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BELL'S EDITION. The POETS of GREAT BRITAIN COMPLETE FROM CHAUCER to CHURCHILL.

SHENSTONE, VOLUME II.

And tears bedew her tender eye,

To think the playful Kid muſt die!

The Dying Kid

Mortimer del.

Grignion ſculp.

Printed for John Bell near Exeter Exchange Strand London Sept: 1778.

[]

THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILL. SHENSTONE.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

WITH THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, AND A DESCRIPTION OF THE LEASOWES.

—Saepe ego longos

Cantando puerum memini me condere ſoles.

VIRG.

IMITATION.

—Right well I call to mind
When (yet a boy) whole ſuns and lengthen'd days
I oft' employ'd in chanting ſylvan lays.

Yet while he woo'd the gentle throng,
With liquid lay and melting ſong,
The liſt'ning herd around him ſtray'd,
In wanton friſk the lambkins play'd,
And every Naiad ceas'd to lave
Her azure limbs amid the wave:
The Graces danc'd; the roſy band
Of Smiles and Loves went hand in hand,
And purple Pleaſures ſtrew'd the way
With ſweeteſt flow'rs; and every ray
Of each fond Muſe with rapture fir'd,
To glowing thoughts his breaſt inſpir'd;
The hills rejoic'd, the vallies rung,
All Nature ſmil'd while SHENSTONE ſung.
VERSES by —

VOL. II.

EDINBURG: AT THE Apollo Preſs, BY THE MARTINS. Anno 1778.

[]

THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM SHENSTONE.

VOL. II.

CONTAINING HIS ODES, MORAL PIECES, &c. &c. &c.

Ill was he ſkill'd to guide his wand'ring ſheep,
And unforeſeen diſaſter thinn'd his fold,
Yet at another's loſs the ſwain would weep,
And for his friend his very crook was ſold—

He lov'd the Muſe; ſhe taught him to complain;
He ſaw his tim'rous loves on her depend;
He lov'd the Muſe, altho' ſhe taught in vain;
He lov'd the Muſe, for ſhe was Virtue's friend—

He wiſh'd for wealth, for much he wiſh'd to give;
He griev'd that virtue might not wealth obtain:
Piteous of woes, and hopeleſs to relieve,
The penſive proſpect ſadden'd all his ſtrain.

I ſaw him faint! I ſaw him ſink to reſt!
Like one ordain'd to ſwell the vulgar throng;
As tho' the Virtues had not warm'd his breaſt,
As tho' the Muſes not inſpir'd his tongue.

ELEGY III.

EDINBURG: AT THE Apollo Preſs, BY THE MARTINS. Anno 1778.

ODES, &c.

[]

ODE TO HEALTH, 1730.

O HEALTH! capricious maid!
Why doſt thou ſhun my peaceful bow'r,
Where I had hope to ſhare thy pow'r,
And bleſs thy laſting aid?

Since thou, alas! art flown,
It 'vails not whether Muſe or Grace,
With tempting ſmile, frequent the place;
I ſigh for thee alone.

Age not forbids thy ſtay;
Thou yet might'ſt act the friendly part;
Thou yet might'ſt raiſe this languid heart;
Why ſpeed ſo ſwift away?

Thou ſcorn'ſt the city-air;
I breathe freſh gales o'er furrow'd ground,
Yet haſt not thou my wiſhes crown'd,
O falſe! O partial Fair!

I plunge into the wave;
And tho' with pureſt hands I raiſe
A rural altar to thy praiſe,
Thou wilt not deign to ſave.

[6]

Amid my well-known grove,

Where mineral fountains vainly bear

Thy boaſted name and titles fair,

Why ſcorns thy foot to rove?

Thou hear'ſt the ſportſman's claim,
Enabling him, with idle noiſe,
To drown the Muſe's melting voice,
And fright the tim'rous game.

Is thought thy foe? Adieu,
Ye midnight lamps! ye curious tomes!
Mine eye o'er hills and vallies roams,
And deals no more with you.

Is it the clime you flee?
Yet 'midſt his unremitting ſnows
The poor Laponian's boſom glows,
And ſhares bright rays from thee.

There was, there was a time,
When tho' I ſcorn'd thy guardian care,
Nor made a vow nor ſaid a pray'r,
I did not rue the crime.

Who then more bleſs'd than I?
When the glad ſchoolboy's taſk was done,
And forth, with jocund ſprite, I run
To freedom and to joy?

[7]

How jovial then the day!

What ſince have all my labours found,

Thus climbing life to gaze around,

That can thy loſs repay?

Wert thou, alas! but kind,
Methinks no frown that Fortune wears,
Nor leſſen'd hopes nor growing cares,
Could ſink my cheerful mind.

Whate'er my ſtars include,
What other breaſts convert to pain,
My tow'ring mind ſhould ſoon diſdain,
Should ſcorn—Ingratitude!

Repair this mould'ring cell,
And bleſs'd with objects found at home,
And envying none their fairer dome,
How pleas'd my ſoul ſhould dwell!

Temperance ſhould guard the doors;
From room to room ſhould Mem'ry ſtray,
And, ranging all in neat array,
Enjoy her pleaſing ſtores—

There let them reſt unknown,
The types of many a pleaſing ſcene;
But to preſerve them bright or clean,
Is thine, fair Queen! alone.

TO A LADY OF QUALITY, FITTING UP HER LIBRARY, 1738.

[8]

AH! what is ſcience, what is art,
Or what the pleaſure theſe impart?
Ye trophies which the learn'd purſue
Thro' endleſs fruitleſs toils, adieu!

What can the tedious tomes beſtow,
To ſooth the miſeries they ſhow?
What like the bliſs for him decreed
Who tends his flock and tunes his reed!

Say, wretched Fancy! thus refin'd
From all that glads the ſimpleſt hind,
How rare that object which ſupplies
A charm for too diſcerning eyes!

The poliſh'd bard, of genius vain,
Endures a deeper ſenſe of pain;
As each invading blaſt devours
The richeſt fruits, the faireſt flow'rs.

Sages, with irkſome waſte of time,
The ſteep aſcent of knowledge climb,
Then from the tow'ring heights they ſcale,
Behold Contentment range—the vale.

[9]

Yet why, Aſteria, tell us why

We ſcorn the crowd when you are nigh?

Why then does reaſon ſeem ſo fair,

Why learning then deſerve our care?

Who can unpleas'd your ſhelves behold,
While you ſo fair a proof unfold
What force the brighteſt genius draws
From poliſh'd wiſdom's written laws?

Where are our humbler tenets flown?
What ſtrange perfection bids us own
That Bliſs with toilſome Science dwells,
And happieſt he who moſt excels?

ANACREONTIC, 1738.

'TWAS in a cool Aonian glade
The wanton Cupid, ſpent with toil,
Had ſought refreſhment from the ſhade,
And ſtretch'd him on the moſſy ſoil.

A vagrant Muſe drew nigh, and found
The ſubtle traitor faſt aſleep;
And is it thine to ſnore profound,
She ſaid, yet leave the world to weep?

But huſh—from this auſpicious hour
The world, I ween, may reſt in peace,
[10] And robb'd of darts, and ſtript of pow'r,
Thy peeviſh petulance decreaſe.

Sleep on, poor Child! whilſt I withdraw,
And this thy vile artill'ry hide—
When the Caſtalian fount ſhe ſaw,
And plung'd his arrows in the tide.

That magic fount—ill-judging maid!
Shall cauſe you ſoon to curſe the day
You dar'd the ſhafts of Love invade,
And gave his arms redoubled ſway.

For in a ſtream ſo wondrous clear,
When angry Cupid ſearches round,
Will not the radiant points appear?
Will not the furtive ſpoils be found?

Too ſoon they were; and ev'ry dart,
Dipp'd in the Muſe's myſtic ſpring,
Acquir'd new force to wound the heart,
And taught at once to love and ſing.

Then farewell, ye Pierian quire!
For who will now your altars throng?
From love we learn to ſwell the lyre,
And Echo aſks no ſweeter ſong.

ODE. Written 1739.

[11]

Urit ſpes animi credula mutui?

HOR.

IMITATION.

Fond hope of a reciprocal deſire

Inflames the breaſt.

'TWAS not by Beauty's aid alone
That Love uſurp'd his airy throne,
His boaſted pow'r diſplay'd;
'Tis kindneſs that ſecures his aim,
'Tis hope that feeds the kindling flame,
Which Beauty firſt convey'd.

In Clara's eyes the lightnings view;
Her lips, with all the roſe's hue
Have all its ſweets combin'd;
Yet vain the bluſh, and faint the fire,
Till lips at once, and eyes, conſpire
To prove the charmer kind—

Tho' wit might gild the tempting ſnare
With ſofteſt accent, ſweeteſt air,
By Envy's ſelf admir'd;
If Leſbia's wit betray'd her ſcorn,
In vain might ev'ry Grace adorn
What ev'ry Muſe inſpir'd.

[12]Thus airy Strephon tun'd his lyre—
He ſcorn'd the pangs of wild deſire,
Which love-ſick ſwains endure;
Reſolv'd to brave the keeneſt dart,
Since frowns could never wound his heart,
And ſmiles—muſt ever cure.

But, ah! how falſe theſe maxims prove,
How frail ſecurity from love
Experience hourly ſhows!
Love can imagin'd ſmiles ſupply,
On ev'ry charming lip and eye
Eternal ſweets beſtows.

In vain we truſt the fair one's eyes;
In vain the ſage explores the ſkies,
To learn from ſtars his fate;
Till led by fancy wide aſtray,
He finds no planet mark his way;
Convinc'd and wiſe—too late.

As partial to their words we prove,
Then boldly join the liſts of love,
With tow'ring hopes ſupply'd:
So heroes, taught by doubtful ſhrines,
Miſtook their deity's deſigns,
Then took the field—and dy'd.

UPON A VISIT TO A LADY OF QUALITY, In winter 1748.

[13]

ON fair Aſteria's bliſsful plains,
Where ever-blooming Fancy reigns,
How pleas'd we paſs the winter's day,
And charm the dull-ey'd Spleen away!

No linnet, from the leafleſs bough,
Pours forth her note melodious now,
But all admire Aſteria's tongue,
Nor wiſh the linnet's vernal ſong.

No flow'rs emit their tranſient rays;
Yet ſure Aſteria's wit diſplays
More various tints, more glowing lines,
And with perennial beauty ſhines.

Tho' rifled groves and fetter'd ſtreams
But ill befriend a poet's dreams,
Aſteria's preſence wakes the lyre,
And well ſupplies poetic fire.

The fields have loſt their lovely dye,
No cheerful azure decks the ſky,
Yet ſtill we bleſs the louring day;
Aſteria ſmiles—and all is gay.

[14]

Hence let the Muſe no more preſume

To blame the winter's dreary gloom,

Accuſe his loit'ring hours no more,

But, ah! their envious haſte deplore.

For ſoon from Wit and Friendſhip's reign,
The ſocial hearth, the ſprightly vein,
I go—to meet the coming year
On ſavage plains and deſerts drear!

I go—to feed on pleaſures flown,
Nor find the ſpring my loſs atone;
But 'mid the flow'ry ſweets of May
With pride recall this winter's day.

ODE TO MEMORY, 1748.

O MEMORY! celeſtial maid!
Who glean'ſt the flow'rets cropt by time,
And, ſuffering not a leaf to fade,
Preſerv'ſt the bloſſoms of our prime,
Bring, bring thoſe moments to my mind
When life was new and Leſbia kind.

And bring that garland to my ſight
With which my favour'd crook ſhe bound,
And bring that wreath of roſes bright
Which then my feſtive temples crown'd,
And to my raptur'd ear convey
The gentle things ſhe deign'd to ſay.

[15]And ſketch with care the Muſe's bow'r,
Where Iſis rolls her ſilver tide,
Nor yet omit one reed or flow'r
That ſhines on Cherwell's verdant ſide,
If ſo thou may'ſt thoſe hours prolong,
When poliſh'd Lycon join'd my ſong.

The ſong it 'vails not to recite—
But, ſure, to ſooth our youthful dreams,
Thoſe banks and ſtreams appear'd more bright
Than other banks, than other ſtreams;
Or by thy ſoft'ning pencil ſhown,
Aſſume they beauties not their own?

And paint that ſweetly-vacant ſcene
When, all beneath the poplar bough,
My ſpirits light, my ſoul ſerene,
I breath'd in verſe one cordial vow,
That nothing ſhould my ſoul inſpire
But friendſhip warm and love entire.

Dull to the ſenſe of new delight,
On thee the drooping Muſe attends,
As ſome fond lover, robb'd of ſight,
On thy expreſſive pow'r depends,
Nor would exchange thy glowing lines,
To live the lord of all that ſhines.

[16]But let me chaſe thoſe vows away
Which at Ambition's ſhrine I made,
Nor ever let thy ſkill diſplay
Thoſe anxious moments, ill repaid:
Oh! from my breaſt that ſeaſon raſe,
And bring my childhood in its place.

Bring me the bells, the rattle bring,
And bring the hobby I beſtrode,
When pleas'd, in many a ſportive ring
Around the room I jovial rode;
Ev'n let me bid my lyre adieu,
And bring the whiſtle that I blew.

Then will I muſe, and, penſive, ſay,
Why did not theſe enjoyments laſt?
How ſweetly waſted I the day,
While innocence allow'd to waſte!
Ambition's toils alike are vain,
But, ah! for pleaſure yield us pain.

VERSES Written towards the cloſe of the year 1748, TO WILLIAM LYTTLETON, ESQ.

HOW blithly paſs'd the ſummer's day!
How bright was ev'ry flow'r!
While friends arriv'd, in circles gay,
To viſit Damon's bow'r!

[17]

But now, with ſilent ſtep, I range

Along ſome lonely ſhore,

And Damon's bow'r, alas the change!

Is gay with friends no more.

Away to crowds and cities borne,
In queſt of joy they ſteer,
Whilſt I, alas! am left forlorn
To weep the parting year!

O penſive Autumn! how I grieve
Thy ſorrowing face to ſee!
When languid ſuns are taking leave
Of ev'ry drooping tree.

Ah! let me not, with heavy eye,
This dying ſcene ſurvey!
Haſte, Winter! haſte; uſurp the ſky;
Complete my bow'r's decay.

Ill can I bear the motley caſt
Yon' ſick'ning leaves retain,
That ſpeak at once of pleaſure paſt,
And bode approaching pain.

At home unbleſs'd, I gaze around,
My diſtant ſcenes require,
Where, all in murky vapours drown'd,
Are hamlet, hill, and ſpire.

[18]

Tho' Thomſon, ſweet deſcriptive bard!

Inſpiring Autumn ſung,

Yet how ſhould we the months regard

That ſtopp'd his flowing tongue?

Ah! luckleſs months, of all the reſt,
To whoſe hard ſhare it fell!
For ſure he was the gentleſt breaſt
That ever ſung ſo well.

And ſee, the ſwallows now diſown
The roofs they lov'd before,
Each, like his tuneful genius, flown
To glad ſome happier ſhore.

The wood-nymph eyes, with pale affright,
The ſportſman's frantic deed,
While hounds, and horns, and yells, unite
To drown the Muſe's reed.

Ye Fields! with blighted herbage brown,
Ye Skies! no longer blue,
Too much we feel from Fortune's frown
To bear theſe frowns from you.

Where is the mead's unſully'd green?
The zephyr's balmy gale?
And where ſweet Friendſhip's cordial mien,
That brighten'd ev'ry vale?

[19]

What tho' the vine diſcloſe her dyes,

And boaſt her purple ſtore?

Not all the vineyard's rich ſupplies

Can ſooth our ſorrows more.

He! he is gone, whoſe moral ſtrain
Could wit and mirth refine;
He! he is gone, whoſe ſocial vein
Surpaſs'd the pow'r of wine.

Faſt by the ſtreams he deign'd to praiſe,
In yon' ſequeſter'd grove,
To him a votive urn I raiſe,
To him and friendly Love.

Yes, there, my Friend! forlorn and ſad,
I grave your Thomſon's name,
And there his lyre, which Fate forbade
To ſound your growing fame.

There ſhall my plaintive ſong recount
Dark themes of hopeleſs woe,
And faſter than the dropping fount
I'll teach mine eyes to flow.

There leaves, in ſpite of Autumn green,
Shall ſhade the hallow'd ground,
And Spring will there again be ſeen,
To call forth flow'rs around.

[20]

But no kind ſuns will bid me ſhare,

Once more, his ſocial hour;

Ah, Spring! thou never canſt repair

This loſs to Damon's bow'r.

AN IRREGULAR ODE, After ſickneſs, 1749.

—Melius, cum venerit ipſa, canemus.

IMITATION.

His wiſh'd-for preſence will improve the ſong.

TOO long a ſtranger to repoſe,
At length from Pain's abhorred couch I roſe,
And wander'd forth alone,
To court once more the balmy breeze,
And catch the verdure of the trees,
Ere yet their charms were flown.

'Twas from a bank with panſies gay
I hail'd once more the cheerful day,
The ſun's forgotten beams:
O Sun! how pleaſing were thy rays,
Reflected from the poliſh'd face
Of yon' refulgent ſtreams!

Rais'd by the ſcene, my feeble tongue
Eſſay'd again the ſweets of ſong,
And thus in feeble ſtrains, and ſlow,
The loit'ring numbers 'gan to flow.
[21] " Come, gentle Air! my languid limbs reſtore,
" And bid me welcome from the Stygian ſhore,
" For ſure I heard the tender ſighs,
" I ſeem'd to join the plaintive cries
" Of hapleſs youths, who thro' the myrtle grove
" Bewail for ever their unfiniſh'd love;
" To that unjoyous clime,
" Torn from the ſight of theſe ethereal ſkies,
" Debarr'd the luſtre of their Delia's eyes,
" And baniſh'd in their prime.

" Come, gentle Air! and, while the thickets bloom,
" Convey the jaſmine's breath divine,
" Convey the woodbine's rich perfume,
" Nor ſpare the ſweet-leaf'd eglantine;
" And may'ſt thou ſhun the rugged ſtorm
" Till Health her wonted charms explain,
" With Rural Pleaſure in her train,
" To greet me in her faireſt form;
" While from this lofty mount I view
" The ſons of Earth, the vulgar crew,
" Anxious for futile gains, beneath me ſtray,
" And ſeek with erring ſtep Contentment's obvious way.

" Come, gentle Air! and thou, celeſtial Muſe!
" Thy genial flame infuſe,
" Enough to lend a penſive boſom aid,
" And gild Retirement's gloomy ſhade;
[22] " Enough to rear ſuch ruſtic lays
" As foes may ſlight, but partial friends will praiſe."

The gentle Air allow'd my claim,
And, more to cheer my drooping frame,
She mix'd the balm of op'ning flowers,
Such as the bee, with chymic powers,
From Hybla's fragrant hills inhales,
Or ſcents Sabea's blooming vales:
But, ah! the nymphs that heal the penſive mind,
By preſcripts more refin'd,
Neglect their vot'ry's anxious moan:
Oh! how ſhould they relieve?—the Muſes all were flown.

By flow'ry plain or woodland ſhades
I fondly ſought the charming maids;
By woodland ſhades or flow'ry plain
I ſought them, faithleſs maids! in vain;
When, lo! in happier hour,
I leave behind my native mead,
To range where Zeal and Friendſhip lead,
To viſit L****'s honour'd bower.
Ah! fooliſh man! to ſeek the tuneful maids
On other plains, or near leſs verdant ſhades!

Scarce have my footſteps preſs'd the favour'd ground,
When ſounds ethereal ſtrike my ear;
At once celeſtial forms appear;
My fugitives are found!
[23] The Muſes here attune their lyres,
Ah! partial, with unwonted fires;
Here, hand in hand, with careleſs mien,
The ſportive Graces trip the green.

But whilſt I wander'd o'er a ſcene ſo fair,
Too well at one ſurvey I trace
How ev'ry Muſe and ev'ry Grace
Had long employ'd their care.
Lurks not a ſtone enrich'd with lively ſtain,
Blooms not a flower amid the vernal ſtore,
Falls not a plume on India's diſtant plain,
Glows not a ſhell on Adria's rocky ſhore,
But torn, methought, from native lands or ſeas,
From their arrangement gain freſh pow'r to pleaſe.

And ſome had bent the wild'ring maze,
Bedeck'd with ev'ry ſhrub that blows,
And ſome entwin'd the willing ſprays,
To ſhield th' illuſtrious dame's repoſe;
Others had grac'd the ſprightly dome,
And taught the portrait where to glow;
Others arrang'd the curious tome,
Or 'mid the decorated ſpace
Aſſign'd the laurell'd buſt a place,
And given to learning all the pomp of ſhow;
And now from ev'ry taſk withdrawn,
They met and friſk'd it o'er the lawn.

[24]Ah! woe is me, ſaid I,
And ***'s hilly circuit heard my cry:
Have I for this with labour ſtrove,
And laviſh'd all my little ſtore
To fence for you my ſhady grove,
And ſcollop ev'ry winding ſhore,
And fringe with ev'ry purple roſe
The ſapphire ſtream that down my valley flows?

Ah! lovely treach'rous maids!
To quit unſeen my votive ſhades,
When pale Diſeaſe and tort'ring Pain
Had torn me from the breezy plain,
And to a reſtleſs couch confin'd,
Who ne'er your wonted taſks declin'd.
She needs not your officious aid
To ſwell the ſong or plan the ſhade;
By genuine Fancy fir'd,
Her native genius guides her hand,
And while ſhe marks the ſage command,
More lovely ſcenes her ſkill ſhall raiſe,
Her lyre reſound with nobler rays
Than ever you inſpir'd.

Thus I my rage and grief diſplay,
But vainly blame, and vainly mourn,
Nor will a Grace or Muſe return
Till Luxborough lead the way.

RURAL ELEGANCE, AN ODE TO THE LATE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET. Written 1750.

[25]

WHILE orient ſkies reſtore the day,
And dew-drops catch the lucid ray,
Amid the ſprightly ſcenes of morn
Will aught the Muſe inſpire?
Oh! peace to yonder clam'rous horn
That drowns the ſacred lyre!

Ye rural Thanes! that o'er the moſſy down
Some panting tim'rous hare purſue,
Does Nature mean your joys alone to crown?
Say, does ſhe ſmooth her lawns for you?
For you does Echo bid the rocks reply,
And, urg'd by rude conſtraint, reſound the jovial cry?

See from the neighb'ring hill, forlorn,
The wretched ſwain your ſport ſurvey;
He finds his faithful fences torn,
He finds his labour'd crops a prey;
He ſees his flock—no more in circles feed,
Haply beneath your ravage bleed,
And with no random curſes lwads the deed.

[26]Nor yet, ye Swains! conclude
That Nature ſmiles for you alone;
Your bounded ſouls and your conceptions crude,
The proud, the ſelfiſh, boaſt diſown:
Yours be the produce of the ſoil;
O may it ſtill reward your toil!
Nor ever the defenceleſs train
Of clinging infants aſk ſupport in vain!

But tho' the various harveſt gild your plains,
Does the mere landſcape feaſt your eye?
Or the warm hope of diſtant gains
Far other cauſe of glee ſupply?
Is not the red-ſtreak's future juice
The ſource of your delight profound,
Where Ariconium pours her gems profuſe,
Purpling a whole horizon round?
Athirſt ye praiſe the limpid ſtream, 'tis true;
But tho' the pebbled ſhores among
It mimic no unpleaſing ſong,
The limpid fountain murmurs not for you.

Unpleas'd ye ſee the thickets bloom,
Unpleas'd the Spring her flow'ry robe reſume;
Unmov'd the mountain's airy pile,
The dappled mead without a ſmile.
O let a rural conſcious Muſe,
For well ſhe knows, your froward ſenſe accuſe:
[27] Forth to the ſolemn oak you bring the ſquare,
And ſpan the maſſy trunk before you cry 'Tis fair.

Nor yet, ye Learn'd! nor yet, ye Courtly Train!
If haply from your haunts ye ſtray
To waſte with us a ſummer's day,
Exclude the taſte of ev'ry ſwain,
Nor our untutor'd ſenſe diſdain:
'Tis Nature only gives excluſive right
To reliſh her ſupreme delight;
She, where ſhe pleaſes kind or coy,
Who furniſhes the ſcene, and forms us to enjoy.

Then hither bring the fair ingenuous mind,
By her auſpicious aid refin'd.
Lo! not an hedge-row hawthorn blows,
Or humble harebell paints the plain,
Or valley winds, or fountain flows,
Or purple heath is ting'd in vain:
For ſuch the rivers daſh the foaming tides,
The mountain ſwells, the dale ſubſides;
Ev'n thriftleſs furze detains their wand'ring ſight,
And the rough barren rock grows pregnant with delight.

With what ſuſpicious fearful care
The ſordid wretch ſecures his claim,
If haply ſome luxurious heir
Should alienate the fields that wear his name!
[28] What ſcruples leſt ſome future birth
Should litigate a ſpan of earth!
Bonds, contracts, feoffments, names unmeet for proſe,
The tow'ring Muſe endures not to diſcloſe:
Alas! her unrevers'd decree,
More comprehenſive and more free,
Her laviſh charter, taſte, appropriates all we ſee.

Let gondolas their painted flags unfold,
And be the ſolemn day enroll'd,
When, to confirm his lofty plea,
In nuptial ſort, with bridal gold,
The grave Venetian weds the ſea:
Each laughing Muſe derides the vow;
Ev'n Adria ſcorns the mock embrace,
To ſome lone hermit on the mountain's brow,
Allotted, from his natal hour,
With all her myrtle ſhores in dow'r.
His breaſt, to admiration prone,
Enjoys the ſmile upon her face,
Enjoys triumphant ev'ry grace,
And finds her more his own.

Fatigu'd with Form's oppreſſive laws,
When Somerſet avoids the great,
When, cloy'd with merited applauſe,
She ſeeks the rural calm retreat,
[29] Does ſhe not praiſe each moſſy cell,
And feel the truth my numbers tell?
When, deafen'd by the loud acclaim
Which genius grac'd with rank obtains,
Could ſhe not more delighted hear
Yon' throſtle chant the riſing year?
Could ſhe not ſpurn the wreaths of fame,
To crop the primroſe of the plains?
Does ſhe not ſweets in each fair valley find,
Loſt to the ſons of Pow'r, unknown to half man⯑kind?

Ah! can ſhe covet there to ſee
The ſplendid ſlaves, the reptile race,
That oil the tongue and bow the knee,
That ſlight her merit, but adore her place?
Far happier, if aright I deem,
When from gay throngs and gilded ſpires,
To where the lonely halcyons play,
Her philoſophic ſtep retires;
While, ſtudious of the moral theme,
She to ſome ſmooth ſequeſter'd ſtream
Likens the ſwains' inglorious day,
Pleas'd from the flow'ry margin to ſurvey
How cool, ſerene, and clear, the current glides away.

