[]
THE POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN HAWKESWORTH

DUBLIN: Printed by P: BYRNE. MDCCLXXXVIII.

THE POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN HAWKESWORTH.

[]
Whatever Fortune my unpoliſh'd Rhymes
May meet, in preſent or in future Times,
Let the bleſs'd Art my grateful Thoughts employ,
Which ſoothes my Sorrow and augments my Joy,
Whence lonely Peace and ſocial Pleaſure ſprings,
And Friendſhip, dearer than the Smile of Kings.
ESSAY ON EPIC POETRY.
Ye, who as literary Monarchs ſit,
Waving your Sceptres o'er the Realms of Wit,
Who ſhew each obvious and each latent Fault,
Each venial Error, and each brilliant Thought;
Forbear! forbear! nor your dread Wrath diſpenſe,
On this my firſt, and this my laſt Offence.
FINAL FAREWELL.

DUBLIN: PRINTED BY P. BYRNE, No. 108, GRAFTON-STREET.

M,DCC,LXXXVIII.

CONTENTS.

[]
  • VANITY of Friendſhip, Page 1
  • Epiſtle from Lady G— to the Duke of C—, Page 13
  • Laudes Dargelli, or Verſes on the Dargle, Page 21
  • Swanlinbar, a Poem, Page 27
  • Living Characters, Page 37
  • Poems on ſeveral Occaſions, Page 47
  • Verſes to Mr. Hayley, Page 49
  • Verſes written during the Indiſpoſition of Wil⯑liam Greſſon, Eſq Page 52
  • []Inſcription for the Obeliſk at the Boyne, Page 54
  • Epitaph on Dr. Thomas Leland, Page 55
  • Epigram, Page 57
  • Verſes written after my Eſcape from Aſſaſſi⯑nation, Page 58
  • Verſes to —, Page 61
  • Ode unfiniſhed, Page 63
  • Verſes to their High Mightineſſes the Inhabi⯑tants of —, Page 66
  • Eſſay on Cock-fighting, Page 69
  • Appendix, Page 79

DEDICATION. TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.

[]
SIR,

FROM your writings I received all that in⯑expreſſible Pleaſure and Improvement which Eru⯑dition ever affords the Mind of the feeling Man: From your Writings I learned to form a juſt Character of thoſe illuſtrious Worthies, your mighty Predeceſſors, in that Chair where you now ſit.—Permit me then, great Man! as a Lover of Poeſy, and Reverer of Merit, to pay you this tributary Token of Reſpect.

J. HAWKESWORTH.
Omagh, Jan. 1, 1788.

PREFACE.

[]

TIRED with the Importunities of many, I at length ſelected the following Trifles, and preſume to preſent them to the pub⯑lic eye.

HOW far "Idle Verſes eſſayed in early Age," may meet the public Approbation, I cannot tell; but he who endeavours well, ſurely ought not to be cenſured.

[vi]JUVENILLE Compoſitions ſometimes meet more good-natured Readers than rigid Critics: may ſuch be the Fate of this Vo⯑lume, written by an Author between his fifteenth and nineteenth Years.

SUCH Senſations as are in the Boſom of a penitent Criminal certain of immediate Death, but unknowing whither his im⯑mortal Soul may go; ſuch ſtrong Senſa⯑tions now beat high in me, whilſt with a trembling Hand I pen theſe Lines, fearing the fatal Conſequences "of flying from the ſafe Scenes of Privacy to meet in giddy Haſte the public Eye."

BUT as ſome of the Productions of my boyiſh Fancy had appeared in the different [vii] periodical Papers, I the more readily con⯑ſented to this Publication; and the Poems (ſuch as they are) will be here found more correct.

SOME people will perhaps accuſe me of that Vanity which ſo powerfully predomi⯑nates in the youthful Mind, for attempt⯑ing to climb that Aſcent down which ſo many have tumbled.—In what I have written I meant well; I therefore preſent it to the Public, not with the Arrogance of an aſſuming young Man, but with all the ſubmiſſive Modeſty of an Author.

THE VANITY OF FRIENDSHIP, A POEM, WRITTEN AFTER THE MANNER OF SWIFT. 1785.
[] THE VANITY OF FRIENDSHIP, A POEM, WRITTEN AFTER THE MANNER OF SWIFT. INSCRIBED TO RICE HARRISON, ESQ.

