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THE POETICAL CALENDAR. VOL. II. FOR FEBRUARY.
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THE POETICAL CALENDAR.
CONTAINING A COLLECTION Of ſcarce and valuable PIECES OF POETRY: With Variety of ORIGINALS AND TRANSLATIONS, BY THE MOST EMINENT HANDS. Intended as a Supplement to MR. DODSLEY'S COLLECTION.
Written and Selected By FRANCIS FAWKES, M.A. And WILLIAM WOTY.
IN TWELVE VOLUMES.
LONDON: Printed by DRYDEN LEACH; For J. COOTE, at the King's Arms, in Pater-noſter-Row. MDCCLXIII.
[]THE POETICAL CALENDAR.
ODE TO FEBRUARY.
WIth wreath of yellow crocus bound,
See furr-clad February creep!
His beard with ſnow is ſilver'd o'er,
Which ſtill inveſts the hoary ground:
Two dolphins wait him on the deep,
And as they once Arion bore,
Invite him to ſerener ſkies,
Where the delighted ſpring-bird flies.
But he, intent to prune and plant,
And throw his ſeeds around the ſoil,
With decent grace the boon reſigns,
Leſt autumn's treaſures ſhould be ſcant;
Thence he renews his daily toil,
And trims with care the tender vines;
From ruſt he wipes his crooked knife,
And gives the infant ſap new life.
[2]
Now earlier with her golden key
Aurora haſtens to the eaſt:
And later now advances night
To draw her mantle o'er the day,
Suſpending the nocturnal feaſt:
Diana ſooner hails the light;
And hark the jolly huntſman's horn
With ſprightly note ſalutes the morn!
What are the checquer'd months to me?
Or if they lower, or if they ſhine,
So Myra but approves my flame:
Throb not my heart; be calm and free,
For yonder comes old Valentine!
The feather'd ſongſters ſhall proclaim
His feſtival with blither note,
And dreſs anew their bridal coat.
To Myra I enclos'd my heart,
Each letter bore an ardent vow;
St. Valentine the thought inſpir'd,
And wrote the verſe with Cupid's dart.
Next morning with ſerener brow
She own'd her melting boſom fir'd;
And gave her every charm to join
The aviſon of Valentine.
W.
STANZAS, OCCASIONED BY THE FORWARDNESS OF THE SPRING.
[3]O'ER nature's freſh boſom, by verdure unbound,
Bleak winter blooms lovely as ſpring:
Rich flowerets, how fragrant! riſe wantonly round!
And ſummer's wing'd choriſters ſing!
To greet the young monarch of Britain's bleſt iſle!
The groves with gay bloſſoms are grac'd!
The primroſe peeps forth with an innocent ſmile,
And cowſlips crowd forward in haſte!
Diſpatch, gentle Flora! the nymphs of your train,
Thro' woodlands to gather each ſweet:
Then rob of its roſes the dew-ſpangled plain,
And ſtrew the gay ſpoils at his feet!
Two chaplets of lawrel, in verdure the ſame,
For George, O ye virgins, entwine!
From conqueſt's own temples theſe ever-greens came,
And thoſe from the brows of the nine:
[4]
What glories, ye Britons, one emblem implies,
Shall to your lov'd monarch belong!
What Miltons, the other, what Drydens ariſe,
To make him immortal in ſong!
To a wreath of freſh oak, England's emblem of power,
Whoſe honours with time ſhall increaſe,
Add a fair olive-ſprig, juſt unfolding its flower:
Rich token of concord and peace!
Next give him young myrtles, by beauty's brigh queen
Collected, the pride of her grove!
How fragrant their odour! their foliage how green!
Sweet promiſe of conjugal love!
Let Gaul's captive lillies, cropt cloſe from the ground,
As trophies of conqueſt be tied:
The virgins all cry—"There's not one to be found,
" Out-bloom'd by his roſes they died!"
Ye foes of old England! ſuch fate ſhall ye ſhare:
With George as our glories advance,
Thro' envy you'll ſicken—you'll droop—you'll deſpair,
And die like the lillies of France.
SPRING. ADDRESSED TO MYRA.
[5]AGain the circling ſun in Piſces* rides,
And up the ſteep of heaven his courſers guides.
Stern winter ſtalks with ſullen pace away,
And night reſigns her empire to the day.
Now various beauty, from the teeming earth,
Awakes to life, and riſes into birth.
Now floods, from froſt unbound, ſpontaneous flow;
The ſcaly breed now vig'rous ſport below.
New life the vernal ſun diffuſing wide,
New life now quickens in the glaſſy tide;
That life, alas! to fatal wilds a prey,
The ſame ſoft ſeaſon gives and takes away.
The fiſhers now the ſpecious bait apply,
And, unſuſpected, glides the mimic fly;
Mean-while the paſſing cloud and tranſient ſhower,
Dim the clear mirror in a faithleſs hour;
Thro' the falſe medium now the fry behold,
The glittering wings miſtook for native gold.
Each ſprings, impatient of the gawdy prize,
And each, grown wiſe too late, repenting dies.
Take heed, ye fair, by this example taught,
Such are the wiles by which your ſex is caught;
[6]In ſpring's ſoft ſeaſon with moſt caution truſt,
If men are faithleſs, to yourſelves be juſt.
Superior beauty now adorns the ſkies;
Bright and more bright the vernal mornings riſe;
Now Kenna's * love, fair Albion's ſilver flower,
In modeſt white adorns the genial hour,
The lovely leader of the flowery race,
The firſt in honour, and the firſt in place,
With theſe, Pomona's blooming train appear,
Sweet pledge of plenty to the cloſing year,
Soft Zephyr's breath, and kind prolific rains,
With various hues and fragrance fill the plains;
All, all rejoice, with nature in her prime,
And pleaſure wings the feather'd feet of time.
Will gentle Myra liſten while I ſing,
Wiſhful to join the muſic of the ſpring?
By thee alone kind nature can beſtow,
One heart-felt joy, that here I wiſh to know.
Thy ſmile diſpenſes all that ſpring can give;
For not to live with hope, is not to live.
ON THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY. BEING THE BIRTH-DAY OF A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY.
[7]LAſt of the dreary winter's train,
Hail, February, hail!
In thee the ſwains ſalute again
The habitable vale!
Call forth, amidſt the leafleſs glades,
Thy crocuſes, and *faireſt maids,
From out thy ſpring-expecting bowers;
Or elſe (an honour more divine!)
Around thy brows my nymph ſhall twine
Her artificial flowers.
The ſmile of May, the laugh of June,
And autumn's joy full-blown,
In rapture ſhall thy rough blaſts tune,
For Nancy was thy own:
With beauty built upon her bloom,
With ſweets deriv'd from her perfume,
You brave the forward charms of ſpring;
Since author of ſo ſweet a toaſt,
The year no brighter gem can boaſt
In all its circling ring.
HORACE, ODE IV. BOOK I. IMITATED.
[8]NOW ice-forming winter is melted away,
And gentle Favonius refreſhes the day;
Spring ſweetly in dimples now ſmiles on the ſtreams,
And wherries ſail light on the boſom of Thames:
No longer the cattle warm cover require,
The lubber no longer hangs over the fire;
No longer in ſnow the green meadows are loſt,
And the fields are diſarm'd of their breaſt-plate of froſt.
At noon the gay ladies, like ſo many graces,
In the Park, if the ſun ſhines, diſplay their fair faces;
But ſo languid a luſtre the ſun now ſupplies,
'Tis excell'd, far excell'd, by the ladies bright eyes.
With wreaths of freſh flowers let us cover our heads,
Crocus, ſnow-drop, and primroſe, that grow in the meads;
But if in the meadows freſh flowerets are rare,
Our ſoldiers have plenty of laurels to ſpare:
St. Valentine bids us be jovial and gay,
And finiſh with wine, love, and friendſhip, the day;
Fill, fill the large bowl, and let enmity ceaſe;
Let us drink the king's health, who has crown'd us with peace.
Life is ſhort, and grim death alike knocks at the door
Of the monarch's proud dome, and the cot of the poor:
Let us live then, nor longer procraſtinate bliſs,
When we're dead we ſhall drink no ſuch liquor as this.
DEITY. A POEM.
[9]FRom earth's low proſpects, and deceitful aims,
From wealth's allurements, and ambition's dreams,
The lover's raptures, and the hero's views,
All the falſe joys miſtaken man purſues,
The ſchemes of ſcience, the delights of wine,
Or the more pleaſing follies of the Nine!
Recall, fond bard, thy long enchanted ſight,
Deluded with the viſionary light!
A nobler theme demands thy ſacred ſong,
A theme beyond or man's or angel's tongue!
A theme! that ſhould the nobleſt warmth impart
To animate the ſoul, and warm the heart!
But oh, alas! unhallow'd and profane,
How ſhalt thou dare to raiſe the heavenly ſtrain?
Do thou, who from the altar's living fire
Iſaiah's tuneful lips didſt once inſpire,
Come to my aid, celeſtial ſpirit, come;
From my dark mind diſpel the dubious gloom;
My paſſions ſtill, my purer breaſt inflame,
To ſing that God from whom exiſtence came;
Till heaven and nature in the concert join,
And own the author of their birth divine.
[10]I. ETERNITY.
Whence ſprung this glorious frame, or whence aroſe
The various forms the univerſe compoſe?
From what almighty cauſe, what myſtic ſprings
Shall we derive the origin of things?
Sing heavenly guide! whoſe all-efficient light
Drew dawning planets from the womb of night!
Since reaſon, by thy ſacred dictates taught,
Adores a power beyond the reach of thought.
Firſt cauſe of cauſes! ſire ſupreme of birth!
Sole light of heaven! acknowledg'd life of earth!
Whoſe word from nothing call'd this beauteous whole,
This wide-expanded all from pole to pole!
Who ſhall preſcribe the boundary to thee?
Or fix the aera of eternity!
Should we, deceiv'd by error's ſceptic glaſs,
Admit the thought abſurd—that nothing was!
Thence would this wild, this falſe concluſion flow,
That nothing rais'd this beauteous all below!
When from diſcloſing darkneſs ſplendor breaks,
Aſſociate atoms move, and matter ſpeaks!
When non-exiſtence burſts its cloſe diſguiſe,
How blind are mortals?—not to own the ſkies!
If one vaſt void eternal held its place,
Whence ſtarted time? or whence expanded ſpace!
[11]What gave the ſlumbering maſs to feel a change?
Or bid conſenting worlds harmonious range!
Could nothing link the univerſal chain?
No, 'tis impoſſible, abſurd and vain!
Here reaſon its eternal author finds,
The whole who regulates, unites, and binds,
Enlivens matter, and produces minds!
Inactive chaos ſleeps in dull repoſe,
Nor knowledge thence, nor free volition flows!
A nobler ſource thoſe powers etherial ſhow,
By which we think, deſign, reflect, and know;
Theſe from a cauſe ſuperior date their riſe,
" Abſtract in eſſence from material tyes."
An origin immortal, as ſupreme,
From whoſe pure day, celeſtial rays! they came:
In whom all poſſible perfections ſhine,
Eternal, ſelf-exiſtent, and divine!
From this great ſpring of uncreated might!
This all-reſplendent orb of vital light!
Whence all created beings take their riſe,
Which beautify the earth, or paint the ſkies!
Profuſely-wide the boundleſs bleſſings flow,
Which heaven enrich, and gladden worlds below!
Which are no leſs, when properly defin'd,
Than emanations of th' eternal mind!
Hence triumphs truth beyond objection clear
(Let unbelief attend, and ſhrink with fear!)
[12]That what for ever was—muſt ſurely be
Beyond commencement, and from period free;
Drawn from himſelf his native excellence,
His date eternal, and his ſpace immenſe!
And all of whom that man can comprehend,
Is, that he ne'er begun, nor e'er ſhall end.
In him from whom exiſtence boundleſs flows,
Let humble faith its ſacred truſt repoſe;
Aſſur'd, on his eternity depend,
" Eternal father! and eternal friend!"
Within that myſtic circle ſafety ſeek,
No time can weaken, and no force can break;
And, loſt in adoration, breathe his praiſe,
High rock of ages, antient ſire of days!
II. UNITY.
Thus recogniz'd, the ſpring of life and thought!
Eternal, ſelf-deriv'd, and unbegot!
Approach, celeſtial muſe! th' empyreal throne,
And awfully adore th' exalted one!
In nature pure, in place ſupremely free,
And happy in eſſential unity!
Bleſs'd in himſelf, had from his forming hand
No creatures ſprung to hail his wide command;
Bleſs'd, had the ſacred fountain ne'er run o'er,
A boundleſs ſea of bliſs, that knows no ſhore!
[13]Nor ſenſe can two bright origins conceive,
Nor reaſon two eternal Gods believe!
Could the wild Manichaean own that guide,
The good would triumph, and the ill ſubſide!
Again would vanquiſh'd Arimanius bleed,
And darkneſs from prevailing light recede!
In different individuals we find,
An evident diſparity of mind;
Hence ductile thought a thouſand changes gains,
And actions vary as the will ordains;
But ſhould two beings, equally ſupreme,
Divided power, and parted empire claim;
How ſoon would univerſal order ceaſe!
How ſoon would diſcord harmony diſplace?
Eternal ſchemes maintain eternal fight,
Nor yield, ſupported by eternal might?
Where each would uncontrol'd his aim purſue,
The links diſſever, or the chain renew;
Matter from motion croſs impreſſions take,
As ſerv'd each power his rival's power to break,
While neutral chaos, from his deep receſs,
Would view the never-ending ſtrife increaſe,
And bleſs the conteſt which ſecur'd his peace!
Or new creations would oppoſing riſe,
With elemental war to blot the ſkies!
And round wild uproar and confuſion hurl'd,
Would veil the heavens, and waſte the ruin'd world.
[14]Two independent cauſes to admit,
Deſtroys religion, and debaſes wit;
The firſt by ſuch an anarchy undone,
The laſt acknowledges its ſource but one.
As from the main the mountain rills are drawn,
That wind irriguous thro' the flowery lawn;
So, mindful of their ſpring, one courſe they keep,
Exploring, till they find their native deep!
Exalted power! inviſible, ſupreme,
Thou ſovereign ſole unutterable name!
As round thy throne thy flaming ſeraphs ſtand,
And as they touch the lyre with trembling hand,
Too weak thy pure effulgence to behold,
With their rich plumes their dazzled eyes infold:
Tranſported with the ardors of thy praiſe,
The holy! holy! holy! anthem raiſe!
To them, reſponſive, let creation ſing,
Thee, indiviſible eternal king!
III. SPIRITUALITY.
O ſay, celeſtial muſe! whoſe purer birth,
Diſdains the low material ties of earth!
By what bright images ſhall be defin'd
The myſtic nature of th' eternal mind?
Or how ſhall thought the dazzling height explore,
Where all that reaſon can—is to adore!
[15]That God's an immaterial eſſence pure,
Whom figure can't deſcribe, nor parts immure;
Incapable of paſſions, impulſe, fear,
In good pre-eminent, in truth ſevere:
Unmix'd his nature, and ſublim'd his powers,
From all the groſs allay which tempers ours;
In whoſe clear eye the bright angelic train
Appear ſuffus'd with imperfection's ſtain!
Impervious to the man's—or ſeraph's eye,
Beyond the ken of each, exalted high!
Him would in vain material ſemblance feign,
Or figur'd ſhrines the boundleſs God contain;
Object of faith!—he ſhuns the view of ſenſe,
Loſt in the blaze of ſightleſs excellence!
Moſt perfect, moſt intelligent, moſt wiſe,
In whom the ſanctity of pureneſs lies;
In whoſe adjuſting mind the whole is wrought,
Whoſe form is ſpirit! and whoſe eſſence, thought!