O blind to truth, to virtue blind,
Who ſlight the ſweetly penſive mind!
[30] On whoſe fair birth the Graces mild,
And ev'ry Muſe prophetic ſmil'd.
Not that the poet's boaſted fire
Should Fame's wide-echoing trumpet ſwell,
Or on the muſic of his lyre
Each future age with rapture dwell;
The vaunted ſweets of praiſe remove,
Yet ſhall ſuch boſoms claim a part
In all that glads the human heart;
Yet theſe the ſpirits form'd to judge and prove
All Nature's charms immenſe, and Heav'n's unbound⯑ed love.

And, oh! the tranſport moſt ally'd to ſong,
In ſome fair villa's peaceful bound,
To catch ſoft hints from Nature's tongue,
And bid Arcadia bloom around;
Whether we fringe the ſloping hill,
Or ſmooth below the verdant mead,
Whether we break the falling rill,
Or thro' meand'ring mazes lead,
Or in the horrid bramble's room
Bid careleſs groups of roſes bloom,
Or let ſome ſhelter'd lake ſerene
Reflect flow'rs, woods, and ſpires, and brighten all the ſcene.

O ſweet diſpoſal of the rural hour!
O beauties never known to cloy!
[31] While Worth and Genius haunt the favour'd bow'r,
And ev'ry gentle breaſt partakes the joy;
While Charity at eve ſurveys the ſwain,
Enabled by theſe toils to cheer
A train of helpleſs infants dear,
Speed whiſtling home acroſs the plain;
See vagrant Luxury, her handmaid grown,
For half her graceleſs deeds atone,
And hails the bounteous work, and ranks it with her own.

Why brand theſe pleaſures with the name
Of ſoft unſocial toils, of indolence and ſhame?
Search but the garden or the wood,
Let yon' admir'd carnation own
Not all was meant for raiment or for food,
Not all for needful uſe alone;
There, while the ſeeds of future bloſſoms dwell,
'Tis colour'd for the ſight, perfum'd to pleaſe the ſmell.

Why knows the nightingale to ſing?
Why flows the pine's nectareous juice?
Why ſhines with paint the linnet's wing?
For ſuſtenance alone? for uſe?
For preſervation? Ev'ry ſphere
Shall bid fair Pleaſure's rightful claim appear;
And ſure there ſeem, of human kind,
Some born to ſhun the ſolemn ſtrife;
[32] Some for amuſive taſks deſign'd,
To ſooth the certain ills of life;
Grace its lone vales with many a budding roſe,
New founts of bliſs diſcloſe,
Call forth refreſhing ſhades, and decorate repoſe.

From plains and woodlands, from the view
Of rural Nature's blooming face,
Smit with the glare of rank and place,
To courts the ſons of Fancy flew;
There long had Art ordain'd a rival ſeat,
There had ſhe laviſh'd all her care
To form a ſcene more dazzling fair,
And call'd them from their green retreat
To ſhare her proud control;
Had given the robe with grace to flow,
Had taught exotic gems to glow;
And, emulous of Nature's pow'r,
Mimic'd the plume, the leaf, the flow'r;
Chang'd the complexion's native hue,
Moulded each ruſtic limb anew,
And warp'd the very ſoul.

A while her magic ſtrikes the novel eye,
A while the fairy forms delight;
And now aloof we ſeem to fly
On purple pinions thro' a purer ſky,
Where all is wondrous, all is bright:
[33] Now, landed on ſome ſpangled ſhore,
A while each dazzled maniac roves,
By ſapphire lakes thro' em'rald groves:
Paternal acres pleaſe no more;
Adieu the ſimple, the ſincere delight—
Th' habitual ſcene of hill and dale,
The rural herds, the vernal gale,
The tangled vetch's purple bloom,
The fragrance of the bean's perfume,
Be theirs alone who cultivate the ſoil,
And drink the cup of thirſt, and eat the bread of toil.

But ſoon the pageant fades away!
'Tis Nature only bears perpetual ſway.
We pierce the counterfeit delight,
Fatigu'd with ſplendour's irkſome beams;
Fancy again demands the ſight
Of native groves and wonted ſtreams,
Pants for the ſcenes that charm'd her youthful eyes,
Where Truth maintains her court, and baniſhes Diſguiſe.

Then hither oft', ye Senators! retire;
With Nature here high converſe hold;
For who like Stamford her delights admire,
Like Stamford ſhall with ſcorn behold
Th' unequal bribes of pageantry and gold;
Beneath the Britiſh oak's majeſtic ſhade
Shall ſee fair Truth, immortal maid!
Friendſhip in artleſs guiſe array'd,
[34] Honour and moral beauty ſhine
With more attractive charms, with radiance more divine.

Yes, here alone did higheſt Heav'n ordain
The laſting magazine of charms,
Whatever wins, whatever warms,
Whatever fancy ſeeks to ſhare,
The great, the various, and the fair,
For ever ſhould remain!

Her impulſe nothing may reſtrain—
Or whence the joy 'mid columns, tow'rs,
'Midſt all the city's artful trim,
To rear ſome breathleſs vapid flow'rs,
Or ſhrubs fuliginouſly grim?
From rooms of ſilken foliage vain,
To trace the dun far diſtant grove,
Where, ſmit with undiſſembled pain,
The woodlark mourns her abſent love,
Borne to the duſty town from native air,
To mimic rural life, and ſooth ſome vapour'd fair?

But how muſt faithleſs Art prevail,
Should all who taſte our joy ſincere,
To virtue, truth, or ſcience, dear,
Forego a court's alluring pale,
For dimpled brook and leafy grove,
For that rich luxury of thought they love!

[35]Ah, no! from theſe the public ſphere requires
Example for its giddy bands;
From theſe impartial Heav'n demands
To ſpread the flame itſelf inſpires;
To ſift Opinion's mingled maſs,
Impreſs a nation's taſte, and bid the ſterling paſs.

Happy, thrice happy they,
Whoſe graceful deeds have exemplary ſhone
Round the gay precincts of a throne
With mild effective beams!
Who bands of fair ideas bring,
By ſolemn grot or ſhady ſpring,
To join their pleaſing dreams!
Theirs is the rural bliſs without alloy;
They only that deſerve enjoy.

What tho' nor fabled Dryad haunt their grove,
Nor Naiad near their fountains rove?
Yet all embody'd to the mental ſight,
A train of ſmiling Virtues bright
Shall there the wiſe retreat allow,
Shall twine triumphant palms to deck the wand'rer's brow.

And tho' by faithleſs friends alarm'd,
Art have with Nature wag'd preſumptuous war,
By Seymour's winning influence charm'd,
In whom their gifts united ſhine,
No longer ſhall their councils jar.
[36] 'Tis her's to mediate the peace;
Near Percy-lodge, with awe-ſtruck mien,
The rebel ſeeks her lawful queen,
And havoc and contention ceaſe.
I ſee the rival pow'rs combine,
And aid each other's fair deſign;
Nature exalt the mound where Art ſhall build,
Art ſhape the gay alcove, while Nature paints the field.

Begin, ye Songſters of the grove!
O warble forth your nobleſt lay;
Where Somerſet vouchſafes to rove,
Ye Lev'rets! freely ſport and play.
—Peace to the ſtrepent horn!
Let no harſh diſſonance diſturb the Morn;
No ſounds inelegant and rude
Her ſacred ſolitudes profane,
Unleſs her candour not exclude
The lowly ſhepherd's votive ſtrain,
Who tunes his reed amidſt his rural cheer,
Fearful, yet not averſe, that Somerſet ſhould hear.

ODE TO INDOLENCE, 1750.

[37]

AH! why for ever on the wing
Perſiſts my weary'd ſoul to roam?
Why, ever cheated, ſtrives to bring
Or pleaſure or contentment home?

Thus the poor bird that draws his name
From Paradiſe's honour'd groves,
Careleſs fatigues his little frame,
Nor finds the reſting place he loves.

Lo! on the rural moſſy bed
My limbs with careleſs eaſe reclin'd;
Ah, gentle Sloth! indulgent ſpread
The ſame ſoft bandage o'er my mind.

For why ſhould ling'ring thought invade,
Yet ev'ry worldly proſpect cloy?
Lend me, ſoft Sloth! thy friendly aid,
And give me peace, debarr'd of joy.

Lov'ſt thou yon' calm and ſilent flood,
That never ebbs, that never flows,
Protected by the circling wood
From each tempeſtuous wind that blows?

[38]

An altar on its bank ſhall riſe,

Where oft' thy vot'ry ſhall be ſound,

What time pale Autumn lulls the ſkies,

And ſick'ning verdure fades around.

Ye buſy Race! ye factious Train!
That haunt Ambition's guilty ſhrine,
No more perplex the world in vain,
But offer here your vows with mine.

And thou, puiſſant Queen! be kind:
If e'er I ſhar'd thy balmy pow'r,
If e'er I ſway'd my active mind
To weave for thee the rural bow'r;

Diſſolve in ſleep each anxious care,
Each unavailing ſigh remove,
And only let me wake to ſhare
The ſweets of friendſhip and of love.

ODE TO A YOUNG LADY, Somewhat too ſolicitous about her manner of expreſſion.

SURVEY, my Fair! that lucid ſtream
Adown the ſmiling valley ſtray;
Would Art attempt, or Fancy dream,
To regulate its winding way?

[39]

So pleas'd I view thy ſhining hair

In looſe diſhevell'd ringlets flow;

Not all thy art, not all thy care,

Can there one ſingle grace beſtow.

Survey again that verdant hill,
With native plants enamell'd o'er;
Say, can the painter's utmoſt ſkill
Inſtruct one flow'r to pleaſe us more?

As vain it were, with artful dye,
To change the bloom thy cheeks diſcloſe;
And, oh! may Laura, ere ſhe try,
With freſh vermilion paint the roſe.

Hark how the woodlark's tuneful throat
Can every ſtudy'd grace excel;
Let Art conſtrain the rambling note,
And will ſhe, Laura, pleaſe ſo well?

Oh! ever keep thy native eaſe,
By no pedantic law confin'd;
For Laura's voice is form'd to pleaſe,
So Laura's words be not unkind.

WRITTEN IN A FLOWER BOOK Of my own colouring, deſigned for Lady Plymouth, 1753-4.

[40]

Debitae nymphis opifex coronae.

HOR.

IMITATION.

Conſtructor of the tributary wreath

For rural maids.

BRING, Flora, bring thy treaſures here,
The pride of all the blooming year,
And let me thence a garland frame
To crown this fair, this peerleſs, dame!

But, ah! ſince envious Winter lours,
And Hewell meads reſign their flow'rs,
Let Art and Friendſhip's joint eſſay
Diffuſe their flow'rets in her way.

Not Nature can, herſelf, prepare
A worthy wreath for Leſbia's hair,
Whoſe temper, like her forehead, ſmooth,
Whoſe thoughts and accents form'd to ſooth,
Whoſe pleaſing mien, and make refin'd,
Whoſe artleſs breaſt, and poliſh'd mind,
From all the nymphs of plain or grove
Deſerv'd and won my Plymouth's love!

THE DYING KID.

[41]

Optima quaeque dies miſeris mortalibus aevi

Prima fugit—

VIRG.

IMITATION.

Ah! wretched mortals we!—our brighteſt days

On fleeteſt pinion fly.

A TEAR bedews my Delia's eye,
To think yon' playful Kid muſt die;
From cryſtal ſpring and flow'ry mead
Muſt in his prime of life recede!

Erewhile, in ſportive circles round
She ſaw him wheel, and friſk, and bound;
From rock to rock purſue his way,
And on the fearful margin play.

Pleas'd on his various freaks to dwell,
She ſaw him climb my ruſtic cell,
Thence eye my lawns with verdure bright,
And ſeem all raviſh'd at the ſight.

She tells with what delight he ſtood
To trace his features in the flood,
Then ſkipp'd aloof with quaint amaze,
And then drew near again to gaze.

[42]

She tells me how with eager ſpeed

He flew to hear my vocal reed;

And how, with critic face profound,

And ſtedfaſt ear, devour'd the found.

His ev'ry frolic, light as air,
Deſerves the gentle Delia's care,
And tears bedew her tender eye,
To think the playful Kid muſt die.—

But knows my Delia, timely wiſe,
How ſoon this blameleſs era flies?
While violence and craft ſucceed,
Unfair deſign, and ruthleſs deed!

Soon would the vine his wounds deplore,
And yield her purple gifts no more;
Ah! ſoon eras'd from ev'ry grove
Were Delia's name and Strephon's love.

No more thoſe bow'rs might Strephon ſee,
Where firſt he fondly gaz'd on thee;
No more thoſe beds of flow'rets find,
Which for thy charming brows he twin'd.

Each wayward paſſion ſoon would tear
His boſom, now ſo void of care,
And when they left his ebbing vein,
What but inſipid age remain?

[43]

Then mourn not the decrees of Fate,

That gave his life ſo ſhort a date,

And I will join my tend'reſt ſighs

To think that youth ſo ſwiftly flies!

ODE.

SO dear my Lucio is to me,
So well our minds and tempers blend,
That ſeaſons may for ever flee,
And ne'er divide me from my friend;
But let the favour'd boy forbear
To tempt with love my only fair.

O Lycon! born when ev'ry Muſe,
When ev'ry Grace, benignant ſmil'd,
With all a parent's breaſt could chuſe
To bleſs her lov'd, her only child;
'Tis thine, ſo richly grac'd, to prove
More noble cares than cares of love.

Together we from early youth
Have trod the flow'ry tracks of time,
Together mus'd in ſearch of truth,
O'er learned ſage or bard ſublime;
And well thy cultur'd breaſt I know,
What wondrous treaſure it can ſhow.

[44]Come, then, reſume thy charming lyre,
And ſing ſome patriot's worth ſublime,
Whilſt I in fields of ſoft deſire
Conſume my fair and fruitleſs prime;
Whoſe reed aſpires but to diſplay
The flame that burns me night and day.

O come! the Dryads of the woods
Shall daily ſooth thy ſtudious mind,
The blue-ey'd nymphs of yonder floods
Shall meet and court thee to be kind;
And Fame ſits liſt'ning for thy lays
To ſwell her trump with Lucio's praiſe.

Like me, the plover fondly tries
To lure the ſportſman from her neſt,
And flutt'ring on with anxious cries,
Too plainly ſhews her tortur'd breaſt;
O let him, conſcious of her care,
Pity her pains, and learn to ſpare.

ODE. To be performed by Dr. Brettle, and a chorus of Hales Owen citizens. The inſtrumental part a Viol d'Amour.

[45]

AIR BY THE DOCTOR.AWAKE! I ſay, awake, good people!
And be for once alive and gay;
Come, let's be merry; ſtir the tipple;
How can you ſleep
Whilſt I do play? How can you ſleep, &c.

CHORUS OF CITIZENS.Pardon, O! pardon, great Muſician!
On drowſy ſouls ſome pity take,
For wondrous hard is our condition,
To drink thy beer,
Thy ſtrains to hear;
To drink,
To hear,
And keep awake!

SOLO BY THE DOCTOR.Hear but this ſtrain—'twas made by Handel,
A wight of ſkill and judgment deep!
Zoonters, they're gone—Sal, bring a candle—
No, here is one, and he's aſleep.

[46]DUETTE.

DR.—How could they go

[Soft muſic.

Whilſt I do play?

SAL.—How could they go!

[Warlike muſic.

How ſhould they ſtay?

SONGS AND BALLADS.

[]

THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH, A Ballad, alluding to a ſtory recorded of her when ſhe was priſoner at Woodſtock, 1554.

WILL you hear how once repining
Great Eliza captive lay,
Each ambitious thought reſigning,
Foe to riches, pomp, and ſway?

While the nymphs and ſwains delighted
Tripp'd around in all their pride,
Envying joys by others ſlighted,
Thus the royal maiden cry'd.

" Bred on plains, or born in vallies,
" Who would bid thoſe ſcenes adieu?
" Stranger to the arts of malice,
" Who would ever courts purſue?

" Malice never taught to treaſure,
" Cenſure never taught to bear;
" Love is all the ſhepherd's pleaſure;
" Love is all the damſel's care.

" How can they of humble ſtation
" Vainly blame the powers above?
" Or accuſe the diſpenſation
" Which allows them all to love?

[48]

" Love, like air, is widely giv'n;

" Pow'r nor Chance can theſe reſtrain;

" Trueſt, nobleſt, gifts of Heav'n!

" Only pureſt on the plain!

" Peers can no ſuch charms diſcover,
" All in ſtars and garters dreſt,
" As on Sundays does the lover
" With his noſegay on his breaſt.

" Pinks and roſes in profuſion,
" Said to fade when Chloe's near;
" Fops may uſe the ſame alluſion,
" But the ſhepherd is ſincere.

" Hark to yonder milkmaid ſinging
" Cheerly o'er the brimming pail,
" Cowſlips all around her ſpringing
" Sweetly paint the golden vale.

" Never yet did courtly maiden
" Move ſo ſprightly, look ſo fair;
" Never breaſt with jewels laden
" Pour a ſong ſo void of care.

" Would indulgent Heav'n had granted
" Me ſome rural damſel's part!
" All the empire I had wanted
" Then had been my ſhepherd's heart.

[49]

" Then with him o'er hills and mountains,

" Free from fetters, might I rove,

" Fearleſs taſte the cryſtal fountains,

" Peaceful ſleep beneath the grove.

" Ruſtics had been more forgiving,
" Partial to my virgin bloom;
" None had envy'd me when living,
" None had triumph'd o'er my tomb."

NANCY OF THE VALE. A BALLAD.

Nerine Galatea! thymo mihi dulcior Hyblae!

Candidior cygnis! hedera formoſior alba!

IMITATION.

O Galatea! Nereus' blooming child,
More ſweet than thyme by Hybla‖ bees exhal'd,
Fairer than ſwans, more beauteous to behold
Than ivy's pureſt white.

THE weſtern ſky was purpled o'er
With ev'ry pleaſing ray,
And flocks reviving felt no more
The ſultry heats of day;

When from an hazel's artleſs bower
Soft warbled Strephon's tongue;
He bleſs'd the ſcene, he bleſs'd the hour,
While Nancy's praiſe he ſung.

[50]

" Let fops with fickle falſehood range

" The paths of wanton love,

" While weeping maids lament their change,

" And ſadden ev'ry grove:

" But endleſs bleſſings crown the day
" I ſaw fair Eſham's dale!
" And ev'ry bleſſing find its way
" To Nancy of the Vale.

" 'Twas from Avona's banks the maid
" Diffus'd her lovely beams,
" And ev'ry ſhining glance diſplay'd
" The Naiad of the ſtreams.

" Soft as the wild-duck's tender young,
" That flote on Avon's tide,
" Bright as the water-lily, ſprung,
" And glitt'ring near its ſide:

" Freſh as the bord'ring flowers her bloom,
" Her eye all mild to view;
" The little halcyon's azure plume
" Was never half ſo blue.

" Her ſhape was like the reed ſo ſleek,
" So taper, ſtraight, and fair;
" Her dimpled ſmile, her bluſhing cheek,
" How charming ſweet they were!

[51]

" Far in the winding Vale retir'd,

" This peerleſs bud I found,

" And ſhadowing rocks and woods conſpir'd

" To fence her beauties round.

" That Nature in ſo lone a dell
" Should form a nymph ſo ſweet!
" Or Fortune to her ſecret cell
" Conduct my wand'ring feet!

" Gay lordlings ſought her for their bride,
" But ſhe would ne'er incline:"
" Prove to your equals true," ſhe cry'd,
" As I will prove to mine.

" 'Tis Strephon, on the mountain's brow,
" Has won my right good will;
" To him I gave my plighted vow,
" With him I'll climb the hill."

" Struck with her charms and gentle truth,
" I claſp'd the conſtant fair;
" To her alone I gave my youth,
" And vow my future care.

" And when this vow ſhall faithleſs prove,
" Or I thoſe charms forego,
" The ſtream that ſaw our tender love,
" That ſtream ſhall ceaſe to flow.

THE RAPE OF THE TRAP. A BALLAD, 1737.

[52]

'TWAS in a land of learning,
The Muſes' fav'rite city,
Such pranks of late
Were play'd by a rat,
As—tempt one to be witty.

All in a college ſtudy,
Where books were in great plenty,
This rat would devour
More ſenſe in an hour
Than I could write—in twenty.

Corporeal food, 'tis granted,
Serves vermine leſs refin'd, Sir;
But this, a rat of taſte,
All other rats ſurpaſs'd,
And he prey'd on the food of the mind, Sir.

His breakfaſt half the morning
He conſtantly attended;
And when the bell rung
For ev'ning ſong
His dinner ſcarce was ended!

[53]He ſpar'd not ev'n heroics,
On which we poets pride us,
And would make no more
Of King Arthurs* by the ſcore,
Than—all the world beſide does.

In books of geography,
He made the maps to flutter;
A river or a ſea
Was to him a diſh of tea,
And a kingdom bread and butter.

But if ſome mawkiſh potion
Might chance to overdoſe him,
To check its rage
He took a page
Of logic—to compoſe him—

A Trap, in haſte and anger,
Was bought, you need not doubt on't,
And ſuch was the gin,
Were a lion once got in,
He could not, I think, get out on't.

With cheeſe, not books, 'twas bated;
The fact—I'll not belie it—
Since none—I tell you that—
Whether ſcholar or rat,
Minds books when he has other diet.

[54]But more of Trap and bait, Sir,
Why ſhould I ſing, or either?
Since the rat, who knew the ſleight,
Came in the dead of night,
And dragg'd 'em away together.

Both Trap and bait were vaniſh'd
Thro' a fracture in the flooring,
Which tho' ſo trim
It now may ſeem
Had then—a dozen or more in.

Then anſwer this, ye Sages!
Nor deem I mean to wrong ye,
Had the rat, which thus did ſeize on
The Trap, leſs claim to reaſon
Than many a ſcull among ye?

Dan Prior's Mice, I own it,
Were vermine of condition;
But this rat, who merely learn'd
What rats alone concern'd,
Was the greater politician

That England's topſyturvy
Is clear from theſe miſhaps, Sir;
Since Traps, we may determine,
Will no longer take our vermine,
But vermine* take our Traps, Sir.

[55]Let ſophs, by rats infeſted,
Then truſt in cats to catch 'em,
Leſt they grow as learn'd as we
In our ſtudies, where, d'ye ſee,
No mortal ſits to watch 'em.

Good luck betide our captains,
Good luck betide our cats, Sir,
And grant that the one
May quell the Spaniſh Don,
And the other deſtroy our rats, Sir.

JEMMY DAWSON. A BALLAD. Written about the time of his execution, in the year 1745.

COME liſten to my mournful tale,
Ye tender hearts and lovers dear!
Nor will you ſcorn to heave a ſigh,
Nor need you bluſh to ſhed a tear.

And thou, dear Kitty! peerleſs maid!
Do thou, a penſive ear incline,
For thou canſt weep at ev'ry woe,
And pity ev'ry plaint—but mine.

Young Dawſon was a gallant boy,
A brighter never trod the plain,
And well he lov'd one charming maid,
And dearly was he lov'd again.

[56]

One tender maid, ſhe lov'd him dear;

Of gentle blood the damſel came;

And faultleſs was her beauteous form,

And ſpotleſs was her virgin fame.

But curſe on party's hateful ſtrife,
That led the favour'd youth aſtray,
The day the rebel clans appear'd;
O had he never ſeen that day!

Their colours and their ſaſh he wore,
And in the fatal dreſs was found;
And now he muſt that death endure
Which gives the brave the keeneſt wound.

How pale was then his true-love's cheek,
When Jemmy's ſentence reach'd her ear!
For never yet did Alpine ſnows
So pale, or yet ſo chill, appear.

With falt'ring voice ſhe, weeping, ſaid,
" O Dawſon! monarch of my heart!
" Think not thy death ſhall end our loves,
" For thou and I will never part.

" Yet might ſweet mercy find a place,
" And bring relief to Jemmy's woes,
" O George! without a pray'r for thee
" My oriſons ſhould never cloſe.

[57]

" The gracious prince that gave him life

" Would crown a never-dying flame,

" And ev'ry tender babe I bore

" Should learn to liſp the giver's name.

" But tho' he ſhould be dragg'd in ſcorn
" To yonder ignominious tree,
" He ſhall not want one conſtant friend
" To ſhare the cruel Fates' decree."

O! then her mourning coach was call'd;
The ſledge mov'd ſlowly on before;
Tho' borne in a triumphal car,
She had not lov'd her fav'rite more.

She follow'd him, prepar'd to view
The terrible beheſts of law,
And the laſt ſcene of Jemmy's woes
With calm and ſtedfaſt eye ſhe ſaw.

Diſtorted was that blooming face
Which ſhe had fondly lov'd ſo long,
And ſtifled was that tuneful breath
Which in her praiſe had ſweetly ſung:

And ſever'd was that beauteous neck
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd,
And mangled was that beauteous breaſt
On which her love-ſick head repos'd:

[58]

And raviſh'd was that conſtant heart

She did to ev'ry heart prefer,

For tho' it could its king forget,

'Twas true and loyal ſtill to her.

Amid thoſe unrelenting flames
She bore this conſtant heart to ſee,
But when 'twas moulder'd into duſt,
" Yet, yet," ſhe cry'd, "I follow thee.

" My death, my death alone can ſhew
" The pure, the laſting love I bore:
" Accept, O Heav'n! of woes like ours,
" And let us, let us weep no more."

The diſmal ſcene was o'er and paſt,
The lover's mournful herſe retir'd;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And, ſighing forth his name, expir'd.

Tho' juſtice ever muſt prevail,
The tear my Kitty ſheds is due,
For ſeldom ſhall ſhe hear a tale
So ſad, ſo tender, yet ſo true.

A BALLAD.

[59]

‘Trahit ſua quemque voluptas. HOR.’

PROVERBIALIZ'D.‘Every one to his liking.’

FROM Lincoln to London rode forth our young ſquire,
To bring down a wife whom the ſwains might admire;
But in ſpite of whatever the mortal could ſay,
The goddeſs objected the length of the way.

To give up the op'ra, the Park, and the ball,
For to view the ſtag's horns in an old country hall;
To have neither China nor India to ſee,
Nor a laceman to plague in a morning—not ſhe!

To forſake the dear playhouſe, Quin, Garrick, and Clive,
Who by dint of mere humour had kept her alive;
To forego the full box for his loneſome abode,
O Heav'ns! ſhe ſhould faint, ſhe ſhould die on the road!

To forget the gay faſhions and geſtures of France,
And to leave dear Auguſte in the midſt of the dance,
And Harlequin too!—'twas in vain to require it,
And ſhe wonder'd how folks had the face to deſireit.

[60]

She might yield to reſign the ſweet ſingers of Ruckholt,

Where the citizen matron ſeduces her cuckold;

But Ranelagh ſoon would her footſteps recall,

And the muſic, the lamps, and the glare, of Vauxhall.

To be ſure ſhe could breathe no where elſe than in Town;
Thus ſhe talk'd like a wit, and he look'd like a clown;
But the while honeſt Harry deſpair'd to ſucceed,
A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed.

SONG^*.

I TOLD my nymph, I told her true,
My fields were ſmall, my flocks were few,
While falt'ring accents ſpoke my fear,
That Flavia might not prove ſincere.