[]
Who not needs, ſhall never lack a friend;
But who in want, a hollow friend doth try,
Directly ſeaſons him his enemy. SHAKESPEARE.
"'TIS true we talk of Friendſhip much,
"But who are they who can keep touch?"
Thus ſung Hibernia's patriot Dean,
In Satire's energetic ſtrain;
[4]The ſtory we have now in view,
Will prove his obſervations true.
Seventeen hundred pounds a year;
Made Jack to all the country dear,
Of it he was no miſer, as
His ſtarving predeceſſor was,
Who left behind him what he ſtor'd,
Of gold, the god that he ador'd:
But Jack, Sir, liv'd a diff'rent way,
He ſpent his time in amours gay.
He'd friends to come to him and dine,
To prodigally drink his wine,
To ſpend the tedious paſſing hours,
In coſtly pleaſure's roſeate bow'rs,
To take all from him they cou'd get,
To make him pay their tavern debt,
To give advice thro' private ends,
In ſhort, who had ſo many friends?
[5]
But now, alas! the time was come,
When Jack had loſt his ſtately home,
When he conſum'd his whole eſtate,
That Fame might ſound him goodly great,
When he had run in debt to have
Th' expenſive ſuppers which he gave,
And now the ſheriffs keepers laid
On houſe, 'till all the debts were paid.
"Now, let me think, (ſays Jack) I've gentry,
Who'll give me diet and my rent free;
There is Samuel, James, and John,
Generous Sidropel and Mun,
Whoſe numerous friendly actions ſhew'd
Their tempers hoſpitably good,
Whoſe ſoft benignity will grant
What my neceſſity may want;
With them I'll ſcreen from Law's turmoils,
'Till Fortune more propitious ſmiles."
[6]
His caſe to Samuel then he told,
Him Samuel cordially condol'd,
But coſtly aid he wou'd not give,
Yet ſeem'd from teeth to greatly grieve.
When Jack ſaw his diſſembling mode,
He curs'd the gifts he ill beſtow'd,
And hied to James's to ſojourn—
But ſupplication meets with ſcorn:
He rap'd at door, ſent in his name,
The ſervant with this anſwer came:—
"His Honour ſays, he does not know you;
"And bid me the hall-door to ſhow you."
Thus baffled and abus'd by two,
He went to John, and told his woe;
But John, Sir, with a bow polite,
Exclaim'd his houſe was robb'd laſt night,
And was it not for that he wou'd
Repay the compliments he ow'd.
[7]
Jack, ſtung with diſappointment's pain,
At this unmerited diſdain,
From thoſe he almoſt rais'd from want,
Cry'd, "Cou'd I former deeds recant,
"I'd chuſe with more judicious ken,
"My friends 'mid undeſigning men."
Wrap'd in ſuch thoughts, which woe augment,
To generous Sidropel he went;
Who ſaid his wife was brought-to-bed;
The Doctor's fee was not yet paid;
The houſe-rent was a heavy debt,
And money he cou'd no where get.
Then quick to Mun he bent his way,
And told the Fates' ſevere decree,
Impell'd by Law's auſtere command,
Whoſe mandate poorneſs can't withſtand,
To quit in mean Diſguiſe's garb,
(Profuſion's ſure and juſt reward)
[8]A patrimonial goodly ſeat,
His wealthy anceſtor's eſtate;
And O! if happ'ly he wou'd glad,
A boſom miſerably ſad,
Ev'n with that cheering ray of hope,
Which might the preſent anguiſh ſtop,
He'd pray that to him ſhou'd be giv'n,
Tranſcendent joys, the gifts of Heav'n!
Then Mun, replies "my deareſt Jack,
"You know the troubles on my back,
"You know, Lord Love by paſſion led,
"Debas'd, defil'd my nuptial bed;
But when the damages I recover
I'll pay thy friendſhip more than over."
Poor Jack when he had try'd each friend,
And found none who'd aſſiſtance lend,
[9]Went home with ſorrow in his heart,
Which now felt Penury's galling ſmart:
Scarce was he in, when noiſe at door
Made him his dreadful caſe deplore;
He thought 'twas bailiffs him to take,
But, oh, how pleaſing the miſtake!
'Twas letter, with the glad account,
He'd got a prize to the amount
Of twice five thouſand ſterling pound,
Which he might draw from lott'ry fund.
His friends came the ſucceeding day,
Reſpects and compliments to pay,
And e'en to lend the wanted caſh,
(They're ſorry now they were ſo raſh)
Says Jack (who with juſt paſſion burn'd)
Avaunt! by me ye're ever ſcorn'd!
Ye vile diſſembling hypocrites!
Ye mean deceitful paraſites!
[10]I cheriſhed ye, far worſe than fiends,
And thought ye were my deareſt friends;
Too late I ſee my ſad miſtake,
Experience muſt true wiſdom make;
'Tis it can teach to juſtly ſcan
The temper of diſſembling man.
* I thought ſo num'rous were my friends,
'Twou'd Fabius tire to tell their names!
But now I plainly ſee, alas!
True Friendſhip neither is nor was.
O, HARRISON! belov'd, rever'd,
With truth by all, to all endear'd,
Whoſe gracefully illumin'd mind
Is with benevolence refin'd,
Who if an Hayley's pen was mine,
Should in Fame's faireſt annals ſhine.
[11]
Who is a friend (if friend there be)
To Worth's imploring child, or me;
Whoſe lov'd memorial ne'er ſhall part,
From this diſintereſted heart;
Or wand'ring thro' the lonely wood,
Or ſtrolling by the ſilver flood;
Or in the ſtill attentive hour,
Of thought in Erudition's bow'r,
Wilt thou (nor dread ſmooth Flatt'ry's praiſe)
Accept the liſping Muſe's lays?
Applauded man, my early guide,
Above the pomp of tinſel pride,
Above Malevolence's hate
Thou art diſtinguiſhably great!

AN EPISTLE FROM LADY G—, TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF C—. 1785.
[] AN EPISTLE FROM LADY G—, TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF C—.