Are truths inſcrib'd by wiſdom's brighteſt ray,
In characters that gild the face of day!
Reaſon confeſs'd, (howe'er we may diſpute)
Fix'd boundary! diſcovers man from brute;
But dim to us, exerts its fainter ray,
Depreſs'd in matter, and allied to clay!
In forms ſuperior kindles leſs confin'd,
Whoſe dreſs is aether, and whoſe ſubſtance mind;
Yet all from him, ſupreme of cauſes, flow,
To him their powers and their exiſtence owe;
[16]From the bright cherub of the nobleſt birth,
To the poor reaſoning glow-worm plac'd on earth;
From matter then to ſpirit ſtill aſcend,
Thro' ſpirit ſtill refining, higher tend;
Purſue, on knowledge bent, the pathleſs road,
Pierce thro' infinitude in queſt of God!
Still from thy ſearch, the centre ſtill ſhall fly,
Approaching ſtill—thou never ſhalt come nigh!
So its bright orb, th' aſpiring flame would join,
But the vaſt diſtance mocks the fond deſign.
If he almighty! whoſe decree is fate,
Could, to diſplay his power, ſubvert his ſtate;
Bid from his plaſtic hand a greater riſe,
Produce a maſter! and reſign his ſkies!
Impart his incommunicable flame,
The myſtic number of th' eternal name!
Then might revolting reaſon's feeble ray,
Aſpire to queſtion God's all-perfect day!
Vain taſk! the clay in the directing hand,
The reaſon of its form might ſo demand,
As man preſume to queſtion his diſpoſe,
From whom the power, he thus abuſes, flows.
Here point, fair muſe! the worſhip God requires,
The ſoul inflam'd with chaſte and holy fires!
Where love celeſtial warms the happy breaſt,
Where from ſincerity the thought's expreſs'd;
Where genuine piety and truth refin'd,
Reconſecrate the temple of the mind:
[17]With grateful flames, the living altars glow,
And God deſcends to viſit man below.
IV. OMNIPRESENCE.
Thro' the unmeaſurable tracts of ſpace,
Go, muſe divine! and preſent godhead trace;
See where by place, uncircumſcrib'd as time,
He reigns extended, and he ſhines ſublime!
Should'ſt thou above the heaven of heavens aſcend,
Could'ſt thou below the depth of depths deſcend;
Could thy fond flight beyond the ſtarry ſphere,
The radiant morning's lucid pinions bear;
There ſhould his brighter preſence ſhine confeſs'd,
There his almighty arm thy courſe arreſt:
Could'ſt thou the thickeſt veil of night aſſume,
Or think to hide thee in the central gloom;
Yet there, all patient to his piercing ſight,
Darkneſs itſelf would kindle into light:
Not the black manſions of the ſilent grave,
Nor darker hell from his perception ſave;
What power, alas! thy footſteps can convey
Beyond the reach of omnipreſent day?
In his wide graſp, and comprehenſive eye,
Immediate, worlds on worlds unnumber'd lie:
Syſtems inclos'd in his idea roll,
Whoſe all-informing mind directs the whole:
[18]Lodg'd in his view, their certain ways they know;
Plac'd in that ſight from whence can nothing go.
On earth his footſtool fix'd, in heaven his ſeat;
Enthron'd he dictates—and his word is fate.
Nor want his ſhining images below,
In ſtreams that murmur, or in winds that blow;
His ſpirit broods along the boundleſs flood,
Smiles in the plain, and whiſpers in the wood;
Warms in the genial ſun's enlivening ray,
Breathes in the air, and beautifies the day;
Steals on our footſteps whereſoe'er we go,
And yields the pureſt joys we taſte below.
Should man his great immenſity deny,
Man might as well uſurp the vacant ſky:
For were he limited in date, or view,
Thence were his attributes imperfect too;
His knowledge, power, his goodneſs, all confin'd,
And loſt the notion of a ruling mind:
Feeble the truſt, and comfortleſs the ſenſe,
Of a defective partial providence:
Boldly might then his arm injuſtice brave,
Or innocence in vain his mercy crave;
Dejected virtue lift its hopeleſs eye,
And deep diſtreſs pour out the heartleſs ſigh;
An abſent God no abler to defend,
Protect, or puniſh, than an abſent friend;
Diſtant alike our wants or griefs to know,
To eaſe the anguiſh, or prevent the blow;
[19]If he, ſupreme director, were not near,
Vain were our hope, and empty were our fear;
Unpuniſh'd vice would o'er the world prevail,
And unrewarded virtue toil—to fail!
The moral world a ſecond chaos turn,
And nature for her great ſupporter mourn!
Even the weak embryo, ere to life it breaks,
From his high power its ſlender texture takes;
While in his book the various parts inroll'd
Increaſing, own eternal wiſdom's mould.
Nor views he only the material whole,
But pierces thought, and penetrates the ſoul!
Ere from the lips the vocal accents part,
Or the faint purpoſe dawns within the heart,
His ſteady eye the mental birth perceives,
Ere yet to us the new idea lives:
Knows what we ſay—ere yet the words proceed,
And ere we form th' intention, marks the deed.
But conſcience, fair vicegerent-light within,
Aſſerts its author, and reſtores the ſcene;
Points out the beauty of the govern'd plan,
" And vindicates the ways of God to man."
Then ſacred muſe, by the vaſt proſpect fir'd,
From heaven deſcended, as by heaven inſpir'd;
His all-enlightening omnipreſence own,
Whence firſt thou feel'ſt thy dwindling preſence known;
His wide omniſcience, juſtly grateful, ſing,
Whence thy weak ſcience prunes its callow wing!
[20]And bleſs th' eternal, all-informing ſoul,
Whoſe ſight pervades, whoſe knowledge fills the whole.
V. IMMUTABILITY.
As the eternal and omniſcient mind,
By laws not limited, nor bounds confin'd,
Is always independent, always free,
Hence ſhines confeſs'd immutability!
Change, whether the ſpontaneous child of will,
Or birth of force,—is imperfection ſtill.
But he, all-perfect, in himſelf contains
Power ſelf-deriv'd, for from himſelf he reigns!
If, alter'd by conſtraint, we could ſuppoſe,
That God his fix'd ſtability ſhould loſe;
How ſtartles reaſon at a thought ſo ſtrange!
What power can force omnipotence to change?
If from his own divine productive thought,
Were the yet ſtranger alteration wrought;
Could excellence ſupreme new rays acquire?
Or ſtrong perfection raiſe its glories higher?
Abſurd!—his high meridian brightneſs glows,
Never decreaſes, never overflows!
Knows no addition, yields to no decay,
The ſacred blaze of inexhauſtleſs day!
Below, thro' different forms does matter range,
And life ſubſiſts from elemental change,
[21]Liquids condenſing, ſhapes terreſtrial wear,
Earth mounts in fire, and fire diſſolves in air;
While we, enquiring phantoms of a day,
Inconſtant as the ſhadows we ſurvey,
With them, along time's rapid current paſs,
And haſte to mingle with the parent maſs;
But thou, eternal Lord of life divine!
In youth immortal ſhalt for ever ſhine!
No change ſhall darken thy exalted name,
From everlaſting ages ſtill the ſame.
If God, like man, his purpoſe could renew,
His laws could vary, or his plans undo;
Deſponding faith would droop its cheerleſs wing,
Religion deaden to a lifeleſs thing:
Where could we, rational, repoſe our truſt,
But in a power immutable as juſt?
How judge of revelation's force divine,
If truth unerring gave not the deſign;
Where, as in nature's fair according plan,
All ſmiles benevolent and good to man.
Plac'd in this narrow clouded ſpot below,
Darkly we ſee around, and darkly know!
Religion lends the ſalutary beam,
That guides our reaſon thro' the dubious gleam;
Till ſounds the hour!—when he who rules the ſkies,
Shall bid the curtain of omniſcience riſe!
Shall diſſipate the miſts that veil our ſight,
And ſhow his creatures—all his ways are right!
[22]Then, when aſtoniſh'd nature feels its fate,
And fetter'd time ſhall know its lateſt date!
When earth ſhall in the mighty blaze expire,
Heaven melt with heat, and worlds diſſolve in fire!
The univerſal ſyſtem ſhrink away,
And ceaſing orbs confeſs th' almighty ſway:
Immortal he, amidſt the wreck ſecure,
Shall ſit exalted, permanently pure!
As in the ſacred buſh, ſhall ſhine the ſame,
And from the ruin raiſe a fairer frame.
VI. OMNIPOTENCE.
Far hence, ye viſionary charming maids,
Ye fancied nymphs that haunt the Grecian ſhades;
Your birth, who from conceiving fiction drew,
Your ſelves producing phantoms as untrue;
But come, ſuperior muſe! divinely bright,
Daughter of heaven, whoſe offspring ſtill are light;
O condeſcend, celeſtial ſacred gueſt,
To purge my ſight, and conſecrate my breaſt;
While I preſume omnipotence to trace,
And ſing that power, who peopled boundleſs ſpace.
Thou preſent wert, when forth th' Almighty rode,
While chaos trembled at the voice of God:
Thou ſaw'ſt, when o'er th' immenſe his line he drew,
When nothing from his word exiſtence knew:
[23]His word, that wak'd to life the vaſt profound,
While conſcious light was kindled at the ſound:
Creation fair ſurpriz'd th' angelic eyes,
And ſovereign wiſdom ſaw that all was wiſe:
Him, ſole almighty nature's book diſplays,
Diſtinct the page, and legible the rays:
Let the wild ſceptic his attention throw
To the broad horizon, or earth below;
He finds thy ſoft impreſſion touch his breaſt,
He feels the God,—and owns him unconfeſs'd:
Should the ſtray pilgrim, tir'd of ſands and ſkies,
In Lybia's waſte behold a palace riſe,
Would he believe the charm from atoms wrought?
Go, atheiſt, hence, and mend thy juſter thought.
What hand, almighty architect! but thine,
Could give the model of this vaſt deſign?
What hand but thine adjuſt th' amazing whole?
And bid conſenting ſyſtems beauteous roll:
What hand but thine ſupply the ſolar light?
For ever waſting, yet for ever bright:
What hand but thine the azure convex ſpread?
What hand but thine trace out the ocean's bed?
To the vaſt main the ſandy barrier throw,
And with that feeble curb reſtrain the foe?
What hand but thine the wintry flood aſſwage,
Or ſtop the tempeſt in its wildeſt rage?
Thee infinite! what finite can explore?
Imagination ſinks beneath thy power;
[24]Thee could the ableſt of thy creatures know,
Loſt were thy unity, for he were Thou;
Yet preſent to all ſenſe thy power remains,
Reveal'd in nature, nature's author reigns:
In vain would error from conviction fly,
Thou every where art preſent to the eye:
The ſenſe how ſtupid, and the ſight how blind,
That fails this univerſal truth to find?
Go!—all the ſightleſs realms of ſpace ſurvey,
Returning, trace the planetary way;
The ſun, that in his central glory ſhines,
While every planet round his orb inclines;
Then at our intermediate globe repoſe,
And view yon lunar ſatellite that glows!
Or caſt along the azure vault thy eye,
When golden day enlightens all the ſky;
Around behold earth's variegated ſcene,
The mingling proſpects, and the flowery green;
The mountain's brow, the long extended wood,
Or the rude rock that threatens o'er the flood;
And ſay, are theſe the wild effects of chance?
Oh ſtrange effect of reaſoning ignorance!
Nor power alone confeſs'd in grandeur lies,
The glittering planet, or the painted ſkies;
Equal, the elephant's or emmet's dreſs,
The wiſdom of omnipotence confeſs;
Equal, the cumb'rous whale's enormous maſs,
With the ſmall inſect in the crouded graſs;
[25]The mite that gambols in its acid ſea,
In ſhape a porpus, tho' a ſpeck to thee!
Even the blue down the purple plum ſurrounds,
A living world, thy failing ſight confounds!
To him a peopled habitation ſhows,
Where millions taſte the bounty God beſtows!
Great lord of life, whoſe all-controuling might
Thro' wide creation beams divinely bright;
Nor only does thy power in forming ſhine,
But to annihilate, dread king! is thine.
Shouldſt thou withdraw thy ſtill-ſupporting hand,
How languid nature would aſtoniſh'd ſtand!
Thy frown night's antient empire would reſtore,
And raiſe a blank—where ſyſtems ſmil'd before.
See in corruption, all-ſurprizing ſtate,
How ſtruggling life eludes the ſtroke of fate;
Shock'd at the ſcene, tho' ſenſe averts its eye,
Nor ſtops the wonderous proceſs to deſcry;
Yet juſter thought the myſtic change purſues,
And with delight almighty wiſdom views;
The brute, the vegetable world ſurveys,
Sees life ſubſiſting even from life's decays:
Mark there, ſelf-taught, the penſile reptile come,
Spin his thin ſhroud, and living build his tomb!
With conſcious care his former pleaſures leave,
And dreſs him for the buſineſs of the grave:
Thence, paſs'd the ſhort-liv'd change, renew'd he ſprings,
Admires the ſkies, and tries his painted wings:
[26]With airy flight the inſect roves abroad,
And ſcorns the meaner earth he lately trod.
Thee, potent, let deliver'd Iſrael praiſe,
And to thy name their grateful homage raiſe:
Thee, potent God! let Egypt's land declare,
Which felt thy juſtice, awfully ſevere:
How did thy frown benight the ſhadow'd land?
Nature revers'd, how own thy high command?
When jarring elements their uſe forgot,
And the ſun felt thy overcaſting blot:
When earth produc'd the peſtilential brood,
And the foul ſtream was crimſon'd into blood:
How deep the horrors of that awful night!
How ſtrong the terror, and how wild the fright!
When o'er the land thy ſword vindictive paſt,
And men and infants breath'd at once their laſt!
How did thy arm thy favour'd tribes convey,
Thy light, conducting, point th' amazing way!
Obedient ocean to their march divide,
The watery wall diſtinct on either ſide;
While thro' the deep the long proceſſion led,
And ſaw the wonders of the oozy bed!
Nor long they march'd, till blackening in the rear,
The vengeful tyrant and his hoſt appear;
Plunge down the deep,—the waves thy nod obey,
And whelm the threatening ſtorm beneath the ſea.
Nor yet thy power thy choſen train forſook,
When thro' Arabia's ſands their way they took;
[27]By day thy cloud was preſent to the ſight,
Thy fiery pillar led the march by night;
Thy hand amidſt the waſte their table ſpread,
With feather'd viands, and with heavenly bread:
When the dry wilderneſs no ſtreams ſupplied,
Guſh'd from the yielding rock the vital tide:
What limits can omnipotence confine!
What obſtacles reſtrain thy arm divine!
Since ſtones and waves their ſettled laws forego,
Since ſeas can harden, and ſince rocks can flow?
On Sinai's top the muſe, with ardent wing,
The triumphs of omnipotence would ſing,
When o'er its airy brow thy cloud diſplay'd,
Involv'd the nations in its awful ſhade:
When gloomy darkneſs fill'd its midmoſt ſpace,
And the rock trembled to its rooted baſe;
Yet there thy majeſty divine appear'd,
There ſhone thy glory, and thy voice was heard;
Even in the blaze of that tremendous day,
Idolatry its impious rites could pay:
Oh ſhame to thought!—Thy ſacred throne invade,
And brave the bolt that linger'd round its head.
VII. WISDOM.
O thou, who when th' Almighty form'd this all,
Upheld the ſcale, and weigh'd each ballanc'd ball;
[28]And as his hand compleated each deſign,
Number'd the work, and fix'd the ſeal divine;
O wiſdom infinite! creation's ſoul,
Whoſe rays diffuſe new luſtre o'er the whole;
What tongue ſhall make thy charms celeſtial known?
What hand, fair Goddeſs! paint thee but thy own?
