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THE POETICAL CALENDAR. VOL. III. FOR MARCH.
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THE POETICAL CALENDAR.
CONTAINING A COLLECTION Of ſcarce and valuable PIECES OF POETRY: With Variety of ORIGINALS AND TRANSLATIONS, BY THE MOST EMINENT HANDS.
Written and Selected By FRANCIS FAWKES, M.A. And WILLIAM WOTY.
IN TWELVE VOLUMES.
THE SECOND EDITION.
LONDON: Printed by DRYDEN LEACH; For J. COOTE, at the King's Arms, in Pater-noſter-Row. MDCCLXIV.
[]THE POETICAL CALENDAR.
MARCH. AN ODE.
LIke Jaſon, arm'd in coat of mail,
Who nobly won the golden fleece,
Thro' heavy ſtorms of wind and hail,
March on a Ram triumphant rides,
A warlike month! averſe to peace:—
No longer now the ſoldier bides
In huts hybernal—o'er the plain,
Embattled ſee the dread campaign!
Or on the flood, if war preſide,
See Britain's bloody pennant fly!
Her's is the ocean, free, as wide,
Where-e'er the ſons of commerce ſail,
Where-e'er her canvas pinions ply,
Her floating citadels prevail
O'er all the force of Gaul and Spain,
Whoſe fleets no more uſurp the main.
[2]
Spring bids the frozen rivers flow,
Knocks off their rigid bolts of ice,
And melts huge Appenines of ſnow;
By ſtarts the flattering beams of noon
The linnet, or the lark entice
To ſing a momentary tune;
But quick and ſudden ſhifts the ſcene,
And gales tempeſtuous intervene.
Scarce does the primroſe ſhow her head,
Tho' eldeſt daughter of the ſpring,
Nor dares the cowſlip leave her bed,
Affrighted at the northern blaſt,
Who blights each bloſſom with his wing,
While the dun ether's overcaſt:
Of violence how ſhort the ſway!
'Tis but the pageant of a day.—
The gods take care of us below,
Indulgent are their gifts to all,
With hands unſparing, they beſtow,
Impartial, air and ſun and rain,
To bleſs this ſublunary ball,
And mingle pleaſure with our pain;
Content is ever in our power,
And paſſes by us every hour.
W.
A VERNAL ODE, SENT TO DR. HERRING, LATE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, MARCH XII, MDCCLIV.
[3]BRight God of day, whoſe genial power
Revives the buried ſeed;
That ſpreads with foliage every bower,
With verdure every mead;
Bid all thy vernal breezes fly,
Diffuſing mildneſs thro' the ſky;
Give the ſoft ſeaſon to our drooping plains,
Sprinkled with roſy dews, and ſalutary rains.
Enough has winter's hand ſevere
Chaſtis'd this dreary coaſt,
And chill'd the tender dawning year
With deſolating froſt:
Give but thy vital beams to play,
Theſe ice-wrought ſcenes will melt away;
And, mix'd in ſprightly dance, the blooming Hours
Will wake the drowſy Spring, the Spring awake the flowers.
Let Health, gay daughter of the ſkies,
On Zephyr's wings deſcend,
And ſcatter pleaſures, as ſhe flies,
Where Surry's downs extend:
[4]There Herring wooes her friendly power;
There may ſhe all her roſes ſhower;
To heal that ſhepherd all her balms employ,
So will ſhe ſooth our fears, and give a nation joy.
The grateful ſeaſons, circling faſt,
Reviving ſuns reſtore,
But life's ſhort ſpring is quickly paſt,
And blooms, alas! no more;
Then let us, ere by ſure decays
We reach the winter of our days,
In virtue emulate the bleſt above,
And, like the ſpring, diſplay benevolence and love.
F.F.
AN ELEGY. WRITTEN AT THE APPROACH OF SPRING.
[5]STern Winter hence with all his train removes,
And cheerful ſkies, and limpid ſtreams are ſeen;
Thick-ſprouting foliage decorates the groves;
Reviving herbage robes the fields in green.
Yet lovelier ſcenes ſhall crown th' advancing year,
When blooming Spring's full bounty is diſplay'd;
The ſmile of beauty every vale ſhall wear;
The voice of ſong enliven every ſhade.
O fancy, paint not coming days too fair!
Oft, for the proſpects ſprightly May ſhould yield,
Rain-pouring clouds have darken'd all the air,
Or ſnows untimely whiten'd o'er the field:
But ſhould kind Spring her wonted bounty ſhower,
The ſmile of beauty, and the voice of ſong;
If gloomy thought the human mind o'erpower,
Even vernal hours glide unenjoy'd along.
[6]
I ſhun the ſcenes where maddening paſſion raves,
Where pride and folly high dominion hold,
And unrelenting avarice drives her ſlaves
O'er proſtrate virtue in purſuit of gold:
The graſſy lane, the wood-ſurrounded field,
The rude ſtone fence with fragrant wall-flowers gay,
The clay-built cot, to me more pleaſure yield
Than all the pomp imperial domes diſplay:
And yet even here, amid theſe ſecret ſhades,
Theſe ſimple ſcenes of unreprov'd delight,
Affliction's iron hand my breaſt invades,
And death's dread dart is ever in my ſight.
While genial ſuns to genial ſhowers ſucceed;
(The air all mildneſs, and the earth all bloom;)
While herds and flocks range ſportive o'er the mead,
Crop the ſweet herb, and ſnuff the rich perfume;
O why alone to hapleſs man denied
To taſte the bliſs inferior beings boaſt?
O why this fate that fear and pain divide
His few ſhort hours on earth's delightful coaſt?
Ah ceaſe—no more of Providence complain!
'Tis ſenſe of guilt that wakes the mind to woe,
Gives force to fear, adds energy to pain,
And palls each joy by heaven indulg'd below:
[7]
Why elſe the ſmiling infant-train ſo bleſt,
Ere dear-bought knowlege ends the peace within,
Or wild deſire inflames the youthful breaſt,
Or ill propenſion ripens into ſin?
As to the bleating tenants of the field,
As to the ſportive warblers on the trees,
To them their joys ſincere the ſeaſons yield,
And all their days, and all their proſpects pleaſe;
Such joys were mine when from the peopled ſtreets,
Where on Thameſis' banks I liv'd immur'd,
The new-blown fields that breath'd a thouſand ſweets,
To Surry's wood-crown'd hills my ſteps allur'd:
O happy hours, beyond recovery fled!
What ſhare I now that can your loſs repay,
While o'er my mind theſe glooms of thought are ſpread,
And veil the light of life's meridian ray?
Is there no power this darkneſs to remove?
The long-loſt joys of Eden to reſtore?
Or raiſe our views to happier ſeats above,
Where fear and pain and death ſhall be no more?
Yes thoſe there are who know a Saviour's love
The long-loſt joys of Eden can reſtore,
And raiſe their views to happier ſeats above,
Where fear and pain and death ſhall be no more:
[8]
Theſe grateful ſhare the gift of nature's hand;
And in the varied ſcenes that round them ſhine,
(The fair, the rich, the awful, and the grand)
Admire th' amazing workmanſhip divine.
Blows not a floweret in th' enamell'd vale,
Shines not a pebble where the rivulet ſtrays,
Sports not an inſect on the ſpicy gale,
But claims their wonder, and excites their praiſe.
For them even vernal nature looks more gay,
For them more lively hues the fields adorn;
To them more fair the faireſt ſmile of day,
To them more ſweet the ſweeteſt breath of morn.
They feel the bliſs that hope and faith ſupply;
They paſs ſerene th' appointed hours that bring
The day that wafts them to the realms on high,
The day that centres in eternal ſpring.
SPRING. A RURAL SONG.
[9]WHen approach'd by the fair dewy fingers of ſpring,
Swelling buds open firſt, and look gay;
When the birds on the boughs by their mates ſit and ſing,
And are danc'd by the breeze on each ſpray:
When gently deſcending, the rain in ſoft ſhowers,
With its moiſture refreſhes the ground,
And the drops, as they hang on the plants and the flowers,
Like rich gems beam a luſtre around:
When the wood-pigeons ſit on the branches and cooe,
And the cuckow proclaims with his voice,
That nature marks this for the ſeaſon to wooe,
And for all that can love to rejoice:
In a cottage at night may I ſpend all my time,
In the fields and the meadows all day,
With a maiden whoſe charms are as yet in their prime,
Young as April, and blooming as May.
[10]
When the lark with ſhrill notes ſings aloft in the morn,
May my faireſt and I ſweetly wake,
View the far diſtant hills which the ſun-beams adorn,
Then ariſe, and our cottage forſake.
When the ſun ſhines ſo warm, that my charmer and I
May recline on the turf without fear,
Let us there all vain thoughts and ambition defy,
While we breathe the firſt ſweets of the year.
Be this ſpot on a hill, and a ſpring from its ſide
Bubble out, and tranſparently flow,
Creep gently along in meanders, and glide
Thro' the vale ſtrow'd with daiſies below.
While the bee flies from bloſſom to bloſſom and ſips,
And the violets their ſweetneſs impart,
Let me hang on her neck, and ſo taſte from her lips
The rich cordial that thrills to the heart.
While the dove ſits lamenting the loſs of its mate,
Which the fowler has caught in his ſnares,
May we think ourſelves bleſt, that it is not our fate,
To endure ſuch an abſence as theirs.
May I liſten to all her ſoft, tender, ſweet notes
When ſhe ſings, and no ſounds interfere,
But the warbling of birds, which in ſtretching their throats
Are at ſtrife to be louder than her.
[11]
When the daiſes, and cowſlips, and primroſes blow,
And checquer the meads, and the lawns,
May we ſee bounding there the ſwift light-footed doe,
And purſue with our eyes the young fawns.
When the lapwings juſt fledg'd o'er the turf take their run,
And the firſtlings are all at their play,
And the harmleſs young lambs ſkip about in the ſun,
Let us then be as frolic as they.
When I talk of my love, ſhould I chance to eſpy,
That ſhe ſeems to miſtruſt what I ſay,
By a tear that is ready to fall from her eye,
With my lips let me wipe it away.
If we ſit, or we walk, may I caſt round my eyes,
And let no ſingle beauty eſcape,
But ſee none to create ſo much love, and ſurprize,
As her eyes, and her face, and her ſhape.
Thus each day let us paſs, till the buds turn to leaves,
And the meadows around us are mown,
When the laſs on the ſweet-ſmelling haycock receives,
What ſhe afterwards bluſhes to own.
When evenings grow cool, and the flowers hang their heads
With the dew, then no longer we'll roam,
With my arm round her waiſt, in a path thro' the meads
Let us haſten to find our way home.
[12]
When the birds are at rooſt, with their heads in their wings,
Each one by the ſide of its mate;
When a miſt that ariſes a drowzineſs brings
Upon all but the owl and the bat:
When ſoft reſt is requir'd, and the ſtars lend their light,
And all nature lies quiet and ſtill;
When no ſound breaks the ſacred repoſe of the night,
But, at diſtance, the clack of a mill.
With peace for our pillow, and free from all noiſe,
So that voices in whiſpers are known,
Let us give and receive all the nameleſs ſoft joys,
That are mus'd on by lovers alone.
THE VIOLET.
[13]HAil, blooming daughter of the youthful year!
Sweet to the ſmell, and pleaſing to the ſight,
How does thy preſence gloomy nature cheer,
And fill the boſom with a ſoft delight!
At thy approach ſtern rugged winter flies,
To pour his anger on the frozen north,
While balmy zephyrs fill our peaceful ſkies,
And call the buds and genial bloſſoms forth.
The lark, high-mounting at the riſe of day,
Salutes the bluſhing morn with gladſome notes,
The little warblers hop from ſpray to ſpray,
And trill wild muſic thro' their tuneful throats.
The ſhepherd counts his flock, the ruſtic ploughs,
The farmer views with joy his ſpringing corn,
The milk-maid drains the ſweetly-ſmelling cows,
And ſings the pleaſures of the April morn.
Now lovers, now, the golden minute ſeize,
In every word expreſs a generous care;
In every act be ſtudious how to pleaſe,
And weave the flowery chaplet for the fair.
[14]
Pleas'd with the beauties of the rifled mead,
Their ſmell her ſenſe, their colours ſtrike her eye;
Snow-drops, like innocence, in white array'd,
And violets glowing with a purple die.
Should ye, ambitious, ſtrive to gain her ear,
In ſofteſt words the moving tale convey;
The moving tale ſhall gain a pitying tear,
If it be true what antient poets ſay.
Nature aſſum'd her lovelieſt, faireſt look,
Cold chilling froſts and noxious damps were fled;
When jolly Spring his native ſkies forſook,
To wooe fair Flora to his fertile bed.
Gay dreſt in all the colours of the bow,
He ſought the goddeſs in her fair abode;
Quick winds and haſty ſhowers his coming ſhow,
But his bright beams proclaim the preſent god.
The fanning gales convey a grateful ſmell,
From where the hyacinth and crocus blow;
With ſudden life the buds around him ſwell,
And where he treads, all flowers promiſcuous grow.
The feather'd ſongſters full of joy appear,
And chant his nuptial bliſs thro' every grove;
Spring, the gay god, that leads the ſmiling year,
And Flora, queen of beauty, and of love.
[15]
From this unblam'd, this chaſte delight aroſe
An offspring worthy of their mutual flame,
Invok'd Lucina eas'd the mother's throes,
And Violetta was the daughter's name.
Whate'er enraptur'd poets have deſign'd
Of wit, youth, beauty, or excelling grace,
The nymph enjoy'd in perſon and in mind,
So bright her wit, ſo beauteous was her face.
Alas! what ills muſt careleſs nymphs betide,
Since prudence nought avails to guard the dame!
Laſcivious Pan the blooming virgin eyed,
And vow'd by force to gratify his flame.
The virtuous fair his loath'd embraces flies,
The amorous god purſues with equal ſpeed,
The plains around re-echo to her cries,
While every power is abſent from her aid.
Fatigued, her panting boſom heaves for breath,
Her trembling legs refuſe the tedious race;
She faints, ſhe ſinks into the arms of death,
And a cold paleneſs overſpreads her face.
Her melancholy fate the mother mourns,
With tears faſt-flowing in a gentle ſhower;
The much-lamented child to life returns,
No more a virgin, but a purple flower.
[16]
As long as grief for innocence diſtreſt,
As long as tears from gentle hearts ſhall flow;
So long her fate ſhall melt the feeling breaſt,
With generous pity, and with virtuous woe.
The gentle nymph the mournful ſtory hears,
Within her boſom various paſſions move,
Soft pity melts her tender ſoul to tears,
And virtuous pity is a friend to love.
THE PROGRESS OF POETRY.
[17]Vitis ut arboribus decori eſt, ut vitibus uvae;
Ut gregibus tauri, ſegetes ut pinguibus arvis;
Tu decus omne tuis.
VIRG.
UNequal, how ſhall I the ſearch begin,
Or paint with artleſs hand the awful ſcene?
Thro' paths divine with ſteps adventurous tread,
And trace the muſes to their fountain head?
Ye ſacred nine, your mighty aid impart,
Aſſiſt my numbers, and enlarge my heart!
Direct my lyre, and tune each trembling ſtring,
While Poetry's exalted charms I ſing;
How, free as air, her ſtrains ſpontaneous move,
Kindle to rage, or melt the ſoul to love:
How her firſt emanations dawn'd, diſcloſe;
And where, great ſource of verſe! bright Phoebus firſt aroſe.
Where nature warmth and genius has denied,
In vain are art's ſtiff languid powers applied.
Unforc'd the muſes ſmile, above controul:
No art can tune the inharmonious ſoul.
[18]Some rules, 'tis true, unerring, you may cull,
And void of life, be regularly dull:
Correctly flat may flow each ſtudied rhime,
And each low period indolently chime.
A common ear perhaps, or vulgar heart,
Such lays may pleaſe, the labour'd work of art!
Far other ſtrains delight the poliſh'd mind,
The ear well judging, and the taſte refin'd.
To blend in heavenly numbers eaſe and fire,
An Addiſon will aſk, a Pope require:
Genius alone can force, like theirs, beſtow,
As ſtars, unconſcious of their brightneſs, glow.
Hail Greece! from whence the ſpark etherial came,
That wide o'er earth diffus'd its ſacred flame,
There the firſt laurel form'd a deathleſs ſhade,
And ſprung immortal for thy Homer's head.
There the great bard the riſing wonder wrought,
And plan'd the Iliad in his boundleſs thought;
By no mean ſteps to full perfection grew,
But burſt at once refulgent to the view.
Who can unmov'd the warm deſcription read,
Where the wing'd ſhaft repels the bounding ſteed?