Of crops deſtroy'd by vernal cold,
And vagrant ſheep that left my fold,
Of theſe ſhe heard, yet bore to hear;
And is not Flavia then ſincere?

How, chang'd by Fortune's fickle wind,
The friends I lov'd became unkind,
She heard, and ſhed a gen'rous tear;
And is not Flavia then ſincere?

[61]

How, if ſhe deign'd my love to bleſs,

My Flavia muſt not hope for dreſs;

This, too, ſhe heard, and ſmil'd to hear;

And Flavia, ſure, muſt be ſincere.

Go ſhear your flocks, ye jovial Swains!
Go reap the plenty of your plains;
Deſpoil'd of all which you revere,
I know my Flavia's love ſincere.

SONG. THE LANDSCAPE.

HOW pleas'd within my native bow'rs
Erewhile I paſs'd the day!
Was ever ſcene ſo deck'd with flow'rs?
Were ever flow'rs ſo gay?

How ſweetly ſmil'd the hill, the vale,
And all the Landſcape round!
The river gliding down the dale,
The hill with beeches crown'd!

But now, when urg'd by tender woes,
I ſpeed to meet my dear,
That hill and ſtream my zeal oppoſe,
And check my fond career.

[62]

No more, ſince Daphne was my theme,

Their wonted charms I ſee;

That verdant hill and ſilver ſtream

Divide my love and me.

SONG.

YE gentle Nymphs and gen'rous Dames
That rule o'er ev'ry Britiſh mind!
Be ſure ye ſooth their am'rous flames,
Be ſure your laws are not unkind:

For hard it is to wear their bloom
In unremitting ſighs away,
To mourn the night's oppreſſive gloom,
And faintly bleſs the riſing day.

And cruel 'twere a free-born ſwain,
A Britiſh youth, ſhould vainly moan,
Who, ſcornful of a tyrant's chain,
Submits to your's, and your's alone.

Nor pointed ſpear nor links of ſteel
Could e'er thoſe gallant minds ſubdue,
Who Beauty's wounds with pleaſure feel,
And boaſt the fetters wrought by you.

SONG. THE SKYLARK.

[63]

GO, tuneful Bird! that gladd'ſt the ſkies,
To Daphne's window ſpeed thy way,
And there on quiv'ring pinions riſe,
And there thy vocal art diſplay.

And if ſhe deign thy notes to hear,
And if ſhe praiſe thy matin ſong,
Tell her the ſounds that ſooth her ear
To Damon's native plains belong.

Tell her, in livelier plumes array'd,
The bird from Indian groves may ſhine;
But aſk the lovely partial maid
What are his notes compar'd to thine?

Then bid her treat yon' witleſs beau,
And all his flaunting race, with ſcorn,
And lend an ear to Damon's woe,
Who ſings her praiſe, and ſings forlorn.

SONG.

[64]

Ah! ego non aliter triſtes evincere morbos

Optarem, quam te ſic quoque velle putem.

IMITATION.

Why ſhould I wiſh to baniſh ſore diſeaſe,

Unleſs returning health my Delia pleaſe?

ON ev'ry tree, in ev'ry plain,
I trace the jovial ſpring in vain;
A ſickly languor veils mine eyes,
And faſt my waning vigour flies.

Nor flow'ry plain nor budding tree,
That ſmile on others, ſmile on me;
Mine eyes from death ſhall court repoſe,
Nor ſhed a tear before they cloſe.

What bliſs to me can ſeaſons bring?
Or what the needleſs pride of ſpring?
The cypreſs bough, that ſuits the bier,
Retains its verdure all the year.

'Tis true, my vine, ſo freſh and fair,
Might claim a while my wonted care;
My rural ſtore ſome pleaſure yield,
So white a flock, ſo green a field!

[65]

My friends, that each in kindneſs vie,

Might well expect one parting ſigh;

Might well demand one tender tear;

For when was Damon unſincere?

But ere I aſk once more to view
Yon' ſetting ſun his race renew,
Inform me, Swains! my Friends! declare,
Will pitying Delia join the prayer?

SONG. The attribute of Venus.

YES; Fulvia is like Venus fair,
Has all her bloom, and ſhape, and air;
But ſtill, to perfect ev'ry grace,
She wants—the ſmile upon her face.

The crown majeſtic Juno wore,
And Cynthia's brow the creſcent bore,
An helmet mark'd Minerva's mien,
But ſmiles diſtinguiſh'd Beauty's queen.

Her train was form'd of Smiles and Loves,
Her chariot drawn by gentleſt doves;
And from her zone the nymph may find
'Tis Beauty's province to be kind.

[66]

Then ſmile, my Fair! and all whoſe aim

Aſpires to paint the Cyprian dame,

Or bid her breathe in living ſtone,

Shall take their forms from you alone.

SONG, 1742.

WHEN bright Roxana treads the green
In all the pride of dreſs and mien,
Averſe to freedom, love, and play,
The dazzling rival of the day,
None other beauty ſtrikes mine eye,
The lilies droop, the roſes die.

But when, diſclaiming art, the fair
Aſſumes a ſoft engaging air,
Mild as the op'ning morn of May,
Familiar, friendly, free, and gay,
The ſcene improves where'er ſhe goes,
More ſweetly ſmile the pink and roſe.

O lovely Maid! propitious hear,
Nor deem thy ſhepherd inſincere;
Pity a wild illuſive flame,
That varies objects ſtill the ſame,
And let their very changes prove
The never-vary'd force of love.

SONG. VALENTINE'S DAY, 1743.

[67]

'TIS ſaid that under diſtant ſkies,
Nor you the fact deny,
What firſt attracts an Indian's eyes
Becomes his deity.

Perhaps a lily or a roſe,
That ſhares the morning's ray,
May to the waking ſwain diſcloſe
The regent of the day.

Perhaps a plant in yonder grove,
Enrich'd with fragrant pow'r,
May tempt his vagrant eyes to rove
Where blooms the ſov'reign flow'r.

Perch'd on the cedar's topmoſt bough,
And gay with gilded wings,
Perchance, the patron of his vow,
Some artleſs linnet ſings.

The ſwain ſurveys her pleas'd, afraid,
Then low to earth he bends,
And owns upon her friendly aid
His health, his life, depends.

[68]

Vain futile idols, bird, or flow'r,

To tempt a vot'ry's pray'r!—

How would his humble homage tow'r

Should he behold my fair!

Yes—might the Pagan's waking eyes
O'er Flavia's beauty range,
He there would fix his laſting choice,
Nor dare, nor wiſh, to change.

SONG, 1743.

THE fatal hours are wondrous near,
That from theſe fountains bear my dear;
A little ſpace is giv'n; in vain;
She robs my ſight, and ſhuns the plain.

A little ſpace, for me to prove
My boundleſs flame, my endleſs love;
And, like the train of vulgar hours,
Invidious Time that ſpace devours.

Near yonder beach is Delia's way,
On that I gaze the livelong day;
No eaſtern monarch's dazzling pride
Should draw my longing eyes aſide.

[69]

The chief that knows of ſuccours nigh,

And ſees his mangled legions die,

Caſts not a more impatient glance,

To ſee the loit'ring aids advance.

Not more the ſchoolboy, that expires
Far from his native home, requires
To ſee ſome friend's familiar face,
Or meet a parent's laſt embrace—

She comes—but, ah! what crowds of beaus
In radiant bands my fair encloſe?
Oh! better hadſt thou ſhunn'd the green;
Oh, Delia! better far unſeen.

Methinks, by all my tender fears,
By all my ſighs, by all my tears,
I might from torture now be free—
'Tis more than death to part from thee!

SONG, 1744.

THE lovely Delia ſmiles again!
That killing frown has left her brow;
Can ſhe forgive my jealous pain,
And give me back my angry vow?

[70]

Love is an April's doubtful day;

A while we ſee the tempeſt low'r,

Anon the radiant heav'n ſurvey,

And quite forget the flitting ſhow'r.

The flow'rs, that hung their languid head,
Are burniſh'd by the tranſient rains;
The vines their wonted tendrils ſpread,
And double verdure gilds the plains.

The ſprightly birds, that droop'd no leſs
Beneath the pow'r of rain and wind,
In ev'ry raptur'd note expreſs
The joy I feel—when thou art kind.

SONG, 1744.

PERHAPS it is not love, ſaid I,
That melts my ſoul when Flavia's nigh;
Where wit and ſenſe like her's agree,
One may be pleas'd, and yet be free.

The beauties of her poliſh'd mind
It needs no lover's eye to find;
The hermit freezing in his cell
Might wiſh the gentle Flavia well.

[71]

It is not love—averſe to bear

The ſervile chain that lovers wear;

Let, let me all my fears remove,

My doubts diſpel—it is not love—

Oh! when did wit ſo brightly ſhine
In any form leſs fair than thine?
It is—it is love's ſubtle fire,
And under friendſhip lurks deſire.

SONG, 1744.

O'ER deſert plains; and ruſhy meers,
And wither'd heaths, I rove;
Where tree, nor ſpire, nor cot, appears,
I paſs to meet my love.

But tho' my path were damaſk'd o'er
With beauties e'er ſo fine,
My buſy thoughts would fly before
To fix alone—on thine.

No fir-crown'd hills could give delight,
No palace pleaſe mine eye;
No pyramid's aërial height,
Where mould'ring monarchs lie.

[72]

Unmov'd, ſhould Eaſtern kings advance,

Could I the pageant ſee?

Splendour might catch one ſcornful glance,

Not ſteal one thought from thee.

SONG. WINTER, 1746.

No more, ye warbling Birds! rejoice:
Of all that cheer'd the plain,
Echo alone preſerves her voice,
And ſhe—repeats my pain.

Where'er my love-ſick limbs I lay,
To ſhun the ruſhing wind,
Its buſy murmur ſeems to ſay,
" She never will be kind!"

The Naiads o'er their frozen urns
In icy chains repine,
And each in ſullen ſilence mourns
Her freedom loſt, like mine!

Soon will the ſun's returning rays
The cheerleſs froſt control;
When will relenting Delia chaſe
The winter of my ſoul?

SONG. THE SCHOLAR'S RELAPSE.

[73]

BY the ſide of a grove, at the foot of a hill,
Where whiſper'd the beech, and where murmur'd the rill,
I vow'd to the Muſes my time and my care,
Since neither could win me the ſmiles of my fair.

Free I rang'd like the birds, like the birds free I ſung,
And Delia's lov'd name ſcarce eſcap'd from my tongue;
But if once a ſmooth accent delighted my ear,
I ſhould wiſh, unawares, that my Delia might hear.

With faireſt ideas my boſom I ſtor'd,
Alluſive to none but the nymph I ador'd;
And the more I with ſtudy my fancy refin'd,
The deeper impreſſion ſhe made on my mind.

So long as of Nature the charms I purſue,
I ſtill muſt my Delia's dear image renew;
The Graces have yielded with Delia to rove,
And the Muſes are all in alliance with Love.

SONG. THE ROSE-BUD.

" SEE, Daphne! ſee," Florelio cry'd,
" And learn the ſad effects of pride;
" Yon' ſhelter'd Roſe, how ſafe conceal'd!
" How quickly blaſted when reveal'd!

[74]

" The ſun with warm attractive rays

" Tempts it to wanton in the blaze;

" A gale ſucceeds from eaſtern ſkies,

" And all its bluſhing radiance dies.

" So you, my Fair! of charms divine,
" Will quit the plains, too fond to ſhine
" Where Fame's tranſporting rays allure,
" Tho' here more happy, more ſecure.

" The breath of ſome neglected maid
" Shall make you ſigh you left the ſhade;
" A breath to beauty's bloom unkind,
" As to the Roſe an eaſtern wind."

The nymph reply'd—"You firſt, my Swain!
" Confine your ſonnets to the plain;
" One envious tongue alike diſarms
" You of your wit, me of my charms.

" What is, unknown, the poet's ſkill?
" Or what, unheard, the tuneful thrill?
" What, unadmir'd, a charming mien?
" Or what the Roſe's bluſh unſeen?

SONG. DAPHNE'S VISIT.

[75]

YE Birds! for whom I rear'd the grove,
With melting lay ſalute my love;
My Daphne with your notes detain,
Or I have rear'd my grove in vain.

Ye Flow'rs! before her footſteps riſe,
Diſplay at once your brighteſt dyes,
That ſhe your op'ning charms may ſee,
Or what were all your charms to me?

Kind Zephyr! bruſh each fragrant flow'r,
And ſhed its odours round my bow'r;
Or never more, O gentle Wind!
Shall I from thee refreſhment find.

Ye Streams! if e'er your banks I lov'd,
If e'er your native ſounds improv'd,
May each ſoft murmur ſooth my fair,
Or, oh! 'twill deepen my deſpair.

And thou, my Grot! whoſe lonely bounds
The melancholy pine ſurrounds,
May Daphne praiſe thy peaceful gloom,
Or thou ſhalt prove her Damon's tomb.

SONG. Written in a Collection of Bacchanalian Songs.

[76]

ADIEU, ye jovial Youths! who join
To plunge Old Care in floods of wine,
And as your dazzled eyeballs roll,
Diſcern him ſtruggling in the bowl.

Nor yet is hope ſo wholly flown,
Nor yet is thought ſo tedious grown,
But limpid ſtream and ſhady tree
Retain, as yet, ſome ſweets for me.

And ſee, thro' yonder ſilent grove,
See, yonder does my Daphne rove!
With pride her footſteps I purſue,
And bid your frantic joys adieu.

The ſole confuſion I admire,
Is that my Daphne's eyes inſpire;
I ſcorn the madneſs you approve,
And value reaſon next to love.

SONG. Imitated from the French.

YES, theſe are the ſcenes where with Iris I ſtray'd,
But ſhort was her ſway for ſo lovely a maid!
[77] In the bloom of her youth to a cloiſter ſhe run,
In the bloom of her graces too fair for a nun!
Ill-grounded, no doubt, a devotion muſt prove,
So fatal to beauty, ſo killing to love!

Yes, theſe are the meadows, the ſhrubs, and the plains,
Once the ſcene of my pleaſures, the ſcene of my pains;
How many ſoft moments I ſpent in this grove!
How fair was my nymph! and how fervent my love!
Be ſtill tho', my Heart! thine emotion give o'er;
Remember the ſeaſon of love is no more.

With her how I ſtray'd amid fountains and bow'rs!
Or loiter'd behind and collected the flow'rs!
Then breathleſs with ardour my fair one purſu'd,
And to think with what kindneſs my garland ſhe view'd!
But be ſtill, my fond Heart! this emotion give o'er;
Fain wouldſt thou forget thou muſt love her no more.

SONG.

WHEN bright Ophelia treads the green
In all the pride of dreſs and mien,
Averſe to freedom, mirth, and play,
The lofty rival of the day,
Methinks to my enchanted eye
The lilies droop, the roſes die.

[78]But when, diſdaining art, the fair
Aſſumes a ſoft engaging air,
Mild as the opening morn of May,
And as the feather'd warblers gay,
The ſcene improves where'er ſhe goes,
More ſweetly ſmiles the pink and roſe.

" O lovely maid! propitious hear,
" Nor think thy Damon inſincere.
" Pity my wild deluſive flame;
" For tho' the flow'rs are ſtill the ſame,
" To me they languiſh or improve,
" And plainly tell me that I love."

SONG.

WHEN firſt, Philander, firſt I came
Where Avon rolls his winding ſtream,
The nymphs—how briſk! the ſwains—how gay!
To ſee Aſteria, queen of May!—
The parſons round her praiſes ſung!
The ſteeples with her praiſes rung!—
I thought—no ſight that e'er was ſeen
Could match the fight of Barel's Green.

But now, ſince old Eugenio dy'd—
The chief of poets, and the pride—
[79] Now, meaner bards in vain aſpire
To raiſe their voice, to tune their lyre;
Their lovely ſeaſon now is o'er;
Thy notes, Florelio, pleaſe no more—
No more Aſteria's ſmiles are ſeen—
Adieu—the ſweets of Barel's Green!—

THE HALCYON.

WHY o'er the verdant banks of ooze
Does yonder Halcyon ſpeed ſo faſt?
'Tis all becauſe ſhe would not loſe
Her fav'rite calm, that will not laſt.

The ſun with azure paints the ſkies,
The ſtream reflects each flow'ry ſpray,
And, frugal of her time, ſhe flies
To take her fill of love and play.

See her, when rugged Boreas blows,
Warm in ſome rocky cell remain;
To ſeek for pleaſure, well ſhe knows,
Would only then enhance the pain.

" Deſcend," ſhe cries, "thou hated ſhow'r,
" Deform my limpid waves to-day,
" For I have choſe a fairer hour
" To take my fill of love and play?"

[80]

You, too, my Silvia, ſure will own

Life's azure ſeaſons ſwiftly roll,

And when our youth or health is flown,

To think of love but ſhocks the ſoul.

Could Damon but deſerve thy charms,
As thou art Damon's only theme,
He'd fly as quick to Delia's arms
As yonder Halcyon ſkims the ſtream.

MORAL PIECES.

[]

THE JUDGMENT OF HERCULES.

WHILE blooming Spring deſcends from genial ſkies,
By whoſe mild influence inſtant wonders riſe,
From whoſe ſoft breath Elyſian beauties flow,
The ſweets of Hagley, or the pride of Stowe,
Will Lyttleton the rural landſcape range,
Leave noiſy fame, and not regret the change?
Pleas'd will he tread the garden's early ſcenes,
And learn a moral from the riſing greens?
There, warm'd alike by Sol's enliv'ning pow'r,
The weed, aſpiring, emulates the flow'r;
The drooping flow'r, its fairer charms diſplay'd,
Invites from grateful hands their gen'rous aid:
Soon, if none check th' invaſive foe's deſigns,
The lively luſtre of theſe ſcenes declines!

'Tis thus the ſpring of youth, the morn of life,
Rears in our minds the rival ſeeds of ſtrife:
Then paſſion riots, reaſon then contends,
And on the conqueſt ev'ry bliſs depends:
Life from the nice deciſion takes its hue,
And bleſs'd thoſe judges who decide like you!
On worth like theirs ſhall ev'ry bliſs attend,
The world their fav'rite, and the world their friend.

There are who, blind to Thought's fatiguing ray,
As Fortune gives examples urge their way;
[82] Not Virtue's foes, tho' they her paths decline,
And ſcarce her friends, tho' with her friends they join;
In her's or Vice's caſual road advance,
Thoughtleſs, the ſinners or the ſaints of Chance!
Yet ſome more nobly ſcorn the vulgar voice,
With judgment fix, with zeal purſue their choice,
When ripen'd thought, when reaſon born to reign,
Checks the wild tumults of the youthful vein;
While paſſion's lawleſs tides, at their command,
Glide thro' more uſeful tracts, and bleſs the land.

Happieſt of theſe is he whoſe matchleſs mind,
By learning ſtrengthen'd and by taſte refin'd,
In Virtue's cauſe eſſay'd its earlieſt pow'rs,
Choſe Virtue's paths, and ſtrewed her paths with flow'rs.
The firſt alarm'd, if Freedom waves her wings,
The fitteſt to adorn each art ſhe brings;
Lov'd by that prince whom ev'ry virtue fires,
Prais'd by that bard whom ev'ry Muſe inſpires;
Bleſs'd in the tuneful art, the ſocial flame;
In all that wins, in all that merits, fame!

'Twas youth's perplexing ſtage his doubts inſpir'd,
When great Alcides to a grove retir'd:
Thro' the lone windings of a devious glade,
Reſign'd to thought, with ling'ring ſteps he ſtray'd,
Bleſt with a mind to taſte ſincerer joys,
Arm'd with a heart each falſe one to deſpiſe.
Dubious he ſtray'd, with wav'ring thoughts poſſeſt,
Alternate paſſions ſtruggling ſhar'd his breaſt;
[83] The various arts which human cares divide,
In deep attention all his mind employ'd;
Anxious, if Fame an equal bliſs ſecur'd,
Or ſilent Eaſe with ſofter charms allur'd.
The ſylvan choir, whoſe numbers ſweetly flow'd,
The fount that murmur'd, and the flow'rs that blow'd;
The ſilver flood that in meanders led
His glitt'ring ſtreams along th' enliven'd mead;
The ſoothing breeze, and all thoſe beauties join'd,
Which, whilſt they pleaſe, effeminate the mind;
In vain! while diſtant, on a ſummit rais'd,
Th' imperial tow'rs of Fame attractive blaz'd.

While thus he trac'd thro' Fancy's puzzling maze
The ſep'rate ſweets of pleaſure and of praiſe,
Sudden the wind a fragrant gale convey'd,
And a new luſtre gain'd upon the ſhade:
At once before his wond'ring eyes were ſeen
Two female forms, of more than mortal mien:
Various their charms; and in their dreſs and face
Each ſeem'd to vie with ſome peculiar grace.
This, whoſe attire leſs clogg'd with art appear'd,
The ſimple ſweets of innocence endear'd:
Her ſprightly bloom, her quick ſagacious eye,
Shew'd native merit mix'd with modeſty:
Her air diffus'd a mild yet awful ray,
Severely ſweet, and innocently gay.
Such the chaſte image of the martial maid,
In artleſs folds of virgin white array'd.
[84] She let no borrow'd roſe her cheeks adorn,
Her bluſhing cheeks, that ſham'd the purple morn:
Her charms nor had nor wanted artful foils,
Or ſtudy'd geſtures, or well-practis'd ſmiles:
She ſcorn'd the toys which render beauty leſs;
She prov'd th' engaging chaſtity of dreſs;
And while ſhe choſe in native charms to ſhine,
Ev'n thus ſhe ſeem'd, nay, more than ſeem'd, divine.
One modeſt em'rald claſp'd the robe ſhe wore,
And in her hand th' imperial ſword ſhe bore.
Sublime her height, majeſtic was her pace,
And match'd the awful honours of her face.
The ſhrubs, the flow'rs, that deck'd the verdant ground,
Seem'd, where ſhe trod, with riſing luſtre crown'd.
Still her approach with ſtronger influence warm'd;
She pleas'd while diſtant, but when near ſhe charm'd.
So ſtrikes the gazer's eye the ſilver gleam
That, glitt'ring, quivers o'er a diſtant ſtream;
But from its banks we ſee new beauties riſe,
And in its cryſtal boſom trace the ſkies.

With other charms the rival viſion glow'd,
And from her dreſs her tinſel beauties flow'd.
A flutt'ring robe her pamper'd ſhape conceal'd,
And ſeem'd to ſhade the charms it beſt reveal'd:
Its form contriv'd her faulty ſize to grace,
Its hue to give freſh luſtre to her face.
Her plaited hair, diſguis'd, with brilliants glar'd;
Her cheeks the ruby's neighb'ring luſtre ſhar'd;
[85] The gaudy topaz lent its gay ſupplies,
And ev'ry gem that ſtrikes leſs curious eyes;
Expos'd her breaſt, with foreign ſweets perfum'd,
And round her brow a roſeate garland bloom'd.
Soft ſmiling, bluſhing, lips conceal'd her wiles,
Yet, ah! the bluſhes artful as the ſmiles.
Oft' gazing on her ſhade, th' enraptur'd fair
Decreed the ſubſtance well deſerv'd her care;
Her thoughts, to others' charms malignly blind,
Centred in that, and were to that confin'd;
And if on others' eyes a glance were thrown,
'Twas but to watch the influence of her own:
Much like her guardian, fair Cythera's queen,
When for her warrior ſhe refines her mien;
Or when, to bleſs her Delian fav'rite's arms,
The radiant fair invigorates her charms:
Much like her pupil, Egypt's ſportive dame,
Her dreſs expreſſive, and her air the ſame,
When her gay bark o'er ſilver Cydnos roll'd,
And all th' emblazon'd ſtreamers wav'd in gold.
Such ſhone the viſion, nor forebore to move
The fond contagious airs of lawleſs love;
Each wanton eye deluding glances fir'd,
And am'rous dimples on each cheek conſpir'd.
Lifeleſs her gait, and ſlow; with ſeeming pain,
She dragg'd her loit'ring limbs along the plain,
Yet made ſome faint efforts, and firſt approach'd the ſwain.
[86] So glaring draughts, with tawdry luſtre bright,
Spring to the view, and ruſh upon the ſight;
More ſlowly charms a Raphael's chaſter air,
Waits the calm ſearch, and pays the ſearcher's care.

Wrapp'd in a pleas'd ſuſpenſe, the youth ſurvey'd
The various charms of each attractive maid:
Alternate each he view'd, and each admir'd,
And found, alternate, varying flames inſpir'd:
Quick o'er their forms his eyes with pleaſure ran,
When ſhe, who firſt approach'd him, firſt began.
" Hither, dear Boy! direct thy wand'ring eyes;
" 'Tis here the lovely Vale of Pleaſure lies:
" Debate no more, to me thy life reſign;
" Each ſweet which Nature can diffuſe is mine:
" For me the nymph diverſifies her pow'r,
" Springs in a tree, or bloſſoms in a flow'r;
" To pleaſe my ear ſhe tunes the linnet's ſtrains;
" To pleaſe my eye with lilies paints the plains;
" To form my couch in moſſy beds ſhe grows;
" To gratify my ſmell perfumes the roſe;
" Reveals the fair, the fertile, ſcene you ſee,
" And ſwells the vegetable world for me.

" Let the gull'd fool the toils of war purſue,
" Where bleed the many to enrich the few;
" Where Chance from Courage claims the boaſted prize;
" Where, tho' ſhe give, your country oft' denies.
" Induſtrious thou ſhalt Cupid's wars maintain,
" And ever gently fight his ſoft campaign;
[87] " His darts alone ſhalt wield, his wounds endure,
" Yet only ſuffer to enjoy the cure.
" Yield but to me—a choir of nymphs ſhall riſe
" And fire thy breaſt, and bleſs thy raviſh'd eyes:
" Their beauteous cheeks a fairer roſe ſhall wear,
" A brighter lily on their necks appear;
" Where fondly thou thy favour'd head ſhalt reſt,
" Soft as the down that ſwells the eygnet's neſt;
" While Philomel in each ſoft voice complains,
" And gently lulls thee with mellifluous ſtrains;
" Whilſt with each accent ſweeteſt odours flow,
" And ſpicy gums round ev'ry boſom glow.
" Not the fam'd bird Arabian climes admire
" Shall in ſuch luxury of ſweets expire.
" At Sloth let War's victorious ſons exclaim,
" In vain! for Pleaſure is my real name:
" Nor envy thou the head with bays o'ergrown;
" No, ſeek thou roſes to adorn thy own;
" For well each op'ning ſcene that claims my care
" Suits and deſerves the beauteous crown I wear.

