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THE POETICAL CALENDAR. VOL. XII. FOR DECEMBER.

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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 EMIMENT HANDS.

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.

DECEMBER.LAſt of the months, ſevereſt of them all,
Woe to the regions where thy terrors fall!
Hail to thy tempeſts, which the deep deform,
Thrice hail thy ruthleſs hurricane and ſtorm!
Now Eolus, let forth thy mightieſt blaſt,
By land to rock the ſpire, by ſea the maſt;
Let earth and ocean feel thy potent ſway,
And give thy blaſts their full impetuous way:
For lo! the fiery horſes of the ſun
Thro' the twelve Signs their rapid courſe have run,
Time, like a ſerpent, bites his forked tail,
And Winter on a Goat beſtrides the gale;
Rough blows the north wind near Arcturus' ſtar,
And ſweeps, unrein'd, acroſs the polar bar,
On the world's confines, where the ſea-bears prowl,
And Greenland whales, like moving iſlands, roll:
There, thro' the ſkies, on brooms, are ſeen to ride,
The Lapland wizzard, and his helliſh bride;
[2]There, on a ſledge, the rain-deer drives the ſwain
To meet his miſtreſs on the froſt-bound plain:
Have mercy, Winter!—for we own thy power,
Thy flooding deluge, and thy drenching ſhower;
Yes—we acknowledge what thy proweſs can,
But oh! have pity on the toil of man!
And, tho' the floods thy adamantine chain
Submiſſive wear—yet ſpare the treaſur'd grain:
The peaſants to thy mercy now reſign
The infant ſeed—their hope and future mine:
Not always Phoebus bends his vengeful bow,
Oft in mid winter placid breezes blow,
Oft tinctur'd with the blueſt tranſmarine,
The fretted canopy of heaven is ſeen;
Girded with argent lamps, the full-orb'd moon
In mild December emulates the noon;
Tho' ſhort the reſpite, if the ſaphire blue
Stains the bright luſtre with an inky hue;
Then a black wreck of clouds is ſeen to fly,
In broken ſhatters, thro' the frighted ſky:
But if fleet Eurus ſcour the vaulted plain,
Then all the ſtars propitious ſhine again;
Like Myra's face appears the vivid ſcene,
And, like her mind, free, open, and ſerene.

ODE TO WINTER.

[3]

BY A GENTLEMAN OF CAMBRIDGE.

FRom mountains of eternal ſnow,
And Zembla's dreary plains;
Where the bleak winds for ever blow,
And Froſt for ever reigns,

Lo! Winter comes, in fogs array'd,
With ice, and ſpangled dews;
To dews, and fogs, and ſtorms be paid
The tribute of the Muſe.

Each flowery carpet Nature ſpread
Is vaniſh'd from the eye;
Where'er unhappy lovers tread,
No Philomel is nigh.

(For well I ween her plaintive note,
Can ſoothing eaſe impart;
The little warblings of her throat
Relieve the wounded heart.)

No bluſhing roſe unfolds its bloom,
No tender lillies blow,
To ſcent the air with rich perfume,
Or grace Lucinda's brow.

[4]

Th' indulgent Father who protects

The wretched and the poor;

With the ſame gracious care directs

The ſparrow to our door.

Dark, ſcowling tempeſts rend the ſkies,
And clouds obſcure the day;
His genial warmth the ſun denies,
And ſheds a fainter ray.

Yet blame we not the troubled air,
Or ſeek defects to find;
For Power Omnipotent is there,
And 'walks upon the wind.'

Hail! every pair' whom love unites
In wedlock's pleaſing ties;
That endleſs ſource of pure delights,
That bleſſing to the wiſe!

Tho' yon pale orb no warmth beſtows,
And ſtorms united meet,
The flame of love and friendſhip glows
With unextinguiſh'd heat.

TO WINTER.

[5]

BY MR. WOTY.

WHat! tho' thou com'ſt in ſable mantle clad,
Yet, Winter! art thou welcome to my eye:
Thee here I hail, tho' terrors round thee wait,
And winds tempeſtuous howl along the ſky.

But ſhall I then ſo ſoon forget the days
When Ceres led me thro' her wheaten mines!
When Autumn pluck'd me, with his tawny hand,
Empurpled cluſters from ambroſial vines!

So ſoon forget, when up the yielding pole
I ſaw aſcend the ſilver-bearded hop!
When Summer, waving high her crown of hay,
Pour'd o'er the mead her odoriferous crop!

I muſt forget them—and thee too, O Spring!
Tho' many a chaplet thou haſt weav'd for me:
For, now prepar'd to quit th' enchanting ſcenes,
Cold, weeping Winter! I come all to thee.

Hail to thy rolling clouds, and rapid ſtorms!
Tho' they deform fair Nature's lovely face:
Hail to thy winds, that ſweep along the earth!
Tho' trees they root up from their ſolid baſe.

[6]

How ſicklied over is the face of things!

Where is the ſpice-kiſs of the ſouthern gale!

Where the wild roſe, that ſmil'd upon the thorn,

The mountain flower, and lilly of the vale!

How gloomy 'tis to caſt the eye around,
And view the trees diſrob'd of every leaf,
The velvet path grown rough with clotting ſhowers,
And every field depriv'd of every ſheaf!

How far more gloomy o'er the rain-beat heath,
Alone to travel in the dead of night!
No twinkling ſtar to gild the arch of heaven,
No moon to lend her temporary light:

To ſee the lightning ſpread its ample ſheet,
Diſcern the wild waſte thro' its liquid fire,
To hear the thunder rend the troubled air,
As time itſelf and nature would expire:

And yet, O Winter! has thy poet ſeen
Thy face as ſmooth, and placid as the Spring,
Has felt, with comfort felt, the beam of heaven,
And heard thy vallies and thy woodlands ring.

What time the ſun with burniſh'd locks aroſe,
The long loſt charms of nature to renew,
When pearls of ice bedeck'd the graſſy turf,
And tree-tops floated in the ſilver dew.

[7]

Father of heaven and earth! this change is thine:

By thee the Seaſons in gradation roll,

Thou great omniſcient Ruler of the world!

Thou Alpha and Omega of the whole!

Here humbly bow we down our heads to thee!
'Tis ours the voice of gratitude to raiſe,
Thine to diffuſe thy bleſſings o'er the land;
Thine to receive the incenſe of our praiſe.

Pure if it riſes from the conſcious heart,
With thee for ever does the ſymbol live:
Tho' ſmall for all thy love is man's return,
Thou aſk'ſt no more, than he has power to give.

ON THE FIFTH OF DECEMBER, BEING THE BIRTH-DAY OF A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY.

[8]

HAil! eldeſt of the monthly train,
Sire of the winter drear,
December, in whoſe iron reign
Expires the chequer'd year!
Huſh all the bluſtering blaſts that blow,
And, proudly plum'd in ſilver ſnow,
Smile gladly on this bleſt of days:
The liveried clouds ſhall on thee wait,
And Phoebus ſhine in all his ſtate
With more than ſummer rays.

Tho' jocund June may juſtly boaſt
Long days and happy hours,
Tho' Auguſt be Pomona's hoſt,
And May be crown'd with flowers;
Tell June, his fire and crimſon dies
By Harriot's bluſh, and Harriot's eyes,
Eclips'd and vanquiſh'd, fade away:
Tell Auguſt, thou canſt let him ſee
A richer, riper fruit than he,
A ſweeter flower than May.

DEATH. A POEM.

[9]

BY THE LATE CHARLES EMILY, ESQ.

THE feſtive roar of laughter, the warm glow
Of briſk-eyed joy, and friendſhip's genial bowl,
Wit's ſeaſon'd converſe, and the liberal flow
Of unſuſpicious youth, profuſe of ſoul,
Delight not ever; from the boiſterous ſcene
Of riot far, and Comus' wild uproar,
From folly's crowd, whoſe vacant brow ſerene
Was never knit to wiſdom's frowning lore,
Permit me, ye time-hallow'd domes, ye piles
Of rude magnificence, your ſolemn reſt,
Amid your fretted vaults and lengthening iſles
Lonely to wander; no unholy gueſt,
That means to break, with ſacrilegious tread,
The marble ſlumbers of your monumented dead.

Permit me with ſad muſings, that inſpire
Unlabour'd numbers apt, your ſilence drear
Blameleſs to wake, and with th' Orphean lyre
Fitly attemper'd, ſooth the mercileſs ear
Of Hades, and ſtern Death, whoſe iron ſway
Great Nature owns thro' all her wide domain;
All that with oary fin cleave their ſmooth way
Thro' the green boſom of the ſpawny main,
[10]And thoſe that to the ſtreaming ether ſpread,
In many a wheeling glide, their feathery ſail;
And thoſe that creep, and thoſe that ſtatelier tread,
That roam o'er foreſt, hill, or browſed dale;
The victims each of ruthleſs fate muſt fall;
Even God's own image, man, high paramount of all.

And ye, the young, the giddy, and the gay,
That ſtartle from the ſleepful lid of light
The curtain'd reſt, and with the diſſonant bray
Of Bacchus, and loud Jollity, affright
Yon radiant goddeſs, that now ſhoots among
Thoſe many window'd iſles her glimmering beam;
Know, that or e'er its ſtarr'd career along
Thrice ſhall have roll'd her ſilvery-wheeled team,
Some parent breaſt may heave the anſwering ſigh,
To the ſlow pauſes of the funeral knell;
E'en now black Atropos, with ſcouling eye,
Roars in the laugh, and revels o'er the bowl,
E'en now in roſy-crowned pleaſure's wreath
Entwines in adder folds all-unſuſpected Death.

Know, on the ſtealing wing of time ſhall flee
Some few, ſome ſhort-liv'd years; and all is paſt;
A future bard theſe awful domes may ſee,
Muſe o'er the preſent age as I the laſt;
[11]Who mouldering in the grave, yet once like you
The various maze of life were ſeen to tread,
Each bent their own peculiar to purſue,
As cuſtom urg'd, or wilful nature led;
Mix'd with the various crouds inglorious clay,
The nobler virtues undiſtinguiſh'd lie;
No more to melt with beauty's heaven-born ray,
No more to wet compaſſion's tearful eye,
Catch from the poet raptures not their own,
And feel the thrilling melody of ſweet renown.

