EPITAPHON A FAVOURITE OLD HORSE, WHICH HAD APPEARED AT THE CORONATION OF HIS MAJESTY.
Conceal'd for ever from enquiring eyes,
The precious dust of Alexander lies!
What tho' not foremost in the fields of Fame,
No desolated country sounds his name;
What tho' to war's terrific scenes unknown,
Fair Peace and Plenty claim'd him for their own.
Nor yet confin'd to dull Oblivion's road,
Since once he shone in Honour's bright abode!
Even when our gen'rous Monarch rose to view,
With graceful ease he paid his homage too!
At length from splendid scenes and courts remov'd,
He sought the sweet simplicity he lov'd,
Nor lost by age the virtues of his youth—
Unwearied zeal, fidelity, and truth.
When stiff'ning age assum'd its sober pace,
No cruel lash proclaim'd his dire disgrace';
But fair Miranda[1] sooth'd his weary hour,
With all the softness of benignant pow'r.
May no rude hand this humble spot molest,
Where sweet Miranda bids her favourite rest!
And ye, luxuriant Steeds! who, pert and vain,
Spring o'er the fence, and scour the velvet plain!
Or chase the tim'rous Stag, with eager bound—
Behold this tribute, with respect profound;
And sadly learn, howe'er your skill surpass'd,
To this dire leap ye all must come at last.
The precious dust of Alexander lies!
What tho' not foremost in the fields of Fame,
No desolated country sounds his name;
What tho' to war's terrific scenes unknown,
Fair Peace and Plenty claim'd him for their own.
Nor yet confin'd to dull Oblivion's road,
Since once he shone in Honour's bright abode!
Even when our gen'rous Monarch rose to view,
With graceful ease he paid his homage too!
At length from splendid scenes and courts remov'd,
He sought the sweet simplicity he lov'd,
Nor lost by age the virtues of his youth—
Unwearied zeal, fidelity, and truth.
When stiff'ning age assum'd its sober pace,
No cruel lash proclaim'd his dire disgrace';
But fair Miranda[1] sooth'd his weary hour,
With all the softness of benignant pow'r.
May no rude hand this humble spot molest,
Where sweet Miranda bids her favourite rest!
And ye, luxuriant Steeds! who, pert and vain,
Spring o'er the fence, and scour the velvet plain!
Or chase the tim'rous Stag, with eager bound—
Behold this tribute, with respect profound;
And sadly learn, howe'er your skill surpass'd,
To this dire leap ye all must come at last.
- ↑ The daughter of Dr. Freeman, near Uxbridge.