ILLINOIS UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN Production Note Project Unica Rare Book & Manuscript Library University of Illinois Library at Urbana-Champaign 2015 «Shortly will be fublijhed by the fame Author, OBSERVATIONS on the imputed EVILS and MISMANAGEMENT of our ACTUAL GOVERNMENT, particularly relative to the WAR r with BRIEF STRICTURES on a late PAMPHLET hoftile to the WAR DEPARTMENT; and a few REFLECTIONS on thofe of Dr. Sennott on the NATURE and MANAGEMENT of MTT.TTARY HOSPITALS. N. B. Materials are collecting for a GENERAL HIS1ORY of the WAR, in all its DEPARTMENTS; which (as far as may be conjectured) will be comprifed in Two Volumes, Quarto. A ProfpeCtus of this Work forms an Appendix to the above Obferva-tions.:iiao.q LIH ° ADVERTISEMENT. “ Felix qui lecto gaudct: fclicior ipfe “ (Nec divis impar) Menfa qui gaudet amcena.” Vet. Auct. apud Monachos. The Title of the following Production bears no farther reference to the fubjeCt in view, than by denoting the fcene on which it originated. In the vicinity of Rhenen *, on a romantic point of elevation, there is a Table of Stone (the Mensa Regum in queftion), where, as tradition holds, and as the ruftic Genius of the Mount is happy to relate for a fchilling,------ “---------------- three focial Monarchs met (The Sire of Britain furely not the lead !) To talk of things imperial.”-----• In a word, the three Great Perfonages alluded to thought proper, on tome occafion or other, to dine there fub dio.—In contemplating the wide theatre of War from this fpot of enchantment, the Author conceived his idea of the prefent performance, which might probably never have appeared before the Public, had it not been for the recent outrage on the Perfon of our Gracious Sovereign. To thofe real or fuppofed Wits who may tell the Author, that, notwith-ftanding the above circumftance, he ihould have kept his piece nine years, * An ancient town in the province of Utrecht, on the banks of the Rhine. in (leadIV A D V ERTISEMENT. inftead of one, he has nothing to fay; his objc£b being fentiment, and not wit.--------An cxtenfion of this Prefatory Note might attach an idea of more than adequate importance to his fubjedt: and, having no rule to allege for heterogeneous mixtures, nor any inclination to fearch for one; having, moreover, given all the information he means to give refpedting the origin and tendency of a trifle; he leaves his Blank Verfe and his Rhime; his tranfitions from Heroic to Lyric Metre;—his Matron on the Field of Battle ; his Fiend of War ; with whatever elfe may be found to intereft or lull his Readers, to the Critics by profeflion, to be approved of, or cenfured, according to the meafure of their good judgment, &c.-------His tribute of regret to the memory of a late unfor- tunate Monarch, with that of applaufe, no lefs due, to the condudb of his Royal Highnefs our Commander in Chief, he may hope to fee refpedled by Critics of every denomination. Happy ! might he add, in imitation of the mod poliihed and loyal Poet of antiquity, “ Si canimus Metifas, Menfa fint CONSULE dignx !” MENSA V*r. “S ‘C ' troM «>;i .[ " r, , * , ' STAN -‘.«iid . ,70 ’ll 1 v . . Z A S WRITTEN EXTEMPORE, IN INDIAN INK, ON THE FIRST REPORT OF THE BIRTH AT CARLTON-HOUSE. Eager[ * ] Eager to gain yon fummit’s iloping height O’erlooking Rhine, and Waal, and countries 44 far Beyond the wonted ken of vifual ray,” With haily ftep I prefs the op’ning wild. Oft, as I journey o’er the pathlefs heath, I paufe to hear the diftant hollow found Of martial thunder:------may that thunder fall Not on the Briton, but on Britain’s foe !— Foe, not to her alone, but to each blifs That binds, endears, and mingles focial man.— Now, gain’d the height, where, as Tradition tells Her boafted tale, three focial Monarchs met (The Sire of Britain furely not the leaft) To talk of things imperial, as they fhar’d Beneath heav’n’s canopy a pure repait Oft interrupted for the fcene below;---- My feaft is vifion,—(fuch befits the Bard) Spread wild and widely o’er the diflant range.