social charms, with captivating art,
Made him of every company the heart,
The cheerful agent of so sweet a part.
Not fav'ring winds to voyagers at sea,
Nor genial show'rs to parched earth can be
More grateful than his pleasant company.
Still bright and cheering, like the sun at noon,
His mind, his joyful harp was still in tune.
Hence us to weary swains with toil opprest,
Beneath a sylvan shade relaxing rest;
As to the scorched traveller when first
He finds a crystal stream to quench his thirst;
Such were his virtues bright of every kind,
So sweet, so charming to our ravish'd mind.
Too rarely such conjunctions e'er take place,
As wit with wisdom, join'd with learning, grace;
Yet these concent'ring in his manly breast,
Around their pow'rs benign did manifest,
In him we saw two distant virtues join'd,
Heroic greatness and a humble mind;
His lofty soul fram'd to invade the skies,
Could stoop with obvious charms to vulgar eyes.
Here also rare disjunctions we could see,
Great cheerfulness disjoin'd from levity,
And mirth from folly most remote and free.
Thus seem'd he form'd into a paradise
Of pleasant plants without a weed of vice.
When thrown 'midst dang'rous wild society,
He always 'scaped from their infection free.
His pow'rful rhetoric, like a mighty chain,
Could bind the madness of the frantic brain.
Of empty witlings soon he got the chase,
By ready answers, or of wit or grace;
Which quickly could the heedless ramblers tame,
Or flush their conscious cheek with spreading shame.
If lewed buffoons durst e'er before him sit,
Soon were their scarcasms mercilesly twit,
Or torn to shread with happy turns of wit;
Of wit refin'd, which quickly down could throw
Their silly banter with an easy blow.
So strong his inward vigour still remain'd,
Such ground on adverse minds he ever gain'd,
His soul emerg'd undaunted and unstain'd.
His lofty mind that stoop'd to humble things,
Soon to her native skies could stretch her wings;
From earth to heav'n could in a moment move,
From toys below to solid joys above.
And penetrate, with his interior sight,
Celestial regions and the realms of light.
The heav'ns, so lavish of their rays refin'd.
Shed down whole floods of knowledge on his mind,
He got enobling views of heav'nly bliss;
Saw glorious wonders in that vast abyss.
And what he had divinely learn'd from thence.
Could in familiar language soon dispense.
From meaner things his mind without a damp,
Could instantly shine forth a burning lamp.
A flaming banner in Devotion's camp.
Thus heav'n and earth in him did joyful meet,
Nature and grace their lovely charms unite.
His mortal lips could touch immortal themes,
And tell I MMANUEL'S everlasting names.
Far could he stretch on bold advent'rous wings,
In high discourse and open heav'nly things.
His diction did heroic thoughts display,
Not in the florid nor the bombast way;
But with such high, yet humble rhetoric arm'd,
Nobles were gratified, and commons charm'd.
Seraphic principles and graces bright,
In him conspired to display their might.
His language shew'd a judgment most profound,
A depth too large for common lines to sound;
Which made both wit and learning quit the field,
And blushing to his brighter talent yield.
Still regnant here sound judgment, solid thought,
Truth when he spoke, and triumph when he fought:
His words gave all antagonists a wound,
That did or soon convince, or soon confound:
Such strength of reason gave his breath the sound.
Heretics vanquish'd sank beneath the load,
As Dagon fell before the ark of God.
Soon dazzl'd with the shining beams of sense,
And drown'd as with a flood of eloquence.
Such strength of wit and reason kept the field,
Each adverse mind with shame behov'd to yield.
The force of opposition rude was broke,
How soon our eloquent Apollo spoke.
He never once like fierce disputers fought,
That lose their mind in a wild maze of thought,
No loss of thought could shut his fluent lips,
Nor loss of words his lucid thought eclipse.
In his most sharp encounters we could find
No ebullitions of a bitter mind;
No stormy passion rose, no clamorous noise
To make his fav'rites blush, or foes rejoice:
But still with meekness like a mighty charm,
Did quickly all opposing pow'rs disarm.
