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Curialia Miscellanea, or Anecdotes of Old Times. Samuel Pegge
Letter from the Rev. P. Cunningham to Mr. Pegge.
Eyam, near Tideswal, Nov. 2, 1788.
Rev. and dear Sir,
You will please to accept of the inclosed Stanzas, and the Ode for the Jubilee, as a little testimony of the Author's respectful remembrance of regard; and of his congratulations, that it has pleased Divine Providence to prolong your days, to take a distinguished part in the happy commemoration of the approaching Fifth of November.
Having accidentally heard yesterday the Text you proposed for your Discourse on Wednesday, I thought the adoption of it, as an additional truth to the one I had chosen, would be regarded as an additional token of implied respect. In that light I flatter myself you will consider it.
I shall be happy if these poetic effusions should be considered by you as a proof of the sincere respect and esteem with which I subscribe myself,
Dear Sir, your faithful humble servant,
P. Cunningham.
Stanzas, by the Rev. P. Cunningham, occasioned by the Revolution Jubilee, at Whittington and Chesterfield, Nov. 5, 1788. Inscribed to the Rev. Samuel Pegge, Rector of Whittington.
"This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it." Psalms.
"Esto perpetua!" F. P. Sarpi da Venez.
Round the starr'd Zodiack, now the golden Sun
Eventful Time a Century hath led;
Since Freedom, with her choicest wreath, begun
Smiling, to grace her long-loved Nation's head.
Welcome again, the fair auspicious Morn!
To Freedom, first and fairest of the year;
When from her ashes, like a Phœnix born,
Reviving Britain rose in Glory's sphere.
When, starting from their mournful death-like trance,
Her venerable Laws their fasces rais'd.
Her stern-eyed Champions grasp'd th' avenging lance,
And pure Religion's trembling altars blaz'd.
For then, from Belgia, through the billowy storm,
And, heaven-directed in an happy hour,
Britain's good Genius, bearing William's form,
Broke the dire Sceptre of Despotic Power.
Ev'n now, to Fancy's retrospective eyes,
Fix'd on the triumphs of his Patriot-Reign;
Majestic seems the Hero's shade to rise,
With Commerce, Wealth, and Empire, in his train.
Undimm'd his[43] Eagle-eye, serene his air, Of Soul heroic, as in Fields of Death; See! Britain's Weal employs his latest care, Her Liberty and Laws his latest breath.
"Visions of Glory! crouding on his sight,"
With your still-growing lustre gild the day,
When Britons, worthy of their Sires, unite
Their Orisons at Freedom's Shrine to pay.
To eternize the delegated hand,
That seal'd their great forefathers' fields their own;
Rais'd ev'ry art that decks a smiling land,
And Laws that guard the Cottage as the Throne.
That to the free, unconquerable mind
Secur'd the sacred Rights of Conscience, given
To Man, when tender Mercy first design'd
To raise the Citizen of Earth to Heaven.
And hark! the solemn Pæans grateful rise
From rural Whittington's o'erflowing fane;
And, with the heart's pure incense to the skies,
Its venerable Shepherd's[44] hallow'd strain.
See! pointing to the memorable scene,
He bids that Heath[45] to latest times be known, Whence her three Champions[46], Freedom, heaven-born Queen, Led with fresh glories to the British Throne.
Oh, Friend! upon whose natal morn[47] 'tis given, When seventeen Lustres mark thy letter'd days, To lead the Hymn of Gratitude to Heav'n, And blend the Christian's with the Briton's praise.
Like hoary Sarpis[48], patriot Sage, thy pray'r With Life shall close in his emphatic Strain; "As on this day, may Freedom, ever fair, In Britain flourish, and for ever reign!"
Eyam, Derbyshire.
P. C.
Ode for the Revolution Jubilee, 1788.
When lawless Power his iron hand,
When blinded Zeal her flaming brand
O'er Albion's Island wav'd;
Indignant freedom veil'd the sight;
Eclips'd her Son of Glory's light;
Her fav'rite Realm enslav'd.
Distrest she wander'd:—when afar
She saw her Nassau's friendly star
Stream through the stormy air:
She call'd around a Patriot Band;
She bade them save a sinking land;
And deathless glory share.
Her cause their dauntless hearts inspir'd,
With ancient Roman virtue fir'd;
They plough'd the surging main;
With fav'ring gales from Belgia's shore
Her heaven-directed Hero bore,
And Freedom crown'd his Reign.
With equal warmth her spirit glows,
Though hoary Time's centennial snows
New silver o'er her fame.
For hark, what songs of triumph tell,
Still grateful Britons love to dwell,
On William's glorious name.
EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS TO MR. GOUGH.
Dear Sir,
Whittington, Oct. 11, 1788.
We are to have most grand doings at this place, 5th of November next, at the Revolution House, which I believe you saw when you was here. The Resolutions of the Committee were ordered to be inserted in the London prints[49]; so I presume you may have seen them, and that I am desired to preach the Sermon.
I remain your much obliged, &c.
S. Pegge.
Whittington, Nov. 29, 1788.
My dear Mr. Gough,
Mr. Rooke slept at the Vicarage on the 4th, in order to be ready for our grand celebrity the next day; and to distribute then to his friends his drawing, which he had caused to be engraved by Basire, of the Revolution House at Whittington, which he did, with a paper of mine, respecting the meeting there of the Earl of Devonshire, the Earl of Derby, &c. in 1688, annexed.
The 5th of November is now gone and over, and they said I acquitted myself very well. Indeed, I was in good spirits, and, as my Son-in-law read the prayers, I went fresh into the pulpit. The Duke of Devon was too late; but we had the Earl of Stamford at church,