Where the torn ſpoils of the rapacious war,
With ſhocking pomp adorn the victor's car!
When, from ſome hoſtile arm diſmiſs'd, the reed
On the mark'd foe directs its thirſty ſpeed,
[19]Such ſtrength, ſuch action, ſtrikes our eager ſight,
We view and ſhudder at its fatal flight;
We hear the ſtraighten'd yew recoiling ſtart,
And ſee thro' air glide ſwift the whizzing dart.
When higher themes a bolder ſtrain demand,
Life waits the poet's animating hand:
There, where majeſtic to the ſanguin'd field
Stern Ajax ſtalks behind his ſevenfold ſhield;
Or where, in poliſh'd arms ſeverely bright,
Pelides dreadful ruſhes to the fight;
With martial ardor breathes each kindling page
The direful havock and unbounded rage,
The claſh of arms tumultuous from afar,
And all that fires the hero's ſoul to war!
Bold Pindar next, with matchleſs force and fire,
Divinely careleſs, wak'd the ſounding lyre,
Unbound by rule, he urg'd each vigorous lay,
And gave his mighty genius room to play:
The Grecian games employ his daring ſtrings,
In numbers rapid as the race he ſings.
Mark, muſe, the conſcious ſhade and vocal grove,
Where Sappho tun'd her melting voice to love,
While Echo each harmonious ſtrain return'd,
And with the ſoft complaining Leſbian mourn'd.
With roſes crown'd, on flowers ſupinely laid,
Anacreon next the ſprightly lyre eſſay'd,
[20]In light fantaſtic meaſures beat the ground,
Or dealt the mirth-inſpiring juice around.
No care, no thought, the tuneful Teian knew,
But mark'd with bliſs each moment as it flew.
Behold the ſoil, where ſmooth Clitumnus glides,
And rolls thro' ſmiling fields his ductile tides;
Where ſwoln Eridanus in ſtate proceeds,
And tardy Mincio wanders thro' the meads;
Where breathing flowers ambroſial ſweets diſtil,
And the ſoft air with balmy fragrance fill.
O Italy! tho' joyful plenty reigns,
And nature laughs amid thy bloomy plains;
Tho' all thy ſhades poetic warmth inſpire,
Tune the rapt ſoul, and fan the ſacred fire;
Thoſe plains and ſhades ſhall reach th' appointed date,
And all their fading honours yield to fate:
Thy wide renown and ever-blooming fame
Stand on the baſis of a nobler claim;
In thee his harp immortal Virgil ſtrung,
Of ſhepherds, flocks, and mighty heroes ſung.
See Horace ſhaded by the lyric wreath,
Where every grace and all the muſes breathe;
Where courtly eaſe adorns each happy line,
And Pindar's fire, and Sappho's ſoftneſs join.
Politely wiſe, with calm well-govern'd rage,
He laſh'd the reigning follies of the age;
[21]With wit, not ſpleen, indulgently ſevere,
To reach the heart he charm'd the liſtening ear.
When ſoothing themes each milder note employ,
Each milder note ſwells ſoft to love and joy;
Smooth as the fame-preſaging * doves that ſpread
Prophetic wreaths around his infant head.
Ye numerous bards unſung (whoſe various lays
A genius equal to your own ſhould praiſe)
Forgive the muſe, who feels an inbred flame
Reſiſtleſs, to exalt her country's fame;
A foreign clime ſhe leaves—and turns her eyes
Where her own Britain's favourite towers ariſe;
Where Thames rolls deep his plenteous tides around,
His banks with thick aſcending turrets crown'd,
Yet not theſe ſcenes th' impartial muſe could boaſt,
Were liberty, thy great diſtinction, loſt.
Britannia, hail! o'er whoſe luxuriant plain,
For the free natives waves the ripening grain:
'Twas ſacred liberty's celeſtial ſmile
Firſt lur'd the muſes to thy generous iſle;
'Twas liberty beſtow'd the power to ſing,
And bid the verſe-rewarding laurel ſpring.
Here Chaucer firſt his comic vein diſplay'd,
And merry tales in homely guiſe convey'd;
[22]Unpoliſh'd beauties grac'd the artleſs ſong,
Tho' rude the diction, yet the ſenſe was ſtrong.
To ſmoother ſtrains chaſtiſing tuneleſs proſe,
In plain magnificence great Spencer roſe:
In forms diſtinct, in each creating line,
The virtues, vices, and the paſſions ſhine:
Subſervient nature aids the poet's rage,
And with herſelf inſpires each nervous page.
Exalted Shakeſpear, with a boundleſs mind,
Rang'd far and wide; a genius unconfin'd!
The paſſions ſway'd, and captive led the heart,
Without the critic's rules, and void of art:
So ſome fair clime, by ſmiling Phoebus bleſt,
And in a thouſand charms by nature dreſt,
Where limpid ſtreams in wild meanders flow,
And on the mountains towering foreſts grow,
With lovely landſcapes lures the raviſh'd ſight,
While each new ſcene ſupplies a new delight:
No induſtry of man, no needleſs toil,
Can mend the rich uncultivated ſoil.
While Cowley's lays with ſprightly vigour move,
Around him wait the gods of verſe and love;
So quick the crouding images ariſe,
The bright variety diſtracts our eyes;
[23]Each ſparkling line, where fire with fancy flows,
The rich profuſion of his genius ſhows.
To Waller next, my wondering view I bend,
Gentle, as flakes of feather'd ſnow deſcend:
Not the ſame ſnow, its ſilent journey done,
More radiant glitters in the riſing ſun.
O happy nymph! who could thoſe lays demand,
And claim the care of this immortal hand:
In vain might age thy heavenly form invade,
And o'er thy beauties caſt an envious ſhade;
Waller the place of youth and bloom ſupplies,
And gives exhauſtleſs luſtre to thy eyes;
Each muſe aſſiſting rifles every grace,
To paint the wonders of thy matchleſs face.
Thus when at Greece, divine Apelles ſtrove
To give to earth the radiant queen of love,
From each bright nymph ſome dazling charm he took,
This fair one's lips, another's lovely look;
Each beauty pleas'd, a ſmile, or air beſtows,
Till all the goddeſs from the canvas roſe.
Immortal Milton, hail! whoſe lofty ſtrain
With conſcious ſtrength does vulgar themes diſdain;
Sublime aſcended thy ſuperior ſoul,
Where neither lightnings flaſh, nor thunders roll;
Where other ſuns drink deep th' eternal ray,
And thence to other worlds tranſmit the day;
[24]Where high in ether countleſs planets move,
And various moons, attendant, round them rove.
O bear me to thoſe ſoft delightful ſcenes,
Where ſhades far-ſpreading boaſt immortal greens,
Where paradiſe unfolds her fragrant flowers,
Her ſweets unfading, and celeſtial bowers;
Where Zephyr breathes amid the blooming wild,
Gentle as nature's infant beauty ſmil'd;
Where gaily reigns one ever-laughing ſpring;
Eden's delights! which thou alone couldſt ſing.
Yet not theſe ſcenes could bound his daring flight;
Born to the taſk, he roſe a nobler height.
While o'er the lyre his hallow'd fingers fly,
Each wonderous touch awakens raptures high.
Thoſe glorious ſeats he boldly durſt explore,
Where faith alone, till then, had power to ſoar.
Smooth glide thy waves, O Thames, while I re⯑hearſe
*The name that taught thee firſt to flow in verſe;
Let ſacred ſilence huſh thy grateful tides,
The oſier ceaſe to tremble on thy ſides;
Let thy calm waters gently ſteal along,
Denham this homage claims, while he inſpires my ſong.
Far as thy billows roll, diſpers'd away
To diſtant climes, the honour'd name convey:
[25]Not Xanthus can a nobler glory boaſt,
In whoſe rich ſtream a thouſand floods are loſt.
The ſtrong, the ſoft, the moving, and the ſweet,
In artful Dryden's various numbers meet;
Aw'd by his lays, each rival bard retir'd:
So fades the moon, pale, lifeleſs, unadmir'd,
When the bright ſun burſts glorious on the ſight,
With radiant luſtre, and a flood of light.
The comic muſe, with lively humour gay,
In Congreve's ſtrains does all her charms diſplay.
She rallies each abſurd impertinence,
And without labour laughs us into ſenſe.
The follies of mankind ſhe ſets to view
In ſcenes ſtill pleaſing, and for ever new.
Sure heaven, that deſtin'd William to be great,
The mighty bulwark of the Britiſh ſtate,
The ſcourge of tyrants, guardian of the law,
Beſtow'd a Garth, deſigning a Naſſau.
Wit, eaſe, and life, in Prior blended, flow,
Polite as Granville, ſoft as moving Rowe;
Granville, whoſe lays unnumber'd charms adorn,
Serene and ſprightly as the opening morn:
Rowe, who the ſpring of every paſſion knew,
And from our eyes call'd forth the opening dew:
[26]Still ſhall his gentle muſe our ſouls command,
And our warm'd hearts confeſs his ſkilful hand.
Be this the leaſt of his ſuperior fame,
Whoſe happy genius caught great Lucan's flame,
Where noble Pompey dauntleſs meets his doom,
And each free ſtrain breathes Liberty and Rome.
O Addiſon, lamented, wonderous bard!
The god-like hero's great, his beſt reward:
Not all the laurels reap'd on Blenheim's plains
A fame can give like thy immortal * ſtrains.
While Cato dictates in thy awful lines,
Caeſar himſelf with ſecond luſtre ſhines:
As our rais'd ſouls the great diſtreſs purſue,
Triumphs and crowns ſtill leſſen in our view:
We trace the victor with diſdainful eyes,
And all, that made a Cato bleed, deſpiſe.
The bold pindaric, and ſoft lyric muſe,
Breath'd all her energy in tuneful Hughes!
Muſic herſelf did on his lines beſtow
The poliſh'd luſtre, and enchanting flow!
His ſweet cantatas, and melodious ſong,
Shall ever warble on the ſkilful tongue!
When nobler themes a loftier ſtrain require,
His boſom glow'd with more than mortal fire!
[27]Not * Orpheus' ſelf could in ſublimer lays
Have ſung th' omnipotent Creator's praiſe.
Damaſcus' moving fate, diſplay'd to view,
From every eye the ready tribute drew:
Th' attentive ear the bright †Eudocia charms,
And with the generous love of virtue warms;
She ſeems above the ills ſhe greatly bears,
While †Phocyas' woes command our guſhing tears.
†Abudah ſhines a pattern to mankind;
In him the hero and the man are join'd!
High on the radiant liſt, ſee! Pope appears,
With all the fire of youth, and ſtrength of years:
Where-e'er ſupreme he points the nervous line,
Nature and art in bright conjunction ſhine.
How juſt the turns! how regular the draught!
How ſmooth the language! how refin'd the thought!
Secure beneath the ſhade of early bays,
He dar'd the thunder of great Homer's lays;
A ſacred heat inform'd his heaving breaſt,
And Homer in his genius ſtands confeſt:
To heights ſublime he rais'd the ponderous lyre,
And our cold iſle grew warm with Grecian fire!
[28]
Fain would I now th' excelling bard reveal,
And point the ſeat where all the muſes dwell;
Where Phoebus has his warmeſt ſmiles beſtow'd,
And who moſt labours with th' inſpiring god:
But while I ſtrive to fix the ray divine,
And round that head the laurel'd triumph twine,
Unnumber'd bards diſtract my dazzled ſight,
And my firſt choice grows faint with rival light.
So the white road that ſtreaks the cloudleſs ſkies,
When ſilver Cynthia's temperate beams ariſe,
Thick ſet with ſtars o'er our admiring heads
One undiſtinguiſh'd ſtreamy twilight ſpreads;
Pleas'd we behold, from heaven's unbounded height,
A thouſand orbs pour forth promiſcuous light:
While all around, the ſpangled luſtre flows,
In vain we ſtrive to mark which brighteſt glows;
From each the ſame enlivening ſplendors fly,
And the diffuſive glory charms the eye.
TO THE MEMORY OF MR. HUGHES.
[29]ROund Hughes's humble, tho'diſtinguiſh'd urn,
The Muſes, wreath'd with baleful cypreſs, mourn;
In every face a deep diſtreſs appears,
Each eye o'erflows with tributary tears.
Such was the ſcene, when, by the gods requir'd,
Majeſtic Homer from the world retir'd:
Such grief the Nine on Maro's tomb beſtow'd;
For Addiſon ſuch ſorrow lately flow'd.
Snatch'd from the earth, above its trifling praiſe,
Thee, Hughes, to happier climes thy fate conveys:
Eas'd of its load thy active ſpirit flies
From orb to orb, and glides along the ſkies.
The toils of life, the pangs of death are o'er,
And care, and pain, and ſickneſs are no more!
O! may that ſpot, which holds thy dear remains,
(The nobleſt ſpoil earth's ſpacious breaſt contains)
Its tribute pay: may richeſt flowers around
Spring lightly forth, and mark the ſacred ground:
There may the bay her ſhady honours ſpread,
And o'er thy urn delightful odours ſhed:
Immortal, as thy fame and writings, grow,
Till theſe ſhall ceaſe to live, or Thames to flow.
[30]
Nature ſubdued foretold the great decline,
And every heart was plung'd in grief, but thine;
Thy ſoul ſerene the conflict did maintain,
And trac'd the phantom death thro' years of pain;
Not years of pain thy ſteady mind alarm'd,
By judgment ſtrengthen'd, and by virtue arm'd.
Still like yourſelf, when ſinking life ebb'd low,
You neither dar'd, nor meanly fear'd the blow:
Looſe to the world, by every grace poſſeſt,
Greatly reſign'd, you ſought the ſtranger reſt.
Fearleſs of fate, thus thy own Phocyas died,
When from his wound guſh'd forth the purple tide.
Drawn by thy pen, the theory we ſee,
The practic part too ſoon we learn from thee.
Who now ſhall touch the lyre with ſkill divine?
Or who to tuneful airs ſhall tuneful numbers join?
Who ſhall the rapid tide of vice controul,
At once enchant the ſenſe, and mend the ſoul?
In whom ſhall the fair ſiſter-arts unite
With virtue, ſolid ſenſe, and boundleſs wit?
Such was the turn of thy exalted mind,
Sparkling as poliſh'd gems, as pureſt gold refin'd.
Great ruler of our paſſions! who with art
Subdued the fierce, and warm'd the frozen heart;
Bid glory in our breaſts with temper beat,
And genuine valour, free from feveriſh heat;
Bid love in all its native luſtre riſe,
And in Eudocia's form delight our eyes.
[31]Virtue diſtreſs'd thy happy lines diſcloſe,
With more of triumph, than a conqueror knows.
Touch'd by thy hand, our ſtubborn tempers bend,
And flowing tears the well-wrought ſcene attend:
That ſilent eloquence thy power approv'd;
The cauſe ſo great, 'twas generous to be mov'd.
What pleaſure can the burſting heart poſſeſs
In the laſt parting, and ſevere diſtreſs?
Can fame, wealth, honour, titles, joy beſtow,
And make the labouring breaſt with tranſport glow?
Theſe gaudy trifles gild our dawning light,
But, oh! how weak their influence on our night;
Then fame, wealth, honour, titles, vainly bloom,
Nor dart one gleam of comfort on the tomb.
The only joy the ſtruggling ſoul receives,
Is in th' applauſe that conſcious virtue gives:
This cordial joy retiring Hughes poſſ'eſs'd,
This cheer'd his dying hours, compos'd his breaſt,
And ſooth'd his pure and peaceful ſoul to reſt!
Free from the bigot's fear, or ſtoic's pride,
Serene he liv'd, and as ſerenely died.
When, on life's utmoſt verge, he dauntleſs ſtood,
[...]dy to plunge, and ſeize th' immortal good,
Collecting all his ſcatter'd rays in one,
His laſt * exalted work intenſely ſhone:
[32]His living ſentiments, there ſketch'd, we view'd;
But while our eyes the ſhining path purſued,
And wonderous heights, his towering muſe had gain'd,
Alas! the ſhining path alone remain'd!
So when the ſun to worlds unknown retires,
How ſtrong, how boldly ſhoot his parting fires!
Larger his ſetting orb our eyes confeſs;
Eager we gaze, and the full glory bleſs:
As o'er the heaven ſublime his courſe extends,
With equal pomp the radiant power deſcends,
Sinks to the ſeas, with golden luſtre bright,
And paints the clouds with beauteous tracts of light.
THE DEATH OF ARACHNE:
AN HEROI-COMI-TRAGIC-POEM.
[33]THE ſhrinking brooks and ruſſet meads com⯑plain'd,
That ſummer's tyrant, fervid Sirius, reign'd;
Full weſt the ſun from heaven deſcending rode,
And ſix the ſhadow on the dial ſhow'd.