Where is the maſter-hand, whoſe ſemblant art
Chiſſel'd the marble into life, or taught
From the well-pencill'd portraiture to ſtart
The nerve that beat with ſoul, the brow that thought!
Cold are the fingers that in ſtone-fixt trance
The mute attention rivetting, to the lyre
Struck language: dimm'd the poet's quick-eyed glance,
All in wild raptures flaſhing heaven's own fire▪
Shrunk is the ſinew'd energy, that ſtrung
The warrior arm: where ſleeps the patriot breaſt
Whilom that heav'd impaſſion'd! Where the tongue
That lanc'd its lightning o'er the towering creſt
Of ſcepter'd Inſolence, and overthrew
Giant Oppreſſion, leagued with all her earth-born crew!

[12]Theſe now are paſt; long, long, ye fleeting years
Purſue, with glory wing'd, your fated way,
Ere from the womb of time unwelcome peers
The dawn of that inevitable day,
When wrapt in ſhrouded clay their warmeſt friend
The widow'd virtues ſhall again deplore,
When o'er his urn in pious grief ſhall bend
His Britain, and bewail one Patriot more;
For ſoon muſt Thou, too ſoon! who ſpread'ſt abroad
Thy beaming emanations unconfin'd,
Doom'd, like ſome better angel ſent of God,
To ſcatter bleſſings over humankind,
Thou too muſt fall, O Pitt! to ſhine no more,
And tread theſe deathful paths, a Faulkland trod before.

Faſt to the driving winds the marſhall'd clouds
Sweep diſcontinuous o'er th' etherial plain;
Another ſtill upon another crouds,
All haſtenihg downward to their native main.
Thus paſſes o'er thro' varied life's career
Man's fleeting age; the Seaſons as they fly
Snatch from us in their courſe, year after year,
Some ſweet connection, ſome endearing tie.
The parent ever-honour'd, ever-dear,
Claims from the filial breaſt the pious ſigh;
A brother's urn demands the kindred tear;
And gentle ſorrows guſh from friendſhip's eye.
[13]To-day we frolic in the roſy bloom
Of jocund youth—The morrow knells us to the tomb.

Who knows how ſoon in this ſepulchral ſpot,
Shall heaven to me the drear abode aſſign!
How ſoon the paſt irrevocable lot
Of theſe, that reſt beneath me, ſhall be mine!
Haply, when Zephyr to thy native bourn
Shall waft thee o'er the ſtorm'd Hibernian wave,
Thy gentle breaſt, my Taviſtock, ſhall mourn
To find me ſleeping in the ſenſeleſs grave.
No more the ſocial leiſure to divide,
In the ſweet intercourſe of ſoul and ſoul,
Blithe or of graver brow; no more to chide
The lingering years impatient as they roll,
Till all thy cultur'd virtues ſhall diſplay,
Full-bloſſom'd, their bright honours to the gazing day.

Ah deareſt youth! theſe vows perhaps unheard,
The rude wind ſcatters o'er the billowy main;
Theſe prayers at friendſhip's holy ſhrine preferr'd
May riſe to graſp their father's knees in vain.
Soon, ſoon may nod the ſad funereal plume
With ſolemn horror o'er thy timeleſs hearſe,
And I ſurvive to grave upon thy tomb
The mournful tribute of memorial verſe.—
[14]That leave to Heaven's deciſion—Be it thine,
Higher than yet a parent's wiſhes flew,
To ſoar in bright pre-eminence, and ſhine
With ſelf-earn'd honours, eager to purſue
Where glory, with her clear unſullied rays,
The well-born ſpirit lights to deeds of mightieſt praiſe.

Twas ſhe thy god-like Ruſſell's boſom ſteel'd
With confidence untam'd, in his laſt breath
Stern-ſmiling. She, with calm compoſure, held
The patriot axe of Sidney, edg'd with death.
Smit with the warmth of her impulſive flame,
Wolfe's gallant virtue flies to worlds a-far,
Emulous to pluck freſh wreaths of well-earn'd fame
From the grim frowning brow of laurell'd war.
'Twas ſhe, that on the morn of direful birth,
Bared thy young boſom to the fatal blow,
Lamented Armytage!—the bleeding youth!—
O bathe him in the pearly caves below,
Ye Nereids: and ye Nymphs of Camus hoar,
Weep—for ye oft have ſeen him on your haunted ſhore.

Better to die with glory, than recline
On the ſoft lap of ignominious peace,
Than yawn out the dull droning life ſupine
In Monkiſh apathy and Gowned eaſe.
[15]Better employ'd in honour's bright career
The leaſt diviſion on the dial's round,
Than thrice to compaſs Saturn's livelong year,
Grown old in ſloth, the burthen of the ground;
Than tug with ſweating toil the ſlaviſh oar
Of unredeem'd affliction, and ſuſtain
The feverous rage of fierce diſeaſes ſore
Unnumber'd, that in ſympathetic chain
Hang ever thro' the ſick circumfluous air,
All from the drizzly verge of yonder ſtar-girt ſphere.

Thick in the many-beaten road of life,
A thouſand maladies are poſted round,
With wretched man to wage eternal ſtrife
Unſeen, like ambuſh'd Indians, till they wound.
There the ſwollen Hydrops ſtands, the watery Rheum,
The northern Scurvy, blotch with leperous ſcale;
And moping ever in the cloiſter'd gloom
Of learned ſloth, the bookiſh Aſthma pale:
And the ſhun'd hag unſightly, that ordain'd
On Europe's ſons to wreak the faithleſs ſword
Of Cortez, with the blood of millions ſtain'd,
O'er dog-eyed Luſt the torturing ſcourge abhorr'd
Shakes threatening; ſince the while ſhe wing'd her flight
From Amazon's broad wave, and Andes' ſnow-clad height.

[16]Where the wan daughter of the yellow year
The chattering Ague chill, the writhing Stone,
And he of ghaſtly feature, on whoſe ear
Unheeded croaks the death-bird's warning moan,
Maraſmus; knotty Gout; and the dead life
Of nerveleſs Palſy; there on purpoſe fell
Dark brooding, whets his interdicted knife
Grim Suicide, the damned fiend of hell.
There too is the ſtunn'd Apoplexy pight*,
The bloated child of gorg'd Intemperance foul;
Self-waſting Melancholy, black as night
Lowering, and foaming fierce with hideous howl
The dog Hydrophoby, and near allied
Scar'd Madneſs, with her moon-ſtruck eye-balls ſtaring wide.

There, ſtretch'd One huge, beneath the rocky mine,†
With boiling ſulphur fraught, and ſmouldering fires;
He, the dread delegate of wrath divine,
E'er while that ſtood o'er Taio's hundred ſpires
Vindictive; thrice he wav'd th' earth-ſhaking wand,
Powerful as that the Son of Amron bore,
And thrice he rais'd, and thrice he check'd his hand.
He ſtruck the rocking ground, with thunderous roar
[17]Yawn'd; here from ſtreet to ſtreet hurries, and there
Now runs, now ſtops, then ſhrieks and ſcours amain,
Staring Diſtraction; many a palace fair,
With millions ſinks ingulpht, and pillar'd fane;
Old Ocean's fartheſt waves confeſt the ſhock;
Even Albion trembled conſcious on his ſtedfaſt rock.

The meagre Famine there, and drunk with blood
Stern War; and the loath'd monſter, whom of yore
The ſlimy Naiad of the Memphian flood
Engendering, to the bright-hair'd Phoebus bore,
Foul Peſtilence, that on the wide ſtretch'd wings
Of commerce ſpeeds from Cairo's ſwarthy bay
His weſtering flight, and thro' the ſick air flings
Spotted Contagion; at heels Diſmay
And Deſolation urge their fire-wheel'd yoke
Terrible; as long of old, when from the height
Of Paran came unwrath'd the Mightieſt, ſhook
Earth's firm fix'd baſe tottering; thro' the black night
Glanc'd the flaſh'd lightnings: heaven's rent roof abroad
Thunder'd; and univerſal Nature felt its God.

Who on that ſcene of terror, on that hour
Of rouſed indignation, ſhall withſtand
Th' Almighty, when he meditates to ſhower
The burſting vengeance o'er a guilty land!
[18]Canſt thou, ſecure in reaſon's vaunted pride,
Tongue-doughty miſcreant, who but now didſt gore
With more than Hebrew rage the innocent ſide
Of agonizing mercy, bleeding ſore,
Canſt thou confront, with ſtedfaſt eye unaw'd,
The ſworded Judgment ſtalking far and near?
Well may'ſt thou tremble, when an injur'd God
Diſclaims thee—guilt is ever quick of fear—
Loud whirlwinds howl in Zephyr's ſofteſt breath;
And every glancing meteor glares imagin'd death.

The good alone are fearleſs—they alone,
Firm and collected in their virtue, brave
The wreck of worlds, and look unſhrinking down
On the dread yawnings of the ravenous grave:
Thrice happy! who the blameleſs road along
Of honeſt praiſe hath reach'd the vale of death;
Around him, like miniſtrant Cherubs, throng
His Better Actions; to the parting breath
Singing their bleſſed requiems: he the while,
Gently repoſing on ſome friendly breaſt,
Breaths out his benizons; then, with a ſmile
Of ſoft complacence, lays him down to reſt,
Calm as the ſlumbering infant: from the goal
Free and unbounded flies the diſembodied ſoul.

[19]Whether ſome delegated charge below,
Some much-lov'd friend its hovering care may claim,
Whether it homeward ſoars, again to know
That long forgotten country whence it came;
Conjecture ever, the misfeatur'd child
Of letter'd arrogance, delights to run
Thro' ſpeculation's puzzling mazes wild,
And all to end at laſt where it begun.
Fain would we trace, with reaſon's erring clue,
The darkſome paths of deſtiny aright;
In vain; the taſk were eaſier to purſue
The trackleſs wheeling of the ſwallow's flight.
From mortal ken himſelf the Almighty ſhrouds
Pavilion'd in thick night, and circumambient clouds.

THE DAY OF JUDGMENT.
A CAMBRIDGE PRIZE POEM IN MDCCLVII.

[20]

BY R. GLYNN, M.D.

