[]
THE POETICAL WORKS OF RICHARD WEST.
. . . . . . . . ſimplex nec deſpice carmen,
Nec vatem: non illa leves primordia motus,
Quanquam parva, dabunt.
GRAY, de Princip. Cogit.
Juſt Heav'n! what ſin, ere life begins to bloom,
Devotes my head untimely to the tomb?
Did e'er this hand againſt a brother's life
Drug the dire bowl, or point the murd'rous knife?
Did e'er this tongue the ſland'rer's tale proclaim,
Or madly violate my Maker's name?
Did e'er this heart betray a friend or foe,
Or know a thought but all the world might know?—
But why repine? does life deſerve my ſigh?
Few will lament my loſs whene'er I die—
Yet ſome there are (ere ſpent my vital days)
Within whoſe breaſts my tomb I wiſh to raiſe:
Lov'd in my life, lamented in my end,
Their praiſe would crown me as their precepts mend:
To them may theſe fond lines my name endear,
Not from the poet but the friend ſincere. AD AMICOS.
EDINBURG: AT THE Apollo Preſs, BY THE MARTINS. Anno 1782.
[]MISCELLANIES.
Advertiſement.
THE life of Mr. Weſt was ſo ſhort, and the events of it ſo few, that it was judged better to inſert the anecdotes which remain of this hopeful youth in the preceding ac⯑count of his friend than to reſerve them for a detached article. Mr. Walpole wiſhed to ſee their Works united in one volume. The only objection of Mr. Gray to this wiſh no longer now remains. Had he complied with Mr. Walpole's deſire, it is the opinion of Mr. Maſon that he would have given only the poems which follow.
AD AMICOS.
[Imitated from Tibullus, book iii. elegy 5, and Mr. Pope's letter in ſickneſs to Mr. Steele.]
YES, happy youths! on Camus' ſedgy ſide
You feel each joy that friendſhip can divide,
Each realm of ſcience and of art explore,
And with the ancient blend the modern lore,
Studious alone to learn whate'er may tend
To raiſe the genius or the heart to mend;
Now pleas'd along the cloiſter'd walks you rove,
And trace the verdant mazes of the grove,
Where ſocial oft' and oft' alone ye chuſe
To catch the zephir and to court the Muſe;
[2]Mean-time at me (while all devoid of art
Theſe lines give back the image of my heart)
At me the pow'r that comes or ſoon or late,
Or aims or ſeems to aim the dart of Fate.
From you remote methinks alone I ſtand
Like ſome ſad exile in a deſert land,
Around no friends their lenient care to join
In mutual warmth, and mix their heart with mine.
Or real pains, or thoſe which fancy raiſe,
For ever blot the ſunſhine of my days;
To ſickneſs ſtill, and ſtill to grief, a prey
Health turns from me her roſy face away.
Juſt Heav'n! what ſin, ere life begins to bloom,
Devotes my head untimely to the tomb?
Did e'er this hand againſt a brother's life
Drug the dire bowl, or point the murd'rous knife?
Did e'er this tongue the ſland'rer's tale proclaim,
Or madly violate my Maker's name?
Did e'er this heart betray a friend or foe,
Or know a thought but all the world might know?
[3] As yet juſt ſtarted from the liſts of time
My growing years have ſcarcely told their prime;
Uſeleſs as yet thro' life I'ave idly run,
No pleaſures taſted, and few duties done.
Ah! who ere autumn's mellowing ſuns appear
Would pluck the promiſe of the vernal year,
Or ere the grapes their purple hue betray
Tear the crude cluſter from the mourning ſpray?
Stern pow'r of Fate! whoſe ebon ſceptre rules
The Stygian deſerts and Cimmerian pools,
Forbear, nor raſhly ſmite my youthful heart,
A victim yet unworthy of thy dart;
Ah! ſtay till age ſhall blaſt my with'ring face,
Shake in my head and falter in my pace;
Then aim the ſhaft, then meditate the blow,
And to the dead my willing ſhade ſhall go.
[4]
How weak is man to Reaſon's judging eye!