Philo, tho' young, to muſing much inclin'd,
A ſhameleſs ſloven, in his gown had din'd,
From table ſneaking with a ſheepiſh face,
Before the circle was diſmiſs'd with grace,
And ſmoaking now, his deſk with books o'erſpread,
Thick clouds of incenſe roll around his head;
His head, which ſave a quarter's growth of hair,
His woollen cap long ſince ſcratch'd off, was bare;
His beard three days had grown, of golden hue,
Black was his ſhirt, uncomely to the view;
Croſs-legg'd he ſat, and his ungarter'd hoſe
Of each lean limb half hide, and half expoſe;
His cheek he lean'd upon his hand; below
His nut-brown ſlipper hung upon his toe.
Now with abſtracted flight he climbs apace,
High and more high, thro' pure unbounded ſpace;
Now mere privation fails the wings of thought,
He drops down headlong thro' the vaſt of nought;
[34]A friendly vapour Matheſis ſupplies,
Born on the ſurging ſmoke he joys to riſe;
Matter thro' modes and qualities purſues,
Now caught, entranc'd its naked eſſence views:
Now wakes; the viſion fading from his ſight
Leaves doubts behind, the miſts of mental night:
Exiſting not, but poſſible alone,
He deems all ſubſtance, and ſuſpects his own;
Like wave by wave impell'd, now queſtions roll—
Does ſoul in ought ſubſiſt, or all in ſoul?
Is ſpace, extenſion, nothing but a name,
And mere idea nature's mighty frame?
All power, all forms, to intellect confin'd;
Place, agent, ſubject, inſtrument combin'd?
Is ſpirit diverſe, yet from number free,
Conjoin'd by harmony in unity?—
Truth's ſpotleſs white what piercing eye deſcries,
When the ray broken takes opinion's dyes!—
In vain now Philo ſeeks the ſacred light,
In chaos plung'd, where embryo ſyſtems fight.
In this dark hour, unnotic'd, Cloe came,
His ſtudy-door admits the ſhining dame,
With nature's charms ſhe join'd the charms of art,
Wife of his choice, and miſtreſs of his heart;
What on her head ſhe wore, erect and high,
Unnam'd above, is call'd on earth a fly;
In wanton ringlets her fair treſſes fell,
Her breaſts beneath tranſparent muſlin ſwell;
[35]Studded with flaming gems a buckle bound
Th' embroider'd zone her ſlender waiſt around;
Thence to her feet a vaſt rotund diſplay'd
The mingling colours of the rich brocade;
This aiding fancy, blending ſhame and pride,
Inflames with beauties it was meant to hide:
With careleſs eaſe the nymph firſt ſnapp'd her fan,
Roll'd round her radiant eyes, and thus began:
" How canſt thou, Philo, here delight to ſit,
" Immers'd in learning, naſtineſs, and wit?
" Clean from the cheſt, where various odours breathe,
" And dying roſes their laſt ſweets bequeath,
" A ſhirt for thee, by my command, the maid
" Three hours ago before the fire diſplay'd;
" The barber, waiting to renew thy face,
" Holds thy wig powder'd in the paſt-board caſe;
" Thy ſilken breeches, and thy hoſe of thread,
" Coat, waiſtcoat, all, lie ready on the bed.
" Renounce that odious pipe, this filthy cell,
" Where ſilence, duſt, and pagan authors dwell:
" Come! ſhall the ladies wait in vain for thee?
" Come! taſte with us the charms of mirth and tea."
As Philo heard confus'd the ſilver ſound,
His ſoul emerges from the dark profound,
On the bright viſion full he turn'd his eyes:
Touch'd, as he gaz'd, with pleaſure and ſurprize,
The firſt faint dawnings of a ſmile appear'd,
And now in act to ſpeak, he ſtrok'd his beard,
[36]When from a ſhelf juſt o'er the fair one's head,
Down dropp'd Arachne by the viſcous thread.
Back ſtarts the nymph, with terror and diſmay,
" The ſpider! oh!"—was all that ſhe could ſay.
At this the ſage reſum'd the look ſevere,
' Renounce, with woman's folly, woman's fear!
He ſaid, and careful to the ſhelf convey'd
The hapleſs rival of the blue-eyed maid.
Th' enormous deed aſtoniſh'd Cloe view'd,
And rage the crimſon on her cheek renew'd.
" Muſt then, ſaid ſhe, ſuch hideous vermin crawl
" Indulg'd, protected, o'er the cobwebb'd wall?
" Deſtroy her quickly—here her life I claim,
" If not for love or decency, for ſhame."
' Shame be to guilt, replies the man of thought,
' To ſlaves of cuſtom, ne'er by reaſon taught,
' Who ſpare no life that touches not their own,
' By fear their cruelty reſtrain'd alone.
' No blameleſs inſect lives its deſtin'd hour,
' Caught in the murdering vortex of their power.
' For me, the virtues of the mind I learn
' From ſage Arachne, for whoſe life you burn;
' From her, when buſy all the ſummer's day
' She weaves the curious woof that ſnares her prey,
' I learn fair induſtry and art to prize,
' Admiring nature providently wiſe,
' Who, tho' her bounty unexhauſted flows,
' Not daily bread on idleneſs beſtows.
[37]
' Arachne, ſtill ſuperior to deſpair,
' Reſtores with art what accidents impair,
' The thouſandth time the broken thread renews,
' And one great end with fortitude purſues;
' To me her toil is ne'er renew'd in vain,
' Taught what the wiſe by perſeverance gain,
' Warm'd by example to the glorious ſtrife,
' And taught to conquer in the fight of life.
' When now with reſt amidſt her labours crown'd,
' She watchful, patient, eyes the circle round,
' I learn, when toil has well deſerv'd ſucceſs,
' Hope's placid, calm, expectance to poſſeſs,
' With care to watch, with patience ſtill to wait
' The golden moment, tho' delay'd by fate.'
Impatient Cloe thus again replied,
" How ſoon is error thro' each veil deſcried!
" Still boaſting reaſon's power, how weak are we!
" How blind, alas! to all we would not ſee!
" Elſe how could Philo, in a ſpider's cauſe,
" Talk thus of mercy with deſerv'd applauſe?
" Or call aught virtuous induſtry and ſkill,
" Exerted only to ſurprize and kill?
" The blameleſs infect, whom no murder feeds,
" For her, the victim of her cunning, bleeds;
" Cunning! which when to wiſdom we compare,
" Is but to her, to men what monkeys are."
' Hold! Philo cries, and know, the ſame decree
' Gave her the fly, which gives the lamb to thee;
[38]' Or why thoſe wings adapted to the ſnare,
' Why interceptive hangs the net in air?
' As plain in theſe the precept, "kill and eat,"
' As in thy ſkill to carve the living treat.'
To this, ſhe cries, "Perſuade me, if you can—
" Man's lord of all, and all was made for man."
' Vain thought! the child of ignorance and pride!'
Diſdainful ſmiling, quickly he replied,
' To man, vain reptile! tell me of what uſe
' Are all that Afric's peopled waſtes produce?
' The nameleſs monſters of the ſwarming ſeas,
' The pigmy nations wafted on the breeze?
' The happy myriads, by his eyes unſeen,
' That baſk in flowers, and quicken all the green?
' Why live theſe numbers bleſt in nature's ſtate?
' Why lives this ſpider object of thy hate?
' Why man? but life in common to poſſeſs,
' Wide to diffuſe the ſtream of happineſs;
' Bleſt ſtream! th' o'erflowing of the parent mind,
' Great without pride, and without weakneſs kind.'
With downcaſt eyes, and ſighs, and modeſt air,
Thus in ſoft ſounds replied the wily fair:
" This fatal ſubtilty thy books impart
" To baffle truth, when unſuſtain'd by art;
" For this, when Cloe goes at twelve to bed,
" Till three you ſit, in converſe with the dead;
" No wonder then, in vain my ſkill's employ'd
" To prove it beſt that vermin be deſtroy'd—
[39]" But tho' you proudly triumph o'er my ſex,
" Joy to confute, and reaſon but to vex,
" Yet, if you lov'd me, to oblige your wife,
" What could you leſs! you'd take a ſpider's life.
" Once to prevent my wiſhes Philo flew,
" But time, that alters all, has alter'd you.
" Yet ſtill, unchang'd, poor Cloe's love remains;
" Theſe tears my witneſs, which your pride diſdains;
" Theſe tears, at once my witneſs, and relief."
Here paus'd the fair, all eloquent in grief.
He, who had often, and alone, o'erturn'd
Witlings, and ſophiſts, when his fury burn'd,
Now yields to love the fortreſs of his ſoul;
His eyes with vengeance on Arachne roll,
' Curs'd wretch, thou poiſonous quinteſſence of ill,
' Thoſe precious drops, unpuniſh'd, ſhalt thou ſpill?'
He ſaid, and, ſtooping, from his foot he drew,
Black as his purpoſe, what was once a ſhoe;
Now, high in air the fatal heel aſcends,
Reaſon's laſt effort now the ſtroke ſuſpends;
In doubt he ſtood—when, breath'd from Cloe's breaſt,
A ſtruggling ſigh her inward grief expreſt.
Fir'd by the ſound, 'Die, ſorcereſs, die,' he cried,
And to his arm his utmoſt ſtrength applied:
Cruſh'd falls the foe, one complicated wound,
And the ſmote ſhelf returns a jarring ſound.
On Ida's top thus Venus erſt prevail'd,
When all the ſapience of Minerva fail'd:
[40]Thus to like arts a prey, as poets tell,
By Juno lov'd in vain, great Dido fell.
And thus for ever Beauty ſhall controul
The ſaint's, the ſage's, and the hero's ſoul.
But Jove with hate beheld th' atrocious deed,
And Vengeance follows with tremendous ſpeed;
In Philo's mind ſhe quench'd the ray that fir'd
With love of ſcience, and with verſe inſpir'd,
Expung'd at once the philoſophic theme,
All ſages think, and all that poets dream;
Yields him thus chang'd a vaſſal to the fair,
And forth ſhe leads him, with a victor's air:
Dreſt to her wiſh, he mixes with the gay,
As much a trifle, and as vain as they;
To fix their power, and rivet faſt the chain,
They lead where Pleaſure ſpreads her ſoft domain;
Where, drown'd in muſic Reaſon's hoarſer call,
Love ſmiles triumphant in thy groves, Vaux-hall.
LIFE. AN ODE.
[41]LIfe! the dear precarious boon!
Soon we loſe, alas! how ſoon!
Fleeting viſion, falſely gay!
Graſp'd in vain, it fades away,
Mixing with ſurrounding ſhades,
Lovely viſion! how it fades!
Let the muſe, in fancy's glaſs,
Catch the phantoms as they paſs:
See they riſe! a nymph behold
Careleſs, wanton, young and bold;
Mark her devious, haſty pace,
Antic dreſs, and thoughtleſs face,
Smiling cheeks, and roving eyes,
Cauſeleſs mirth, and vain ſurprize—
Tripping at her ſide, a boy
Shares her wonder, and her joy;
This is Folly, Childhood's guide,
This is Childhood at her ſide.
What is he ſucceeding now,
Myrtles blooming on his brow,
Bright, and bluſhing, as the morn,
Not on earth a mortal born?
Shafts, to pierce the ſtrong I view,
Wings, the flying to purſue;
[42]Victim of his power, behind
Stalks a ſlave of human kind,
Whoſe diſdain of all the free
Speaks his mind's captivity.
Love's the tyrant, Youth the ſlave,
Youth in vain is wiſe or brave;
Love with conſcious pride defies
All the brave, and all the wiſe.
Who art thou with anxious mien
Stealing o'er the ſhifting ſcene?
Eyes, with tedious vigils red,
Sighs, by doubts and wiſhes bred,
Cautious ſtep, and glancing leer,
Speak thy woes, and ſpeak thy fear;
Arm in arm, what wretch is he
Like thyſelf, who walks with thee?
Like thy own his fears and woes,
All thy pangs his boſom knows:
Well, too well! my boding breaſt
Knows the names your looks ſuggeſt,
Anxious, buſy, reſtleſs pair!
Manhood, link'd by fate to Care.
Wretched ſtate! and yet 'tis dear—
Fancy, cloſe the proſpect here!
Cloſe it, or recall the paſt,
Spare my eyes, my heart, the laſt.
Vain the wiſh! the laſt appears,
While I gaze it ſwims in tears;
[43]Age—my future ſelf—I trace
Moving ſlow with feeble pace,
Bending with diſeaſe and cares,
All the load of life he bears;
White his locks, his viſage wan,
Strength, and eaſe, and hope are gone.
Death, the ſhadowy form I know!
Death o'ertakes him, dreadful foe!
Swift they vaniſh—mournful ſight,
Night ſucceeds, impervious night!
What theſe dreadful glooms conceal
Fancy's glaſs can ne'er reveal;
When ſhall time the veil remove?
When ſhall light the ſcene improve?
When ſhall truth my doubts diſpell?
Awful period! who can tell?
AN ODE TO HOPE.
[44]COme! lovely queen of endleſs ſmiles,
Whoſe art the woes of life beguiles!
With thee I'll rove, with thee I'll reſt,
Amidſt thy ſweet enchantments bleſt;
O! let me, with thy poppies crown'd,
Unconſcious tread this thorny ground!
Thy pleaſing dreams before me ſpread,
And ſtretch thy wings to guard my head,
Secure amidſt ſurrounding ſtrife,
Nor wak'd by all the ſtorms of life!
The brighter ſide of wealth and power,
Shall bleſs the viſionary hour;
Wealth, without care, ſhall be poſſeſt,
And power, without a guilty breaſt;
Pomp, free from flattery, and from ſcorn,
And love's ſweet flower, without the thorn.
While Fortune, with an erring hand,
Her bounty ſcatters thro' the land,
And fools, and knaves the treaſures find,
By heaven for knaves, and fools, deſign'd,
Not unrewarded Virtue ſighs,
In Hope her laſting pleaſure lies;
Nor while Aſtrea holds the ſcale,
Shall vice, and ponderous gold, prevail,
[45]By Hope external wants ſupplied,
She turns the beam on Virtue's ſide.
Here Time with ſweeping ſtroke deſtroys,
Like graſs, poſſeſſion's tranſient joys,
Hope, like the pine aſpiring high,
Can all the rage of time defy;
For each lopp'd branch, the vigorous root
Ordains a double branch to ſhoot,
For one, a thouſand ſtems ariſe,
And bloom, and bear, beyond the ſkies.
If Hope no diſtant bleſſing ſhows,
In vain is all the world beſtows;
If future joys her ſmiles diſplay,
In vain is all it takes away.
The loſs of power, of fame, of wealth,
Yet more, of friends, of eaſe, and health,
By ſtrength of mind we learn to bear,
And live, and ſmile, in ſpite of care;
But loſing thee, all comforts fly,
We languiſh, we deſpair, we die.
Beyond our reach, but ſtill in ſight,
Thy glittering objects yield delight,
If chance poſſeſſion brings them near,
We loſe the fading joy in fear:
What charm'd the ſight, as good and fair,
When touch'd, we mourn as clouds and air;
Yet fond the vapour to retain,
Each parting fragment gives us pain.
[46]Thy cheerful light, with guiding ray,
Thro' life directs our doubtful way,
Invites the journey to fulfil,
Before us, and before us ſtill!
The grave we reach, thy pointing hand
Beyond it ſhows the promis'd land,
The laſt, beſt, effort of thy power
Suſtains us in the dreadful hour.
Thy charge, and all our travels, o'er,
We leave thee on the mortal ſhore,
On realms unknown we land, and ſhare
A fate beyond thy influence there.
Whate'er in realms unknown I be,
Hope! let me live on earth with thee.
ODE TO PLEASURE.
[47]SIſter of Youth and laughing Joy,
Sweet Pleaſure, ſorrow-ſoothing queen,
Daughter of Venus, ever-young,
And Bacchus wreath'd with ivy green;
Whom on their laps the roſy-boſom'd Hours,
And all the Graces nurſt beneath Idalian bowers.
O lead me to thy bliſsful vale!
Where Hope and Health in ſprightly round,
Leiſure, with Freedom hand in hand,
In dance fantaſtic beat the ground;
Where-e'er they tread the faireſt flowers ariſe,
Embroidering all the green with ever-varying dies.
Let the ſtern pedant love to waſte
In ſtudious ſearch the tedious night,
Attentive to the learned page
By muſing taper's glimmering light,
Whoſe penſive ear no wakeful ſounds alarm,
Save the lone owl, ſlow clock, or bellman's drowſy charm.
