On vulgar marks Death long had meanly spent
His loaded quiver, and his bow full bent;
Monarchs, who had been great but for a crown,
Statesmen and heroes, sons of high renown;
When, lo! in Heaven this awful mandate past,
'To-morrow's dawn be some famed mortal's last!'
The tidings, to our world officious sent,
Through Albion's isles on wing of lightning went:
Impiety, her heart by vipers stung,
Again blasphemes with loud audacious tongue:
Vice stalks abroad, each late retreat forsook,
With all her bold effrontery of look
But, ah! while these malignant triumphs show,
Far other bosoms other feelings know!
The muse in vain conceals her weeping eye,
And each tear Learning answers with a sigh:
Religion starts, though arm'd with tenfold shield,
And Virtue shrinks, though she disdains to yield:
— The arrow sped, Death took his aim too well,
The mitred pontiff lived, and Hervey fell.