" Let others prune the vine; the genial bowl
" Shall crown thy table and enlarge thy ſoul.
" Let vulgar hands explore the brilliant mine,
" So the gay produce glitter ſtill on thine.
" Indulgent Bacchus loads his lab'ring tree,
" And, guarding, gives its cluſt'ring ſweets to me.
" For my lov'd train Apollo's piercing beam
" Darts thro' the paſſive glebe, and frames the gem.
[88] " See in my cauſe conſenting gods employ'd,
" Nor ſlight theſe gods, their bleſſings unenjoy'd.
" For thee the poplar ſhall its amber drain;
" For thee, in clouded beauty, ſpring the cane;
" Some coſtly tribute ev'ry clime ſhall pay,
" Some charming treaſure ev'ry wind convey;
" Each object round ſome pleaſing ſcene ſhall vield,
" Art build thy dome, while Nature decks thy field:
" Of Corinth's Order ſhall the ſtructure riſe,
" The ſpiring turrets glitter thro' the ſkies;
" Thy coſtly robe ſhall glow with Tyrian rays,
" Thy vaſe ſhall ſparkle, and thy car ſhall blaze;
" Yet thou, whatever pomp the ſun diſplay,
" Shalt own the am'rous night exceeds the day.

" When melting flutes and ſweetly-ſounding lyres
" Wake the gay Loves, and cite the young Deſires;
" Or in th' Ionian dance ſome fav'rite maid
" Improves the flame her ſparkling eyes convey'd;
" Think, can'ſt thou quit a glowing Delia's arms,
" To feed on Virtue's viſionary charms?
" Or ſlight the joys which wit and youth engage,
" For the faint honour of a frozen ſage?
" To find dull envy ev'n that hope deface,
" And, where you toil'd for glory, reap diſgrace?

" O! think that beauty waits on thy decree,
" And thy lov'd lovelieſt charmer pleads with me,
" She whoſe ſoft ſmile or gentler glance to move,
" You vow'd the wild extremities of love;
[89] " In whoſe endearments years like moments flew;
" For whoſe endearments millions ſeem'd too few;
" She, ſhe implores; ſhe bids thee ſeize the prime
" And tread with her the flow'ry tracts of time,
" Nor thus her lovely bloom of life beſtow
" On ſome cold lover or inſulting foe.
" Think, if againſt that tongue thou canſt rebel,
" Where love yet dwelt, and reaſon ſeem'd to dwell,
" What ſtrong perſuaſion arms her ſofter ſighs!
" What full conviction ſparkles in her eyes!

" See Nature ſmiles, and birds ſalute the ſhade,
" Where breathing jaſmine ſcreens the ſleeping maid,
" And ſuch her charms, as to the vain may prove
" Ambition ſeeks more humble joys than Love!
" There buſy toil ſhall ne'er invade thy reign,
" Nor ſciences perplex thy lab'ring brain,
" Or none but what with equal ſweets invite,
" Nor other arts but to prolong delight.
" Sometimes thy fancy prune her tender wing,
" To praiſe a pendant, or to grace a ring;
" To fix the dreſs that ſuits each varying mien;
" To ſhew where beſt the cluſt'ring gems are ſeen;
" To ſigh ſoft ſtrains along the vocal grove,
" And tell the charms, the ſweet effects, of love!
" Nor fear to find a coy diſdainful Muſe,
" Nor think the Siſters will their aid refuſe:
" Cool grots, and tinkling rills, or ſilent ſhades,
" Soft ſcenes of leiſure, ſuit th' harmonious maids;
[90] " And all the wiſe and all the grave decree
" Some of that ſacred train ally'd to me.

" But if more ſpecious eaſe thy wiſhes claim,
" And thy breaſt glow with faint deſire of fame,
" Some ſofter ſcience ſhall thy thoughts amuſe,
" And learning's name a ſolemn ſound diffuſe.
" To thee all Nature's curious ſtores I'll bring,
" Explain the beauties of an inſect's wing;
" The plant which Nature leſs diffuſely kind,
" Has to few climes with partial care confin'd;
" The ſhell ſhe ſcatters with more careleſs air,
" And in her frolics ſeems ſupremely fair;
" The worth that dazzles in the tulip's ſtains,
" Or lurks beneath a pebble's various veins.

" Sleep's downy god averſe to war's alarms,
" Shall o'er thy head diffuſe his ſofteſt charms,
" Ere anxious thought thy dear repoſe aſſail,
" Or care, my moſt deſtructive foe, prevail.
" The wat'ry nymphs ſhall tune the vocal vales,
" And gentle zephyrs harmonize their gales,
" For thy repoſe inform, with rival joy,
" Their ſtreams to murmur, and their winds to ſigh.
" Thus ſhalt thou ſpend the ſweetly-flowing day,
" Till, loſt in bliſs, thou breathe thy ſoul away;
" Till ſhe t' Elyſian bow'rs of joy repair,
" Nor find my charming ſcenes exceeded there."

She ceas'd; and on a lily'd bank reclin'd,
Her flowing robe wav'd wanton with the wind;
[91] One tender hand her drooping head ſuſtains,
One points, expreſſive, to the flow'ry plains.
Soon the fond youth perceiv'd her influence roll
Deep in his breaſt, to melt his manly ſoul;
As when Favonius joins the ſolar blaze,
And each fair fabric of the froſt decays.
Soon to his breaſt the ſoft harangue convey'd
Reſolves too partial to the ſpecious maid.
He ſigh'd, he gaz'd, ſo ſweetly ſmil'd the dame,
Yet ſighing, gazing, ſeem'd to ſcorn his flame,
And oft' as Virtue caught his wand'ring eye,
A crimſon bluſh condemn'd the riſing ſigh.
'Twas ſuch the ling'ring Trojan's ſhame betray'd,
When Maia's ſon the frown of Jove diſplay'd;
When wealth, fame, empire, could no balance prove
For the ſoft reign of Dido and of love.
Thus ill with arduous glory love conſpires,
Soft tender flames with bold impetuous fires!

Some hov'ring doubts his anxious boſom mov'd,

And Virtue, zealous fair! thoſe doubts improv'd.

" Fly, fly, fond Youth! the too indulgent maid,
" Nor err, by ſuch fantaſtic ſcenes betray'd.
" Tho' in my path the rugged thorn be ſeen,
" And the dry turf diſcloſe a fainter green;
" Tho' no gay roſe or flow'ry product ſhine,
" The barren ſurface ſtill conceals the mine.
" Each thorn that threatens, ev'n the weed that grows
" In Virtue's path, ſuperior ſweets beſtows—
[92] " Yet ſhould thoſe boaſted ſpecious toys allure,
" Whence could fond Sloth the flatt'ring gifts procure?
" The various wealth that tempts thy fond deſire,
" 'Tis I alone, her greateſt foe, acquire.
" I from old Ocean rob the treaſur'd ſtore;
" I thro' each region latent gems explore:
" 'Twas I the rugged brilliant firſt reveal'd,
" By num'rous ſtrata deep in earth conceal'd;
" 'Tis I the ſurface yet refine, and ſhow
" The modeſt gem's intrinſic charms to glow;
" Nor ſwells the grape, nor ſpires its feeble tree,
" Without the firm ſupports of induſtry.

" But grant we Sloth the ſcene herſelf has drawn,
" The moſſy grotto and the flow'ry lawn;
" Let Philomela tune th' harmonious gale,
" And with each breeze eternal ſweets exhale;
" Let gay Pomona ſlight the plains around,
" And chuſe, for faireſt fruits, the favour'd ground;
" To bleſs the fertile vale ſhould Virtue ceaſe,
" Nor moſſy grots nor flow'ry lawns could pleaſe,
" Nor gay Pomona's luſcious gifts avail,
" The ſound harmonious, or the ſpicy gale.

" Seeſt thou yon' rocks in dreadful pomp ariſe,
" Whoſe rugged cliffs deform th' encircling ſkies?
" Thoſe fields, whence Phoebus all their moiſture drains,
" And, too profuſely fond, diſrobes the plains?
" When I vouchſafe to tread the barren ſoil,
" Thoſe rocks ſeem lovely, and thoſe deſerts ſmile;
[93] " The form thou view'ſt to ev'ry ſcene with eaſe
" Transfers its charms, and ev'ry ſcene can pleaſe.
" When I have on thoſe pathleſs wilds appear'd,
" And the lone wand'rerwith my preſence cheer'd,
" Thoſe cliffs the exile has with pleaſure view'd,
" And call'd that deſert Bliſsful Solitude!

" Nor I alone to ſuch extend my care,
" Fair-blooming Health ſurveys her altars there;
" Brown Exerciſe will lead thee where ſhe reigns,
" And with reflected luſtre gild the plains:
" With her, in flow'r of youth and beauty's pride,
" Her offspring, calm Content and Peace, reſide;
" One ready off'ring ſuits each neighb'ring ſhrine,
" And all obey their laws who practiſe mine.

" But Health averſe, from Sloth's ſmooth region flies,
" And in her abſence Pleaſure droops and dies;
" Her bright companions, Mirth, Delight, Repoſe,
" Smile where ſhe ſmiles, and ſicken when ſhe goes:
" A galaxy of pow'rs! whoſe forms appear
" For ever beauteous, and for ever near.

" Nor will ſoft Sleep to Sloth's requeſt incline,

" He from her couches flies unbid to mine.

" Vain is the ſparkling bowl, the warbling ſtrain,
" Th' incentive ſong, the labour'd viand vain!
" Where ſhe, relentleſs, reigns without control,
" And checks each gay excurſion of the ſoul;
" Unmov'd tho' Beauty, deck'd in all its charms,
" Grace the rich couch, and ſpread the ſofteſt arms;
[94] " Till joyleſs indolence ſuggeſts deſires,
" Or drugs are ſought to furniſh languid fires;
" Such languid fires as on the vitals prey,
" Barren of bliſs, but fertile of decay:
" As artful heats, apply'd to thirſty lands,
" Produce no flow'rs, and but debaſe the ſands.

" But let fair Health her cheering ſmiles impart;
" How ſweet is Nature, how ſuperfluous Art!
" 'Tis ſhe the fountain's ready draught commends,
" And ſmooths the flinty couch which Fortune lends;
" And when my hero from his toils retires,
" Fills his gay boſom with unuſual fires,
" And while no checks th' unbounded joy reprove,
" Aids and refines the genuine ſweets of love.
" His faireſt proſpect riſing trophies frame,
" His ſweeteſt muſic is the voice of Fame;
" Pleaſures to Sloth unknown! ſhe never found
" How fair the proſpect, or how ſweet the ſound.

" See Fame's gay ſtructure from yon'ſummit charms,
" And fires the manly breaſt to arts or arms;
" Nor dread the ſteep aſcent by which you riſe
" From grov'lling vales to tow'rs which reach theſkies.

" Love, fame, eſteem, 'tis labour muſt acquire,
" The ſmiling offspring of a rigid ſire!
" To fix the friend your ſervice muſt be ſhown;
" All ere they lov'd your merit lov'd their own.
" That wond'ring Greece your portrait may admire,
" That tuneful bards may ſtring for you their lyre,
[95] " That books may praiſe, or coins record your name,
" Such, ſuch rewards 'tis toil alone can claim!
" And the ſame column which diſplays to view
" The conqu'ror's name, diſplays the conqueſt too.

" 'Twas ſlow Experience, tedious miſtreſs! taught
" All that e'er nobly ſpoke or bravely fought:
" 'Twas ſhe the patriot, ſhe the bard, refin'd
" In arts that ſerve, protect, or pleaſe, mankind.
" Not the vain viſions of inactive ſchools,
" Not Fancy's maxims, not Opinion's rules,
" E'er form'd the man whoſe gen'rous warmth extends
" T' enrich his country or to ſerve his friends.
" On active worth the laurel War beſtows;
" Peace rears her olive for induſtrious brows;
" Nor earth, uncultur'd, yields its kind ſupplies,
" Nor heav'n its ſhow'rs, without a ſacrifice.

" See, far below ſuch grov'lling ſcenes of ſhame
" As lull to reſt Ignavia's ſlumb'ring dame;
" Her friends, from all the toils of Fame ſecure,
" Alas! inglorious, greater toils endure;
" Doom'd all to mourn who in her cauſe engage,
" A youth enervate, and a painful age;
" A ſickly ſapleſs maſs if Reaſon flies,
" And if ſhe linger impotently wiſe!
" A thoughtleſs train, who, pamper'd, ſleek, and gay,
" Invite old age, and revel youth away;
" From life's freſh vigour move the load of care,
" And idly place it where they leaſt can bear:
[96] " When to the mind, diſeas'd, for aid they fly,
" What kind reflection ſhall the mind ſupply?
" When with loſt health, what ſhould the loſs allay,
" Peace, peace is loſt, a comfortleſs decay!
" But to my friends, when youth, when pleaſure, flies,
" And earth's dim beauties fade before their eyes,
" Thro' death's dark viſta flow'ry tracts are ſeen,
" Elyſian plains, and groves for ever green:
" If o'er their lives a refluent glance they caſt,
" Their's is the preſent who can praiſe the paſt:
" Life has its bliſs for theſe when paſt its bloom,
" As wither'd roſes yield a late perfume.

" Serene, and ſafe from paſſion's ſtormy rage,
" How calm they glide into the port of Age!
" Of the rude voyage leſs depriv'd than eas'd;
" More tir'd than pain'd, and weaken'd than diſeas'd:
" For health on age 'tis temp'rance muſt beſtow,
" And peace from piety alone can flow;
" And all the incenſe bounteous Jove requires
" Has ſweets for him who feeds the ſacred fires.

" Sloth views the tow'rs of Fame with envious eyes,
" Deſirous ſtill, ſtill impotent to riſe.
" Oft', when reſolv'd to gain thoſe bliſsful tow'rs,
" The penſive queen the dir [...] aſcent explores,
" Comes onward, wafted by the balmy trees,
" Some ſylvan muſic, or ſome ſcented breeze;
" She turns her head, her own gay realm ſhe ſpies,
" And all the ſhort-liv'd reſolution dies.
[97] " Thus ſome ſond inſect's falt'ring pinions wave,
" Claſp'd in its fav'rite ſweets, a laſting ſlave;
" And thus in vain theſe charming viſions pleaſe
" The wretch of glory and the ſlave of eaſe,
" Doom'd ever in ignoble ſtate to pine,
" Boaſt her own ſcenes, and languiſh after mine.

" But ſhun her ſnares; nor let the world exclaim
" Thy birth, which was thy glory, prov'd thy ſhame.
" With early hope thine infant actions fir'd,
" Let manhood crown what infancy inſpir'd;
" Let gen'rous toils reward with health thy days,
" Prolong thy prime, and eternize thy praiſe.
" The bold exploit that charms th' atteſting age,
" To lateſt times ſhall gen'rous hearts engage;
" And with that myrtle ſhall thy ſhrine be crown'd,
" With which, alive, thy graceful brows were bound,
" Till Time ſhall bid thy virtues freely bloom,
" And raiſe a temple where it found a tomb.

" Then in their feaſts thy name ſhall Grecians join,
" Shall pour the ſparkling juice to Jove's and thine:
" Thine, us'd in war, ſhall raiſe their native fire;
" Thine, us'd in peace, their mutual faith inſpire.
" Dulneſs, perhaps, thro' want of ſight, may blame,
" And Spleen, with odious induſtry, defame;
" And that the honours giv'n with wonder view,
" And this in ſecret ſadneſs own them due.
" Contempt and Envy were by Fate deſign'd
" The rival tyrants which divide mankind;
[98] " Contempt, which none but who deſerve can bear,
" While Envy's wounds the ſmiles of Fame repair:
" For know, the gen'rous thine exploits ſhall fire,
" Thine ev'ry friend it ſuits thee to require;
" Lov'd by the gods, and, till their ſeats I ſhow,
" Lov'd by the good, their images below."

" Ceaſe, lovely Maid! fair daughter of the Skies!
" My guide! my queen!" th' ecſtatic youth replies:
" In thee I trace a form deſign'd for ſway,
" Which chiefs may court, and kings with pride obey;
" And by thy bright immortal friends I ſwear,
" Thy fair idea ſhall no toils impair.
" Lead me, O lead me! where whole hoſts of foes
" Thy form depreciate, and thy friends oppoſe.
" Welcome all toils th' inequal Fates decree,
" While toils endear thy faithful charge to thee.
" Such be my cares, to bind th' oppreſſive hand,
" And cruſh the fetters of an injur'd land;
" To ſee the monſter's noxious life reſign'd,
" And tyrants quell'd, the monſters of mankind!
" Nature ſhall ſmile to view the vanquiſh'd brood,
" And none but Envy riot unſubdu'd.
" In cloiſter'd ſtate let ſelfiſh ſages dwell,
" Proud that their heart is narrow as their cell!
" And boaſt their mazy labyrinth of rules,
" Far leſs the friends of Virtue than the fools;
" Yet ſuch in vain thy fav'ring ſmiles pretend,
" For he is thine who proves his country's friend.
[99] " Thus when my life, well-ſpent, the good enjoy,
" And the mean envious labour to deſtroy;
" When, ſtrongly lur'd by Fame's contiguous ſhrine,
" I yet devote my choicer vows to thine;
" If all my toils thy promis'd favour claim,
" O lead thy fav'rite thro' the gates of Fame!"

He ceas'd his vows, and, with diſdainful air,
He turn'd to blaſt the late exulting fair:
But vaniſh'd, fled to ſome more friendly ſhore,
The conſcious phantom's beauty pleas'd no more;
Convinc'd her ſpurious charms of dreſs and face
Claim'd a quick conqueſt or a ſure diſgrace.
Fantaſtic Pow'r! whoſe tranſient charms allur'd,
While Error's miſt the reas'ning mind obſcur'd;
Not ſuch the vict'reſs, Virtue's conſtant queen,
Endur'd the teſt of truth, and dar'd be ſeen;
Her bright'ning form and features ſeem'd to own
'Twas all her wiſh, her int'reſt, to be known;
And when his longing view the fair declin'd,
Left a full image of her charms behind.

Thus reigns the moon, with furtive ſplendour crown'd,
While glooms oppreſs us, and thick ſhades ſurround;
But let the ſource of light its beams diſplay,
Languid and faint the mimic flames decay,
And all the ſick'ning ſplendour fades away.

THE PROGRESS OF TASTE: OR, THE FATE OF DELICACY.
A poem on the temper and ſtudies of the Author; and how great a misfortune it is for a man of ſmall eſtate to have much taſte.

[100]

PART THE FIRST.

PERHAPS ſome cloud eclips'd the day,
When thus I tun'd my penſive lay.
" The ſhip is launch'd—we catch the gale—
" On life's extended ocean ſail;
" For happineſs our courſe we bend,
" Our ardent cry, our general end!
" Yet, ah! the ſcenes which tempt our care
" Are, like the forms diſpers'd in air,
" Still dancing near diſorder'd eyes,
" And weakeſt his who beſt deſcries!"

Yet let me not my birthright barter,
(For wiſhing is the poet's charter;
All bards have leave to wiſh what's wanted,
Tho' few e'er found their wiſhes granted;
Extenſive field! where poets pride them
In ſinging all that is deny'd them.)

For humble eaſe, ye Pow'rs! I pray;
That plain warm ſuit for ev'ry day,
And pleaſure, and brocade, beſtow,
To flaunt it—once a month, or ſo.
[101] The firſt for conſtant wear we want;
The firſt, ye Pow'rs! for ever grant;
But conſtant wear the laſt beſpatters,
And turns the tiſſue into tatters.

Where'er my vagrant courſe I bend,
Let me ſecure one faithful friend.
Let me, in public ſcenes, requeſt
A friend of wit and taſte, well dreſs'd;
And if I muſt not hope ſuch favour,
A friend of wit and taſte, however.

Alas! that Wiſdom ever ſhuns
To congregate her ſcatter'd ſons,
Whoſe nervous forces, well combin'd,
Would win the field, and ſway mankind.
The fool will ſqueeze, from morn to night,
To fix his follies full in ſight;
The note he ſtrikes, the plume he ſhows,
Attract whole flights of fops and beaus,
And kindred-fools, who ne'er had known him,
Flock at the ſight, careſs, and own him;
But ill-ſtarr'd Senſe, nor gay nor loud,
Steals ſoft on tiptoe thro' the crowd;
Conveys his meagre form between,
And ſlides, like pervious air, unſeen;
Contracts his known tenuity,
As tho' 'twere ev'n a crime to be;
Nor ev'n permits his eyes to ſtray,
And win acquaintance in their way.

[102]In company, ſo mean his air,
You ſcarce are conſcious he is there,
Till from ſome nook, like ſharpen'd ſteel,
Occurs his face's thin profile,
Still ſeeming from the gazer's eye,
Like Venus, newly bath'd, to fly:
Yet while reluctant he diſplays
His real gems before the blaze,
The fool hath, in its centre, plac'd
His tawdry ſtock of painted paſte.
Diſus'd to ſpeak, he tries his ſkill,
Speaks coldly, and ſucceeds but ill,
His penſive manner dulneſs deem'd,
His modeſty reſerve eſteem'd;
His wit unknown, his learning vain,
He wins not one of all the train:
And thoſe who, mutually known,
In friendſhip's faireſt liſt had ſhone,
Leſs prone than pebbles to unite,
Retire to ſhades from public ſight,
Grow ſavage, quit their ſocial nature,
And ſtarve to ſtudy mutual ſatire.

But friends and fav'rites, to chagrin them,
Find counties, countries, ſeas, between them;
Meet once a-year, then part, and then
Retiring, wiſh to meet again.

Sick of the thought, let me provide
Some human form to grace my ſide;
[103] At hand, where'er I ſhape my courſe,
An uſeful, pliant, ſtalking-horſe.

No geſture free from ſome grimace,
No ſeam without its ſhare of lace,
But, mark'd with gold or ſilver either,
Hint where his coat was piec'd together.
His legs be lengthen'd, I adviſe,
And ſtockings roll'd abridge his thighs.
What tho' Vandyck had other rules?
What had Vandyck to do with fools?
Be nothing wanting but his mind;
Before a ſolit [...]ire, behind
A twiſted ribbon, like the track
Which Nature gives an aſs's back.
Silent as midnight! pity 'twere,
His wiſdom's ſlender wealth to ſhare!
And whilſt in flocks our fancies ſtray,
To wiſh the poor man's lamb away.

This form attracting ev'ry eye,
I ſtroll all unregarded by:
This wards the jokes of ev'ry kind,
As an umbrella ſun or wind;
Or, like a ſpunge, abſorbs the ſallies
And peſtilential fumes of malice;
Or, like a ſplendid ſhield, is fit
To ſcreen the Templar's random wit;
Or, what ſome gentler cit lets fall,
As woolpacks quaſh the leaden ball.

[104]

Aliuſions theſe of weaker force,

And apter ſtill the ſtalking-horſe.

O let me wander all unſeen
Beneath the ſanction of his mien!
As lilies ſoft, as roſes fair!
Empty as airpumps drain'd of air!
With ſteady eye and pace remark
The ſpeckled flock that haunts the Park*;
Level my pen with wondrous heed
At follies, flocking there to feed;
And as my ſatire burſts amain,
See feather'd fopp'ry ſtrew the plain.

But when I ſeek my rural grove,
And ſhare the peaceful haunts I love,
Let none of this unhallow'd train
My ſweet ſequeſter'd paths profane.
Oft' may ſome poliſh'd virtuous friend
To theſe ſoft-winding vales deſcend,
And love with me inglorious things,
And ſcorn with me the pomp of kings;
And check me when my boſom burns
For ſtatues, paintings, coins, and urns:
For I in Damon's pray'r could join,
And Damon's wiſh might now be mine—
But all diſpers'd! the wiſh, the pray'r,
Are driv'n to mix with common air.

PART THE SECOND.

[105]

How happy once was Damon's lot,
While yet romantic ſchemes were not,
Ere yet he ſent his weakly eyes
To plan frail caſtles in the ſkies!
Forſaking pleaſures cheap and common,
To court a blaze, ſtill flitting from one.

Ah! happy Damon! thrice and more,

Had Taſte ne'er touch'd thy tranquil ſhore.

Oh days! when to a girdle ty'd
The couples jingled at his ſide,
And Damon ſwore he would not barter
The ſportſman's girdle for a garter.

Whoever came to kill an hour,
Found eaſy Damon in their pow'r,
Pure ſocial Nature all his guide,
" Damon had not a grain of pride."

He wiſh'd not to elude the ſnares
Which Knav'ry plans, and Craſt prepares,
But rather wealth to crown their wiles,
And win their univerſal ſmiles;
For who are cheerful, who at eaſe,
But they who cheat us as they pleaſe?

He wink'd at many a groſs deſign
The new-fall'n calf might countermine:
Thus ev'ry fool allow'd his merit;
" Yes, Damon had a gen'rous ſpirit."

[106]A coxcomb's jeſt, however vile,
Was ſure, at leaſt, of Damon's ſmile;
That coxcomb ne'er deny'd him ſenſe;
For why? it prov'd his own pretence:
All own'd, were modeſty away,
Damon could ſhine as much as they.

When wine and folly came in ſeaſon,
Damon ne'er ſtrove to ſave his reaſon;
Obnoxious to the mad uproar,
A ſpy upon a hoſtile ſhore!
'Twas this his company endear'd;
Mirth never came till he appear'd.
His lodgings—ev'ry draw'r could ſhow 'em;
The ſlave was kick'd who did not know 'em.

Thus Damon, ſtudious of his eaſe,
And pleaſing all whom mirth could pleaſe,
Defy'd the world, like idle Colley,
To ſhew a ſofter word than folly.
Since Wiſdom's gorgon-ſhield was known
To ſtare the gazer into ſtone,
He choſe to truſt in Folly's charm,
To keep his breaſt alive and warm.

At length grave Learning's ſober train
Remark'd the trifler with diſdain;
The ſons of Taſte contemn'd his ways,
And rank'd him with the brutes that graze,
While they to nobler heights aſpir'd,
And grew belov'd, eſteem'd, admir'd.

[107]Hence with our youth, not void of ſpirit,
His old companions loſt their merit,
And ev'ry kind well-natur'd ſot
Seem'd a dull play without a plot,
Where ev'ry yawning gueſt agrees
The willing creature ſtrives to pleaſe:
But temper never could amuſe;
It barely led us to excuſe;
'Twas true, converſing they averr'd
All they had ſeen, or felt, or heard;
Talents of weight! for wights like theſe
The law might chuſe for witneſſes;
But ſure th' atteſting dry narration
Ill ſuits a judge of converſation.

What were their freedoms*? mere excuſes
To vent ill manners, blows, and bruiſes.
Yet freedom, gallant freedom! hailing,
At form, at form, inceſſant railing,
Would they examine each offence,
Its latent cauſe, its known pretence,
Punctilio ne'er was known to breed 'em,
So ſure as fond prolific freedom.
Their courage? but a loaded gun,
Machine the wiſe would wiſh to ſhun,
Its guard unſafe, its lock an ill one,
Where accident might fire and kill one.

In ſhort, diſguſted out of meaſure,
Thro' much contempt and ſlender pleaſure,
[108] His ſenſe of dignity returns;
With native pride his boſom burns;
He ſeeks reſpect—but how to gain it?
Wit, ſocial mirth, could ne'er obtain it;
And laughter where it reigns uncheck'd,
Diſcards and diſſipates reſpect:
The man who gravely bows enjoys it,
But ſhaking hands at once deſtroys it:
Precarious plant! which, freſh and gay,
Shrinks at the touch, and fades away!

