ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
, "To Mr. Welsted, on the Death of his Daughter" 1726; Tales, Epistles, Odes, Fables (1729) 42-44.
1718: John Hughes
1721: Jonathan Smedley
1722: Matthew Concanen
1725: Thomas Cooke
1725: P. Chamberlen
1725: Richard Savage
1726: Thomas Cooke
1727: A. Zouch
1729: Thomas Cooke
1729: Richard Savage
1730 ca.: Anonymous
1732: P. B.
1733: David Mallet
1742: Alexander Pope
1754: Thomas Francklin
1764: David Erskine Baker
1788: R H. W.
1790: William Enfield
1807: Robert Southey
1814: Isaac D'Israeli
1882: W. J. Courthope
1725: Rev. John Dart
1725: John Dennis
1725: Aaron Hill
1725: Ambrose Philips
1725: Rev. Christopher Pitt
1725: Dr. George Sewell
1725: Thomas Tickell
1725: Rev. Joseph Trapp
1725: Leonard Welsted
1726: Leonard Welsted
1728: John Durant Breval
1728: Alexander Pope
1729: Sir Richard Blackmore
1729: John Durant Breval
1729: John Dennis
1729: John Gay
1729: Ambrose Philips
1729: Alexander Pope
1729: Richard Savage
1729: Rev. Jonathan Swift
1729: Lewis Theobald
1729: Thomas Tickell
1729: Leonard Welsted
1730: Rev. Laurence Eusden
1730: Henry Fielding
1730: James Ralph
1734: John Dennis
1749: Matthew Concanen
1750 ca.: Samuel Johnson
While on the winding Banks of Thames I rove,
Or chuse, for Silence more profound, the Grove,
Or in the flowry Vale inamour'd stray,
Where Innocence and Truth direct the Way,
While charm'd sublimely by the various Scene,
The Muse propitious, and the Mind serene,
What to a Mortal, so divinely bless'd,
Can strike so deeply as a Friend distress'd!
E'en now dejected I thy Lot deplore;
And the gay Prospect can delight no more.
In vain to me the gilded Landskips rise,
While the Tears fall from my Horatio's Eyes.
Well is my Soul for Friendship form'd, or Love;
In Consort to my Friend my Passions move.
E'en now the sovereign Balm, that never fail'd,
That always o'er the heavy Heart prevail'd,
That ever charm'd Me in the mournful Hour,
E'en thy own Lays my Friend have loss'd their Powr.
O! how I long to let our Sorrows flow,
And mingle, in the tender Strife of Woe!
'Tis done; and lo! the Debt of Nature's pay'd:
Soft ly the Dust, and happy rest the Maid!
And now the last, the pious, Tear is shed,
The unavailing Tribute to the dead,
No longer let thy faithful Friends complain;
See, they demand Thee to themselves again.
Petronius now allures thy Soul to Ease,
A happy Man, by Nature form'd to please;
Whose Virtues well may call Horatio Friend;
Whom Love, and Mirth dispelling Care, attend;
In him, to full Perfection met, we see
All that the wise and gay can wish to be;
In the sad Hour from him I find Relief,
With him forget that I have Cause for Grief.
Haste to enjoy the Hours I've heard you prize,
Those Hours known only to the good and wise;
To sacred Friendship be thy Days assign'd;
Be to thy-self, and thy Associates, kind:
Of if the Soul, all resolute in Woe,
Still bids the wakeful Eye of Sorrow flow,
Make Reason, the great Guide of Life, thine Aid:
Say, is the Phrenzy grateful to the Maid?
Or could the virgin Shade perceive Thee mourn,
Would She embody'd to thy Arms return?
What ever Cause my Friend concludes her Date,
The Course of Nature, or the Work of Fate,
Let this the Burden of thy Heart relieve,
'Tis Weakness, or Impiety, to grieve.
What tho her Charms might savage Rage compose,
And vy in Sweeteness with the Syrian Rose,
What tho her Mind beseem'd her Angel's Face,
Where ev'ry Virtue met, and ev'ry Grace,
Yet think, my Friend, the heavy falling Showr,
Without Distinction lays the lovely'st Flowr.
Trace ev'ry Age, in ev'ry Age you find
A thousand weeping Fathers left behind;
The common Lot of all is fall'n to Thee,
What was, what is, and what shall always be.
To Dust reduc'd shall thy Zelinda ly;
And know thy self, thy dearer self, shall dy;
Know this, and stop the Fountain of thine Eyes,
Excess of Sorrow ill becomes the wise.