— Now here, now there, as ardent Fancy prompts, Or as the Rustic Genius of the Mount, I bend my view to fcenes of martial itrife, Anxious,[ 3 ] Anxious, yet loathing, to difclofe the whole._ Reclin’d, I ponder o’er the Regal Stone: Or mark to her who {hares my kind concern Each diftant fpirehere too my lovely babe, Borne on Affe£tion s arm that feels no weight, Muft grace the purple cup fill’d high and oft To Britain s Monarch and his blooming race, Inipiring love and loyalty benign__ Now where Nimvegia rears her menac’d cliff With ardent gaze I mark the vivid flaih, And finoke high curling from the cannon’s glare, Till (awful paufe!) on fluggifh vapors borne The crafh of thunder burfts upon my ear, Announcing loud that fate is in the breeze, Pour’d by the Briton, or the favage Gaul. Thence let me dart my fympathetic view O’er Grave, o’er Bommel, o’er St. Andre’s Ifie; Or faintly feen where low Gorincum lies Yet unmolefted in the rage of war: Or Ultrajettum, fam’d in wars of yore_ 6 AsAs thus I mufe on Fate’s revolving hour, While, big with all that Fancy can call great, Or foul, or monilrous, as the birth may prove, She Hands; (pale Nature trembling at her throes) Imagination fwells the bulky fcene. She fees, or thinks ihe fees, the battle rage: Sees the bold Briton milling on the foe, Nor check’d, nor aw’d by danger’s rough embrace. Anxious for all, for Britons anxious moil, And moil for One, for daring Albany Seen in the van, as Brunswick iliould be feen, She hopes, ihe fears, ihe trembles, and admires Well pleas’d to fee (fo feldorn feen) combin’d A warrior’s ardor, and a warrior’s care. Nor mark’d in him aloneeach kindred foul, Each true-born Briton, mindful of his fires, Shares in the meed, and emulates the fame. Ev’n whilft he views his quiv’ring limbs in air (The corfe fail pouring every iiream of life), Heedlefs of life, he cheers his happier mate To onward deeds, recalling Blenheim’s field,L 5 ] Or Minden’s plain ; then with his parting breath Hurls imprecation on the coming Gaul. Thus one, thus thoufands fink to parent dull, Slain and forgot:—rent from the book of life Ere half the page was letter’d!—Thus not he Whom Beauty warn’d from war, but warn’d in vain. True to the vow her virgin heart had made Ere yet kind fates had feal’d her fondeft wifh, Him ihe explores thro’ all th’ enfanguin’d field; Eager to hail his ever lov’d return ; Or bind his wounds, if haplefs there he lies, Soothe ev’ry pang, and folace all his woe. Thro’ fhades of night, thro’ flame, thro’ circling foes The Trojan bore his Sire ;—a pious deed !— More pious her’s who, bending with the weight, Now bears her Lord to where he may repofe ;— Not, as when found, upon the lap of earth. But gently prefs’d, and leaning to her own. C I mark[ 6 ] I mark her wellI note her varying eye ; Each hue ; each afpeft -.-fondly cheering hope, While hope yet faintly gliitens thro’ the tear Reprefs’d in vain, all fympathy, and love, Her heart bleeds fafter than his guihing wound. Ere yet too late, ah ! haplefs matron, fly !— Tho’ Heav’n approve thy deed ; tho’ I adore Thy matchlefs worth the lawlefs ravifher Comes ardent him nor piety divine Nor pity moves; nor confcience, fwaying all Save this fell wretch, with him who murders kings. ’Tis o’erhe comesand lo ! thou art his prey. Ill-fated dame ! thy ev’ry hope was vain : Cold is that arm which fhould have fhelter’d thee.. For blacker crimes does patient Heav’n referve Its vengeful bolt?—No more ;—I quit the fcene. Lie hid in night, thou blood-polluted plain ! And may no fecond fun its influence ihed (Why ihed it here ?) to light thy fcenes of woe I WhyC 7 ] Why fhed it, where unconfcious of the beam (No more to rife !) in many a ghaflly heap Ill-mangled lies the human frame divine ? Beneath the mountain’s Hope defcry’d afar In beauteous order rang’d the vineyard Hands, And bears a blufhing load: a gath’ring florm Belies the hope; and, as the torrents burft, One hour deflroys the growth of many a year. From fcenes of death long-tortur’d thought recoils: Hence, let me feek the yew-tree’s deepefl ihade Made awful by the night, and dull Hill moon That looks a world of bloodin vain I fly 1— Each orb more diftant fheds, or feems to fhed, A baneful influence ;—Nature; all combines To flamp war’s image on my yielding foul. The gory blade e’er gleaming to his view Let Brutus meet his evil