He up or down could move with bridle-hand
The passions rude of others at command;
And yet himself sedate and moveless stand.
He such a disputant for truth appear'd,
'Gainst errors such victorious trophies rear'd,
His nervous tongue that held the sacred plea,
Was steel'd with such a conqu'ring energy;
One would have thought that did the hellish crew
With heav'nly choir their old dispute renew
'Bout Moses corpse; the cherubs might have chose
His tongue the weapon to defeat the foes:
And found their cause sustain no detriment
By lips in arguing so bellipotent.
For when he rose, down (in effect) to hell
The dusky dregs precipitated fell:
As does the rising morn with rosy light
Adorn the skies, and put the shades to flight.
In public work he taught with solemn awe
The peaceful gospel and the fiery law.
Most sweetly did the cunning harper rove
Through all the labours of our Saviour's love:
While from his eloquent, mellifluous tongue
The streams of heav'nly rhetoric run along.
The holy theme was trim'd with lovely bait:
Each word was massy, and each sentence great.
Free from each pageantry of knowing fools,
And all the loose opinions of the schools.
His tongue seraphic did attention draw,
Below dispensing what above he saw;
With skill divine unvail'd to human eyes
Dark oracles and opened all the skies.
Angels that into gospel mysteries pry,
To's fluent lips might for instruction fly.
Who could more plain the mystic knots unfold
Than Oedipus the fabl'd riddle of old.
Heav'n form'd his mind great gospel-depths to trace,
His mouth to sound the silver trump of grace;
To speak the grandeur of the Saviour G OD ;
To blaze his righteousness divine abroad;
And 'gainst their face the flaming sword to draw
Whose legal strain affronts the royal law
He doom'd harangues that 'gainst the light offend,
And gospel-grace with pagan morals blend,
That make not Christ, but self their spring, their end.
In teaching moral duties, great or small,
He told the share that should to Jesus fall,
Was like his name, the First, the Last, the All.
His doctrine ev'ry gloomy shade dispell'd;
His refutations more and more excell'd;
For here we saw his lofty mind still higher,
Dashing black error down with holy ire,
And fencing beauteous truth around with walls of fire.
Hence anti-evangelic schemes refin'd
Were driven like chaff before the whirl-wind.
So bright he shone, ev'n in a private sphere,
Ere he possest the ministerial chair:
We've seen him with a Proc'tor's work in hand
The listening ears of Senators command.
With fluent lips, strong sense, and decent port,
Attract the heart and eyes of all the court,
And take them captive like a rend'ring fort.
In civil laws expert, in sacred more;
His head a lib'rary of learning bore;
So fill'd with foreign and domestic store;
Here seem'd amass'd as much within one span,
As all the volumes of the Vatican.
Should we Pythagoras' old fancy grant,
That souls retir'd did other bodies haunt;
We yet might search to find the man we want.
Who hath his great acumen? who his brain,
His heart, his tongue? Alas, the search is vain;
His mantle has not dropt upon the plain.
Lo! now his death had hid the fulgent light,
And wrapt us in the shades of gloomy night.
The running years of ecclesiastic thrall
Make up the night portended by the fall.
But, had be stay'd: What then? A question seem'd,
To which in answer thus by night we dream'd.
" False reason cover'd with a florid stile,
So quickly blush'd when he expos'd the guile:
We might have seen, we thought, had he but stay'd,
Truth riding more triumphant by his aid:
Her equal cause more uncontrol'd by far
Had he appear'd puissant at the bar.
Would Zion's eyes have seen her faithful sons
Disgorge the M ARROW , and digest the bones?
Her serious clerks with numbers sport themselves:
And for twelve Brethern , Queries hatch by twelves ?
Would rowers into waters great have brought
The shatter'd vessel with so little thought?
Would Arius ' ghost got leave t' appear, and shew
The Webster's slighted libel too too true?
