The Lyon in Mourning, Vol. 1

Upon the Tenth of June, 1747. ¹⁸⁰

 
Let universal mirth now rear its head,
And joy, exulting, o'er the nation spread.
Let all this day forget each anxious fear,
And cease to mourn the ills which Britons bear —
This day, which once auspicious to our Isle,
Did all its long expecting hopes fulfil,
Gave to the world Great Britain's glorious heir,
Th' accomplishment of vows and ardent pray'r.
 
 
The hero now in good old age appears,
By Heav'n propitious, brought to sixty years;
While all th' admiring world do justly own
Their present wonder, fix'd on him alone —
Him whom no pow'r can force, no art persuade [fol. 398.]
To shake that basis so securely laid
On inborn virtue, which maintains its reign
While all the storms of fortune rage in vain.
He thro' the dusky gloom more bright does shine,
And in the ambient cloud appears divine.
Remove the cloud, kind Heav'n, and shew that ray
Sparkling in brightest splendour of the day!
Content with trials of misfortunes past,
Allow deserved honours at the last!
 
 
Had I been born with Homer's fertil vein,
Or softer genius of the Mantuan swain,
To've rais'd an Iliad in my sov'reign's praise,
And sing his fame in never-dying lays,
The world had first admir'd his manly state,
And wonder'd how he strove with adverse fate.
The future glories of our monarch now
Had swell'd my song, and made my numbers grow.
But tho' my muse does no such fire impart,
The mind is faithful and sincere the heart.
 
 
Then while in humble notes our joy we sing,
Paying our private homage to the king,
Bright Phœbus, gild each corner of the sky, }
And with new lustre feed our dazled eye,     }
T'inspire our mirth and animate our joy.      }
But see, the face of Heav'n begins to frown,
The sullen, heavy day goes low'ring on. [fol. 399.]
The sun in mists and vapours hides his head,
And gloomy darkness o'er the world is spread.
Hear, Heav'n's hoarse voice runs murmuring thro' the sky,
And pales of horrid thunder dreadful fly.
Flashes of lightning thro' the air do gleam.
And Æther seems but one continued flame;
Clouds dash'd on clouds with utmost fury rend,
And on the drowned earth their watery ruines send.
 
 
Kind Heav'n! is this the pomp that thou dost raise?
This thy rejoicing on festival days?
To hear thy angry threats proclaim aloud
Thy dismal vengeance on the guilty crowd,
We kiss the hand from whence these terrors come.
And own our well-deserved and fatal doom.
We take the omen which thou'rt pleased to give.
Our errors we repent. Then let us live.
Thou spurn'st to see this day neglected lie,
Another shining with vain pageantry.
Since then in anger once thou hast declar'd
That vice no more shall triumph with regard.
Let all the plagues of murder now be flung
On these curst bratts from whom our mischief sprung.
 
 
There's ruffling work abroad, and hence must flow
Mutations here, th' usurper's overthrow.
Tho' at some distance, yet methinks I hear
Most pleasant news – the Restoration's near.
Receive the off'rings which we humbly make;
Appease thy fury ere thy vengeance break.
Accept our penitence, and let us see
Our monarch glorious and our country free.
 

SOLILOQUY, September 29th, 1746

29 Sept. 1746

 
This prop and that successively decays.[fol. 400.]
Strokes thicken; each alarm my heart dismays,
Widow'd of ev'ry earthly flatt'ring joy.
Sorrows on sorrows roll without alloy.
My country bleeds, and in its ruines lie
Thousands. My all's perhaps condemned to die.
Amaz'd, o'erwhelmed, without one cheering ray,
From those dread scenes, when shall I wing my way?
To Thee, great God, I lift my fainting soul,
Who fierce, devouring passions canst controul.
Nature, convulsive, wrapt in furious forms,
Calms at thy word. Contend shall mortal worms?
If partial ill promotes the gen'ral good,
Tho' nature shrinks, I kiss the angry rod.
This, this alone, my spirits can sustain,
That thou supreme o'er all the world dost reign.
When I or mine, howe'er decreed to fall,
Shall turn to dust, be our eternal all.
Meanwhile, inspire with fortitude divine;
In prisons and in death, thy face make shine.
Thy smiles, O God! each trial can unsting,
And out of gall itself can sweetness bring.
 