THY juſtice, heavenly King, and that great day,
When virtue, long abandon'd and forlorn,
Shall raiſe her penſive head; and vice, that erſt
Rang'd unreprov'd and free, ſhall ſink appall'd;
I ſing adventurous.—But what eye can pierce
The vaſt immeaſurable realms of ſpace,
O'er which Meſſiah drives his flaming car
To that bright region, where enthron'd He ſits,
Firſt-born of heaven, to judge aſſembled worlds,
Cloath'd in celeſtial radiance! Can the Muſe,
Her feeble wing all damp with earthly dew,
Soar to that bright empyreal, where, around,
Myriads of angels, God's perpetual choir,
Hymn hallelujahs; and, in concert loud,
Chant ſongs of triumph to their Maker's praiſe?—
Yet will I ſtrive to ſing, albeit unus'd
To tread poetic ſoil. What tho' the wiles
Of Fancy me enchanted ne'er could lure
To rove o'er fairy lands; to ſwim the ſtreams
That thro' her valleys weave their mazy way,
Or climb her mountain tops; yet will I raiſe
[21]My feeble voice, to tell what harmony
(Sweet as the muſic of the rolling ſpheres)
Attunes the moral world: that virtue ſtill
May hope her promis'd crown; that vice may dread
Vengeance, tho' late; that reaſoning pride may own
Juſt, tho' unſearchable, the ways of heaven.

Sceptic! whoe'er thou art, who ſay'ſt the ſoul,
That particle divine, which God's own breath
Inſpir'd into the mortal maſs, ſhall reſt
Annihilate, till duration has unroll'd
Her never-ending line; tell, if thou know'ſt,
Why every nation, every clime, tho' all
In laws, in rites, in manners diſagree,
With one content expect another world,
Where wickedneſs ſhall weep? why Paynim bards
Fabled Elyſian plains; Tartarean lakes,
Styx and Cocytos? tell, why Hali's ſons
Have feign'd a paradiſe of mirth, and love,
Banquets, and blooming Nymphs? or rather tell,
Why on the brink of Orellana's ſtream,
Where never Science rear'd her ſacred torch,
Th' untutor'd Indian dreams of happier worlds
Behind the cloud-topt hill? why in each breaſt
Is plac'd a friendly monitor, that prompts,
Informs, directs, encourages, forbids?
Tell why, on unknown evil, grief attends;
Or joy on ſecret good? Why conſcience acts
With tenfold force, when ſickneſs, age, or pain,
[22]Stands tottering on the precipice of death?
Or why ſuch horror gnaws the guilty ſoul
Of dying ſinners; while the good man ſleeps
Peaceful and calm, and with a ſmile expires?

Look round the world! with what a partial hand
The ſcale of bliſs and miſery is ſuſtain'd!
Beneath the ſhade of cold obſcurity
Pale Virtue lies; no arm ſupports her head;
No friendly voice ſpeaks comfort to her ſoul;
Nor ſoft-eyed Pity drops a melting tear:
But, in their ſtead, Contempt and rude Diſdain
Inſult the baniſh'd wanderer: on the goes
Neglected and forlorn: diſeaſe, and cold,
And famine, worſt of ills, her ſteps attend:
Yet patient, and to heaven's juſt will reſign'd,
She ne'er is ſeen to weep, or heard to ſigh.

Now turn your eyes to yon ſweet-ſmelling bower,
Where, fluſh'd with all the inſolence of wealth,
Sits pamper'd Vice! for him th' Arabian gale
Breathes forth delicious odours; Gallia's hills
For him pour nectar from the purple vine;
Nor think for theſe he pays the tribute due
To heaven: of heaven he never names the name;
Save when with imprecations, dark, and dire,
He points his jeſt obſcene. Yet buxom Health
Sits on his roſy cheek; yet Honour gilds
His high exploits; and downy-pinion'd Sleep
Sheds a ſoft opiate o'er his peaceful couch.

[23]See'ſt thou this, righteous Father! ſee'ſt thou this,
And wilt thou ne'er repay? ſhall good and ill
Be carried undiſtinguiſh'd to the land
Where all things are forgot?—Ah! no; the day
Will come, when Virtue from the cloud ſhall burſt
That long obſcur'd her beams; when Sin ſhall fly
Back to her native hell; there ſink eclips'd
In penal darkneſs; where nor ſtar ſhall riſe,
Nor ever ſunſhine pierce th' impervious gloom.

On that great day the ſolemn trump ſhall ſound,
(That trump, which once, in heaven, on man's revolt,
Convok'd th' aſtoniſh'd ſeraphs;) at whoſe voice
Th' unpeopled graves ſhall pour forth all their dead.
Then ſhall th' aſſembled nations of the earth
From every quarter at the judgment-ſeat
Unite; Egyptians, Babylonians, Greeks,
Parthians; and they who dwelt on Tyber's banks,
Names fam'd of old: or who of later age,
Chineſe, and Ruſſian, Mexican, and Turk,
Tenant the wide terrene; and they who pitch
Their tents on Niger's banks; or, where the ſun
Pours on Golconda's ſpires his early light,
Drink Ganges' ſacred ſtream. At once ſhall riſe
Whom diſtant ages to each others ſight
Had long denied: before the throne ſhall kneel
Some great Progenitor, while at his ſide
Stands his deſcendant thro' a thouſand lines.
Whate'er their nation, and whate'er their rank,
[24]Heroes, and patriarchs, ſlaves, and ſceptred kings,
With equal eye the God of All ſhall ſee;
And judge with equal love. What tho' the great
With coſtly pomp, and aromatic ſweets,
Embalm'd his poor remains; or thro' the dome
A thouſand tapers ſhed their gloomy light,
While ſolemn organs to his parting ſoul
Chanted ſlow oriſons? ſay, by what mark
Do'ſt thou diſcern him from that lowly ſwain,
Whoſe mouldering bones beneath the thorn-bound turf
Long lay neglected?—All at once ſhall riſe;
But not to equal glory: for, alas!
With howlings dire, and execrations loud,
Some wail their fatal birth.—Firſt among theſe
Behold the mighty murtherers of mankind;
They who in ſport whole kingdoms ſlew; or they
Who to the tottering pinnacle of power
Waded thro' ſeas of blood! how will they curſe
The madneſs of ambition! how lament
Their dear-bought laurels; when the widow'd wife,
And childleſs mother, at the judgment-ſeat
Plead trumpet-tongu'd againſt them!—Here are they
Who ſunk an aged father to the grave:
Or, with unkindneſs hard, and cold diſdain,
Slighted a brother's ſufferings:—Here are they,
Whom fraud and ſkilful treachery long ſecur'd;
Who from the infant virgin tore her dower,
And eat the orphan's bread:—who ſpent their ſtores
In ſelfiſh luxury; or, o'er their gold
Proſtrate and pale, ador'd the uſeleſs heap.—
[25]Here too who ſtain'd the chaſte connubial bed;—
Who mix'd the poiſonous bowl;—or broke the ties
Of hoſpitable friendſhip;—And the wretch,
Whoſe liſtleſs ſoul, ſick with the cares of life,
Unſummon'd, to the preſence of his God
Ruſh'd in with inſult rude. How would they joy
Once more to viſit earth; and, tho' oppreſs'd
With all, that pain or famine can inflict,
Pant up the hill of life? vain wiſh! the Judge
Pronounces doom eternal on their heads,
Perpetual puniſhment. Seek not to know
What puniſhment! for that th' Almighty Will
Has hid from mortal eyes. And ſhall vain man,
With curious ſearch refin'd, preſume to pry
Into thy ſecrets, Father! no: let him
With humble patience all thy works adore,
And walk in all thy paths: ſo ſhall his meed
Be great in heaven; ſo haply ſhall he 'ſcape
Th' immortal worm, and never-ceaſing fire.

But who are they, who, bound in ten-fold chains,
Stand horribly aghaſt? this is that crew
Who ſtrove to pull Jehovah from his throne,
And, in the place of heaven's eternal King,
Set up the phantom Chance. For them in vain
Alternate ſeaſons cheer'd the rolling year;
In vain the ſun, o'er herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Shed genial influence, mild; and the pale moon
Repair'd her waning orb.—Next theſe is plac'd
The vile blaſphemer; he, whoſe impious wit
[26]Profan'd the ſacred myſteries of faith;
And 'gainſt th' impenetrable walls of heaven
Planted his feeble battery.—By theſe ſtands
The arch-Apoſtate: He with many a wile
Exhorts them ſtill to foul revolt. Alas!
No hope have they from black deſpair, no ray
Shines thro' the gloom to cheer their ſinking ſouls.
In agonies of grief they curſe the hour
When firſt they left Religion's onward way.

Theſe on the left are rang'd: but on the right
A choſen band appears, who fought beneath
The banner of Jehovah, and defied
Satan's united legions. Some, unmov'd
At the grim tyrant's frown, o'er barbarous climes
Diffus'd the goſpel's light: Some, long immur'd,
(Sad ſervitude!) in chains, and dungeons pin'd:
Or, rack'd with all the agonies of pain,
Breath'd out their faithful lives. Thrice happy they
Whom heaven elected to that glorious ſtrife!—
Here are they plac'd, whoſe kind munificence
Made heaven-born Science raiſe her drooping head;
And on the labours of a future race
Entail'd their juſt reward.—Thou, amongſt theſe,
Good *Seaton! whoſe well-judg'd benevolence,
Foſtering fair genius, bad the poet's hand
[27]Bring annual offerings to his Maker's ſhrine,
Shalt find the generous care was not in vain.—
Here is that favourite band, whom mercy mild,
God's beſt lov'd attribute, adorn'd; whoſe gate
Stood ever open to the ſtranger's call;
Who fed the hungry; to the thirſty lip
Reach'd out the friendly cup: whoſe care benign
From the rude blaſt ſecur'd the pilgrim's ſide;
Who heard the widow's tender tale; and ſhook
The galling ſhackle from the priſoners feet:
Who each endearing tie, each office knew,
Of meek-eyed, heaven-deſcended Charity.—
O Charity, thou Nymph divinely fair!
Sweeter than thoſe whom antient poets bound
In Amity's indiſſoluble chain,
The Graces! how ſhall I eſſay to paint
Thy charms, celeſtial Maid; and, in rude verſe,
Blazon thoſe deeds thy ſelf didſt ne'er reveal?
For thee nor rankling Envy can infect,
Nor rage tranſport, nor high o'erweening Pride
Puff up with vain conceit: ne'er didſt thou ſmile
To ſee the ſinner, as a verdant tree,
Spread his luxuriant branches o'er the ſtream;
While like ſome blaſted trunk the righteous fall,
Proſtrate, forlorn.—When prophecies ſhall fail,
When tongues ſhall ceaſe, when knowledge is no more,
And this great day is come; thou by the throne
[28]Shalt ſit triumphant.—Thither, lovely Maid,
Bear me, Oh bear me on thy ſoaring wing;
And thro' the adamantine gates of heaven
Conduct my ſteps; ſafe from the fiery gulph,
And dark abyſs, where Sin, and Satan reign!