Me let the cheerful dance engage,
Swift-urg'd along the lighted dome;
While with new warmth the virgin glows,
Her cheek all fluſh'd with freſher bloom;
[48]Motion and muſic tendereſt thoughts inſpire,
And all her yielding ſoul relents to ſoft deſire.
Let the ſage hermit ſhun mankind,
With pale-eyed Penitence to dwell,
To freeze at midnight hours of prayer
Within a ſolitary cell;
Penurious on the verdant herb to ſup,
And of the chilling ſtream to drain his beechen cup.
Be mine, amidſt the ſocial band,
The raptures of champaign to taſte,
Whoſe vigorous juice new reliſh gives
To mutual converſe, Reaſon's feaſt,
While old Anacreon ſeems to riſe, and ſay,
" Begone, ye toils of life, ye buſy cares, away!"
THE KITE.
AN HEROI-COMIC POEM. IN THREE CANTOS.
[49]CANTO I.
ARGUMENT.
Dian's character. Cupid, jealous of her growing power, retires to her apartment, and ſeizes the copy-book by which ſhe firſt learn'd to write. A deſcription of it. He finds the young lady at her harpſichord. The particulars of her ſong.
TO chaſe the timorous hare young Dian knew,
Or thro' the woods the flying deer purſue;
O'er the high mound her courſer rag'd ſecure,
Eager, yet conſcious of the charge he bore:
While health auſpicious mantled in her face,
Glow'd on her cheek, and heighten'd every grace.
Or if the clamorous echoes of the field
To the gay dance, and ſweeter muſic yield,
Her courtly motion ſet the ſoul on fire,
And told us all the graces of the lyre.
[50]If Dian at the frame diſplay'd her power,
And charg'd the needle with the future flower,
New life, like ſome kind deſtiny, ſhe gives,
And in a nobler loom the * heroe lives:
Here Ormond's duke, retir'd from martial cares,
The peaceful ſcarlet of a tulip wears;
There great Eugene, in azure robes array'd,
Confeſt his toils and dangers well repaid;
Here grew, adorn'd with every ſpreading grace,
The purple honours of the gay Borlace;
On this fair ſtalk the Gallic monarch ſhone
More powerful on her apron, than his throne.
Love, with a jealous eye, beheld the fair,
Her conqueſts number'd, and began to fear,
Watch'd every glance that wander'd from her eye,
And ſaw with leſs ſucceſs his arrows fly:
" But muſt that empire I derive from heaven
" Be given to Dian all! ſo cheaply given!
" Nations no more at my dread altars bow!
" And theſe victorious ſhafts lie uſeleſs now!
" Not ſo the golden trophy Venus gain'd;
" 'Twas with the ruins of a Troy ſhe reign'd,
" When flighted Juno, raging with deſpair,
" Led ſternly out her booted Greeks to war.
So griev'd the god; and, ſtung with fury, fled
Where Jealous rage and pale reſentment led.
[51]
Sacred to ſecrecy and ſoft repoſe,
Roſe an alcove, where, rang'd in artful rows,
(By Dian wrought) the drowſy poppy grows;
The virgin here, like Sol's declining ray,
Withdrew her luſtre, and retir'd from day:
Gay Fancy, ever waking, here retains
Her livelieſt viſions, and her ſofteſt ſcenes;
While Slumbers round their ſilent ſtation take,
And ſeal thoſe eyes that keep the world awake:
Where wedding-cake, inſpiring pleaſing dreams,
The happy partner of her bed proclaims,
While guardian Loves the merry dance begin,
And jolly Hymen leads the bridegroom in.
In caſkets here unnumber'd trophies lay,
And loaded ſhelves their mimic pomp diſplay;
Here paper-towns their waving turrets ſhow,
And foreſts from her ſciſſars taught to grow;
There the proud ſhip extends its wonderous frame,
And to the maid brings home eternal fame;
Carnations here the lingering eye regale,
Here ever blows the lilly of the vale;
The laviſh roſe here wantons all the year,
So ſpreads its blooming leaves, ſo bluſhes here.
Here, to repair his loſs, poor Cupid flies,
And darts in every caſk his reſtleſs eyes.
Beneath a gilded pile of billet-deux,
Cupid at length the marbled quarto views,
[52]That taught her words a ſable hue to wear,
And bid them pleaſe the eye as well as ear.
In virgin order the coy letters move,
Nor modeſt know the cloſer ties of love;
Yet not the chief that boaſts a flouriſh'd train,
(The rolling beauties of a haſty pen)
With all his gaudy ornaments, could pleaſe
More than the ſimple elegance of theſe.
Here A, by himſelf A, ſurnam'd the great,
With awful front o'erlooks the little ſtate,
And, like Aeneas, with majeſtic pace,
T' Italian order leads his letter'd race;
While, next him, little a, with youthful pride,
Trips, like Iülus, by his father's ſide:
Here bending c's diſcloſe half orbs of light,
Like the new honours of the queen of night:
There i, like the fifth Edward, ſtands diſplay'd,
His crown for ever hanging o'er his head:
There o, diſtinguiſh'd by his curious round;
And q by children in the corner found:
The s, with arched neck, and tail reclin'd;
And the twin u's in ſacred friendſhip join'd.
Each letter thus, by different beauties known,
In order led the gay ſucceſſion on.
Trembling with eager joy, he ſnatch'd the prize;
Dian no more grew hateful to his eyes:
And now in haſte his golden wings he ſpread,
And, all impatient, ſought the beauteous maid.
[53]
Fix'd to the lyre, he found the tuneful fair;
The myſtic numbers well deſerv'd his ear.
She ſung, when ghoſts approach, why lights burn blue;
Why candles ſhow the future billet-doux;
Why, from the taper, roſe the virgin-ſtrife,
Why chaſteſt breath recalls it into life;
Why the young Hylas bids his father run
T' obey the ſummons of a watery ſun;
And why, to think, ſhould aid the houſewife's ſkill,
And thro' the joint conduct the lucky ſteel;
What certain ills ſucceed, if crickets call;
Why ſtates and ſalt-ſellers together fall.
CANTO II.
[54]ARGUMENT.
Cupid opens his deſign of making the Kite, and offers his arms to Dian. The Loves deſcend. The plan for the Kite is laid out by a mechanical Love, who begs Cupid's bow of Dian. They all aſſiſt in the work, till the leaves of the copy-book are uſed. Here Mercury ſeaſonably fur⯑niſhes them with acts of parliament. The tail is finiſh'd, and the lanthorn added by Dian. Cupid receives it, and inſtitutes the game of leaping over the candle. A ſhort epiſode on this ſubject.
THE virgin ceas'd; and Venus' ſmiling ſon
(The volume waving in his hand) begun.
" If e'er I taught that breaſt to fall and riſe,
" And emptied quivers from thoſe ſparkling eyes;
" If I, the lover ſweetly to beguile,
" Spread o'er thoſe dimpled cheeks that winning ſmile;
" Let Cupid once his earneſt wiſh obtain;
" Hear what he aſks, nor let him aſk in vain.
" Know then, fair maid, from Love's great ſovereign know,
" Has Cupid ought?—'Tis all fair Dian's now!
[55]" The world receives thy edicts with applauſe,
" And Love's liege ſubjects hear from thee their laws.
" Thee ſhall the Graces, thee the Smiles attend,
" And young Deſires around their camp extend.
" But ſhall theſe hands no mark of favour boaſt,
" Robb'd of their arms—my bow, my quiver loſt!
" Ah! let the ſkilful maid a frame prepare,
" Theſe leaves (ſo heaven has doom'd) muſt riſe in air:
" Then, born on Zephyrs, ſhall thy work be ſeen,
" And diſtant eyes adore the wing'd machine:
" Cupid well-pleas'd ſhall guide its eaſy flight,
" And Dian too ſhall view its wonderous height!
" At Jove's command, the royal eagle flies,
" And bears his rolling thunder thro' the ſkies;
" The gaudy peacock ſtruts in plumy pride,
" And ſtalks majeſtic by a Juno's ſide;
" And, tho' mamma prefers her wanton dove;
" Cupid ſhall have a better bird than Jove."
Thus urg'd the power of love—Agreed—ſhe cried,
And reach'd the bow and quiver from his ſide.
Now to their poſts a thouſand Loves deſcend,
And round the fair with buſy zeal attend;
Among them one, whom long experience bleſt
With a mechanic head above the reſt.
He form'd the ruff in good Eliza's days,
And firſt confin'd the ſlender waiſt in ſtays:
He firſt with beauty-ſpots adorn'd the maid,
And bid her borrow luſtre from their ſhade:
[56]He knit the lovers-knot in times of old,
And form'd the circle of the bridal gold:
He on the ear firſt hung the ſparkling rings;
His was the tucker; his the kiſſing-ſtrings.
He firſt in canvas hoop enclos'd the maid;
Turn'd the round coif; and rais'd the ſtiffen'd head.
While other Loves the paſte, or packthread brought,
Drew out the plan, and built the bird in thought;
He ſought the wand, which firſt her grandſire bore,
Th' expreſſive enſign of the ſheriff's power;
This next the infant Dian active ſtrode,
And round the parlour fancied journeys rode:
(Its mane, like gold, in glittering tinſel ſpread,
And painted ſtreamers nodded o'er its head)
But now miſs Molly, with becoming ſpeed,
Preſs'd with her wanton weight the nimble reed:
Artful he tempts the little fair to ſtay,
And ſteals the long-deſcended gift away.
His uſeful theft the winged band approve,
Fair Dian ſmil'd, and thus began the Love.
" Ah, generous victor, ſpare one uſeful toy!
" Ah! let us once again the bow enjoy!
" Thoſe eyes alone can greater miſchiefs do,
" Want not our ſkill, and wound without our bow!
" Be thine the turtles! be the ſparrows thine;
" And keep the quiver!—but the bow reſign!
" Crown'd with its arch, Maria's horſe ſhall riſe,
" And trail thy labours thro' the wondering ſkies!"
[57]
Thus he: nor ſued in vain, the maid gave ear,
And with a graceful nod receiv'd his prayer.
And now, diſrob'd of all its uſeleſs pride,
Firm to the bow the pliant reed ſhe tied;
As when (ſome full, but diſtant, mark in view)
With ſtretch'd-out arm the Parthian draws his yew;
The ſtring, declining from its cloſing ends,
Obliquely to the arrow's head deſcends:
So ſell the cord, ſo ſtood the captive ſteed,
By Dian's hand to riſe, for nobler flights decreed.
The little Loves, not idle by her ſide,
For various works the manuſcript divide:
Thoſe o'er the ſurface ſpread its leaves, while theſe
Collect the ſacred relicks for the ſtays.
Exulting Cupid too his tribute brings,
And waves on high the deeply-ſcollop'd wings:
With art divine the fringe he gather'd round,
And with a ſilken cord the taſſels bound:
His bow with theſe the power of love adorns,
And the gay pendants tremble from its horns.
Yet, ah! what boots his care? what griefs attend?
At once his hope, his joy, and labour, end!
The volume fails!—and ſtill unfiniſh'd lies
The bird of Love! ſtill wants a tail to riſe!
But while around th' imperfect work they wait,
Or by the ſilent maid all penſive ſate,
Hermes, (ſo bids the laughter-loving-dame)
Like an old juſtice of the quorum, came.
[58]A dark full-bottom'd wig his temples ſhades,
And o'er his ſhoulders venerably ſpreads;
An antient cane his ſteady footſteps guide;
And an old ſword ſtuck ſtiffly by his ſide:
With a long file of ſenate-acts he came,
Theſe tax'd the land—and thoſe ſecur'd the game.
In Dian's ſkilful hand he left the prize,
And, quick as thought, ſhot upward to the ſkies.
With cautious ſkill the ſhining ſteel ſhe guides,
And in ſmall remnants Hermes' gift divides.
Speeches of kings came flouriſh'd from her hand;
And furl'd, like heroe's plumes, their edicts ſtand:
Laws hung like cambrick on the wriſts of beaux;
And Anna's acts look'd like her furbeloes:
Theſe nicely-gather'd on her lace ſhe ſtrung,
And on the bird decrees of nations hung.
Of proclamations next a dome ſhe frames,
Enclos'd within, a living taper flames:
Thro' equal folds its wanton blazes play,
And wavy rounds tranſmit the ſilver ray.
Cupid with reverence receives the prize,
(A thouſand tranſports ſparkling in his eyes:)
" And ſhall great actions public triumphs grace,
" And does thy work (he cried) deſerve them leſs?
" When Python by Apollo's arm lay ſlain,
" And ſtretch'd his livid body o'er the plain,
" Revolving ſeaſons did the deed proclaim,
" And ſpoke the conqueſt in the Pythian game:
[59]" In every age this juſt reward was due,
" And Roman games, as Roman heroes, grew:
" But ſtill to Love proceed no ſolemn ſhows,
" No myrtle garland binds the victor's brows.
" Hence then ſhall the gay youth and active maid
" In merry gambols fly o'er * Nancy's head,
" (For know, that trembling light which glimmers there,
" Was Nancy once, a maid like Dian fair)
" When merry ſports the hoary ſeaſon brings,
" And raiſes hinds from ſlaves to ſhort-liv'd kings,
" When Roſe the circling monarchy obtains,
" And dreadful whiſkers mark diſloyal ſwains.
" This ſure, at leaſt, may Nancy's memory claim,
" And Dian's work demand a winter evening's game."
Thus ſpoke the God, then ſpread his golden wings,
And o'er the waving taper active ſprings;
Fair Venus' ſons the great example view,
And o'er the light their vaulting chief purſue.
But ſay, my muſe (ſince thou alone canſt tell)
How Nancy liv'd, and how lamented fell!
Nancy, a virgin of the veſtal train,
Hymen in marriage ſought; but ſought in vain.
In vain he ſtrove with all his joys to move,
And warm her marble breaſt to nuptial love:
[60]The nymph, regardleſs of his prayers and ſighs,
From his embraces pale and panting flies;
The God purſued;—and now had reach'd the fair,
As thus ſhe cried—"O holy Veſta, hear!
" Let Nancy ſtill, amid thy maiden choir,
" From Hymen free, preſerve thy living fire!"
She ſaid:—and ſudden to a taper turn'd,
And in his circling arms, ſtill trembling, burn'd.
" Yet ſhalt thou, ſtubborn maid, enrag'd he cried,
" At all my wedding-feaſts attend the bride;
" Where-ever Hymen's call'd, thou too be there,
" A witneſs to thoſe joys thou wouldſt not ſhare."
Thus he—and on his Nancy ſilent gaz'd,
As her white petticoat around her blaz'd.
So great Alcides from the world retir'd,
And flaming, in the magic-ſhirt, expir'd.
CANTO III.
[61]ARGUMENT.
One of the Loves is ſent to Aeolus, for a proſperous gale to fly the Kite. Aeolus's cell deſcribed. The Love returns with the gale to Dian. Cupid gives directions for the flight. Juno's envy, who ſends Iris to cut the ſtring. The Kite is turned into a ſtar.
BUT Cupid now, with anxious thoughts oppreſs'd,
Ceas'd from his ſport, and thus the Loves addreſs'd:
" Thus far have Jove and Fate propitious ſhone,
" Our bird is finiſh'd, and one labour done!
" Its ſafety is our next, our chiefeſt care,
" While high it ſoars thro' pathleſs fields of air.
" To guard it from the whirlwind's rapid power,
" Or careful ſhield it from the treacherous ſhower:
" Will Aeolus, implor'd, refuſe his aid?
" Or Jove deny, when Love and Dian plead?"
Scarce had he ended, but a Love withdrew,
And on the wings of generous duty flew;
Nor tarried till he reach'd the diſtant cells,
Where the hoarſe wind's imperious tyrant dwells.
[62]Here breath'd the South, that falls in genial ſhowers,
And gentle Zephyrs, crown'd with vernal flowers;
There blew the Eaſt, that buttons breaſts of beaux,
And over Cloe's neck the tippet throws;
Or with the North in dreadful union raves,
Whirls o'er the main, and rolls the madding waves.
So (if great things may be compar'd with ſmall,
And troubled oceans to a jug of ale)
When Tattle heats the drink that cheers her ſoul,
And to her tooth prepares the groaning bowl;
Her giddy hands the mingling fluids ſhake,
And the white bubbles o'er the the ſurface break.
Unnumber'd virgins croud on every ſide,
To various puniſhments condemn'd for pride.
Belinda here her pins and powder tries,
And the dear glaſs with fruitleſs labour eyes:
Behind her chair the ruffling North attends,
And ever diſcompoſes as ſhe mends:
Raw vapours ſteam around the cruel fair,
And winds that whiſtle nothing but deſpair.