Genius Hill : But why that curfe, that chilling curfe, on one True to his King, his Country, and his Friend ? Say,.C 8 ] Say, {fill does Fancy mock my erring fight ? Or do I view, not pi6lur’d as in thought, But true to life, the Fiend of horrid War Flis maw diftain’d in blood ¡—With eager grafp He wields the fword of Fate, and points to Death ; Who, ghaftly fmiling on a bofom friend, On him tho’ fmiling, ilernly frowns on me! Fire in each eye, a black fulphureous ileam Diftends the noitril : while a bloated tongue Utters ilrange words of blafphemy obfcene Difgufting Fleav’n high o’er his flaming creft Wan Defolation fits, and grafps at all. —’Tis, ’tis that Fiend ! beneath whofe potent fway Fall kings and empires ; from whofe baneful fight Fly focial blifs, and harmony, and love : That Fiend, tho’ fiercer than Aflyria’s God, Still worfhipp’d by the heedlefs, and the brave! In time remote fell Difcord was his fire: Ambition’s erring fondnefs nurs’d the babe O f rueful afpefl erring, for ere long He bit the foft’ring breaft, and from that hour 6 OfC 9 ] Of blood infatiate thirfted ftill for more. Now fternly fteadfaft to the will of Fate Lo ! where he handswhilft bleeding from his arm Lies wounded Peace, and looks to Heav’n in vain. The Bird of night now warns me to repofe. Again I journey o’er the pathlefs wild. Attendant Fancy paints the warrior’s lot In milder hues, and gilds his motley fcene.—-Short are his pains, and long his focial joys. This hour fecure, too heedlefs of the next, Elate in full feilivity he fits : — (Save when the yellow fand is quite run out Creating voids which nothing can fupply, Felt, but endur’d:)—this hour he gives to mirth, And what he gives is giv’n beyond referve. The next comes dire alarm ; but not difmay. The trumpet founds: he quits th’ inviting meal, The laft, perhaps, that niggard Fate affigns To craving Nature ; quits the fmiling Fair; D Nay[ 10 ] Nay more, the cup which balmy from her lip She proffers, fond --reclin’d, fhe yields to woe, Anxious for what may chance, and loathing' a ar. Mix’d in the craili of battle, firm, he treads Where Honor leads the way 5 prepar’d to meet Such fate as He who moves the gen’ral wheel Hath long aifign’d :—to him he leaves the caie. ’Tis a£lion allhis foul is on the foe : Awhile the dubious onfet lafts, and then Comes fpeedy death, or joyous victory, Or this to crown, or that to end his toil. Does Fate referve him from th’ untimely ilain?— ’Tis well ; fire leaves him willing, as’t may hap, To mix in future fcenes of mirth, or woe. Enough for Fancy mufing o’er the fate Of warring man Oh ! never may this babe, This only pledge of fondnefs without guile, (Now journeying with me thro’ this fcene of war E’en from the hour when only three ihort moons Had 9[ 11 ] Had pour’d their milder influence o’er his head,—-) Oh ! never may he mix in feenes of ftrife, But live to fmile on peace and love alone ! From dire effefls to direr caufes led Shield me, ye Powers ! in pity, ihield my heart. From fuch dread feenes as Record never knew, Or, knowing, bluflvd to note !—But rl ruth forbids To hide the horrid tale : with trembling hand She marks each deed in tints of facred blood To fhame this age, and flartle thofe to come.— His lovelier Confort following to her doom, Firft on the lifts a headlefs Monarch lies, The firft in dignity, as firft in woe ! — There millions fell in one !—There honor ; faith ; The focial tie; whate’er the fage had plann’d From time remote, t’enfure the blifs of life, Or foothe its ills;—to check the felon’s rage, Or fence the good;—was fwept away at once, And left a chafm for fhapelefs Anarchy Wherein to range, to riot, and deftroy!— Where[ 12 ] Where now iliall Virtue feek her wonted meed ?— On whom fhall injur’d Innocence rely ? Who curb Perdition in his mad career? Reclaim proud Guilt, or mar his darkling aim ?-- Stand forth fecure, thou Man of perjur’d faith! Nor feek concealment from the (hade of night, Dread Fiend of ire, of murder and difmay! Law, Juilice, is no more :—-no longer bear Thy poifon’d blade beneath the folded veil:— No ;—bid it reek in day’s meridian glare!— Strike Virtue dead, and glory in thy fhame.— Strike Virtue dead!---that impious wifh were vain.