[]
AH, dear deluder, cauſe of all my woe,
Who made me break the ſolemn nuptial vow;
Who by compulſion and enticing charms,
Seduc'd me from the tend'reſt huſband's arms,
[16]Hear how too late my injur'd lord I mourn,
How eager I'd to Virtue's paths return.
Ah, vaineſt thought, my ſacred honor's gone,
Snar'd by Perſuaſion's ſmooth aſcendant tongue;
But now I grieve, abandon'd and alone,
My former frailties in Secluſion's gloom.
How mem'ry rouſes, (ah! that guſhing tear)
In my rack'd brain ideas ſadly dear,
That rapt'rous day Imagination ſees,
When I ſought much lov'd C— to pleaſe,
When I receiv'd thee in a blithe alcove,
Imperial object of my guilty love!
For o'er my head the graceful ſmiles were ſeen
Of genial Venus, Beauty's peerleſs queen,
With fair Adonis, vot'ry to her power,
In ſweet embraces in the Idalian bower;
And white plum'd Jove, diſſolv'd in ſoft deſire,
O'ercome by Laeda and the golden fire,
[17]Myſelf beneath in brighteſt ſcarlet roll'd,
Sat mantled looſely with a veil of gold,
Loſt in tumultuous languiſhments of love,
I made your heart with am'rous ardour move;
Oh! that I cou'd forget th' unhappy bliſs,
But conſcience ſtings o'ertake who did amiſs.
Low thoughted Slander's quick reviling tongue
Expos'd me, Virtue's progeny among:
Unhappy me, ſo vilified by Fame,
That late poſterity ſhall hate my name.
What is a woman once her virtue's gone;
She mourns the crime for which ſhe can't atone,
Depriv'd of balmy ſlumbers lenient reſt,
She feels recoiling torture in her breaſt,
Cold ſweats, convulſions, agonizing pains,
Eternal throbbing through her languid veins,
[18]Tumultuous rackings, ſighs, diſtractions, fears,
And all th' effects of never ceaſing tears;
She feels ineffable, her pain augment,
Beyond Imagination's vaſt extent,
My pen delineates not what ſhe endures,
Death's raging pains are mild, compar'd to her's!
Now from ſociety, in ſolitude,
My youthful paſſion's impulſe is ſubdu'd,
I'll baniſh C— far from my thoughts,
Revere my lord, repent my former faults,
And let my ſoul with ſeriouſneſs be given
To the indulgent Majeſty of Heaven.
Misfortunes ever follow lawleſs loves,
This our libidinous example proves.
Illicit love's ſupreme deſtructive powers
Deſtroy'd Heaven-founded Phrygia's lofty towers,
Illicit love degraded Tarquin's pride,
And drove from pomp th' imperious regicide:
[19]Illicit love, Antonius, caus'd thy doom,
And ſpoil'd thee of th' imperial throne of Rome:
Illicit love untimely cropt the flower,
The blooming * boaſt of Woodſtock's mazy bower;
Illicit love deſtroy'd—but ſobs and ſighs,
Eraſe my thoughts, and tears bedew my eyes.

LAUDES DARGELLI; OR, VERSES ON THE DARGLE.
[] LAUDES DARGELLI; OR, VERSES ON THE DARGLE.

[]
WHAT Poet juſtly can recite,
O, Dargle, pregnant with delight!
The beauties of thy various bowers,
Where Nature ſheds her kindly powers;
And gives perfections to each ſenſe,
In pomp of ruſtic excellence?
Here rocks high tow'ring tow'rds the ſkies,
Attract the pleas'd ſpectator's eyes;
[24]And here th' extending trees of Jove
Produce a cool imbowering grove,
The waters whiſp'ring as they flow,
Amid the ſhelving rocks below,
Join concert with the mingled ſong,
Of the melodious feather'd throng.
May courteous Powerſcourt ne'er diſſeize,
Eblana's ſons of all theſe joys,
Who gaily leave the City's care,
T' imbibe the Dargle's purer air;
Where thy briſk vot'ry, lovelieſt queen!
Whilſt roving thro' ſome hillocks green,
Makes known his ardent am'rous fire,
To the dear object of deſire:
In ſome lone ſpot which charms adorn,
He tells the paſſion ſadly borne;
Where each ſoft breeze revives th' old man,
And ſtrengthens Life's uncertain ſpan.
[25]
Within thy lofty whiſp'ring woods,
Where Dryads ſport, and Sylvan Gods,
The bluſh that in each virgin ſhews,
Compenſates for the abſent roſe.
Here on a bank, refrigerant ſeat,
Screen'd from the Sun's o'ercoming heat,
Some ſtretch'd at eaſe the hours employ,
In Bacchus's unbounded joy,
And o'er each ſparkling glaſs rejoice
To hail with loud according voice,
Thee, noble Owner, as I ſtood,
Thy praiſe reſounding thro' the wood.
"O, Powerſcourt, graciouſly benign,
Sprung from a long illuſtrious line,
May'ſt thou, who often bidd'ſt us rove,
Thro' this terrene Elyſian grove;
Such from th' impartial deſt'nies get,
Whene'er thou pay'ſt our common debt."

SWANLINBAR, A POEM. 1787.
[] SWANLINBAR, A POEM.

