THE TEARS and TRIUMP
OF PARNASSUS AN ODE for MUSICK, As it is perform'd at the THEATRE-ROYAL IN
DRURY-LANE.
LONDON:
Printed for P. VAILLANT, in the
Strand
MD
[Price Sixpence.]
THE TEARS and TRIUMPH, &c.
The Scene discovers
APOLLO
and the
NINE MUS
in their proper Habits.
FATE gave the Word; the Deed is done;
AUGUSTUS is no more;
His great Career of Fame is run,
And all the Loss deplore.
The Muses tear off their Laurel
▪
Well, Sisters of the sacred Spring,
Well may you rend your golden Hair;
Well may you now your Dirges sing,
And pierce with cries the troubled Air.
Fate gave the Word, &c.
Founded in Justice was his Sway;
Ambition never mark'd his Way.
Unless the best Ambition that can fire
A Monarch's Breast and all his Soul inspire,
The gen'rous Purpose of the noble Mind,
The best Ambition—to serve Human Kind.
Yes, Virgins, yes; that Wish sublime
Rank'd him with those of earliest Time,
Who for a People's Welfare strove;
Whose Spirits breathe aetherial Air,
And for their Meed of earthly Care,
Drink Nectar with Olympian Jove.
Oh! TRUTH! fair Daughter of the Sky,
And MERCY!—that with asking Eye
Near the OMNIPOTENT do'st stand;
And, when Mankind provoke his Rage,
Do'st clasp his Knees, his Wrath assuage,
And win the Thunder from his Hand!
Oh! white-rob'd FAITH! caelestial Maid!
Twin-born with JUSTICE! by whose Aid
He liv'd the Guardian of the Laws;
Dear LIBERTY! round ALBION'S Isle
That bid'st eternal Sunshine smile,
Who now will guard your sacred Cause?
Dear Liberty, &c.
Where were ye, Muses, when the fatal Sheers
The FURY rais'd, to close his rev'rend Years?
But ah! vain wish!—you could not stop the Blow;
No Omen warn'd ye of th' impending Woe.
See! where BRITANNIA stands
With close-infolded Hands,
On yonder sea-beat Shore!
Behold her languid Air!
Lo! her dishevell'd Hair!
Majestie now no more!
Still on the sullen Wave her Eye is bent,
The TRIDENT of the MAIN thrown idle by;
OLD THAMES, his sea-green Mantle rent,
Inverts his Urn, and heaves a doleful Sigh.
Hark! to the Winds and Waves
Frantic with Grief she raves,
And, Cruel Gods! she cries;
Each chalky Cliff around,
Each Rock returns the Sound,
And, Cruel Gods! replies.
See! the Procession sad and slow,
Walks in a solemn Pomp of Woe
Thro' awful Arches, gloomy Isles,
And Rows of monumental Piles,
Where lie the venerable Just,
Where Heroes moulder into Dust.
Now quietly inurn'd he lies,
Pale! pale! inanimate and cold!
Where round him baleful Vapours rise,
'Midst Bones of Legislators old!
Of him who sought th' ambitious Gaul
Oe'r thick-embattled Plains,
Who felt, who liv'd, and reign'd for all,
This only now remains.
Bring, in Handfuls, Lillies bring
Bring me all the flow'ry Spring.
Scatter Roses on his Bier;
Ever honour'd, ever dear!
Scatter Roses, &c.
No more, harmonious Progeny of Jove,
No more let fun'ral Accents rise;
The great, the good AUGUSTUS reigns above,
Translated to his kindred Skies.
No more for my Historic Page—
No more for my great Epic Rage—
BOTH.
Will by the Hero now be done—
His great Career of Fame is run,
And all the Loss deplore.
Enter
MARS.
Lo! Mars, from his beloved Land,
Where Freedom long hath fix'd her Stand,
Bids ye collect your flowing Hair,
And again the Laurel wear.
For See! BRITANNIA rears her drooping Head;
Again resumes her TRIDENT of the Main;
THAMES takes his Urn, and seeks his wat'ry Bed,
While gay Content sits smiling on the Plain.
Hark! a glad Voice
Proclaims the People's Choice.
He is our Liege, our rightful Lord!
Of Heart and Tongue with one Accord
We all will sing
Long live the King!
He is our Liege!—he!—he alone!
With BRITISH HEART he mounts the Throne;
Around him throngs a loyal Band;
He will protect his NATIVE LAND!
He is our Liege, &c.
The Muses rise and put on their Laurels.
The Muses now their Heads shall raise;
The Arts to Life shall spring;
Virgins, we'll trim our wither'd Bayes,
And wake each vocal String;
Now shall the Sculptor's happy Skill
Touch the rude Stone to Life;
The Painter shall his Canvass fill,
Pleas
d with his mimic Strife.
Sweet MERCY! FAITH! CAELESTIAL TRUTH!
Now by your Aid the Royal Youth
Shall live the Guardian of the Laws;
Dear LIBERTY! round ALBION'S Isle
That bid'st eternal Sunshine smile,
He now will guard your sacred Cause.
Blest Prince! whose Subjects in each adverse Hour
For Freedom still have stood!
Blest Isle! whose Prince but deems the sov'reign Pow
The Pow'r of doing Good!
Now open all your Helicon; explore
Of Harmony the loftiest Store;
Let the Drum beat Alarms,
Such as rouze us to Arms;
The Trumpet's shrill Clangor shall pierce thro' the Sky
Swell the Rapture, swell it high;
And in Notes sublime and clear
Pour the strong Melody, that Heav'n may hear.
Nothing mortal will I found;
Lo! the Flame, the Flame divine!
High I mount, I quit the Ground,
Holy Fury! I am thine.
With Rage possest
Big swells my Breast!
In Visions rapt, before my Sight appears
A brighter Order of encreasing Years.
I see the Rhine devolve his Flood
Deep-crimson'd with the Gallic Blood!
I hear, I hear the distant Roar
Of Ruin on yon hostile Shore!
I see, YOUNG PRINCE, to thee I see
The savage Indian bend the Knee!
Lo! AFRIC from her sable Kings
Her richest Stores in Tribute brings!
And farthest IND, beneath the rising Day
Lays down her Arms, and venerates thy Sway.
I see Bellona banish'd far!
I see him close the Gates of War,
While purple Rage within
With ghastly Ire shall grin,
And rolling his Terrific Eyes,
Where round him Heaps of Arms arise,
Bound with a hundred brazen Chains,
In vain shall foam, and thirst for sanguine Plains.
Sweet Peace returns;
O'er Albion's Sons
She waves her Dove-like Wing:
On ev'ry Plain
The Shepherd Train
Their artless Loves shall sing.
Pale DISCORD shall fly
From the Light of the Sky,
To black Cocytus hurl'd;
There, there shall feel
Ixion's Wheel,
The Furies with their Serpents curl'd;
With the unceasing Toil shall groan
Of the unconquerable Stone,
And leave in Harmony the British World.
Proceed great Days; lead on th' auspicious Years;
Such Years (—for Lo! the Scene of Fate appears!)
Such Years, the DESTINIES have said, shall roll;
Jove nods Consent, and Thunder shakes the Pole.
FINIS.
POSTSCRIPT.
IT occurred to the Author of this little Piece, that, amidst
the general Condolence and Congratulations of the People,
Theatre should not be silent. He therefore put together
foregoing Lines, and gave them to the Managers, who
ave selected as much to be set to Musick as the Shortness of
ime would permit.