To the MEMORY of Mr. HUGHES, BY MISS JUDITH COWPER *.
OUND HUGHES's humble, though diftinguish'd
The Muses, wreath'd with baleful cypress, mourn; In every face a deep distress appears,
Each eye o'erflows with tributary tears :
Such was the scene, when, by the gods requir'd,
Majestic Homer from the world retir'd:
Such grief the Nine o'er Maro's tomb bestow'd;
And tears like thefe for Addifon late flow'd.
Snatch'd from the earth, above its trifling praife, Thee, HUGHES, to happier climes thy fate conveys; 10 Eas'd of its load, thy gentle spirit roves,
Through realms refulgent, and celestial groves;
The toils of life, the pangs of death, are o'er,
And care, and pain, and sickness, are no more.
O may the spot that holds thy bleft remains,
(The nobleft spoil earth's fpacious breast contains,)
Its tribute pay; may richest flowers around,
Spring lightly forth, and mark the sacred ground;
There may thy bays its shady honours spread,
And o'er thy urn eternal odours shed;
* Daughter of Judge Cowper, afterwards married to Col. Martin Madan, author of the Progress of Poetry, &c. and still living, an ornament to her fex and age. Another of her compofitions is perfixed to the Poems of Mr. Pope. N.
Immortal as thy fame, and verse, ftill grow,
Till thofe fhall cease to live, and Thames to flow:
Nature fubdued foretold the great decline,
And every heart was plung'd in grief, but thine;
Thy soul, serene, the conflict did maintain,
And trac'd the phantom death, in years of pain;
Not years of pain thy steady mind alarm'd,
By judgment ftrengthen'd, and with virtue arm'd;
Still like thyself, when finking life ebb'd low,
Nor rafhly dar'd, nor meanly fear'd the blow;
Loofe to the world, of every grace possest,
Greatly refign'd, thou fought'it the stranger, REST:
Firm as his fate, so thy own Phocyas dy'd,
While the barb'd arrow trembled in his side.
Drawn by thy pen, the theory we see;
The practic part, too foon! beheld in thee.
Who now shall strike the lyre with skill divine,
Who to harmonious founds * harmonious numbers join! Who the rapacious tide of vice control,
And, while they charın the fenfe, reform the foul! 40
In whom the lovely fifter-arts unite,
With virtue, folid fenfe, and boundless wit?
Such was the turn of thy exalted mind,
Sparkling as polish'd gems, as purest gold refin'd.
Great Ruler of our paffions! who with art
Subdued the fierce, and warm'd the frozen heart,
Bid glory in our breasts with temper beat,
And valour, feperate from feverish heat,
* Opera of Calypfo and Telemachus.
Love, in its true, its genuine luftre rise,
And, in Eudocia, bid it charm our eyes.
Virtue diftreft, thy happy lines disclose,
With more of triumph than a conqueror knows;
Touch'd by thy hand, our ftubborn tempers bend,
And flowing tears the well-wrought scene attend,
That filent eloquence thy power approv'd
The caufe fo great, 'twas generous to be mov'd.
What pleasure can the bursting heart poffefs,
In the last parting, and severe distress ?
Can fame, wealth, honour, titles, joy bestow,
And make the labouring breaft with tranfport glow? 60
Thefe gaudy trifles gild our morning bright,
But O! how weak their influence on our night!
Then fame, wealth, honour, titles, vainly bloom,
Nor dart one beam of comfort on the gloom;
But if the ftruggling foul a joy receives,
'Tis in the just applause, that confcious virtue gives:
This blameless pride the dying HUGHES poffeft,
Soften'd his pain, fat lightly on his breast,
And footh'd his unoffending foul to rest.
Free from the bigot's fears, or stoick's pride,
Calm as our christian hero liv'd, he dy’d.
As on the utmoft verge of life he stood,
Ready to plunge, and feize th' immortal good,
Collecting all his rays diffus'd, in one,
His last great work with heighten'd lustre shone; 75 There his just fentiments, transferr'd, we view'd!
But, while our eyes the fhining path pursu'd,
And steep afcent his fteady judgment gain'd,
The fhining path, alas! alone remain'd.—
So when the fun to worlds unknown retires,
How ftrong! how boldly shoot his parting fires!
Larger his fetting orb our eyes confess,
Eager we gaze, and the full glory bless;
As o'er the heavens, fublime, his courfe extends,
With equal state, the radiant globe defcends,
Sinks, in a cloud of gold, and azure bright,
And leaves, behind, gay tracks of beamy light.
F for ourselves the tears profufely flow,
Too justly we indulge the tender woe,
Since thou in virtue's robes waft richly dreft,
And of fine arts abundantly poffeft!
But if we rather fhould congratulate
A friend's enlargement and exalted state;
Refign'd to Providence, what can we lefs
Than chearful hail thy long'd-for happiness,
Who now, releas'd from every piercing pain,
Doft in the realms of light triumphant reign!
MEMORY OF MR. HUGHES.
LOST too early! and too lately known!
My love's intended marks receive in one;
Where, new to ease, and recent from thy pains,
With ampler joy thou tread'ft the blissful plains:
If there, regardful of the ways of men,
Thou feeft with pity, what thou once hast been,
O gentle fhade! accept this humble verse,
Amidst the meaner honours of thy hearse.
How does thy Phocyas warm Britannia's youth,
In arms to glory, and in love to truth!
Oh! if the Muse of future aught presage,
These feeds shall ripen in the coming age;
Then youths, renown'd for many a field well-fought, Shall own the glorious leffons thou hast taught; Honour's ftrict laws fhall reign in every mind,
And every Phocyas his Eudocia find.
O! yet be this the lowest of thy fame,
To form the hero, and instruct the dame;
I fee the christian, friend, relation, son,
Burn for the glorious course that thou haft run. 20 If aught we owe thy pencil, or thy lyre,
Of manly ftrokes, or of fuperior fire,
How must thy Mufe be ever own'd divine,
And in the facred lift unrival'd shine!
Nor joyous health was thine, nor downy ease;
To thee forbidden was the foft recefs;
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