Come then, Reſerve! yet from thy train
Baniſh Contempt and curs'd Diſdain.
Teach me, he cry'd, thy magic art,
To act the decent diſtant part;
To huſband well my complaiſance,
Nor let ev'n Wit too far advance;
But chuſe calm Reaſon for my theme,
In theſe her royal realms ſupreme,
And o'er her charms, with caution ſhown,
Be ſtill a graceful umbrage thrown,
And each abrupter period crown'd
With nods, and winks, and ſmiles, proſound,
Till, reſcu'd from the crowd beneath,
No more with pain to move or breathe,
I riſe with head elate, to ſhare
Salubrious draughts of purer air.
Reſpect is won by grave pretence
And ſilence, ſurer ev'n than ſenſe—

[109]'Tis hence the ſacred grandeur ſprings
Of Eaſtern—and of other kings,
Or whence this awe to virtue due,
While Virtue's diſtant as Peru?
The ſheathleſs ſword the guard diſplays,
Which round emits its dazzling rays;
The ſtately fort, the turrets tall,
Portcullis'd gate, and battled wall,
Leſs ſcreens the body than controls,
And wards contempt from royal ſouls.

The crowns they wear but check the eye
Before it fondly pierce too nigh,
That dazzled crowds may be employ'd
Around the ſurface of—the void.
O! 'tis the ſtateſman's craft profound
To ſcatter his amuſements round,
To tempt us from their conſcious breaſt,
Where full-fledg'd crimes enjoy their neſt;
Nor awes us ev'ry worth reveal'd,
So deeply as each vice conceal'd.

The lordly log, diſpatch'd of yore,
That the frog people might adore,
With guards to keep them at a diſtance,
Had reign'd, nor wanted Wit's aſſiſtance;
Nay—had addreſſes from his nation,
In praiſe of log-adminiſtration.

PART THE THIRD.

[110]

THE buoyant fires of youth were o'er,
And ſame and finery pleas'd no more,
Productive of that gen'ral ſtare,
Which cool reflection ill can bear,
And, crowds commencing mere vexation,
Retirement ſent its invitation.

Romantic ſcenes of pendent hills,
And verdant vales and falling rills,
And moſſy banks the fields adorn,
Where Damon, ſimple Swain! was born.

The Dryads rear'd a ſhady grove,
Where ſuch as think, and ſuch as love,
May ſafely ſigh their ſummer's day,
Or muſe their ſilent hours away.

The Oreads lik'd the climate well,
And taught the level plain to ſwell
In verdant mounds, from whence the eye
Might all their larger works deſcry.

The Naiads pour'd their urns around,
From nodding rocks o'er vales profound;
They form'd their ſtreams to pleaſe the view,
And bade them wind as ſerpents do,
And having ſhewn them where to ſtray,
Threw little pebbles in their way.

Theſe Fancy, all-ſagacious maid!
Had at their ſeveral taſks ſurvey'd:
[111] She ſaw and ſmil'd; and oft' would lead
Our Damon's foot o'er hill and mead,
There, with deſcriptive finger, trace
The genuine beauties of the place,
And when ſhe all its charms had ſhown,
Preſcribe improvements of her own.

" See yonder hill, ſo green, ſo round,
" Its brow with ambient beeches crown'd!
" 'Twould well become thy gentle care
" To raiſe a dome to Venus there;
" Pleas'd would the nymphs thy zeal ſurvey,
" And Venus in their arms repay.
" 'Twas ſuch a ſhade and ſuch a nook,
" In ſuch a vale, near ſuch a brook,
" From ſuch a rocky fragment ſpringing,
" That fam'd Apollo choſe to ſing in;
" There let an altar wrought with art
" Engage thy tuneful patron's heart:
" How charming there to muſe and warble
" Beneath his buſt of breathing marble!
" With laurel wreath and mimic lyre,
" That crown a poet's vaſt deſire:
" Then, near it, ſcoop the vaulted cell
" Where Muſic's charming maids* may dwell,
" Prone to indulge thy tender paſſion,
" And make thee many' an aſſignation.
" Deep in the grove's obſcure retreat
" Be plac'd Minerva's ſacred ſeat;
[112] " There let her awful turrets riſe,
" (For Wiſdom flies from vulgar eyes)
" There her calm dictates ſhalt thou hear
" Diſtinctly ſtrike thy liſt'ning ear;
" And who would ſhun the pleaſing labour,
" To have Minerva for his neighbour?"

In ſhort, ſo charm'd each wild ſuggeſtion,
Its truth was little call'd in queſtion;
And Damon dream'd he ſaw the Fauns
And Nymphs diſtinctly ſkim the lawns;
Now trac'd amid the trees, and then
Loſt in the circling ſhades again,
With leer oblique their lover viewing—
And Cupid—panting—and purſuing—
" Fancy, enchanting Fair!" he cry'd,
" Be thou my goddeſs, thou my guide;
" For thy bright viſions I deſpiſe
" What foes may think or friends adviſe.
" The feign'd concern, when folks ſurvey
" Expenſe, time, ſtudy, caſt away;
" The real ſpleen with which they ſee;
" I pleaſe myſelf, and follow thee."

Thus glow'd his breaſt, by Fancy warm'd,
And thus the fairy landſcape charm'd:
But moſt he hop'd his conſtant care
Might win the favour of the fair;
And, wand'ring late thro' yonder glade,
He thus the ſoft deſign betray'd.

[113]" Ye Doves! for whom I rear'd the grove,
" With melting lays ſalute my love!
" My Delia with your notes detain,
" Or I have rear'd the grove in vain.
" Ye Flow'rs! which early ſpring ſupplies,
" Diſplay at once your brighteſt dyes,
" That ſhe your op'ning charms may ſee,
" Or what were elſe your charms to me?
" Kind Zephyr! bruſh each fragrant flow'r,
" And ſhed its odours round my bow'r,
" Or ne'er again, O gentle Wind!
" Shall I in thee refreſhment find.
" Ye Streams! if e'er your banks I lov'd,
" If e'er your native ſounds improv'd,
" May each ſoft murmur ſooth my fair,
" Or, oh! 'twill deepen my deſpair.
" Be ſure, ye Willows! you be ſeen
" Array'd in livelieſt robes of green,
" Or I will tear your ſlighted boughs,
" And let them fade around my brows.
" And thou, my Grott! whoſe lonely bounds
" The melancholy pine ſurrounds,
" May ſhe admire thy peaceful gloom,
" Or thou ſhalt prove her lover's tomb."

And now the lofty domes were rear'd,

Loud laugh'd the ſquires, the rabble ſtar'd.

" See, Neighbours! what our Damon's doing;
" I think ſome folks are fond of ruin!
[114] " I ſaw his ſheep at random ſtray—
" But he has thrown his crook away—
" And builds ſuch huts as, in foul weather,
" Are fit for ſheep nor ſhepherd neither."

Whence came the ſober ſwain miſled?
Why, Phoebus put it in his head:
Phoebus befriends him, we are told;
And Phoebus coins bright tuns of gold.
'Twere prudent not to be ſo vain on't,
I think he'll never touch a grain on't.
And if from Phoebus and his Muſe
Mere earthly lazineſs enſues,
'Tis plain, for aught that I can ſay,
The dev'l inſpires as well as they.
So they—while fools of groſſer kind,
Leſs weeting what our bard deſign'd,
Impute his ſchemes to real evil,
That in theſe haunts he met the devil.

He own'd, tho' their advice was vain,
It ſuited wights who trod the plain;
For dulneſs—tho' he might abhor it,
In them he made allowance for it;
Nor wonder'd, if beholding mottoes,
And urns, and domes, and cells, and grottoes,
Folks, little dreaming of the Muſes,
Were plagu'd to gueſs their proper uſes.

But did the Muſes haunt his cell?
Or in his dome did Venus dwell?
[115] Did Pallas in his counſels ſhare?
The Delian god reward his pray'r?
Or did his zeal engage the fair?
When all the ſtructure ſhone complete,
Not much convenient, wondrous neat,
Adorn'd with gilding, painting, planting,
And the fair gueſts alone were wanting;
Ah, me! ('twas Damon's own confeſſion)
Came Poverty and took poſſeſſion.

PART THE FOURTH.

WHY droops my Damon, whilſt he roves
Thro' ornamented meads and groves?
Near columns, obeliſks, and ſpires,
Which ev'ry critic eye admires?
'Tis Poverty, deteſted maid!
Sole tenant of their ample ſhade;
'Tis ſhe that robs him of his eaſe,
And bids their very charms diſpleaſe.

But now, by Fancy long controll'd,
And with the ſons of Taſte enroll'd,
He deem'd it ſhameful to commence
Firſt miniſter to Common-ſenſe;
Far more elated to purſue
The loweſt talk of dear vertû.

And now, behold his lofty ſoul,
That whilome flew from pole to pole,
Settle on ſome elab'rate flow'r,
And, like a bee, the ſweets devour!
[116] Now, of a roſe enamour'd, prove
The wild ſolicitudes of love!
Now in a lily's cup enſhrin'd,
Forego the commerce of mankind!

As in theſe toils he wore away
The calm remainder of his day,
Conducting ſun, and ſhade, and ſhow'r,
As moſt might glad the new-born flow'r,
So Fate ordain'd—before his eye—
Starts up the long-ſought butterfly,
While flutt'ring round, her plumes unfold
Celeſtial crimſon dropp'd with gold.

Adieu, ye bands of flow'rets fair!
The living beauty claims his care:
For this he ſtrips—nor bolt nor chain
Could Damon's warm purſuit reſtrain.

See him o'er hill, moraſs, or mound,
Where'er the ſpeckled game is found,
Tho' bent with age, with zeal purſue,
And totter tow'rds the prey in view.

Nor rock nor ſtream his ſteps retard,
Intent upon the bleſs'd reward!
One vaſſal fly repays the chaſe!
A wing, a film, rewards the race!
Rewards him, tho' diſeaſe attend,
And in a fatal ſurfeit end.
So fierce Camilla ſkimm'd the plain,
Smit with the purple's pleaſing ſtain;
[117] She ey'd intent the glitt'ring ſtranger,
And knew, alas! nor fear nor danger,
Till deep within her panting heart
Malicious Fate impell'd the dart.

How ſtudious he what fav'rite food
Regales Dame Nature's tiny brood!
What junkets fat the filmy people!
And what liqueurs they chuſe to tipple!

Behold him, at ſome criſe, preſcribe,
And raiſe with drugs the ſick'ning tribe!
Or haply, when their ſpirits fau'ter,
Sprinkling my Lord of Cloyne's tar-water.

When Nature's brood of inſects dies,
See how he pimps for am'rous flies!
See him the timely ſuccour lend her,
And help the wantons to engender!

Or ſee him guard their pregnant hour,
Exert his ſoft obſtetric pow'r,
And, lending each his lenient hand,
With new-born grubs enrich the land!

O Wilks*! what poet's loftieſt lays
Can match thy labours and thy praiſe?
Immortal Sage! by Fate decreed
To guard the moth's illuſtrious breed!
Till flutt'ring ſwarms on ſwarms ariſe,
And all our wardrobes teem with flies!

[118]And muſt we praiſe this taſte for toys?
Admire it then in girls and boys.
Ye youths of fifteen years, or more!
Reſign your moths—the ſeaſon's o'er;
'Tis time more ſocial joys to prove;
'Twere now your nobler taſk—to love.
Let ***'s eyes more deeply warm,
Nor ſlighting Nature's faireſt form,
The bias of your ſouls determine
Tow'rds the mean love of Nature's vermine.

But, ah! how wondrous few have known

To give each ſtage of life its own.

'Tis the pretexta's utmoſt bound,
With radiant purple edg'd around,
To pleaſe the child, whoſe glowing dyes
Too long delight maturer eyes;
And few, but with regret, aſſume
The plain-wrought labours of the loom.
Ah! let not me by fancy ſteer,
When life's antumnal clouds appear;
Nor ev'n in learning's long delays
Conſume my faireſt, fruitleſs days;
Like him who ſhould in armour ſpend
The ſums that armour ſhould defend.

A while in Pleaſure's myrtle bow'r
We ſhare her ſmiles and bleſs her pow'r,
But find at laſt we vainly ſtrive
To fix the worſt coquette alive.

[119]O you! that with aſſiduous flame
Have long purſu'd the faithleſs dame,
Forſake her ſoft abodes a while,
And dare her frown, and ſlight her ſmile;
Nor ſcorn, whatever wits may ſay,
The footpath road, the king's highway:
No more the ſcrup'lous charmer teaze,
But ſeek the roofs of honeſt Eaſe;
The rival fair, no more purſu'd,
Shall there with forward pace intrude;
Shall there her ev'ry art eſſay,
To win you to her ſlighted ſway,
And grant your ſcorn a glance more fair
Than e'er ſhe gave your fondeſt pray'r.

But would you happineſs purſue?
Partake both eaſe and pleaſure too?
Would you, thro' all your days, diſpenſe
The joys of reaſon and of ſenſe?
Or give to life the moſt you can?
Let ſocial virtue ſhape the plan:
For does not to the virtuous deed
A train of pleaſing ſweets ſucceed?
Or, like the ſweets of wild deſire,
Did ſocial pleaſures ever tire?

Yet midſt the group be ſome preferr'd,
Be ſome abhorr'd—for Damon err'd;
And ſuch there are—of fair addreſs—
As 'twere unſocial to careſs.
[120] O learn by Reaſon's equal rule
To ſhun the praiſe of knave or fool;
Then tho' you deem it better ſtill
To gain ſome ruſtic 'ſquire's good will,
And ſouls, however mean or vile,
Like features, brighten by a ſmile,
Yet Reaſon holds it for a crime
The trivial breaſt ſhould ſhare thy time;
And Virtue with reluctant eyes
Beholds this human ſacrifice!

Thro' deep reſerve and air erect,
Miſtaken Damon won reſpect,
But could the ſpecious homage paſs
With any creature but an aſs?
If conſcious, they who fear'd the ſkin
Would ſcorn the ſluggiſh brute within.
What awe-ſtruck ſlaves the tow'rs encloſe
Where Perſian monarchs eat and doze!
What proſtrate rev'rence all agree
To pay a prince they never ſee!
Mere vaſſals of a royal throne;
The Sophi's virtues muſt be ſhown
To make the reverence his own.

As for Thalia—wouldſt thou make her
Thy bride without a portion?—take her:
She will with duteous care attend,
And all thy penſive hours befriend;
[121] Will ſwell thy joys, will ſhare thy pain,
With thee rejoice, with thee complain;
Will ſmooth thy pillow, plait thy bow'rs,
And bind thine aching head with flow'rs.
But be this previous maxim known—
If thou canſt feed on Love alone,
If, bleſs'd with her, thou canſt ſuſtain
Contempt, and poverty, and pain;
If ſo—then rifle all her graces—
And fruitful be your fond embraces!

Too ſoon, by caitiff-ſpleen inſpir'd,
Sage Damon to his groves retir'd,
The path diſclaim'd by ſober reaſon;
Retirement claims a later ſeaſon,
Ere active youth and warm deſires
Have quite withdrawn their ling'ring fires.
With the warm boſom ill agree
Or limpid ſtream or ſhady tree;
Love lurks within the roſy bow'r,
And claims the ſpeculative hour;
Ambition finds his calm retreat,
And bids his pulſe too fiercely beat;
Ev'n ſocial Friendſhip duns his ear,
And cites him to the public ſphere.
Does he reſiſt their genuine force?
His temper takes ſome froward courſe,
Till paſſion, miſdirected, ſighs
For weeds, or ſhells, or grubs, or flies!

[122]Far happieſt he whoſe early days,
Spent in the ſocial paths of praiſe,
Leave fairly printed on his mind
A train of virtuous deeds behind:
From this rich fund the mem'ry draws
The laſting meed of ſelf-applauſe.

Such fair ideas lend their aid
To people the ſequeſter'd ſhade:
Such are the Naiads, Nymphs, and Fauns,
That haunt his floods or cheer his lawns.
If, where his devious ramble ſtrays,
He Virtue's radiant form ſurveys,
She ſeems no longer now to wear
The rigid mien, the frown ſevere*;
To ſhew him her remote abode,
To point the rocky arduous road;
But from each flower his fields allow
She twines a garland for his brow.

ECONOMY, A RHAPSODY, ADDRESSED TO YOUNG POETS.

[123]

Inſanis; omnes gelidis quicunque lacernis

Sunt tibi, Naſones Virgilioſque vides.

MART

IMITATION.

—Thou know'ſt not what thou ſay'ſt;
In garments that ſcarce fence them from the cold
Our Ovids and our Virgils you behold.

PART THE FIRST.

To you, ye Bards! whoſe laviſh breaſt requires
This monitory lay, the ſtrains belong:
Nor think ſome miſer vents his ſapient ſaw,
Or ſome dull cit, unfeeling of the charms
That tempt profuſion, ſings; while friendly Zeal,
To guard from fatal ills the tribe he loves,
Inſpires the meaneſt of the Muſe's train!
Like you I loathe the grov'lling progeny,
Whoſe wily arts, by creeping time matur'd,
Advance them high on Pow'r's tyrannic throne,
To lord it there in gorgeous uſeleſſneſs,
And ſpurn ſucceſsleſs Worth that pines below!

See the rich churl, amid the ſocial ſons
Of wine and wit regaling! hark, he joins
In the free jeſt delighted! ſeems to ſhew
A meliorated heart! he laughs, he ſings.
[124] Songs of gay import, madrigals of glee,
And drunken anthems, ſet agape the board,
Like Demea*, in the play, benign and mild,
And pouring forth benevolence of ſoul,
Till Micio wonder; or, in Shakeſpeare's line,
Obſtrep'rous Silence†, drowning Shallow's voice,
And ſtartling Falſtaff and his mad compeers.

He owns 'tis prudence, ever and anon,
To ſmooth his careful brow, to let his purſe
Ope to a ſixpence's diameter.
He likes our ways: he owns the ways of wit
Are ways of pleaſance, and deſerve regard.
True, we are dainty good ſociety,
But what art thou? Alas! conſider well,
Thou bane of ſocial pleaſure, know thyſelf:
Thy fell approach, like ſome invaſive damp
Breath'd thro' the pores of earth from Stygian caves,
Deſtroys the lamp of mirth; the lamp which we,
Its flamens, boaſt to guard; we know not how,
But at thy ſight the fading flame aſſumes
A ghaſtly blue, and in a ſtench expires.

True, thou ſeem'ſt chang'd; all ſainted, all enſky'd:
The trembling tears that charge thy melting eyes
Say thou art honeſt, and of gentle kind:
But all is falſe! an intermitting ſigh
[125] Condemns each hour, each moment giv'n to ſmiles,
And deems thoſe only loſt thou doſt not loſe.
Ev'n for a demi-groat this open'd ſoul,
This boon companion, this elaſtic breaſt,
Revibrates quick, and ſends the tuneful tongue
To laviſh muſic on the rugged walls
Of ſome dark dungeon. Hence, thou Caitiff! fly;
Touch not my glaſs, nor drain my ſacred bowl,
Monſter ingrate! beneath one common ſky
Why ſhouldſt thou breathe? beneath one common roof
Thou ne'er ſhalt harbour, nor my little boat
Receive a ſoul with crimes to preſs it down.
Go to thy bags, thou Recreant! hourly go,
And, gazing there, bid them be wit, be mirth,
Be converſation. Not a face that ſmiles
Admit thy preſence! not a ſoul that glows
With ſocial purport, bid, or ev'n or morn,
Inveſt thee happy! but when life declines,
May thy ſure heirs ſtand titt'ring round thy bed,
And, uſh'ring in their fav'rites, burſt thy locks,
And fill their laps with gold, till Want and Care
With joy depart, and cry, "We aſk no more."

Ah! never, never may th' harmonious mind
Endure the worldly! Poets, ever void
Of guile, diſtruſtleſs, ſcorn the treaſur'd gold,
And ſpurn the miſer, ſpurn his deity.
Balanc'd with friendſhip, in the poet's eye
The rival ſcale of int'reſt kicks the beam,
[126] Than lightning ſwifter. From his cavern'd ſtore
The ſordid ſoul, with ſelf-applauſe, remarks
The kind propenſity; remarks and ſmiles,
And hies with impious haſte to ſpread the ſnare.
Him we deride, and in our comic ſcenes
Contemn the niggard form Moliere has drawn:
We loathe with juſtice; but, alas! the pain
To bow the knee before this calf of gold,
Implore his envious aid, and meet his frown!

But 'tis not Gomez, 'tis not he whoſe heart
Is cruſted o'er with droſs, whoſe callous mind
Is ſenſeleſs as his gold, the ſlighted Muſe
Intenſely loathes. Tis ſure no equal taſk
To pardon him who laviſhes his wealth
On racer, fox-hound, hawk, or ſpaniel, all
But human merit; who with gold eſſays
All but the nobleſt pleaſure, to remove
The wants of Genius, and its ſmiles enjoy.

But you, ye titled youths! whoſe nobler zeal
Would burniſh o'er your coronets with fame,
Who liſten pleas'd when poet tunes his lay,
Permit him not in diſtant ſolitudes
To pine, to languiſh out the fleeting hours
Of active youth; then Virtue pants for praiſe.
That ſeaſon unadorn'd, the careleſs bard
Quits your worn threſhold, and, like honeſt Gay,
Contemns the niggard boon ye time ſo ill.
Your favours then, like trophies giv'n the tomb,
[127] Th' enfranchis'd ſpirit ſoaring not perceives,
Or ſcorns perceiv'd, and execrates the ſmile
Which bade his vig'rous bloom, to treach'rous hopes
And ſervile cares a prey, expire in vain!—

Two lawleſs pow'rs, engag'd by mutual hate
In endleſs war, beneath their flags enrol
The vaſſal world: this Avarice is nam'd,
That Luxury: 'tis true their partial friends
Aſſign them ſofter names; uſurpers both!
That ſhare by dint of arms the legal throne
Of juſt Economy; yet both betray'd
By fraudful miniſters. The niggard chief
Liſt'ning to want, all faithleſs, and prepar'd
To join each moment in his rival's train,
His conduct models by the needleſs fears
The ſlave inſpires, while Luxury, a chief
Of ampleſt faith, to Plenty's rule reſigns
His whole campaign. 'Tis Plenty's flatt'ring ſounds
Engroſs his ear; 'tis Plenty's ſmiling form
Moves ſtill before his eye. Diſcretion ſtrives,
But ſtrives in vain, to baniſh from the throne
The perjur'd minion: he, ſecure of truſt,
With latent malice to the hoſtile camp
Day, night, and hour, his monarch's wealth conveys.

Ye tow'ring minds! ye ſublimated ſouls!
Who, careleſs of your fortunes, ſeal and ſign,
Set, let, contract, acquit, with eaſier mien
Than fops take ſnuff! whoſe economic care
[128] Your green ſilk purſe engroſſes! eaſy, pleas'd,
To ſee gold ſparkle thro' the ſubtle folds,
Lovely as when th' Heſperian fruitage ſmil'd
Amid the verd'rous grove! who fondly hope
Spontaneous harveſts! harveſts all the year!
Who ſcatter wealth, as tho' the radiant crop
Glitter'd on ev'ry bough; and ev'ry bough,
Like that the Trojan gather'd, once avuls'd
Were by a ſplendid ſucceſſor ſupply'd
Inſtant, ſpontaneous! liſten to my lays;
For 'tis not fools, whate'er proverbial phraſe
Have long decreed, that quit with greateſt eaſe
The treaſur'd gold. Of words indeed profuſe,
Of gold tenacious, their torpeſcent ſoul
Clenches their coin, and what electral fire
Shall ſolve the froſty gripe, and bid it flow?
'Tis genius, fancy, that to wild expenſe
Of health, of treaſure, ſtimulates the ſoul:
Theſe with officious care and fatal art
Improve the vinous flavour; theſe the ſmile
Of Cloe ſoften; theſe the glare of dreſs
Illume, the glitt'ring chariot gild anew,
And add ſtrange wiſdom to the furs of Pow'r.

Alas! that he, amid the race of men,
That he, who thinks of pureſt gold with ſcorn,
Should with unſated appetite demand,
And vainly court the pleaſure it procures!
When Fancy's vivid ſpark impels the ſoul
[129] To ſcorn quotidian ſcenes, to ſpurn the bliſs
Of vulgar minds, what noſtrum ſhall compoſe
Its fatal tenſion? in what lonely vale
Of balmy Med'cine's various field aſpires
The bleſs'd refrigerant? Vain, ah! vain the hope
Of future peace, this orgaſm uncontroll'd!
Impatient, hence, of all the frugal mind
Requires; to eat, to drink to ſleep, to fill
A cheſt with gold, the ſprightly breaſt demands
Inceſſant rapture; life a tedious load
Deny'd its continuity of joy.
But whence obtain? philoſophy requires
No laviſh coſt; to crown its utmoſt pray'r
Suffice the root-built cell, the ſimple fleece,
The juicy viand, and the cryſtal ſtream.
Ev'n mild Stupidity rewards her train
With cheap contentment. Taſte alone requires
Entire profuſion! Days, and nights, and hours,
Thy voice, hydropic Fancy! calls aloud
For coſtly draughts, inundant bowls of joy,
Rivers of rich regalement, ſeas of bliſs,
Seas without ſhore! infinity of ſweets!

And yet, unleſs ſage Reaſon join her hand
In Pleaſure's purchaſe, pleaſure is unſure:
And yet, unleſs Economy's conſent
Legitimate expenſe, ſome graceleſs mark,
Some ſymptom ill-conceal'd, ſhall, ſoon or late,
Burſt like a pimple from the vicious tide
[130] Of acid blood, proclaiming Want's diſeaſe
Amidſt the bloom of ſhew. The ſcanty ſtream,
Slow-loit'ring in its channel, ſeems to vie
With Vaga's depth; but ſhould the ſedgy pow'r,
Vain-glorious, empty his penurious urn
O'er the rough rock, how muſt his fellow ſtreams
Deride the tinklings of the boaſtive rill!

I not aſpire to mark the dubious path
That leads to wealth, to poets mark'd in vain!
But ere ſelf-flatt'ry ſooth the vivid breaſt
With dreams of fortune near allay'd to fame,
Reflect how few who charm'd the liſt'ning ear
Of ſatrap or of king her ſmiles enjoy'd!
Conſider well what meagre alms repay'd
The great Maeonian! ſire of tuneful ſong,
And prototype of all that ſoar'd ſublime,
And left dull cares below; what griefs impell'd
The modeſt bard of learn'd Eliza's reign
To ſwell with tears his Mulla's parent ſtream,
And mourn aloud the pang "to ride, to run,
" To ſpend, to give, to want, to be undone."
Why ſhould I tell of Cowley's penſive Muſe,
Belov'd in vain? too copious is my theme!
Which of your boaſted race might hope reward
Like loyal Butler, when the lib'ral Charles,
The judge of wit, perus'd the ſprightly page,
Triumphant o'er his foes? Believe not hope,
The poet's paraſite; but learn alone
[131] To ſpare the ſcanty boon the Fates decree.
Poet and rich! 'tis ſoleciſm extreme!
'Tis heighten'd contradiction! in his frame,
In ev'ry nerve and fibre of his ſoul,
The latent ſeeds and principles of want
Has Nature wove, and Fate confirm'd the clue.