Born in this moment, in the next we die;
Part mortal clay, and part ethereal fire,
Too proud to creep, too humble to aſpire,
In vain our plans of happineſs we raiſe;
Pain is our lot, and patience is our praiſe:
Wealth, lineage, honours, conqueſt, or a throne,
Are what the wiſe would fear to call their own.
Health is at beſt a vain precarious thing,
And fair-fac'd youth * is ever on the wing:
'Tis like the ſtream [...]ſide whoſe wat'ry bed
Some blooming plant exalts his flow'ry head,
Nurs'd by the wave the ſpreading branches riſe,
Shade all the ground and flouriſh to the ſkies;
The waves the while beneath in ſecret flow,
And undermine the hollow bank below;
Wide and more wide the waters urge their way,
Bare all the roots and on their fibres prey:
[5] Too late the plant bewails his fooliſh pride,
And ſinks untimely in the whelming tide.
But why repine? does life deſerve my ſigh?
Few will lament my loſs whene'er I die.
For thoſe the wretches * I deſpiſe or hate
I neither envy nor regard their fate.
For me whene'er all-conq'ring Death ſhall ſpread
His wings around my unrepining head
I care not†: tho' this face be ſeen no more
The world will paſs as cheerful as before,
Bright as before the day-ſtar will appear,
The fields as verdant and the ſkies as clear;
Nor ſtorms nor comets will my doom declare,
Nor ſigns on earth nor portents in the air;
Unknown and ſilent will depart my breath,
Nor Nature e'er take notice of my death.
Yet ſome there are (ere ſpent my vital days)
Within whoſe breaſts my tomb I wiſh to raiſe:
Lov'd in my life, lamented in my end,
Their praiſe would crown me as their precepts mend:
To them may theſe fond lines my name endear,
Not from the poet but the friend ſincere‡.
[1]
Vos tenet, Etruſcis manat quae fontibus unda,
Unda ſub aeſtivum non adeunda canem.
Nunc autem ſacris Baiarum maxima lymphis,
Quum ſe purpureo vere remittit hiems.
[2]At mihi Perſephone nigram deununtiat horam
Inmerito juveni parce nocere, Dea.
Non ego tentavi nulli temeranda virorum
Audax laudandae ſacra docere Deae.
Nec mea mortiſeris infecit pocula ſuccis
Dextera, nec quiquam taetra venena dedit.
Nec nos inſana meditantes jurgia mente
[...]pia in adverſos ſolvimus ora Deos.
[3]Et nondum cani nigros laeſere capillos,
Nec venit tardo curva Senecta pede.
Natalem noſtri primum videre parentes
(Quum cecidit fato conſul uterque pari.)
Quid fraudare juvat vitem creſcentibus uvis?
Et modo nata mala vellere poma manu*?
Parcite, pallentes undas quicumque tenetis,
Duraque ſortiti tertia regna Dei.
[4]Elyſios olim liceat cognoſcere campos,
Letheamque ratem, Cimmerioſque lacus,
Quum mea rugoſa pallebunt ora ſenecta,
—
Atque utinam vano nequidquam terrear aeſtu!
ELEGIA.
[6]QUOD mihi tam gratae miſiſti dona Camaenae,
Qualia Maenalius Pan Deus ipſe velit,
Amplector te, Graie, et toto corde repoſco,
Oh deſiderium jam nimis uſque meum:
Et mihi rura placent, et me quo (que) ſaepe volentem
Duxerunt Dryades per ſua prata Deae;
Sicubi lympha fugit liquido pede, ſive virentem,
Magna decus nemoris, quercus opacat humum:
Illuc mane novo vagor, illuc veſpere ſero,
Et, noto ut jacui gramine, nota cano.
Nec noſtrae ignorant divinam Amaryllida ſylvae:
Ah, ſi deſit amor, nil mibi rura placent.
Ille jugis habitat Deus, ille in vallibus imis,
Regnat et in Coelis, regnat et Oceano;
Ille gregem tauroſ (que) domat, ſaevi (que) leonem
Seminis; ille feros, ultus Adonin, apros:
Quin et ſervet amore nemus, ramo (que) ſub omni
Concentu tremulo plurima gaudet avis.