Would furious minds have turn'd the church's keys,
To galling spurs and riding committees?
Would o'er the brethern arbitrary sway
Have thrown a whole quaternity away?
Would rage have hasted with a violent rush,
To ruining extremes her pow'r to push,
Had C UTHBERT stay'd to put her to the blush?
No, no; we thought, had we our Atlas here
His head would have upheld the falling sphere. "
Thus vain we thought, and wish'd him living still;
Yet fear his life had brought a greater ill:
For jealous, Heav'n might see us on the road
Of homage to him as a guardian God;
And therefore made his days a narrow span,
Lest we deprav'd had idolized the man,
Who in the senates could have led the van.
Such is the dubious state of mortals here,
We know not what to wish or what to fear.
Dark clouds envelope, till the labouring mind
Be to the wise dispose of Heav'n resign'd.
Heav'n thought his death a stroke too too severe,
Too troublous for a peaceful hemisphere;
And therefore then did shake the British globe
With th' insurrection of a furious mob:
That noise of blood and arms, of swords and spears,
Might drown the clamours of our mournful lyres:
That burning flames of rude intestine wrath
Might dry the tears of sorrow for his death;
Lest floods of grief had swell'd beyond their shore,
And like a deluge drown'd the earth once more.
Heav'n wrathful sent the messenger of death,
Then to demand our C UTHBERT'S precious breath,
To venge the crying guilt of daring crimes,
And scourge the bold rebellion of the times.
This Phaenix rare, whose life the earth desir'd,
Then Phaenix-like in chearful flames expir'd.
He from his life's decay could joy conceive,
And kindle into transport at a grave.
For, though his conscious mind could own her slips:
And kindly wail the errors of its lips;
Which might, he though, in praise of Jesus more
Have daily lavish'd out her fluent store:
Yet, living high by faith, could joyful go
Through all the loud alarms of death below.
Nor can the soul that to I MMANUEL clings,
Whose courage from the depth of knowledge springs,
Fear inevitable and destin'd things.
The pleasant mould in which kind Heav'n him cast,
Maintain'd amidst the formidable blast,
His charming cheerful temper to the last.
His inward pulse, as death advanced nigh,
Beat strong with vigorous immortality.
Upward we saw his heav'n-born spirit rise,
And boldly claim acquaintance with the skies.
He on a death-bed could auditors teach,
And his own glorious resurrection preach;
And press the good, the holy gospel-way,
By all the glories of the awful day.
He spoke his Master's name, his words, and wounds,
Then stretch'd and soar'd beyond time's narrow bounds,
To speak his praise in more majestic sounds.
His soul expanding her immortal wings,
Lost by degrees the sight of mortal things.
With him once conjunct in the past'ral chair,
We saw the Gospel-herald, worthy M AIR ,
Constrain'd his wonted theme to supersede,
And from the pulpit, o'er the hearse to bleed,
And blaze abroad the praises of the dead.
Declaring " by his death that day there fell,
" A great man; yea, a prince in Israel. "
See now, though yet the colours dark appear,
The picture of the famous C UTHBERT here.
My pencil having drawn but half the man,
Must leave unfinish'd what it rash began.
These honour'd with his converse once will find
His livelier image pictur'd on their mind.
We see him fall, and to augment the moan.
The great, the grave, judicious B OSTON gone,
Who once, like Athanasius bold, stood firm alone.
Whose golden pen to future times will bear
His fame, till in the clouds his Lord appear.
With him blest Hogg , the venerable sage,
The humble witness 'gainst the haughty age,
Was swept, with other worthies, off th' unworthy stage.
But thus if Horsemen and Commanders die,
How can, alas! the Infantry but fly?
We dread our fine new Lights the Church enthrall,
When former glorious Luminaries fall,
But, hark! are now these bright and stately forms
A despicable prey to greedy worms?
True! but, behold! their better part survives,
And Zion's glorious K ING for ever lives.