There Amoret cold piercing blaſts purſue,
And ſtain her noſe with everlaſting blue!
Others, whoſe hoops unwary youths enflam'd,
Here run—O L—d! ſo rumpled and aſham'd!
Thro' theſe the Love (and not regardleſs) went,
As onward to the monarch's throne he bent.
The merchant here his ready aid implores,
And aſks a brighter gale from India's ſhores:
[63]There luckleſs Hero for a calm intreats,
While her Leander tempts the fatal ſtreights:
And black-eyed Suſan with impatience burns,
To know how ſoon ſweet William's ſhip returns:
Whilſt Aeol 'midſt his guards, in awful ſtate,
Array'd in furr, like Ruſſia's ſovereign, ſate;
His ſtretch'd-out arm diſpenſing proſperous gales,
To fame and conqueſt ſwells Britannia's ſails.
Now all was huſh'd, and Love his ſilence broke,
And thus the wind-compelling king beſpoke:
" If ever Dian's beauty reach'd thy cell,
" If e'er thine eye beheld the ſportive belle,
" When the fair huntreſs, foremoſt of the train,
" Grew to her ſteed, and ſcower'd along the plain:
" If Aeol then in conſcious rapture ſtray'd,
" And round her neck, in glad confuſion, play'd;
" If then, with greedy joy, her lips he preſs'd,
" Rumpled her tucker, and unveil'd her breaſt;
" That hand, that did ſo oft thy bliſs reprove,
" Gives to thy charge, this day, the bird of Love:
" Let Zephyrs then in active whiſpers breathe,
" But every other wind be ſtill as death!
" This Fan be thine, and ſuch in love its power,
" Not Jove, in all his ſhapes, e'er boaſted more.
" When future paſſions ſhall thy breaſt invade,
" Be this the preſent to the favourite maid;
" Its ſheet unfurl'd reveals a ſcene of gold,
" And Love in ambuſh lies in every fold;
[64]" Soon as her hand theſe painted altars raiſe,
" The nymph, not vainly, with my arrows plays;
" This ever ſhall new thoughts of thee ſuggeſt,
" And bear thee to her lips, and waft thee to her breaſt."
Thus he—and the grim monarch of the wind,
In ſwelling bags a happy gale confin'd:
With theſe well fraught, the Love returns to day,
And back to Dian wings his liquid way.
Now with the bird ſhe ſeeks the flowery meads,
(Pancies and dazies ſpring where-e'er ſhe treads;)
The little Loves around, with decent pride,
Hang on her hoop, and triumph by her ſide.
Lo! mid the ranks, ſuperior, Cupid moves,
And iſſues out his orders to the Loves;
To theſe he gave the lanthorn, and the tail,
But trebly charg'd 'em to ſupply the gale.
A choſen cohort from the reſt he drew,
And to their care aſſign'd th' important clue.
" Soon as the maid in equal poiſe ſuſtains,
" And on her arm my bird obliquely leans,
" You forward haſte—(this glove ſhall be the ſign)
" With judgment to contract, or give it line;
" Do you with caution from the tail repair,
" But yield the lanthorn with diſtinguiſh'd care!
" Who diligent this day attends my bird,
" His hand ſhall, next to Cupid's, hold the cord."
[65]
The glove was wav'd—the ſteady engine flew,
Sprung into air, and leſſen'd to the view;
Proudly it ſail'd, on crouding Zephyrs born,
And every Love was pilot in his turn:
Dian tranſported too beheld it fly,
And to the taper grew her aking eye.
But Cupid timorous ſaw its height in air,
And thought his bird too diſtant from his care.
'Twas he the meſſenger decreed to ſend,
And would, by proxy, on his bird attend:
What better than a billet-doux may prove
The tender repreſentative of Love?
For, lo! the maid a gilded ſheet imparts,
That breath'd unfeigned flames, and real darts.
Led by the clue, its rapid flight it ſteers,
And to the bird his airy ſummons bears.
Ah! what avail its eaſy-waving wings?
And length of tail, that boaſts ſucceſſive acts of kings!
How frail our ſpan of time! how fix'd its date!
How ſoon the nobleſt labours yield to fate!
Sleep-breaking care, gay pleaſure, and pale woe,
Meet in one ſtream! and in one channel flow!
Virtue but like a ſhining vapour flies!
And when it brighteſt blazes ſooneſt dies!
For Juno now, (with memorable ſpight!)
Saw Cupid's bird, and ſicken'd at the ſight!
Her paſt diſhonour all her breaſt alarms;
Venus preferr'd, and her own ſlighted charms!
[66]Now from her eye a gleam of envy breaks,
And all the goddeſs to revenge awakes:
" Shall Juno then, inglorious, quit the field?
" And, unreveng'd, the palm of beauty yield?
" If Ida's goddeſs boaſts ſuperior charms,
" Why did my Jove prefer me to his arms?
" But ſtill her impious hands detain the prize;
" Her power encreaſes! and her altars riſe!
" While I to partial fate unheard complain,
" And call for vengeance to the gods in vain!
" But ſwift thro' ether let my Iris glide,
" And hang my keeneſt ſciſſars by her ſide:
" For, lo! where yonder glimmering ray appears,
" Her urchin's bird its airy journey ſteers!
" There all his joy on one ſmall thread depends,
" That cut—at once his hope and empire ends!"
She ſaid: and Iris to her charge repairs,
And reach'd the ſtring—and clos'd the fatal ſheers!
Thrice was the baleful raven heard to croak,
And hollow groans from heavy echoes broke!
Screech-owls around the dire event foreſhew,
And Cynthia from the mournful ſcene withdrew!
Night, ſilent, bore it blazing thro' the air,
And deck'd her mantle with the riſing ſtar.
THE COPERNICAN SYSTEM.
[67]ASſiſt, Urania, the adventurous ſong,
That from the towery height of heaven doſt view
Unchang'd rotations, and harmonious ſpheres;
By thee, th' inſpir'd Chaldaean firſt obſerv'd
The various motions of the ſhining ſtars,
And mark'd the riſing or the ſetting ſun,
Whether in Aries, or in Libra, ſeen,
His courſe performing thro' th' etherial ſpace
By twelve conſpicuous ſigns well known, that ſhow
The utmoſt margin of his rapid ſway:
In antient times ſo thought: but now the ſun
Fix'd in the centre of ſix orbits glows,
Lightening ſix planets that around him roll;
Fix'd, as o'er Gibeon once when ſtill he ſtood,
Or as the moon in lowly Ajalon,
When Joſhua's mighty arm deſtroy'd the foes
Of Iſrael, and Jehovah, Iſrael's Lord:
Hence light and heat imparting all around,
(Diffuſive fountain both of light and heat)
And vegetative force to all extends,
[68]From glowing Mercury to Saturn's frozen orb.
Say, Muſe, for well thou know'ſt, what planet firſt
The ſun ſurrounding, takes its ambient courſe;
Swift Mercury firſt feels the burning ſun,
That erſt in air us'd unconfin'd to rove,
The nimble-footed meſſenger of heaven;
Now cloſe confin'd, a narrower limit knows
In fiery regions, and the blaze of day:
Dark with exceſſive luſtre, ſeldom ſeen
By eyes on earth, but when th' all-ſeeing ſun,
Hid and eclips'd by th' intervening moon,
Unwillingly is loſt; 'tis only then
Thou, Mercury, art viſible on earth.
Swift is his motion, as the tract not large,
That moving in his circlet he deſcribes,
For in the ſpace of three revolving moons
His journey finiſh'd, he again renews.
To thee, O Venus, next I tune my ſong,
As next in order plac'd, ſo next in light;
Goddeſs of pleaſing and of ſoft deſire,
That on the Paphian and the Cyprian groves
With influence ſweet look'ſt down, thy parent ſeas
Behold rejoicing, when thy ſhining lamp
Aſcending, or deſcending, cuts its way:
Whether thou'rt Heſperus, or Phoſphor call'd,
Now evening's grace, and now the morning's pride,
For if at ſetting ſun thy orb we view,
When doubtful twilight overſhades the face
[69]Of heaven and earth, thou Heſperus, deign'ſt to hear;
But if at morn we ſpy thy glimmering rays,
'Tis then thou'rt chang'd, another and the ſame!
Bright Phoſphor hail!—to watchful ſhepherds known,
That in the meadows tend their fleecy care,
Greeting the day with merry pipe and glee.
Nor does the moon alone her figure change,
Even thou art mutable, alike thy form,
Horn'd, or full orb'd, at different times appears;
Tranſported at the ſight, old Vulcan ſmiles,
In air to ſee thee by thoſe ſigns adorn'd,
Which he on earth for thee contented bore.
Bright as thou art, and cloath'd in lucent beams,
Yet when in cloſe conjunction with the ſun,
A ſpot in his reſplendent diſk thou'rt ſeen,
And deck'ſt his cheeks, as Daphne once his brows:
But oh! more kind, for never in thy round
In point of oppoſition art thou ſeen.
Next rolls this earthly ball, the ſeat of man,
Obliquely cutting its etherial courſe
Thro' twelve bright conſtellations, that adorn
Heaven's azure vault, unalterably fix'd.
Firſt in his golden fleece the Ram leads on
With wonder and aſtoniſhment the Bull;
Fierce, as when once a god he ſtemm'd the ſea,
Bearing his lovely burden thro' the waves,
Secure of tempeſt: but not ſo Leander,
[70]Proſperous, attain'd the long wiſh'd Seſtian ſhore.
Then next advance the Twins, and then the Crab,
The brindled Lion, and the bluſhing Virgin,
And Libra next, that weighs in equal ſcales
Day anſwering night in length, and night the day.
The Scorpion now ſucceeds, a fiery ſtar,
Stretching amain his formidable claws;
Whence Caeſar kens the votive world below,
If Caeſar haply ſhines a ſtar on high,
And ſheds ſweet influence down on thee, O Rome.
The hideous Archer next, with full-bent bow,
Half man, half beaſt, a monſter terrible,
As e'er was feign'd to guard th' etherial plains.
Then bearded Capricorn attracts our view,
Looking with wiſhful eyes upon the urn,
Guſhing with fluent ſtreams, as many a goat
On craggy mountain's top in antient Wales,
Or from the Wreeking's vaſt ſtupendous height
Looks down upon the Severn's ſilver ſtreams,
Laving the flowery banks of fruitful Salop.
The wintery Fiſhes cloſe the heavenly rear,
Their ſtation 'tween Aquarius and the Ram.
Lo! theſe the ſigns of days, of months, and years;
For when, thro' twelve bright conſtellations, Earth
Unwearied hath her radiant journey run;
From whence it firſt ſet out, it takes its courſe.
Times alſo and their ſeaſons well they note;
For when the ſun in fleecy Aries ſet,
[71]The freſh returning ſpring, the heart of man
And beaſt rejoices, with new vigour fraught,
Pleas'd to behold the captivating ſcene,
When new-ſprung glories raviſh every eye,
And ſweet variety adorns the meads.
Oh! then how pleaſurable 'tis to rove
On banks of Cam, or Iſis, fam'd in ſong,
To meditate the great Creator's praiſe;
Who in his works ſo manifeſt is ſeen,
As far as nature can her Author paint!
But when th' exalted ſun in Cancer rides,
Exceſſive heats enſue; 'tis then the plains
Parch'd, and divided into many a crack,
Gape and invoke the long ſuſpended ſhowers;
Deep-ſounding thunders roll, while from the clouds
The long impriſon'd vapours burſt their way,
And the red lightnings dart their dreadful gleams,
Making day hideous:—Round the grazing beaſts
Fly trembling, and their dark receſſes ſeek.
When equal Libra next brings forth the day,
And raging Sirius fierce at midnight glares,
Preſaging ſtorms, and peſtilence, and death;
Then frequent funerals in long order ſhine,
And add a double horror to the night;
And wider would extend their dreary doom,
But for the cheerful gift of that kind God,
That loads with cluſtering grapes the bending vines.
But when Aquarius ſheds its humid influence,
[72]Dark miſts the traveller feels:—But ſtay, my Muſe,
Urge not a theme already ſo well ſung.
Smooth, as the ice they ſing, thy numbers flow,
*Great Bard, we quake and ſhudder at thy froſt!
O! may they never, who deſpiſe thy Muſe,
Alive or dead, be by thy Muſe adorn'd.
Nor ſhall the earth's attendant paſs unſung,
Sole arbitreſs of night, the pale-eyed moon,
Conſtant in her inconſtancy; 'tis ſhe
Can raiſe or can depreſs the boiſterous ocean,
In Zenith towering, or in Nadir low:
Oft at thy pallid glimpſe the fairy elves,
With nimble feet, the circling dance perform
In ſome thick grove, or round a moſſy ſpring;
Sipping from acorn cups the pearly dews,
And midnight revels celebrate with joy
To Mab their queen, and Oberon their king.
Oh! thou the moſt irregular of all
The planets, that deſcribe their ſloping way,
Why is thy courſe protracted long and large,
What time the jolly huntſman's cries reſound?
Is't to behold thy lov'd Endymion's face,
That oft was wont, in foreſts wild and wide,
To chafe the ſcudding hare, or trembling deer,
O'er many a riſing hill or lowly dale?
Him to reviſit oft thy ſilver ſphere
[73](So poets ſing) in heaven forſaken ſtood.
Nor does the moon uncertain warning give
Of future ſtorms; for if a reddiſh hue
Its full orb'd diſk o'erſpreads, then ſtorms expect,
And tempeſts yet to come, to vex the main
With rage impetuous; who then would chooſe
Way-ward abroad companionleſs to rove,
Thro' dreary deſerts, and unpeopled plains?
Nor equal always is thy luſtre ſeen,
For dim ſuffuſion oft and duſky ſhade,
From earth projected, intercepts thy light,
Whole, or in part eclips'd; in vain the ſound
Of tinkling cymbals, and the direful clang
Of brazen cauldrons, rung by vulgar hands,
Thy labours thus attempt to mitigate.
Next fiery Mars, whoſe dreadful ſport is war,
Aſcending terrible ſhoots forth his rays,
That led th' imbattled deities to fight;
Now unattended ſhines: for no fair moon
By night his ſphere adorns, but fierce his look,
Fierce, as when once he rag'd at Ilium's walls,
When ſtruck by Diomed's adventurous arm:
But oh! what luckleſs fate, what chance of war,
Great hero, led thee in ill-fated hour,
With erring lance to wound fair beauty's queen?
Majeſtic next, and ſlow in awful ſtate,
Rolls Jupiter immenſe; an equal bulk
Of all the wandering planets none can boaſt;
[74]Attended in his courſe by four bright moons,
That faithful lend their well accepted light.
Thus equal, nature in her works decreed,
By moons to aid a twelve years winter's froſt:
Nor ſummers there, if ſummers there be known,
Refuſe th' aſſiſtance of thoſe grateful lights.
Nor do thy moons alone our wonder raiſe,
When curious we behold thy many belts
That gird thy ſpacious body round and large,
Form'd from thick vapours, or eruption dire;
Or was't from hence thy flaming lightnings flew,
Drawn to transfix the raſh Titanian race,
That with preſumptuous arms provok'd thy power,
O'er mountains heap'd on mountains, when they ſtrove
Thy empire to diſpute in impious war?
Next then—but a long interval between,
Behold we tardy Saturn's livid face,
In diſtance far remote; the ſolar rays
Scarce cheer with light his unrejoicing orb;
But for five moons, that in alternate dance
Around him as their centre circling move,
Darkneſs intenſe would overſpread his face.
Nor mean thy light, that from thy lucent ring
Powerful reflected on thy ſurface ſhines,
That now a gilt horizon round thee ſeems,
Like to that light at cloſe or dawn of day
When ſeen on earth; now a reſplendent arch
'Midſt heaven's extended plains, like that fair bow,
[75]Conſpicuous in the clouds, preſaging calms.
Our labour now the direful comets urge,
Glaring tremendous thro' the vaſt expanſe,
Threatening deſtruction, and the wreck of worlds;
But that ſtrict bounds direct and guide their courſe,
Set, when th' Almighty, in creating hour,
From chaos call'd the glorious univerſe,
And fix'd the ſtars, and bid the planets move.
Where ether's ſpace immenſe eludes our view,
And planets in their orbs in order range,
There free as air the fiery comets rove,
And direful orbs their rapid courſe extend.
Nor are their ways confus'd or intricate,
Irregular in winding mazes loſt,
Eccentric error conſtant to itſelf,
To one law ſubject, one unerring rule
Of force attractive; thus unwearied they
Now ſweep the utmoſt confines of the world,
Now baſking in the neighbourhood of the ſun;
Then ſwiftly flying his too piercing heat,
Rejoicing, they aſcend their labours to reſume.