What tho' in nature's univerſal ſtore,
Appear the wonders of almighty power?
Power unattended, terror would inſpire,
Aw'd muſt we gaze, and comfortleſs admire.
But when fair wiſdom joins in the deſign,
The beauty of the whole reſult's divine.
Hence life acknowledges its glorious cauſe,
And matter owns its great diſpoſer's laws;
Hence in a thouſand different models wrought,
Now fix'd to quiet, now allied to thought;
Hence flow the forms and properties of things,
Hence riſes harmony, and order ſprings,
Elſe had the maſs a ſhapeleſs chaos lay,
Nor ever felt the dawn of wiſdom's day.
See, how aſſociate round their central ſun,
Their faithful rings the circling planets run;
Still equi-diſtant, never yet too near,
Exactly tracing their appointed ſphere.
Mark how the moon our flying orb purſues,
While from the ſun her monthly light renews;
Breathes her wide influence on the world below,
And bids the tides alternate ebb and flow.
[29]View how in courſe the conſtant ſeaſons riſe,
Deform the earth, or beautify the ſkies:
Firſt ſpring advancing, with her flowery train,
Next ſummer's hand that ſpreads the ſylvan ſcene,
Then autumn with her yellow harveſts crown'd,
And trembling winter cloſe the annual round.
The vegetable tribes obſervant trace,
From the tall cedar to the creeping graſs:
The chain of animated beings ſcale,
From the ſmall reptile to th' enormous whale;
From the ſtrong eagle ſtooping from the ſkies,
To the low inſect that eſcapes thy eyes:
And ſee, if ſee thou can'ſt, in every frame,
Eternal wiſdom ſhine confeſs'd the ſame:
As proper organs to the leaſt aſſign'd,
As proper means to propagate their kind;
As juſt the ſtructure, and as wiſe the plan,
As in this lord of all—debating man!
Hence, reaſoning creature, thy diſtinction find,
Nor longer to the ways of heaven be blind.
Wiſdom in outward beauty ſtrikes the mind,
But outward beauty points a charm behind.
What gives the earth, the ambient air or ſeas,
The plain, the river, or the wood to pleaſe?
Oh ſay, in whom does beauty's ſelf reſide,
The beautifier, or the beautified?
There dwells the Godhead in the bright diſguiſe,
Beyond the ken of all created eyes:
[30]His works our love, and our attention ſteal,
His works (ſurprizing thought!) the maker veil;
Too weak our ſight to pierce the radiant cloud,
Where wiſdom ſhines, in all her charms avow'd!
O gracious God! omnipotent and wiſe,
Unerring Lord, and ruler of the ſkies;
All condeſcending, to my feeble heart
One beam of thy celeſtial light impart;
I ſeek not ſordid wealth, or glittering power,
O grant me wiſdom—and I aſk no more.
VIII. PROVIDENCE.
As from ſome level country's ſhelter'd ground,
With towns replete, with green incloſures bound,
Where the eye kept within the verdant maze,
But gets a tranſient viſta as it ſtrays:
The pilgrim to ſome riſing ſummit tends,
Whence opens all the ſcene as he aſcends:
So providence the friendly point ſupplies,
Where all the charms of Deity ſurprize;
Here goodneſs, power, and wiſdom, all unite,
And dazzling glories whelm the raviſh'd ſight.
Almighty cauſe! 'tis thy preſerving care,
That keeps thy works for ever freſh and fair:
The ſun, from thy ſuperior radiance bright,
Eternal ſheds his delegated light,
[31]Lends to his ſiſter orb inferior day,
And paints the ſilver moon's alternate ray;
Thy hand the waſte of eating time renews,
Thou ſhed'ſt the tepid morning's balmy dews;
When raging winds the blacken'd deep deform,
Thy ſpirit rides commiſſion'd in the ſtorm;
Bids at thy will the ſlackening tempeſt ceaſe,
While the calm'd ocean ſmooths its ruffled face;
When lightnings thro' the air tremendous fly,
Or the blue plague is looſen'd to deſtroy,
Thy hand directs, or turns aſide the ſtroke,
Thy word the fatal edict can revoke;
When ſubterraneous fires the ſurface heave,
And towns are buried in one common grave;
Thou ſuffer'ſt not the miſchief to prevail,
Thy ſovereign touch the recent wound can heal.
To Zembla's rocks thou ſend'ſt the cheerful gleam,
O'er Lybia's ſands thou pour'ſt the cooling ſtream;
Thy watchful providence o'er all intends,
Thy works obey their great Creator's ends.
And all the ills we feel—or bliſs we ſhare,
Are tokens of a heavenly Father's care.
When man too long the paths of vice purſued,
Thy hand prepar'd the univerſal flood;
Gracious, to Noah gave the timely ſign,
To ſave a remnant from the wrath divine:
One ſhining waſte the globe terreſtrial lay,
And the ark heav'd along the troubled ſea;
[32]Thou bad'ſt the deep his antient bed explore,
The clouds their watery deluge pour'd no more:
The ſkies were clear'd,—the mountain-tops were ſeen,
The dove pacific brought the olive green.
On Ararat the happy patriarch toſt,
Found the recover'd world his hopes had loſt;
There his fond eyes review'd the pleaſing ſcene,
The earth all verdant, and the air ſerene:
Its precious freight the guardian ark diſplay'd,
While Noah grateful adoration paid:
Beholding in the many-tinctur'd bow,
The promiſe of a ſafer world below.
When wild ambition rear'd its impious head,
And riſing Babel heaven with pride ſurvey'd;
Thy word the mighty labour could confound,
And leave the maſs to moulder with the ground.
From the mad toil, while ſocial order ſprung
A peopled world—diſtinct by many a tongue.
From thee all human actions take their ſprings,
The riſe of empires, and the fall of kings:
See the vaſt theatre of time diſplay'd,
While o'er the ſcene ſucceeding heroes tread:
With pomp the ſhining images ſucceed,
What leaders triumph; and what monarchs bleed;
Perform the parts thy providence aſſign'd,
Their pride, their paſſions, to thy ends inclin'd:
A while they glitter in the face of day,
Then at thy nod the phantoms paſs away;
[33]No traces left of all the buſy ſcene,
But that remembrance ſays,—The things have been!
While learning thro' the gloom benighted ſtrays,
And the dim objects vaniſh as we gaze!
" But (queſtions doubt) whence ſickly nature feels breaſt?
" The ague-fits her face ſo oft reveals?
" Whence earthquakes heave the earth's aſtoniſh'd
" Whence tempeſts rage? or yellow plagues infeſt?
" Whence draws rank Afric her empoiſon'd ſtores?
" Or liquid fires exploſive Aetna pours?"
Go, ſceptic mole! demand th' eternal cauſe,
The ſecret of his all-preſerving laws?
The depths of wiſdom infinite explore,
And aſk thy Maker?—why thou knowſt no more?
Thy error's ſtill in mortal things as great,
As vain to cavil at the ways of fate.
To aſk why proſperous vice ſo oft ſucceeds,
Why ſuffers innocence, or virtue bleeds!
Why monſters, nature muſt with bluſhes own,
By crimes grow powerful, and diſgrace a throne!
Why ſaints and ſages, mark'd in every age,
Periſh, the victims of tyrannic rage!
Why Socrates for truth and freedom fell,
While Nero reign'd, the delegate of hell!
In vain by reaſon is the maze purſu'd,
Of ill triumphant, and afflicted good.
Fix'd to the hold, ſo might the ſailor aim
To judge the pilot, and the ſteerage blame;
[34]As we direct to God what ſhould belong,
Or ſay that ſovereign wiſdom governs wrong.
Nor always vice does uncorrected go,
Nor virtue unrewarded paſs below!
Oft ſacred juſtice lifts her awful head,
And dooms the tyrant and th' uſurper dead;
Oft providence, more friendly than ſevere,
Arreſts the hero in his wild career;
Directs the fever, poinard, or the ball,
By which an Amnon, Charles, or Caeſar fall:
Or when the curſed Borgias* brew the cup
For merit,—bids the monſters drink it up;
On violence oft retorts the cruel ſpear,
Or fetters cunning in its crafty ſnare;
Relieves the innocent, exalts the juſt,
And lays the proud oppreſſor in the duſt!
But faſt as time's ſwift pinions can convey,
Haſtens the pomp of that tremendous day,
When to the view of all created eyes,
God's high tribunal ſhall majeſtic riſe,
When the loud trumpet ſhall aſſemble round
The dead, reviving at the piercing ſound!
Where men and angels ſhall to audit come,
And millions yet unborn receive their doom!
[35]Then ſhall fair providence, to all diſplay'd,
Appear divinely bright without a ſhade;
In light triumphant all her acts be ſhown,
And bluſhing doubt eternal wiſdom own!
Mean while, thou great intelligence ſupreme,
Sovereign director of this mighty frame,
Whoſe watchful hand, and all-obſerving ken,
Faſhions the hearts, and views the ways of men,
Whether thy hand the plenteous table ſpread,
Or meaſure ſparingly the daily bread;
Whether or wealth or honours gild the ſcene,
Or wants deform, and waſting anguiſh ſtain;
On thee let truth and virtue firm rely,
Bleſs'd in the care of thy approving eye!
Know that thy providence, their conſtant friend,
Thro' life ſhall guard them, and in death attend;
With everlaſting arms their cauſe embrace,
And crown the paths of piety with peace.
IX. GOODNESS.
Ye Seraphs who God's throne encircling ſtill,
With holy zeal your golden cenſers fill;
Ye flaming miniſters to diſtant lands
Who bear, obſequious, his divine commands;
Ye Cherubs, who compoſe the ſacred choir,
Attuning to your voice th' angelic lyre!
[36]Or ye, fair natives of the heavenly plain,
Who once were mortal—now a happy train!
Who ſpend in peaceful love your joyful hours,
In bliſsful meads and amaranthine bowers,
Oh lend one ſpark of your celeſtial fire!
Oh deign my glowing boſom to inſpire!
And aid the muſe's unexperienc'd wing,
While goodneſs, theme divine, ſhe ſoars to ſing!
Tho' all thy attributes divinely fair,
Thy full perfection, glorious God! declare;
Yet if one beam's ſuperior to the reſt,
Oh let thy goodneſs faireſt be confeſs'd!
As ſhines the moon amidſt her ſtarry train,
As breathes the roſe amongſt the flowery ſcene,
As the mild dove her ſilver plumes diſplays,
So ſheds thy mercy its diſtinguiſh'd rays.
This led, Creator mild, thy gracious hand
When formleſs chaos heard thy high command;
When pleas'd, thine eye thy matchleſs works review'd,
And goodneſs, placid, ſpoke that all was good!
Nor only does in heaven thy goodneſs ſhine,
Delighted nature feels its warmth divine;
The vital ſun's illuminating beam,
The ſilver creſcent, and the ſtarry gleam;
As day and night alternate they command,
Proclaim this truth to every diſtant land.
See ſmiling nature, with thy treaſures fair,
Confeſs thy bounty and parental care;
[37]Renew'd by thee, the faithful ſeaſons riſe,
And earth with plenty all her ſons ſupplies.
The generous lion and the brindled boar,
As nightly thro' the foreſt walks they roar,
From thee, Almighty Maker, ſeek their prey,
Nor from thy hand unfed depart away:
To thee, for meat the callow ravens cry,
Supported by thy all-preſerving eye:
From thee, the feather'd natives of the plain,
Or thoſe who range the field, or plough the main,
Receive, with conſtant courſe, th' appointed food,
And taſte the cup of univerſal good;
Thy hand thou open'ſt, million'd myriads live;
Thou frown'ſt, they faint;—thou ſmilſt, and they revive!
On virtue's acre, as on rapine's ſtores,
See heaven impartial deal the fruitful ſhowers!
" Life's common bleſſings all her children ſhare,"
Tread the ſame earth, and breathe a general air!
Without diſtinction, boundleſs bleſſings fall,
And goodneſs, like the ſun, enlightens all!
Oh man, degenerate man! offend no more!
Go, learn of brutes thy Maker to adore!
Shall theſe, thro' every tribe, his bounty own,
Of all his works, ungrateful thou alone!
Deaf when the tuneful voice of mercy cries,
And blind, when ſovereign goodneſs charms the eyes!
Mark, even the wretch his awful name blaſphemes,
His pity ſpares,—his clemency reclaims!
[38]Obſerve his patience with the guilty ſtrive,
And bid the criminal repent and live;
Recal the fugitive with gracious eye,
Beſeech the obſtinate, he would not die!
Amazing tenderneſs—amazing moſt,
The ſoul on whom ſuch mercy ſhould be loſt!
But would'ſt thou view the rays of goodneſs join
In one ſtrong point of radiance all divine!
Behold, celeſtial muſe! yon eaſtern light;
To Beth'lem's plain, adoring, bend thy ſight!
Hear the glad meſſage to the ſhepherds given,
" Good-will on earth to man, and peace in heaven."
Attend the ſwains, purſue the ſtarry road,
And hail to earth the Saviour and the God!
Redemption! oh thou beauteous myſtic plan!
Thou ſalutary ſource of life to man!
What tongue can ſpeak thy comprehenſive grace!
What thought thy depths unfathomable trace!
When loſt in ſin our ruin'd nature lay,
When awful juſtice claim'd her righteous pay!
See the mild Saviour bend his pitying eye,
And ſtop the lightning juſt prepar'd to fly!
(O ſtrange effect of unexampled love!)
View him deſcend the heavenly throne above;
Patient, the ills of mortal life endure,
Calm, tho' revil'd, and innocent, tho' poor!
Uncertain his abode, and coarſe his food,
His life one fair continued ſcene of good:
[39]For us ſuſtain the wrath to man decreed,
The victim of eternal juſtice bleed!
Look, to the croſs the Lord of life is tied,
They pierce his hands, and wound his ſacred ſide!
See, God expires! our forfeit to attone,
While nature trembles at his parting groan!
Advance, thou hopeleſs mortal, ſteel'd in guilt,
Behold, and if thou can'ſt, forbear to melt!
Shall Jeſus die thy freedom to regain,
And wilt thou drag the voluntary chain?
Wilt thou refuſe thy kind aſſent to give,
When breathleſs he looks down to bid thee live!
Perverſe, wilt thou reject the proffer'd good
Bought with his life, and ſtreaming in his blood!
Whoſe virtue can thy deepeſt crimes efface,
Reheal thy nature, and confirm thy peace!
Can all the errors of thy life attone,
And raiſe thee from a rebel—to a ſon!
O bleſt Redeemer, from thy ſacred throne,
Where ſaints and angels ſing thy triumphs won!
When, from the grave thou rais'd thy glorious head,
(Chain'd to thy car the powers infernal led)
From that exalted height of bliſs ſupreme,
Look down on thoſe who bear thy ſacred name;
Reſtore their ways, inſpire them by thy grace
Thy laws to follow, and thy ſteps to trace;
Thy bright example to thy doctrine join,
And by their morals prove their faith divine.
[40]Nor only to thy church confine thy ray,
O'er the glad world thy healing light diſplay;
Fair ſun of righteouſneſs! in beauty riſe,
And clear the miſts that cloud the heathen ſkies!
To Judah's remnant, now a ſcatter'd train,
Thou great Meſſiah! ſhow thy promis'd reign;
O'er earth as wide, thy ſaving warmth diffuſe,
As ſpreads the ambient air, or falling dews,
And haſte the time when, vanquiſh'd by thy power,
Death ſhall expire, and ſin defile no more!
X. RECTITUDE.
Hence diſtant far, ye ſons of earth profane,
The looſe, ambitious, covetous, or vain;
Ye worms of power! ye minion'd ſlaves of ſtate,
The giddy vulgar, and the ſordid great!