Nor yet deſpair to ſhun the ruder gripe
Of Penury: with nice preciſion learn
A dollar's value. Foremoſt in the page
That marks th' expenſe of each revolving year
Place inattention. When the luſt of praiſe,
Or honour's falſe idea, tempts thy ſoul
To ſlight frugality, aſſure thine heart
That danger's near. This periſhable coin
Is no vain ore. It is thy liberty;
It fetters miſers, but it muſt alone
Enfranchiſe thee. The world, the cit-like world,
Bids thee beware; thy little craft eſſay;
Nor, piddling with a tea-ſpoon's ſlender form,
See with ſoup-ladles devils gormandize.

Economy! thou good old aunt! whoſe mien,
Furrow'd with age and care, the wiſe adore,
The wits contemn! reſerving ſtill thy ſtores
To cheer thy friends at laſt! why with the cit
Or bookleſs churl, with each ignoble name,
Each earthly nature, deign'ſt thou to reſide?
And ſhunning all, who by thy favours crown'd
Might glad the world, to ſeek ſome vulgar mind,
[132] Inſpiring pride, and ſelfiſh ſhapes of ill?
Why with the old, infirm, and impotent,
And childleſs, love to dwell, yet leave the breaſt
Of youth unwarn'd, unguided, uninform'd?
Of youth, to whom thy monitory voice
Were doubly kind? for, ſure, to youthful eyes,
(How ſhort ſoe'er it prove) the road of life
Appears protracted; fair on either ſide
The Loves, the Graces play, on Fortune's child
Profuſely ſmiling: well might youth eſſay
The frugal plan, the lucrative employ,
Source of their favour all the live-long day,
But Fate aſſents not. Age alone contracts
His meagre palm, to clench the tempting bane
Of all his peace, the glitt'ring ſeeds of care!

O that the Muſe's voice might pierce the ear
Of gen'rous youth! for youth deſerves her ſong.
Youth is fair virtue's ſeaſon, virtue then
Requires the pruner's hand; the ſequent ſtage,
It barely vegetates; nor long the ſpace
Ere, robb'd of warmth, its arid trunk diſplay
Fell Winter's total reign. O lovely ſource
Of gen'rous foibles, youth! when op'ning minds
Are honeſt as the light, lucid as air,
As foſt'ring breezes kind, as linnets gay,
Tender as buds, and laviſh as the ſpring!
Yet, hapleſs ſtate of man! his earlieſt youth
Cozens itſelf; his age defrauds mankind.

[133]Nor deem it ſtrange that rolling years abrade
The ſocial bias. Life's extenſive page,
What does it but unfold repeated proofs
Of gold's omnipotence? With patriots, friends,
Sick'ning beneath its ray, enervate ſome,
And others dead, whoſe putrid name exhales
A noiſome ſcent, the bulky volume teems:
With kinſmen, brothers, ſons, moiſt'ning the ſhroud,
Or honouring the grave, with ſpecious grief
Of ſhort duration, ſoon in Fortune's beams
Alert, and wond'ring at the tears they ſhed.

But who ſhall ſave, by tame proſaic ſtrain,
That glowing breaſt where wit with youth conſpires
To ſweeten luxury? The fearful Muſe
Shall yet proceed, tho' by the fainteſt gleam
Of hope inſpir'd, to warn the train ſhe loves.

PART THE SECOND.

IN ſome dark ſeaſon, when the miſty ſhow'r
Obſcures the ſun, and ſaddens all the ſky,
When linnets drop the wing, nor grove nor ſtream
Invites thee forth to ſport thy drooping Muſe,
Seize the dull hour, nor with regret aſſign
To worldly prudence. She, nor nice nor coy,
Accepts the tribute of a joyleſs day;
She ſmiles well-pleas'd when wit and mirth recede,
And not a Grace and not a Muſe will hear.
Then from majeſtic Maro's awful ſtrain,
[134] Or tow'ring Homer, let thine eye deſcend
To trace, with patient induſtry, the page
Of income and expenſe: and, oh! beware
Thy breaſt, ſelf-flatt'ring; place no courtly ſmile,
No golden promiſe of your faithleſs Muſe,
Nor latent mine which Fortune's hand may ſhew,
Amid thy ſolid ſtore: the Siren's ſong
Wrecks not the liſt'ning ſailor half ſo ſure.
See by what avenues, what devious paths,
The foot of Want, deteſted, ſteals along,
And bars each fatal paſs! Some few ſhort hours
Of punctual care, the refuſe of thy year,
On frugal ſchemes employ'd, ſhall give the Muſe
To ſing intrepid many a cheerful day.

But if too ſoon before the tepid gales
Thy reſolution melt, and ardent vows,
In wary hours preferr'd, or die forgot,
Or ſeem the forc'd effect of hazy ſkies,
Then, ere ſurpriſe, by whoſe impetuous rage
The maſſy fort, with which thy gentler breaſt
I not compare is won, the ſong proceeds.

Kn [...]w, too, by Nature's undiminiſh'd law,
Throughout her realms obey'd, the various parts
Of deep creation, atoms, ſyſtems, all,
Attract and are attracted; nor prevails the law
Alone in matter; ſoul alike with ſoul
Aſpires to join; nor yet in ſouls alone,
In each idea it imbibes is ſound
[135] The kind propenſity; and when they meet
And grow familiar, various tho' their tribe,
Their tempers various, vow perpetual faith;
That ſhould the world's disjointed frame once more
To chaos yield the ſway, amid the wreck
Their union ſhould ſurvive; with Roman warmth,
By ſacred hoſpitable laws endear'd,
Should each idea recollect its friend.

Here then we fix; on this perennial baſe
Erect thy ſafety, and defy the ſtorm.
Let ſoft Profuſion's fair idea join
Her hand with Poverty; nor here deſiſt,
Till o'er the group that forms their various train
Thou ſing loud hymenéals. Let the pride
Of outward ſhew in laſting leagues combine
With ſhame thread-bare; the gay vermilion face
Of raſh Intemp'rance be diſcreetly pair'd
With ſallow Hunger: the licentious joy
With mean dependence; ev'n the dear delight
Of ſculpture, paint, intaglios, books, and coins,
Thy breaſt, ſagacious Prudence! ſhall connect
With filth and beggary, nor diſdain to link
With black Inſolvency. Thy ſoul, alarm'd,
Shall ſhun the Siren's voice, nor boldly dare
To bid the ſoft enchantreſs ſhare thy breaſt,
With ſuch a train of horrid fiends conjoin'd.

Nor think, ye ſordid race! ye grov'lling minds!
I frame the ſong for you; for you the Muſe
[136] Could other rules impart. The friendly ſtrain,
For gentler boſoms plann'd, to yours would prove
The juice of lurid aconite, exceed
Whatever Colchos bore, and in your breaſt
Compaſſion, love, and friendſhip, all deſtroy.

It greatly ſhall avail, if e'er thy ſtores
Increaſe apace by periodic days
Of annual payment, or thy patron's boon,
The lean reward of groſs unbounded praiſe!
It much avails to ſeize the preſent hour,
And, undeliberating, call around
Thy hungry creditors; their horrid rage
When once appeas'd, the ſmall remaining ſtore
Shall riſe in weight tenfold, in luſtre riſe,
As gold improv'd by many a fierce aſſay.
'Tis thus the frugal huſbandman directs
His narrow ſtream, if o'er its wonted banks,
By ſudden rains impell'd, it proudly ſwell;
His timely hand thro' better tracks conveys
The quick-decreaſing tide, ere borne along
Or thro' the wild moraſs, or cultur'd field,
Or bladed graſs mature, or barren ſands,
It flow deſtructive, or it flow in vain!
But happieſt he who ſanctifies expenſe
By preſent pay; who ſubjects not his fame
To tradeſmen's varlets, nor bequeaths his name,
His honour'd name, to deck the vulgar page
Of baſe mechanic, ſordid, unſincere!
[137] There haply, while thy Muſe ſublimely ſoars
Beyond this earthly ſphere, in heav'n's abodes,
And dreams of nectar and ambroſial ſweets,
Thy growing debt ſteals unregarded o'er
The punctual record, till nor Phoebus' ſelf,
Nor ſage Minerva's art, can aught avail
To ſooth the ruthleſs dun's deteſted rage:
Frantic and fell, with many a curſe profane
He loads the gentle Muſe, then hurls thee down
To want, remorſe, captivity, and ſhame.

Each public place, the glitt'ring haunts of men,
With horror fly. Why loiter near thy bane?—
Why fondly linger on a hoſtile ſhore
Diſarm'd, defenceleſs? why require to tread
The precipice? or why, alas! to breathe
A moment's ſpace where ev'ry breeze is death?
Death to thy future peace! Away, collect
Thy diſſipated mind; contract thy train
Of wild ideas, o'er the flow'ry fields
Of ſhew diffus'd, and ſpeed to ſafer climes.
Economy preſents her glaſs, accept
The faithful mirror, pow'rful to diſcloſe
A thouſand forms unſeen by careleſs eyes,
That plot thy fate. Temptation in a robe
Of Tyrian dye, with ev'ry ſweet perfum'd,
Beſets thy ſenſe; Extortion follows cloſe
Her wanton ſtep, and Ruin brings the rear.
Theſe and the reſt ſhall her myſterious glaſs
[138] Embody to thy view; like Venus kind,
When to her lab'ring ſon the 'vengeful pow'rs
That urg'd the fall of Ilium ſhe diſplay'd:
He, not imprudent, at the ſight declin'd
Th' inequal conflict, and decreed to raiſe
The Trojan welfare on ſome happier ſhore.
For here to drain thy ſwelling purſe await
A thouſand arts, a thouſand frauds attend:
" The cloud-wrought canes, the gorgeous ſnuff boxes,
" The twinkling jewels, and the gold etwee,
" With all its bright inhabitants, ſhall waſte
" Its melting ſtores, and in the dreary void
" Leave not a doit behind." Ere yet exhauſt
Its flimſy folds offend thy penſive eye,
Away! emboſom'd deep in diſtant ſhades,
Nor ſeen nor ſeeing, thou may'ſt vent thy ſcorn
Of lace, embroid'ry, purple, gems, and gold!
There of the farded fop and eſſenc'd beau,
Ferocious, with a Stoic's frown diſcloſe
Thy manly ſcorn, averſe to tinſel pomp,
And fluent thine harangue. But can thy ſoul
Deny thy limbs the radiant grace of dreſs,
Where dreſs is merit! where thy graver friend
Shall with thee burniſh'd! where the ſprightly fair
Demand embelliſhment! ev'n Delia's eye,
As in a garden, roves, of hues alone
Inquirent, curious? Fly the curs'd domain;
Theſe are the realms of luxury and ſhew,
No claſſic ſoil; away! the bloomy ſpring
[139] Attracts thee hence; the waning autumn warns;
Fly to thy native ſhades, and dread, ev'n there,
Leſt buſy fancy tempt thy narrow ſtate
Beyond its bounds. Obſerve Florelio's mien:
Why treads my friend with melancholy ſtep
That beauteous lawn? why, penſive, ſtrays his eye
O'er ſtatues, grottoes, urns, by critic art
Proportion'd fair? or from his lofty dome,
Bright glitt'ring thro' the grove, returns his eye
Unpleas'd, diſconſolate? And is it love,
Diſaſtrous love, that robs the finiſh'd ſcenes
Of all their beauty? cent'ring all in her
His ſoul adores? or from a blacker cauſe
Springs this remorſeful gloom? Is conſcious guilt
The latent ſource of more than love's deſpair?
It cannot be within that poliſh'd breaſt,
Where ſcience dwells, that guilt ſhould harbour there.
No; 'tis the ſad ſurvey of preſent want
And paſt profuſion! loſt to him the ſweets
Of yon' pavilion, fraught with ev'ry charm
For other eyes; or if remaining, proofs
Of criminal expenſe! Sweet interchange
Of river, valley, mountain, woods, and plains!
How gladſome once he rang'd your native turf,
Your ſimple ſcenes, how raptur'd! ere Expenſe
Had laviſh'd thouſand ornaments, and taught
Convenience to perplex him, Art to pall,
Pomp to deject, and Beauty to diſpleaſe!

[140]Oh! for a ſoul to all the glare of wealth,
To Fortune's wide exhauſtleſs treaſury,
Nobly ſuperior! but let Caution guide
The coy diſpoſal of the wealth we ſcorn,
And Prudence be our almoner. Alas!
The pilgrim wand'ring o'er ſome diſtant clime,
Sworn foe of avarice! not diſdains to learn
Its coin's imputed worth, the deſtin'd means
To ſmooth his paſſage to the favour'd ſhrine.
Ah! let not us, who tread this ſtranger world,
Let none who ſojourn on the realms of life,
Forget the land is merc'nary, nor waſte
His fare ere landed on no venal ſhore.

Let never bard conſult Palladio's rules;
Let never bard, O Burlington! ſurvey
Thy learned art, in Chiſwick's dome diſplay'd;
Dang'rous incentive! nor with ling'ring eye
Survey the window Venice calls her own.
Better for him with no ingrateful Muſe
To ſing a requiem to that gentle ſoul
Who plann'd the ſkylight, which to laviſh bards
Conveys alone the pure ethereal ray;
For garrets him, and ſqualid walls, await,
Unleſs, preſageful, from this friendly ſtrain
He glean advice, and ſhun the ſcribbler's doom.

PART THE THIRD.

[141]

YET once again, and to thy doubtful fate
The trembling Muſe conſigns thee. Ere Contempt,
Or Want's empoiſon'd arrow, ridicule,
Transfix thy weak unguarded breaſt, behold!
The poet's roofs, the careleſs poet's, his
Who ſcorns advice, ſhall cloſe my ſerious lay.

When Gulliver, now great, now little deem'd,
The plaything of Compariſon, arriv'd
Where learned boſoms their aërial ſchemes
Projected, ſtudious of the public weal,
'Mid theſe one ſubtler artiſt he deſcry'd,
Who cheriſh'd in his duſty tenement
The ſpider's web, injurious, to ſupplant
Fair Albion's fleeces! Never, never may
Our monarch on ſuch fatal purpoſe ſmile,
And irritate Minerva's beggar'd ſons,
The Melkſham weavers! Here in ev'ry nook
Their weſts they ſpun, here revell'd uncontroll'd,
And, like the flags from Weſtminſter's high roof
Dependent, here their flutt'ring textures wav'd.
Such, ſo adorn'd, the cell I mean to ſing!
Cell ever ſqualid! where the ſneerful maid
Will not fatigue her hand, broom never comes,
That comes to all, o'er whoſe quieſcent walls
Arachne's unmoleſted care has drawn
Curtains ſubfulk, and ſave th' expenſe of art.

[142]Survey thoſe walls, in fady texture clad,
Where wand'ring ſnails in many a ſlimy path,
Free, unreſtrain'd, their various journies crawl;
Peregrinations ſtrange, and labyrinths
Confus'd, inextricable! ſuch the clue
Of Cretan Ariadne ne'er explain'd!
Hooks! angles! crooks! and involutions wild!
Mean-time, thus ſilver'd with meanders gay,
In mimic pride the ſnail-wrought tiſſue ſhines,
Perchance of tabby, or of harrateen,
Not ill expreſſive; ſuch the pow'r of ſnails!

Behold his chair, whoſe fractur'd ſeat infirm
An aged cuſhion hides! replete with duſt
The foliag'd velvet, pleaſing to the eye
Of great Eliza's reign, but now the ſnare
Of weary gueſt that on the ſpecious bed
Sits down confiding. Ah! diſaſtrous wight!
In evil hour and raſhly doſt thou truſt
The fraudful couch! for tho' in velvet cas'd,
The fated thigh ſhall kiſs the duſty floor.
The trav'ller thus, that o'er Hibernian plains
Hath ſhap'd his way, on beds profuſe of flow'rs,
Cowſlip, or primroſe, or the circ'lar eye
Of daiſy fair, decrees to baſk ſupine.
And ſee! delighted, down he drops, ſecure
Of ſweet refreſhment, eaſe without annoy,
Or luſcious noon-day nap. Ah! much deceiv'd,
Much ſuff'ring pilgrim! thou nor noon-day nap
[143] Nor ſweet repoſe ſhalt find; the falſe moraſs
In quiv'ring undulations yields beneath
Thy burden, in the miry gulf enclos'd!
And who would truſt appearance? caſt thine eye
Where 'mid machines of het'rogeneous form
His coat depends; alas! his only coat,
Eldeſt of things! and napleſs, as an heath
Of ſmall extent by fleecy myriads graz'd.
Not diff'rent have I ſeen in dreary vault
Diſplay'd a coffin; on each ſable ſide
The texture unmoleſted ſeems entire;
Fraudful, when touch'd it glides to duſt away,
And leaves the wond'ring ſwain to gape, to ſtare,
And with expreſſive ſhrug and piteous ſigh
Declare the fatal force of rolling years,
Or dire extent of frail mortality.
This aged veſture, ſcorn of gazing beaus
And formal cits, (themſelves too haply ſcorn'd)
Both on its ſleeve and on its ſkirt retains
Full many a pin wide-ſparkling: for it e'er
Their well-known creſt met his delighted eye,
Tho' wrapt in thought, commercing with the ſky,
He, gently ſtooping, ſcorn'd not to upraiſe,
And on each ſleeve, as conſcious of their uſe,
Indenting fix them; nor, when arm'd with theſe,
The cure of rents and ſeparations dire,
And chaſms enormous, did he view diſmay'd
Hedge, bramble, thicket, buſh, portending fate
[144] To breeches, coat, and hoſe! had any wight
Of vulgar ſkill the tender texture own'd;
But gave his mind to form a ſonnet quaint
Of Silvia's ſhoe-ſtring, or of Chloe's fan,
Or ſweetly-faſhion'd tip of Celia's ear.
Alas! by frequent uſe decays the force
Of mortal art! the refractory robe
Eludes the tailor's art, eludes his own;
How potent once, in union quaint conjoin'd!

See near his bed (his bed, too falſely call'd
The Place of Reſt, while it a bard ſuſtains,
Pale, meagre, muſe-rid wight! who reads in vain
Narcotic volumes o'er) his candleſtick,
Radiant machine! when from the plaſtic hand
Of Mulciber, the may'r of Birmingham,
The engine iſſu'd; now, alas! diſguis'd
By many an unctuous tide, that wand'ring down
Its ſides congeal; what he, perhaps, eſſays,
With humour forc'd, and ill-diſſembled ſmile,
Idly to liken to the poplar's trunk
When o'er its bark the lucid amber, wound
In many a pleaſing fold, incruſts the tree;
Or ſuits him more the winter's candy'd thorn,
When from each branch, anneal'd, the works of froſt
Pervaſive, radiant icicles depend?

How ſhall I ſing the various ill that waits
The careful ſonnetteer? or who can paint
The ſhifts enormous that in vain he forms
[145] To patch his paneleſs window; to cement
His batter'd tea-pot, ill-retentive vaſe!
To war with ruin? anxious to conceal
Want's fell appearance, of the real ill
Nor foe nor fearful. Ruin unforeſeen
Invades his chattels; Ruin will invade,
Will claim his whole invention to repair,
Nor of the gift, for tuneful ends deſign'd,
Allow one part to decorate his ſong;
While Ridicule, with ever-pointing hand,
Conſcious of ev'ry ſhift, of ev'ry ſhift
Indicative, his in moſt plot betrays,
Points to the nook, which he his Study calls,
Pompous and vain! for thus he might eſteem
His cheſt a wardrobe, purſe a treaſury;
And ſhews, to crown her full diſplay, himſelf;
One whom the pow'rs above, in place of health
And wonted vigour, of paternal cot
Or little farm; of bag, or ſcrip, or ſtaff,
Cup, diſh, ſpoon, plate, or worldly utenſil,
A poet fram'd; yet fram'd not to repine,
And wiſh the cobbler's loftieſt ſite his own;
Nor, partial as they ſeem, upbraid the Fates,
Who to the humbler mechaniſm join'd
Goods ſo ſuperior, ſuch exalted bliſs!

See with what ſeeming eaſe, what labour'd peace,
He, hapleſs hypocrite! refines his nail,
His chief amuſement! then how feign'd, how forc'd,
[146] That care-defying ſonnet which implies
His debts diſcharg'd, and he of half a crown
In full poſſeſſion, unconteſted right
And property! Yet, ah! whoe'er this wight
Admiring view, if ſuch there be, diſtruſt
The vain pretence; the ſmiles that harbour grief,
As lurks the ſerpent deep in flow'rs enwreath'd.
Forewarn'd, be frugal, or with prudent rage
Thy pen demoliſh; chuſe the truſtier flail,
And bleſs thoſe labours which the choice inſpir'd.
But if thou view'ſt a vulgar mind, a wight
Of common ſenſe, who ſeeks no brighter name,
Him envy, him admire, him, from thy breaſt,
Preſcient of future dignities, ſalute
Sheriff, or may'r, in comfortable furs
Enwrapt, ſecure: nor yet the laureat's crown
In thought exclude him! he perchance ſhall riſe
To nobler heights than foreſight can decree.

When fir'd with wrath for his intrigues diſplay'd
In many an idle ſong, Saturnian Jove
Vow'd ſure deſtruction to the tuneful race,
Appeas'd by ſuppliant Phoebus; "Bards," he ſaid,
" Henceforth of plenty, wealth, and pomp, debarr'd,
" But fed by frugal cares, might wear the bay
" Secure of thunder."—Low the Delian bow'd,
Nor at th' invidious favour dar'd repine.

THE RUIN'D ABBEY: OR, THE EFFECTS OF SUPERSTITION.

[147]

AT length fair Peace, with olive crown'd, regains
Her lawful throne, and to the ſacred haunts
Of wood or fount the frighted Muſe returns.

Happy the bard who, from his native hills,
Soft muſing on a ſummer's eve, ſurveys
His azure ſtream, with penſile woods enclos'd,
Or o'er the glaſſy ſurface with his friend,
Or faithful fair, thro' bord'ring willows green
Waſts his ſmall frigate. Fearleſs he of ſhouts
Or taunts, the rhet'ric of the wat'ry crew,
That ape confuſion from the realms they rule;
Fearleſs of theſe; who ſhares the gentler voice
Of peace and muſic; birds of ſweeteſt ſong
Attune from native boughs their various lay,
And cheer the foreſt; birds of brighter plume
With buſy pinion ſkim the glitt'ring wave,
And tempt the ſun, ambitious to diſplay
Their ſeveral merit, while the vocal flute
Or number'd verſe, by female voice endear'd,
Crowns his delight, and mollifies the ſcene.

If ſolitude his wand'ring ſteps invite
To ſome more deep receſs, (for hours there are
When gay, when ſocial, minds to Friendſhip's voice
Or Beauty's charm her wild abodes prefer)
[148] How pleas'd he treads her venerable ſhades,
Her ſolemn courts! the centre of the grove!
The root-built cave, by far extended rocks
Around emboſom'd, how it ſooths the ſoul!
If ſcoop'd at firſt by ſuperſtitious hands
The rugged cell receiv'd alone the ſhoals
Of bigot minds, Religion dwells not here,
Yet Virtue pleas'd, at intervals, retires:
Yet here may Wiſdom, as ſhe walks the maze,
Some ſerious truths collect, the rules of life,
And ſerious truths of mightier weight than gold!

I aſk not wealth; but let me hoard with care,
With frugal cunning, with a niggard's art,
A few fix'd principles, in early life,
Ere indolence impede the ſearch, explor'd;
Then like old Latimer, when age impairs
My judgment's eye, when quibbling ſchools attack
My grounded hope, or ſubtler wits deride,
Will I not bluſh to ſhun the vain debate,
And this mine anſwer; "Thus, 'twas thus I thought,
" My mind yet vigorous, and my ſoul entire;
" Thus will I think, averſe to liſten more
" To intricate diſcuſſion, prone to ſtray.
" Perhaps my reaſon may but ill defend
" My ſettled faith; my mind, with age impair'd,
" Too ſure its own infirmities declare.
" But I am arm'd by caution, ſtudious youth,
" And early foreſight: now the winds may riſe,
[149] " The tempeſt whiſtle, and the billows roar;
" My pinnace rides in port, deſpoil'd and worn,
" Shatter'd by time and ſtorms, but while it ſhuns
" Th' inequal conflict, and declines the deep,
" Sees the ſtrong veſſel fluctuate, leſs ſecure."

Thus while he ſtrays, a thouſand rural ſcenes
Suggeſt inſtruction, and inſtructing pleaſe.
And ſee betwixt the grove's extended arms
An Abbey's rude remains attract thy view,
Gilt by the mid-day ſun: with ling'ring ſtep
Produce thine axe, (for, aiming to deſtroy
Tree, branch, or ſhade, for never ſhall thy breaſt
Too long deliberate) with tim'rous hand
Remove th' obſtructive bough; nor yet refuſe,
Tho' ſighing, to deſtroy that fav'rite pine,
Rais'd by thine hand, in its luxuriant prime
Of beauty fair, that ſcreens the vaſt remains.
Aggriev'd, but conſtant as the Roman ſire,
The rigid Manlius, when his conqu'ring ſon
Bled by a parent's voice, the cruel meed
Of virtuous ardour timeleſsly diſplay'd;
Nor ceaſe till, thro' the gloomy road, the pile
Gleam unobſtructed: thither oft' thine eye
Shall ſweetly wander; thence returning, ſooth
With penſive ſcenes thy philoſophic mind.

Theſe were thy haunts, thy opulent abodes,
O Superſtition! hence the dire diſeaſe
(Balanc'd with which the fam'd Athenian peſt
[150] Were a ſhort headach, were the trivial pain
Of tranſient indigeſtion) ſeiz'd mankind.

Long time ſhe rag'd, and ſcarce a ſouthern gale
Warm'd our chill air, unloaded with the threats
Of tyrant Rome; but futile all, till ſhe,
Rome's abler legate, magnify'd their pow'r,
And in a thouſand horrid forms attir'd.

Where then was truth to ſanctify the page
Of Britiſh annals? if a foe expir'd,
The perjur'd monk ſuborn'd infernal ſhrieks
And fiends to ſnatch at the departing ſoul
With helliſh emulation: if a friend,
High o'er his roof exultant angels tune
Their golden lyres, and waft him to the ſkies.

What then were vows, were oaths, were plighted faith?
The ſovereign's juſt, the ſubject's loyal pact,
To cheriſh mutual good, annull'd and vain,
By Roman magic, grew an idle ſcroll
Ere the frail ſanction of the wax was cold.

With thee, Plantagenet*! from civil broils
The land a while reſpir'd, and all was peace.
Then Becket roſe, and, impotent of mind,
From regal courts with lawleſs fury march'd
The church's blood-ſtain'd convicts, and forgave,
Bid murd'rous prieſts the ſov'reign frown contemn,
And with unhallow'd croſier bruis'd the crown.