Long tracts of light attend their dreadful courſe,
But truſt not to thy view a foreign light,
And ſpurious honours deck their glowing maſs;
Denſe atmoſpheres emit their furtive beams,
Frequent and thick, by heat intenſe exhal'd:
The moon thus, with fraternal luſtre bright,
Darts borrow'd rays, and glories not her own.
[76]
There are, that fate foretelling fires believe,
And conſcious ſtars t' inſpect the acts of men,
And threaten wars from diſtant climes to come.
Hence, ſtupid and amaz'd, the vulgar fear,
And ſceptred monarchs tremble on their thrones;
Then happy he, who with his virtue arrm'd,
Unterrified amidſt the cruſh of worlds,
Meets willingly his long expected fate.
But oh! ye lights, and influencing ſtars,
Where then was fled your efficacious power,
When towering Newton's eyes were clos'd in death,
Or were ye bent his preſence to obtain,
To whom on earth ſo well your ways were known?
Hail! glorious ſhade, in antient times foretold
*By Sage prophetic; thou th' illuſtrious he
Deſtin'd to grace a new Auguſtan age;
But when th'archangel's lateſt trump ſhall ſound,
And riven orbs deſtruction dire confeſs,
Then ſhall thy ſyſtem fail, and nature's face
Renew'd in everlaſting luſtre ſhine.
Then death ſhall conquer death, the dreary tomb
Shall ſend forth glories that ſhall never fade.
The damn'd ſhall mourn the funeral of death,
And life, not death, of ſin the wages be.
Frauds dark as night, and civil diſcords brood,
When ſtars even bluſh at what is done below;
[77]For ne'er in heaven more frequent fires were ſeen,
Than when the blood of Caeſar tinctur'd Rome.
Nor doſt thou, Rome, alone the ſlaughter weep
Of fathers, children, brothers, huſbands, wives,
Even Albion once in grief could vie with thee,
When Albion's ſons, 'gainſt Albion's ſons aroſe.
But ceaſe inteſtine broils; ſo George commands,
And whet your ſhining inſtruments of war,
Employ'd much better on Iberian plains;
And teach the treacherous ſoul in war to know
The juſt reſentment of a peace refus'd,
Of violated leagues, and broken faith:
Aſtraea ſhall return to bleſs our iſle,
And a new Athens in Britannia riſe.
PSALM CIV.
[78]A Riſe, my ſoul! on wings ſeraphic riſe!
And praiſe th' Almighty Sovereign of the ſkies!
In whom alone eſſential glory ſhines,
Which not the heaven of heavens, nor boundleſs ſpace confines!
When darkneſs rul'd, with univerſal ſway,
He ſpoke, and kindled up the blaze of day:
Firſt faireſt offspring of th' omnific word!
Which, like a garment, cloath'd its ſovereign lord.
He ſtretch'd the blue expanſe from pole to pole,
And ſpread circumfluent ether round the whole.
Of liquid air he bade the columns riſe,
Which prop the ſtarry concave of the ſkies.
Soon as he bids, impetuous whirlwinds fly
To bear his ſounding chariot thro' the ſky:
Impetuous whirlwinds the command obey,
Suſtain his flight, and ſweep th' aerial way.
Fraught with his mandates, from the realms on high,
Unnumber'd hoſts of radiant heralds fly
From orb to orb, with progreſs unconfin'd,
As lightning ſwift, reſiſtleſs as the wind.
His word in air this ponderous ball ſuſtain'd.
" Be fixt" he ſaid—and fixt the ball remain'd.
[79]Heaven, air, and ſea, tho' all their ſtorms combine,
Shake not its baſe, nor break the law divine.
At thy almighty voice old ocean raves,
Wakes all his force, and gathers all his waves
Nature lies mantled in a watery robe,
And ſhoreleſs ocean rolls around the globe;
O'er higheſt hills the higher ſurges riſe,
Mix with the clouds, and lave the vaulted ſkies.
But when in thunder the rebuke was given,
That ſhook th' eternal firmament of heaven,
The dread rebuke the frighted waves obey,
They fled, confus'd, along th' appointed way,
Impetuous ruſhing to the place decreed,
Climb the ſteep hill, and ſweep the humble mead:
And now reluctant in their bounds ſubſide;
Th' eternal bounds reſtrain the raging tide:
Yet ſtill tumultuous, with inceſſant roar
It ſhakes the caverns, and aſſaults the ſhore.
By him, from mountains cloath'd in lucid ſnow,
Thro' verdant vales the mazy fountains flow.
Here the wild horſe, unconſcious of the rein,
That revels, boundleſs, o'er the wide campaign,
Imbibes the ſilver ſtream, with heat oppreſt,
To cool the fervor of his glowing breaſt.
Here verdant boughs, adorn'd with ſummer's pride,
Spread their broad ſhadows o'er the ſilver tide:
While, gently perching on the leafy ſpray,
Each feather'd ſongſter tunes his various lay:
[80]And while thy praiſe they ſymphonize around,
Creation echoes to the grateful ſound.
Wide o'er the heavens the various bow he bends,
Its tincture brightens, and its arch extends:
At the glad ſign aerial conduits flow,
The hills relent, the meads rejoice below:
By genial fervor, and prolific rain,
Gay vegetation cloaths the fertile plain:
Nature profuſely good with bliſs o'erflows,
And ſtill ſhe's pregnant, tho' ſhe ſtill beſtows!
Here verdant paſtures far extended lie,
And yield the grazing herd a rich ſupply!
Luxuriant, waving in the wanton air,
Here golden grain rewards the peaſant's care!
Here vines mature in purple cluſters glow,
And heaven above diffuſes heaven below!
Erect and tall, here mountain-cedars riſe
High o'er the clouds, and emulate the ſkies!
Here the wing'd crouds, that ſkim the yielding air,
With artful toil their little domes prepare;
Here hatch their young, and nurſe their riſing care!
Up the ſteep hill aſcends the nimble doe,
While timid conies ſcour the plains below;
Or in the pendent rock elude the ſcenting foe!
He bade the ſilver majeſty of night
Revolve her circle, and increaſe her light:
Aſſign'd a province to each rolling ſphere;
And taught the ſun to regulate the year.
[81]At his command, wide-hovering o'er the plain,
Primeval night reſumes her gloomy reign.
Then from their dens, impatient of delay,
The ſavage monſters bend their ſpeedy way,
Howl thro' the ſpacious waſte, and chaſe the frighted prey.
Here walks the ſhaggy monarch of the wood,
Taught from thy providence to aſk his food:
To thee, O Father! to thy bounteous ſkies,
He rears his mane, and rolls his glaring eyes,
He roars, the deſerts tremble wide around!
And repercuſſive hills repeat the ſound.
Now glowing gems the eaſtern ſkies adorn,
And joyful nature hails the opening morn;
The rovers, conſcious of approaching day,
Fly to their ſhelters, and forget their prey.
Laborious man, with moderate ſlumber bleſt,
Springs cheerful to his toil from downy reſt;
Till grateful evening, with her ſilver train,
Bids labour ceaſe, and eaſe the weary ſwain.
Hail, ſovereign goodneſs! all productive mind!
On all thy works thyſelf inſcrib'd we find!
How various all! how variouſly endued!
How great their number! and each part how good!
How perfect then muſt the great parent ſhine!
Who, with one act of energy divine,
Laid the vaſt plan, and finiſh'd the deſign!
[82]Where-e'er the pleaſing ſearch my thoughts purſue,
Unbounded goodneſs opens to my view.
Nor does our world alone its influence ſhare;
Exhauſtleſs bounty, and unwearied care,
Extend thro' all th' infinity of ſpace,
And circle nature with a kind embrace.
The wavy kingdoms of the deep below
Thy power, thy wiſdom, and thy goodneſs ſhow.
Here various beings without number ſtray,
Croud the profound, or on the ſurface play.
Leviathan here, the mightieſt of the train!
Enormous! ſails incumbent o'er the main,
And foams, and ſports, and plays in ſpite of man.
All theſe thy watchful providence ſupplies:
To thee alone they turn their waiting eyes:
For them thou openeſt thy exhauſtleſs ſtore,
Till the capacious wiſh can grant no more.
But if one moment thou thy face ſhould'ſt hide,
Thy glory clouded, or thy ſmiles denied,
Then widow'd nature veils her mournful eyes,
And vents her grief in univerſal cries!
Then gloomy death, with all his meagre train,
Wide o'er the nations ſpreads his iron reign!
Sea, earth, and air, the boundleſs ravage mourn,
And all their hoſts to native duſt return!
Again, thy glorious quickening influence ſhed,
The glad creation rears her drooping head:
New riſing forms thy potent ſmiles obey,
And life re-kindles at the genial ray;
[83]United thanks repleniſh'd nature pays,
And heaven and earth reſound their Maker's praiſe!
When time ſhall in eternity be loſt,
And hoary nature languiſh into duſt,
For ever young thy glories ſhall remain,
Vaſt as thy being, endleſs as thy reign!
Thou, from the reign of everlaſting day,
Seeſt all thy works at one immenſe ſurvey!
Pleas'd at one view the whole to comprehend,
Part join'd to part, concurring to one end.
If thou to earth but turn'ſt thy wrathful eyes,
Her baſis trembles, and her offspring dies.
Thou ſmit'ſt the hills; and at th' almighty blow,
Their ſummits kindle, and their entrails glow.
While this immortal ſpark of heavenly flame
Diſtends my breaſt, and animates my frame,
To thee my ardent praiſes ſhall be born,
On the firſt breeze that wakes the bluſhing morn;
The lateſt ſtar ſhall hear the pleaſing ſound,
And nature in full choir ſhall join around!
When, full of thee, my ſoul excurſive flies
Thro' earth, air, ocean, or thy regal ſkies,
From world to world new wonders ſtill I find!
And all the Godhead burſts upon my mind!
When, wing'd with whirlwinds, Vice ſhall take her flight
To the wide boſom of eternal night,
To thee my ſoul ſhall endleſs praiſes pay:
[...]oin! men and angels! join th' exalted lay!
TO CHARITY.
[84]DElightful ſovereign of the cheerful ſmile!
(Save when thy eye pours forth the ſtreaming tear
Compaſſionate, as oft it doth, when Want
In penſive mood, and tatter'd garb appears)
Where ſhall I find thee? for thy ſacred ſtep
The power of ſecrecy attends and guards.
O fortune! fortune! wherefore not to me
Devolves thy golden tide! to me, whoſe hand
Would turn thy flood into a thouſand rills.
Why on the barren rock, and niggard heath,
Plays thy favonian breeze? why ſhines thy ſun
To tip the dunghill with a beam of gold?
Why doſt thou ſtretch thy treaſure-laden hand
To thoſe of no deſert? you ſordid wretch
Of narrow ſoul behold, on whom thy gifts
Are laviſh'd bountiful; behold, and bluſh!
He ſhuts them from the light, nor heeds the cry
Of helpleſs orphans, as before his door
They kneel imploring, with diſtreſsful tears
Softening the rude, hard flint. His harder heart
Feels no emotion for another's woe.
If in the world to come ſevereſt pangs
Spontaneous crimes await, how much will mourn
Beings unſocial, unbenevolent!
This principle allies us to the ſtars.
[85]Its non-exertion, where the power is given,
Looks hateful to divine and human view.
And yet how dances yonder miſer's heart
Ignoble! what from Charity he holds
He deems oeconomy, and hugs the thought
Of poſthumous applauſe, if by his will
He gives the public what he cannot keep.
Oh! vanity of fame! I'd rather lie
Tomb'd in oblivion, ere I'd have my name
Engrav'd immortal on ſo low a baſe.
Wretch! as thou art—'tis oſtentation all,
A pride, which gnaws thy vitals up, and turns
" The milk of human kindneſs" into gall.
Queen of the liberal, vaſt, extenſive thought,
Sweet Charity! oh! lead me to the cell
Where haggard famine o'er her dying race
Sits weeping, while, on her uncover'd breaſt,
The cold rain beats—there let me ſee thy hand
Raiſe her dejected head, and give the means
Of preſent comfort to her ſobbing ſoul.
So ſhall my tears convince thee, that my heart
Is prone to pity, tho' I can't relieve.
W.W.
THE COMPLAINT. A PASTORAL ELEGY.
[86]THE ſun, diffuſing genial fires,
With flowers bedecks the dale;
With joy the herd and flock inſpires,
With muſic fills the gale:
Yet he renews his warmth in vain,
And flowerets paint the ground;
Or lambkins gambol o'er the plain,
Or ſongſters chant around.
To me, in vain, doth nature ſmile,
In vain her charms diſplay;
Whilſt I, with never-ending toil,
Conſume the live-long day.
Time was, I've hail'd the vernal powers,
Fluſh'd with the general joy;
When tepid gleams, and gentle ſhowers,
Have brighten'd earth and ſky.
Have trod with glee the velvet green
That rob'd the laughing earth;
And eyed the univerſal ſcene,
Or mark'd each floweret's birth.
[87]
When ſnow-drops firſt, in ſilver dreſt,
Shot forth their daring head;
Or, when the violet's ſapphire veſt
A fragrant incenſe ſhed.
Or ſtarry pilewort's poliſh'd hue
Beſprig'd the fields with gold;
Or daiſies pied, or harebells blue,
Or true-love's verdant fold.
Yet, not with dull, lethargic gaze,
I view'd fair nature's face;
The florid earth, the ſolar blaze,
And vaſt etherial ſpace:
(For who that ſees this beauteous frame
Replete with wonder ſhine;
But muſt, with ready voice, proclaim
A plaſtic Power divine?)
Or, in the deep ſequeſter'd grove,
From care and buſineſs freed,
Have ſought the ſacred muſe's love,
And tun'd my ruſtic reed.
Or, by ſome fountain, laid along,
That winds around the trees,
With raptures heard the woodland ſong,
Or breath'd the ſcented breeze.
[88]
Or, ſtretch'd upon the mountain's ſteep,
In Phoebus' drowſy beams;
Have paſs'd the hours in gentle ſleep,
Or wild romantic dreams.
And oft, with ſweet Benevolence,
A heaven-deſcended fair!
Have ſacrific'd the ſweets of ſenſe,
Sublimer joys to ſhare:
With her to range the thorny ſhade,
Or climb the ſteepy hill;
Or ſearch the field, or marſhy glade,
Or trace the mazy rill:
With care to cull each healing plant,
And every balmy bloom;
And where diſeaſe and pining want
Combin'd their horrid gloom:
There to diſpenſe their cheering aids,
In each diſtreſsful cot;
Where feeble ſwains, or pallid maids,
Bemoan'd their dreary lot.
But ah! the herbs, the flowers, I ſeek
With curious eye no more;
No more they fluſh the haggard cheek,
Or blooming health reſtore.
[89]
Nor healthful tincture they diſcloſe,
Nor cordial draught ſupply;
But on the ſpot from whence they roſe,
They bloſſom, fade and die.
Ere-while, with Daphne in my arms,
The time tranſported flew;
When doating on her lovely charms,
Which nature's pencil drew.
But now my ſcanty view's confin'd
To Daphne's charms alone;
Since Hymen's rites with Love combin'd,
And made her all my own:
Save what my little babes afford,
Whom I behold with glee,
When ſmiling at my humble board,
Or prattling on my knee.
Not that I Daphne's charms deſpiſe,
Which ſtill new pleaſures bring;
Her lovely preſence never cloys,
She's grateful as the ſpring.
The dew-drop ſparkling on its bed,
In Daphne's eyes expreſt;
Her cheeks outſhine the campion's red,
The daiſy's white, her breaſt.
[90]
Her hair outvies the ſaffron morn,
Her ſoft mellifluent note
The thruſh, that on the leafy thorn
Diſtends his vocal throat.
Nor wiſh I, dear connubial ſtate!
To break thy ſilken bands;
I only blame relentleſs fate,
That every hour demands.
Nor mourn I much my taſk auſtere,
Which endleſs wants impoſe;
But—oh! it wounds my heart to hear
My Daphne's melting woes.
Ixion-like her fate ſhe moans,
Whoſe wheel rolls ceaſeleſs round,
While hollow ſighs, and doleful groans,
Fill all the dark profound.
For oft ſhe ſighs, and oft ſhe weeps,
And hangs her penſive head;
While blood her furrow'd fingers ſteeps,
And ſtains the paſſing thread.
When orient hills the ſun behold
Our labours are begun;
And when he ſtreaks the weſt with gold,
The taſk is ſtill undone.
[91]
My harmleſs lambs, may ye ne'er feel
Such dire oppreſſive need;
While Poverty, with rod of ſteel,
Still urges ſwifter ſpeed.