But come ye purer ſouls from droſs refin'd,
The blameleſs heart and uncorrupted mind!
Let your chaſte hands the holy altars raiſe,
Freſh incenſe bring, and light the glowing blaze;
Your grateful voices aid the muſe to ſing,
The ſpotleſs juſtice of th' almighty king!
As only rectitude divine he knows,
As truth and ſanctity his thought compoſe;
So theſe the dictates which th' eternal mind,
To reaſonable beings has aſſign'd;
[41]Theſe has his care on every mind impreſs'd;
The conſcious ſeals the hand of heaven atteſt!
When man perverſe, for wrong forſakes the right,
He ſtill attentive keeps the fault in ſight;
Demands that ſtrict atonement ſhould be made,
And claims the forfeit on th' offender's head!
But Doubt demands,—"why man diſpos'd this way?
" Why left the dangerous choice to go aſtray?
" If heaven that made him did the fault foreſee,
" Thence follows, heaven is more to blame than he."
No:—had to good the heart alone inclin'd,
What toil, what prize had virtue been aſſign'd?
From obſtacles her nobleſt triumphs flow,
Her ſpirits languiſh, when ſhe finds no foe!
Man might perhaps have been ſo happy ſtill,
Happy, without the privilege of will,
And juſt becauſe his hands were tied from ill!
O wonderous ſcheme to mend th' almighty plan,
By ſinking all the dignity of man!
Yet turn thine eyes, vain ſceptic, own thy pride,
And view thy happineſs and choice allied;
See virtue from herſelf her bliſs derive,
A bliſs, beyond the power of thrones to give;
See vice of empire and of wealth poſſeſs'd,
Pine at the heart, and feel herſelf unbleſs'd.
And ſay, were yet no farther marks aſſign'd,
Is man ungrateful? or is heaven unkind?
[42]" Yes, all the woes from heaven permiſſive fall,
" The wretch adopts,—the wretch improves them all."
From his wild luſt, or his oppreſſive deed,
Rapes, battles, murders, ſacrilege proceed;
His wild ambition thins the peopled earth,
Or from his avarice famine takes her birth;
Had nature given the hero wings to fly,
His pride would lead him to attempt the ſky!
To angels make the pigmy's folly known,
And draw ev'n pity from th' eternal throne.
Yet while on earth triumphant vice prevails,
Celeſtial juſtice balances her ſcales;
With eye unbiaſs'd all the ſcene ſurveys,
With hand impartial every crime ſhe weighs;
Oft, cloſe purſuing at his trembling heels,
The man of blood her awful preſence feels;
Oft, from her arm, amidſt the blaze of ſtate,
The regal tyrant, with ſucceſs elate,
Is forc'd to leap the precipice of fate!
Or, if the villain paſs unpuniſh'd here,
'Tis but to make the future ſtroke ſevere;
For ſoon or late, eternal juſtice pays
Mankind the juſt deſert of all their ways.
'Tis in that awful all-diſcloſing day,
When high omniſcience ſhall her books diſplay;
When juſtice ſhall preſent her ſtrict account,
While conſcience ſhall atteſt the due amount;
[43]That all who feel, condemn'd, the dreadful rod,
Shall own, that righteous are the ways of God!
Oh then, while penitence can fate diſarm,
While lingering juſtice yet with-holds its arm,
While heavenly patience grants the precious time,
Let the loſt ſinner recollect his crime!
Immediate to the ſeat of mercy fly,
Nor wait to-morrow—leſt to-night he die!
But tremble, all ye ſons of blackeſt birth,
Ye giants that deform the face of earth;
Tremble ye ſons of aggravated guilt,
And, ere too late, let ſorrow learn to melt;
Remorſeleſs Murder! drop thy hand ſevere,
And bathe thy bloody weapon with a tear;
Go, Luſt impure! converſe with friendly light,
And quit the manſions of defiling night;
Drop, dark Hypocriſy, thy thin diſguiſe,
Nor think to cheat the notice of the ſkies!
Unſocial Avarice, thy graſp forego,
And bid the uſeful treaſure learn to flow;
Reſtore, Injuſtice, the defrauded gain!
Oppreſſion, bend to eaſe the captive's chain,
Ere awful juſtice ſtrike the fatal blow,
And drive you to the realms of night below!
But Doubt reſumes, " If juſtice has decreed
" The puniſhment proportion'd to the deed;
" Eternal miſery ſeems too ſevere,
" Too dread a weight for wretched man to bear!
[44]" Too harſh!—that endleſs torments ſhould repay
" The crimes of life,—the errors of a day!"
In vain our reaſon would preſumptuous pry;
God's counſels are beyond conception high:
In vain would thought his meaſur'd juſtice ſcan;
His ways! how different from the ways of man!
Too deep for thee his ſecrets are to know,
Enquire not, but more wiſely ſhun the woe;
Warn'd by his threatenings, to his laws attend,
And learn to make omnipotence thy friend!
Our weaker laws, to gain the purpos'd ends,
Oft paſs the bounds the law-giver intends:
Oft partial power, to ſerve its own deſign,
Warps from the text, exceeding reaſon's line;
Strikes, biaſs'd, at the perſon, not the deed,
And ſees the guiltleſs unprotected bleed!
But God alone, with unimpaſſion'd ſight,
Surveys the nice barrier of wrong and right;
And while, ſubſervient, as his will ordains,
Obedient nature yields the preſent means;
While neither force nor paſſions guide his views,
Ev'n evil works the purpoſe he purſues!
That bitter ſpring, the ſource of human pain,
Heal'd by his touch does mineral health contain;
And dark affliction quits its fearſome ſhrowd
At his command, and brightens into good.
Thus human juſtice—(far as man can go)
For private ſafety ſtrikes the dubious blow;
[45]But rectitude divine, with nobler ſoul,
Conſults each individual in the whole!
Directs the iſſues of the mortal ſtrife,
And ſees creation ſtruggle into life!
And you, ye happier ſouls! who in his ways
Obſervant walk, and ſing his daily praiſe!
Ye righteous few! whole calm unruffled breaſts,
No fears can darken, and no guilt infeſts;
To whom his gracious promiſes extend,
In whom they centre, and in whom ſhall end,
Which (bleſt on that foundation ſure who build)
Shall with eternal juſtice be fulfill'd:
Ye ſons of life, to whoſe glad hope is given
The bright reverſion of approaching heaven,
With grateful hearts his glorious praiſe recite,
Whoſe love from darkneſs call'd you out to light;
So let your piety reflective ſhine,
As men may thence confeſs his truth divine!
And when this mortal veil, as ſoon it muſt,
Shall drop, returning to its native duſt;
The work of life, with approbation done,
Receive from God your bright immortal crown!
IX. GLORY.
But, oh adventerous muſe, reſtrain thy flight,
Dare not the blaze of uncreated light!
[46]His praiſe proclaim, ye monſters of the deep,
Who in the vaſt abyſs your revels keep!
Before whoſe glorious throne, with dread ſurprize,
Th' adoring ſeraph veils his dazzled eyes;
Whoſe pure effulgence, radiant to exceſs,
No colours can deſcribe, or words expreſs!
All the fair beauties, all the lucid ſtores,
Which o'er thy works thine hand reſplendent pours;
Feeble thy brighter glories to diſplay,
Pale as the moon before the ſolar ray!
See on his throne the Hebrew monarch plac'd,
In all the pomp of the luxuriant eaſt!
While mingling gems a borrow'd day unfold,
And the rich purple waves, emboſs'd with gold;
Yet mark this ſcene of painted grandeur yield
To the fair lilly that adorns the field!
Obſcur'd, behold that fainter lilly lies,
By the rich bird's* inimitable dies;
Yet theſe ſurvey, confounded and undone
By the ſuperior luſtre of the ſun;
That ſun himſelf withdraws his leſſen'd beam
From thee, the glorious author of his frame!
Tranſcendent power! ſole arbiter of fate!
How great thy glory! and thy bliſs how great!
To view from thine exalted throne above,
(Eternal ſource of light, and life, and love!)
[47]Unnumber'd creatures draw their ſmiling birth,
To bleſs the heavens, or beautify the earth;
While ſyſtems roll, obedient to thy view,
And worlds rejoice—which Newton never knew!
Then raiſe the ſong, the general anthem raiſe,
And ſwell the concert of eternal praiſe!
Aſſiſt ye orbs that form this boundleſs whole,
Which in the womb of ſpace unnumber'd roll;
Ye planets, who compoſe our leſſer ſcheme,
And bend, concertive, round the ſolar frame;
Thou eye of nature, whoſe extenſive ray,
With endleſs charms adorns the face of day!
Conſenting raiſe th' harmonious joyful ſound,
And bear his praiſes thro' the vaſt profound:
His praiſe, ye winds, that fan the cheerful air,
Swift as ye paſs along your pinions bear!
His praiſe let ocean thro' her realms diſplay,
Far as her circling billows can convey!
His praiſe, ye miſty vapours, wide diffuſe,
In rains deſcending, or in milder dews!
His praiſes whiſper, ye majeſtic trees,
As your tops ruſtle to the vocal breeze!
His praiſe around, ye flowery tribes exhale,
Far as your ſweets embalm the ſpicy gale!
His praiſe, ye dimpled ſtreams, to earth reveal,
As pleas'd ye murmur thro' the flowery vale!
His praiſe, ye feather'd choirs, diſtinguiſh'd ſing,
As to your notes the tuneful foreſts ring!
[48]Or ye, fair natives of our earthly ſcene,
Who range the wilds, or haunt the paſture green!
Nor thou, vain lord of earth, with careleſs ear,
The univerſal hymn of worſhip hear!
But ardent, in the ſacred chorus join,
Thy ſoul tranſported with the talk divine!
While by his works th' almighty is confeſs'd,
Supremely glorious, and ſupremely bleſs'd!
Great lord of life! from whom this humble frame
Derives the power to ſing thy holy name,
Forgive the lowly muſe, whoſe artleſs lay,
Has dar'd thy ſacred attributes ſurvey!
Delighted oft thro' nature's beauteous field
Has ſhe ador'd thy wiſdom bright reveal'd;
Oft have her wiſhes aim'd the ſecret ſong,
But awful reverence ſtill with-held her tongue:
Yet as thy bounty lent the reaſoning beam,
As feels my conſcious breaſt thy vital flame;
So, bleſt Creator, let thy ſervant pay
His mite of gratitude this feeble way,
Thy goodneſs own, thy providence adore!
He yields thee only—what was thine before.
A SOLILOQUY. WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD.
[49]STruck with religious awe, and ſolemn dread,
I view theſe gloomy manſions of the dead;
Around me tombs in mix'd diſorder riſe,
And in mute language teach me to be wiſe.
Time was, theſe aſhes liv'd—a time muſt be
When others thus ſhall ſtand—and look at me;
Alarming thought! no wonder 'tis we dread
O'er theſe uncomfortable vaults to tread;
Where blended lie the aged and the young,
The rich and poor, an undiſtinguiſh'd throng:
Death conquers all, and time's ſubduing hand
Nor tombs, nor marble-ſtatues can withſtand.
Mark yonder aſhes in confuſion ſpread!
Compare earth's living tenants with her dead!
How ſtriking the reſemblance, yet how juſt!
Once life and ſoul informed this maſs of duſt;
Around theſe bones, now broken and decay'd,
The ſtreams of life in various channels play'd:
Perhaps that ſkull, ſo horrible to view!
Was ſome fair maid's, ye belles, as fair as you;
[50]Theſe hollow ſockets two bright orbs contain'd,
Where the loves ſported, and in triumph reign'd;
Here glow'd the lips; there white, as Parian ſtone,
The teeth diſpos'd in beauteous order ſhone.
This is life's goal—no farther can we view,
Beyond it, all is wonderful and new:
O deign, ſome courteous ghoſt! to let us know
What we muſt ſhortly be, and you are now!
Sometimes you warn us of approaching fate;
Why hide the knowledge of your preſent ſtate?
With joy behold us tremblingly explore
Th' unknown gulph, that you can fear no more?
The grave has eloquence—its lectures teach
In ſilence, louder than divines can preach;
Hear what it ſays—ye ſons of folly hear!
It ſpeaks to you—O give it then your ear!
It bids you lay all vanity aſide,
O what a lecture this for human pride!
The clock ſtrikes twelve—how ſolemn is the ſound!
Hark, how the ſtrokes from hollow vaults rebound!
They bid us haſten to be wiſe, and ſhow,
How rapid in their courſe the minutes flow.
See yonder yew—how high it lifts its head!
Around, the gloomy ſhade their branches ſpread!
Old and decay'd it ſtill retains a grace,
And adds more ſolemn horror to the place.
Whoſe tomb is this? it ſays, 'tis Myra's tomb,
Pluck'd from the world in beauty's faireſt bloom,
[51]Attend ye fair! ye thoughtleſs, and ye gay!
For Myra dy'd upon her nuptial day!
The grave, cold bridegroom! claſp'd her in its arms,
And the worm rioted upon her charms.
In yonder tomb the old Avaro lies;
Once he was rich—the world eſteemed him wiſe:
Schemes unaccompliſh'd labour'd in his mind,
And all his thoughts were to the world confin'd;
Death came unlook'd for—from his graſping hands
Down dropt his bags, and mortgages of lands.
Beneath that ſculptur'd pompous marble-ſtone,
Lies youthful Florio, aged twenty-one;
Cropt like a flower, he wither'd in his bloom,
Tho' flatt'ring life had promis'd years to come:
Ye ſilken ſons! ye Florios of the age,
Who tread in giddy maze life's flowery ſtage!
Mark here the end of man, in Florio ſee
What you, and all the ſons of earth ſhall be!
There low in duſt the vain Hortenſio lies,
Whoſe ſplendour once we view'd with envious eyes:
Titles and arms his pompous marble grace,
With a long hiſtory of his noble race:
Still after death his vanity ſurvives,
And on his tomb all of Hortenſio lives.
Around me as I turn my wandering eyes,
Unnumber'd graves in awful proſpect riſe,
Whoſe ſtones ſay only when their owners dy'd,
If young, or aged, and to whom ally'd.
[52]On others pompous epitaphs are ſpread
In memory of the virtues of the dead:
Vain waſte of praiſe! ſince, flattering or ſincere,
The judgment-day alone will make appear.
How ſilent is this little ſpot of ground!
How melancholy looks each object round!
Here man diſſolv'd in ſhatter'd ruin lies
So faſt aſleep—as if no more to riſe;
'Tis ſtrange to think how theſe dead bones can live,
Leap into form, and with new heat revive!
Or how this trodden earth to life ſhall wake,
Know its own place, its former figure take!
But whence theſe fears? when the laſt trumpet ſounds
Thro' heaven's expanſe to earth's remoteſt bounds,
The dead ſhall quit theſe tenements of clay,
And view again the long extinguiſh'd day:
It muſt be ſo—the ſame Almighty power
From duſt who form'd us, can from duſt reſtore.
Cheer'd with this pleaſing hope, I ſafely truſt
Jehovah's power to raiſe me from the duſt,
On his unfailing promiſes rely,
And all the horrors of the grave defy.
THE SHEPHERD'S INVITATION. A SONG.
[53]COme live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleaſures prove,
That valleys, groves, or hill, or field,
Or wood, or ſteepy mountain yield.
There will we ſit upon the rocks,
And ſee the ſhepherds feed their flocks,
By ſhallow rivers, to whoſe falls
Melodious birds ſing madrigals.
There will I make thee beds of roſes,
With a thouſand fragrant poſies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown, made of the fineſt wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold,
With buckles of the pureſt gold.
A belt of ſtraw, and ivy buds,
With coral claſps, and amber ſtuds;
And if theſe pleaſures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
[54]
Thy ſilver diſhes for thy meat,
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall, on an ivory table, be
Prepar'd each day for thee and me.