Durae etiam in ſylvis agitant connubia plantae,
Durae etiam et fertur ſaxa animaſſe Venus.
Durior et ſaxis, et robore durior ille eſt,
Sincero ſiquis pectore amare vetat:
Non illi in manibus ſanctum deponere pignus,
Non illi arcanum cor aperire velim;
Neſcit amicitias, teueros qui neſcit amores:
Ah! ſi nulla Venus, nil mihi rura placent.
Me licet a patriâ longe in tellure juberent
[7] Externâ poſitum ducere fata dies;
Si vultus modo amatus adeſſet, non ego contra
Plorarem magnos voce querente Deos.
At dulci in gremio curarum oblivia ducens
Nil cuperem praeter poſſe placere meae;
Nec bona fortunae aſpiciens, ne (que) munera regum,
Illa intrà optarem brachia cara mori.
Sept. 17th 1738.
ELEGIA.
[Addreſſed to Mr. Gray.]
ERGO deſidiae videor tibi crimine dignus;
Et merito: victas do tibi ſponte manus.
Arguor et veteres nimium contemnere Muſas,
Irata et nobis eſt Medicaea Venus.
Mene igitur ſtatuas et inania ſaxa vereri!
Stultule! marmoreâ quid mihi cum Venere?
Hic verae, hic vivae Veneres, et mille per urbem,
Quarum nulla queat non placuiſſe Jovi.
Cedite Romanae formoſae et cedite Graiae,
Sintque oblita Helenae nomen et Hermoniae!
Et, quaſcunque refert aetas vetus, Heroinae:
Unus honor noſtris jam venit Angliaſin.
Oh quales vultus, Oh quantum numen ocellis!
I nunc et Tuſcas improbe confer opes.
Ne tamen haec obtuſa nimis praecordia credas,
Neu me adeo nullâ Pallade progenitum:
Teſtor Pieridumque umbras et flumina Pindi
Me quoque Calliopes ſemper amaſſe choros;
[8] Et dudum Auſonias urbes, et viſere Graias
Cura eſt, ingenio ſi licet ire meo:
Sive eſt Phidiacum marmor, ſeu mentoris aera,
Seu paries Coo nobilis e calamo;
Nec minus artificum magna argumenta recentûm
Romanique decus nominis et Veneti:
Quà Furor et Mavors et ſaevo in Marmore vultus,
Quaque et formoſo mollior aere Venus.
Quàque loquax ſpirat fucus, vivique labores,
Et quicquid calamo dulciùs auſa manus:
Hic nemora, et ſola maerens Meliboeus in umbrâ,
Lymphaque muſcoſo proſiliens lapide;
Illic majus opus, facieſque in pariete major
Exurgens, Divûm et numina Coelicolûm;
O vos ſaelices, quibus haec cognoſcere fas eſt,
Et totâ Italiâ, qua patet uſque, frui!
Nulla dies vobis eat injucunda, nec uſquam
Norîtis quid ſit tempora amara pati.
—It was the production of four o'clock in the morning, while I lay in my bed toſſing and coughing, and all un⯑able to ſleep.—
ANTE omnes morbos importuniſſima tuſſis,
Quâ durare datur, traxitque ſub ilia vires:
Dura etenim verſans imo ſub pectore regna,
Perpetuo exercet teneras luctamine coſtas,
Oraque diſtorquet, vocemque immutat anhelam:
Nec ceſſare locus: ſed ſaevo concita motu
Molle domat latus, et corpus labor omne fatigat:
[9] Unde moleſta dies, noctemque inſomnia turbant.
Nec Tua, ſi mecum Comes hic jucundus adeſſes,
Verba juvare queant, aut hunc lenire dolorem
Sufficiant tua vox dulcis, nec vultus amatus.
ODE.
DEAR Gray! that always in my heart
Poſſeſſes far the better part,
What mean theſe ſudden blaſts that riſe,
And drive the zephirs from the ſkies?
O join with mine thy tuneful lay,
And invocate the tardy May.
Come, faireſt nymph! reſume thy reign,
Bring all the Graces in thy train:
With balmy breath and flow'ry tread
Riſe from thy ſoft ambroſial bed,
Where in Elyſian ſlumber bound
Embow'ring myrtles veil thee round.
