Oh! if in life one noble Chief appears, Great in his name, while blooming in his years; Born to enjoy whate'er delights mankind, And yet to all you feel or fear resign'd; Who gave up joys and hopes to you unknown, For pains and dangers greater than your own! If such there be, then let your murmurs cease, Think, think of him, and take your lot in peace. And such there was:-Oh! grief, that checks our pride, Weeping we say there was, for MANNERS died; Belov'd of Heaven, these humble lines forgive, That sing of Thee,* and thus aspire to live. As the tall Oak, whose vigorous branches form An ample shade and brave the wildest storm, High o'er the subject Wood is seen to grow, The guard and glory of the Trees below; Till on its head the fiery bolt descends, And o'er the plain the shatter'd trunk extends;
* Lord ROBERT MANNERS, the youngest son of the Marquis of Granby and the Lady Frances Seymour, daughter of Charles Duke of Somerset, was born the 5th of February, 1758, and was placed with his brother, the late Duke of Rutland, at Eton-School, where he acquired, and ever after retained, a considerable knowledge of the classical authors.
Lord ROBERT, after going through the duties of his profession on board different ships, was made Captain of the RESOLUTION, and commanded her in nine different actions, besides the last memorable one, on the 2d of April, 1782, when, in breaking the French Line of Battle, he received the wounds which terminated his life, in the 24th year of his age.
See the Annual Register, printed for Mr. Dodsley.
Yet then it lies, all wond'rous as before,
And still the Glory, though the Guard no more.
SO THOU, when every virtue, every grace,
Rose in thy soul, or shone within thy face;
When, though the Son of GRANBY, Thou wert known
Less by thy Father's glory than thy own;
When Honour lov'd, and gave Thee every charm,
Fire to thy eye and vigour to thy arm ;
Then from our lofty hopes and longing eyes,
Fate and thy virtues call'd Thee to the skies:
Yet still we wonder at thy tow'ring fame,
And loosing Thee, still dwell upon thy Name.
Oh! ever honour'd, ever valued! say
What Verse can praise Thee, or what Work repay?
Yet Verse (in all we can) thy worth repays,
Nor trusts the tardy zeal of future days;—
Honours for Thee thy Country shall prepare,
Thee in their hearts, the Good, the Brave, shall bear;
To deeds like thine shall noblest Chiefs aspire,
The Muse shall mourn Thee, and the world admire.
In future times, when smit with glory's charms,
The untry'd youth first quits a Father's arms;
"Oh! be like him," the weeping Sire shall say,
"Like MANNERS walk, who walk'd in Honour's way;
"In danger foremost, yet in death sedate,
"Oh! be like him in all things, but his fate!"
If for that fate such public tears be shed,
That victory seems to die now THOU art dead
How shall a Friend his nearer hope resign,
That Friend a Brother, and whose soul was thine;
By what bold lines shall we his grief express,
Or by what soothing numbers make it less?
'Tis not, I know, the chiming of a song,
Nor all the powers that to the Muse belong,
Words aptly cull'd and meanings well exprest,
Can calm the sorrows of a wounded breast;
But Virtue, soother of the fiercest pains,
Shall heal that bosom, RUTLAND, where she reigns.
Yet hard the task to heal the bleeding heart,
To bid the still-recurring thoughts depart;
Tame the fierce grief and stem the rising sigh,
And curb rebellious passion, with reply ;—
Calmly to dwell on all that pleas'd before,
And yet to know that all shall please no more ;—
Oh! glorious labour of the soul to save
Her captive powers, and bravely mourn the Brave.
To such, these thoughts will lasting comfort give-
Life is not measured by the time we live;
'Tis not an even course of threescore years,
A life of narrow views and paltry fears,
Grey-hairs and wrinkles and the cares they bring,
That take from Death, the terrors or the sting;
But 'tis the gen'rous Spirit, mounting high,
Above the world, that native of the sky;
The noble Spirit, that, in dangers brave,
Calmly looks on, or looks beyond the grave;
Such MANNERS was, so he resign'd his breath,
If in a glorious, then a timely, death.
Cease then that grief and let those tears subside, If Passion rule us, be that passion Pride;
If Reason, Reason bids us strive to raise
Our fallen hearts and be like Him we praise;
Or if Affection still the soul subdue,
Bring all his virtues, all his worth in view,
And let Affection find its comfort too:
For how can Grief so deeply wound the heart,
When Admiration claims so large a part?
Grief is a foe, expel him then thy soul,
Let nobler thoughts, the nearer views control;
Oh! make the Age to come thy better care,
See other RUTLANDS, other GRANBYS there;
And as thy thoughts through streaming ages glide,
See other Heroes die as MANNERS died :
And from their fate, thy race shall nobler grow,
As trees shoot upwards that are prun'd below;
Or as old THAMES borne down with decent pride,
Sees his young streams run warbling at his side;
Though some, by art cut off, no longer rún,
And some are lost beneath the Summer's Sun-
Yet the pure stream moves on, and as it moves,
Its power increases and its use improves ;
While Plenty round its spacious waves bestow,
Still it flows on, and shall for ever Яow.
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