3em">WRITTEN ON THE

DEATH OF GENERAL WASHINGTON.

Lamented Chief! at thy distinguish'd deeds
  The world shall gaze with wonder and applause,
While, on fair History's page, the patriot reads
  Thy matchless virtue in thy Country's cause.

Yes, it was thine, amid destructive war,
  To shield it nobly from oppression's chain;
By justice arm'd, to brave each threat'ning jar,
  Assert its freedom, and its rights maintain.

Much honour'd Statesman, Husband, Father, Friend,
  A generous nation's grateful tears are thine;
E'en unborn ages shall thy worth commend,
  And never-fading laurels deck thy shrine.

Illustrious Warrior! on the immortal base,
  By Freedom rear'd, thy envied name shall stand;
And Fame, by Truth inspired, shall fondly trace
  Thee, Pride and Guardian of thy Native Land!

To——.

In vain, sweet Maid! for me you bring
The first-blown blossoms of the spring;
My tearful cheek you wipe in vain,
And bid its pale rose bloom again.

In vain! unconscious, did I say?
Oh! you alone these tears can stay;
Alone, the pale rose can renew,
Whose sunshine is a smile from you.

Yet not in friendship's smile it lives;
Too cold the gifts that friendship gives:
The beam that warms a winter's day,
Plays coldly in the lap of May.

You bid my sad heart cease to swell,
But will you, if its tale I tell,
Nor turn away, nor frown the while,
But smile, as you were wont to smile?

Then bring me not the blossoms young,
That erst on Flora's forehead hung;
But round thy radiant temples twine,
The flowers whose flaunting mocks at mine.

Give me—nor pinks, nor pansies gay,
Nor violets, fading fast away,
Nor myrtle, rue, nor rosemary,
But give, oh! give, thyself to me!

MONODY

TO THE MEMORY

OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.

PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION.

The very flattering success which attended the first Edition of this brief but affectionate Sketch, I must attribute to the interest of the subject, rather than the merit of the composition; and I cannot but feel grateful to those Writers who have honoured me by their notice and approbation.

I must not again go to press, without acknowledging how much I am indebted to a kind friend, who happened to be in Norfolk at the time I was printing the first Edition; with whom I had the happiness to pass many delightful hours, and to whose admirable taste and judgment I owe many valuable suggestions. In mentioning John Kemble with Sheridan, I associate two of the brightest stars that have illumined the Literature and Drama of the Country.

T.G.

Yarmouth, Norfolk, 1816.

SHERIDAN.

Embalm'd in fame, and sacred from decay,
  What mighty name, in arms, in arts, or verse,
From England claims this consecrated day.
  Her nobles crowding round the shadowy hearse?

Hark! from yon fane, within whose hallow'd mounds,
  Her bards, her warriors, and her statesmen, sleep;
The solemn, slow, funereal bell resounds,
  While mournful echoes dread accordance keep.

Spirits revered! beyond that awful bourne.
  Who share the dark communion of the tomb,
A kindred genius seeks your dread sojourn;
  Ye heirs of glory! hail a brother home.

Obscured, as SHERIDAN to dust descends,
  Recedes each ray from Wit's effulgent sphere;
Lo! every Muse in silent sorrow bends,
  Her votive laurels mingling o'er his bier.

But chiefly thou, from whose polluted shrine
  His filial hand Circean rabble drove;
What pangs, Thalia! in this hour are thine;
  What fervent anguish of maternal love!

How long perverted, had the Comic scene,
  (The flattering reflex of a sensual age)
Shown prurient Folly's rank licentious mien,
  Refined, embellish'd on the pander stage:

While Vanburgh, Congreve, Farquhar, heaven-endow'd,
  To scourge bold Vice with Wit's resistless rod,
Embraced her chains, stood forth her priests avow'd,
  And scatter'd flowers in every path she trod:

Inglorious praise! though Judgment's self admired
  Those wanton strains which Virtue blush'd to hear;
While pamper'd Passion from the scene retired,
  With wilder rage to urge his fierce career.

At length, all graced in Fancy's orient hues,
  His native fires with added culture bright,
Rose SHERIDAN! to vindicate the Muse,
  And gild the drama with meridian light.

Him, skill'd alike great Nature's genuine form,
  Or Fashion's light factitious traits to trace,
The scene confess'd;—with glowing pathos warm,
  Or gaily sportive in familiar grace.

With what nice art his master-hand he flung
  O'er each fine chord which thrills the polish'd breast,
Let Faukland tell! with woes ideal stung;
  Let gentle Julia's generous flame attest![1]

Satire, that oft with castigation rude
  Degrades, while zealous to correct mankind,
Refined by him, more generous aims pursued,
  Reform'd the vice—but left no sting behind.

Yet, though with Wit's imperishable bays
  Enwreath'd, he held an uncontested throne;
Though circling climes, unanimous in praise,
  Confirm'd the partial suffrage of his own:

In careless mood he sought the Muse's bower;
  His lyre, like that to great Pelides strong,
The soft'ning solace of a vacant boor,
  Its airy descant indolently rung.

But when, portentous 'mid the storms of war,
  Glared Public danger; when, with withering din,
The spoil-flush'd foe strode furious from afar;
  And direr dread! Rebellion raged within:

Then SHERIDAN! dilating to the storm,
  Bright as the pharos, as the watch-tower strong,
With all the patriot's inspiration warm,
  Thy genius pour'd its thundering voice along.

Who heard thee not, in that tremendous hour,
  When Britain mourn'd her surest anchor lost,
And saw her alienated Navies lour,
  Like the charged tempest, round their parent coast?

With active zeal, which no cold medium knew,
  Nor party ruled, nor prejudice confined,
But, to thy heart's spontaneous impulse true,
  Thou gay'st thy country ALL thy mighty mind.

What time Iberia, gash'd with many a scar,
  Braved the fierce Gaul, in fervour uncontroll'd,
Though doubts and fears bedimm'd her struggling star,
  Its bright ascent thy prescient soul foretold.

Late, too, when France, with sophist cunning fraught,
  Essay'd that field which force had fail'd to gain,
And proudly question'd, by success untaught,
  Britannia's lineal right—her watery reign!

While meaner foes denounced with equal hate
  Her flag, which wide in Freedom's cause unfurl'd,