 
O Liberty! O Virtue! O my Country!
Tell me, ye wise, now sunk in deep despair,
Where grows the med'cine for oppressive care?
Where grows it not? th' ingenious Pope replies;
'To make the happy, friend, be good, be wise;
Add only competence to health and peace,
You need no more to perfect happiness.'
 
 
O strangers to the sorrows of the mind, [fol. 401.]
The load of ills that oft afflicts mankind!
One chain of woes another still succeeds.
Our friends are martyr'd, and our country bleeds.
Humanity's too weak these ills to bear;
Too plain a proof no happiness is here.
Must we, content, slavery's curse endure,
Nor bravely wish, nor once attempt a cure?
Will rebel-murderers from blood refrain?
Will corrupt statesmen liberty maintain?
Will Britain clear her long-contracted scores
On armies, fleets, for Hanover and whores?
Will justice flourish, will our trade increase,
Our fame grow greater, or our taxes less?
 
 
Bid things impossible in our natures rise!
Bid knaves turn honest, nay, bid fools turn wise!
Bid France keep faith! Bid England show her zeal,
And fight as well as wish to turn the scale!
Bid sympathy forsake my joyless breast,
Or miracles revive to give me rest!
 
 
In private life may happiness be found
With those who only live, or who abound?
Mark all estates, and shew me if you can,
What's more precarious than the bliss of man.
Amidst his joys, uncertain to possess,
The fear of losing makes the pleasure less.
Thus one's tormented with foreboding pain,
Another's wretched thro' desire of gain.
Some who enjoy health, peace, and competence,
Are still unhappy; they've but common sense.
The man of genius, brighter far and great, [fol. 402.]
Would gladly change for a genteel estate.
 
 
In ev'ry station discontent we see;
Each thinks his neighbour happier than he.
Search the world o'er, 'tis doubtful if you find
One man's condition fitted to his mind.
Alternate real or imagin'd woes
Disturb our life and all our joys oppose.
Nor can my muse the mournful tale avoid,
What numbers zeal and brav'ry have destroy'd,
The gen'rous, faithful, uncorrupted band,
Design'd deliv'rers of a sinking land.
Tho' good, unfortunate; oppress'd, tho' brave;
See spiteful foes pursue them to the grave.
Unshaken loyalty is all their crime,
And struggling with their chains a second time.
For this they suffer worse than traitor's fate,
Condemned by knaves and furies of the state,
In loathsome dungeons close confin'd they lie,
To feel a thousand deaths before they die.
At last these heroes must resign their breath,
And close the scene with ignominious death.
Thus ev'n the best their virtue has undone,
And fix'd the slav'ry which they sought to shun.
 
 
How then shall man attain the state of bliss?
In t' other world he may, but not in this.
Unjustly, therefore, some we happy call. [fol. 403.]
More or less wretched is the fate of all.
 

Upon the different Accounts of the behaviour of the two executed lords (Kilmarnock and Balmerino), taken out of an English Newspaper

 
If Ford and Foster haply disagree,
What is a trivial circumstance to me.
But this of their two heroes I remark,
Howe'er the historians leave us in the dark,
Old Rough and Tugged much outmann'd the Earl,
And tho' mistaken was a steady carl.
The Earl's conversion is an obvious thing,
If not to Christ, at least to George our king.
 

Arthurus, Dominus de Balmerino, decollatus 18 die Augusti 1746, ætatis suæ 58. By a Lady

 
Here lies the man, to Scotland ever dear,
Whose honest breast ne'er felt a guilty fear.
By principle, not mean self int'rest, sway'd,
The victor left to bring the vanquish'd aid;
His courage manly, but his words were few,
Content in poverty, and own'd it too.
In life's last scene with dignity appears,
Not for himself, but for his country, fears;
Pities the graceful partner of his fall,
And nobly wishes he might die for all.
Ev'n enemies, convinc'd, his worth approv'd: [fol. 404.]
He fell admir'd, lamented, and belov'd.
 