Yet yielded not ſupinely tame a prince
[151] Of Henry's virtues; learn'd, courageous, wiſe,
Of fair ambition. Long his regal ſoul,
Firm and erect, the peeviſh prieſt exil'd,
And brav'd the fury of revengeful Rome.
In vain! let one faint malady diffuſe
The penſive gloom which Superſtition loves,
And ſee him, dwindled to a recreant groom,
Rein the proud palfrey while the prieſt aſcends!

Was Coeur-de-Lion* bleſs'd with whiter days?
Here the cowl'd zealots with united cries
Urg'd the cruſade; and ſee! of half his ſtores
Deſpoil'd the wretch whoſe wiſer boſom choſe
To bleſs his friends, his race, his native land:

Of ten fair ſuns that roll'd their annual race,
Not one beheld him on his vacant throne;
While haughty Longchamp†, 'mid his liv'ry'd files
Of wanton vaſſals, ſpoil'd his faithful realm,
Battling in foreign fields; collecting wide
A laurel harveſt for a pillag'd land.

Oh! dear-bought trophies! when a prince deſerts

His drooping realm to pluck the barren ſprays!

When faithleſs John uſurp'd the ſully'd crown,
What ample tyranny! the groaning land
Deem'd earth, deem'd heav'n, its ſoe! Six tedious years
Our helpleſs fathers in deſpair obey'd
The papal interdict; and who obey'd
The ſov'reign plunder'd. O inglorious days!
When the French tyrant, by the futile grant
[152] Of papal reſcript, claim'd Britannia's throne,
And durſt invade: be ſuch inglorious days
Or hence forgot, or not recall'd in vain!

Scarce had the tortur'd ear, dejected, heard
Rome's loud anathema but heartleſs, dead
To ev'ry purpoſe, men nor wiſh'd to live
Nor dar'd to die. The poor laborious hind
Heard the dire curſe, and from his trembling hand
Fell the neglected crook that rul'd the plain;
Thence journeying home, in ev'ry cloud he ſees
A vengeful angel, in whoſe waving ſcroll
He reads damnation: ſees its ſable train
Of grim attendants pencil'd by Deſpair!

The weary pilgrim from remoter climes
By painful ſteps arriv'd, his home, his friends,
His offspring left, to laviſh on the ſhrine
Of ſome far-honour'd ſaint his coſtly ſtores,
Inverts his footſtep, ſickens at the ſight
Of the barr'd fane, and ſilent ſheds his tear.

The wretch, whoſe hope by ſtern Oppreſſion chas'd
From ev'ry earthly bliſs, ſtill as it ſaw
Triumphant wrong, took wing and flew to heav'n,
And reſted there, now mourn'd his refuge loſt
And wonted peace. The ſacred fane was barr'd,
And the lone altar, where the mourners throng'd
To ſupplicate remiſſion, ſmok'd no more;
While the green weed, luxuriant round uproſe.
Some from their deathbed, whoſe delirious faith
[153] Thro' ev'ry ſtage of life to Rome's decrees
Obſequious, humbly hop'd to die in peace,
Now ſaw the ghaſtly king approach, begirt
In tenfold terrors; now expiring heard
The laſt loud clarion ſound, and Heav'n's decree
With unremitting vengeance bar the ſkies.
Nor light the grief, by Superſtition weigh'd,
That their diſhonour'd corſe, ſhut from the verge
Of hallow'd earth, or tutelary fane,
Muſt ſleep with brutes, their vaſſals, on the field,
Unneath ſome path, in marle unexorcis'd!
No ſolemn bell extort a neighbour's tear!
No tongue of prieſt pronounce their ſoul ſecure,
Nor fondeſt friend aſſure their peace obtain'd!

The prieſt, alas! ſo boundleſs was the ill!
He, like the flock he pillag'd, pin'd forlorn;
The vivid vermeil fled his fady cheek,
And his big paunch, diſtended with the ſpoils
Of half his flock, emaciate, groan'd beneath
Superior pride and mightier luſt of pow'r!
'Twas now Rome's fondeſt friend, whoſe meagre hand
Told to the midnight lamp his holy beads
With nice preciſion, felt the deeper wound,
As his gull'd ſoul rever'd the conclave more.

Whom did the ruin ſpare? for wealth, for pow'r,
Birth, honour, virtue, enemy, and friend,
Sunk helpleſs, in the dreary gulf involv'd,
And one capricious curſe envelop'd all!

[154]Were kings ſecure: in tow'ring ſtations born,
In flatt'ry nurs'd, inur'd to ſcorn mankind,
Or view diminiſh'd from their ſite ſublime;
As when a ſhepherd, from the lofty brow
Of ſome proud cliff ſurveys his leſs'ning flock
In ſnowy groups diffuſive ſcud the vale.

A while the furious menace John return'd,
And breath'd defiance loud. Alas! too ſoon
Allegiance, ſick'ning, ſaw its ſov'reign yield
An angry prey to ſcruples not his own.
The loyal ſoldier, girt around with ſtrength,
Who ſtole from mirth and wine his blooming years,
And ſeiz'd the fauchion, reſolute to guard
His ſovereign's right, impalſy'd at the news,
Finds the firm bias of his ſoul revers'd
For foul deſertion, drops the lifted ſteel,
And quits Fame's noble harveſt, to expire
The death of monks, of ſurfeit and of ſloth!

At length, fatigu'd with wrongs, the ſervile king
Drain'd from his land its ſmall remaining ſtores
To buy remiſſion. But could theſe obtain?
No! reſolute in wrongs the prieſt obdur'd,
Till crawling baſe to Rome's deputed ſlave
His fame, his people, and his crown, he gave.
Mean monarch! ſlighted, brav'd, abhorr'd, before!

And now, appeas'd by delegated ſway,
The wily pontiff ſcorns not to recall
His interdictions. Now the ſacred doors
[155] Admit repentant multitudes, prepar'd
To buy deceit; admit obſequious tribes
Of ſatraps! princes! crawling to the ſhrine
Of ſainted villany! the pompous tomb
Dazzling with gems and gold, or in a cloud
Of incenſe wreath'd, amidſt a drooping land
That ſigh'd for bread! 'Tis thus the Indian clove
Diſplays its verdant leaf, its crimſon flow'r,
And ſheds its odours, while the flocks around,
Hungry and faint, the barren ſands explore
In vain! nor plant nor herb endears the ſoil,
Drain'd and exhauſt to ſwell its thirſty pores,
And furniſh luxury—Yet, yet in vain
Britannia ſtrove: and whether artful Rome
Careſs'd or curs'd her, Superſtition rag'd,
And blinded, fetter'd, and deſpoil'd, the land.

At length ſome murd'rous monk, with pois'nous

Expell'd the life his brethren robb'd of peace.

Nor yet ſurceas'd with John's diſaſtrous fate art,
Pontific fury: Engliſh wealth exhauſt,
The ſequent reign* beheld the beggar'd ſhore
Grim with Italian uſurers, prepar'd
To lend, for griping unexampled hire,
To lend—what Rome might pillage uncontroll'd.

For now with more extenſive havoc rag'd
Relentleſs Greg'ry, with a thouſand arts,
And each rapacious, born to drain the world!
Nor ſhall the Muſe repeat how oft' he blew
[156] The croiſe's trumpet; then for ſums of gold
Annull'd the vow, and bade the falſe alarm
Swell the groſs hoards of Henry or his own:
Nor ſhall ſhe tell how pontiffs dar'd repeal
The beſt of charters! dar'd abſolve the tie
If Britiſh kings, by legal oath reſtrain'd:
Nor can ſhe dwell on argoſies of gold
From Albion's realm to ſervile ſhores convey'd,
Wrung from her ſons, and ſpeeded by her kings!
Oh, irkſome days! when wicked thrones combine
With papal craft to gull their native land!

Such was our fate while Rome's director, taught
Of ſubjects born to be their monarch's prey,
To toil for monks, for gluttony to toil,
For vacant gluttony; extortion, fraud,
For av'rice, envy, pride, revenge, and ſhame!
O doctrine breath'd from Stygian caves! exhal'd
From inmoſt Erebus!—Such Henry's reign!
Urging his loyal realm's reluctant hand
To wield the peaceful ſword, by John erewhile
Forc'd from its ſcabbard, and with burniſh'd lance
Eſſay the ſavage cure, domeſtic war!

And now ſome nobler ſpirits chas'd the miſt
Of gen'ral darkneſs. Groſted* now adorn'd
The mitred wreath he wore, with Reaſon's ſword
Stagg'ring Deluſion's frauds; at length beneath
Rome's interdict expiring calm, reſign'd
[157] No vulgar ſoul, that dar'd to Heav'n appeal!
But, ah! this fertile glebe, this fair domain,
Had well nigh ceded to the ſlothful hands
Of monks libidinous, ere Edward's care
The laviſh hand of deathbed Fear reſtrain'd.
Yet was he clear of Superſtition's taint?
He, too, miſdeemful of his wholeſome law,
Ev'n he, expiring, gave his treaſur'd gold
To fatten monks on Salem's diſtant ſoil!

Yes, the Third Edward's breaſt, to papal ſway
So little prone, and fierce in honour's cauſe,
Could Superſtition quell! before the tow'rs
Of haggard Paris, at the thunder's voice
He drops the ſword, and ſigns ignoble peace!

But ſtill the Night, by Romiſh art diffus'd,
Collects her clouds, and with ſlow pace recedes;
When, by ſoft Bourdeau's braver queen approv'd,
Bold Wickliff roſe; and while the bigot pow'r
Amidſt her native darkneſs ſkulk'd ſecure,
The demon vaniſh'd as he ſpread the day.
So from his boſom Cacus breath'd of old
The pitchy cloud, and in a night of ſmoke
Secure, a while his recreant life ſuſtain'd,
Till fam'd Alcides, o'er his ſubtleſt wiles
Victorious, cheer'd the ravag'd nations round.

Hail, honour'd Wickliff! enterpriſing age!
An Epicurus in the cauſe of truth!
For 'tis not radiant ſuns, the jovial hours
[158] Of youthful ſpring, an ether all ſerene,
Nor all the verdure of Campania's vales,
Can chaſe religious gloom! 'Tis reaſon, thought,
The light, the radiance, that pervades the ſoul,
And ſheds its beams on heav'n's myſterious way!
As yet this light but glimmer'd, and again
Error prevail'd; while kings, by force uprais'd,
Let looſe the rage of bigots on their foes,
And ſeek affection by the dreadful boon
Of licens'd murder. Ev'n the kindeſt prince,
The moſt extended breaſt, the royal Hal!
All unrelenting heard the Lollards' cry
Burſt from the centre of remorſeleſs flames;
Their ſhrieks endur'd! O ſtain to martial praiſe!
When Cobham, gen'rous as the noble peer
That wears his honours, paid the fatal price
Of virtue blooming ere the ſtorms were laid!

'Twas thus, alternate, truth's precarious flame
Decay'd or flouriſh'd. With malignant eye
The pontiff ſaw Britannia's golden fleece,
Once all his own, inveſt her worthier ſons!
Her verdant vallies and her fertile plains,
Yellow with grain, abjure his hateful ſway!
Eſſay'd his utmoſt art, and inly own'd
No labours bore proportion to the prize.

So when the tempter view'd, with envious eye,
The firſt fair pattern of the female frame,
All Nature's beauties in one form diſplay'd,
[159] And centring there, in wild amaze he ſtood;
Then only envying Heav'n's creative hand,
Wiſh'd to his gloomy reign his envious arts
Might win this prize, and doubled ev'ry ſnare.

And vain were reaſon, courage, learning, all,
Till pow'r accede; till Tudor's wild caprice
Smile on their cauſe; Tudor! whoſe tyrant reign
With mental freedom crown'd, the beſt of kings
Might envious view, and ill prefer their own!
Then Wolſey roſe, by Nature form'd to ſeek
Ambition's trophies, by addreſs to win,
By temper to enjoy—whoſe humbler birth
Taught the gay ſcenes of pomp to dazzle more.

Then from its tow'ring height with horrid ſound
Ruſh'd the proud Abbey: then the vaulted roofs,
Torn from their walls, diſclos'd the wanton ſcene
Of monkiſh chaſtity! Each angry friar
Crawl'd from his bedded ſtrumpet, mutt'ring low
An ineffectual curſe. The pervious nooks
That, ages paſt, convey'd the guileful prieſt
To play ſome image on the gaping crowd
Imbibe the novel day-light, and expoſe,
Obvious, the fraudful engin'ry of Rome.
As tho' this op'ning earth to nether realms
Should flaſh meridian day, the hooded race
Shudder, abaſh'd to find their cheats diſplay'd,
And, conſcious of their guilt, and pleas'd to wave
Its fearful meed, reſign'd their fair domain.

[160]Nor yet ſupine, nor void of rage, retir'd
The peſt gigantic, whoſe revengeful ſtroke
Ting'd the red annals of Maria's reign,
When from the tend'reſt breaſt each wayward prieſt
Could baniſh mercy and implant a fiend!
When Cruelty the fun'ral pyre uprear'd,
And bound Religion there, and fir'd the baſe!
When the ſame blaze, which on each tortur'd limb
Fed with luxuriant rage, in ev'ry face
Triumphant faith appear'd, and ſmiling hope.
O bleſs'd Eliza! from thy piercing beam
Forth flew this hated fiend, the child of Rome;
Driv'n to the verge of Albion, linger'd there,
Then with her James receding, caſt behind
One angry frown, and ſought more ſervile climes.
Henceforth they ply'd the long-continued taſk
Of righteous havoc, cov'ring diſtant fields
With the wrought remnants of the ſhatter'd pile,
While thro' the land the muſing pilgrim ſees
A tract of brighter green, and in the midſt
Appears a mould'ring wall, with ivy crown'd,
Or Gothic turret, pride of ancient days!
Now but of uſe to grace a rural ſcene,
To bound our viſtas, and to glad the ſons
Of George's reign, reſerv'd for fairer times!

LOVE AND HONOUR.

[161]

Sed neque Medorum ſilvae, ditiſſima terra
Nec pulcher Ganges, atque auro turbidus Haemus,
Laudibus Angligenum certent; non Bactra, nec Indi,
Totaque turriferis Panchaia pinguis arenis.

IMITATION.

Yet let not Median woods (abundant tract!)
Nor Ganges* fair, nor Haemus†, miſer-like,
Proud of his hoarded gold, preſume to vye
With Britain's boaſt and praiſe; nor Perſian Bactra§,
Nor India's coaſts, nor all Panchaia's‖ ſands,
Rich, and exulting in their lofty towers.

LET the green olive glad Heſperian ſhores;
Her tawny citron and her orange groves,
Theſe let Iberia boaſt; but if in vain
To win the ſtranger plant's diffuſive ſmile
The Briton labours, yet our native minds,
Our conſtant boſoms, theſe the dazzled world
May view with envy; theſe Iberian dames
Survey with fix'd eſteem and fond deſire.

Hapleſs Elvira! thy diſaſtrous fate
May well this truth explain, nor ill adorn
[162] The Britiſh lyre; then chiefly, if the Muſe,
Nor vain nor partial, from the ſimple guiſe
Of ancient record catch the penſive lay,
And in leſs grov'lling accents give to fame.
Elvira! lovelieſt maid! th' Iberian realm
Could boaſt no purer breaſt, no ſprightlier mind,
No race more ſplendent, and no form ſo fair.
Such was the chance of war, this peerleſs maid,
In life's luxuriant bloom, enrich'd the ſpoil
Of Britiſh victors, vict'ry's nobleſt pride!
She, ſhe alone, amid the wailful train
Of captive maids, aſſign'd to Henry's care,
Lord of her life, her fortune, and her fame!

He, gen'rous youth! with no penurious hand
The tedious moments that unjoyous roll
Where Freedom's cheerful radiance ſhines no more
Eſſay'd to ſoften; conſcious of the pang
That Beauty feels, to waſte its fleeting hours
In ſome dim fort, by foreign rule reſtrain'd,
Far from the haunts of men or eye of day!

Sometimes, to cheat her boſom of its cares,
Her kind protector number'd o'er the toils
Himſelf had worn; the frowns of angry ſeas,
Or hoſtile rage, or faithleſs friend, more fell
Than ſtorm or foe; if haply ſhe might find
Her cares diminiſh'd; fruitleſs, fond eſſay!
Now to her lovely hand, with modeſt awe,
The tender lute he gave; ſhe, not averſe,
[163] Nor deſtitute of ſkill, with willing hand
Call'd forth angelic ſtrains; the ſacred debt
Of gratitude, ſhe ſaid, whoſe juſt commands
Still might her hand with equal pride obey!

Nor to the melting ſounds the nymph refus'd
Her vocal art; harmonious as the ſtrain
Of ſome impriſon'd lark, who, daily cheer'd
By guardian cares, repays them with a ſong,
Nor droops, nor deems ſweet liberty reſign'd.

The ſong, not artleſs, had ſhe fram'd to paint
Diſaſtrous paſſion; how, by tyrant laws
Of idiot cuſtom ſway'd, ſome ſoft-ey'd fair
Lov'd only one, nor dar'd that love reveal!
How the ſoft anguiſh baniſh'd from her cheek
The damaſk roſe full-blown; a fever came,
And from her boſom forc'd the plaintive tale;
Then, ſwift as light, he ſought the love-lorn maid,
But vainly ſought her, torn by ſwifter fate
To join the tenants of the myrtle ſhade,
Love's mournful victims on the plains below.

Sometimes, as Fancy ſpoke the pleaſing taſk,
She taught her artful needle to diſplay
The various pride of ſpring; then ſwift upſprung
Thickets of myrtle, eglantine, and roſe:
There might you ſee, on gentle toils intent,
A train of buſy Loves; ſome pluck the flow'r,
Some twine the garland, ſome with grave grimace
Around a vacant warrior caſt the wreath.
[164] 'Twas paint, 'twas life! and ſure to piercing eyes
The warrior's face depictur'd Henry's mien.

Now had the gen'rous chief with joy perus'd
The royal ſcroll, which to their native home,
Their ancient rights, uninjur'd, unredeem'd,
Reſtor'd the captives. Forth with rapid haſte
To glad his fair Elvira's ear he ſprung,
Fir'd by the bliſs he panted to convey;
But fir'd in vain! Ah! what was his amaze,
His fond diſtreſs, when o'er her pallid face
Dejection reign'd, and from her lifeleſs hand
Down dropt the myrtle's fair unfiniſh'd flow'r!
Speechleſs ſhe ſtood; at length with accents faint,
" Well may my native ſhore," ſhe ſaid, "reſound
" Thy monarch's praiſe; and ere Elvira prove
" Of thine forgetful, flow'rs ſhall ceaſe to feel
" The foſt'ring breeze, and Nature change her laws!"

And now the grateful edict wide alarm'd
The Britiſh hoſt. Around the ſmiling youths,
Call'd to their native ſcenes, with willing haſte
Their fleet unmoor, impatient of the love
That weds each boſom to its native ſoil.
The patriot paſſion! ſtrong in ev'ry clime,
How juſtly their who find no foreign ſweets
To diſſipate their loves or match their own.

Not ſo Elvira! ſhe, diſaſtrous maid!
Was doubly captive; pow'r nor chance could looſe
The ſubtle bands; ſhe lov'd her gen'rous foe;
[165] She, where her Henry dwelt, her Henry ſmil'd,
Could term her native ſhore; her native ſhore
By him deſerted, ſome unfriendly ſtrand,
Strange, bleak, forlorn! a deſert waſte and wild.

The fleet careen'd, the wind propitious fill'd
The ſwelling ſails, the glitt'ring tranſports wav'd
Their pennants gay, and halcyons' azure wing,
With flight auſpicious, ſkimm'd the placid main.

On her lone couch in tears Elvira lay,
And chid th' officious wind, the tempting ſea,
And wiſh'd a ſtorm as mercileſs as tore
Her lab'ring boſom. Fondly now ſhe ſtrove
To baniſh paſſion; now the vaſſal days,
The captive moments, that ſo ſmoothly paſt,
By many an art recall'd; now from her lute
With trembling fingers call'd the fav'rite ſounds
Which Henry deign'd to praiſe; and now eſſay'd,
With mimic chains of ſilken fillets wove,
To paint her captive ſtate; if any fraud
Might to her love the pleaſing ſcenes prolong,
And with the dear idea feaſt the ſoul.

But now the chief return'd, prepar'd to launch
On Ocean's willing breaſt, and bid adieu
To his fair pris'ner. She, ſoon as ſhe heard
His hated errand, now no more conceal'd
The raging flame, but with a ſpreading bluſh
And riſing ſigh the latent pang diſclos'd.

" Yes, gen'rous youth! I ſee thy boſom glow
[166] " With virtuous tranſport, that the taſk is thine
" To ſolve my chains, and to my weeping friends,
" And ev'ry longing relative, reſtore
" A ſoft-ey'd maid, a mild offenceleſs prey!
" But know, my Soldier! never youthful mind,
" Torn from the laviſh joys of wild expenſe
" By him he loath'd, and in a dungeon bound
" To languiſh out his bloom, could match the pains
" This ill-ſtarr'd freedom gives my tortur'd mind.

" What call I freedom? is it that theſe limbs,
" From rigid bolts ſecure, may wander far
" From him I love? Alas! ere I may boaſt
" That ſacred bleſſing, ſome ſuperior pow'r
" To mortal kings, to ſublunary thrones,
" Muſt looſe my paſſion, muſt unchain my ſoul:
" Ev'n that I loathe; all liberty I loathe!
" But moſt the joyleſs privilege to gaze
" With cold indiff'rence where deſert is love.

" True, I was born an alien to thoſe eyes
" I aſk alone to pleaſe; my fortune's crime!
" And, ah! this flatter'd form, by dreſs endear'd
" To Spaniſh eyes, by dreſs may thine offend,
" Whilſt I, ill-fated maid! ordain'd to ſtrive
" With cuſtom's load beneath its weight expire.

" Yet Henry's beauties knew in foreign garb
" To vanquiſh me; his form, howe'er diſguis'd,
" To me were fatal! no fantaſtic robe
" That e'er Caprice invented, Cuſtom wore,
" Or Folly ſmil'd on, could eclipſe thy charms.

[167]" Perhaps by birth decreed, by Fortune plac'd
" Thy country's foe, Elvira's warmeſt plea
" Seems but the ſubtler accent fraud inſpires;
" My tend'reſt glances but the ſpecious flow'rs,
" That ſhade the viper while ſhe plots her wound.
" And can the trembling candidate of love
" Awake thy fears? and can a female breaſt,
" By ties of grateful duty bound, enſnare?
" Is there no brighter mien, no ſofter ſmile
" For Love to wear, to dark Deceit unknown?
" Heav'n ſearch my ſoul! and if thro' all its cells
" Lurk the pernicious drop of pois'nous guile,
" Full on my ſenceleſs head its phial'd wrath
" May Fate exhauſt, and for my happieſt hour
" Exalt the vengeance I prepare for thee!

" Ah me! nor Henry's nor his country's foe,
" On thee I gaz'd, and Reaſon ſoon diſpell'd
" Dim Error's gloom, and to thy favour'd iſle
" Aſſign'd its total merit, unreſtrain'd.
" Oh! lovely region to the candid eye!
" 'Twas there my fancy ſaw the Virtues dwell,
" The Loves, the Graces, play, and bleſs'd the ſoil
" That nurtur'd thee! for ſure the Virtues form'd
" Thy gen'rous breaſt, the Loves, the Graces, plann'd
" Thy ſhapely limbs. Relation, birth, eſſay'd
" Their partial pow'r in vain; again I gaz'd,
" And Albion's iſle appear'd, amidſt a tract
[168] " Of ſavage waſtes, the darling of the ſkies!
" And thou by Nature form'd, by Fate aſſign'd,
" To paint the genius of thy native ſhore.

" 'Tis true, with flow'rs, with many a dazzling ſcene
" Of burniſh'd plants, to lure a female eye,
" Iberia glows; but, ah! the genial ſun
" That gilds the lemon's fruit, or ſcents the flow'r,
" On Spaniſh minds, a nation's nobler boaſt!
" Beams forth ungentle influences. There
" Sits Jealouſy enthron'd, and at each ray
" Exultant lights his ſlow-conſuming fires.
" Not ſuch thy charming region; long before
" My ſweet experience taught me to decide
" Of Engliſh worth, the ſound had pleas'd mine ear.
" Is there that ſavage coaſt, that rude ſojourn,
" Stranger to Britiſh worth? the worth which forms
" The kindeſt friends; the moſt tremendous foes;
" Firſt, beſt ſupports of liberty and love!
" No, let ſubjected India, while ſhe throws
" O'er Spaniſh deeds the veil, your praiſe reſound.
" Long as I heard, or ere in ſtory read
" Of Engliſh fame, my bias'd partial breaſt
" Wiſh'd them ſucceſs; and happieſt ſhe, I cry'd,
" Of women happieſt ſhe, who ſhares the love,
" The fame, the virtues, of an Engliſh lord.
" And now, what ſhall I ſay? Bleſs'd be the hour
" Your fair-built veſſels touch'd th' Iberian ſhores:
" Bleſs'd, did I ſay, the time? if I may bleſs
[169] " That lov'd event, let Henry's ſmiles declare.
" Our hearts and cities won, will Henry's youth
" Forego its nobler conqueſt? will he ſlight
" The ſoft endearments of the lovelier ſpoil?
" And yet Iberia's ſons, with ev'ry vow
" Of laſting faith, have ſworn theſe humble charms
" Were not excell'd; the ſource of all their pains,
" And love her juſt deſert, who ſues for love,
" But ſues to thee, while natives ſigh in vain.

" Perhaps in Henry's eye (for vulgar minds
" Diſſent from his) it ſpreads an hateful ſtain
" On honeſt Fame amid his train to bear
" A female friend. Then learn, my gentle youth!
" Not Love himſelf, with all the pointed pains
" That ſtore his quiver, ſhall ſeduce my ſoul
" From honour's laws. Elvira once deny'd
" A conſort's name, more ſwift than lightning flies
" When elements diſcordant vex the ſky,
" Shall, bluſhing, from the form ſhe loves retire.

" Yet if the ſpecious wiſh the vulgar voice
" Has titled Prudence, ſways a ſoul like thine,
" In gems or gold what proud Iberian dame
" Eclipſes me? Nor paint the dreary ſtorms
" Or hair-breadth 'ſcapes that haunt the boundleſs
" And force from tender eyes the ſilent tear;
" When Mem'ry to the penſive maid ſuggeſts deep,
" In full contraſt the ſafe domeſtic ſcene
" For theſe reſign'd. Beyond the frantic rage
[170] " Of conqu'ring heroes brave, the female mind,
" When ſteel'd by love, in Love's moſt horrid way
" Beholds not danger, or, beholding, ſcorns.
" Heav'n take my life, but let it crown my love!"

She ceas'd, and ere his words her fate decreed,
Impatient, watch'd the language of his eye:
There Pity dwelt, and from its tender ſphere
Sent looks of love, and faithleſs hopes inſpir'd.