The ſhepherd-ſwains ſhall dance and ſing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If theſe delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.
THE NYMPH'S ANSWER.
[55]IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every ſhepherd's tongue,
Theſe pretty pleaſures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
But time drives flocks from field to fold
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb,
The reſt complain of cares to come.
The flowers that bloom in wanton field
To wayward winter reckoning yield;
A honey-tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's ſpring, but ſorrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy ſhoes, thy beds of roſes,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy poſies,
Soon break, ſoon wither, ſoon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reaſon rotten.
Thy belt of ſtraw, and ivy buds,
Thy coral claſps, and amber ſtuds,
All theſe in me no mind can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.
[56]
What ſhould we talk of dainties then,
Of better meat than's fit for men?
Theſe are but vain; that's only good
Which God hath bleſt, and ſent for food.
But could youth laſt, and love ſtill breed,
Had joy no date, and age no need,
Then theſe delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
A POEM.
[57]SHall I, like an hermit, dwell
On a rock, or in a cell,
Calling home the ſmalleſt part
That is miſſing of my heart,
To beſtow it, where I may
Meet a rival every day?
If ſhe undervalues me,
What care I how fair ſhe be?
Were her treſſes angel gold;
If a ſtranger may be bold,
Unrebuked, unafraid,
To convert them to a brayde,
And, with little more a-do,
Work them into bracelets too;
If the mine be grown ſo free,
What care I how rich it be?
Were her hands as rich a prize
As her hairs, or precious eyes;
If ſhe lay them out to take
Kiſſes for good-manners ſake;
[58]And let every lover ſkip
From her hand unto her lip;
If ſhe ſeem not chaſte to me,
What care I how chaſte ſhe be?
No; ſhe muſt be perfect ſnow,
In effect as well as ſhow,
Warming but as ſnow-balls do,
Not like fire by burning too;
But when ſhe, by change, hath got
To her heart a ſecond lot;
Then, if others ſhare with me,
Farewell her, whate'er ſhe be.
IN IMITATION OF MARLOE.
[59]COme live with me, and be my dear,
And we will revel all the year,
In plains and groves, on hills and dales,
Where fragrant air breeds ſweeteſt gales.
There ſhall you have the beauteous pine,
The cedar, and the ſpreading vine,
And all the woods to be a ſcreen,
Leſt Phoebus kiſs my ſummer's green.
The ſeat of your diſport ſhall be
Over ſome river in a tree,
Where ſilver ſands and pebbles ſing
Eternal ditties to the ſpring.
There ſhall you ſee the Nymphs at play,
And how the Satyrs ſpend the day;
The fiſhes gliding on the ſands,
Offering their bellies to your hands.
The birds, with heavenly-tuned throats,
Poſſeſs wood's echo with ſweet notes,
Which to your ſenſes will impart
A muſic to enflame the heart.
Upon the bare and leafleſs oak,
The ring-dove's wooings will provoke
A colder blood than you poſſeſs
To play with me, and do no leſs.
[60]In bowers of laurel, trimly dight,
We will outwear the ſilent night,
While Flora buſy is to ſpread
Her richeſt treaſure on our bed.
Ten thouſand glow-worms ſhall attend,
And all their ſparkling lights ſhall ſpend;
All to adorn and beautify
Your lodging with more majeſty.
Then in my arms will I encloſe
Lillies fair mixture with the roſe;
Whoſe nice perfections in Love's play
Shall tune me to the higheſt key.
Thus as we paſs the welcome night,
In ſportful pleaſure and delight,
The nimble Fairies on the grounds
Shall dance and ſing melodious ſounds.
If theſe may ſerve for to entice
Your preſence to Love's Paradiſe,
Then come with me, and be my dear,
And we will ſtrait begin the year.
AMARYLLIS: OR THE THIRD IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS.
[61]TO Amaryllis, lovely nymph, I ſpeed,
Mean-while my goats along the mountain feed:
O Tityrus, tend them with aſſiduous care,
Lead them to cryſtal ſprings, and paſtures fair,
And of the ridgil's butting horns beware.
Sweet Amaryllis, have you then forgot
Our ſecret pleaſures in the conſcious grot?
Where in my folding arms you lay reclin'd;
Bleſt was the ſhepherd, for the nymph was kind.
I whom you call'd your Dear, your Love ſo late,
Say, am I now the object of your hate?
Say, is my form diſpleaſing to your ſight?—
This cruel love will ſurely kill me quite.
Lo! ten large apples, tempting to the view,
Pluck'd from your favourite tree, where late they grew.
Accept this boon, 'tis all my preſent ſtore;
To-morrow will produce as many more.
Mean-while theſe heart-conſuming pains remove,
And give me gentle pity for my love.
Oh was I made, by ſome transforming power,
A bee to buzz in your ſequeſter'd bower!
[62]To pierce your ivy ſhade with murmuring ſound,
And the light leaves that compaſs you around.
I know thee, Love, and to my ſorrow find,
A god thou art, but of the ſavage kind;
A lioneſs ſure ſuckled the fell child,
And with his brother-whelps maintain'd him in the wild;
On me his ſcorching flames inceſſant prey,
Glow in my bones, and melt my ſoul away.
Ah nymph! whoſe eyes deſtructive glances dart,
Fair is your face, but flinty is your heart:
With kiſſes kind this rage of love appeaſe!
For me, fond ſwain! even empty kiſſes pleaſe.
Your ſcorn diſtracts me, and will make me tear
The flowery crown I wove for you to wear,
Where roſes mingle with the ivy-wreath,
And fragrant herbs ambroſial odours breathe.
Ah me! what pangs I feel! and yet the fair
Nor ſees my ſorrows, nor will hear my prayer.
I'll doff my garments, ſince I needs muſt die,
And from yon rock, that points its ſummit high,
Where patient Olpis ſnares the finny fry,
I'll leap; and tho' perchance I riſe again,
You'll laugh to ſee me plunging in the main.
By a prophetic poppy-leaf I found
Your chang'd affection, for it gave no ſound,
Tho' in my hand ſtruck hollow as it lay,
But quickly wither'd, like your love, away.
[63]An old witch brought ſad tidings to my ears,
She who tells fortunes with the ſieve and ſheers;
For, leaſing barley in my fields of late,
She told me, I ſhould love, and you ſhould hate!
For you my care a milk-white goat ſupplied,
Two wanton kids run friſking at her ſide;
Which oft the nut-brown maid, Erithacis,
Has begg'd, and paid before-hand with a kiſs;
And ſince you thus my ardent paſſion ſlight,
Her's they ſhall be before to-morrow night.
My right eye itches; may it lucky prove,
Perhaps I ſoon ſhall ſee the nymph I love;
Beneath yon pine I'll ſing diſtinct and clear,
Perhaps the fair my tender notes may hear;
Perhaps may pity my melodious moan—
She is not metamorphos'd into ſtone.
Hippomenes, provok'd by noble ſtrife,
To win a miſtreſs, or to loſe his life,
Threw golden fruit in Atalanta's way,
The bright temptation caus'd the nymph to ſtay;
She look'd, ſhe languiſh'd, all her ſoul took fire,
She plung'd into the gulph of deep deſire.
To Pyle from Othrys ſage Melampus came,
He drove the lowing herd, yet won the dame;
Fair Pero bleſt his brother Bias' arms,
And in a virtuous race diffus'd her charms.
Adonis fed his cattle on the plain,
Yet ſea-born Venus lov'd the rural ſwain;
[64]She mourn'd him wounded in the fatal chace,
Nor dead diſmiſs'd him from her warm embrace.
Tho' young Endymion was by Cynthia bleſt,
I envy nothing but his laſting reſt.
Iaſion ſlumbering on the Cretan plain
Ceres once ſaw, and bleſt the happy ſwain
With pleaſures too divine for ears profane.
My head grows giddy, love affects me ſore;
Yet you regard not; ſo I'll ſing no more—
Here will I put a period to my care—
Adieu, falſe nymph, adieu, ungrateful fair:
Stretch'd near the grotto, when I've breath'd my laſt,
My corſe will give the wolves a rich repaſt,
As ſweet to them, as honey to your taſte.
THE HONEY-STEALER; OR THE XIXTH IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS.
[65]AS Cupid, the ſlyeſt young wanton alive,
Of its hoard of ſweet honey was robbing a hive,
The ſentinel bee buzz'd with anger and grief,
And darted his ſting in the hand of the thief.
He ſobb'd, blew his fingers, ſtamp'd hard on the ground,
And leaping in anguiſh ſhow'd Venus the wound;
Then began in a ſorrowful tone to complain,
That an inſect ſo little ſhould cauſe ſo great pain.
Venus ſmiling, her ſon in ſuch taking to ſee,
Said, "Cupid, you put me in mind of a bee;
" You're juſt ſuch a buſy, diminutive thing,
" Yet you make woeful wounds with a deſperate ſting."
AGAINST LIFE.
FROM THE GREEK OF POSIDIPPUS.
[66]WHat tranquil road, unvex'd by ſtrife,
Can mortals chuſe thro' human life?
Attend the courts, attend the bar—
There diſcord reigns, and endleſs jar:
At home the weary wretches find
Severe diſquietude of mind;
To till the fields, gives toil and pain;
Eternal terrors ſweep the main:
If rich, we fear to loſe our ſtore,
Need and diſtreſs await the poor:
Sad cares the bands of hymen give;
Friendleſs, forlorn, th' unmarried live:
Are children born? we anxious groan;
Childleſs, our lack of heirs we moan:
Wild, giddy ſchemes our youth engage;
Weakneſs and wants depreſs old age.
Would fate then with my wiſh comply,
I'd never live, or quickly die.
F.F.
FOR LIFE.
FROM THE GREEK OF METRODORUS.
[67]MAnkind may rove, unvex'd by ſtrife,
Thro' every road of human life.
Fair wiſdom regulates the bar,
And peace concludes the wordy war:
At home auſpicious mortals find
Serene tranquillity of mind;
All-beauteous nature decks the plain,
And merchants plough for gold the main:
Reſpect ariſes from our ſtore,
Security from being poor:
More joys the bands of hymen give;
Th' unmarried with more freedom live:
If parents, our bleſt lot we own;
Childleſs, we have no cauſe to moan:
Firm vigour crowns our youthful ſtage,
And venerable hairs old-age.
Since all is good, then who would cry,
" I'd never live, or quickly die?"
F.F.
A PARODY ON THE EPIGRAM OF PODISIPPUS.
[68]THE world's a bubble, and the life of man
Leſs than a ſpan;
In his conception wretched, from the womb,
So to the tomb:
Curs'd from the cradle, and brought up to years
With cares and fears:
Who then to frail mortality ſhall truſt,
But limns the water, or but writes in duſt.
Yet ſince with ſorrow here we live oppreſt,
What life is beſt?
Courts are but only ſuperficial ſchools
To dandle fools:
The rural parts are turn'd into a den
Of ſavage men;
And where's a city from all vice ſo free,
But may be term'd the worſt of all the three?
Domeſtic cares afflict the huſband's bed,
Or pains his head:
[69]Thoſe who live ſingle take it for a curſe,
Or do things worſe.
Some would have children, thoſe that have them, none,
Or wiſh them gone.
What is it then to have, or have no wife,
But ſingle thraldom, or a double ſtrife?
Our own affections ſtill at home to pleaſe
Is a diſeaſe;
To croſs the ſea to any foreign ſoil,
Perils and toil;
Wars with their noiſe affright us: when they ceaſe,
We're worſe in peace.
What then remains, but that we ſtill ſhould cry,
Not to be born, or being born, to die?
A PASSAGE FROM PETRONIUS, TRANSLATED.
[70]FAllen are thy locks! for woeful winter hoar
Has ſtolen thy bloom, and beauty is no more!
Thy temples mourn their ſhady honours ſhorn,
Parch'd like the fallow deſtitute of corn.
Fallacious gods! whoſe bleſſings thus betray;
What firſt ye give us, firſt ye take away.
Thou, late exulting in thy golden hair,
As bright as Phoebus, or as Cynthia fair,
Now view'ſt, alas! thy forehead ſmooth and plain
As the round fungus, daughter of the rain;
Smooth as the ſurface of well-poliſh'd braſs,
And fly'ſt with fear each laughter-loving laſs:
Death haſtes amain—thy wretched fate deplore—
Fallen are thy locks, and beauty is no more.
F.F.
ANTIPATER'S GREEK EPIGRAM, ON THE INVENTION OF WATER-MILLS, TRANSLATED.
[71]YE female artizans, who grind the corn,
Indulge your ſlumbers all the live-long morn;
And let the cock, with impotent eſſay,
Recite his uſual prologue to the day;
For Ceres now herſelf aſſiſtance lends,
And to the mills the green-hair'd naiads ſends.
See! on the ſummit buxomly they bound,
And, with their gambols, work the axle round.
True to th' impulſive waters winds the wheel,
While four huge mill-ſtones cruſh the mouldering meal.
All-bounteous Ceres, as in * days of yore,
Your toil remits, yet ſtill affords her ſtore.
C.S.
LUCIAN'S GREEK EPIGRAM, INSCRIBED ON A COLUMN ERECTED IN A PIECE OF LAND, THAT HAD BEEN OFTEN BOUGHT AND SOLD; IMITATED.
[72]I Whom thou ſee'ſt begirt with towering oaks,
Was once the property of John o' Nokes;
On him proſperity no longer ſmiles,
And now I feed the flocks of John o' Stiles.
My former maſter call'd me by his name;
My preſent owner fondly does the ſame:
While I, alike unworthy of their cares,
Quick paſs to captors, purchaſers, or heirs.
Let no one henceforth take me for his own,
For, Fortune! Fortune! I am thine alone.
C.S.
ANACREON, ODE XXVIII. IMITATED.
[73]BEſt of painters, ſhow thy art,
Draw the charmer of my heart;
Draw her as ſhe ſhines away,
At the rout, or at the play:
Carefully each mode expreſs,
Woman's better part is dreſs.
Let her cap be mighty ſmall,
Bigger juſt than none at all,
Pretty, like her ſenſe, and little,
Like her beauty, frail and brittle.
Be her ſhining locks confin'd
In a threefold braid behind;
Let an artificial flower
Set the fiſſure off before;
Here and there weave ribbon pat in,
Ribbon of the fineſt ſattin.
Circling round her ivory neck
Frizzle out the ſmart Vandyke;
Like the ruff that heretofore
Good queen Beſs's maidens wore;
Happy maidens, as we read,
Maids of honour, maids indeed.
Let her breaſt look rich and bold
With a ſtomacher of gold;
Let it keep her boſom warm,
Amply ſtretch'd from arm to arm;
[74]Whimſically travers'd o'er,
Here a knot, and there a flower,
Like her little heart that dances,
Full of maggots, full of fancies.
Flowing looſely down her back
Draw with art the graceful ſack;
Ornament it well with gimping,
Flounſes, ſurbeloes, and crimping.
Let of ruffles many a row
Guard her elbows, white as ſnow;
Knots below, and knots above,
Emblems of the ties of love.
Let her hoop, extended wide,
Show what petticoats ſhould hide,
Garters of the ſofteſt ſilk,
Stockings whiter than the milk;
Charming part of female dreſs,
Did it ſhow us more or leſs.
Let a pair of velvet ſhoes
Gently preſs her petty-toes,
Gently preſs, and ſoftly ſqueeze,
Tottering like the fair Chineſe,
Mounted high, and buckled low,
Tottering every ſtep they go.
Take theſe hints, and do thy duty,
Faſhions are the teſts of beauty;
Features vary and perplex,
Mode's the woman, and the ſex.
ROBIN. A PASTORAL ELEGY.