[]
THY lawns, ſweet village, and thy ſhady hills,
Thy ſtately fir groves, whoſe condenſing leaves
Shade ſultry Summer from the blooming maid;
Thy airy mountains, tow'ring towards the Hea⯑ven,
Adorned by Nature with rude majeſty,
Adown whoſe ſloping ſides the bleating lamb
And ſkipping goat the with'ring herbage crop;
Thy proſpects, beautiful and pictureſque,
[30]Invite the Muſe; the willing Muſe attends,
And in thy praiſe ſhe ſtrikes the warbling lyre.
Health and contentment, prime of earthly bliſs,
In thee, O Village, dwell, and love to dwell.
Health in thy potent vivifying ſprings,
Or in thy balmy ſoft refreſhing gales;
Content in all the bleſſings thou beſtow'ſt:
Here, wither'd beauty oft reviv'd its bloom,
And age decay'd its priſtine ſtrength regain'd,
You graceful form emaciated once
By the conſuming burning fever's flame,
By luxury, and ev'ry perilous pleaſure,
Long courted Phyſic's aiding power in vain;
How oft in vain preſcrib'd thy deep learn'd ſons,
O, Aeſculapius; in vain apply'd
Th' afflicted youth to medicinal ſkill:
But now he walks robuſt, and more robuſt
Each paſſing day, and plainly in his viſage
[31]Sits roſy health, and lo! the florid cheek
Late wan and pale, ſad ſpectacle of woe!
He lives reſtor'd by thy ſalubrious air,
Or by thy ever efficacious ſpas.
But languid flows the inharmonious verſe,
Till fir'd by Greſſon's ſoft endearing ſmile,
The Muſe inſpir'd purſues the pleaſing taſk,
And tunes to thee one tributary line;
To thee, fair blooming daughter of the day!
Who mov'ſt majeſtic, like Idalia's queen,
Attended by the dimpled ſmiles and loves.
Led by thy impulſe, Curioſity!
To ſee bright Nature ſmiling all around
I've climb'd Binnaughlin's difficult aſcent,
From whence I've often ſeen, and joy'd to ſee
Delightful Florence-Court, th' enchanting ſeat
Of female Beauty, and each ſofter grace
That e'er adorn'd the fair, endearing ſex:
[32]The ſeat of Virtue, heaven-deſcended Virtue,
In ENNISKILLEN's gentle ſelf ſhe lives.
Behold th' induſtrious cottagers around,
(My guide, informing ſaid, and ſtretch'd his hand)
The children once of hapleſs Poverty!
By thy benevolence aſſiſted all.
O, ENNISKILLEN, affable and good,
And ſtimulated by thy bright example,
They from their dormant ſouls ſhook drowſy ſloth,
And while the ſun illumes the golden day,
In wholeſome labour are they all employ'd,
And in the evening bleſs thy gen'rous name.
Unnumber'd beauties ſtrike th' admiring eye,
Binnaughlin, from thy airy eminence;
There Quilea rears its cloud cap'd head aloft;
In gloomy majeſty the ſides appear,
Clad with the fable horror of the heath:
[33]From thence the noble Shannon takes its ſource:
Gently and ſoft at firſt it glides along,
Soon with collected ſtrength the waters ruſh,
And rapid ſweep the waſting banks away.
Yon ofiers bending with the weſtern blaſt,
Direct the wond'ring eye to that gay vale
Where ſilver Arney in meanders flows;
And where Lake Erne ſhews its num'rous iſles,*
Adorn'd with all the pomp of Sylvan pride,
'Mid which appears an iſland ſmall and brave,
Fam'd Enniſkillen, in hiſtoric page
Glory commemorates thy valiant ſons,
[34]Immortalized with martial panegyric,
They live the luſtre of thy laſting name!
From mighty Quilea's bleak cerulean height,
What ſeem huge mountains from the plains be⯑low,
Now ſhew quite level with the vaſt expanſe;
Here even the warm poetic blood is chill'd,
What colds, what killing colds! and to the weſt,
In horrid ſterile gloomineſs appear
Unpleaſing ſight, dull Leitrim's dreary plains;
Unlike thy lawns, O Cavan, where Ceres ſmiles,
And at her ſmile comes with a copious horn,
Auſpicious Plenty, round her golden head,
A wreath of peaceful olive's intertwin'd.
Ill it befits Ierne's meaneſt ſon
To ſoar aloft. Illuſtrious HAYLEY's pen,
He whoſe immortal character is fix'd
[35]On the firm baſis of eſtabliſh'd fame,
Alone cou'd cope with this deſcriptive theme.
To pleaſe the ear of Beauty have I ſung,
Nor vainly ſung, if Margaret gives the ſprig
Of odorous myrtle as the fair reward;
"Here as the light-wing'd moments glide ſerene,"
In ſweet Secluſion's bower I woo the Muſe,
Salubrious village, to reſound thy praiſe;
May'ſt thou increaſe and ever flouriſh fair,
Deck'd by thy GRESSON's ſtill improving hand.

LIVING CHARACTERS; OR, ONE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-SEVEN.
[] LIVING CHARACTERS; OR, ONE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-SEVEN.