But, can the Muſe, her numbers all too weak,
Tell how that reſtleſs element of fire
Shall wage with ſeas and earth inteſtine war,
And deluge all creation? Whether (ſo
Some think) the comet, as thro' fields of air
Lawleſs he wanders, ſhall ruſh headlong on
Thwarting th' ecliptic, where th' unconſcious earth
Rolls in her wonted courſe: whether the ſun,
With force centripetal, into his orb
Attract her long reluctant: or the caves,
Thoſe dread volcanos, where engendering lie
Sulphureous minerals. from their dark abyſs
Pour ſtreams of liquid fire; while from above,
As erſt on Sodom, heaven's avenging hand
Rains fierce combuſtion.—Where are now the works
Of art, the toil of ages? Where are now
Th' imperial cities, ſepulchres, and domes,
Trophies, and pillars?—Where is Egypt's boaſt,
Thoſe lofty pyramids, which high in air
Rear'd their aſpiring heads, to diſtant times
Of Memphian pride a laſting monument?—
Tell me where Athens rais'd her towers?—Where Thebes
[29]Open'd her hundred portals?—Tell me, where
Stood ſea-girt Albion?—Where imperial Rome,
Propt by ſeven hills, ſat like a ſceptred queen,
And aw'd the tributary world to peace?—
Shew me the rampart, which o'er many a hill,
Thro' many a valley ſtretch'd its wide extent,
Rais'd by that mighty monarch, to repel
The roving Tartar, when, with inſult rude,
'Gainſt Pekin's towers he bent th' unerring bow.

But what is mimic Art? even Nature's works,
Seas, meadows, paſtures, the meandring ſtreams,
And everlaſting hills, ſhall be no more.
No more ſhall Teneriff, cloud-piercing height,
O'er-hang th' Atlantic ſurge.—Nor that fam'd cliff,
Thro' which the Perſian ſteer'd with many a ſail,
Throw to the Lemnian iſle its evening ſhade
O'er half the wide Aegaean.—Where are now
The Alps, that confin'd with unnumber'd realms,
And from the Black Sea to the Ocean ſtream
Stretch'd their extended arms?—Where's Ararat,
That hill on which the faithful Patriarch's ark,
Which ſeven long months had voyag'd o'er its top,
Firſt reſted, when the earth, with all her ſons,
As now by ſtreaming cataracts of fire,
Was whelm'd by mighty waters?—All at once
Are vaniſh'd and diſſolv'd: no trace remains,
No mark of vain diſtinction: heaven itſelf,
That azure vault with all thoſe radiant orbs
Sinks in the univerſal ruin loſt.—
[30]No more ſhall planets round their central ſun
Move in harmonious dance; no more the moon
Hang out her ſilver lamp: and thoſe fix'd ſtars
Spangling the golden canopy of night,
Which oft the Tuſcan with his optic glaſs
Call'd from their wonderous height, to read their names,
And magnitude, ſome winged miniſter
Shall quench: and (ſureſt ſign that all on earth
Is loſt) ſhall rend from heaven the myſtic bow.

Such is that awful, that tremendous day,
Whoſe coming who ſhall tell? for as a thief
Unheard, unſeen, it ſteals with ſilent pace
Thro' night's dark gloom—Perhaps as here I ſit,
And rudely carol theſe incondite lays,
Soon ſhall the hand be check'd, and dumb the mouth
That liſps the faultering ſtrain—O! may it ne'er
Intrude unwelcome on an ill-ſpent hour;
But find me wrapt in meditations high,
Hymning my great Creator! "Power ſupreme!
" O everlaſting King! to Thee I kneel;
" To Thee I lift my voice. With fervent heat
" Melt all ye elements! and thou, high heaven,
" Shrink, like a ſhrivell'd ſcroll!—But think, O Lord,
" Think on the beſt the nobleſt of thy works;
" Think on thine own bright image! think on Him,
" Who died to ſave us from thy righteous wrath;
" And 'midſt the wreck of worlds remember man!"

TO FAME. AN ODE.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXXXIX.[31]LO! on yon promontory's pendent brow,
That threats the ſhadow'd gulph below,
In the dun air ſublime;
Fame ſpreads her haſty pinions wide,
Diſdaining Britain's ſluggiſh clime,
And, in a moment's flight,
Determines to alight
On active Gaul's more formidable ſide—
—Stay, Goddeſs, I conjure thee, ſtay!
And, ere irrevocably ſoar'd away,
Thy piercing trump apply,
And pour ſo vehement a blaſt,
As ſhall alarm earth, ſea, and ſky,
Amaze the preſent age, and echo to the laſt!—
—She hears the Muſe's call!
And, with obedient breath
Inſpires the myſtic ſtrain!—
Hark! hark! the ſwelling ſound
Tempeſts the air around;
Rouſes the ſleeping main,
Shakes earth's remoteſt bound;
Pierces the very centre of the ball,
And almoſt wakens death!
[32]Again! again th' upbraiding peal renew!
Make courtly Deafneſs hear,
Make tyrant Power and baſe Corruption fear;
The Furies cloſe their guilty ſteps purſue!
Again, again it ruſhes loud,
As thunder from a burſting cloud!
The diſtant Ruſſians catch the fierce alarm!
And, fir'd with martial flame,
Luxurious Perſians arm,
And bravely emulate the Greek and Roman name.
But, death to honeſt eyes!
Britannia's Genius ſlumbering lies,
Effeminately ſoft on carpets ſpread;
Deaf to the honourable ſound,
That kindles virtue thro' the world's vaſt round;
Numb'd with inglorious peace,
Enervated with ſloth and eaſe,
And to all ſenſe of emulation dead!
Her uſeleſs ſhield is hurl'd aſide;
And her neglected lance,
The terror once of trembling France!
Diſdainful Cupids wantonly beſtride:
Unmov'd ſhe feels her idle hands
Fetter'd with golden bands;
The victor-laurel too
Drop wither'd from her brow;
While, in its ſtead, ſarcaſtic Humour ties
A roſe-wreath, emblem of a victim doom'd for ſacri⯑fice!
[33]Oh, where are all her antient honours flown?
Her ſenators of high renown;
Her patriots, ſuch as dar'd withſtand
The frowns of power, the charm of gold;
Made proud Oppreſſion quit her greedy hold,
And from the jaws of ruin ſnatch'd their parent-land?
Alas! the monumental buſt
That guards their awful duſt,
And the hiſtorian's faithful page,
 [...] the ſole reliques of that nobler age!
Unleſs then, Goddeſs, thy awakening ſtrain
Can rouſe the mighty dead again,
Give, give thy fruitleſs labour o'er,
And quit for ever this degenerate ſhore!
For, where all vices make their joint abode,
 [...]me's to be fear'd as heaven's ſevereſt rod,
 [...] night-begot Oblivion worſhipp'd as a God.

[34]

AD ORNATISSIMAM PUELLAM.

BY DR. LOWTH.

VAnae ſit arti, ſit ſtudio modus,
Formoſa virgo; ſit ſpeculo quies;
Curamque quaerendi decoris
Mitte, ſupervacuoſque cultus.

Ut fortuitis verna coloribus
Depicta vulgo rura magis placent,
Nec invident horto nitenti
Divitias operoſiores:

Lenique fons cum murmure pulchrior
Obliquat ultrò praecipitem fugam,
Inter reluctantes lapillos, et
Ducit aquas temere ſequentes;

Utque inter undas, inter et arbores,
Jam vere primo dulcè ſtrepunt aves,
Et arte nullâ gratiores
Ingeminant ſine lege cantus:

Nativa ſic te gratia, te nitor
Simplex decebit, te veneres tuae:
Nudus Cupido ſuſpicatur
Artifices nimis apparatus.

[36]

Ergo fluentem tu malè ſedula,

Ne ſaevâ inuras ſemper acu comam;

Neu ſparſa odorato nitentes

Pulvere dedecores capillos;

Quales nec olim vel Ptolemaeia
Jactabat uxor, ſidereo in choro
Ut cunque devotae refulgent
Verticis exuviae decori;

Nec Diva Mater, cum ſimilem tuae
Mentita formam, et pulchrior aſpici
Permiſit incomtas protervis
Fuſa comas agitare ventis.

THE SAME TRANSLATED.

[35]

BY WILLIAM DUNCOMBE, ESQ.

NO longer ſeek the needleſs aid
Of ſtudious art, dear lovely maid!
Vainly, from ſide to ſide, forbear
To ſhift thy glaſs, and braid each ſtraggling hair.

As the gay flowers, which nature yields,
Spontaneous, on the verdant fields,
Delight the fancy more than thoſe
Which gardens trim arrange in equal rows:

As tho pure rill, whoſe mazy train
The prattling pebbles check in vain,
Gives native pleaſures, while it leads
Its random waters winding thro' the meads;

As birds, the groves and ſtreams among,
In artleſs ſtrains the vernal ſong
Warbling, their wood-notes wild repeat,
And ſooth the ear, irregularly ſweet:

So ſimple dreſs and native grace
Will beſt become thy lovely face!
For naked Cupid ſtill ſuſpects,
In artful ornaments, conceal'd defects.

[37]

Ceaſe then, with idly-cruel care,

To torture thus thy flowing hair;

O! ceaſe, with taſteleſs toil, to ſhed

A cloud of ſcented duſt around thy head.

Not Berenice's locks could boaſt
A grace like thine; among the hoſt
Of ſtars, tho' radiant now they riſe,
And add new luſtre to the ſpangled ſkies;

Nor Venus, when her charms divine,
Improving in a form like thine,
She gave her treſſes unconfin'd,
To wave around her neck, and wanton in the wind.

THE FACULTIES OF THE SOUL, AN AR⯑GUMENT OF ITS IMMORTALITY.
INSCRIBED TO DR. THOMAS HERRING, LORD ARCH. OF CANT. MAY, MDCCL.

[38]

BY THE SAME.

SO oft indulg'd, the philoſophic Muſe

Again, my lord, for your protection ſues;

Small her pretenſions, who no merit knows,

But what th' importance of her theme beſtows.