[75]DOwn by the brook which glides thro' yonder vale,
His hair all matted, and his cheeks all pale,
Robin, ſad ſwain, by love and ſorrow pain'd,
Of ſlighted vows, and Suſan, thus complain'd:
Hear me, ye groves, who ſaw me bleſt ſo late;
Echo, ye hills, my ſad reverſe of fate:
Ye winds, that bear my ſighs, ſoft murmurs ſend;
Come pay me back, ye ſtreams, the drops I lend.
And you, ſweet Suſan, ſource of all my ſmart,
Beſtow ſome pity on a broken heart.
Happy the times, by painful memory bleſt,
When you poſſeſſing, Robin all poſſeſs'd!
Paſs'd by your ſide, each day brought new delight,
And one ſweet ſlumber ſhorten'd every night.
My play your ſervice, for no toil ſeem'd hard,
When your kind favour was the hop'd reward.
I roſe to milking, tho' 'twas ne'er ſo cool;
I call'd the cows up; I kept off the bull:
Home on my head I bore the pail upright;
The pail was heavy, but love made it light:
And when you ſpilt the milk, and 'gan to cry,
I took the blame, and ſimply ſaid—'twas I.
[76]When by the haycock's ſide you ſleeping lay,
Sent by good angels, there I chanc'd to ſtray,
Juſt as a loathſome adder rear'd his creſt,
To dart his poiſon in your lilly breaſt,
Strait with a ſtone I cruſh'd the monſter's head;
You wak'd, and fainted, tho' you found him dead;
Then, from the pond, I water brought a-pace,
My hat brimful, and daſh'd it in your face:
Still, blue as bilberry, your cold lips did quake,
Till my warm kiſſes call'd the cherry back.
When, looking thro' his worſhip's garden gate,
Ripe peaches tempted, and you long'd to eat;
Tho' the grim maſtiff growl'd, and ſternly ſtalk'd,
Tho' guns were loaded, and old Madam walk'd;
Nor dogs, nor darkneſs, guns, or ghoſts, could fright,
When Robin ventur'd for his Sue's delight:
Joyful of midnight quick I poſt away,
Leap the high wall, and fearleſs pluck the prey;
Down in your lap a plenteous ſhower they fall;
Glad you receiv'd them, and you eat them all.
When fair-day came, I donn'd my ſunday ſuit,
Bruſh'd the beſt pillion clean, and ſaddled Cutt.
Then up we got; you clung about my waiſt;
Pleas'd to be hugg'd, I charg'd you clip me faſt:
And when you loos'd your hold, and backward ſlipp'd,
I held your petticoats, and never peep'd.
The poſied garters, and the top-knot fine,
The golden ginger-bread, and all was mine:
[77]I paid the puppet-ſhow, the cakes, the ſack;
And, fraught with fairings, brought you laughing back.
Suſan but ſpoke, and each gay flower was there,
To dreſs her bough-pot, or adorn her hair:
For her the choiceſt of the woods I cull,
Sloes, hips, and ſtrawberries, her belly full:
My hoard of apples I to her confeſt;
My heart was hers, well might ſhe have the reſt.
And Suſan well approv'd her Robin's care,
Yes, you was pleas'd; at leaſt you ſaid you were.
In love's ſoft fire you ſeem'd like me to burn,
And ſooth'd my fondneſs with a kind return.
At our long table, when we ſat to dine,
You ſtretch'd your knees, and mingled feet with mine;
With fatteſt bacon you my trencher plied,
And ſlic'd my pudding from the plumby ſide:
And well I wot, when our ſmall-beer was ſtale,
You ſtole into the barn, and brought me ale.
But oh, the ſoldier, blaſter of my hopes!
(Curſe on pretending kings, and papiſh popes)
He came from Flanders with the red-coat crew,
To fight with rebels, and he conquer'd you.
His doulas ruffles, and his copper lace,
His brickduſt ſtockings, and his brazen face,
Theſe are the charms for which you ſlight my youth;
Charms much too potent for a maiden's truth!
[78]Soon on the feather'd fool you turn'd your eyes;
Eager you liſten'd to the braggard's lyes;
And, ſcorning me, your heart to him reſign,
Your faithleſs heart, by vows and ſervice, mine.
True, he is gone, by our brave duke's command,
To humble Britain's foes in foreign land:
Ah, what is that? the ſpoiler bears away
The only thing for which 'twas worth to ſtay.
But ſorrow's dry;—I'll ſlake it in the brook;
O well-a-day! how frightful pale I look!
Care's a conſumer (ſo the ſaying ſpeaks)
The ſaying's true, I read it in my cheeks.
Fie! I'll be cheerful, 'tis a fancied pain;
A flame ſo conſtant cannot meet diſdain:
I'll waſh my face, and ſhake off foul deſpair,
My love is kind; alas! I would ſhe were.
Well ſays our parſon; and our parſon ſaid,
" True love and tithes ſhould ever well be paid."
Suſan, from you my heart ſhall never roam,
If your's be wandering, quickly call it home.
TO DAPHNE*. ON VALENTINE'S DAY.
[79]SEE! Daphne, ſee! the ſun, with purer light,
Now gilds the morn, and chaces gloomy night;
Advancing each return with brighter beams,
He ſpreads his glories o'er the fields and ſtreams.
The ſnow diſſolves before the weſtern gale,
And vernal flowers adorn the ſmiling vale.
To life renew'd the budding trees awake,
And from the ſtem the roſeate bloſſoms break;
The Cyprian queen, o'er every grove and plain,
O'er beaſts and birds reſumes her welcome reign;
The birds are pair'd, and warble thro' the grove,
And beaſts obey the genial call of love.
Hence firſt the venerable rite begun,
For ages paſt convey'd from ſire to ſon,
For every ſwain, on this auſpicious day,
To chuſe ſome maid the coming year to ſway;
To crop the violet, and primroſe fair,
And deck with decent wreaths her gloſſy hair.
[80]For me, content with what wiſe heaven ordains,
This chequer'd ſcene, alternate joys and pains,
For me, the ſpring of life ſhall bloom no more;
Nor ſummer ſhine, nor autumn ſwell her ſtore;
Winter alone, with cheerleſs hand, will ſhed,
Henceforth, the ſnow of age around my head.
But, tho' this clay-built tenement decline,
Still may th' immortal gueſt unclouded ſhine;
And, if Euterpe not diſdain to ſmile,
Your bard from Helicon, with pleaſing toil,
Will, with freſh flowers, unfading garlands twine,
To crown his ſweetly-warbling Valentine.
ON THE DEATH OF KING GEORGE II. AND THE INAUGURATION OF HIS PRESENT MAJESTY.
[81]SO ſtream the ſorrows that embalm the brave,
The tears that ſcience ſheds on glory's grave!
So pure the vows, which claſſic duty pays
To bleſs another Brunſwic's riſing rays!—
O Pitt, if choſen ſtrains have power to ſteal
Thy watchful breaſt a-while from Britain's weal;
If votive verſe, from ſacred Iſis ſent,
May hope to charm thy manly mind, intent
On patriot plans which antient freedom drew,
A-while with fond attention deign to view
This ample wreath, which all th' aſſembled Nine,
With ſkill united, have conſpir'd to twine.
Yes, guide and guardian of thy country's cauſe!
Thy conſcious heart ſhall hail with juſt applauſe
The duteous muſe, whoſe haſte officious brings
Her blameleſs offering to the ſhrine of kings:
[82]Thy tongue, well tutor'd in hiſtoric lore,
Can ſpeak her office, and her uſe of yore:
For ſuch the tribute of ingenuous praiſe
Her harp diſpens'd in Grecia's golden days;
Such were the palms, in iſles of old renown,
She cull'd to deck the guiltleſs monarch's crown;
When virtuous Pindar told, with Tuſcan gore
How ſcepter'd Hiero ſtain'd Sicilia's ſhore,
Or to mild Theron's raptur'd eye diſclos'd
Bright vales where ſpirits of the brave repos'd:
Yet ſtill beneath the throne, unbrib'd, ſhe ſate,
The decent hand-maid, not the ſlave, of ſtate;
Pleas'd, in the radiance of the regal name,
To blend the luſtre of her country's fame:
For, taught like ours, ſhe dar'd, with prudent pride,
Obedience from dependence to divide:
Tho' princes claim'd her tributary lays,
With truth ſevere ſhe temper'd partial praiſe;
Conſcious ſhe kept her native dignity,
Bold as her flights, and as her numbers free.
And ſure if e'er the muſe indulg'd her ſtrains,
With juſt regard, to grace heroic reigns,
Where could her glance a theme of triumph own
So dear to fame, as George's trophied throne?
At whoſe firm baſe, thy ſtedfaſt ſoul aſpires
To wake a mighty nation's antient fires:
[83]Aſpires to baffle faction's ſpecious claim,
Rouſe England's rage, and give her thunder aim:
Once more the main her conquering banners ſweep,
Again her commerce darkens all the deep.
Thy fix'd reſolve renews each fair decree
That made, that kept of yore, thy country free.
Call'd by thy voice, nor deaf to war's alarms,
Its willing youth the rural empire arms:
Again the lords of Albion's cultur'd plains
March the firm leaders of their faithful ſwains;
As erſt ſtout archers, from the farm or fold,
Flam'd in the van of many a baron bold.
Nor thine the pomp of indolent debate,
The war of words, the ſophiſtries of ſtate:
Nor frigid caution checks thy free deſign,
Nor ſtops thy ſtream of eloquence divine:
For thine the privilege, on few beſtow'd,
To feel, to think, to ſpeak for public good.
In vain corruption calls her venal tribes,
One common cauſe one common end preſcribes:
Nor fear nor fraud or ſpares or ſcreens the foe,
But ſpirit prompts, and valour ſtrikes the blow.
O Pitt, while honour points thy liberal plan,
And o'er the miniſter exalts the man,
Iſis cogenial greets thy faithful ſway,
Nor ſcorns to bid a ſtateſman grace her lay;
[84]For ſcience ſtill is juſtly fond to blend,
With thine, her practice, principles, and end.
'Tis not for her, by falſe connections drawn,
At ſplendid ſlavery's fordid ſhrine to fawn;
Each native effort of the feeling breaſt
To friends, to foes, in ſervile fear, ſuppreſt:
'Tis not for her to purchaſe, or purſue
The phantom favours of the cringing crew:
More uſeful toils her ſtudious hours engage,
And fairer leſſons fill her ſpotleſs page:
Beneath ambition, but above diſgrace,
With nobler arts ſhe forms the riſing race:
With happier taſks, and leſs refin'd pretence,
In elder times, ſhe woo'd munificence
To rear her arched roofs in regal guiſe,
And lift her temples nearer to the ſkies;
Princes and prelates ſtretch'd the ſocial hand,
To form, diffuſe, and fix her high command:
From kings ſhe claim'd, yet ſcorn'd to ſeek, the prize,
From kings, like George, benignant, juſt, and wiſe.
Lo, this her genuine lore!—Nor thou refuſe
This humble preſent of no partial muſe
From that calm bower, which nurs'd thy thoughtful youth
In the pure precepts of Athenian truth:
Where firſt the form of Britiſh liberty
Beam'd in full radiance on thy muſing eye;
[85]That form, whoſe mien ſublime, with equal awe,
In the ſame ſhade unblemiſh'd Somers ſaw:
Where once (for well ſhe lov'd the friendly grove,
Which every claſſic grace had learn'd to rove)
Her whiſpers wak'd ſage Harrington to feign
The bleſſings of her viſionary reign;
That reign, which now no more, an empty theme,
Adorns philoſophy's ideal dream,
But crowns at laſt, beneath a George's ſmile,
In full reality this favour'd iſle.
ODE FOR THE NEW YEAR,
MDCCLXIII.
[86]AT length th' imperious lord of war
Yields to the fates their ebon car,
And frowning quits his toil:
Daſh'd from his hand the bleeding ſpear
Now deigns a happier form to wear,
And peaceful turns the ſoil.
Th' inſatiate furies of his train,
Revenge, and hate, and fell diſdain,
With heart of ſteel, and eyes of fire,
Who ſtain the ſword which honour draws,
Who ſully virtue's ſacred cauſe,
To Stygian depths retire.
Unholy ſhapes, and ſhadows drear,
The pallid family of fear,
And rapine, ſtill by ſhrieks purſued,
And meagre famine's ſqualid brood,
Cloſe the dire crew.—Ye eternal gates, diſplay
Your adamantine folds, and ſhut them from the day.
For lo, in yonder pregnant ſkies,
On billowy clouds the goddeſs lies,
[87]Whoſe preſence breathes delight!
Whoſe power th' obſequious ſeaſons own,
And winter loſes half his frown,
And half her ſhades the night;
Soft-ſmiling Peace, whom Venus bore,
When, tutor'd by th' enchanting lore
Of Maia's blooming ſon,
She ſooth'd the ſynod of the gods,
Drove diſcord from the bleſt abodes,
And Jove reſum'd his throne;
Th' attendant graces gird her round,
And ſportive Eaſe, with locks unbound,
And every muſe to leiſure born,
And Plenty with her twiſted horn.
While changeful Commerce ſpreads her looſen'd ſails,
Blow, as ye liſt, ye winds, the reign of Peace prevails.
And ſee, to grace that milder reign,
Sweet Innocence adorns the train,
And deigns a human frame to wear,
In form and features Albion's heir,
A future George!—Propitious powers,
Ye delegates of heaven's high king,
Who guide the years, the days, the hours,
That float on time's progreſſive wing,
Exert your influence, bid us know
From parent worth what virtues flow!
[88]Be to leſs happy realms reſign'd
The warrior's unrelenting rage,
We aſk not kings of hero-kind,
The ſtorms, and earthquakes of their age,
To us be nobler bleſſings given:
O teach us, delegates of heaven,
What mightier bliſs from union ſprings!
Future ſubjects, future kings,
Shall bleſs the fair example ſhown,
And from our character tranſcribe their own,
A people, zealous to obey
A monarch, whoſe parental ſway
Deſpiſes regal art,
His ſhield, the laws which guard the land,
His ſword, each Briton's eager hand,
His throne, each Briton's heart.
THE MAN OF SORROW.
[89]AH! what avails the lengthening mead,
By nature's kindeſt bounty ſpread
Along the vale of flowers!
Ah! what avails the darkening grove,
Or Philomel's melodious love,
That glads the midnight hours!
For me (alas!) the god of day
Ne'er glitters on the hawthorn ſpray,
Nor night her comfort brings.
I have no pleaſure in the roſe:
For me no vernal beauty blows,
Nor Philomela ſings.
See, how the ſturdy peaſants ſtride
Adown yon hillock's verdant ſide,
In cheerful ignorance bleſt!
Alike to them the roſe or thorn,
Alike ariſes every morn,
By gay contentment dreſt.
Content, fair daughter of the ſkies,
Or gives ſpontaneous, or denies,
[90]Her choice divinely free,
She viſits oft the hamlet-cot,
When want and ſorrow are the lot
Of avarice and me.
But ſee—or i [...] it fancy's dream?
Methought a bright celeſtial gleam
Shot ſudden thro' the groves.
Behold, behold, in looſe array,
Euphroſyne more bright than day,
More mild than Paphian doves!
Welcome, oh! welcome, pleaſure's queen!
And ſee, along the velvet green,
The jocund train advance:
With ſcatter'd flowers they fill the air,
The wood-nymph's dew-beſpangled hair
Plays in the ſportive dance.
Ah! baneful grant of angry heaven,
When to the feeling wretch is given
A ſoul alive to joy!
Joys fly with every hour away,
And leave th' unguarded heart a prey
To cares, that peace deſtroy.
And ſee, with viſionary haſte,
(Too ſoon the gay deluſion paſt)
[91]Reality remains!
Deſpair has ſeiz'd my captive ſoul,
And horror drives without controul,
And ſlackens ſtill the reins.