[]
Coelum ipſum petimus ſtultitia.
HORACE.
Scarce the Gods and Heavenly Climes,
Are ſafe from our audacious Crimes.
DRYDEN.
HOW moſt ſuperb Eblana's now become!
I ſee in miniature imperial Rome;
Majeſtic piles magnificently grand,
Of late adorn the great increaſing land;
[40]How much of opulence our people learn'd,
Since patriotic Swift this iſle adorn'd.
We, who for virtue were ſo high extoll'd,
Have now Aſtrea's tender heart appall'd,
How few there are who well deſerve her praiſe,
In theſe flagitious and degenerate days:
Th' ideas of grandeur and prepoſterous arts,
Shame on our people, fill their plotting hearts.
Here there are ſome who with alluring charms,
Entice the blooming virgins to their arms,
And after they have ſerv'd their luſtful turn,
Forſake them, and their lamentation ſcorn:
And others have with coſtly pomp eſſay'd,
To join in wedlock with ſome wealthy maid,
Before the rites of marriage they were civil,
The dowry got they pitch'd them to the devil.
[41]Satyric Goddeſs, paſſionate and raſh,
Let not the worthy feel thy galling laſh,
To latent characters direct thy ſtorm,
And ſhew the raſcal in his fouleſt form,
They who on Pomp's unworthy couch now lie,
Bring from receſſes to the public eye.
See powder'd Edward with the chatt'ring tongue,
Outvie in dreſs th' illuſtrious Oberon.
His parents fam'd are all the country o'er;
For one's a rogue, t'other's a rank whore;
And tho' th' imperious puppy's void of parts,
Behold him ſovereign of the female hearts.
The wealthy prizes gain'd by Britiſh arms,
When rebel nations fill'd us with alarms,
Made Edward's purſe, and 'mid Arabia's ſcents,
And pompous finery's tawdry ornaments,
He ſpends the hours, Ambara's rich perfumes,
Raiſe grateful odours thro' his dreſſing rooms.
[42] Edward, thou'lt be the virtuous boaſt of fame,
When ſcents procure Veſpaſian's high eſteem;
Tho' female eyes, thy graceful form admire,
Senſe hates thee loſt to Virtue's radiant fire.
Next Robert thou—huſh muſe—Contention ceaſe,
"And vile attorneys make a uſeleſs race,"
Their civil robberies, and unnumber'd crimes,
Make theſe Domitian, not Auguſtan times:
'Tis they pretend in a contentious cauſe,
To ſhew thee juſtice by the Britiſh laws;
"I'll ſerve thee, Sir;" they ſerve to gain their ends:
And whilſt they're ſtripping thee they'll be thy friends.
Each Robert cries, Such ſtuff, zounds! who can bear it;
When the cap fits thee, Reader, thou may'ſt wear it.
[43]
Battus † long ſince had ſeventy ſummers ſeen,
And were ſo great a miſer now in being?
Tho' two round thouſand lie upon the board,
He labours ſtill t' increaſe the glitt'ring hoard,
And ſhou'd the imploring beggar meet his eye,
There's nill for nill, he'll haſtily reply.
O, ſquint-ey'd Vanity, to reaſon blind!
Grand indicator of the menial mind!
Thou ſovereign ruler of the vulgar born;
Who gain'ſt thy followers only wiſdom's ſcorn,
Thy hand thro' flow'ry paths has led our youth,
And brought them from the thorny ways of truth,
Prime ſource of foppery, if right I ſee,
Prim affectation nurtur'd was by thee.
Servile Bellario, ſee how proud he goes,
With James and Gerrard the near-ſighted beaus,
[44]How ſoft he liſps, and, Sir, did e'er you paſs
'Till gay Bellario view'd you thro' his glaſs?
Th' apprentice Stultus, Lord! how great a mack;
See three enormous capes hang down his back,
The princely gait, the graceful turn of toe,
The dangling roſes on the fine form'd ſhoe,
Make you and me, who cloth'd are in plain rags,
When e'er we meet great Stultus, leave the flags.
Raſh Muſe, no more our indignation move,
Die, die ye vot'ries of prepoſt'rous love.
O Goddeſs, fly the vicious motley crew,
And ſome immortal character now ſhew,
[45]Some truly great, and nobly generous mind,
In which the feeling virtues all are join'd:
Methinks I hear thee, Goddeſs, loudly cry,
In the ſerene of fair Hibernia's ſky:
"See generous Scott, who to the dungeon drear
Deſcended with benevolence's tear,
Th' illuſtrious man, whom in our bliſsful bow'r;
We term THE PATRON OF THE HAPLESS POOR:
The ſons of miſery, who in dark abodes,
Felt the hard laſhes of Confinement's rods:
Bleſs his bright name, to life reſtor'd again,
Free'd from Oppreſſion's abſolute domain."
The Goddeſs ceas'd, ſwift as the light-wing'd hour,
Sublime ſhe flew to her aetherial bower.

POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
[] POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

[]

TO MR. HAYLEY.

ILLUSTRIOUS monarch of the laurell'd throng,
Illuſtrious ſubject of each tuneful tongue;
For thee, I fondly ſtrike the ſounding lyre,
For thee, whoſe maxims taught me to aſpire.
Cou'd my faint verſe like courtly Waller's move,
I'd juſtly draw the harmonious virgin's love,
[50]Who by their ſacred inſpiration warms,
Who with ſuch graceful elocution charms!
Not ſweeter ſings the man belov'd of Heav'n,
Enchanting Pope, to ſofteſt manners giv'n;
In thee we ſee that luſtrous beaming ſtar,
Extending Learning's bright domain afar,
Like him, majeſtical thou flow'ſt along,
Conciſely clear, and prevalently ſtrong.
My ſtreaming eyes ſpontaneouſly o'erflow
With tender tears of ſympathetic woe,
When I contemplate on, ſublimeſt bard,
Thy filial piety and ſoft regard.
But where thy pen ſo mournfully diſplay'd,
*The murder'd votary of the lovely maid,
Each penſive reader wounded, thrills with pain,
So potent Sorrow's ſadly-pleaſing ſtrain.
Nor leſs our woe where thou, fond Bard, do'ſt mourn
In tend'reſt accent o'er thy THORNTON's urn;
[51]Struck at thy loſs, diſdainful of relief,
Thou wail'ſt in manly majeſty of grief.
†Where'er Britannia may her power extend,
Eternal praiſe will on thy name attend;
So ſtrong the frame thy mental labour wrought,
So potent thy magnificence of thought.

VERSES, WRITTEN DURING THE INDISPOSITION OF WILLIAM GRESSON, ESQ.

[52]
1.
HYGEIA, Queen of Phyſic's dome,
In this afflicted hour,
To ſadly penſive Greſſon come,
With ev'ry lenient power.
2.
Ah, Goddeſs! ſee his conſort laid
On Miſery's tottering chair;
Ah, ſee his virgin daughter ſhed
Soft feelings pearly tear.
[53]3.
In dire pre-eminence of grief,
The lead-wing'd hours they paſs,
Gone is ſweet comforting relief,
And how can ſorrow ceaſe?
4.
If to receive fair Virtue's crown,
He goes, freed from his pain;
Ah, may he, like the ſetting ſun,
Go beautiful, ſerene!
5.
Hear Friendſhip's ardent prayer, oh Heaven,
And grant the humble boon,
Ah, let his priſtine health be giv'n,
Nor take him in his noon.

INSCRIPTION FOR THE OBELISK AT THE BOYNE.

[54]
READER, thou tread'ſt the memorable ground,
Where juſtice was with glorious laurels crown'd;
Where fire innoxious drew great WILLIAM's blood,
When bravely planning for Britannia's good;
Where valiant SCHOMBERG fell with deathleſs fame,
SCHOMBERG deſerving of an hero's name;
Where mighty NASSAU cruſh'd Hibernia free'd,
And this commemorates th' immortal deed.