Oh! could her verſe attain that happy art,

Which charms, perſuades, and melts the human heart;

That grace, that warmth, that energy divine,

Which in your language, looks, and geſture ſhine,

When truths ſublime you cloath in radiant dreſs,

And heav'n's commands on liſtning crowds impreſs,

Smooth then would flow each modulated ſtrain,

And every heart intire conviction gain.

Pleas'd with the honeſt praiſe of meaning well,

Your candid cenſures prompt us to excel:

Your ſteady friendſhip, nothing can impair;

Who ſhare your love, your love for ever ſhare!

[39]THE FACULTIES OF THE SOUL.

THE active ſoul, by which man lives and move;
By her high faculties her lineage proves;
Her faculties, ſo variouſly beſtow'd,
Diſplay the ſource divine from which they flow'd,
And of his creatures rational require,
A hymn of praiſe to their all-gracious ſire.

To tame the barren earth by toil and ſkill,
Raiſe the low ſtream, and ſink the lofty hill,
The ſoul firſt taught; and o'er the mounting tide,
Borne by the winds, in floating forts to ride;
From various climes to bring their various ſtore.
Silver and gold from rich Peruvia's ſhore;
Spices and pearls from realms of dawning day,
While Perſia's coſtly ſilks our limbs array.
By letters we converſe with every ſage,
That grac'd the Grecian or the Roman age:
Hence in the ſacred academic grove,
With Plato and with Xenophon we rove;
At Tuſculum attend to Tully's tongue,
Of truth and virtue while he reaſons ſtrong.
By letters, with our knowledge we adorn,
And teach our arts to nations yet unborn.
Thus foremoſt in the learned train ſhall ſtand,
Newton and Clarke in each politer land.

[40]

The mind, with numberleſs ideas fraught,

Exerts by memory each latent thought,

Till her frail caſket moulders into clay,

And every fair impreſſion fades away.

To pleaſing objects boundleſs fancy roves,
And, charm'd with cooling ſprings or ſhady groves,
With ready pencil paints each rural ſcene,
The moſſy fountain, or the level green.
Thus Eden's bowers in Milton gaily bloom:
Here fragrant gales the balmy air perfume;
There the great artiſt's lively tints have drawn
The tufted thicket, and the verdant lawn;
Hill, dale, and ſhady woods, and ſunny plains:
Joy here, unmix'd with cares and ſorrows, reigns;
Warble the birds; along the flowing ſtream
The bounding fiſh reflect the golden beam.
Here ſhines each lovely flower, there fountains play;
Or gliding rivers in meanders ſtray,
And to each plant refreſhing ſtreams diſpenſe,
While fruits and bloſſoms charm the various ſenſe;
The boughs at once both fruits and bloſſoms bear;
With flavour pleaſe the taſte, with fragrance  [...] the air
The fleeting race of flowers, not wholly dead,
Revive in ſpring, and wave the dewy head;
In ſpring once more the virgin lillies blow,
Whitening the vales with vegetable ſnow;
[41]In ſpring the varied tulips paint the field,
Tho' to the rigour of the year they yield,
Bound up by winter's froſt; and muſt this ſpan,
This dream of life, compriſe the whole of man?
For better ends th' Almighty, wiſe and good,
With ſuch high faculties the ſoul endued.

The ſteady judgment's penetrating eye
Into th' abyſs of future times can pry;
And ſome have made the prophet's praiſe their own,
For things to come by paſt and preſent known.
Tireſias thus, and Phineus, ſages old,
The ſecrets of futurity foretold;
Their outward eyes, tho' clos'd in endleſs night,
Were amply recompens'd by mental light.
Rais'd by philoſophy from narrow earth,
The ſoul, heaven-born, aſſerts her heavenly birth;
On Contemplation's wing ſhe boldly flies,
And claims acquaintance with her native ſkies;
Can there each ſun, each peopled world behold,
Thro' ſpace immenſe, with courſe unerring roll'd;
Their periods, diſtance, ſize, eclipſes knows,
And why the ſea alternate ebbs and flows:
Can meaſure even the ſpeed of ſolar light,
Than which thought only boaſts a ſwifter flight;
Soars, like a ſeraph, unconfin'd by ſenſe,
To graſp the wonders of Omnipotence!
But higher ſtill aſcends the moral ſoul;
Nor can corporeal forms her ſearch controul:
[42]By this th' Almighty's attributes we trace,
And ponder time, eternity, and ſpace;
By this are taught our follies to reſtrain,
To curb our paſſions with a ſtreighten'd rein,
And imitate the bounteous power above,
In juſtice, goodneſs, purity, and love!
But will the wiſe Creator throw away
Such talents on the creature of a day?
A creature, which to virtue's heights can ſoar,
And, drinking deep of knowledge, thirſts for more.
Shall he! cut off from life, no more to bloom,
For ever ſleep forgotten in the tomb?
Or may we not, with humble hope, conclude,
That ſince, with ſuch prerogatives endued,
Our heavenly Sire will bid his image riſe
To happier ſeats, an inmate of the ſkies.

DR. SAMUEL BARROW'S LATIN VERSES, PREFIXED TO MILTON'S PARADISE LOST, TRANSLATED.[43]BY THE SAME.
WHO reads Loſt Paradiſe, the fall
Of wretched man, what reads he leſs than all?
All Nature's works, from whence they roſe,
Their fates and ends, theſe lofty lines diſcloſe.
Whatever in the womb of night
Lay hid before, here ſtands reveal'd to ſight.
The land, the ſea, the ſkies around,
And Erebus, with flaming gulph profound;
All that in earth, in ſea, or hell,
Or in high heaven's enlighten'd regions dwell;
Whatever is by ſpace confin'd,
Unbounded Chaos and unbounded mind,
And (could ought elſe more boundleſs prove)
To man, in Chriſt, God's reconciling love!
This If we wiſh'd, whoſe hope ſo bold,
So fond a wiſh accompliſh'd to behold?
Yet this Britannia's ſons now read,
And find the work their fondeſt wiſh exceed.
Chieftains in war how great he ſings!
With what ſhrill notes his ſwelling trumpet rings!
[44]See Satan ſtalk! how vaſt his might!
To Michael's ſelf almoſt a match in fight!
What ſtrength by each archangel ſhown,
To ſeize, or vindicate, th' Almighty's throne!
While theſe, the mimic thunder throw,
And thoſe, with mountains whelm the boaſting foe.
In deep ſuſpenſe which hoſt ſhould ſway,
All Nature fears to fall that dreadful day.
But ſee, to end this impious war
Ordain'd, Meſſiah's enſigns blaze from far!
Self-mov'd his ruſhing chariot rolls,
And ſhakes, with whirlwind ſound, th' eternal poleo.
From living wheels true lightnings fly,
Ten thouſand thunders bellow thro' the ſky,
Launch'd by his arm—with terror toſt,
" Exhauſted, ſpiritleſs, afflicted, loſt,"
Stop ſhort th' apoſtates!—Pale affright
Unnerves their hands, and withers all their might.
Headlong from heaven themſelves they throw,
And plunge into th' abyſs of endleſs woe.
Romans and Grecians yield the bays,
Yield, all ye bards of old or modern days!
Who reads this nobler work will own
Homer ſung frogs, and Virgil gnats alone.

SONNET TO HIS GRACE THO. HERRING, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.

[45]

BY MR. THO. EDWARDS.

PRelate, whoſe ſteady hand, and watchful eye
The ſacred veſſel of Religion guide,
Secure from Superſtition's dangerous tide,
And fatal rocks of Infidelity;

Think not, in this bad age of obloquy,
When Chriſtian virtues Chriſtians dare deride,
And worth by party-zeal alone is tried,
To 'ſcape the poiſon'd ſhafts of calumny;

No—tho' the tenor of thy blameleſs life,
Like His, whoſe flock is to thy care consign'd,
Be ſpent in teaching truth, and doing good;
Yet, 'mongſt the ſons of bigotry and ſtrife,
Thou too, like him, muſt hear thy good malign'd,
Thy perſon ſlander'd, and thy truths withſtood.

AN EPISTLE OF M. DE VOLTAIRE, UPON HIS ARRIVAL AT HIS ESTATE NEAR THE LAKE OF GENEVA, IN MARCH, MDCCLV.
FROM THE FRENCH.

[46]

O Take, O keep me, ever bleſt domains,
Where lovely Flora with Pomona reigns;
Where Art fulfils what Nature's voice requires,
And gives the charms to which my verſe aſpires;
Take me, the world with tranſport I reſign,
And let your peaceful ſolitude be mine!

Yet not in theſe retreats I boaſt to find
That perfect bliſs that leaves no wiſh behind;
This, to no lonely ſhade kind Nature brings,
Nor Art beſtows on courtiers, or on kings;
Not even the Sage this boon has e'er poſſeſs'd,
Tho' join'd with wiſdom, virtue ſhar'd his breaſt;
This tranſient life, alas! can ne'er ſuffice
To reach the diſtant goal, and ſnatch the prize;
Yet, ſooth'd to reſt, we feel ſuſpence from woe,
And tho' not perfect joy, yet joy we know.

Enchanting ſcenes! what pleaſure you diſpenſe
Where'er I turn, to every wondering ſenſe!
[47]An *ocean here, where no rude tempeſt roars,
With cryſtal waters laves the hallow'd ſhores;
Here flowery fields with riſing hills are crown'd,
Where cluſtering vines empurple all the ground;
Now by degrees from hills to Alps they riſe,
Hell groans beneath, above they pierce the ſkies!
See the proud ſummit, white with endleſs froſt,
Eternal bulwark of the bliſsful coaſt!
The bliſsful coaſt the hardy Lombards gain,
And froſt and mountains croſs their courſe in vain;
Here Glory beckon'd mighty chiefs of old,
And planted laurels to reward the bold;
Charles, Otho, Conti heard her trumpet ſound,
And, borne on victory's wings, they ſpurn'd the mound.

See, on thoſe banks where yon calm waters ſwell,
The hair-clad epicure's luxurious cell!
See fam'd Ripaille, where once ſo grave, ſo gay,
Great Amedeus† paſs'd from prayer to play:
[48]Fantaſtic wretch! thou riddle of thy kind!
What ſtrange ambition ſeiz'd thy frantic mind?
Prince, hermit, lover! bleſt thro' every hour
With bliſsful change of pleaſure and of power,
Couldſt thou, thus paradis'd, from care remote,
Ruſh to the world, and fight for Peter's boat?
Now by the Gods of ſweet repoſe I ſwear,
I would not thus have barter'd eaſe for care,
Spight of the keys that move our fear and hope,
I ne'er would quit ſuch penance to be Pope.

