The Massachusetts Spy, Or, Thomas's Boston Journal

Parnassian Packet.

From a late London Paper.

ELEGY. To the Memory of the late K.G.

PEACE to thy royal shade, illustrious King!
Sleep sweetly on, beneath thy blazon'd tomb:
Nor yet be startl'd, though a tale I sing,
Might call up spirits from the Stygian gloom.
How blest were once, the subjects of thy sway!
And blessings still they hop'd from such a root:
But lo! the flattering prospect, fades away:
Keen, northern blasts, have spoil'd the promis'd fruit.
The darling idol of the British state,
A native Prince, on whom we counted high,
No sooner mounted on thy vacant seat,
Then joy began to smile in ev'ry eye.
But ah! how dark, are fate's mysterious ways!-
In error's mazes, how are mortals led!
Blasted the wreaths, and wither'd all the bays
We fondly wove, to crown his royal head!
The partial minion, fraught with subtle wiles,
Soon gain'd his confidence, by hellish art:
Nor, can the nation's censures, nor her smiles
Convince his judgment, or reform his heart.
Alas, how blind to fortune, and to fame,
Must be the Prince, who hugs within his breast
A foe, that always cavil'd at his claim,
And strove, the sceptre, from his hand, to wrest!
Yet, such there is, (O Heav'ns forgive the sight;)
Nor can a Junius wake him from his dream;
In vain the people pray,---the patriots write;
He nods supine, o'er Trent's tainted stream.
Ill-fated hour, when on thy tender youth,
The northern star, its baneful influence shed:
Turn'd all thy footsteps, from the ways of truth,--
And mark'd to vengeance, thy devoted head!
Can nothing rouse thee? nothing 'wake thy soul?
O! may some vision of the midnight hour;
Some dying Charles, before thy fancy roll!
And teach thee goodness, equal to thy Power!
Remember, Sire, (or, if thou hast not read,
Turn o'er the sad, but wise historic page)
There was a people, old their Prince's head!
And there are villains born in every age.---
O! then awake; the voice of truth attend!
And though the novel sound may grate thine ear,
Resolve, at last, to be thy country's friend;
For all thy peace and safety, centers there.
'Tis Heav'n that speaks: and, though thou art a K---
In spite of fraud, in fawning flattery's spite,
Thou soon, or late, shalt own the truths I sing,
For all thy conduct, must be brought to light.
And, what a weight, thy lab'ring soul will press!
How wilt thou stand, amidst the dark despair;
When millions tell thee, all their deep distress,
Could never pierce thine adamantine ear!
In time, be wise; drive Traitors from thy breast;
And let the just! the bone, round thee move:
So, Shall the sinking state once more be blest:
And thou be happy, in thy People's love.

C. L. I. O.