ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Rev. Jonathan Swift
Anonymous, "Verses sent to the Rev. Dr. Swift, D.S.P.D. on the Anniversary of his Birth, Nov. 30, 1736, with one of Wood's Copper Half-pence, inclosed" Gentleman's Magazine 6 (December 1736) 742.
Rev. Jonathan Swift:
1690: Sir William Temple
1704: William King
1713: Bp. Francis Atterbury
1713: Matthew Prior
1713: Alexander Pope
1716: Sir Richard Blackmore
1722: Matthew Concanen
1726: John Gay
1729: Thomas Cooke
1732: Rev. Jonathan Swift
1733: Patrick Delany
1733: P. B.
1734: A. V-gh-n
1734: John Sican
1737: Alexander Pope
1739: Edward Lonergan
1742: John Winstanley
1745 ca.: Anonymous
1745: C. B-r
1746: Henry Jones
1750: William Shenstone
1752: Nathaniel Weekes
1755: Robert Lloyd
1758: G. G.
1766: John Cunningham
1772: Rev. John Ball
1773: Samuel Johnson
1776: James Beattie
1782: Rev. Joseph Warton
1782: Rev. Joseph Warton
1783: Rev. Hugh Blair
1784: Thomas Sheridan
1788: A Young Author in Dublin
1796: Thomas Green
1797: William Godwin
1799: Lady Catherine Rebecca Manners
1802: Thomas Dermody
1806: Dr. John Aikin
1807: Robert Southey
1808: Thomas Clio Rickman
1814: Isaac D'Israeli
1814: Sir Walter Scott
1816: Leigh Hunt
1818: Samuel Taylor Coleridge
1818: William Hazlitt
1822: Tobias Oldschool
1824: Bryan Waller Procter
1826: Richard Ryan
1829: Anna Brownell Jameson
1846: Denis Florence M'Carthy
1858: Walter Savage Landor
1860: George Gilfillan
1880: Edmund Gosse
1882: Epes Sargent
The birth of kings be sung in venal strain,
Let monkies chatter to their brazen chain;
Not made the muse for painted courtiers ends,
Wou'd bless Hibernia, and she loves her friends;
In its true light can reptile greatness see,
And touch'd with glory, wou'd aspire to thee.
Sadd'ning our isle now mourns her antient lyre,
Robb'd of its harmony, and wonted fire;
Sprightly no more the echoing vallies ring,
The Drapier mute, and dumb its ev'ry string.
Accept this present, sir, ('tis all my store)
Design'd a med'cine to a realm before;
As quacks give opiates (their last moments nigh)
To racking patients who wou'd senseless die:
So — but 'tis past — at other views I drive,
Send it to warm, to keep thy rage alive.
Methinks I feel the passion in thy breast,
Lo! Wood and W— here in brass confest!
Recall a Kingdom once with freedom brave,
Sold by a knight, and purchas'd by a slave!
O'er drroping Ierne, see, a vulture flies!
See other Woods, and other W—s rise!
Rous'd by the hint, go, snatch the deathless pen;
'Twill fire thy blood, and man thee o'er ag'en!
Nature impair'd, as doctors sage maintain,
The juice of vipers can alone sustain;
Tho' spouting poison, let them feel thee still,
And hourly perish by the pointed quill!
Call'd when by heav'n (O late the mandate be!)
Come, come, my son, to glorious liberty!
Here in full joys eternal shalt thou find,
What there you've labour'd for distrest mankind.
Think you then easy to immortal day,
You'll break the barriers of the wretched clay?
Remove serenely to the seats of rest,
And life's warm passions beat in ev'ry breast?
O! no — we'll hold thee to the earthly line,
Or yield reluctant ev'n to pow'r divine!
Each gen'rous hand would stop the great decree,
Each soul in secret must rebel for thee!
This then thy natal day, new life begin;
Still shield from slavery, and guard from sin.