Ten thouſand beauties round me throng,
What beauties, ſay, ye nymphs, belong
To the diſtemper'd ſoul?
I ſee the lawn of hideous dye,
The towering elm nods miſery,
With groans the waters roll.
Ye gilded roofs, Palladian domes,
Ye vivid tints of Perſia's looms,
Ye were for miſery made—
'Twas thus the man of ſorrow ſpoke,
His wayward ſtep then penſive took
Along th' unhallow'd ſhade.
THE MAN OF PLEASURE.
[92]YES, to the ſages be it told,
However great, or wiſe, or old,—
Fair pleaſure's my purſuit;
For her I breathe the joyful day,
For her thro' nature's wilds I ſtray,
And cull the flowers and fruit.
Sweep, ſweep the lute's enchanting ſtring,
And all thy ſweets lov'd luxury bring!
" To enjoy is to obey;"
The heavenly mandate ſtill prevail,
And let each unwiſe wretch bewail
The dire, neglected day.
Ah! graceleſs wretch! to diſobey,
And devious quit the flowery way,
And ſlight the gods decree!
Still, ſtill, ye gods, the bleſſings ſend!
If e'er my guilty hands offend,
Indeed my heart is free.
In pleaſure's ray ſee nature ſhine,
How dull, alas! at wiſdom's ſhrine!
[93]" 'Tis folly to be wiſe;"
Colluſive term, poor vain pretence,
Enjoyment ſure is real ſenſe
In philoſophic eyes.
I love the carol of the hound,
Enraptur'd on the living ground
In daſhing ecſtacy;
I love the aukward courſer's ſtride,
The courſer that has been well-tried,
And with him eager fly.
And yes, I love, ye ſneering wiſe!—
Fair honour, ſpurning ſtill at lies,
As courting liberty;
Still hand in hand great nature goes,
With joys to honour never foes,
And all thoſe joys are free.
And welcome thrice to Britiſh land,
From Italy's voluptuous ſtrand,
Ye deſtin'd men of art;
Breathe on the thrilling meaning ſound,
Each grace ſhall ſtill be faithful found,
At your admirer's heart.
Avert, ye gods! that curſe of fools,
The pride of theoretic rules;
[94]That dupery of ſenſe:
I ne'er refuſe the proffer'd joy,
With every good—that can annoy—
Moſt eaſily diſpenſe.
I catch each rapture as it flies,
Each happy loſs a gain ſupplies,
And boon ſtill follows boon:
The ſmile of beauty gilds my day,
Regardleſs of her frowns I ſtray;—
Thus thro' my hours I run!
But let me not for idle rhime,
Neglect, ungrateful, good old time:
Dear watch! thou art obey'd—
'Twas thus the man of pleaſure ſpoke,
His jovial ſtep then careleſs took
To Celia—or her maid.
THE BACCHANALIAN.
[95]YE ſordid wretches! chain'd to rules,
As aſſes dull, and obſtinate as mules;
Whoſe minds ne'er knew one liberal thought,
Back to your ſneaking miſerable cells!
Where narrowneſs of thinking dwells,
With not one ſocial ſenſe of feeling fraught.
There free from tumult, free from ſtrife,
In ſilence doze, nor ſnuff the wick of life:
But ſlowly let it waſte away,
While cunning prudence plauds the ſaving ſcheme,
Nor let its flame ſo much as ſeem
To caſt a glimpſe of one eccentric ray.
Give me the man of blither ſoul,
Whoſe ſpirits thro' an ampler channel roll!
Who, ſpite of method's drowſy plan,
Will plunge alert into a ſea of joy,
And float on active fancy's buoy,
And ſnatch at fleeting pleaſure, whilſt he can.
See yonder feſtive, jocund band!
A nectar'd goblet gracing every hand:
Mirth opes the ſtorehouſe of the ſoul,
And on ill-nature turns her poliſh'd key;
Sullen the Demon limps away,
Nor dares exert the function of controul.
[96]
Thither let me bend in haſte,
And embrace the bottle's waiſt,
Charms Anacreontic prove,
Quaffing to the God of love.
Brighter bluſhes paint his face,
And he looks a freſher grace,
When with Bacchus he reclines,
Underneath his purple vines.
How the jolly, hunting ſong,
Emblematic, loud, and ſtrong,
On attention's organ dwells,
And the force of care diſpells,
'Till the full-voic'd burſting chorus
Sets the fox and hounds before us.
Sons of ſorrow! quit your beds,
Seek the path which Bacchus treads:
Drown your avaricious notions
In the claret's lively potions:
Mind not what the miſer ſays;
Folly 'tis to earn his praiſe:
Or his conſtitution fails,
Or his avarice prevails,
Elſe he'd laugh, and drink, and be
Airy, tipſy, gay as we.
W.W.
THE ADVENTURER AND THE TREASURE.
A FABLE.
[97]A Knight, we read (tho' authors claſh)
Once ſallied forth adventures to explore;
Not as knight-errants did, in days of yore,
With one ſquire only, and no caſh!
Our hero, ſo my author ſings,
Was taught to lay down this poſition,
That men and money were the things,
On which depends an expedition.
He therefore took of both, 'tis ſaid,
And as along he chas'd for prey,
To ſuccour dames, and giants ſlay,
Theſe words upon a rock engrav'd he read:
" Deep in the earth a treaſure lies,
" Hid from the light of day;
" Whoe'er would gain the glorious prize,
" Thro' me muſt hew his way."
Away to work they go
With pick-axe and with crow:
[98]What will not conſtancy atchieve?
It ſoftens damſels hearts more hard by far
Than marble, flint, or diamonds are;
Tho' 'tis what ſome folks can't conceive.
And now the rock is pierc'd quite thro',
But yet the treaſure's not the nearer;
Knight-errants pay for things much dearer.
For lo! a precipice appears in view,
Where 'twas inſcrib'd upon a poſt;
" The money lies on th' other coaſt;
" Which no adventurer can obtain,
" 'Till this gulph's levell'd to a plain."
After much labour, and much coſt,
The gulph is fill'd, the plain is croſt.
'Twas time the adventures now were ended;
For all the money was expended:
But ſtill new obſtacles ariſe;
A dragon guards the glorious prize,
Which by the knight muſt be ſurmounted
Before the treaſure could be counted.
I'll try, quoth he, what I can do;
My purſe is empty—that's too true:
But I have all my courage left;
Of that no knight can be bereft:
When honour calls, I am the man:'
He ſpoke, and on the dragon ran.
To paint each blow, and ſtreaming-gaſh,
From noſe and mouth the ſtreams that flaſh,
[99]Demands the pen that did indite
The actions of la Mancha's knight:
We'll ſay then, after many a ſlaſh,
The dragon lay, as 'twas but meet,
A breathleſs carcaſe at his feet.
Not that our hero came off clear;
The victory coſt him very dear:
And many a wound left many a ſcar,
The marks of honour, and th' effects of war.
At length the treaſure's found—they count it o'er;
And what d'ye think was in the purſe?
Penny for penny, leſs nor more,
The very ſum it had before;
And well it was no worſe:
For when contending princes fight,
For private pique, or public right;
Armies are rais'd, the fleets are mann'd—
They combat both by ſea and land.
When, after many battles paſt,
Both tir'd with blows make peace at laſt.
What is it, after all, each nation gets?
Why—widows, taxes, wooden-legs, and debts.
THE CONQUEROR AND THE OLD WOMAN.
A FABLE.
[100]A Perſian monarch, one of thoſe,
Whoſe great ambition knew no bound;
Some Cyrus, or Darius, we'll ſuppoſe,
In whom no other vice was found,
If we dare name ambition ſo,
For ſome doubt whether it be vice or no.
I have not time at preſent to confute,
So grant the queſtion rather than diſpute.
This Sophi far and wide his conqueſts ſpread;
Full thirty crowns, or more,
Were pil'd on his anointed head;
And yet with eaſe the weight he bore;
For 'twas his great, and chief delight,
To break the yoke his vanquiſh'd ſubjects wore,
And make their burden light.
Attentive to the voice of the diſtreſs'd,
Juſtice and virtue flouriſh'd in his reign:
When, from the confines of his vaſt domain,
A good old woman, who had been oppreſs'd,
[101]Came to the footſtool of his throne,
To have her grievances redreſs'd;
And thus in piteous tragic tone,
His majeſty addreſs'd:
" Encourag'd by your fame, I come from far;
" Sir, you're our king by right of war;
" By right of ſubject I for juſtice ſue:
" I claim it; and you'll grant it; 'tis my due.
" My daughter raviſh'd, and my houſe deſtroy'd
" And all by one whom you employ'd
" To act the king, in place of you."
" I doubt not but all this is true,
The conſcious prince replied,
" But ſo far off, what can I do?
" To make my people happy, is my price;
" And yet I cannot every-where reſide.
" The ſun, which all the world ſurrounds,
" Shines and enlivens but to certain bounds;
" The reſt are dark and cold."
" That's argued ill, if I may be ſo bold,
Return'd the matron to the ſovereign,
" 'Twas weak to graſp at what you cannot hold,
" And conquer more than you can govern."
While o'er the ſea of life we take our trip,
Kings are by heaven commiſſion'd to command;
Captains, not owners of the ſhip,
'Tis theirs to ſteer the people ſafe to land:
And when the bark with prudence they convey,
We row with pleaſure, and with pride obey.
PEACE. A FABLE.
[102]AMongſt the gods a conteſt roſe,
Which put Olympus in uproar;
(Juſt ſo it happen'd once before,
When on the banks where Simois flows,
As Homer ſings in times of yore,
From words their godſhips came to blows)
When Jupiter aloud exclaim'd,
" Where's Peace? are ye not all aſham'd,
" Thus to expoſe yourſelves again,
" And be the laughing-ſtock of men?"
Then ſternly look'd the heavens around;
But Peace was no-where to be found.
" Haſte, Mercury, thy wings prepare,
" Fly down to earth, and ſeek her there."
The god his father's ſummons quick obeys,
Arrives: and firſt the court ſurveys.
" Politeneſs lives among the great,
" And Peace, no doubt, has there a ſeat:
" Such complaiſance ſmiles in each face,
" Peace needs muſt baſk in every heart."
But here the god miſtook the caſe;
The maſk remov'd, 'twas fraud, 'twas art:
[103]All ready to receive commands,
Embracing, feigning, ſqueezing hands;
As fair, and yet as foul as ſin,
All peace without, all war within.
He next to Themis' bench his ſteps inclin'd;
Not that he thought within the hall,
Amidſt the lawyer's brawl,
The heaven-born fair to find:
He turn'd his eyes to that tremendous ſeat,
Where juſtice ſits with awful air,
In ſtern majeſtic ſtate:
But Peace in vain he look'd for there.
Not even great Hardwick, he whoſe guardian cares
Protect the orphan from the harpy's claws,
Whoſe heart, as well as hand, the ballance bears,
Can quell the clamorous jarring of the laws.
For law, like Janus, has a double face,
And either ſhows, according to the caſe:
For, as you find it ſuits you better,
You take the ſenſe, and leave the letter;
Or, vice verſa, with as good pretence,
The letter take, and leave the ſenſe:
The God was glad to get from hence.
And to the temples now he goes,
Where, far from all the buſy cares of life,
The holy prieſts ſhould taſte repoſe,
Free from ambition, noiſe, and ſtrife.
[104]But lo! inſtead of harmony divine,
Beneath religion's ſacred veil,
'Twas intereſt, guilt, miſtaken zeal;
All ſide in parties, and in ſects combine,
Some for their idol, others for their ſhrine;
And curſe, and damn, and plunge in brother's blood,
For what perhaps few underſtood.
And now Jove's meſſenger directs his way
To thoſe fam'd domes cloſe by where Iſis glides,
Where Alma Mater bears the ſway,
And all the muſes ſport and play,
And little do beſides:
Peace might with learning dwell, tho' not with wit;
But here again the god was bit.
Pride, faction, jealouſy, and ſpite,
Were centred there as in a fort;
Not for each other to ſupport,
But what is ſtrange! to fight.
Hence pamphleteers, and daily writers,
Some bare-fac'd liars, ſome back-biters,
And all the mercenary ſet,
That write to live on what they get.
Not that I ſay there's any ſhame
To write for bread, as well as fame:
But oh! beware, nor proſtitute an art,
Deſign'd to mend, and not corrupt the heart.
[105]Now into private life the god deſcends;
And firſt he views the marriage ſtate,
Alas! where ſeldom Peace attends;
For two that love there's ten that hate:
Here huſbands nominal, there maiden wives,
Who ſue for a divorce,
Of courſe;
And ſome who plague each other all their lives.
Relations more or leſs divided,
According as by intereſt guided.
Ungrateful children, parents too ſevere—
In ſhort, 'twas diſcord every-where.
" I've made, quoth Mercury, a fine look out;
" To father Jove▪ what meſſage ſhall I bring?"
So ſaid, he turn'd about,
And back to heaven prepar'd to wing.
When, as he caſt his eyes around,
Cloſe by a hermit's cell, he ſpied
The beauteous fugitive, with olive crown'd,
And Contemplation by her ſide.
" Oh! oh! fair maid, at laſt you're found:"—
" Yes, Peace replied, 'tis here I dwell,
" Within this hermit's tranquil cell."
For gods, as well as men, muſt own
Who'd quiet live, muſt live alone;
Nor happy then, unleſs he find
Within himſelf ſweet Peace of mind.
MERCURY AND THE SHADES.
TO MISS M—.
[106]CHarming Annetta, but that I'm forbid,
Fain would I grace theſe fables with your name;
But in each praiſe I ſure may echo fame,
And then you're finely hid.
Yet hold: nor let the bluſhes riſe,
Nor anger ſparkle in thoſe eyes
Where Love has fixt his throne.
But wherefore do I pardon aſk?
Remember you impos'd the taſk;
This fable is your own.
The meſſenger of Jove, as 'twas his poſt,
Led to the Stygian coaſt,
Four ſhades departed from this life;
A maiden fair, juſt going to be married;
A good man torn from children, and from wife,
A general that ne'er in fight miſcarried;
And, to complete the motly crew,
A poet, who had bid the ſtage adieu.
Alas! the virgin ſhade then cry'd,
Where is, ah where! my lover now?
I'm ſure with me he would have died,
Had he but known the manner how:
[107]For when alive, on love relying,
He claſp'd me to his tender breaſt,
And talk'd of nothing elſe but dying;
Now I am gone, where can he reſt?
If death flies not to his relief,
'Tis plain one cannot die of grief.
And next the married man
His piteous tale began:
Ah me!
Said he,
What ſighs are fetch'd! what tears are ſhed!
Since I am number'd with the dead;
Oh did they but regret me leſs!
My loving and beloved wife,
My children dearer far than life,
My only ſorrow, I confeſs,
Is to reflect on their diſtreſs.
What ſignifies your petty private ſmart?
Then ſpoke the hero with a frown;
The public feels my loſs in every heart,
And with their tears write my renown,
Each in the general woe aſſumes a part;
Whilſt Roubillac employs his art
To raiſe himſelf, and to tranſmit me down.
With weak materials, ſaid the bard,
You build your future fame:
No doubt but bronze is very hard,
And marble much the ſame.
[108]Yet marble moulders, braſs decays;
There's nothing but the poet's lays
Can fix the hero's name.
Had Homer never wrote,
Achilles never had been known;
And as our brother Voltaire ſays,
Marlbro' will live in Addiſon,
When Blenheim and the pillar's gone.
I don't preſume myſelf to quote;
Tho' to be ſure moſt folks muſt own,
Amongſt the beſt I was of note.
The god could not forbear to ſmile,
To hear their conſcious prate,
And ſo indulg'd them for a while,
Each in his fond conceit.