— Beyond thy reach, ethereal, lo ! fhe fits ! Thy once lov’d Monarch fhares her ev’ry fmile Since late fhe bore him, weeping, to the fkies.— Let fell remorfe now ponder o’er his fate.— He falls by whom?—The man of kindred blood * : —Deteiled wretch!—(oh! blefs the knave who ilew him!) "Whom but to name would taint the faireil page:— * That monder, the Duke of Orleans, alias Egalité. ForFor whom too mild were vengeance without end. He fallsand why ?—To glut the villain’s rage, Or worfe ambition lulling for his throne: He falls ’midft thofe his bounty had reliev’d From others’ ills ;---’midft thole who, at the thought, (Did Reafon hold the feat where Madnefs reigns) Would paufe; would {brink; would weary Heav’n with vows To fhield the life their rancor now deftroys. Meek and refign’d, like Him who died for all, He dies imploring mercy for his foes!------ While hell-born Malice fmiles o’er fuch a deed, Let Truth, let Faith, let Virtue weep with me ! Weep!—Spurn the thought !—Come, Mufe of lire ! ---(Soft Pity’s tear were fhed in vain;)— Ardent I grafp thy vifionary lyre, And pour to woods and wilds the loud indignant ftrain. ' i ' ■ —• ■ Let keen Remorfe with fcorpion fting, Let Confcience ail her terrors bring ; E T Lett 14 3 Let each deplore what nothing can efface !— Ah ! ihield from Fate the yet remaining race !— Vain hope !—Xll-fafhion’d Anarchy, A lovelier head muff yield to thee: It falls;—fhe dies; a length of forrows pail; The pang was direfulbut it was her lail. Now come, Regret with ftreaming eye; Come, heart-endearing Sympathy, No fcene of fancy to explore: See Gallia’s Monarch—(horrid deed!— Oh ! that ’twere Fancy faw him bleed !) A Monarch now no more. Behold,—while malice worfe than blind Forfwears the facred honors of his throne, The friend of all betray’d by all mankind! But moil by thofe whofe hearts he deem’d his own. Revolving fcenes of guilt and blood, Where find this Man of Sorrow’s Mate? Not ev’n Darius “ great and good” Could mourn fo hard a fate. If[ 15 ] If fall’n from empire, fall’n too low! <4 On the cold earth expos’d he lies, With not a friend to clofe his eyes,” ’Twas not his own who gave the fatal blow. True to his fame, to Pity’s call, With ilreaming woe his People faw him fall. His captive Queen no ruffian ilew, Her facred worth Ambition knew ; One pang fuilain’d, fhe faw her forrows end, And in a gen’rous victor found a friend. No more.---Let millions ffiare my ire, Let nations catch the martial fire ! Well pleas’d I hear the mingling cry That leads to fate or vi&ory; Each warrior bears a dauntlefs mind : With firm refolve that Heels the heart, Each more than a£ts a hero’s part, Then yielding cries, that Heav’n alone’s unkind.[ 16 ] Ye gen’rous Britons!—gen’rous in your aim, Since warring few ’gainft numbers infinite, And warring for the weal of all mankind* ; Yield not the palm of hope to wan defpair, Nor think that Heav’n decrees not as it ought. Witherring man Hope knows her wonted date, Nor lives beyond it: but with patient Heav’n Vengeance withheld is vengeance in refeive , Withheld, as is the thunderbolt on high, To buril more dreadful on the perjur’d head. Inceituous Paris, faithlefs to the tie Of inmate honor, e’er rever’d by all, In Greece held facred as the very Gods, With impious triumph bore the Spartan Dame Far from her Sire, her Country, and her Lord. Indignant nations heard, and flew to arms. Nine years they toil’d, and feem’d to toil in vain The Gods were tardy, but the Gods were juft: Stern Perfeverance gain’d her wonted meed, And the proud race of Priam ceas’d to be. * Confine this, if you mutt, to the original motive. Now[ *7 1 Now firing the martial lyre anew; Lo ! Gallia’s frantic race in view— Gallia, that erft could faith, could honor boait; Now loft to faith, to all but prowefs loft !— May fate brood o’er the clime on raven wings! Thy crimes, O Atreus, there reftore ; Let mothers fuck each infant’s gore, Left fuch fhould live to loathe and murder kings! t: ' ' • OJiliA > ; Xi - ___How dread is Rage !