Awake, in all thy glories dreſt,
Recall the zephirs from the weſt;
Reſtore the ſun, revive the ſkies,
At mine and Nature's call ariſe!
Great Nature's ſelf upbraids thy ſtay,
And miſſes her accuſtom'd May.
[10]
See! all her works demand thy aid,
The labours of Pomona fade;
A plaint is heard from ev'ry tree,
Each budding flow'ret calls for thee;
The birds forget to love and ſing,
With ſtorms alone the foreſts ring.
Come then, with Pleaſure at thy ſide,
Diffuſe thy vernal ſpirit wide;
Create where'er thou turn'ſt thy eye
Peace, plenty, love, and harmony,
Till ev'ry being ſhare its part
And heav'n and earth be glad at heart.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF POSIDIPPUS.
PERSPICUI puerum ludentem in margine rivi
Immerſit vitreae limpidus error aguae:
At gelido ut mater moribundum e flumine traxit
Credula, et amplexu funus inane fovet;
Paulatim puer in dilecto pectore, ſomno
Languidus, aeternum lumina compoſuit.
[...]
[...]
[...]
[...]
[...]
[...]
TO MR. GRAY.
[11]O Meae jucunda comes quietis!
Quae fere aegrotum ſolita es levare
Pectus, et ſenſim ah! nimis ingruentes
Fallere curas:
Quid canes? quanto Lyra dic furore
Geſties, quando hac reducem ſodalem
Glauciam * gaudere ſimul videbis
Meque ſub umbra?
CAETERA DESIDERANTUR.
Appendix A CONTENTS.
[]GRAY.
- Life of the Author, Page 5
- His laſt will and teſtament, 25
- Ode to memory of Mr. Gray, by J. T. 29
- ODES.
- Ode I. on the ſpring, 35
- Ode II. on the death of a favourite cat, 37
- Ode III. on a diſtant proſpect of Eton College, 39
- Ode IV. on adverſity, 43
- Ode V. the progreſs of poeſy, 46
- Ode VI. the Bard, 54
- Ode VII. the Fatal Siſters, 65
- Ode VIII. the deſcent of Odin, 68
- Ode IX. the triumphs of Owen, 73
- Ode X. the death of Hoel, 75
- Ode XI. for muſick, 76
- MISCELLANIES.
- A long ſtory, 81
- Elegy. Written in a country churchyard, 87
- Epitaph on Mrs. Clarke, 93
- Tranſlation from Statius, ib.
- Gray of himſelf, 94
WEST.
- Ad Amicos, Page 1
- Elegia, "Quod mihi," &c. 6
- Ditto, addreſſed to Mr. Gray, "Ergodeſidiae," &c. 7
- Production of four o'clock in the morning, "Ante omnes," &c. 8
- Ode to May, 9
- From the Greek of Poſidippus, "Perſpicui," &c. 10
- To Mr. Gray, "O meae jucunda," &c. 11
Appendix B
From the APOLLO PRESS, by the MARTINS, Aug. 3. 1782.
THE END.
Notes
*
‘"Youth, at the very beſt, is but a betrayer of human life in a gentler and ſmoother manner than age; it is like the ſtream that nouriſhes a plant upon a bank, and cauſes it to flouriſh and bloſſom to the ſight, but at the ſame time is un⯑dermining it at the root in ſecret."’ Pope.
*
‘"I am not at all uneaſy at the thought that many men whom I never had any eſteem for are likely to enjoy this world after me."’ Pope.
†
‘"The morning after my exit the ſun will riſe as bright as ever, the flowers ſmell as ſweet, the plants ſpring as green; people will laugh, &c."’ Pope.
‡
This Epiſtle was written from Chriſt-church Oxford, July 4th 1737, in the 21ſt year of his age.
*
‘"There is,"’ ſays Mr. Maſon, ‘"a peculiar blemiſh in this line, ariſing from the ſynonymous mala and poma."’—But who that can either conſtrue or ſcan this line could have taken theſe words for ſynonymous?
*
Mr. Gray.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5256 The poetical works of Richard West. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5BAA-F