The above turned into the form of an Inscription

 
Here lies Arthur, Lord Balmerino,
Whose memory will be ever dear to his country.
Religiously strict and judicious in the choice
Of his principles and maxims of life,
With an inflexible constancy was he attached to them.
He left the service of George, in which he bore some rank,
To join the sinking cause of the injured James,
After the woeful defeat at Dumblane.
He was a man of great personal courage
And remarkable modesty
In a corrupted age, asham'd of nothing but want.
He bore unmerited poverty with a Roman greatness of soul.
In the closing scene of life
He behaved with surprizing dignity,
Expressing a warm regard for his unhappy country
And vindicating his own honour and that of the injured Charles P.
Feelingly he express'd a generous concern for his companion,
And nobly wish'd he alone might suffer for the cause.
He triumphed over calumny, silenced his enemies
Struck with admiration at his uncommon intrepidity,
And fell admired, lamented, esteemed by all.
 

Upon the same

 
Here Arthur lies, the rest forbear;
There may be treason in a tear.
Yet this bold soger may find room
Where scepter'd tyrants dare not come.
 

[fol. 405.]

Upon the death of Sir Alexander MacDonald, ¹⁸¹ etc

 
If Heav'n be pleas'd when sinners cease to sin;
If Hell be pleas'd when sinners enter in;
If earth be pleas'd to lose a truckling knave;
Then all are pleas'd – MacDonald's in his grave.
 

Spoken extempore on Lovat's Execution, by a lover of all those who will and dare be honest in the worst of times

 
None but the hangman, Murray,¹⁸² or some tool,
Could from his heart say Lovat was a fool.
Yet ev'ry coxcomb will explain and teach
The chain of causes that surpass his reach.
When soft Kilmarnock,¹⁸³ trembling, came to bleed,
He fell a traitor and a wretch indeed.
His coward soul the canting preacher awes,
He weeps and dies a rebel to the cause.
'Twas hope of pardon; 'twas fanatick fear;
And none but Hanoverians dropt a tear.
 
 
Brave Balmerino, whom no words can paint,
Embrac'd his martyrdom and died a saint.
He sprang triumphant to a better state,
By all confest, superiour to his fate.
 
 
If Ratcliffe's¹⁸⁴ youthful crimes receiv'd their due, [fol. 406.]
Ratcliffe was steady, bold and loyal too.
This much be said, to palliate his offence,
Howe'er he liv'd, he died a man of sense.
 
 
But Frazer was a man by Heav'n decreed
Not quite so legible for fools to read.
Him in his manly labyrinth they mistook,
And partial to their wit the clue forsook.
He has no policy when none they find,
And is not visible when they are blind.
As the sun's course thro' various scenes does wind
From one great principle to one great end;
So did his actions, words and deeds combine
To perfect and accomplish one design.
For this alone he labours to be great;
For this he courts his honours and estate;
For this in secret he his faith conceals;
For this invents a plot and then reveals;
For this holds combat with domestick strife,
And seizes, like old Rome, a Sabine wife;
Wins confidence from artful foes by art,
And on the statesman plays the statesman's part.
The making one great stake, and that his last,
He ventures all on the important cast
On which the whole of's happiness depends,
His life, his fortune, family and friends.
All, all's too little for the glorious cause.
If he had won (for there the difference lies),
That very crowd his triumph would attend
Who lately came, to view his noble end.
 

[fol. 407.]

Upon a young lady, who died on seeing her lover, ¹⁸⁵ Mr Dawson, ¹⁸⁶ executed on the 30th of July 1746

 
As the fair martyr her dear lover saw
Lie the pale victim of inhuman law,
His gen'rous blood distilling all around,
And life, swift ebbing, thro' each crimson wound;
It seemed as if from mortal passion freed
She blest his death, for honour doom'd to bleed.
But when, high-raised, she saw the panting heart,
Now let thy handmaid, Heav'n! she cried, depart
Be Judge, O Thou, whose ballance sways above!
Receive our souls to pardon and to love!
At once she burst the feeble bonds of clay,
And her free soul, exulting, springs away.
To endless bliss, they issue, out of pain.
One moment separates, and joins again.
 

The Contrast set in its proper light. Said to be done by a lady

 
Fam'd were the bards of old untainted days,
When only merit felt the breath of praise.
When Heav'n-born muses taught the tuneful lay,
The brave to honour and the good display,
Virtue's fair form, tho' hid in rags, to sing,
And loath the baneful court and sinful king.
 
