ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. THOMAS EARL OF OSSORY; PINDARIC ODE by THOMAS FLATMAN

@3Stanza@1 I.

No more! -- Alas that bitter word, @3No more!@1
The Great, the Just, the Generous, the Kind;
The universal Darling of Mankind,
The noble OSSORY is now @3No more!@1
The mighty man is fall'n --
From Glory's lofty pinnacle,
Meanly like one of us, he fell,
Not in the hot pursuit of victory,
As gallant men would choose to die;
But tamely, like a poor plebeian, from his bed
To the dark grave a captive led;
Emasculating sighs, and groans around,
His friends in floods of sorrow drown'd;
His awful truncheon and bright arms laid by,
He bow'd his glorious head to Destiny.

II.

Celestial Powers! how unconcern'd you are!
No black eclipse or blazing star
Presag'd the death of this illustrious man,
No deluge, no, nor hurricane;
In her old wonted course Nature went on,
As if some common thing were done,
One single victim to Death's altar's come,
And not in Ossory an whole hecatomb.
Yet, when the founder of old Rome expir'd,
When the Pellean youth resign'd his breath,
And when the great Dictator stoop'd to death,
Nature and all her faculties retir'd:
Amaz'd she started when amaz'd she saw
The breaches of her ancient fundamental law,
Which kept the world in awe:
For men less brave than him, her very heart did ache,
The labouring Earth did quake,
And trees their fix'd foundations did forsake;
Nature in some prodigious way
Gave notice of their fatal day:
Those lesser griefs with pain she thus exprest,
This did confound, and overwhelm her breast.

III.

Shrink, ye crown'd heads, that think yourselves secure,
And from your mould'ring thrones look down,
Your greatness cannot long endure,
The King of Terrors claims you for his own;
You are but tributaries to his dreadful crown:
Renown'd, Serene, Imperial, most August,
Are only high and mighty epithets for dust.
In vain, in vain so high
Our tow'ring expectations fly,
While th' blossoms of our hopes, so fresh, so gay,
Appear, and promise fruit, then fade away.
From valiant Ossory's ever loyal hands,
What did we not believe!
We dream'd of yet unconquer'd lands
He to his Prince could give,
And neighbouring crowns retrieve:
Expected that he would in triumph come
Laden with spoils and Afric banners home,
As if an hero's years
Were as unbounded as our fond desires.

IV.

Lament, lament, you that dare Honour love,
And court her at a noble rate
(Your prowess to approve),
That dare religiously upon her wait,
And blush not to grow good, when you grow great,
Such mourners suit @3His@1 virtue, such @3His@1 State.
And you, brave souls, who for your country's good
Did wondrous things in fields and seas of blood,
Lament th' undaunted chief that led you on;
Whose exemplary courage could inspire
The most degenerate heart with martial English fire.
Your bleeding wounds who shall hereafter dress
With an indulgent tenderness;
Touch'd with a melting sympathy,
Who shall your wants supply,
Since he, your good Samaritan, is gone?
O Charity! thou richest boon of Heaven,
To man in pity given!
(For when well-meaning mortals give,
The poor's and their own bowels they relieve;)
Thou mak'st us with alacrity to die,
Miss'd and bewail'd like thee, large-hearted Ossory.

V.

Arise, ye blest inhabitants above,
From your immortal seats arise,
And on our wonder, on our love
Gaze with astonish'd eyes.
Arise! Arise! make room,
Th' exalted Shade is come.
See where he comes! What princely port he bears!
How God-like he appears!
His shining temples round
With wreaths of everlasting laurels bound!
As from the bloody field of Mons he came,
Where he outfought th' hyperboles of Fame.
See how the Guardian-Angel of our isle
Receives the deifi'd champion with a smile!
Welcome, the Guardian-Angel says,
Full of songs of joy and praise,
Welcome thou art to me,
And to these regions of serenity!
Welcome, the winged choir resounds,
While with loud @3Euge's@1 all the sacred place abounds.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!

Other Poems of Interest...