" Forgive me, gen'rous maid!" the youth return'd,
" If by thy accents charm'd, thus long I bore
" To let ſuch ſweetneſs plead, alas! in vain!
" Thy virtue merits more than crowns can yield
" Of ſolid bliſs, or happieſt love beſtow:
" But ere from native ſhores I plough'd the main,
" To one dear maid, by virtue and by charms
" Alone endear'd, my plighted vows I gave,
" To guard my faith, whatever chance ſhould wait
" My warring ſword: if conqueſt, fame, and ſpoil,
" Grac'd my return, before her feet to pour
" The glitt'ring treaſure, and the laurel wreath,
" Enjoying conqueſt then, and fame and ſpoil:
" If Fortune frown'd adverſe, and Death forbade
" The bliſsful union, with my lateſt breath
" To dwell on Medway's and Maria's name.
" This ardent vow deep-rooted, from my ſoul
" No dangers tore; this vow my boſom fir'd
" To conquer danger, and the ſpoil enjoy.
" Her ſhall I leave, with fair events elate,
[171] " Who crown'd mine humbleſt fortune with her love?
" Her ſhall I leave, who now, perchance, alone
" Climbs the proud cliff, and chides my ſlow return?
" And ſhall that veſſel, whoſe approaching ſails
" Shall ſwell her breaſt with ecſtaſies, convey
" Death to her hopes, and anguiſh to her ſoul?
" No! may the deep my villain corſe devour,
" If all the wealth Iberian mines conceal,
" If all the charms Iberian maids diſcloſe,
" If thine, Elvira, thine, uniting all!
" Thus far prevail—nor can thy virtuous breaſt
" Demand what honour, faith, and love, denies."

" Oh! happy ſhe," rejoin'd the penſive maid,
" Who ſhares thy fame, thy virtue, and thy love!
" And be ſhe happy! thy diſtinguiſh'd choice
" Declares her worth, and vindicates her claim.
" Farewell my luckleſs hopes! my flatt'ring dreams
" Of rapt'rous days! my guilty ſuit, farewell!
" Yet fond howe'er my plea, or deep the wound
" That waits my fame, let not the random ſhaft
" Of Cenſure pieree with me th' Iberian dames;
" They love with caution, and with happier ſtars.
" And, oh! by pity mov'd, reſtrain the taunts
" Of levity, nor brand Elvira's flame;
" By merit rais'd, by gratitude approv'd,
" By hope confirm'd, with artleſs truth reveal'd,
" Let, let me ſay, but for one matchle [...]s maid
" Of happier birth, with mutual ardour crown'd

[172]" Theſe radiant gems, which burniſh Happineſs,
" But mock Misfortune, to thy fav'rite's hand
" With care convey; and well may ſuch adorn
" Her cheerful front, who finds in thee alone
" The ſource of ev'ry tranſport, but diſgrace
" My penſive breaſt, which, doom'd to laſting woe,
" In thee the ſource of ev'ry bliſs reſign.

" And now, farewell, thou darling youth! the gem
" Of Engliſh merit! Peace, content, and joy,
" And tender hopes, and young deſires, farewell!
" Attend, ye ſmiling Train! this gallant mind
" Back to his native ſhores; there ſweetly ſmooth
" His ev'ning pillow, dance around his groves,
" And where he treads with vi'lets paint his way:
" But leave Elvira! leave her, now no more
" Your frail companion! in the ſacred cells
" Of ſome lone cloiſter let me ſhroud my ſhame;
" There to the matin bell, obſequious, pour
" My conſtant oriſons. The wanton Loves
" And gay Deſires ſhall ſpy the glimm'ring tow'rs,
" And wing their flight aloof: but reſt confirm'd,
" That never ſhall Elvira's tongue conclude
" Her ſhorteſt pray'r ere Henry's dear ſucceſs
" The warmeſt accent of her zeal employ."

Thus ſpoke the weeping fair, whoſe artleſs mind,
Impartial, ſcorn'd to model her eſteem
By native cuſtoms, dreſs, and face, and air,
And manners, leſs; nor yet reſolv'd in vain.
[173] He, bound by prior love, the ſolemn vow
Giv'n and receiv'd, to ſoft compaſſion gave
A tender tear; then with that kind adieu
Eſteem could warrant, weary'd Heav'n with pray'rs
To ſhield that tender breaſt he left forlorn.

He ceas'd, and to the cloiſter's penſive ſcene

Elvira ſhap'd her ſolitary way.

THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. IN IMITATION OF SPENSER.

[174]

Auditae voces, vagitus et ingens,

Infantumque animae flentes in limine primo.

VIRG.

IMITATION.

And mingled ſounds and infant plaints we hear,

That pierce the entrance ſhrill, and wound the tender ear.

Advertiſement. What particulars in Spenſer were imagined moſt proper for the Author's imitation on this occaſion are his language, his ſimplicity, his manner of deſcription, and a peculiar tenderneſs of ſentiment remarkable throughout his works.

I.AH me! full ſorely is my heart forlorn,
To think how modeſt worth neglected lies,
While partial Fame doth with her blaſts adorn
Such deeds alone as pride and pomp diſguiſe,
Deeds of ill ſort, and miſchievous emprize:
Lend me thy clarion, Goddeſs! let me try
To ſound the praiſe of Merit ere it dies,
Such as I oft' have chaunced to eſpy
Loſt in the dreary ſhades of dull obſcurity.

[175]II.In ev'ry village mark'd with little ſpire,
Embow'r'd in trees, and hardly known to fame,
There dwells, in lowly ſhed and mean attire,
A matron old, whom we Schoolmiſtreſs name,
Who boaſts unruly brats with birch to tame;
They grieven ſore, in piteous durance pent,
Aw'd by the pow'r of this relentleſs dame,
And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent,
For unkempt hair, or taſk unconn'd, are ſorely ſhent.

III.And all in ſight doth riſe a birchen tree,
Which Learning near her little dome did ſtowe,
Whilom a twig of ſmall regard to ſee,
Tho' now ſo wide its waving branches flow,
And work the ſimple vaſſals mickle woe;
For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew,
But their limbs ſhudder'd, and their pulſe beat low,
And as they look'd they found their horror grew,
And ſhap'd it into rods, and tingled at the view.

IV.So have I ſeen (who has not may conceive)
A lifeleſs phantom near a garden plac'd,
So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave
Of ſport, of ſong, of pleaſure, of repaſt;
They ſtart, they ſtare, they wheel, they look aghaſt;
Sad ſervitude! ſuch comfortleſs annoy
May no bold Briton's riper age e'er taſte!
N [...] ſuperſtition clog his dance of joy,
N [...] viſion empty, vain, his native bliſs deſtroy.

[176]V.Near to this dome is found a patch ſo green,
On which the tribe their gambols do diſplay,
And at the door impris'ning board is ſeen,
Leſt weakly wights of ſmaller ſize ſhould ſtray,
Eager, perdie, to baſk in ſunny day!
The noiſes intermix'd, which thence reſound,
Do Learning's little tenement betray,
Where ſits the dame, diſguis'd in look profound,
And eyes her Fairy throng, and turns her wheel around.

VI.Her cap, far whiter than the driven ſnowe,
Emblem right meet of decency does yield;
Her apron dy'd in grain, as blue, I trowe,
As is the harebell that adorns the field;
And in her hand, for ſcepter, ſhe does wield
Tway birchen ſprays, with anxious fear entwin'd,
With dark diſtruſt, and ſad repentance fill'd,
And ſtedfaſt hate, and ſharp affliction join'd,
And fury uncontroul'd, and chaſtiſement unkind.

VII.Few but have kenn'd, in ſemblance meet pourtray'd,
The childiſh faces of old Aeol's train,
Libs, Notus, Auſter*: theſe in frowns array'd,
How then would fare or earth, or ſky, or main,
Were the ſtern god to give his ſlaves the rein?
And were not ſhe rebellious breaſts to quell,
And were not ſhe her ſtatutes to maintain,
The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the cell
Where comely Peace of Mind, and decent Order dwell.

[177]VIII.A ruſſet ſtole was o'er her ſhoulders thrown,
A ruſſet kirtle fenc'd the nipping air;
'Twas ſimple ruſſet, but it was her own;
'Twas her own country bred the flock ſo fair;
'Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare;
And, ſooth to ſay, her pupils, rang'd around,
Thro' pious awe did term it paſſing rare,
For they in gaping wonderment abound,
And think, no doubt, ſhe been the greateſt wight on ground.

IX.Albeit ne flatt'ry did corrupt her truth,
Ne pompous title did debauch her ear,
Goody, good-woman, goſſip, n'aunt, forſooth,
Or dame, the ſole additions ſhe did hear;
Yet theſe ſhe challeng'd, theſe ſhe held right dear;
Ne would eſteem him act as mought behove
Who ſhould not honour'd eld with theſe revere;
For never title yet ſo mean could prove,
But there was eke a mind which did that title love.

X.One ancient hen ſhe took delight to feed,
The plodding pattern of the buſy dame,
Which ever and anon, impell'd by need,
Into her ſchool, begirt with chickens, came,
Such favour did her paſt deportment claim;
And if neglect had laviſh'd on the ground
Fragment of bread, ſhe would collect the ſame;
For well ſhe knew, and quaintly could expound,
What ſin it were to waſte the ſmalleſt crumb ſhe found.

[178]XI.Herbs, too, ſhe knew, and well of each could ſpeak,
That in her garden ſipp'd the ſilv'ry dew,
Where no vain flow'r diſclos'd a gaudy ſtreak,
But herbs for uſe, and phyſic, not a few,
Of gray renown, within thoſe borders grew;
The tufted baſil, pun-provoking thyme,
Freſh baum, and marygold of cheerful hue,
The lowly gill, that never dares to climb,
And more I fain would ſing, diſdaining here to rhyme.

XII.Yet euphraſy may not be left unſung,
That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around,
And pungent radiſh, biting infant's tongue,
And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's wound,
And marj'ram ſweet, in ſhepherd's poſie found,
And lavender, whoſe ſpikes of azure bloom
Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles bound,
To lurk amidſt the labours of her loom,
And crown her kerchiefs clean with mickle rare perfume.

XIII.And here tri [...] roſemarine, that whilom crown'd
The daintieſt garden of the proudeſt peer,
Ere, driv'n from its envy'd ſite, it found
A ſacred ſhelter for its branches here,
Where edg'd with gold its glitt'ring ſkirts appear.
Oh waſſel days! O cuſtoms meet and well!
Ere this was baniſh'd from its lofty ſphere;
Simplicity then ſought this humble cell,
Nor ever would ſhe more with thane and lordling dwell.

[179]XIV.Here oft' the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve,
Hymned ſuch pſalms as Sternhold forth did mete;
If winter 'twere, ſhe to her hearth did cleave,
But in her garden found a ſummer-ſeat:
Sweet melody! to hear her then repeat
How Iſrael's ſons, beneath a foreign king,
While taunting foe-men did a ſong entreat,
All for the nonce untuning ev'ry ſtring,
Uphung their uſeleſs lyres—ſmall heart had they to ſing.

XV.For ſhe was juſt, and friend to virtuous lore,
And paſs'd much time in truly virtuous deed;
And in thoſe elfins' ears would oft' deplore
The times when Truth by Popiſh rage did bleed,
And tortious death was true Devotion's meed;
And ſimple Faith in iron chains did mourn,
That nould on wooden image place her creed;
And lawny ſaints in ſmould'ring flames did burn:
Ah! deareſt Lord! forefend thilk days ſhould e'er return.

XVI.In elbow chair, like that of Scottiſh ſtem,
By the ſharp tooth of cank'ring Eld defac'd,
In which, when he receives his diadem,
Our ſov'reign prince and liefeſt liege is plac'd,
The matron ſate, and ſome with rank ſhe grac'd,
(The ſource of children's and of courtier's pride!)
Redreſs'd affronts, for vile affronts there paſs'd,
And warn'd them not the fretful to deride,
But love each other dear, whatever them betide.

[180]XVII.Right well ſhe knew each temper to deſcry,
To thwart the proud, and the ſubmiſs to raiſe,
Some with vile copper prize exalt on high,
And ſome entice with pittance ſmall of praiſe,
And other ſome with baleful ſprig ſhe 'frays:
Ev'n abſent, ſhe the reins of pow'r doth hold,
While with quaint arts the giddy crowd ſhe ſways;
Forewarn'd, if little bird their pranks behold,
'Twill whiſper in her ear, and all the ſcene unfold.

XVIII.Lo now with ſtate ſhe utters the command!
Eftſoons the urchins to their taſks repair,
Their books, of ſtature ſmall, they take in hand,
Which with pellucid horn ſecured are,
To ſave from finger wet the letters fair;
The work ſo gay, that on their back is ſeen
St. George's high atchievements does declare,
On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been
Kens the forthcoming rod, unpleaſing ſight, I ween!

XIX.Ah! luckleſs he, and born beneath the beam
Of evil ſtar! it irks me whilſt I write!
As erſt the bard* by Mulla's ſilver ſtream,
Oft' as he told of deadly dolorous plight,
Sigh'd as he ſung, and did in tears indite;
For brandiſhing the rod, ſhe doth begin
To looſe the brogues, the ſtripling's late delight!
And down they drop, appears his dainty ſkin,
Fair as the furry coat of whiteſt ermilin.

[181]XX.O ruthful ſcene! when from a nook obſcure
His little ſiſter doth his peril ſee;
All playful as ſhe ſate ſhe grows demure,
She finds full ſoon her wonted ſpirits flee;
She meditates a pray'r to ſet him free:
Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny,
(If gentle pardon could with dames agree)
To her ſad grief that ſwells in either eye,
And wrings her ſo that all for pity ſhe could die.

XXI.No longer can ſhe now her ſhrieks command,
And hardly ſhe forbears, thro' awful fear,
To ruſhen forth, and, with preſumptuous hand,
To ſtay harſh juſtice in its mid career.
On thee ſhe calls, on thee, her parent dear!
(Ah! too remote to ward the ſhameful blow!)
She ſees no kind domeſtic viſage near,
And ſoon a flood of tears begins to flow,
And gives a looſe at laſt to unavailing woe.

XXII.But, ah! what pen his piteous plight may trace?
Or what device his loud laments explain?
The form uncouth of his diſguiſed face?
The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain?
The plenteous ſhow'r that does his cheek diſtain?
When he in abject wiſe implores the dame,
Ne hopeth aught of ſweet reprieve to gain,
Or when from high ſhe levels well her aim,
And thro' the thatch his cries each falling ſtroke proclaim.

[182]XXIII.The other tribe, aghaſt, with ſore diſmay
Attend, and conn their taſks with mickle care;
By turns, aſtony'd, ev'ry twig ſurvey,
And from their fellows' hateful wounds beware,
Knowing, I wiſt, how each the ſame may ſhare;
Till fear has taught them a performance meet,
And to the well-known cheſt the dame repair,
Whence oft' with ſugar'd cates ſhe doth 'em greet,
And gingerbread y-rare, now, certes, doubly ſweet!

XXIV.See to their ſeats they hye with merry glee,
And in beſeemly order ſitten there,
All but the wight of bum y-galled, he
Abhorreth bench, and ſtool, and fourm, and chair,
(This hand in mouth y-fix'd, that rends his hair)
And eke with ſnubs proſound, and heaving breaſt,
Convulſions intermitting! does declare
His grievous wrong, his dame's unjuſt beheſt,
And ſcorns her offer'd love, and ſhuns to be careſs'd.

XXV.His face beſprent, with liquid cryſtal ſhines,
His blooming face, that ſeems a purple flow'r,
Which low to earth its drooping head declines,
All ſmear'd and ſully'd by a vernal ſhow'r.
O the hard boſoms of deſpotic Pow'r!
All, all, but ſhe, the author of his ſhame,
All, all, but ſhe, regret this mournful hour;
Yet hence the youth, and hence the flow'r ſhall claim,
If ſo I deem aright, tranſcending worth and fame

[183]XXVI.Behind ſome door, in melancholy thought,
Mindleſs of food, he, dreary caitiff! pines,
Ne for his fellows' joyaunce careth aught,
But to the wind all merriment reſigns,
And deems it ſhame if he to peace inclines;
And many a ſullen look aſkaunce is ſent,
Which for his dame's annoyance he deſigns;
And ſtill the more to pleaſure him ſhe's bent,
The more doth he, perverſe, her 'haviour paſt reſent.

XXVII.Ah me! how much I fear leſt pride it be!
But if that pride it be, which thus inſpires,
Beware, ye dames! with nice diſcernment ſee
Ye quench not, too, the ſparks of nobler fires:
Ah! better far than all the Muſes' lyres,
All coward arts, is valour's gen'rous heat;
The firm fixt breaſt which fit and right requires,
Like Vernon's patriot ſoul; more juſtly great
Than craft that pimps for ill, or flow'ry falſe deceit.

XXVIII.Yet nurs'd with ſkill, what dazzling fruits appear!
Ev'n now ſagacious foreſight points to ſhow
A little bench of heedleſs biſhops here,
And there a chancellour in embryo,
Or bard ſublime, if bard may e'er be ſo,
As Milton, Shakeſpeare, names that ne'er ſhall die!
Tho' now he crawl along the ground ſo low,
Nor weeting how the Muſe ſhould ſoar on high,
Wiſheth, poor ſtarv'lling elf! his paper kite may fly.

[184]XXIX.And this perhaps, who cens'ring the deſign,
Low lays the houſe which that of cards doth build,
Shall Dennis be! if rigid Fates incline,
And many an epic to his rage ſhall yield,
And many a poet quit th'Aonian field;
And, ſour'd by age, profound he ſhall appear,
As he who now with 'ſdainful fury thrill'd
Surveys mine work, and levels many a ſneer,
And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, "What ſtuff is here?"

XXX.But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle ſkie,
And Liberty unbars her priſon-door,
And like a ruſhing torrent out they fly,
And now the graſſy cirque han cover'd o'er
With boiſt'rous revel-rout and wild uproar;
A thouſand ways in wanton rings they run,
Heav'n ſhield their ſhort-liv'd paſtimes, I implore!
For well may freedom, erſt ſo dearly won,
Appear to Britiſh elf more gladſome than the ſun.

XXXI.Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your ſportive trade,
And chaſe gay flies, and cull the faireſt flow'rs,
For when my bones in graſs-green ſods are laid,
For never may ye taſte more careleſs hours
In knightly caſtles or in ladies bow'rs.
O vain to ſeek delight in earthly thing!
But moſt in courts, where proud Ambition tow'rs;
Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can ſpring
Beneath the pompous dome of keſar or of king.

[185]XXXII.See in each ſprite ſome various bent appear!
Theſe rudely carol moſt incondite lay;
Thoſe ſaunt'ring on the green, with jocund leer
Salute the ſtranger paſſing on his way;
Some builden fragile tenements of clay,
Some to the ſtanding lake their courſes bend,
With pebbles ſmooth at duck and drake to play;
Thilk to the huxter's ſav'ry cottage tend,
In paſtry kings and queens th' allotted mite to ſpend.

XXXIII.Here, as each ſeaſon yields a different ſtore,
Each ſeaſon's ſtores in order ranged been,
Apples with cabbage-net y-cover'd o'er,
Galling full ſore th' unmoney'd wight, are ſeen,
And gooſeb'rie, clad in liv'ry red or green;
And here of lovely dye the Cath'rine pear,
Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice I ween;
O may no wight e'er pennyleſs come there,
Leſt ſmit with ardent love he pine with hopeleſs care!

XXXIV.See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound,
With thread ſo white in tempting poſies ty'd,
Scatt'ring like blooming maid their glances round,
With pamper'd look draw little eyes aſide,
And muſt be bought, tho' penury betide;
The plum all azure, and the nut all brown,
And here, each ſeaſon, do thoſe cakes abide
Whoſe honour'd names th' inventive city own,
Rend'ring thro' Britain's iſle Salopia's praiſes known*.

[186]XXXV.Admir'd Salopia! that with venial pride
Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave,
Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils try'd,
Her daughters lovely, and her ſtriplings brave:
Ah! midſt the reſt, may flowers adorn his grave
Whoſe art did firſt theſe dulcet cates diſplay!
A motive fair to Learning's imps he gave,
Who cheerleſs o'er her darkling region ſtray,
Till Reaſon's morn ariſe, and light them on their way.

Appendix A CONTENTS.

[]

ODES, &c.

ODE to Health, 1730, Page 5
To a Lady of Quality, fitting up her library, 1738, 8
Anacreontic, 1738, 9
Ode. Written 1739, 11
Upon a viſit to a Lady of Quality, in winter 1748, 13
Ode to Memory, 1748, 14
Verſes written towards the cloſe of the year 1748, to William Lyttleton, Eſq. 16
An irregular Ode, after ſickneſs, 1749, 20
Rural Elegance, an Ode to the late Ducheſs of So⯑merſet, 1750, 25
Ode to Indolence, 1750, 37
Ode to a young Lady, ſomewhat too ſolicitous about her manner of expreſſion, 38
Written in a Flower Book of my own colouring, deſigned for Lady Plymouth, 1753-4, 40
The Dying Kid, 41
Ode, 43
Ode. To be performed by Dr. Brettle, and a cho⯑rus of Hales Owen citizens, 45

SONGS AND BALLADS.

The Princeſs Elizabeth, A Ballad, alluding to a ſtory recorded of her when ſhe was priſoner at Woodſtock, 1554, Page 47
Nancy of the Vale. A Ballad, 49
The Rape of the Trap. A Ballad, 1737, 52
Jemmy Dawſon. A Ballad. Written about the time of his execution, in the year 1745, 55
A Ballad, 59
Song, 60
Song. The Landſcape, 61
Song, 62
Song. The Skylark, 63
Song, 64
Song. The attribute of Venus, 65
Song, 1742, 66
Song. Valentine's Day, 1743, 67
Song, 1743, 68
Song, 1744, 69
Song, 1744, 70
Song, 1744, 71
Song. Winter 1746, 72
Song. The Scholar's Relapſe, 73
Song. The Roſe-Bud, ib.
Song. Daphne's viſit, 75
Song. Written in a Collection of Bacchanalian Songs, 76
Song. Imitated from the French, ib.
[189] Song, Page 77
Song, 78
The Halcyon, 79

MORAL PIECES.

The Judgment of Hercules, 81
The Progreſs of Taſte: or, The Fate of Delicacy.
- Part the Firſt, 100
- Part the Second, 105
- Part the Third, 110
- Part the Fourth, 115
Economy, a Rhapſody, addreſſed to young Poets.
- Part the Firſt, 123
- Part the Second, 133
- Part the Third, 141
The Ruin'd Abbey: or, The Effects of Superſtition, 147
Love and Honour, 161
The Schoolmiſtreſs. In imitation of Spenſer, 174

Appendix B

From the APOLLO PRESS, by the MARTINS, May 23. 1778.

THE END.

Notes

‖

Hybla—a mountain in Sicily, famous for producing the fineſt honey.

By Blackmore.

Written at the time of the Spaniſh depredations.

The following Songs were written chiefly between the year 1737 and 1742.

St. James's.

Boiſterous mirth.

The Muſes.

Alluding to moths and butterflies, delineated by Ben⯑jamin Wilks. See his very expenſive propoſals.

Alluding to—The allegory in Cebes's Tablet.

In Terence's Adelphi.

†

Juſtice Silence, in Shakeſpeare's Henry IV. 2d part.

Henry II.

Richard I.

†

Biſhop of Ely, Lord Chancellor.

Henry III. who cancelled the Magna Charta.

Biſhop of Lincoln, called Malleus Romanorum.

Ganges—the greateſt river, which divides the Indies in two parts.

†

Haemus—an high mountain, dividing Thrace and Theſ⯑ſaly.

Bactra—the Bactrians, provincials of Perſia.

‖

Panchaia—a country of Arabia Felix, fruitful in frank⯑incenſe and various ſpices; remarkable alſo for its many towers and lofty buildings.

The ſouth-weſt wind, ſouth, &c. &c.

Spenſer.

Shrewſbury cakes.

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt: TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5260 The poetical works of Will Shenstone In two volumes With the life of the author and a description of the Leasowes pt 2. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-622C-5

ODES, &c.

ODE TO HEALTH, 1730.

TO A LADY OF QUALITY, FITTING UP HER LIBRARY, 1738.

ANACREONTIC, 1738.

ODE. Written 1739.

UPON A VISIT TO A LADY OF QUALITY, In winter 1748.

ODE TO MEMORY, 1748.

VERSES Written towards the cloſe of the year 1748, TO WILLIAM LYTTLETON, ESQ.

AN IRREGULAR ODE, After ſickneſs, 1749.

RURAL ELEGANCE, AN ODE TO THE LATE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET. Written 1750.

ODE TO INDOLENCE, 1750.

ODE TO A YOUNG LADY, Somewhat too ſolicitous about her manner of expreſſion.

WRITTEN IN A FLOWER BOOK Of my own colouring, deſigned for Lady Plymouth, 1753-4.

THE DYING KID.

ODE.

ODE. To be performed by Dr. Brettle, and a chorus of Hales Owen citizens. The inſtrumental part a Viol d'Amour.

SONGS AND BALLADS.

THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH, A Ballad, alluding to a ſtory recorded of her when ſhe was priſoner at Woodſtock, 1554.

NANCY OF THE VALE. A BALLAD.

THE RAPE OF THE TRAP. A BALLAD, 1737.

JEMMY DAWSON. A BALLAD. Written about the time of his execution, in the year 1745.

A BALLAD.

SONG*.

SONG. THE LANDSCAPE.

SONG.

SONG. THE SKYLARK.

SONG.

SONG. The attribute of Venus.

SONG, 1742.

SONG. VALENTINE'S DAY, 1743.

SONG, 1743.

SONG, 1744.

SONG, 1744.

SONG, 1744.

SONG. WINTER, 1746.

SONG. THE SCHOLAR'S RELAPSE.

SONG. THE ROSE-BUD.

SONG. DAPHNE'S VISIT.

SONG. Written in a Collection of Bacchanalian Songs.

SONG. Imitated from the French.

SONG.

SONG.

THE HALCYON.

MORAL PIECES.

THE JUDGMENT OF HERCULES.

THE PROGRESS OF TASTE: OR, THE FATE OF DELICACY.A poem on the temper and ſtudies of the Author; and how great a misfortune it is for a man of ſmall eſtate to have much taſte.

PART THE FIRST.

PART THE SECOND.

PART THE THIRD.

PART THE FOURTH.

ECONOMY, A RHAPSODY, ADDRESSED TO YOUNG POETS.

PART THE FIRST.

PART THE SECOND.

PART THE THIRD.

THE RUIN'D ABBEY: OR, THE EFFECTS OF SUPERSTITION.

LOVE AND HONOUR.

THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. IN IMITATION OF SPENSER.

Appendix A CONTENTS.

Appendix B

SONG^*.

THE PROGRESS OF TASTE: OR, THE FATE OF DELICACY.
A poem on the temper and ſtudies of the Author; and how great a misfortune it is for a man of ſmall eſtate to have much taſte.