 
But now (sad change!) no more the poet's theme
Tastes thy chaste waters, Hippocrenè's stream.
His breast no more the sacred sisters urge, [fol. 408.]
Of truth the patrons and of vice the scourge.
Venal, he seeks the court, and shuns the lawn,
On pride to flatter and on pow'r to fawn;
Pour forth his incense at the country's shrine,
And raise th' usurping race to race divine.
He who would toil in Honour's ard'ous tract
Must virtue seek alone for virtue's sake,
For now to merit are unwonted things
The breath of poets and the smiles of kings.
 
 
See where the rhiming throng on William wait,
And patch up ev'ry worth to make him great;
Sing how he triumph'd on fair Clifton's Green,
And how his mind is lovely as his mien;
Call ancient heroes from their seat of joy,
To see their fame outshadow'd by a boy;
Rob ev'ry urn and ev'ry page explore,
And tell now Cæsar's deeds are deeds no more;
No more shall guide the war, nor fire the song,
But William be the theme of ev'ry tongue,
While Brunswick-kings Britannia's throne shall grace,
And George's virtues live in George's race.
 
 
Such is the theme the flatt'ring songsters chuse,
And oh, how worthy of the theme the muse!
While, lo! a youth arises in the north
Of royal virtues as of royal birth;
Of worth, which in the dawn of ages, shewn
Without the claim of birth, had gain'd a throne.
Tho' in him ev'ry grace and glory join
To add new lustre to the Stewart's line;
Tho' Vict'ry makes the youthful Charles her care, [fol. 409.]
No bard attends on his triumphal car.
On firmer base he builds his sure applause,
Recover'd freedom and protected laws.
 
 
Say, Scotland, say, for thou must surely know;
You felt the rapture, and you feel the woe.
Say, when he trode upon the kindly earth,
The genial soil which gave his fathers birth,
Did not his outstretched hand with bounty spread
Paternal blessings on thy children's heads;
Hush them to peace amidst the din of war,
And still the matron's sigh and virgin's fear?
Bid peaceful plenty wave along the plain
The untouch'd harvest of the golden grain?
Did not the youth, enliven'd with his flame,
Glow for the fight and ardent pant for fame?
Strove not each rev'rend sage and hoary sire
His worth to honour and his sense admire?
Did not his form, with ev'ry beauty grac'd,
Raise a chaste rapture in each virgin's breast?
But when he quits the scene of soft delight,
The graceful measure for the deathful fight,
Say, saw thy plains (where many a deathless name,
Where Bruce, where Wallace, fought their way to fame,
Where Douglas, race heroick, nobly rose,
Secur'd thy freedom and expell'd thy foes) —
Saw they e'er one amongst the chieftain throng,
So ripe in glory and in years so young;
Whose pride not more to vanquish than to save,
In conquest gentle as in action brave?
Like Philip's son, victorious in the course
With skill superiour and inferiour force;
Like Xenophon, secure midst hostil bands, [fol. 410.]
He led his glorious few from distant lands,
And join'd to sense of head the fire of heart,
Of one the courage, and of one the art.
 
 
While virtue lives, while honour has a name,
While acts heroic fill the rolls of fame,
First in the list shall Gladesmuir have a place,
And Falkirk-plain, mark, Hawley! thy disgrace.
Now change the scene and show the sad reverse,
Where winter blasts th' autumnal smiles disperse;
Where the fierce Hanover directs the storm
And Hawley joys his mandates to perform.
To whom compar'd an Alva's name is sweet,
Brave in the field tho' cruel in the State.
See thro' the land how hostil fury burns
And peopled vales to rueful deserts turns!
See how the smoking country round thee groans,
Invokes in vain thy desolated towns!
See age unrev'renc'd, dragg'd from peaceful ease
And join'd in dreary jayls to loath'd disease!
Before their sires see ravished maids complain,
And raise their beaut'ous eyes to Heav'n in vain.
Oh! more than savage, who pursue their rage
On bloom of beauty and the hoar of age!
 
 
And what exploits exalt this hero's praise?
Where spring the laurels which your poets raise?
Spring they from conquest o'er the village tame,
The sire enfeebled and the aged dame.
 
 
View well this sketch and say of which the face [fol. 411.]
Presents the royal mark of Scotland's race.
He who would save thee from destruction's blast,
Or he who lays thy beauties in the dust?
 
