LUCKLESS KINGS

Otago Witness, Issue 2810, 22 January 1908, Page 88

LUCKLESS KINGS

History is full of those melancholy figures — the luckless kings who have no | throne ; down all the, dusty pages they ! inarch with frustrate eyes and empty j hands. Have you ever stood aside- and watched them. Those lean fellows wrapped in cloaks are the outcasts of Braganza. And yonder go the blithe Stuarts, wandering ;.n; .n beggary and drink through the courts of Europe — pawning the last rags of royalty—dying in monkish chambers or up three pairs of stairs among j the lackeys. Personally I find a queer I kind of fascination in these naked royalties ; I can study them — half in sympathy, half in* amusement — by the hour. And you can, too? Then it is as it should be. It was a long time before loyalty to the house of the Bourbons died out in France. Longer than anywhere, else it lingered in Brittany and the Vendee and ; j among the sunburnt hills of Provence. These provinces still sent up royalist deputies to brawl in democracy's parliament at Paris. Moreover, there have been '•many occasions when the Bourbon might have come to his own, had it not been that the Comte de Cftiambord was buch pooT stuff to make a king of. He might nave gained the throne in 1848 had he not lacked courage, and long after that there was a moment when he might have overturned the corrupt republic of Grevy. Louis XVI at least died well. The real dishonour of the house of Bouibon began at Quiberon in Lhe person of the Comte d'Artois ; it was continued in that vrild Duchesse de Berry — you know her portrait by Lawrence — whose adventures in love and insurrection were at once foolish and wicked ; it culminated in her son — Henry V. He was a posthumous child. Loyal France hailed him as the "Child of tho Miracle." It was his destiny to waste 50* years wherein it was always possible to reestablish the monarchy in France. The men now living who knew him best speak of him with veiled contempt. And the picture you get of him is that of a gross old man, limping about Frohsdorf — he had broken his left thigh in his youth — heavy with too much sleep and food. And yet, even when he died, loyalty to the idea was not dead. Through" Brittany and the Vendee and Provence the whisper went, '"Where shall we get us a king?" Don Carlos of Spain, and the decayed Bourbons of Naples did not appeal to the French soul. There was left only the Oi lcans branch. More than one royalist asked himself what these descendants of "Egalite"' and Louis Philippe had to do on the throne of St. Louis, but" the idea was more important than the man, and the Comte de Paris was hailed as king under the, title of Philippe VII. He was an amiable, soldierly man — he- had fought for thelSorth in the Civil War, and had many friends, in the United States — and made his shadowy royalty at least respectable. The Republic exiled him, and he went to England. There, at Twickenham, he passed the ra>t of his years in the kingly work of instructing his heir. His son, Robert, Due <T Orleans, is a fine figure of a man, bigchested, bearded, with ehort, upstanding hair and features moulded on a large Bourbon plan. Withal he is couiteous, gay, and forthcoming, and mere is in him ' a kind of peremptory force which sends him abroad to shoot Asian tigers and explore polar seas. — From "Kings who Ne-\er Keigned," an illustrated article by Vance Thompson, in the Munsey Magazine for November. NAVAL EPIFAPHS. TRIBUTES TO GREAT SEAMEN. It is a pity that no one has yet taken the trouble to make a collection of, naval ' epitaphs, of which there must be hundreds in the churches and burial grounds of the country (says the London Weekly Scotsman), many, no doubt, of exceptional ip- J terest. The following, gathered almost at random, are a few specimens of the rich store that awaits the diligent searcher. The epitaph most quoted is perhaps the one in Greenwich Old Cemetery, but it also appears, with slight variations, in other churchyards. Though Boreas' blasts and Neptune's waves have took me to and fro, In spite of both, by God's decree, I harbour h«re below, Where I do now at anchor ride with many of our Fleet, • Yet once again I must set sail our Admiral Christ to meet. , One variant of the above is as follows: — Though Boreas, with his blustering blasts Has tost me to and fro. Yet, by the handiwork of God, I'm here enclosed below. And in this silent bay I lie, With many of our fleet, Until the day I set sail My Saviour Christ to meet. This version was sent to Alfred fenny- , son by a friend, and is ©aid to have sug- ' gested the idea in his exquisite lyric "Crossing the Bar." The same idea is preserved in the following epitaphs: — The boisterous misin I've traversed o'er New seas and lands explored, But now at last I'm anchored fast, In peace and silence moored 1 . Oft time m danger have I been Upon the raging main, But here m harbour safe at last, Free from all human pain. Captain Edward Thompson, a popular officer and somewhat clever litterateur, ' wrote the following epitaph jpon himself:— , j Ned Thompson at last is- sailed out of the ■ world, ' His shrouds are cast off, and his top-saila are furled; He lies snug in death's boat, without any 1 concern,