EPITAPH ON THOMAS LELAND, D.D.S.F.T.C.D. OBIIT AUG. 22, 1785.

[55]
THIS marble tells (what is not more than juſt)
That underneath lies LELAND's ſacred duſt:
O ſweet benevolence to learning dear,
For thee the Muſe in ſorrow drops a tear;
O gentle ſhade, whoſe gen'rous mind was giv'n,
To ſoft-ey'd Charity, the child of Heav'n!
Thou who waſt pure, if pure on earth cou'd be,
Muſt have this tribute to thy memory:
[56]Thou whoſe fair ghoſt inſpires the Muſe's pen,
To tell thy upright character to men:
Thou whoſe great merits fill the dome of Fame,
And make Poſterity revere thy name.

EPIGRAM.

[57]
NON gladium, at faciem ſequitur victoria, nam (que)
Plus valet armata Pallade nuda Venus.
TRANSLATED.
CONQUEST follows not the ſword,
But the Virgin's blooming charms,
Margaret naked has more power,
Than Minerva clad in arms.

VERSES, WRITTEN AFTER MY NARROW ESCAPE from ASSASSINATION. JUNE 21, 1787.

[58]
‘Hoſtile millions preſs'd me to the ground.’
1.
NOT direful Death's terrific arms,
Late pointed at my heart,
Nor all the popular alarms,
Cou'd quiv'ring fear impart.
2.
Ye ſavage men, hard as the ſteel
That drew my purer blood;
Cou'd ye not tender pity feel,
Screen'd in the lonely wood?
[59]3.
View'd only by the eye of Heav'n,
Ye furious did engage;
To me what countleſs blows were given,
Fall'n object of your rage!
4.
The ſtroke of might, ſo ſtrong, ſo bold!
How feeble, when repell'd,
By the impenetrable gold,
Of Innocence's ſhield.
5.
Th' immortal guardian of the good,
Unſeen by human eye,
From bliſsful realms, to ſave my blood
With ſwallow wings did'ſt fly.
6.
Elſe number'd with the pallid ghoſts
Of the ignobler dead,
I'd wander on the gloomy coaſts,
A viſionary ſhade.
[60]7.
Receive, oh Heaven, my ardent vow
Of tributary thanks,
Elate with pious warmth I bow,
On Cavan's flow'ry banks,
8.
To thee, the radiant ſource of joy,
To thee, auſpicious Lord,
To thee, whom malice can't annoy,
To thee, by all ador'd!

VERSES TO —.

[61]
SUCH feeling thoughts in thy great boſom roll,
As in Altemade's exalted ſoul,
Who big with pity from the certain courſe,
Thro' foaming billows urg'd his gen'rous horſe,
Twice ſeven he ſav'd from Boreas' deadly blaſt,
Then with heroic glory breath'd his laſt.
So thou from Death full many a wretch did'ſt free,
On ruinous Miſery's o'erwhelming ſea.
Cou'd I like Maſon captivate the heart,
With all the magic of poetic art,
Then wou'd I fondly celebrate thy ſame,
And next to Hayley's place thy ſplendid name.

IMITATIONS.

[62]
— Nec jam ſuſtineant onus,
Sylvae laborantes geluque:
Flumina conſtiterint acuto.
Diſſolve frigus, ligna ſuper foco,
Large reponens: atque benignius
Deprome, quadrimum Sabina,
O Thaliarche, merum diota.
Pemitte Divis caetera:—

ODE, UNFINISHED.

[63]
LO, boiſt'rous Winter, dull and drear,
Increaſing deſolation far,
Comes on apace, CRUM's ſhady groves,
The Summer haunts of ſmiling loves,
Stand wither'd o'er, and bleak its woods,
And frozen are its azure floods.
High pile the turf a glad'ning ſire,
And Bacchus ſhall our joys inſpire,
The roſy God, with gen'rous wine,
Shall us to ſportive mirth incline:
And to the providence of Heaven,
Let all our worldly cares be given.

IMITATIONS.

[64]
— Nec dulces amores
Sperne puer, neque tu choreas
Donec virenti canities abeſt
Moroſa.—
[65]
Let us while in our youthful prime,
While yet we're unimpair'd by Time,
Enjoy th' extatic ſweets of Love,
And in the dance with Margaret move;
For hoary age will quickly come,
And take away our fire and bloom.
Since firſt Fermanagh's lawns and plains
Have ſhewn what gloomy ſeaſon reigns,
We paſs'd no happy fleeting hours,
In Crum's paradiſaic bow'rs;
Ah bliſsful groves! ah peaceful ſhades!
Where late I woo'd the blue-ey'd maids!

TO THEIR HIGH MIGHTINESSES THE INHABITANTS OF —.

[66]
SPRUNG from the meaneſt of the rabble,
Some riſe to pomp and ſplendor,
Who think that wealth ſhou'd domineer,
And modeſt worth keep under.
Ah! truly mean ungen'rous thought,
Bred in a ſervile mind;
But diſtant very, very far,
From ev'ry ſoul refin'd.
[67]The ſpacious field of verdant graſs,
When Roſinant will ſhun it;
Or when Snap leaves a ſtinking bone,
Or when he leaves his vomit:
Then will ye leave your inborn dirt,
Ye foul mouth'd ſons of meanneſs!
Then will ye rev'rence from your ſouls,
The blue-ey'd maid and Venus.
Oft have I known a ſcoundrel rap,
Sprung up from dung and —
Strud proudly wrap'd in pomp of dreſs
Like Juno's haughty bird.
So your imperial mightineſſes
Were very ſcreech-owls born,
Tho' now the peacock's gaudy plumes
Your ſwollen ſides adorn.