But being near th' infernal gate,
He wav'd his wand aloft in air,
And firſt beſpoke the maiden fair.
For you, ſweet ſhade, that think your lover dying,
Already in his arms another is complying.
And thou, poor ſoul, uxorious ghoſt,
What haſt thou to regret or boaſt?
Thy wife and heirs are gone to law,
For in thy will was found a flaw;
Intent on nothing but thy ſtore,
They count, recount it o'er and o'er,
And curſe thee for not leaving more.
[109]And you, my noble man of might,
So fam'd for ſpoils, ſo great in fight,
Once gone, you are of no import;
Another has your place at court,
Much greater far than all that went before.
You was, as one may ſay,
Like him the hero of a day,
Like you when ſnatch'd away,
His feats and name will be no more.
You, maſter poet, thank the doctor's pill,
That ſav'd you from the public ſcoff:
You was a going faſt down hill;
'Twas high time to leave off.
All think themſelves of more importance far,
Than really what they are.
We every day experience what we dread;
Forgot when abſent, as forgot when dead.
None thought of us before that we had breath,
And few will be remember'd after death;
Except thoſe few who live to fame,
Death and oblivion are the ſame.
THE CONNOISSEURS. A FABLE.
[110]POets and painters flock together,
In fancy's flight, birds of a feather.
Then tell me, Hayman, brother in Apollo,
That god of whim, whom you and I both follow;
Is not our caſe, who paint or write,
In all reſpects the ſame?
Arraign'd by ignorance, and judg'd by ſpite,
Dubious of praiſe, but ſure of blame.
In every other ſcience, great or ſmall,
A jury's call'd of the ſame art and knowledge;
The ſurgeon is examin'd at the hall,
The doctor at the college;
But thoſe who uſe the pencil, and the pen,
Submit their works to all degrees of men.
The ſcrivener's clerk, the boy who ſweeps the ſhop,
The ſqueamiſh beau, the mawkiſh fop,
And thouſands more beſide,
Of equal judgment, ſenſe, and ſpirit,
Condemn, approve, decide,
And fix the ſtandard of our merit.
But if my friend will liſten to the tale,
He'll find their ſentence not without appeal.
[111]A famous painter, one of thoſe,
Whoſe pencil was to nature true,
A Hogarth you'll ſuppoſe,
But I ſuppoſe 'tis you;
No matter which—one of the two
A portrait undertook to draw:
Three ſittings o'er,
Perhaps ſome more;
Genius as yet is not confin'd by law.
'Tis done; the picture is expos'd to view.
Friends come to judge, as uſual, in ſuch caſe:
What! don't you know the face?
Not I indeed; do you?
'Tis mine, replied the man who ſat:
Impoſſible! here's neither grace nor air,
Why this is brown, and you are fair;
I never ſaw a piece ſo flat.
Beſides the mouth is all aſkew:
And then ſuch ſhades! and then ſuch light!
Pray wipe it out, begin a-new;
For as it ſtands 'tis quite a fright.
Our artiſt pleads his cauſe in vain—
He needs muſt paint it o'er again.
And now they cry out ten times more,
Why this is worſe than that before:
If you would have your portraits take,
Give us reſemblances that ſtrike;
That ſeem to think, and want to ſpeak;
[112]A Rubens, Titian, or Vandyke;
But as for this, there's not one feature like.
The Virtuoſi gone, the painter ſaid,
I have a thought, that's juſt come in my head,
T' expoſe theſe learned friends of yours;
Who, under name of connoiſſeurs,
Of ſtrokes and touches, ſtile and manner, chatter:
But be ſo kind to join with me,
And you to-morrow morn ſhall ſee,
How much they know about the matter.
Next day the picture was ſet forth to ſight,
At proper diſtance, and in proper light;
Juſt as between them 'twas agreed.
And now the learned meet to ſpeak their mind;
But ſtill, they can't the leaſt reſemblance find;
'Twas not their friend—not him indeed—
" That's very ſtrange, the portrait made reply,
" Why, gentlemen! 'tis I myſelf, 'tis I."
For in the cloth a hole was cut,
Thro' which our man his real face had put,
To give theſe connoiſſeurs the lie.
Then are there none, whoſe judgment fix the teſt?
With taſte and true diſcernment bleſt,
Whoſe very praiſe rewards the artiſt's toil?
O yes, no doubt there are:
Sometimes, tho' very rare,
You'll find a Cheſterfield, or meet a Boyle.
LOVE ELEGY.
[113]Nec lacrymis crudelis amor, nec gramina rivis,
Nec cytiſo ſaturantur apes, nec fronde capellae.
VIRG.
THE dewy morn her ſaffron mantle ſpreads
High o'er the brow of yonder eaſtern hill;
Each blooming ſhrub a roſeate fragrance ſheds,
While the briſk ſky-lark ſings his carol ſhrill.
Now, where the willows to the rivulet bend,
That winds its channel thro' the verdant mead,
I'll o'er the turf my waining form extend,
And reſt on ſedges dank my anxious head.
Not all the ſweets that ſcent the morning air,
Not all the flowers that paint the vernal year,
Can eaſe my boſom of its weighty care,
Or teach my eyes to ſtop the falling tear.
In vain the ſtream o'er pebbles glides along,
And murmurs, ſweetly-lulling, as it flows;
In vain the ſtock-dove chants the gurgling ſong,
Inviting ſlumbers ſoft, and kind repoſe.
[114]
The cruel pangs of fierce deſire I prove,
And think with tranſport on my abſent fair;
Ah! mournful ſtate, to ſcorch in flames of love,
Amidſt the chilling froſts of ſad deſpair.
'Tis not my Delia's ſcorn, my Delia's pride,
That ſinks my hopes in everlaſting night;
No charms to her the laviſh gods denied,
Who form'd her perfect, as they form'd her bright.
But, ah! the influence of ſome baneful ſtar,
Which frown'd malignant on my hapleſs birth,
Has to my wiſhes plac'd an envious bar,
Superior to the ſtrongeſt power on earth.
If crouding myriads, arm'd for deadly war,
Held from my longing eyes my boſom's queen;
And kept her deep in gloomy caves afar,
While mountains roſe, and oceans flow'd between;
I might not force thro' ſpears and ſwords my way,
I might not reach ſecure the diſtant ſhore;
Yet, urg'd by Venus, I'd provoke the fray,
Or periſh bravely in the tumult's roar.
When fell ambition drives us to the plain,
Diſmay'd by fear the doubting ſquadrons move;
But I alike ſhould certain pleaſure gain,
To fall, or conquer for the maid I love.
[115]
Curs'd be the wretch, who firſt, with impious hand,
Taught fervile error o'er the world to roll;
This chaſes freedom from each groaning land,
This warps (ah, fad effect!) my Delia's ſoul.
But ſay, ſhall love, which, boundleſs as the wind,
On youthful pinions every region tries,
And mocks even virtue's dictates, be confin'd
By ſuperſtition's ever-galling ties?
Ye fairy forms of gay deluſion, hence!
Your flattering viſions but increaſe my ſmart;
I'll hear the ſacred voice of manly ſenſe,
And quell my paſſion, tho' I break my heart.
How frail my vows! my fix'd reſolves how vain!
No daring arm the power of love can brave,
One thought of Delia wounds my peace again,
Renews my woes, and binds me more her ſlave.
VERSES, OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF MRS. OLDFIEDD.
[116]WHen greatneſs claims, or merit gives
A more diſtinguiſh'd tomb,
St. Peter's ſhrine the corſe receives
Beneath its awful dome.
There kings in ſtately marble ſleep,
And into duſt return,
While emblematic virtues weep
Around the lofty urn.
Profuſive of expence and art,
Their labour might be ſav'd:
Uſeful for them, if on their heart
Theſe virtues were engrav'd.
Lo! there inſcrib'd the warrior's praiſe,
The fife and laurel-wreath!
While Death, more juſtly crown'd with bays,
Grins horribly beneath.
There ſtateſmen lie, emblazon'd forth
With virtues, not their own;
And, Walpole, there perhaps thy worth
May poſthumous be known.
[117]
In vain, ſecure of deathleſs praiſe,
There poets aſhes come,
Since obſolete grows Chaucer's phraſe,
And moulders with his tomb.
Leſt too in death thy pleaſant vein,
And humour ſhould be loſt,
O Rare Ben Johnſon, there is ſeen
Thy tragi-comic buſt.
Let Dryden's ſtatue, there enſhrin'd,
Of pureſt marble ſtand;
Whoſe wit, to virtue if confin'd,
Might one of gold demand:
There Congreve too, conſign'd to fame,
With envied luſtre ſhine;
Yet who the Fair's reſpect can blame
To muſe as chaſte as thine?
In vain the monuments we raiſe
To future ages live,
Nor fond reſpect, nor venal praiſe,
Can conſcious virtue give.
When God our ſcatter'd duſt ſhall call,
And reſcue us from death,
Will virtue then or ſtand or fall,
On fame, or vulgar breath?
[118]
Tho', Oldfield, even in death thy fate
Continue ſtill the ſcene,
Leſt thou ſhouldſt ſeem to mimic death,
And act, not be a queen,
Pageants, and borrow'd pomp, diſplay
(Where Albion's monarchs lie)
Thy fancied worth; till the laſt day
Thy real merit try.
For acting of another's part
Thy praiſe may now be known;
But then more comfort 'twill impart
T' have acted well thy own.
ON THE OLD BUST, WITH A SOUR AIR, ON MR. DRYDEN'S MONU⯑MENT, IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY.
[119]AT Dryden's tomb, inſcrib'd with Sh—d's name,
That mite, ſlow offer'd to eſtabliſh'd fame!
Fill'd with raw wonder, Tyro ſtopt to gaze;
And bleſs'd his bounteous Grace, in kind amaze:
The guardian genius, from the ſacred duſt,
Re-kindling upwards, wak'd the quickening buſt,
Glowing from every awful feature—broke
Diſdainful life—and thus the marble ſpoke:
" Teach thy blind love of honeſty to ſee,—
" 'Tis not my monument,—tho' built on me.
" Great peers, 'tis known, can in oblivion lie;
" But no great poet has the power to die.
" At cheap expence, behold engrafted fame!
" The tack'd aſſociate of a buoyant name.
" The pompous craft one lucky lord ſhall ſave;
" And Sh—d borrow life from Dryden's grave."
'Twas ſaid—and, ere the ſhort ſenſation died,
The ſtiffening marble writh'd its form aſide:
Back from the titled waſte of mouldering ſtate
He turn'd—neglectful of the court, too late!
And, ſadly conſcious of miſpointed praiſe,
Frowns thro' the ſtone, and ſhrinks beneath his bays.
ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE LATE STEPHEN POYNTZ, ESQ.
[120]FRiend to my life, and parent of my youth,
Accept with kindneſs, what I give with truth,
Accept! and know it undiſguis'd by art,
Th' o'erflowing fullneſs of a grateful heart.
While joy returns with this returning morn,
And thouſands bleſs the day that Poyntz was born,
Shall I alone no pious wiſhes ſend,
Forget the patron, and neglect the friend?
No;—tho' my mind no coſtly preſent prove,
Exalt my joy, and dignify my love,
Yet cheerful truth ſhall aid the muſe to pay
The ſilent tribute of an humble lay;
Yet gratitude, that heaven-directed fire,
That muſe ſhall raiſe, that humble lay inſpire,
Glow in each thought, inſpirit every line,
And, while it warms my breaſt, enliven thine.
Say, Poyntz, when, ſmiling on thy natal hour,
Friend, neighbour, child, their various bleſſings pour;
[121]When love, unvex'd by troubles, or by cares,
Hails thy fair ſeries of revolving years,
Does not more real bliſs thy thoughts employ?
Does not thy ſwelling heart dilate with joy?
Superior joy, to know thoſe years were ſpent,
With eaſe and virtue, affluence and content?
Yes, conſcious honour, with true greatneſs join'd,
Smiles in thy face, and glows within thy mind:
In vain, unmov'd by falſe deluding pride,
The modeſt breaſt would its own merits hide;
Still, gloriouſly conceal'd, true worth we ſee
Take double luſtre from obſcurity.
O! could I live like thee, with equal fate,
Politely good, and innocently great.
Each noble act, each generous thought, is thine;
Thoſe acts, thoſe thoughts, to imitate be mine.
Come thou, my guide, philoſopher, and friend,
Conduct, improve, protect me, and defend;
Teach me, like thee, low fortune to deſpiſe,
Like thee, by virtue dignified, to riſe;
Thro' life's calm voyage happily to ſteer,
Gay, not preſuming, grave, yet not ſevere.
Together let us view the claſſic page,
The ſophiſt's moral, and the poet's rage,
Purſue the calm advice, th' inſpiring flame,
Compare, and know their generous end the ſame.
O! did my humble artleſs breaſt but know
The piercing judgment, or the active flow;
[122]Sublime the muſe ſhould mount with ſtronger wing,
Thy peaceful worth, thy glorious toils to ſing:
To thee, in loftier ſtrains, the ſong ſhould raiſe,
And with the friend's unite the patriot's praiſe.
Even now, whilſt grateful truths my breaſt inflame,
I dare to celebrate the glorious theme,
And bold, the wilds of poetry explore
Thro' devious tracts, and paths unknown before.
Appendix A CONTENTS.
[]- ODE to February, Page 1
- Stanzas, occaſioned by the forwardneſs of the ſpring, 3
- Spring. Addreſſed to Myra, 5
- On the firſt of February, 7
- Horace, ode IV. book i. imitated, 8
- Deity. A poem, 9
- A ſoliloquy in a country church-yard, 49
- The ſhepherd's invitation, 53
- The nymph's anſwer, 55
- A poem. By Sir W. Raleigh, 57
- Imitation of Marloe, 59
- The third idyllium of Theocritus, tranſlated, 61
- The nineteenth idyllium of Theocritus, tranſlated, 65
- Againſt life. From the Greek of Podiſippus, 66
- For life. From the Greek of Metrodorus, 67
- A parody on the epigram of Podiſippus, 68
- A paſſage from Petronius, tranſlated, 70
- Antipater's Greek epigram, on water-mills, tranſlated, 71
- Lucian's epigram, inſcribed on a column, imitated, 72
- Anacreon, ode XXVIII. imitated, 73
- Robin. A paſtoral elegy, 75
- On Valentine's day, 79
- On the death of king George II. 81
- Ode for the new year, 86
- The man of ſorrow, 89
- The man of pleaſure, 92
- The Bacchanalian, 95
- The adventurer and the treaſure, 97
- The conqueror and the old woman, 100
- Peace, 102
- Mercury and the ſhades, 106
- The connoiſſeurs, 110
- [vi]Love elegy, Page 113
- Verſes, occaſioned by the death of mrs. Oldfield, 116
- On the old buſt, on mr. Dryden's monument, in Weſtminſter-Abbey, 119
- On the birth-day of the late Stephen Poyntz, eſq. 120
END OF VOL. II.
Notes
*
The ſign in the Zodiac, which the ſun occupies in February.
*
The ſnow-drop.—See Tickel's poem on Kenſington gardens.
*
Snow-drops, in Suffolk, are called fair-maids of February.
*
Pope Alexander VI. and his ſon, Caeſar Borgia. See Mr. Gordon's Hiſtory.
*
The Bird of Paradiſe, ſeen in the Spice Iſlands.
*
Alluding to the golden age, when the earth was ſuppoſed to yield corn ſpontaneouſly. In this epigram the naiads, or water-nymphs, are beautifully ſaid to be ſubſtituted by Ceres in the room of the women, who formerly worked their mills with their hands and feet.
*
Miſs M—o.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5360 The poetical calendar Containing a collection of scarce and valuable pieces of poetry by the most eminent hands Intended as a supplement to Mr Dodsley s collection Written and selected by Fra. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-59DC-9