RECOMMENDATORY POEMS.

T

Mr. JOHN HUGHES,

ON HIS POEM, ENTITLED,

THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE.

INSPIR'D by what melodious HUGHES has fung,

I'll tune a lyre, that long has lain unstrung :
Awak'd from drowsy floth, and foothing reft,
Poetic transports fire my ravish'd breast!

What pleasure must retiring DRYDEN find,
To fee that art his fkilfu! Muse refin'd,
So much improv'd by thofe he leaves behind!
So when a father fees a careful fon

}

Enlarge thofe coffers, which were first his own,
With joy to heaven he lifts his aged eyes,
Bleffes his profperous heir, and calmly dies.
May all your fortune, like your numbers, shine,
And smoothly flow, without one rugged line!
Till we confess the genius is the fame,
That guides your fortune, and poetic flame.

So when of old fome sportive amorous god
Vouchfaf'd awhile to leave his bleft abode,
In whatsoever form the guest appear'd,
His heavenly luftre fhone, and was rever'd.
Catharine-Hall,
Cambridge.

W. Worts. February, 1697.

To the MEMORY of Mr. HUGHES.

BY MISS JUDITH COWPER *.

ROUND HUGHES's humble, though distinguish'd

urn,

The Mufes, wreath'd with baleful cypress, mourn ; In every face a deep distress appears,

Each eye o'erflows with tributary tears:

Such was the fcene, 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.

5

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 fickness, are no more.
O may the spot that holds thy bleft remains,
(The nobleft fpoil earth's spacious breast contains,)
Its tribute pay; may richeft flowers around,
Spring lightly forth, and mark the facred ground;
There may thy bays its fhady honours fpread,
And o'er thy urn eternal odours shed;

15

20

Immorta!

* Daughter of Judge Cowper, afterwards married to Col. Martin Madan, author of the Progress of Poetry, &c. and ftill living, an ornament to her fex and age. Another of her compofitions is perfixed to the Poms of Mr. Pope. N.

25

Immortal as thy fame, and verfe, ftill grow,
Till thofe fhall ceafe to live, and Thames to flow.
Nature fubdued foretold the great decline,
And every heart was plung'd in grief, but thine;
Thy foul, ferene, 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 firengthen'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 poffeft,
Greatly refign'd, thou fought'st the stranger, REST:
Firm as his fate, fo thy own Phocyas dy'd,
While the barb'd arrow trembled in his fide.

Drawn by thy pen, the theory we fee;

The practic part, too foon! beheld in thee.

Who now shall strike the lyre with skill divine,

30

35

Who to harmonious founds * harmonious numbers join! Who the rapacious tide of vice control,

And, while they charin the fenfe, reform the foul! 40
In whom the lovely fister-arts unite,

With virtue, folid fenfe, and boundless wit?
Such was the turn of thy exalted mind,

Sparkling as polifh'd gems, as pureft gold refin'd.
Great Ruler of our paffions! who with art
Subdued the fierce, and warm'd the frozen heart,

45

Bid glory in our breafts with temper beat,

And valour, feperate from feverish heat,

B 3

Opera of Calypfo and Telemachus.

Love,

то THE

MEMORY OF MR. HUGHES.

LOST too early! and too lately known!

My love's intended marks receive in one;
Where, new to eafe, 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 shade! accept this humble verse,
Amidst the meaner honours of thy hearse.

5

10

How does thy Phocyas warm Britannia's youth, In arms to glory, and in love to truth! Oh! if the Mufe of future aught prefage, These feeds fhall 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.

15

O! yet be this the lowest of thy fame,

To form the hero, and inftruct the dame;

I fee the chriftian, friend, relation, son,
Burn for the glorious courfe that thou haft run.
If aught we owe thy pencil, or thy lyre,

Of manly strokes, or of fuperior fire,
How muft thy Muse be ever own'd divine,

20

And in the facred lift unrival'd shine!

Nor joyous health was thine, nor downy ease;
To thee forbidden was the foft recefs ;

25

Worn