How happy are the beaſts and birds,
Who find their food unſought!
Kind nature all their wants affords,
Without one anxious thought.
The beaſts in freedom range the fields,
Nor care nor ſorrow know;
Their meat the tender herbage yields,
The fountains drink beſtow.
Each hour the birds, with ſprightly voice,
In rival ſongs contend;
Or o'er their bounteous meals rejoice,
Or in fond dalliance ſpend:
But foreſight warns me not to taſte
The bliſs which heaven deſign'd;
But joyleſs all my nights to waſte,
To ſhun more woes behind.
Oh heaven! why didſt thou reaſon give
To curb th' impaſſion'd ſoul?
Why did I not by inſtinct live,
And act without controul?
[92]
Or why, within this tortur'd heart,
Muſt keen reflection dwell?
To double every preſent ſmart,
And future pains foretell.
But ah, vile wretch! no longer blame
What gracious heaven decreed,
Nor thus with petulance diſclaim
All-patient virtue's meed.
I'll rather now, with filial fear,
Adore the preſent God;
And his paternal ſtripes revere,
And kiſs his healing rod.
For his bleſt providence withſtood,
I counteract his will;
And what his wiſdom meant for good,
My folly conſtrues ill.
Who knows but liberty and wealth
Might work a woeful change;
With luxury might impair my health,
Or virtuous thoughts eſtrange.
What I deteſt he gives in love;
In love my ſuit denies;
Or oft my wiſh my bane might prove,
My bliſs what I deſpiſe.
[93]
Then let not my preſumptuous mind
Oppoſe his love or might;
For well has moral Pope defin'd,
" Whatever is, is right."
But let me not from hence ſurmiſe,
That human ills deſcend
From him, who, only good and wiſe,
Is man's eternal friend:
No; we, tranſgreſſing nature's laws,
Nature's great God arraign;
While man's himſelf the chiefeſt cauſe
Of all his grief and pain.
Tho' now, with penury oppreſt,
I give my ſorrows vent;
He ſoon may calm my troubled breaſt,
Or ſooth my diſcontent.
Come reaſon, then, bid murmuring ceaſe,
And intellectual ſtrife!
Come ſmiling hope, and dove-eyed peace,
And ſtill the ſtorms of life.
My little ſkiff, kind pilots! ſteer
Adown the ſtream of time;
And teach me, melancholic fear,
And dark diſtruſt's, a crime.
[94]
For has not truth's unerring ſire,
Who all our wants muſt know;
Proclaim'd, what nature can require
His bounty ſhall beſtow.
He feeds the birds that wing their flight
Along the paſſive air;
And lillies bloom in gloſſy white
Beneath his foſtering care.
Nor accident, nor fate, recalls
The life that he has lent;
For not a ſingle ſparrow falls
Without his kind aſſent.
And ſhould ſtern penury's murky train
Still haunt my lowly cell;
Yet faith ſhall ſmile away my pain,
And all their threatenings quell.
For when thro' ether's boundleſs ſpace,
This terrene orb has run
A few more times his annual race,
Wide circling round the ſun;
Or haply, ere the day be paſt,
And evening ſhades deſcend;
My wearied heart may pant its laſt,
And all my ſorrows end.
[95]
Then ſhall the diſembodied ſoul
Reſign her dark domain,
And range where countleſs ſyſtems roll,
And ſprings eternal reign.
Yet not in ſolitude to ſoar,
But with a kindred band,
The power and wiſdom to explore
Of her Creator's hand.
Or with her tuneful powers compleat
To chant the bliſs above;
Or in extatic notes repeat
Her dear Redeemer's love!
TRUTH AT COURT.
[96]NOW fye upon't, quoth Flattery,
Theſe are bad times indeed for me;
Spurn'd by the man, and in the place
Where leaſt I thought to meet diſgrace:
And yet I ſaid the fineſt things,
" Thou young, but righteous, beſt of kings,
" Thou, who"—abrupt he turn'd away,
And with an air, as who ſhould ſay,
" Go, ſhow that gentleman the door,
" And never let me ſee him more."
Shock'd I withdrew—when, to enhance
My ſhame, I ſtraightway ſaw advance,
And take my very place, forſooth,
A ſtrange old-faſhion'd fellow, Truth.
O! how it griev'd my heart to ſee
The difference made 'twixt him and me!
I of each ſanguine hope bereav'd,
He with a gracious ſmile receiv'd:
And yet—(or greatly I miſtake)
The monarch bluſh'd when-e'er he ſpake;
For he, tho' in a plainer way,
Said every-thing I meant to ſay.
HYMN TO HEALTH.
WRITTEN IN SICKNESS.
[97]SWeet as the fragrant breath of genial May,
Come, fair Hygeia, heavenly born;
More lovely than the ſun's returning ray,
To northern regions at the half year's morn.
Where ſhall I ſeek thee? in the wholeſome grot,
Where Temperance her ſcanty meal enjoys?
Or Peace, contented with her humble lot,
Beneath her thatch th' inclement blaſt defies?
Swept from each flower that ſips the morning dew,
Thy wing beſprinkles all the ſcenes around;
Where-e'er thou fly'ſt the bloſſoms bluſh anew,
And purple violets paint the hallow'd ground.
Thy preſence renovated nature ſhows,
Each ſhrub with variegated hue is dy'd,
Each tulip with redoubled luſtre glows,
And all creation ſmiles with flowery pride.
But in thy abſence joy is ſeen no more,
The landſcape wither'd even in ſpring appears,
The morn lowers ominous o'er the duſky ſhore,
And evening ſuns ſet half extinct in tears.
[98]
Ruthleſs diſeaſe aſcends, when thou art gone,
From the dark regions of th' abyſs below,
With Peſtilence, the guardian of her throne,
Breathing contagion from the realms of woe.
In vain her citron groves Italia boaſts,
Or Po the balſam of her weeping trees,
In vain Arabia's aromatic coaſts
Tincture the pinions of the paſſing breeze.
No wholeſome ſcents impregn the weſtern gale,
But noxious ſtench exhal'd by ſcorching heat;
Where gaſping ſwains the poiſonous air exhale,
That once diffus'd a medicinal ſweet.
Me, abject me, with pale diſeaſe oppreſt,
Heal with the balm of thy prolific breath;
Re-kindle life within my clay-cold breaſt,
And ſhield my youth from canker-worms of death.
Then on the verdant turf, thy favourite ſhrine,
Reſtor'd to thee, a votary I'll come,
Grateful to offer, as a rite divine,
Each herb that grows round Aeſculapius' tomb.
REFLECTIONS AT AN INN, BY THE SEA-SIDE, AFTER A DANGEROUS VOYAGE.
[99]Per varios caſus, per tot diſcrimina rerum,
Tendimus in Latium.
VIRGIE.
Illi robur et aes triplex, &c.
HOR.
BRing me, O bring me to my Juliet's arms,
Whoſe beauty glads me, and whoſe virtue charms:
O ſnatch me ſwift from theſe tumultuous ſcenes,
To where love knows not what affliction means:
To where religion, peace, and comfort dwell,
And cheer with heavenly rays my lonely cell:
To where no ruffling winds, no raging ſeas,
Diſturb the muſe amidſt her penſive eaſe:
Each paſſion calm; each mild affection mine;
Each ſocial grace; each human; each divine;
Unknown in private, or in public ſtrife,
Soft ſailing down the placid ſtream of life:
Aw'd by no terrors, with no cares perplex'd;
This life—my gentle paſſage—to the next;
Yet—if it pleaſe thee beſt—thou Power Supreme!
To drive my bark thro' life's more rapid ſtream,
[100]If lowering ſtorms my deſtin'd courſe attend,
And ocean rage till this black voyage end;
Let ocean rage—let ſtorms indignant roar,
I bow ſubmiſſive; and, reſign'd, adore:
Reſign'd, adore; in various changes tried;
Thy own lov'd Son, my anchor, and my guide:
Reſign'd, adore; whate'er thy will decree,
My faith in Jeſus, and my hope in thee.
O happieſt lot! if thro' a ſea of woes,
I reach that harbour where the juſt repoſe.
AN ODE, ON THE MARQUIS OF GRANBY'S LOSING HIS HAT, AND CHARGING THE FRENCH LINES BARE-HEADED.
[101]WHere's now Othello's hair-breadth 'ſcapes*,
And all his fancied hardſhips of the field?
Avaunt! ye mimic, bug-bear ſhapes,
Shadows muſt to ſubſtance yield.
Granby hath more horrors ſeen,
By greater perils been beſet;
Death and Granby thrice have met,
And not an hair between†.
The Frenchmen ſtar'd, as well they might,
Threw down their arms, and took to flight;
His naked poll more terror bore,
Than Caeſar armour'd o'er and o'er.
" Parblieu!" ſays one,
" But I'll begone,
" This is the devil of a Don!
" 'Tis father Time! I know his pate;
" And that's his ſcythe as ſure as fate."
[102]Granby, who loves a little fun,
And knew the cauſe which made them run,
Thus the timorous foe beſpoke,
(By way of keeping up the joke:)
" But, gentlemen—hollo! I ſay—
" Take nothing but yourſelves away;
" Ye carry now the jeſt too far;
" Are theſe your tricks and ſpoils of war?
" To leave a man in open air,
" Waiting on you, ſans hat or hair?
" Why, what a plague! what breeding's that?
" You, fellow there—return my hat.
" 'Tis true I am not very old;
" But, what of that?—I may take cold."
" Not ſo, my ſon" Fame, ſmiling, ſaid,
And clapt the laurel on his head:
" Beyond the reach of human eye,
" Thy warlike beaver waves on high;
" Mars ſaw it fall, and bad it riſe
" An hat immortal to the ſkies."
The hero to the goddeſs bow'd,
And ſaw her vaniſh thro' a cloud;
Then turn'd about his horſe's head,
And pick'd his way thro' heaps of dead:
Within his tent retir'd to reſt,
And ſlept—with honour in his breaſt.
TO THE RIGHT HON. LADY ANNE COVENTRY. UPON VIEWING HER FINE CHIMNEY-PIECE OF SHELL-WORK.
[103]THE greedy merchant ploughs the ſea for gain,
And rides exulting o'er the watery plain;
While howling tempeſts, from their rocky bed,
Indignant break around his careful head.
The royal fleet the liquid waſte explores,
And ſpeaks in thunder to the trembling ſhores;
The voice of wrath awak'd the nations hear,
The vanquiſh'd hope, and the proud victors fear;
Thoſe quit their chain, and theſe reſign their palm,
While Britain's awful flag commands a calm.
The curious ſage, nor gain nor fame purſues,
With other eyes the boiling deep he views;
Hangs o'er the cliff inquiſitive to know
The ſecret cauſes of its ebb and flow:
Whence breathe the winds that ruffle its ſmooth face,
Or ranks in claſſes all the fiſhy race,
From thoſe enormous monſters of the main,
Who in their world, like other tyrants, reign,
[104]To the poor cockle-tribe, that humble band
Who cleave to rocks, or loiter on the ſtrand.
Yet even their ſhells the forming hand divine
Has, with diſtinguiſh'd luſtre, taught to ſhine.
What bright enamel! and what various dyes!
What lively tints delight our wondering eyes!
Th' Almighty Painter glows in every line:
How mean alas! is Raphael's bold deſign,
And Titian's colouring, if compar'd to thine!
Juſtly ſupreme! let us thy power revere,
Thou fill'ſt all ſpace! all beauteous every where!
Thy riſing ſun with bluſhes paints the morn,
Thy ſhining lamps the face of night adorn;
Thy flowers the meads, thy nodding trees the hills;
The vales thy paſtures green, and bubbling rills;
Thy coral groves, thy rocks, that amber weep,
Deck all the gloomy manſions of the deep;
Thy yellow ſands diſtinct with golden ore,
And theſe thy variegated ſhells the ſhore.
To all thy works ſuch grandeur haſt thou lent,
And ſuch extravagance of ornament.
For the falſe traytor, man, this pomp and ſhow!
A ſcene ſo gay, for us poor worms below!
No—for thy glory all theſe beauties riſe,
Yet may improve the good, inſtruct the wiſe.
You, madam, ſprung from Beaufort's royal line,
Who, loſt to courts, can in your cloſet ſhine,
[105]Beſt know to uſe each bleſſing he beſtows,
Beſt know to praiſe the power from whence it flows.
Shells in your hand the Parian rock defy,
Or agat, or Aegyptian porphyry—
More gloſſy they, their veins of brighter dye.
See! where your riſing pyramids aſpire,
Your gueſts ſurpriz'd the ſhining pile admire!
In future times, if ſome great Phidias riſe,
Whoſe chiſſel with his miſtreſs Nature vies,
Who, with ſuperior ſkill, can lightly trace
In the hard marble block the ſofteſt face;
To crown this piece, ſo elegantly neat,
Your well-wrought buſto ſhall the whole compleat;
O'er your own work from age to age preſide,
Its author once, and then its greateſt pride.
EPISTLE TO MR. THOMSON, ON THE FIRST EDITION OF HIS SEASONS.
[106]SO bright, ſo dark, upon an April day,
The ſun darts forth, or hides his various ray;
So high, ſo low, the lark aſpiring ſings,
Or drops to earth again with folded wings;
So ſmooth, ſo rough, the ſea that laves our ſhores,
Smiles in a calm, or in a tempeſt roars.
Believe me, Thomſon, 'tis not thus I write,
Severely kind, by envy ſour'd or ſpite:
Nor would I rob thy brows to grace my own;
Such arts are to my honeſt ſoul unknown.
I read thee over as a friend ſhould read,
Griev'd when you fail, o'erjoy'd when you ſucceed.
Why ſhould thy muſe, born ſo divinely fair,
Want the reforming toilet's daily care?
Dreſs the gay maid, improve each native grace,
And call forth all the glories of her face:
Studiouſly plain, and elegantly clean,
With unaffected ſpeech, and eaſy mien,
Th' accompliſh'd nymph, in all her beſt attire,
Courts ſhall applaud, and proſtrate crowds admire.
[107]Diſcreetly daring, with a ſtiffen'd rein,
Firm in thy ſeat the flying ſteed reſtrain.
Tho' few thy faults, who can perfection boaſt?
Spots in the ſun are in his luſtre loſt:
Yet even thoſe ſpots expunge with patient care,
Nor fondly the minuteſt error ſpare.
For kind and wiſe the parent, who reproves
The ſlighteſt blemiſh in the child he loves.
Read Philips much, conſider Milton more;
But from their droſs extract the purer ore.
To coin new words, or to reſtore the old,
In ſouthern bards is dangerous and bold;
But rarely, very rarely, will ſucceed,
When minted on the other ſide of Tweed.
Let perſpicuity o'er all preſide—
Soon ſhalt thou be the nation's joy and pride.
The rhiming, jingling tribe, with bells and ſong,
Who drive their limping Pegaſus along,
Shall learn from thee in bolder flights to riſe,
To ſcorn the beaten road, and range the ſkies.
A genius ſo refin'd, ſo juſt, ſo great,
In Britain's iſle ſhall fix the muſes ſeat,
And new Parnaſſus ſhall at home create:
Rules from thy works each future bard ſhall draw,
Thy works, above the critic's nicer law,
And rich in brilliant gems without a flaw.
AN EPISTLE TO LORD COBHAM.
[108]SIncereſt critic of my proſe or rhime,
Tell how thy pleaſing Stow employs thy time:
Say, Cobham, what amuſes thy retreat?
Or ſchemes of war, or ſtratagems of ſtate?
Doſt thou recall to mind, with joy or grief,
Great Marlbro's actions, that immortal chief,
Whoſe ſlighteſt trophies, rais'd in each campaign,
More than ſuffic'd to ſignalize a reign?
Doth thy remembrance riſing warm thy heart
With glories paſt, where thou thyſelf hadſt part?
Or doſt thou grieve indignant now to ſee
The fruitleſs end of all thy victory;
To ſee th' audacious foe, ſo late ſubdued,
Diſpute thoſe terms for which ſo long they ſued?
As if Britannia now were ſunk ſo low,
To beg that peace ſhe wonted to beſtow.
Be far that guilt, be never known ſuch ſhame,
That England ſhould retract her rightful claim,
Or, ceaſing to be dreaded and ador'd,
Stain with the pen the luſtre of the ſword!
Or doſt thou fix thy mind on rural ſcenes,
To turn the levell'd lawns to liquid plains;
To raiſe the creeping rills from humble beds;
And force the latent ſprings to lift their heads;
[109]On watery columns capitals to rear,
That mix their flowing curls with upper air?