—how impotent! how bafe, To rob pure Nature of her brighteft gem, And pluck fair Mercy from the tortur’d heart! Say, who would fee the Matron and the Babe In ruin hurl’d ? or from the bearded Sire Steal the frail remnant of too fleeting lite ? May bounteous Heav’n avert fuch direful hate! Ere Havock broods o’er fuch a fcene, May dove-eyed Pity ftep between, And fnatch the blade from Vengeance ere too late. Her favage claims let headlong Vengeance wave : The firft, the beft of virtues is—to fave. No F[ i8 ] No more the pow’r of Rancour let me own: No !—fource of many a virtuous iigh, I hear thy voice, Humanity, And lift to thee alone. Fame, Honor, Vengeance, fink before thy view, And all thy wounds are feen to bleed anew. a i 1 > 1 Now proud Ambition points in vain, To Azincourt, to Creffy’s plain : I mufe with anguifh o’er the valiant dead: They bled like heroes;—but, alas! they bled. j >' ' 1 ‘ Avaunt the meed which Conqueil’s fway bellows, That drains the widow s, drains the oiphans teai ! Soon, ev’ry wreath that proud Ambition ihows, Mull yield to fables nodding o’er his bier. If to the Macedonian youth I turn, Or probe the depth of Julius’ daring mind; Too long deluded, all their fame I fpurn, And loathe the fplendid murd’rers of their kind. But[ ^9 ] But when o’er Alps deep hid in pathiefs fnow, Thro’ nature’s bulwarks, as thro’ thole of art Rome’s bold, Rome’s great invader I purfue, His aim to puniih, not to foiler crimes; Him I admire ; him cheriih ; him revere. From lawlefs prey to guard her thrifty weal; To pluck Ambition from her tow’ring height, Where, not enthron’d, but deified ihc fat Proud o’er the proudeil; eager, nay prepar’d To rifle pow’r ev’n from the hand of Jove, Him Carthage fent, who, as Augufta now, Then rul’d the main; for Commerce was her own. ColleTed hofts from Baleares illes; From black Numidia; from th’ Iberian fhore ; From Gaul, (then proud to aid a virtuou.s caufe,) Joy in their matchlefs chief:—a motley band ; Proud; ardent; firm; but difunited Hill.— Rome’s Senate trembling at his ilern approach, Mark with what zeal he takes his deilin’d courfe, And ail but conquers thofe who conquer’d worlds! Tho’,[ 20 ] Tho’, (deeds achiev’d that live in endlefs fame,) Tho’ much by fortune, more by faftion crofl, From Envy’s felf he claim’d the warrior’s meed, Then most a hero when a victor least. Here might I paufe; did not the fervid theme Invite me willing to my native clime ; To times remote, when, deadly in their hate, Contending Princes left their caftled homes, To mix in civil difcord, worft of wars ! When, after many a blood-polluted field, Deeds of high mettle, proudly, vainly ihewn, The fates of Marg’ret (defp’rate in her fate, Yet nobly defp’rate,) left the tortur d wheel, As York triumphant fmil’d on empire won. Pie fmil’d; and with him fmil’d each virtuous Mufe That grac’d, Celeftial Peace, thy flowing reign, Attuning lyres of gold:—fell Diicoid heaid The magic ftrain, and half forgot his rage. Nay more, ’tis faid, the whilom pictur'd fiend, Won by the fond embrace of Peace and Love, 2 ToTo Pity’s arm refign’d his dripping ihield; Severe, yet footh’dbleft, while averfe to blifs. Alone, red Slaughter, fcowling from the fcene, Relu£tant iheath’d his life-deftroying blade ; Gorg'd, yet not fated with the blood of man. Oh! for that hour—that heart-endearing hour When I—(long fever’d from the Mufe’s train) May fmg of nought fave harmony and joy! Then might’ft thou, Brunswick, dignify the lay By kind applaufe:—for, ever was it known That, when fair Peace reviv’d a drooping world, The firft to greet her were the nobly brave. The Gaul fubdued by Reafon’s potent fway, (Reafon, man’s greateft pride, or greateft fhame,) May Peace, with all that Peace can bring, return For all may Plenty load her bounteous horn; Soft murmurs break from ev’ry confcious fhade, And Love retrieve the havoc War has made!— Thus on the Son while admiration fmiles, What Bard can paufe unmindful of the Sire, G[ 22 ] Who feels for royal or paternal cares ?------ Long hath he reign’d, and longer may he reign The friend, the father of a grateful Idle! And when approving Heav’n may feal his doom, (Well earn’d by virtuous deeds,) for greater blifs Than Thrones below can give; there may he fit Where Ifrael’s Monarch, frail and bafe no more, Tunes his no longer penitential harp, And cheers the Mensa Regum of the ikies! 4 FINIS, -