Let him who Rome's ſtern tyrant ſtoop'd to praiſe,
The tuneful chanter of ſweet georgic lays,
Let Maro boaſt of ſtreams that Nature pours
To lave proud villas on Italia's ſhores;
Superior far the ſtreams that court my ſong,
Superior far the ſhores they wind along:
Bleſt ſhores! the dwelling of that ſacred power
Who rules each joyful, and each glorious hour,
Queen of whate'er the good or great deſire,
The patriot's eloquence, the hero's fire,
Shrin'd in each breaſt, and near the tyrant's ſword
Invok'd in whiſpers, and in ſighs ador'd,
Immortal Liberty, whoſe generous mind
With all her gifts would bleſs all human-kind!
See, from Morat* ſhe comes in martial charms,
And ſhines like Pallas in celeſtial arms,
[49]Her ſword the blood of boaſtful Auſtria ſtains,
And Charles, who threaten'd with opprobrious chains.

Now hoſtile crowds Geneva's towers aſſail,
They march in ſecret, and by night they ſcale;
The Goddeſs comes—they vaniſh from the wall,
Their launces ſhiver, and their heroes fall,
For fraud can ne'er elude, nor force withſtand
The ſtroke of Liberty's victorious hand*.

She ſmiles; her ſmiles perpetual joys diffuſe;
A ſhouting nation where ſhe turns purſues;
Their heart-felt Paeans thunder to the ſky,
And echoing Appenines from far reply:
Such wreaths their temples crown as Greece entwin'd
Her hero's brows at Marathon† to bind;
[50]Such wreaths the ſons of freedom hold more dear,
Than circling gold and gems that crown the peer,
Than the broad hat which ſhades the Pontiff's face,
Or the cleft mitre's venerable grace.
Inſulting grandeur, in gay tinſel dreſt,
Shows here no ſtar embroider'd on the breaſt,
No tiſſued ribbon on the ſhoulder tied,
Vain gift implor'd by vanity from pride!
Nor here ſtern Wealth, with ſupercilious eyes,
The faltering prayer of weeping want denies;
Here no falſe Pride at honeſt Labour ſneers,
Men here are brothers, equal but in years;
Here heaven, O! Liberty, has fix'd thy throne,
Fill'd, glorious Liberty! by thee alone.

Rome ſees thy face, ſince Brutus fell, no more,
A ſtranger thou on many a cultur'd ſhore:
The Poliſh lord, of thy embraces vain,
Pricks his proud courſer o'er Sarmatia's plain;
Erects his haughty front in martial pride,
And ſpurns the burgher, grovelling at his ſide;
The grovelling burgher burns with ſecret fires,
Looks up, beholds thee, ſighs, deſpairs, expires.

Britain's rough ſons in thy defence are bold,
Yet ſome pretend at London thou art ſold,
I heed them not, to ſell too proud, too wiſe,
If blood muſt buy, with blood the Briton buys.

On Belgic bogs, 'tis ſaid, thy footſteps fail,
But thou ſecure may'ſt ſcorn the whiſper'd tale;
[51]To lateſt times the race of great Naſſau,
Who rais'd ſeven altars* to thy ſacred law,
With faithful hand thy honours ſhall defend,
And bid proud factions to thy faſces bend.

Thee Venice keeps, thee Genoa now regains;
And next the throne thy ſeat the Swede maintains;
How few in ſafety thus with kings can vie!
If not ſupreme, how dangerous to be high!
O! ſtill preſide where'er the law's thy friend,
And keep thy ſtation, and thy rights defend;
But take no factious League's† reproachful name,
Still prone to change, and zealous ſtill to blame,
Cloud not the ſunſhine of a conquering race,
Whom wiſdom governs, and whom manners grace;
 [...]ond of their ſovereign, of ſubjection vain,
They wiſh no favours at thy hands to gain,
Nor need ſuch vaſſals at their lord repine,
Whoſe eaſy ſway they fondly take for thine.

Thro' the wide eaſt leſs gentle is thy fate,
Where the dumb murderer guards the ſultan's gate;
Here pale and trembling, in the duſt o'erturn'd,
With chains diſhonour'd, and by eunuchs ſpurn'd,
The ſword and bow-ſtring plac'd on either ſide
Thou mourn'ſt, while ſlaves of life and death decide.

[52]Spol'd of thy cap thro' all the bright Levant
Tell* gave thee his, and well ſupplied the want.
O! come my Goddeſs, in thy choſen hour,
And let my better fortune hail thy power;
Fair friendſhip calls thee to my green retreat,
O! come, with friendſhip ſhare the moſſy ſeat;
Like thee ſhe flies the turbulent and great,
The craft of buſineſs, and the farce of ſtate;
To you, propitious powers, at laſt I turn,
To you, my vows aſcend, my altars burn;
Let me of each the pleaſing influence ſhare,
My joys now heighten'd, and now ſooth'd my care;
Each ruder paſſion baniſh'd from my breaſt,
Bid the ſhort remnant of my Days be bleſt.

CONCORD.
A POEM INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF RADNOR.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCLI.

[53]

BY JAMES HARRIS, ESQ.

THE deeds of diſcord, or in proſe or rhyme,
Let others tell. 'Tis mine (the better theme)
Concord to ſing; and thus begins the ſong:

Congenial things to things congenial tend:
So rivulets their little waters join
To form one river's greater ſtream: ſo haſte
The rivers, from their different climes, to meet,
And kindly mix, in the vaſt ocean's bed:
So earth to earth down goes; and upwards ſlies
To fires etherial, each terreſtrial blaze,
Such elemental Concord.—Yet not here
Confin'd the ſacred ſympathy, but wide
Thro' plant and animal diffuſely ſpread.
How many myriads of the graſſy blade
Aſſemble, to create one verdant plain?
How many cedars towering heights conſpire,
Thy tops, O cloud-capt Lebanon! to deck?
Life-animal ſtill more conſpicuous gives
[54]Her fair examples. Here the ſocial tie
We trace, aſcending from th' ignoble ſwarms
Of inſects, up to flocks and grazing herds;
Thence to the polities of bees and ants,
And honeſt beavers, bound by friendly league
Of mutual help and intereſt.—Cruel man!
For love of gain, to perſecute, to kill,
This gentle, ſocial, and ingenious race,
That never did you wrong.—But ſtop, my Muſe,
Stop thy ſad ſong, nor deviate to recount
Man's more inhuman deeds; for man too feels
Benign affection, nor dares diſobey,
Tho' oft reluctant, Nature's mighty voice,
That ſummons all to harmony and love.
Elſe would to Nature's Author foul impute
Of negligence accrue, while baſer things
He knits in holy friendſhip, thus to leave
His chief and laſt work void of ſweet attract,
And tendence to its fellow. But not ſo,
Not ſo, if truly ſings the heaven-born Muſe:
And ſhe can tell; for ſhe the limpid fount
Of truth approaches; rumours only reach
Our earth-born ears. Then mark her tale divine.

Ere yet creation was, ere ſun and moon
And ſtars bedeck'd the ſplendid vault of heaven,
Was God; and God was Mind; and Mind was Beauty,
[55]And Truth, and Form, and Order: For all theſe
In Mind's profound receſs, and union pure
Together dwelt, involv'd, inexplicate.
Then matter (if then matter was) devoid,
Formleſs, indefinite, and paſſive lay;
Myſterious Being, in one inſtant found,
Nor any thing, nor nothing; but at once
Both all and none; none by privation, all
By vaſt capacity, and pregnant power.
This paſſive nature th' active Almighty Mind
Deeming fit ſubject for his art, at once
Expell'd privation, and pour'd forth himſelf;
Himſelf pour'd forth thro' all the mighty maſs
Of matter, now firſt bounded. Then was beauty
And truth, and form, and order, all evolv'd,
Was open'd all, that lay enwrapp'd and hid
In the great mind of Godhead. Forth it went,
Forth went the pure quinteſſence far and wide
Thro' the vaſt whole; nor did its force not feel
The laſt of minim atoms. So (great things
It we compare with ſmall) in ſable cloud
Invelop'd, lies the lightning: mortal men
Look up, and dread th' event: When, lo! illum'd
All in a moment, the ſmall nitrous ſeeds
Expanding, fill heaven's mighty vault, and quick
From pole to pole the fiery terror flies.

Thus Mind thro' all things paſs'd, eſſence and worth
[56]Giving and limiting to each in bounds
Proportion'd to its kind. To clods and ſtones
It gave coheſion; to things vegetant
Nutrition, and the power of growth; to brutes,
Senſe, appetite, and motion: but to man
All theſe it gave, and join'd to theſe the grace,
The choſen grace, of reaſon, beam divine!
Hence man, allied to all, in all things meets
Congenial being, effluence of mind.
And as the tuneful ſtring ſpontaneous ſounds
The anſwer to his kindred note; ſo he
The ſecret harmony within him feels,
When aught of beauty offers. This the joy,
While verdant plains and grazing herbs we view,
Or ocean's mighty vaſtneſs; or the ſtars,
In midnight ſilence as along they roll.
Hence to the rapture, while th' harmonious bard
Attunes his vocal ſong; and hence the joy,
While what the ſculptor graves, the painter paints,
And all the pleaſing mimickries of art
Strike our accordant minds. Yet chief by far,
Chief is man's joy, when, mixt with human kind
He feels affection melt the ſocial heart;
Feels friendſhip, love, and all the charities
Of father, ſon, and brother. Here the pure
Sincere congenial, free from all alloy,
With bliſs he recognizes. For to man
What dearer is than man? ſay you, who prove
[57]The kindly call, the ſocial ſympathy,
What but this call, this ſocial ſympathy,
Tempers to ſtandard due the vain exult
Of proſperous fortune? what but this refines
Soft pity's pain, and ſweetens every care,
Each friendly care, we feel for human kind?
O Gomez! gives thy pelf ſuch bliſs? or ye,
Who wade thro' blood to fame, and worſe than wolves,
Prey on your kind, can your vain triumphs give
Such ſolid happineſs? like giants old,
Ye fight 'gainſt Nature, Nature's order ſpurn,
And would o'erthrow. But ſhe, be well aſſur'd,
Will baffle all your efforts vain, and plant
Fell daggers in your hearts, terror and guilt,
Heart-burning hate, and dreary black remorſe.