Or doſt thou, weary grown, theſe works neglect,
No temples, ſtatues, obeliſks erect;
But ſeek the morning breeze from fragrant meads,
Or ſhun the noontide ſun in wholeſome ſhades;
Or ſlowly walk along the mazy wood,
To meditate on all that's great and good?
For nature bountiful in thee hath join'd
A pleaſing perſon with a worthy mind;
Nor given thee form alone, but means and art
To draw the eye, and to allure the heart.
Poor were the praiſe in fortune to excell,
Yet want the means to uſe that fortune well.
While thus adorn'd, while thus with virtue crown'd,
At home in peace, abroad in arms renown'd,
Graceful in form, and winning in addreſs,
While well you think what aptly you expreſs,
While health, with honour, with a fair eſtate,
A table free and elegantly neat,
What can be added more of mortal bliſs?
What can he want who ſtands poſſeſt of this?
What can the fondeſt wiſhing mother more,
Of heaven attentive, for her ſon implore?
And yet an happineſs remains unknown,
Or to philoſophy reveal'd alone;
A precept, which unpractis'd renders vain
Thy glowing hopes, and pleaſure turns to pain,
[110]Should hope or fear thy breaſt alternate tear,
Or love, or hate, or rage, or anxious care;
Whatever paſſions may thy mind infeſt,
(And where's the mind that paſſions ne'er moleſt?)
Amid the pangs of ſuch inteſtine ſtrife
Still think the preſent day the laſt of life.
Defer not till to-morrow to be wiſe:
To-morrow's ſun to thee may never riſe.
Or ſhould to-morrow chance to cheer thy ſight
With her enlivening and unlook'd for light,
How grateful will appear her dawning rays,
As favours unexpected doubly pleaſe!
Who thus can think, and who ſuch thoughts purſues,
Content may keep his life, or calmly loſe.
Of this a proof thou mayſt thyſelf receive;
When leiſure from affairs will give thee leave.
Come ſee thy friend, retir'd without regret,
Forgetting cares, or trying to forget;
In eaſy contemplation ſoothing time
With morals much, and now and then with rhime;
Not ſo robuſt in body as in mind,
And always undejected, tho' declin'd;
Not wondering at the world's new wicked ways,
Compar'd with thoſe of our forefather's days:
For virtue now is neither more nor leſs,
And vice is only varied in the dreſs.
Believe it, men have ever been the ſame,
And all the golden age is but a dream.
ON THE D—SS OF R—D.
[111]WHat do ſcholars, and bards, and aſtronomers wife,
Mean by ſtuffing our heads with nonſenſe and lies;
By telling us Venus muſt always appear
In a car, or a ſhell, or a twinkling ſtar;
Drawn by ſparrows, or ſwans, or dolphins, or doves,
Attended in form by the graces and loves:
That ambroſia and nectar is all ſhe will taſte,
And her paſſport to hearts on a belt round her waiſt?
Without all this buſtle I ſaw the bright dame,
To ſupper laſt night to P—y's ſhe came
In a good warm ſedan; no fine open car;
Two chairmen her doves, and a flambeau her ſtar;
No nectar ſhe drank, no ambroſia ſhe eat;
Her cup was plain claret, a chicken her meat:
Nor wanted a ceſtus her boſom to grace,
For R—d, that night, had lent her her face.
AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN.
[112]HAve my friends in the town, in the buſy gay town
Forgot ſuch a man as John Dyer?
Or heedleſs deſpiſe they, or pity the clown,
Whoſe boſom no pageantries fire?
No matter, no matter—content in the ſhades—
(Contented?—why, every thing charms me)
Fall in tunes all adown the green ſteep, ye caſcades,
Till hence rigid virtue alarms me.
Till outrage ariſes, or miſery needs
The ſwift, the intrepid avenger;
Till ſacred religion, or liberty bleeds,
Then mine be the deed, and the danger.
Alas! what a folly, that wealth and domain
We heap up in ſin and in ſorrow!
Immenſe is the toil, yet the labour how vain!
Is not life to be over to-morrow?
Then glide on my moments, the few that I have,
Smooth-ſhaded, and quiet and even;
While gently the body deſcends to the grave,
And the ſpirit ariſes to heaven.
THE XXXTH IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS, TRANSLATED.
ON THE DEATH OF ADONIS.
[113]WHen Venus ſaw Adonis dead,
And from his cheeks the roſes fled,
His lovely locks diſtain'd with gore;
She bade her Cupids bring the boar;
The boar that had her lover ſlain,
The cauſe of all her grief and pain.
Swift as the pinion'd birds they rove
Thro' every wood, thro' every grove;
And when the guilty boar they found,
With cords they bound him, doubly bound;
One with a chain, ſecure and ſtrong,
Haul'd him unwillingly along;
One pinch'd his tail to make him go,
Another beat him with his bow:
The more they urg'd, the more they dragg'd,
The more reluctantly he lagg'd.
Guilt in his conſcious looks appear'd;
He much the angry goddeſs fear'd.
[114]To Venus ſoon the boar they led—
" O cruel, cruel beaſt! ſhe ſaid,
" Durſt thou that thigh with blood diſtain?
" Haſt thou my deareſt lover ſlain?"
Submiſſive he replies—I ſwear
By thee, fair queen—by all that's dear—
By thy fond lover—by this chain—
And by this numerous hunter-train;
I ne'er deſign'd, with impious tooth,
To wound ſo beautiful a youth:
No—but with love and frenzy warm,
(So far has beauty power to charm!)
I long'd, this crime I'll not deny,
To kiſs that fair, that naked thigh.
Theſe tuſks then puniſh, if you pleaſe,
Theſe are offenders, draw out theſe.
Of no more uſe they now can prove
To me, the votaries of love!
My guilty lips, if not content,
My lips ſhall ſhare the puniſhment.
Theſe words, ſo movingly expreſt,
Infus'd ſoft pity in her breaſt;
The queen relented at his plea,
And bad her Cupids ſet him free:
But from that day he join'd her train,
Nor to the woods return'd again;
And all thoſe teeth he burnt with fire,
Which glow'd before with keen deſire.
F.F.
[115]
ON THE MARRIAGE OF TAME AND ISIS.
WHile thro' irriguous meads pleas'd Iſis ſtray'd,
Tame grew enamour'd of the watery maid
And, ſtealing ſilent o'er the flowery ground,
Threw his fond arms voluminous around
The virgin ſtream, now melting, ſoft and kind,
And the pure waves in laſting union join'd.
Their mingled currents now one bed contains,
And leagued in love they wind along the plains.
Tame loves what-e'er ſweet Iſis can approve,
And every object ſhares their mutual love:
In ſway united, and their ſtreams the ſame,
In one fair flood they flow, and Tamiſis the name.
IN AMOREM TAMI ET ISIDIS.
Nympha Iſis liquidos agros dum loeta pererrat,
Incaluit madidae Tamus amore deae.
Serpit amans tacitus, ſinnoſaque brachia circum
Fundit, et aeterno foedere jungit aquas.
Nunc torrens idem, et limes datur unus utrique,
Nec doluere vices ille, vel illa ſuas.
Tamus amat quicquid ſua dulcis amaverat Iſis;
Et quod Tamus amat, Tamus et Iſis amant.
Jam nullam agnoſcas Tami, nullam Iſidis undam;
Communi imperium Tamiſis unus habet.
ON AMORET'S RECOVERY FROM A SEVERE FIT OF SICKNESS, JUNE IV. MDCCLXI.
[116]THus, when bleak winds their baleful influence ſhed,
The lovely lilly droops her languid head;
Till cheer'd by Sol's invigorating power,
More fair revives the animated flower—
With you reviv'd we grateful tribute pay,
And bleſs the god of med'cine and of day.
Poean, whoſe preſence health to mortals brings,
Roſe on your bower with healing in his wings;
And now rejoic'd we view, all mild and meek,
Beams in your eye, and roſes on your cheek.
As from the furnace glows the golden ore,
Refin'd by fire, and brighter than before,
So Amoret, new-clad in beauty's arms,
Emerges irreſiſtable in charms.
Thus late I ſaw, thro' Galileo's eyes,
Venus, the ſplendid ſtar that gilds the ſkies,
Immers'd within the ſun's refulgent rim,
Her beams were faded, and her luſtre dim:
Soon with freſh radiance glow'd her lovely face,
The pride of evening, and the morning's grace:
You now, dear Amoret, our lyres employ,
Your late revival gives the public joy:
No longer now your charms in ſhades you ſhroud,
But riſe a brighter Venus from the cloud.
ON QUEEN CAROLINE'S REBUILDING THE LODGINGS OF THE BLACK PRINCE AND HENRY V. AT QUEEN'S COLLEGE, OXFORD.
[117]WHere bold and graceful ſoars, ſecure of fame,
The pile now worthy great Philippa's name,
Mark that old ruin, Gothic and uncouth,
Where the Black Edward paſs'd his beardleſs youth;
And the Fifth Henry, for his firſt renown,
Outſtripp'd each rival in a ſtudent's gown.
In that coarſe age were princes fond to dwell
With meagre monks, and haunt the ſilent cell;
Sent from the monarch's to the muſe's court,
Their meals were frugal, and their ſleeps were ſhort;
To couch at curfeu-time they thought no ſcorn,
And froze at mattins every winter morn;
They read, an early book, the ſtarry frame,
And liſp'd each conſtellation by its name;
Art after art ſtill dawning to their view,
And their mind opening as their ſtature grew.
Yet, whoſe ripe manhood ſpread our fame ſo far,
Sages in peace, and demi-gods in war?
[118]Who, ſtern in fight, made echoing Creſſy ring,
Yet, mild in conqueſt, ſerv'd his captive king?
Who gain'd at Agincourt the victor's bays,
Nor took himſelf, but gave high heaven the praiſe?
Thy nurſlings, antient dome! to virtue form'd,
To mercy liſtening, whilſt in fields they ſtorm'd;
Fierce to the fierce, and warm th' oppreſs'd to ſave,
Thro' life rever'd, and worſhipp'd in the grave.
In tenfold pride their mouldering roofs ſhall ſhine,
The ſtately work of royal Caroline;
And bleſt Philippa, with unenvying eyes,
From heaven beheld her rival's fabric riſe.
If ſtill, bright ſaint, this ſpot deſerve thy care,
Incline thee to th' ambitious muſe's prayer!
Oh could'ſt thou win young William's bloom to grace
His mother Wales, and fill thy Edward's place,
How would that genius, whoſe propitious wings
Have here twice hover'd o'er the ſons of kings,
Deſcend triumphant to his antient ſeat,
And take in charge a third Plantagenet!
COLIN AND LUCY.
A FRAGMENT.
[119]ON the banks of that cryſtalline ſtream,
Where Thames oft his current delays!
And charms, more than poets can dream,
In his Richmond's bright villa ſurveys.
Fair Lucy, of all the gay throng,
The faireſt that Britain has ſeen!
Now drew every village along,
From the day ſhe firſt danc'd on the green.
Ah! boaſt not of beauty's fond power,
For ſhort is the triumph, ye fair!
Not fleeter the bloom of each flower;
And hope is but gilded deſpair.
His deſire each ſwain now behold,
By riches endeavours to prove!
But Lucy, ſtill cries, what is gold,
Or wealth, when compar'd to his love?
[120]
No, Colin! together we'll wield
Our ſickles in ſummer's bright day;
Together we'll leaze o'er the field;
And ſmile all our labours away!
In winter I'll winnow the wheat
As it falls, from your flail, on the ground:
That flail will be muſic, as ſweet
When your voice in the labour is drown'd.
How oft would he ſpeak of his bliſs?
How oft would he call her his maid?
And Colin would ſeal, with a kiſs,
Every promiſe and vow which he laid.
But hark! o'er the graſs-level land,
The village bells ſound on the plain!
Falſe Colin this morn gave his hand;
And Lucy's fond tears are in vain!
Sad Lucy too ſoon heard the tale;
Too ſoon the ſad cauſe ſhe was told:
That his was a nymph of the vale,
That he broke his fond promiſe for gold!
As ſhe walkt by the margin ſo green,
That adorns Thames' flowery ſide;
How oft was ſhe languiſhing ſeen?
How oft would ſhe gaze on the tide?
[121]
By the clear mirror then as ſhe ſate,
That reflected herſelf and the mead;
A-while ſhe bewail'd her ſad fate!
And the green turf ſtill pillow'd her head.
There! there! is it Lucy I ſee?—
'Tis Lucy the loſt undone maid!
Ah! no, 'tis ſome Lucy like me,
Some hapleſs young virgin betray'd.
Like me, ſhe has ſorrow'd and wept;
Like me, ſhe has fondly believ'd;
Like me, her true promiſe ſhe kept,
And like me too is juſtly deceiv'd!
I come, dear companion in grief!
Gay ſcenes and fond pleaſures adieu!
I come, and we'll gather relief;
From boſoms ſo chaſte and ſo true.
Like you! I have mourn'd the long night;
And wept out the day in deſpair!
Like you! I have baniſh'd delight;
And boſom'd a friend in my care.
Ye meadows, ſo lovely, farewell!
Your velvet ſtill Colin ſhall tread,
All deaf to the ſound of that knell,
Which tolls for his Lucy when dead!
[122]
Your wiſh will too ſure be obey'd!
Nor Colin her loſs ſhall bemoan:
Soon, ſoon ſhall poor Lucy be laid,
Where her heart ſhall be cold as your own.
Then, claſp'd in the arms of that fair,
Whoſe wealth has been Lucy's ſad fate!
As together you breathe the free air,
And a thouſand dear pleaſures relate:
If chance, o'er my turf as you tread,
You dare to affect a fond ſigh!
The primroſe will ſhrink its pale head;
And the violet languiſh and die.
Scarce echo had gather'd the ſound,
But ſhe plung'd from her graſs-ſpringing bed;
The liquid ſtream parts to the ground;
And the mirror clos'd over her head.
The ſwains of the village at eve
Oft meet at the dark-ſpreading yew;
There, wonder how man could deceive
A boſom ſo chaſte and ſo true!
With garlands of every flower,
Which Lucy herſelf ſhould have made,
They raiſe up a ſhort-living bower,
And, ſighing! cry, peace to her ſhade!
[123]
Then, hand lock'd in hand, as they move
The green-platting hilloc around;
They talk of ſad Lucy, and love!
And freſhen with tears the fair ground.
Nay! wiſh they had never been born,
Or liv'd the ſad moment to view!
When a Colin could thus be forſworn;
And a Lucy could ſtill be ſo true!
Appendix A CONTENTS.
[]- MArch. An ode, Page 1
- A vernal ode, 3
- An elegy on the approach of ſpring, 5
- Spring. A rural ſong, 9
- The violet, 13
- The progreſs of poetry, 17
- To the memory of mr. Hughes, 29
- The death of Arachne, 33
- Life. An ode, 41
- Ode to hope, 44
- Ode to pleaſure, 47
- The Kite. A heroi-comic poem, 49
- The Copernican ſyſtem, 67
- Pſalm CIV. imitated, 78
- To charity, 84
- The complaint. A paſtoral elegy, 86
- Truth at court, 96
- Hymn to health, 97
- Reflections at an inn, 99
- Ode on lord Granby's loſing his hat, 101
- To lady Anne Coventry, 103
- Epiſtle to mr. Thomſon, 106
- Epiſtle to lord Cobham, 108
- On the d—ſs of R—d, 111
- Epiſtle to a friend, 112
- The XXXTH Idyllium of Theocritus, tranſlated, 113
- On the marriage of Tame and Iſis, 115
- On Amoret's recovery, 116
- On the queen's rebuilding the lodgings of the Black Prince, 117
- Colin and Lucy. A fragment, 119
END OF VOL. III.
Notes
*
Vide Hor. lib. iii. ode iv.
*
Sir John Denham's Cooper's-Hill.
*
The Campaign.
*
See mr. Hughes's ode entitled, an ode to the Creator of the world, occaſioned by the fragments of Orpheus.
†
Characters in his tragedy entitled, the Siege of Damaſcus.
†
Characters in his tragedy entitled, the Siege of Damaſcus.
†
Characters in his tragedy entitled, the Siege of Damaſcus.
*
The Siege of Damaſcus.
*
Alluding to particular names given by floriſts, &c.
*
This, with the following epiſode, refers to the riddle, Little white Nancy, &c.
*
Mr. Thompſon, author of a poem called Winter.
*
Seneca.
*
See Othello's ſpeech to the ſenate.
†
He was born bald.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5361 The poetical calendar Containing a collection of scarce and valuable pieces of poetry by the most eminent hands Intended as a supplement to Mr Dodsley s collection Written and selected by Fra. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-59D4-1