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patronage of the present: which however he anticipates with a considerable degree of confidence, founded on the reputation of the Author; and the many signal occasions on which his compositions have received the stamp of general approbation and applause.

THE EDITOR.

ON

DEATH,

А

RESURRECTION FROM THE DEAD,

A FUTURE JUDGMENT,

AND AN ETERNAL WORLD TO COME.

THE following verses, having been originally printed with the first of the

following Sermons, ought not now to be separated from it. When the goodnatured reader is acquainted that they are a collection of the tears of a few young gentlemen, who were fellow students of the deceased, the author knows that he may depend on that candour in favour of them, which he

can only hope for, in favour of himself. The truly promising youth, who is the subject of them, died at Philadel.

phia, August 28th, 1754, being a stadent in the senior Philosophy Class of the College there. He was the second son of the Hon. Josiah MARTIN, Esq. of Antigua, and cousin to SAMUEL MARTIN, Esq. member of Parliament for Camelford, Treasurer to the Princess Dowager of Wales, and Secretary of the Treasury, to whom the Sermon was most respecte fully and gracefully inscribed.

TO THE AUTHOR,

ON HEARING HIS SERMON, UPON THE DEATH OF HIS HOPE

FUL PUPIL, OUR DEAR FELLOW STUDENT, MR. WILLIAM THOMAS MARTIN,

I CALL no aid, no muses to inspire,
Or teach my breast to feel a poet's fire;
Your soft expression of a grief sincere,
Brings from my soul a sympathetic tear.
Taught by your voice, my artless sorrows flow;
I sigh in verse, am eloquent in woe,
And loftier thoughts within my bosom glow.

VOL 1.

}

For when, in all the charms of language drest,
A manly grief flows, genuine, from the breast,
What gen'rous nature can escape the wounds,
Or steel itself against the force of melting sounds?

O! could I boast to move with equal art
The human soul, or melt the stony heart;
My long-lov'd friend should through my numbers shine,
Some virtue lost be wept in every line;
For virtues he had many.... 'Twas confest
That native sense and sweetness fill'd his breast.
But cooler reason checks the bold intent,
And, to the task refusing her consent,
This only truth permits me to disclose,
That in your own, you represent my woes;
And sweeter than my song,

is
your
harmonious prose!

F. HOPKINSON. College of Philadelphia, September 5, 1754.

ON THE SAME, BY A FELLOW STUDENT.

AND is your MARTIN gone? Is he no more,
That living truth, that virtue seen before?
Has endless night already hid the ray,
The early promise of his glorious day?
That grief, great Mourner! in such strains exprest,
Shews he was deep implanted in your breast.

Yet hark! soft-whispering reason seems to say,
Cease from your sorrows, wipe these tears away.
He's gone, he's past the gloomy shades of night,
Safe landed in th’eternal realms of light.
Happy exchange! to part with all below,
For worlds of bliss, where joys unfading flow,
And sainted souls with love and rapture glow.

S. MAGAW.. College of Philadelpbia, September 6, 1754.

ON THE SAME, BY A FELLOW STUDENT,

WHILE for a pupil lost, your sorrow flows,
In all the harmony of finish'd prose;
While melting crouds the pious accents hear,
Sigh to your sighs, and give you tear for tear;

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We too, in humble verse, would treat the theme,
And join our griefs to swell the general stream.
For we remember well his matchless power,
To steal upon the heart, and cheer the social hour.

-Ah! much lov'd friend! too soon thy beauties fade!
Too soon we count thee with the silent dead!
Thou, late the fairest plant in virtue's plain,
The brightest youth in wisdom's rising train;
By genius great, by liberal arts adorn’d,
By strangers seen and lov’d, by strangers mourn'd;
Blest in a tender brother's friendly breast;
And in paternal fondness doubly blest !
Art thou now sunk in death's tremendous gloom,
Wrapt in the awful horrors of a tomb?
Ah me! how vain all sublunary joy!
Woes following woes, our warmest hopes destroy!

But hark !....some voice celestial strikes mine ear,
And bids the muse her plaintive strains forbear.
“ Weep not, fond youths....it cries, or seems to cry....
“ He lives, your Martin lives, and treads the sky;
“ From care, from toil, from sickness snatch'd away,
" He shines amid the blazę of heaven's eternal day.

J. Duche. College of Philadelphia, September 7, 1754.

ON THE SAME,

CHECK, mournful preacher! check thy streaming woe, Pierce not our souls with grief too great to know; He joys above whom we lament below. Snatch'd from our follies here, he wing'd his way, To sing HOSANNAs in the realms of day. With him, the fight of life and death is o'er, And agonizing throes shall pain no more; No more shall fell disease, with wasteful rage, Blast the fair blossoms of his tender age ; Transplanted now, he blooms a heav'nly flow'r, Where spring eternal decks yon Amaranthine bower.

Thy pious sorrows, SMITH, to future days,
Shall bear his image, and transmit his praise.

Still, still I feel wlüt thy Discourse imprest,
When pity throb’d, congenial, in each breast :
When deep distress came thrilling from thy tongue,
And sympathizing crouds attentive hung.

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