When Rome her laſt of heroes loſt (e'er ſince
The wretched nurſe of Caeſars, and of Monks,)
When Brutus, urg'd by faction, and a mob
For baſeſt ſervitude now ripen'd, ſled
From Latian ſoil, then, to attend her lord,
Fled to the faithful partner of his bed,
The wiſe, the virtuous Portia. Much ſhe fear'd;
For much ſhe lov'd. He, godlike man, inſpir'd
Not with leſs love, tho' with ſuperior ſtrength
Of reaſon, thus her anxious thoughts reliev'd:
" O Portia, beſt of wives, grateful thy ſight,
" Grateful thy converſe. Yet, whene'er we part,
[58]" (And ſoon we muſt) then do not, Portia, thou,
" Like other women, ſink; but bravely rouſe
" Thy mighty ſire's remembrance. His firm deeds
" May ſteel thy ſoul to ſufferance. Me the fates
" O'er diſtant ſeas to hoſtile arms compel.
" Should we ſucceed, then is thy lot and mine
" Fortunate virtue; ſhould we fail, 'tis ſtill,
" Still, Portia, virtue: think on that; then turn
" Thy mental eye to every worſt event:
" And, by premeditating, learn to bear
" Whate'er befalls of ill. Joys will not come
" The leſs for this; and each joy unforeſeen
" With doubled energy will bleſs thy ſoul."

Thus he with balmy words the labouring pain
Within her boſom ſooth'd, and ſhe was cheer'd:
Stedfaſt ſhe travell'd, ſtedfaſt ſhe arriv'd
To the ſea-brink, where many a veſſel lay
With fails expanded, Brutus to receive.
Now were they lodg'd in hoſpitable houſe,
The tender ſcene of their long laſt farewel:
Yet ſtedfaſt ſtill ſhe was; ſtedfaſt ſhe ſaw
The mariners prepare. When lo! by chance
A picture meets her wandering eye. It ſhow'd,
In living lines, brave Hector's laſt embrace,
When from his weeping long-lov'd ſpouſe he went,
Never to ſee her more. Ah, Portia! then
Where fled thy courage? where thy ſtedfaſt heart?
Thou look'ſt, thou feel'ſt: The ſad moving ſcene
[59]Too near reſemblance bears. Forth guſh thy tears,
Thy ſpirits ſink, thy limbs forget their ſtrength,
And thou forgetteſt all thy Brutus ſaid.
Yet he forgives—forgives? yet ſtill he loves,
Loves thee, that thou forgetteſt all he ſaid;
For well he knows the cauſe: 'twas faithful love,
By faithful love affected, like by like;
Congenial by congenial.—
But thy ſong
'Tis time, my Muſe, to end. This verſe, O thou,
Radnor! who prov'ſt a ſecret ſympathy
With all that's fair; patron and judge of arts;
Studious of elegance in every form,
Radnor! this verſe be conſecrate to thee.

TO THE AUTHOR OF A PANEGYRIC ON MRS. GRACE BUTLER, WHO DIED AGED LXXXVI.

[60]

BY MR. POPE.

The ſpirit of Mrs. Butler is ſuppoſed to ſpeak.

STript to the naked ſoul, eſcap'd from clay,

From doubts unfetter'd, and diſſolv'd in day;

Unwarm'd by vanity; unreach'd by ſtrife;

And all my hopes and fears thrown off with life,

Why am I charm'd by friendſhip's fond eſſays,

And, tho' unbodied, conſcious of thy praiſe?

Has pride a portion in the parted ſoul?

Does paſſion ſtill the formleſs mind controul?

Can gratitude out-pant the ſilent breath?

Or a friend's ſorrow pierce the glooms of death?

No,—'tis a ſpirit's nobler taſte of bliſs!

That feels the worth it left, in proofs like this;

That not its own applauſe, but thine, approves;

Whoſe practice praiſes, and whoſe virtue loves!

Who liv'ſt, to crown departed friends with fame;

Then, dying late, ſhalt all thou gav'ſt reclaim.

INSCRIPTION ON A GROTTO OF SHELLS AT CRUX-EASTQN, THE WORK OF NINE YOUNG LADIES.

[61]

BY THE SAME.

HEre, ſhunning idleneſs at once and praiſe,

This radiant pile nine rural ſiſters raiſe;

The glittering emblem of each ſpotleſs dame,

Clear as her ſoul, and ſhining as her frame;

Beauty which Nature only can impart,

And ſuch a poliſh as diſgraces art;

But fate diſpos'd them in this humble ſort,

And hid in deſerts what would charm a court.

VERSES BY MR. POPE, ON READING A POEM, ENTITLED "A FIT OF THE SPLEEN," BY DR. IBBOTT^*.

[62]

WHat are t [...] falling rills, the pendent ſhades,

The morni [...] bowers, the evening colonades,

But ſoft receſſes for [...] uneaſy mind,

To ſigh unheard in to the paſſing wind?

So the ſtruck deer, in ſome ſequeſter'd part,

Lies down to die—the arrow in his heart;

There hid in ſhades, and waſting day by day,

Inly he bleeds, and pants his ſoul away.

VERSES LEFT BY MR. POPE, ON HIS LYING IN THE SAME BED WHICH WIL⯑MOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER, USED AT ATTER⯑BURY, A SEAT OF THE DUKE OF ARGYLE'S, IN OXFORDSHIRE, JULY IX, MDCCXXXIX.

[63]

WIth no poetic ardor fir'd,
I preſs the bed where Wilmot lay;
That here he lov'd, or here expir'd,
Begets no numbers grave or gay.

But in thy roof, Argyle, are bred
Such thoughts as prompt the brave to lie,
Stretch'd out in honour's nobler bed,
Beneath a nobler roof, the ſky.

Such flames as high in patriots burn,
Yet ſtoop to bleſs a child, or wife;
And ſuch as wicked kings may mourn,
When freedom is more dear than life.

TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF ARGYLE, UPON READING THE PREAMBLE TO THE PATENT CREATING HIM DUKE OF GREENWICH. BY THE SAME.[64]MIndleſs of fate, in theſe low vile abodes,
Tyrants have oft uſurp'd the ſtyle of Gods:
But that the Mortal may be thought Divine,
The Herald ſtrait new-modell'd all his line;
And venal Prieſt, with well-diſſembled lye,
Preambled to the crowd the mimic Deity.
Not ſo great Saturn's ſon, imperial Jove,
He reigns, unqueſtion'd, in his realms above;
No title from deſcent he need infer,
His red right arm proclaims the Thunderer.
This, Campbell, be thy pride, illuſtrious Peer,
Alike to ſhine diſtinguiſh'd in thy ſphere.
All merit but thine own thou may'ſt diſdain,
And Kings have been thine anceſtors in vain.

A MORNING ELEGY^*.

[65]

HAil, bright-eyed harbinger of ſacred light!
Nature, refreſh'd, beholds thy cheering ray,
At thy approach the gloomy ſhades of night,
And all its dreary horrors, paſs away:

Yet not to him, within whoſe manly breaſt
Reaſon, with olive-twined ſceptre, ſways,
I there in darkneſs aught that can moleſt;
But nights ſerene ſucceed to virtuous days.

Unlike that Lucifer whoſe baleful reign
Excites to every deed of fouleſt dye,
Repine and Luſt, and all the ſavage train
Retire, abaſh'd, before thy holy eye.

With ſilver hair, bright-flowing in the eaſt,
And ruby-tinctur'd mantle, lightly ſpread,
With pearl-beſtudded girdle bound her veſt,
Aurora riſes from her coral bed.

I feel her ſweet breath in the balmy gale,
Purging from noxious fumes the humid air,
Shedding freſh odours on the flowery vale,
And genuine roſes on the village fair.

[66]

I ſee the dappled fleece, her favourite woof,

And golden-fringed clouds adorn the ſky,

Skimming with light wing o'er its azure roof,

And ſoftening every object to the eye.

While yet the mind retains her tranquil eaſe,
From day's perplexing cares and paſſions free.
While Nature's charms are beſt array'd to pleaſe,
And Health and Pleaſure join in amity,

Oft let me rove beneath thy gentle beam,
Ere ſultry Phoebus mounts his burning throne,
And to the ſoaring ſky-lark's grateful theme,
In numbers leſs melodious join my own:

And as I range th' ambroſial fields along,
Or climb the verdant hills unſhaded height,
Pauſe on thoſe bleſſings that inſpire my ſong,
And gather thence inſtruction and delight.

Springs not a blade upon the ſpacious plain,
Bends not a flower beneath the cryſtal tear,
Chirps not an inſect of the turf in vain;
But Contemplation Wiſdom's voice can hear.

See! yonder feather'd parent, ſkimming round,
Sudden ſhe darts upon her humble food:
Yet, nobly ſcorning hunger, ſpurns the ground,
And ſoars aloft, to ſerve her callow brood:

[67]

Sweet moraliſt! to reaſon-vaunting man

Thy generous leſſon teach; oft, in thy place,

Deſpiſing Nature's all-inſtructive plan,

He feeds his follies, and neglects his race.

What ſudden burſt of oriental rays
Diſturbs the peaceful muſings of my breaſt,
Involves the ample firmament in blaze,
And ſhoots its glories to the diſtant weſt?

How bright the ſcene! magnificent and large,
The orb of light reveals his glorious face,
Rejoicing in his high Creator's charge,
To ſpread his bounties thro' the realms of ſpace.

Fitted to mortal eye, thy ſplendors mild
More great appear than at meridian height;
So ſhone the holy Virgin's heavenly child,
Diſcloſing grace divine to human ſight.

In prime advancing, now the jocund day,
Laughs in the fulneſs of unclouded joy,
Freſh-ſpringing flowrets ſtrew his radiant way,
The woodland harmoniſts their notes employ:

From hill to dale, from grove to verd'rous ſpring,
Sweet ſounds, reſponſive, fill the ambient air,
Sweet ſounds, reſponſive, make the valleys ring,
And baniſh thence the family of care:

[68]

Nor cheerleſs is the herd's majeſtic low,

Loud-calling for the milk-maid's eaſing hand,

Or white ſlocks bleating on the mountain's brow,

Or plowman's whiſtling o'er his furrow'd land.

