My learned friend, Dr Adam, has favoured me with the following defence of Dryden's phrase: "With respect to the title which that great poet gives to his elegy on the death of Charles, making allowance for the taste of the times and the licence of poets in framing names, I see no just foundation for Johnson's criticism on the epithet Augustalis. Threnodia is a word purely Greek, used by no Latin author; and Augustalis denotes, in honour of Augustus; thus, ludi Augustales, games instituted in honour of Augustis, Tac. An. 1, 15 and 54; so sacerdotes vel sodales Augustales, ib. and 2, 83. Hist. 2, 95. Now as Augustus was a name given to the succeeding emperors, I see no reason, why Augustalis may not be used to signify, in honour of any king.' Besides, the very word Augustus denotes, venerable, august, royal:' and therefore Threnodia Augustalis may properly be put for, An Elegy in honour of an august Prince."

The full title declared the poem to be written " by John Dryden, servant to his late majesty, and to the present king;" a style which our author did not generally assume, but which the occasion rendered peculiarly proper. The poem appears to have been popular, as it went through two editions in the course of 1685.

bus Nuperi protectoris, (Qui obiit. Septemb. 3tio.) Ubi stupenda passim victoriæ, et incredibiles domi forasque successus, Heroico carmine, succinctim perstringuntur. Per Fitzpaynæum Piscatorem. Londini, 1658.

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.

T

I.

HUS long my grief has kept me dumb:
Sure there's a lethargy in mighty woe,
Tears stand congealed, and cannot flow;
And the sad soul retires into her inmost room:
Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief;
But, unprovided for a sudden blow,
Like Niobe, we marble grow,
And petrify with grief.

Our British heaven was all serene,
No threatening cloud was nigh,

Not the least wrinkle to deform the sky;
We lived as unconcerned and happily
As the first age in nature's golden scene;
Supine amidst our flowing store,

We slept securely, and we dreamt of more;
When suddenly the thunder-clap was heard,
It took us, unprepared, and out of guard,
Already lost before we feared.

The amazing news of Charles at once were spread,

At once the general voice declared,
"Our gracious prince was dead."
No sickness known before, no slow disease,
To soften grief by just degrees;
But, like an hurricane on Indian seas,
The tempest rose;

An unexpected burst of woes, †
With scarce a breathing space betwixt,
This now becalmed, and perishing the next.
As if great Atlas from his height

Should sink beneath his heavenly weight,
And, with a mighty flaw, the flaming wall,
As once it shall,

Should gape immense, and, rushing down, o'erwhelm this nether ball;

So swift and so surprising was our fear :

Our Atlas fell indeed; but Hercules was near.

II.

His pious brother, sure the best

Who ever bore that name, Was newly risen from his rest,

And, with a fervent flame,

His usual morning vows had just addrest,
For his dear sovereign's health;

And hoped to have them heard,

In long increase of years,

In honour, fame, and wealth:

*

Guiltless of greatness, thus he always prayed,
Nor knew nor wished those vows he made,
On his own head should be repaid.

+ Note 1.

Alluding to the fable of Hercules supporting the heavenly sphere when Atlas was fatigued.

Soon as the ill-omen'd rumour reached his ear,
(Ill news is winged with fate, and flies apace,)
Who can describe the amazement of his face!
Horror in all his pomp was there,

Mute and magnificent, without a tear;
And then the hero first was seen to fear.
Half unarrayed he ran to his relief,
So hasty and so artless was his grief:
Approaching greatness met him with her charms
Of power and future state;

But looked so ghastly in a brother's fate,
He shook her from his arms.
Arrived within the mournful room, he saw
A wild distraction, void of awe,
And arbitrary grief unbounded by a law.
God's image, God's anointed, lay
Without motion, pulse, or breath,
A senseless lump of sacred clay,
An image now of death,

Amidst his sad attendants' groans and cries,
The lines of that adored forgiving face,
Distorted from their native grace;
An iron slumber sat on his majestic eyes.
The pious duke-Forbear, audacious muse!
No ternis thy feeble art can use

Are able to adorn so vast a woe:

The grief of all the rest like subject-grief did show,
His, like a sovereign's, did transcend;

No wife, no brother, such a grief could know,
Nor any name but friend.

III.

O wondrous changes of a fatal scene,

Still varying to the last!

Heaven though its hard decree was past,
Seemed pointing to a gracious turn again:
And death's uplifted arm arrested in its haste.

3

Heaven half repented of the doom, And almost grieved it had foreseen,

What by foresight it willed eternally to come. Mercy above did hourly plead

For her resemblance here below; And mild forgiveness intercede

To stop the coming blow.

New miracles approached the etherial throne,
Such as his wonderous life had oft and lately known,
And urged that still they might be shown.
On earth his pious brother prayed and vowed,
Renouncing greatness at so dear a rate,

Himself defending what he could,

From all the glories of his future fate. With him the innumerable crowd

Of armed prayers

Knocked at the gates of heaven, and knocked aloud; The first well-meaning rude petitioners. *

All for his life assailed the throne,

All would have bribed the skies by offering up

own.

their

So great a throng, not heaven itself could bar;
'Twas almost borne by force, as in the giants' war.
The prayers, at least, for his reprieve were heard;
His death, like Hezekiah's, was deferred:

Against the sun the shadow went;

Five days, those five degrees, were lent,
To form our patience, and prepare the event.
The second causes took the swift command,
The medicinal head, the ready hand,

All eager to perform their part; †

All but eternal doom was conquered by their art:

A

very ill-timed sarcasm on those, who petitioned Charles to call his parliament. See p. 311.

2 Kings, chap. xx.

+ Note II.