 
So judg'd of old the good King David's heir
With nice discernment the deserving fair;
Repuls'd the dame who cruel would destroy,
And blest the feeling mother with her boy.
 

A CATCH, 1746

 
Here's a health to the King, the Prince and the Duke.
May all loyal subjects say – God bless the three!
Come weal or come woe, to my master I'll go,
And follow his standard, wherever it be.
I'll chear up my heart with a health to my master,
In hopes of another Dundee or Montrose.
I'm heartily griev'd for my Prince's disaster.
God save him, and send him the heart of his foes!
 

To Mr. Secretary Murray, on his turning evidence. By the Rev. Mr. Thomas Drummond, Edinburgh, 1747

Quantum mutatus ab illo

 
To all that Virtue's holy ties can boast,
To truth and honour and to manhood lost,
How hast thou wand'red from the sacred road,
The paths of honesty, the pole to God?
O fallen! fallen from the high degree
Of spotless fame and pure integrity!
Where all that gallantry that fill'd your breast, [fol. 412.]
The pride of sentiment, the thought profest,
Th' unbiass'd principle, the gen'rous strain
That warm'd your blood, and beat in ev'ry vein?
All! all are fled! Once honest, steady, brave,
How great the change – to coward, traitor, knave!
O! hateful love of life that prompts the mind,
The godlike, great and good, to leave behind;
From wisdom's laws, from honour's glorious plan,
From all on earth that dignifies the man,
With steps unhallow'd wickedly to stray
And trust and friendship's holy bands betray.
Curs'd fear of death, whose bugbear terrors fright
Th' unmanly breast from suff'ring in the right
That strikes the man from th' elevated state,
From ev'ry character and name of great,
And throws him down beneath the vile degree
Of galley'd slaves, or dungeon villainy.
 
 
O Murray! Murray! once of truth approv'd,
Your Prince's darling, by his party lov'd;
When all were fond your worth and fame to raise,
And expectation spoke your future praise.
How could you sell that Prince, that cause, that fame,
For life enchain'd to infamy and shame?
See gallant Arthur,¹⁸⁷ whose undaunted soul
No dangers frighten, and no fears controul;
With unconcern the ax and block surveys,
And smiles at all the dreadful scene displays;
While undisturb'd his thoughts so steddy keep
He goes to death, as others go to sleep.
Gay midst their gibbets and devouring fire [fol. 413.]
What numbers hardy in the cause expire!
But what are these to thee? examples vain.
Yet see, and blush, if still the pow'r remain.
Behold the menial hand,¹⁸⁸ that broke your bread,
That wiped your shoes, and with your crumbs was fed;
When life and riches proffer'd to his view
Before his eyes the strong temptation threw,
Rather than quit integrity of heart,
Or act like you the unmanly traitor's part,
Disdains the purchase of a worthless life,
And bares his bosom to the butch'ring knife;
Each mean compliance gallantly denies,
And in mute honesty is brave and dies.
While you, tho' tutor'd from your early youth
To all the principles of steddy truth;
Tho' station, birth, and character conspire
To kindle in your breast the manly fire;
Friends, reputation, conscience, all disclaim.
To glory lost, and sunk in endless shame,
For the dull privilege to breathe the air,
For everlasting infamy declare,
And down to late posterity record
A name that's curs'd, abandon'd, and abhorr'd.
 
 
Go, wretch! enjoy the purchase you have gain'd. [fol. 414.]
Scorn and reproach your ev'ry step attend.
By all mankind neglected and forgot
Retire to solitude, retire and rot.
But whither? whither can the guilty fly
From the devouring worms that never die;
Those inward stings that rack the villain's breast,
Haunt his lone hours and break his tortur'd rest?
Midst caves, midst rocks and deserts you may find
A safe retreat for all the human kind.
But to what foreign region can you run,
Your greatest enemy, yourself, to shun?
Where'er thou go'st, wild anguish and despair
And black remorse attend with hideous stare;
Tear your distracted soul with torments fell,
Your passions devils, and your bosom hell.
 
 
Thus may you drag your heavy chain along,
Some minutes more inglorious life prolong.
And when the fates shall cut a coward's breath,
Weary of being, yet afraid of death;
If crimes like thine hereafter are forgiv'n,
Judas and Murray both may go to Heav'n.