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YOUTH.
[Price 2s.]
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YOUTH.
A POEM.
BY HALL HARTSON, ESQ.
From violet beds▪ and wreathed bowers
Advance the Graces and the smiling Hours,
With yonder So [...] of Hope to sport and play,
And crown the revels of his flowery May.
LONDON: Printed for W. GRIFFIN, in Catharine-Street, Strand.
MDCCLXXIII.
YOUTH.
[]SWEET youth, ſweet ſmiling nymph, divinely fair,
Source of all joy, and foe to every care;
With whom full many a ſummer's ſunny morn,
While yet the dew drop glittered on the thorn,
I've ſought the cliff, or in the flowery vale
Imbibed the fragrance of the evening gale;
Fair fugitive, whoſe eye of heavenly blue,
And roſy cheek no longer bleſs my view,
Whoſe loved idea, which can never fly,
Wakes the fond wiſh, and heaves the fruitleſs ſigh,
Thy ſweet remembrance now the ſong inſpire,
And touch the lover with a poet's fire.
[2]
What brighter genius, what diſtinguiſhed name
Shall lend its luſtre to the pleaſing theme?
Lives there a man that with ſuperiour art
Sounds all the deep receſſes of the heart;
Calls up the genial hopes, the chilling fears;
Now ſhakes with laughter, now diſſolves to tears;
Who, Proteus like, at pleaſure ſhifts the ſcene,
Or old, or young, impaſſioned, or ſerene?
Still faithful to his aim, if ſuch there be,
Bleſt child of Nature, Garrick, thou art he.
Come then, a while forego the thronged applauſe,
Which never-erring judgment juſtly draws,
And with the light, the gay deſcriptive muſe,
While pleaſed her airy travel ſhe purſues,
Recall the happy ſcene which once was ours,
The ſmiles, the graces, and the jocund hours,
With whom we frolicked in our early day,
When pleaſure filled her cup without allay.
From every quarter of earth's peopled ſphere,
See, at the Muſe's call, what crowds appear,
[3] Eager alike to run life's little ſpan,
The gay, the reckleſs progeny of man.
Ah, happy race! far happier than they know,
Light as the ſummer breeze, firſt bid to blow,
Unceaſing as the buſy tribes on wing,
That roam the bloſſoms, and deſpoil the ſpring,
Along the verge of that fair ſeeming hill,
Where life aſcends, and Hebe ſports at will,
They move, nor mark upon the neighbouring heights
What envious eyes o'erlook their young delights,
Suſpicion, Rumour with uncertain ſtare,
And farther up the fiend ſharp viſaged Care;
Bleſt ignorance! to partial views confined;
Where ſight wou'd injure, who wou'd not be blind?
Young is the ſenſe, enjoyment in it's ſpring,
Hope yet unbroken, fancy on the wing;
The jeſt, the eaſy laugh, the wanton wile,
And antick trick which mocks with harmleſs guile,
Theſe are the ſweets their youthful morn beſtows,
The bloomy fluſh of health, and ſound repoſe:
[4] Thrice happy, whom no greater cares employ
Than for to morrow's ſure returning joy.
Yet have they ills, for man to ills is heir,
And youth, as well as age, has got it's ſhare;
The interdicted wiſh, the harſh command,
The terrours of Correction's rigid hand;
Miſhaps, the chance of light unthinking years,
Pale ſurfeit, that oft wakes a mother's fears:
Diſcord beſide inflames with little rage,
For Diſcord has her part on every ſtage;
But here ſhe walks not in her tragick form,
As eaſy raiſed, as eaſy laid the ſtorm.
Oh how unlike the waſteful ire that rends
The labouring breaſt when riper age contends!
Turn ye ambitious, at whoſe unbleſt call,
War wakes his terrours, and whole nations fall;
Ye whom the curſe of civil rage impels,
When parricide, not war, the tumult ſwells,
As o'er Britannia's much afflicted land
The fiend hath often waved her horrid brand,
[5]
Turn, turn, nor in this youthful ſchool deſpiſe
To catch the virtues of the ſimply wiſe.
Here no ambition mocks it's fruitleſs toils,
No hero weeps repentant o'er his ſpoils,
Nor frowning ſhade of warriour loſt in fight
Breaks the ſoft ſlumbers of the peaceful night:
Light as the clouds that drop the vernal ſhowers
To ope the buds, and cheer the riſing flowers,
Their quarrels paſs, and ſmiling peace returns,
And a new friendſhip in each boſom burns.