Ye bleſt inhabitants of fields and ſhades,
Elyſium ſoft of undiſturb'd repoſe!
No artificial want your breaſt invades,
No painful foretaſte of ſucceeding woes:

By ſimple inſtinct led, to you unknown
The tender throb of exquiſite deſire;
The wealth of Avarice, and Ambition's throne,
No raging wiſh, no diſcontent inſpire:

To you ſufficing, that the genial beam
Of day's enlivening planet wakes to joy,
Satiate, ye quaff the pure untainted ſtream,
And feaſt on dainties that can never cloy.

O! to my heart your ſacred lore convey,
Let Nature be my wealth, my joy, my guide,
And be the buſineſs of each riſing day
To check my wants, my paſſions, and my pride.

AN EVENING ELEGY.

[69]

WElcome thou ſober evening, calm and grey,
Now Phoebus' rage, and every blaſt is laid,
Now foſt'ring clews deſcend, and turb'lent day
Retires beneath the halcyon wing of ſhade.

Now lucid Venus, grac'd with beamy hair,
To dance nocturnal tempts the ſtarry train,
Commanding toil to ceaſe, and anxious care
From vexing mortal boſoms to refrain.

Yet will not Avarice, curſed fiend! forbear
To break wiſe Nature's beſt-appointed law,
She penſive-plodding ſits, with downcaſt air
Refuſing reſt, her fraudful plan to draw.

Purſuing which, nor Themis' righteous lore,
Nor precious relatives blood-binding tie,
Nor all that heaven for virtue has in ſtore
Can draw aſide her Mammon-fixed eye:

O'er rocks and ſeas unheeded bounds ſhe flies,
Explores the cold extreme of either Pole,
Dares the fierce heats of equinoctial ſkies,
Nor ſlacks her race, till Death's unwelcome goal.

[70]

Far from my breaſt, kind heaven, ſuch luſt remove,

At every grateful, tranquil eve's return,

Let me, while doubtful Cynthia cheers the grove,

With naught but love, or pious ardor burn.

And as along ſome placid ſtream I range,
Viewing the wild flowers cloſe their gaudy bloom,
Or birds the free expanſe of ether change,
To ſeek the ſhady covert's inmoſt gloom,

Ah! let me tread with cautious ſtep and ſlow,
Where thick-ſet hawthorns ſhed their odours wide,
Where intermingled roſes ſweetly blow,
And rambling woodbines cling on every ſide;

Perchance, within the fragrant thicket hid,
Some tuneful warbler reſts his wearied throat,
Who, ere the ſun beneath th' horizon ſlid,
Had ſooth'd my boſom with his dulcet note:

Perchance, cloſe-perch'd aſide his brooding mate,
With bill to bill inclin'd, in ſilent joy,
He cheers her lonely hours, and watchful ſtate,
And cares leſt aught ſhould her repoſe deſtroy.

Sweet harmoniſts! your tender vigils keep
Secure for me, I will not do ye wrong,
The ruſtling boughs my garments ſhall not ſweep,
And ye ſhall pay me with your future ſong.

[71]

But hark! what voice the ſacred ſtillneſs breaks?

Softer than ſilence are thoſe melting ſtrains,

Or lover's ſighs, when pleading Nature ſpeaks;

'Tis ſadly-pleaſing Philomel complains.

Long let me drink the magic of thy lay,
Nor humming chafers baulk my thirſty ear,
The time inſenſibly ſhall wear away,
Till night approach, and every ſtar appear:

Then as my lagging feet I homewards draw,
My paſſions all in heavenly concord bound,
The ſolemn ſcene ſhall fill my ſoul with awe,
And God Omnipotent my tongue reſound.

Methinks, when clad in beaming glories mild,
Full and majeſtic ſhines the queen of night,
Around her throne innumerous ſquadrons fil'd
Of hoſts celeſtial, miniſters of light,

It ſhould remind us of that holy hour,
When heaven and earth's all-gracious Judge ſhall come,
In the full ſplendor of his Father's power,
With guard ſeraphic, to pronounce our doom.

May I, when life's ſhort day begins to cloſe,
The ſtar of age pale-glimmering o'er my head,
Unvex'd by troublous blaſt my mind compoſe,
Nor fortune's frowns, nor ſacred vengeance dread:

[72]

From every anxious buſy ſcene retir'd,

Let me the world's mad tumult view from far,

Smile at what erſt each raging paſſion fir'd,

Nor deem ſhort pleaſure worth unceaſing care.

Within ſome humbly-decent rural ſhed,
There let my ſun of life in radiance ſet,
Thro' ſmiling hope, when Death's black night is ſled,
A courſe more glorious ſhall its orient wait.

FRIENDSHIP.
ATTEMPTED AFTER THE MANNER OF COWLEY.

FRiendſhip, how ſweet! how comely doſt thou ſeem!
But art thou aught indeed, beſides a dream?
A pleaſing dream, where mines of wealth we own;
But, by diſtreſs awak'd, we find our comfort flown:

Yet have I read amongſt the poets tales
What mighty things have been by friendſhip done;
Or if the world of fiction naught avails,
View Iſrael's royal youth and Jeſſe's ſon:

[73]

Their love above the love of women roſe,

Etherial flame, purg'd from each groſſer fire,

Their boſoms throb'd with the ſame joys and woes,

Like notes accordant from th' harmonious lyre.

Barometers alike thus riſe and fall,
Elate with ſunſhine, or by clouds depreſt,
The ſame ſublime affection moves on all;
So friendſhip acts upon the ſocial breaſt.

But moſt, like paſteboard figures, ſeem t' agree,
Which when the ſky is neither foul nor fair,
At neighbouring doors, in kindly amity,
Partake the common privilege of air;

But if, perchance, the brightening ſky ſhould clear,
And Phoebus ſpread his ſhining treſſes wide,
Or threatning cloud drop ſome foreboding tear,
Far as they can the former friends divide.

And ſome there are, I ween, who, like the ſun,
Cheer the fair opening bud with friendly gleam;
But, when expanded wide, its beauties ſhun,
Or envious wither with oppreſſive beam.

Others, like wanton dames, exhauſt their charms
On all alike, nor heed th' intrinſic worth,
And loſe, within a thouſand different arms,
What one alone had foſter'd into birth.

[74]

Some, like the tuneful tenants of the ſhade,

A fond and cloſe, but ſhort alliance make,

The purpoſe ſerv'd which firſt their union made,

A long farewel the future ſtrangers take.

Others (whom fortune blaſt) with ſmooth-tongued guile,
The unſuſpecting ſocial heart betray,
Like treacherous Syrens murdering with a ſmile,
Like comets blazing with malignant ray.

Amid this threatning deluge, far outſpread,
Where ſhall the faithful dove of friendſhip reſt?
Return, ſweet bird, to thy domeſtic ſhed,
The poets age, and miracles are ceas'd.

Ah, yet return not! ſpread thy pinions wide,
No labour ſpare; encompaſs land and ſea;
Let naught th' ineſtimable jewel hide,
Find me a friend, if any friend there be:

Nay, better thou ſhould'ſt ſuffer fair deceit,
Than ſolitary to my breaſt return;
Who dreams of pleaſure is not ſo complete
A wretch, as he who only wakes to mourn.

ELIZA'S WEDDING-DAY. AN ECLOGUE.

[75]

INTRODUCTION.

O Could my Muſe, with gentle Gay,

Upon the boxen hautboy play,

Or, with ſweet pipe of ſhepherd's boy,

Make Windſor's ſhades reſound with joy,

Maria's beauties ſtill ſhould live,

And mournful Strephon ceaſe to grieve;

Eliza's love, Eliza's truth,

Unfading bloom in endleſs youth,

And every bright delicious charm

The barbed hand of Time diſarm;

But ah, poor Colin! vain thy lay;

Yet do thy beſt, and pipe away.

COLIN.

While from on high the flaming ſun diſplays

The ſcorching fury of his noontide rays,

And, at the foot of this oak-ſhaded hill,

Our browſing cattle ſeek the cooling rill,

Let us beguile the time with pleaſing ſong,

And ſtretch our languid limbs at eaſe along.

STREPHON.

What boots it, Colin, that our limbs are laid,

Compos'd, beneath the oak's refreſhing ſhade,

[76]Or that around us, on the yellow plain,

The fertile ground is ſtock'd with plenteous grain?

What tho' the meadows ſmile with cheerful green,

And waving copſes ornament the ſcene,

Can ſhades or plenty, or delightful views,

O'er wounded minds the ſmiles of joy diffuſe?

When fond Maria fled her ſhepherd's arms,

Plains, meads, and copſes, loſt their wonted charms.

Tho' juſt the cauſe, ah! what avails your grief,

Since the pale Tyrant is to pity deaf?

Tho' from my boſom Death has rudely torn

The fragrant roſe, he left the pointed thorn.

Well may you, Colin, blitheſome ſtrains compoſe,

Happy in love, and ſtranger to my woes,

Thoſe bleſſings which your life with tranſports crown,

Four moons agone I boaſted as my own;

But now, tho' vigour, youth, and love remain,

The charming object I lament in vain.

And who that knew the lovely nymph forbears

The willing tribute of condoling tears?

Bright was her form, with graces richly deck'd,

Commanding love, attemper'd with reſpect;

Sweet Modeſty, with ſocial Freedom join'd,

Her manners form'd, and wit adorn'd her mind:

How kind! how courteous ſhe to every ſwain!

My wounded memory recollects with pain;

But be all ſorrows laid aſide this day,

To Colin's joys, let Strephon's griefs give way.

[77]

As ſoon the hare ſhall quit the ſheltering brake,

And linnets grey the yellow furze forſake:

As ſoon ſhall Britiſh nymphs loſe power to charm,

And Afric' maids the ſhepherds boſoms warm,

As I from this afflicted breaſt remove

The ſad remembrance of Maria's love.

Weep ſkies, ſigh gales, droop all ye fading woods,

Die every flower, and murmuring mourn ye floods;

Ye gay-plum'd warblers, ceaſe your tuneful ſtrains,

Bats, ravens, ſcreech-owls ſcream along the plains;

In pity to my woes, ye ſwains around,

Strip off the honours from the loaded ground,

And let the fields, deſerted and forlorn,

Three diſmal months my loſt Maria mourn:

Then ſhall returning Spring their boſoms cheer;

But ah! in mine, 'tis Winter all the year.

My dear Eliza lov'd Maria more
Than bees the fragrance of the gaudy flower:
Then, while her praiſe I ſing, your woe ſuſpend,
And loſe the lover in the generous friend.

Ye hills, ye dales, ye ſtreams, and ſhady groves,