Subtus _conditur_ Hujus ecclesiæ et urbis _conditor_ Ch. Wren, Qui vixit annos ultra nonaginta, Non sibi sed bono publico. Lector, si monumentum requiris, Circumspice.
We cannot preserve the pun in English, unless, perhaps, by some such rendering as, "Here found a grave the founder of this church;" or "Underneath is founded the tomb," &c. The rest is admirable:
"Who lived to the age of upwards of ninety years, Not for himself, but for the public good. Reader, if thou seekest his monument, Look around."
The reader _does_ look around, and the whole interior of the cathedral, which is finer than the outside, seems like a magnificent vault over his single body. The effect is very grand, especially if the organ is playing. A similar one, as far as the music is concerned, is observable when we contemplate the statues of Nelson and others. The grand repose of the church, in the first instance, gives them a mortal dignity, which the organ seems to waken up and revive, as if in the midst of the
their spirits almost looked out of their stony and sightless eyeballs. Johnson's ponderous figure looks down upon us with something of sourness in the expression; and in the presence of Howard we feel as if pomp itself were in attendance on humanity. It is a pity that the sculpture of the monuments in general is not worthy of these emotions, and tends to undo them.
A poor statue of Queen Anne, in whose reign the church was finished, stands in the middle of the front area, with the figures of Britain, France, Ireland, and America, round the base. Garth, who was a Whig, and angry with the councils which had dismissed his hero Marlborough, wrote some bitter lines upon it, which must have had double effect, coming from so good-natured a man.
Near the vast bulk of that stupendous frame, Known by the Gentiles' great apostle's name, With grace divine great Anna's seen to rise, An awful form that glads a nation's eyes: Beneath her feet four mighty realms appear, And with due reverence pay their homage there. Britain and Ireland seem to own her grace, And e'en wild India wears a smiling face. But France alone with downcast eyes is seen, The sad attendant on so good a queen. Ungrateful country! to forget so soon All that great Anna for thy sake has done, When sworn the kind defender of thy cause, Spite of her dear religion, spite of laws, For thee she sheath'd the terrors of her sword, For thee she broke her gen'ral--and her word: For thee her mind in doubtful terms she told, And learn'd to speak like oracles of old: For thee, for thee alone, what could she more? She lost the honour she had gain'd before; Lost all the trophies which her arms had won, (Such Cæsar never knew, nor Philip's son;) Resign'd the glories of a ten years' reign, And such as none but Marlborough's arm could gain: For thee in annals she's content to shine, Like other monarchs of the Stuart line.