Too much of diſcord; glad the wandering muſe
The peaceful and more pleaſing toil renews,
To mark yon tribe, where o'er the moſſy ground
They fly, purſue, and leap, or run, or bound,
As buoyant ſpirits prompt them, all intent;
As ſwallows, whom chill winter long hath pent,
Now iſſuing forth upon the warmer beam,
Wave the ſmooth pool, or ſkim the murmuring ſtream;
Now here, now there their airy ſports they ply,
And many a playful circle cleaves the ſky.
[6]
Still as the eye wide wanders o'er the green,
New aims, new objects, crowd the changeful ſcene.
Here riſe the mimick works of war like hands,
There in mock fight engage the marſhaled bands;
Here too the painted galley meets the view,
Along the ſhores exult the admiring crew,
While o'er the lake it ſpreads it's ſilken ſails,
And all it's ſtreamers feel the riſing gales.
Nor frown ye wiſe, if wiſdom deign to hear,
Becauſe ſuch artleſs trifles meet the ear;
The roſe ſo loved muſt bud before it bloom,
And yonder oak, that ſpreads ſo wide a gloom,
Beneath whoſe arms the flocks and herds repoſe,
His full-grown honours to an acorn owes.
In this fair field are ſown the ſeeds of fame,
In each young boſom lives it's native flame,
Which through theſe trifles breaks with early ray,
Theſe but the dawnings of their brighter day.
In peaceful councils this ſhall gain renown,
For that Bellona wreaths the war like crown;
[7] He too, who gave his galley to the breeze,
One day may hold the empire of the ſeas;
And now, even now elate with fancied power,
Enjoys the glories of the future hour.
Thus roll the months and years, a golden round,
With peace their nights, their days with pleaſure crowned;
Nature mean time, induſtrious to fulfil
The dictates of her mighty Maſter's will,
The well-beloved taſk inceſſant plies,
And ſees the work in fair proportion riſe;
Acts with new vigour on the conſcious ſoul,
Each part enlarges, and informs the whole.
As when the ſtream firſt iſſues from it's ſource,
A gentle brook it murmurs without force,
Plays through the pebbles, and with ſilver maze▪
By many a flower and bending willow ſtrays,
Till with freſh tributary ſtores ſupplied
It pours into the main a copious tide;
Thus ſwells the ſtream of life; while evermore▪
Impatient youth regards the wider ſhore,
[8] Where man's adventurous bark with ſails unfurled
Firſt tries the deep, and launches on the world.
Paſſed is the dawn, the boyiſh hours are fled,
And lo the ſtripling rears his radiant head,
With front erect and brightly beaming eye,
Freſh as the ſtar which gilds the evening ſky.
As the young plant, the favourite of ſome fair,
Her early ſolace, and her later care,
Upriſing ſoft, with living verdure crowned,
Puts forth it's blooms, and ſpreads it's fragrance round;
Fluſhed with the gift of health, ſweet roſy hue,
Thus breaks the riper ſtripling on the view;
In all the pride of youth he ſtands diſplayed,
Nor dreams that beauty bloſſoms but to fade.
Bleſt ſeaſon! brighteſt in life's varied year,
Too ſoon, alas! thy verdures diſappear;
Too ſoon thy roſes wither in the wind,
And leave the ſharp unſightly thorn behind.
Mean time from violet beds and wreathed bowers
Advance the graces and the ſmiling hours,
[9] With yonder ſon of hope to ſport and play,
And crown the revels of his flowery May.
No more of artleſs words, which on the tongue
With untaught liſp e'er while imperfect hung;
Proud of his opening reaſon, nor leſs vain
Of ſtature that o'er-tops the younger train,
He glances on them with averted eye,
Admires himſelf, and walks ſuperiour by.
Now glows the boſom with more potent fires,
Teems with new projects, throbs with new deſires;
Robuſter ſports the ſtripling youth employ,
And all his ſoul is up for manly joy.
Now to the well-repleniſhed fields he hies,
Sometimes the plain, ſometimes the wood-land tries,
Where haunts the partridge, or the timorous hare,
And where the lapwing beats the ſounding air;
O'er hill, o'er dale, by lake, or river toils,
And late returns, exulting in his ſpoils:
The cheerful glaſs, the lengthened tale ſucceeds,
And all the game again in fancy bleeds.
[10] Sweet are the ſlumbers that from toils ariſe,
More ſweet the bliſs which innocence ſupplies;
Light from his couch and well refreſhed he ſprings
What time the lark the lively ſummons ſings;
New joys invite him forth, the dewy morn,
The hound wide opening to the high-toned horn,
The ſtag unharboured, and the madding throng
With furious emulation borne along;
O'er the ſwift ſteed Actaeon like he bends,
And with the maſters of the chaſe contends.
