The Muse recedes--in Grief's domestic scene Th' intrusive gaze prophanes the tears that flow: Drop, Pity! there thy hallowed veil between; Guard, Silence! there the sacredness of woe.
Nor let the sectarist, whose faith austere Pretends alone to point th' eternal road; Proud of his creed, pronounce with voice severe, All else excluded from the blest abode.
If error thine, not GOLDSMID! thine the fault, Since first thy infant years instruction drew; From youth's gradations up to manhood taught That faith to reverence which thy fathers knew.
In Retribution's last tremendous hour, When its pale captives, long in dust declined, The grave shall yield, and time shall death devour, When He who saved, shall come to judge mankind.
While Christian-infidels shall tremble round, Who call'd HIM Master! whom their acts denied: Imputed faith may in _thy_ deeds be found, And thy eternal doom those deeds decide.
Sweet songstress! whom the melancholy Muse With more than fondness loved, for thee she strung The lyre, on which herself enraptured hung, And bade thee through the world its sweets diffuse. Oft hath my childhood's tributary tear Paid homage to the sad harmonious strain, That told, alas! too true, the grief and pain Which thy afflicted mind was doom'd to bear. Rest, sainted spirit! from a life of woe, And though no friendly hand on thee bestow The stately marble, or emblazon'd name, To tell a thoughtless world who sleeps below: Yet o'er thy narrow bed a wreath shall blow. Deriving vigour from the breath of fame!
Who stops the Minister of State, When hurrying to the Lords' debate? Who, spite of gravity beguiles, The solemn Bishop of his smiles? See from the window, "burly big," The Judge pops out his awful wig, Yet, seems to love a bit of gig!--While _both_ the Sheriffs and the Mayor Forget the "Address"--and stop to stare--And who detains the Husband true, Running to Doctor Doode-Doo, To save his Wife "in greatest danger;" While e'en the Doctor keeps the stranger Another hour from life and light, To gape at the bewitching sight. The Bard, in debt, whom Bailiffs ferret, Despite his poetry and merit, Stops in his quick retreat awhile, And tries the long-forgotten smile; E'en the pursuing _Bum_ forgets His business, and the man of Debts; The one neglecting "Caption"--"Bail"-- The other "thoughts of gyves and Jail"-- So wondrous are the spells that bind The noble and ignoble mind. The Paviour halts in mid-grunt--stands With rammer in his idle hands; And quite refined, and at his ease, Forgetting onions, bread, and cheese, The hungry Drayman leaves his lunch, To take a peep at _Mister Punch_.