And is moored for a full due ahead and a?tern. O'er the compass of life he has merrily run, His reck'ning is out, pnd his voyage is done, When his journals are pass'd by their Lordships above Then his leeway in life they'll condemn or approve. Of a different character are the follow-* ing lines written on the death of Captain Cravley. of H.M.S. Philomel, who was greatly beloved by all who served with. i him. : — He met an early dea-th — but o'er his bier Falls the rich tribute of a seaman's tear; He met an early death — but o'er his tomb (His just reward) unfading laurels bloom. His gallant tars — a melancholy band, Unwilling quit the long lamented strand, Where Crawley's honour'd life and prospects end; Where sleeps in peace their Hero, Father, Frieiid. Upon Robert Blake the following epitaph, acrostic was written by one Greorge Harrison " on board the Dunbar in the Dowse, August 11, 1657 " : — • Best here in peace the scarlet dust 1 Of valiant Blake, the good, the just, Belov'd of all on -every side, England's honour, once her pride, Rome's tenor, Dutch annoycr, Truth's defender, Spain's destroyer. Bring no dry eyes into this place; Let not be seen in any cas« A smiling or an unaad face. Kindle desiie in every breast, j Eternally with him to rest. ! At Port Royal lies buried a midshipman named Kirby, who," having no friends in high quarters to press his claims, failed to secure the promotion to which his services entitled him, and died of a broken heart : — Stop, gentle traveller, as you wander o'er This earthquake spar'd, but Heav'n-deserted shore ; Here Kir by with ten thousand heroes, 'lies, Whose loyal souls have reached ethereal skies. Poor, friendless servant of the Crown and State. Whose merits now are known, but known too late ; X"ear twice th' apprenticeship th*e State demands, He "fived obedient to all just commands; With honour still performed each manly part, Biu. hopeless, died beneath a- broken" heart. _Oh! gentle reader, drop one pious tear, T' embalm the sacied corpse which moulders here ; And when his solid virtues you record. Lament that virtue seldom meets reward. Here follows a tribute to a gallant midshipman. James Whitshed, of H.M.S. Berwick, who was killed, at the head of a few seanien. in boarding a French man-of-war, which was ultimately sunk, on December 11, 1813: — Though but eighteen fleeting years on earth. Had nursed ingenious Whitshed's growing worth ; Still he had lived to be beloved by all Who love the good and can lament their fal^ His heart was open as the summer's day, When not a cloud obscures the rising ray ; Kind as the spring, that round the verdantl fields Its l>?autecu« b!osrom= in abundance yie^?, And smiles in promise of the fruit in store, When time extends to make that fruit mature; His tim j was short — pnd yet his gloriou3 name Shall live in memory, and be dear to fame; Nelson, expiiing, could have said no more Than he, whose fate the brave must now deploie. Leading his band to board his country's foe, Too true alas, was aimed. the fatal blow, The ball that piere'd the youthful hero's head;' But eie to heaven his gallant spirit fled His look displayed a soul despising death. He cheeerd his men, and with convulsive bieath Dying exclaimed, amid the cannon's roar, " Cairy her, if you can — I am no more!" Another heroic officer, -Captain Samuel! Blyth, is commemorated in the following lines. He lost his life and his ship, the Boxer, in combat with the United States brl'^ PJnterprifie, the commander of which, was ateo killed, both being buried at the same time. — By glory fir'd, thus spake his latest breath, "Ah' give me victoiy, or give me death." Hfiud wai his prayer — its fatal purport spread ' Vr;e \vfi\cd the gloomy cypress o'er his head. His ensign's floating yet, in martial pride ;> Far horn bis n-hvc i°le and widow'd bride — ■ A glorious deaMi the gallant seaman died! By gen'rous foes the last sad rites were paid; lii foreign 'a'tli the wprrior's corse was laid; The sculptured stone ihis pensive shipmates rear, And lilont shed the sympathetic tear, Whilst near his grave, in victory's arms laid! low, In ■seen the spot where tests his happier foe. A monument erected to the memory of Admiral Samuel Barrington, at Shrivenham. Berk®, bears the following epitaph :: — ■ Here rests the hero who,' in glory's page, Wrote his fair deeds for more than half an age, Here rests the patriot, who, for England's good, Each toil enoounter'd, and each clime withstood. Here rests the Christian, his the loftier theme, To seize the conquest, yet renounce the fame. He, when his arm St. Lucia's trophies boasts, Ascribes the glory to the Lord of Hosts; And when the harder task remain'd behind, The passive courage and the will resigned; Patient the veteran victor yields his breath, Secure in Him who conquer'd sin and death. Winstanley, who was contemporary with' Admiral Blake, wrote the following lines upon his death : — Here lies a man made Spain and Holland shake, Made France to tremble, and the Tuiks to quake ; Thus he tam'd men, but if a lady stood In sight it raised a palsy in his blood; Cupid's antagonist, who in his life Had fortune as familiar as a wife. A --tiff hard iron soldier; for he, It seems, had more of Mars than Mercury; 1 At =ea he thundered, calm'd each raging wave, And now he's dead, sent thundering to the grave. The following inscription is to the memory of Lord Aubrey Beauclerk, captain of the Prince Frederick, who was killed at the attack on the Castle of Bocca Chica, March 24, 1741 : — j Whilst Britain boasts her empire o'er thai deep, This marble shall compel the brave to .weep;) As men, as Britons, and as soldiers mourn, 'Tis dauntless, loyal, virtuous Beauclerk's urnl Sweet were his manners as his soul \»as great, And ripe his work, tho' immature his fat#. Each tender grace that love and joy inspire^ Living, he mingled with his martial fire; Dying, he bid Brit»nnia's thunder roar, And Spain still felt him when lie breathed no more*

Among curious epitaphs the following may be cited : — Here Lemuel Wood his bones would lay If lie. had .not-been <Jrown«d at sea (say). , Despite his mourniig widow's wishes, His earthly frame is food for fishes; Ytet 'she consoled is to-- know- ' ' " His sotil is "not misused so,' •-"* But. high o'er eatth; and? tocean'too, Rejoioeta wiih the heavenly crew. A cap-tain bold He steered his barque Thro' ocean's troublous maze, And never missed his -path or mark Thro-a ll his faithful days.