Thus ſpeeds the morn; now ſits the ſun on high,
And a fierce luſtre breaks thro' all the ſky;
Parched are the flowers and bloſſoms, all around
The panting flocks lie ſcattered o'er the ground,
And from the reach of Phoebus' ſultry fires
Imbowered the viſionary muſe retires.
Not thus the glowing youth; he on the ſhore,
Where breezy waters ſpread their grateful ſtore,
Forthwith diſrobes, and in the midway flood
Allays the tumult of his boiling blood.
[11] Too daring thou, thus fond the deep to brave,
Be taught the dangers of the inſidious wave;
It chills, relaxes, deadly cramps aſſail;
Ah what ſhall then thy boaſted art avail,
When with exhauſted limbs thou ſtriveſt in vain
To reach the ſhores thou never ſhalt regain?
Such was Ambroſio's, ſuch Endymion's doom,
Oh early loſt in youth's ethereal bloom!
Twin brothers they, the only lov'd remains
Of many ſons that payed a mother's pains.
I'll-fated dame! to early ſorrows bred,
The wretched mourner of a widowed bed,
Whoſe lord the chance of battle ſnatched away
E'er yet the double off-ſpring ſaw the day:
But now the blooming pair her hopes renew,
In theſe ſhe ſeems again her lord to view;
Their filial piety, their riſing years
Sooth all her loſſes, and aſſuage her tears.
'Twas on a day, the feveriſh heat to cool,
They ſought the windings of the well known pool,
[12] Along whoſe margin flowers were thickly ſpread,
And many a poplar reared it's graceful head.
Like two fair ſwans elate in youthful pride
They breaſt the waves, and roll the deep aſide;
They ſport, they toſs, now vaniſh, now appear,
Fate overlooks them with malignant leer.
Ambroſio now the ſafer ſhore had gained,
Endymion ſtill within the flood remained;
Full oft the former chid his long delay,
In vain, Death challenges the deſtined prey:
Chill torture now had ſeized on all his frame,
Ambroſio ſaw, he heard the fearful ſcream;
What doubts, what thrilling woes the youth ſurprize!
What boding horrours in his boſom riſe!
Swift to relieve into the deep he drove;
Oh ſad requital of fraternal love!
Exhauſted, faint, Endymion round him clings,
And marrs the generous aid his friendſhip brings.
Vain are all efforts, in the embrace he holds,
Fate ratifies the indiſſoluble folds;
[13] Nor can or youth find grace, or beauty ſave
The tender victims from a watry grave;
At once they ſink, and once again they riſe,
The deep at length ingulfs the precious prize.
Hail hapleſs pair! ye names for ever dear,
Whoſe ſad remembrance draws the painful tear,
Loved youths, companions of my brighter days,
Theſe mournful rites the ſong of friendſhip pays;
So may the ſong ſurvive when I decay,
Nor die like you, the bloſſom of a day.
But ſee, the ſun declines, a freſher breeze
Breathes on the flowers, and ruſtles thro' the trees:
Far in the vale, where calm retirement dwells
Mid ſolitary rocks, and moſs-grown cells,
O'erhung with ſhade, that breaks the evening beam,
Now plies the youthful angler on the ſtream;
Marks the criſped waters with attentive eye,
And cautious flings the well diſſembled fly.
Meantime his toils are ſoothed with various ſounds,
The mingled muſick of the rural grounds,
[14] The thruſh's mellow note, the lark's more ſhrill,
The woodman's echo from the neighbouring hill,
While oft the cuckow from the ſteepy wood
Cheers the ſoft murmurs of the nether flood.
Thrice happy youth, to whom is given ſuch joy!
Thrice happy, whom ſuch guiltleſs ſports employ!
Such were the dear delights that once were mine,
And ſuch the ſcenes, loved Erne, which ſtill are thine.
Faireſt of floods! with whom my youthful day
Smooth like thyſelf ſtole unperceived away;
Bleſt days! when near thy ample wave I ranged,
To all the buſy cares of life eſtranged;
When up the breezy hill each morn I flew,
And airy youth gave rapture to the view,
The ſunny mead, the love-inviting bower,
The ruſh-clad hamlet, and the ruined tower,
Thy numerous iſles, with waving verdure crowned,
And azure hills, the landſcape's diſtant bound.
