Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow 45 51 By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd, By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd! 55 Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances, and the public show? Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb? While Angels with their silver wings o'ershade 60 65 70 Thence to their images on earth it flows, And in the breasts of Kings and Heroes glows. And sep❜rate from their kindred dregs below; Nor left one virtue to redeem her race. 15 20 25 30 35 But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood! See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, These cheeks now fading at the blast of death ; Cold is that breast which warm'd the world before, And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball, Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall: On all the line a sudden vengeance waits, And frequent herses shall besiege your gates; There passengers shall stand, and pointing say, (While the long fun'rals blacken all the way) Lo! these were they, whose souls the Furies steel'd, And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield. 40 Thus Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow 45 For others good, or melt at others woe. What can atone (oh ever-injur'd shade !) Thy fate unpity'd, and thy rites unpaid? No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear Pleas'd thy pale ghost, or grac'd thy mournful bier. By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos❜d, 51 By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd, By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd! 55 Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, To midnight dances, and the public show? бо Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb? 65 While Angels with their silver wings o'ershade 70 How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not, A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be! 74 Poets themselves must fall like those they sung, Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. Ev'n he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays, Shall shortly want the gen'rous tear he pays; Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part, And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart, 80 Life's idle business at one gasp be o'er, The Muse forgot, and thou beloy'd no more! PROLOGUE TO MR. ADDISON'S TRAGEDY OF CATO. TO wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart, To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, He bids your 5 ΙΟ 15 20 A brave |