ESSAY ON COCK-FIGHTING.
[] ESSAY ON COCK-FIGHTING.

[]

Homo ſum—et nihil humanum à me alienum.

TERENCE.

I am a Man, and bleſs'd with manly Feeling.

I WAS brought the other day by ſome of my juvenile acquaintance, into a cock-pit, and there heard the moſt gentle reproof that the tender lips of parental love could utter. Johannes, a ſage gentleman, whom curioſity led to the pit, [72] chanced to ſee his ſon Gallus at the oppoſite ſide, holding wagers; when the battle was terminated, Johannes aſked Gallus did he loſe. "No," re⯑plied he, with the quick voice of joy, "I have won a crown." "I'm ſorry for it," returned Johannes." Then after ſhaking his head and making a long pauſe, he continued— ‘I hope that crown may not coſt you five hundred pounds.’

Theſe few words made ſo deep an impreſſion on my mind that I inſtantly left the pit, and vowed never to enter one again. When I had got home, reflection and ſober reaſon made me plainly ſee the barbarity of that, which is termed an amuſement only by the unfeeling, inconſide⯑rate, and mean.

Thoſe people who are termed Cockers, are in general ignorant, avaricious, indolent, fond of [73] inebriety, and fond of accumulating money 'in an eaſy way,' as they expreſs themſelves; with⯑out once conſidering it is alſo an eaſy way of loſ⯑ing it. What but a ſordid deſire of lucre makes a man go to ſuch an opprobrious place! Youth ſhould beware how they enter a cock-pit: if they win, they bet on expecting to win more; if they loſe, Hope, which is ſo predominant in the hu⯑man mind, ſtimulates them to bet on, with the deſire of recovering their own. Turn your ſteps far from this ſeat of immorality and corruption, where the diſcordant voices of the blaſphemers perpetually prophane that awful name, at the ſound of which Virtue ſhudders with a religious fear.

How many illuſtrious perſonages have fallen unhappy victims to their inſatiable paſſion for cock-fighting, and involved their riſing families [72] [...] [73] [...] [74] in ruin! that fortune which ſhould be theirs by hereditary right, the hand of Imprudence has ſquandered, by diſcharging the honourable debts at the ſod.

The barbarity of this epidemic paſtime no leſs affects the heart with ſenſations of pity, than the ſight of men, who ſtake one half of their fortunes on a black-breaſted duck-wing, of yellow pile affects the mind with wonder. A thouſand pounds loſt in a few minutes! ſuch, in the courſe of years, muſt exhauſt a man's pecuniary reſources, were he maſter even of the riches of Chili and Peru. What do cockers or gamblers of any denomina⯑tion depend on? Chance, blind chance. The unpropitious termination of a ſingle battle may perhaps hurl them headlong from the glittering pinnacles of magnificence, to the vaſt profundity of poverty, and from thence to the low gloomy [75] manſions of confinement, where they may paſs away their dark days till death tranſports them from the miſeries of life.

The pathetic Pope ſtrongly inveighs againſt the cruelty practiſed by man to inferior creatures; and the unmanly diverſions of cock-fighting and throwing at cocks, have been reprobated by him, and many of his cotemporaries. I knew a gentle⯑man who tortured every creature, that his viſitors might compare him to Domitian, becauſe that monſter once filled the powerful chair of domi⯑nion. I have ſeen him put two flies on a needle, one at the eye, the other at the point, and while they in agonies would pull againſt each other, he'd cry—"Behold Domitian."

I ſhall conclude this paper with the ſtory of Zai, which I recollect to have heard in the happy [76] days of boyiſh innocence: Zai was the only ſon of Amazar the wealthy, who had amaſſed im⯑menſe riches by bringing merchandize from Egypt, and ſelling it again at conſiderable profit. Amazar, at the age of twenty-nine, met with an irreparable loſs, which drove him to the height of melancholy: this was the death of the beau⯑tiful Haſora, to whom he had been eight years joined in all the endearing bands of wedlock.— The only conſolation the diſconſolate Amazar had, was in the glooms of retirement, careſſing little ſmiling Zai, the ſole pledge of that pure love he had borne the amiable Haſora.

Zai had now ſeen ſeven ſummers, his lovely viſage and engaging ways made him the delight of every who frequented his father's houſe. But let us now reverſe the leaf. Behold the youth (when the cold hand of Death conſigned the ten⯑der parent to the grave) poſſeſſed of thoſe riches [77] which the hand of Frugality had gathered, to keep him independent of mankind. The pro⯑miſing hope of the reſpected—Amazar now ſpends his whole time in the company of Iſ⯑maen, the gambler. See! ſee! how quickly he empties the foaming goblet of intoxication. Are thoſe pale lips the once roſy ones of Zai, which were ſo often wont to kiſs the cooling cup of lime-juice and water?—Yes, Heaven, they are!—But what a metamorphoſis!

Zai's conſtitution was ſoon broke, his money as ſoon ſpent. What could he do? He ran in debt to ſupport nature, and his mercileſs creditor thruſt him in the diſmal confines of a priſon, where he expired a victim to his inordinate de⯑ſires.

Appendix A APPENDIX.
[] APPENDIX.