But turn we now where other proſpects riſe,
Proud ſtructured domes, that ſhade the leſſening ſkies,
[15] The city's ſplendour and the motley throng,
By buſineſs, or by pleaſure urged along;
The ſcene we vary, not the purpoſed aim,
For nature in all places is the ſame:
The ruſtick, and the citizen we ſee
In manners differ, but in ſoul agree;
They love, they hate, to wrath alike give way,
And hopes, and fears by turns their boſoms ſway;
Alike the paſſions live in every mind,
And ſpread their empire over human kind.
But here within the city's ample round,
Where opulence, and men, and arts abound,
All ſhoots more forward, nature earlier blooms,
And ſooner youth the port of man aſſumes;
Superiour in each poliſhed art appears,
And thinks, and talks, and acts beyond his years.
Here then amid this fruitful ſcene of things,
The pride of riches, and the pomp of kings,
Let's mark his motions as the ſoul expands,
And on the verge of manhood nature ſtands.
[16]
Till now unnoted, or but dimly ſeen
While the firſt ſpring revealed it's fainter green,
Come forth the paſſions, nor come forth in vain,
An ever wakeful, and imperious train,
Swift agents, full of Heaven's ethereal fires,
Whoſe magick touch to inſtant act inſpires;
A giant hoſt they approach with fearleſs van,
Mount up, and take the little fort of man;
Pride, envy, hatred, wrath with fiery glare,
And fell revenge, that knows not how to ſpare;
A numerous throng which follow without names,
Toſs their fierce brands, and ſpread the works in flames.
Thus when the darts of ſultry Sirius fly,
And ſudden horrours oft involve the ſky,
From the dark riven cloud the thunder rolls,
And frequent flaſhes wrap the blazing poles;
At once the looſened winds impetuous ſweep,
Roar through the foreſt, and upheave the deep,
Weak to reſiſt the reeling bark gives way,
Rolls with the billows, and admits their ſway;
[17] Such the mixed tumult now that inly ſwells,
And ſuch the force of paſſions which impels.
But this outrageous phalanx to control,
Their heat to temper, and to ſooth the ſoul,
In ſweeter notes Love ſounds his ſoft alarms,
And Beauty ſtands revealed in all her charms;
Awed by her look their terrours they reſign,
Compoſe their rage, and own the form divine.
What hopes, what fears, what mixed emotions riſe!
What pleaſing anguiſh now the boſom tries!
Bleſt raptures! never to be twice enjoyed,
When all is novel, and the ſenſe uncloyed,
E'er blooming youth, unconſcious of alloy,
Has proved the fallacy of human joy.
With love, and earlier oft than love, deſire
Wakes in the ſoul, a looſe ungoverned fire,
That quick thro' all the vital frame obtains,
Flames in the heart, and revels in the veins;
[18] Dethrones fair wiſdom, and aſſaults the ſhrine
Where dwell the virtues, and the graces ſhine.
Soft is the voice, perſuaſive are the ſmiles
With which the mercenary fair beguiles:
How bright the dome that wooes the paſſing eye!
How ſweet the odours which around it fly!
Airs too, Eolian airs ſalute the ear,
And happineſs, and heaven itſelf ſeems near—
Turn generous youth, nor let the love-tuned lay
Of Thais lure thy heedleſs ſteps aſtray,
Fly, fly the ſorcereſs, fly her tainted charms,
Remorſe, diſeaſe, and death are in her arms.
But other powers, ſhould wily Thais fail,
More fatal oft the youthful ſenſe aſſail.
Gay blooming, freſh with never fading green,
Here Bacchus opes the jocund nightly ſcene,
Through the glad circle breaths his ſocial fires,
Cheers with falſe hopes, and fills with vain deſires.
Quick flies the jeſt, with laughter loud repayed,
And many a chorus echoes through the ſhade;
[19] Till fluſhed, and pregnant with the purple god,
As when of old the potent myſtick rod,
Waved high in air, with frenzy fired the throng,
And the loud I'o ſwelled the barbarous ſong,
At once they rouſe, at once their ſhouts aſcend,
And war and tumult o'er the town impend.
Unhappy wanderer! doomed to certain woes,
Whoſe ſteps theſe ſons of Belial now oppoſe;
Thrice hapleſs he, the youth whoſe fairer fame
Such wild exceſſes ſoil with early ſhame!
In ſome lewd quarrel, haply not his own,
This fatal night his force is overthrown;
Struck with baſe fears his falſe aſſociates fly,
And leave him in the inglorious cauſe to die.