[]

IN the north of Ireland I met with a gentleman to whoſe good nature I am indebted for a copy of the following Poem; it is the production of the late Rev. William Pilkington, Curate of Omagh, capital of the county of Tyrone. This genius is reputed to have been a ſon of Dean Swift's, by the celebrated Mrs. Laetitia Pilkinton. I am told he was the exact image of Swift, and a man whoſe abi⯑lities were univerſally acknowledged; his ſatiric talent, which was very great, procured him high diſreſpect from the brethren of the gown: he was a graceful and eloquent preacher, but not a very rigid obſerver of the doctrine he preached. [82] The burden of a large family, with the attendant anxieties and cares, extremely depreſſed the ge⯑nerous ſpirit of this pleaſing companion. Think⯑ing to drown the memory of his afflictions, he frequented Bacchanalian ſocieties, and latterly drank ſtrong liquors when alone; this, at length, put a period to his exiſtence: he expired, in a manner truly pitiable, a deplorable ſpectacle of ungovernable paſſion.

Appendix A.1 A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A CURATE AND A BOTTLE-SCREW.

[83]
— ridentem dicere verum,
Quid vetat.
HORACE.
SCREW.
I WONDER, Sir, for what intent,
My maſter me a preſent ſent;
To one whom he aſſur'dly knew
Had neither call for cork or ſcrew,
[84]Whoſe pittance ſcarce three times a year,
Affords ſmall brewings of bad beer;
For which, ſo rare, you bottles aſk,
'Tis well it ſettles in the caſk;
The preſent ſure betrays a jibe
To you, and all your beggar tribe?
My former maſter, reſt his ſoul!
Lov'd well his bottle and his bowl;
A ſplendid ſideboard ſtill I grac'd,
My ſubjects in due order plac'd,
Bottles and glaſſes ſtill were clinking,
My ſphere is fellowſhip and drinking;
When I appear'd the wretch cou'd ſmile,
I op'd the ſpring cou'd cares beguile;
Not Lethe's draught wou'd make a ſet
So ſoon their cares or debts forget.
CURATE.
[85]
If you in fact, good Screw, poſſeſs
Such pow'r to make affliction leſs,
No perſon ſtands in greater need,
Of all thy friendſhip, help, or aid;
But why did you ſo long conceal
Specifics, which can ſorrow heal?
Or yet perhaps, you may contrive
Some means to keep a wretch alive.
SCREW.
Keep you alive? No! you deſerve,
Like all your ſort, to preach and ſtarve.
Favours from me? Behold my hue!
Am I not quite an alter'd ſcrew?
With ruſt defil'd, all canker'd o'er,
My former beauties I deplore;
[86]My outſide which, like mirror ſhone,
Is now as ruſty as your own,
Then judge ſince you have us'd me ſo,
What compliment to you I owe.
CURATE.
Why I muſt own, ſince you were mine
You ſeldom dip'd your nib in wine,
My ſcanty pittance can't afford,
The ſparkling glaſs or ſplendid board;
Yet you from harm I'd ſtill protect,
Nor ever meant you diſreſpect,
Nor have you met with aught abuſe,
But what aroſe from want of uſe;
Why then this rage? Let's ſtate the caſe,
And talk the matters face to face,
Let's calmly every point diſcuſs;
Then ſhew me why you uſe me thus.
SCREW.
[87]
Agreed, nor ſhall I mince the matter,
Againſt St. Paul, if he drank water.
And doubt not but I ſhall convince,
At leaſt all men of common ſenſe;
Proctors I mean, who're men of merit,
Ye Curates want ſoul, ſenſe, and ſpirit;
For 'gainſt the roſy God we've reaſon,
T' accuſe your Reverences of treaſon;
Firſt I deteſt your ſmoaky cot,
Where all things ruſt with damps and rot;
No elegance your chambers grace,
But horror reigns in ev'ry place.
Your frugal table next I hate,
No ſideboard, glaſſes, wine, or plate;
But if a paltry diſh you raiſe,
Your unambitious ſoul's at eaſe.
[88]That element I next deſpiſe,
Which ſeldom makes mens ſpirits riſe,
'Tis needleſs farther to explain—
You know the rot-gut ſtuff I mean.
With ſuch a cellar, ſideboard, table,
No well-bred ſcrew to bear is able,
So all I aſk you, as a boon,
Is that you may diſmiſs me ſoon.
CURATE.
Alas! how learn'dly you declaim
'Gainſt points in which I'm not to blame,
'Tis my misfortune, not my fault,
To meet coarſe fare and taplaſh malt;
Nor yet more culpable to dwell
In cottage worſe than hermit's cell:
Yet if a courſe of toils and cares,
For more than twelve long tedious years,
[89]If ſtrict attention night and day,
Some to exhort, o'er ſome to pray,
Cou'd my poor labours recommend,
I might have made my Lord a friend:
And tho' no hope of help appears,
In this poor vale of grief and tears,
Yet in due time I know that he
Who's Lord of him, will think on me;
'Tis needleſs therefore to repine,
His gracious will be always mine.
SCREW.
Weak man! you might, ſix years ago,
Have found ſuch conduct wou'd not do,
Is this an age that worth requites,
Who riſe but pimps and paraſites?
The fawning ſycophant who ſtruts
With empty heads and pamper'd guts,
[90]The ſcum of learning, ſhame to ſenſe,
Who can with all that's low diſpenſe;
Nay raſcals dubb'd with Scotch degree,
Will riſe in preference to thee.
Then act the man, nor ſtarve on hope
Sell me, and buy thyſelf a rope.
FINIS.
Notes
*
—(Ades ſunt multa loquacem)
Delaſſare valent Fabium—
*
Roſamond, daughter of Lord Clifford, and the beauti⯑ful miſtreſs of Henry the Second.
*

It is not eaſy to determine whether the number of iſlands be greater in ſummer or winter: during this latter ſeaſon, the water riſes eight or ten feet, and thus many low iſlands are overflown, and new ones formed, by that element's encompaſſing riſing grounds.

Tour through Ireland in 1779.
†
Auri ſacra Fames.
*
Chatterton.
†

Quaque patet domites Romana potentia terris.

OVID.
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