Ah what avail him now the joys of wine,
His ſocial merits, and his form divine?
Sealed are thoſe lips, for ever mute that tongue
On which this morn ſuch ſweet perſuaſion hung;
The ſmiles, the graces, every charm is fled,
And mortal paleneſs ſettles in their ſtead.
[20] In vain for him the fond expectant ſire
Counts the ſlow clock, and cheers the ſlumbering fire;
In vain the anxious matron mounts on high,
Looke forth, and often heaves the boding ſigh,
Far from her aid a bleeding corſe he lies,
And never more ſhall bleſs a parent's eyes.
Thus here while various ills from Bacchus flow,
Mark well the cloſe approach of yonder foe;
Dark ſon of ſtratagem, who lives by ſpoils,
Works in the ſhade, and nightly ſpreads his toils.
Deteſted monſter! whom no tears can bend,
At war with all, to all a ſeeming friend;
Who quotes the maxims of the truly wiſe,
And feigns to damn the very art he plies;
Who hugs him in the ſpoil his frauds have won,
And turns to laughter thoſe he has undone.
See how to yonder Youth he winds his way,
Calls up his wiles, and meditates the prey:
Short is the ſtrife with ſuch unequal foes,
At every game a wealthy manor goes;
[21] Flocks, herds, and fields are loſt beyond recall,
And one fineſſe deprives the youth of all.
What ſhall he do? An hopeleſs wretch he ſtands,
No longer now the lord of many lands;
Unhouſed, unpitied, forced to beg for bread,
Perhaps from thoſe his former fortunes fed,
Or in the caverns of a jail to lie,
There mourn his folly, and by famine die.
Theſe are the changes nature now unfolds,
And thus her favourite ſon his progreſs holds;
Here range the virtues, there the vices ſtand,
He weighs their worth, but with unequal hand;
Warped in his choice the balance he ſuſpends,
And ſpite of odds the vicious ſcale deſcends.
Now Vanity her playful part aſſumes,
And tricks him out in all her gayeſt plumes;
South, Eaſt, and Weſt are ſought with curious care,
And Boreas wafts the fluttering youth a ſhare.
For him the inventive artiſt hourly plies,
Views every flower, and blends the varied dyes:
[22] He raves of faſhions, gives the important rule
Which guides the mode of every mimick fool;
Smiles, ſimpers, toſſes his fantaſtick head,
And ſtrikes in thought each hapleſs fair one dead.
Turn to the inſect, youth, that art ſo vain,
Then, if thou can'ſt, thy folly ſtill maintain;
Dreſſed by the ſummer ſun from earth he ſprings,
Opes his gay downs, and ſpreads his gold-drop'd wings,
Turns every beauty to the ſunny ray,
And winnows with ſoft wing his eaſy way,
Till from the North a ſudden blaſt ariſe,
Down drops the painted flutterer, and dies:
Even ſuch the frail condition, ſuch the ſpan
Which circumſcribes the little race of man,
Offspring of earth, that blooms but to decay,
The gaudy, glittering inſect of a day.
Behold him now adrift, without a guide,
Borne down where pleaſure rolls her rapid tide;
Erroneous flood, that wide it's wave expands,
And in it's progreſs views a thouſand lands;
[23] A thouſand ſprings their copious urns ſupply
Swell the rich ſtream, and pour temptation by.
What ſtir, what buſtle, what a mighty throng
Preſs to the ſhores, or urge the deep along!
Nor youth alone, all ages, all degrees,
Female, and male the eye of fancy ſees:
For who from Pleaſure yet e'er turned the eye,
Deſpiſed the Fair, and paſſed her beauties by?
Deluding ſorcereſs! ſtored with every art
To warp the judgment, and enſnare the heart.
By thee ſeduced the warriour doffs his arms,
And ſells his laurels for thy ſofter charms;
The merchant too, caught by thy wily train,
Foregoes the rich, the golden hour of gain:
Thee the fond youth his brighter genius ſtyles,
Hangs on thy looks, and lives but in thy ſmiles;
Bleſt youth indeed, if in her ſmiles ſincere
His miſtreſs were as conſtant as ſhe's fair.
Ah much misjudging, to the future blind,
Who thinks that pleaſure always will be kind;
[24] Then when ſhe ſooths, when moſt her charms delight,
Even then ſhe meditates diſhoneſt flight,
Bids her falſe breaſt with well-feigned raptures heave,
And plays the fond one only to deceive.
FINIS.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3628 Youth A poem By Hall Hartson Esq. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5956-0