To the Revd. Mr. STANLEY.
THE grateful Tribute of these rural Lays,
Which to her Patron's Hand the Muse conveys,
Deign to accept: 'Tis just she Tribute bring
To him, whose Bounty gives her Life to sing;
To him, whose gen'rous Favours tune her Voice;
And bid her, 'midst her Poverty, rejoice.
Inspir'd by these, she dares herself prepare,
To sing the Toils of each revolving Year;
Those endless Toils, which always grow anew,
And the poor Thresher's destin'd to pursue:
Ev'n these, with Pleasure, can the Muse rehearse,
When you and Gratitude demand her Verse.
SOON as the golden Harvest quits the Plain,
And CERES' Gifts reward the Farmer's Pain;
What Corn each Sheaf will yield, intent to hear,
And guess from thence the Profits of the Year,
He calls his Reapers forth: Around we stand,
With deep Attention, waiting his Command.
To each our Task he readily divides,
And pointing, to our diff'rent Stations guides.
As he directs, to distant Barns we go;
Here two for Wheat, and there for Barley two.
But first, to shew what he expects to find,
These Words, or Words like these, disclose his Mind:
" So dry the Corn was carry'd from the Field,
" So easily 'twill thresh, so well 'twill yield;
" Sure large Days-works I well may hope for now:
" Come, strip and try; let's see what you can do."
DIVESTED of our Cloathes, with Flail in Hand,
At proper Distance, Front to Front we stand:
And first the Threshal's gently swung, to prove
Whether with just Exactness it will move:
That once secure, we swiftly whirl them round;
From the strong Planks our Crab-tree Staves rebound,
And echoing Barns return the rattling Sound.
Now in the Air our knotty Weapons fly,
And now with equal Force descend from high;
Down one, one up, so well they keep the Time,
The CYCLOPS' Hammers could not truer chime;
Nor with more heavy Strokes could Aetna groan,
When VULCAN forg'd the Arms for THETIS' Son.
In briny Streams our Sweat descends apace,
Drops from our Locks, or trickles down our Face.
No Intermission in our Work we know;
The noisy Threshal must for ever go.
[Page 13] Their Master absent, others safely play;
The sleeping Threshal does itself betray.
Nor yet, the tedious Labour to beguile,
And make the passing Minutes sweetly smile,
Can we, like Shepherds, tell a merry Tale;
The Voice is lost, drown'd by the louder Flail.
But we may think—Alas! what pleasing thing,
Here, to the Mind, can the dull Fancy bring?
Our Eye beholds no pleasing Object here,
No chearful Sound diverts our list'ning Ear.
The Shepherd well may tune his Voice to sing,
Inspir'd with all the Beauties of the Spring.
No Fountains murmur here, no Lambkins play,
No Linnets warble, and no Fields look gay;
'Tis all a gloomy, melancholy Scene,
Fit only to provoke the Muse's Spleen.
When sooty Pease we thresh, you scarce can know
Our native Colour, as from Work we go.
[Page 14] The Sweat, the Dust, and suffocating Smoak,
Make us so much like Ethiopians look,
We scare our Wives, when Ev'ning brings us home;
And frighted Infants think the Bugbear come.
Week after Week, we this dull Task pursue,
Unless when winn'wing Days produce a new:
A new, indeed, but frequently a worse!
The Threshal yields but to the Master's Curse.
He counts the Bushels, counts how much a Day;
Then swears we've idled half our Time away:
" Why, look ye, Rogues, d'ye think that this will do?
" Your Neighbours thresh as much again as you."
Now in our Hands we wish our noisy Tools,
To drown the hated Names of Rogues and Fools.
But wanting these, we just like School-boys look,
When angry Masters view the blotted Book:
They cry, "their Ink was faulty, and their Pen;"
We, "the Corn threshes bad, 'twas cut too green."
BUT soon as Winter hides his hoary Head,
And Nature's Face is with new Beauty spread;
The lovely Spring appears, refreshing Show'rs
New cloath the Field with Grass, and blooming Flow'rs.
Next her, the rip'ning Summer presses on,
And SOL begins his longest Race to run.
Before the Door our welcome Master stands;
Tells us, the ripen'd Grass requires our Hands.
The grateful Tidings presently imparts
Life to our Looks, and Spirits to our Hearts.
We wish the happy Season may be fair;
And, joyful, long to breathe in op'ner Air.
This Change of Labour seems to give such Ease,
With Thoughts of Happiness ourselves we please.
But, ah! how rarely's Happiness complete!
There's always Bitter mingled with the Sweet.
[Page 16] When first the Lark sings Prologue to the Day,
We rise, admonish'd by his early Lay;
This new Employ with eager Haste to prove,
This new Employ, become so much our Love.
Alas! that human Joys should change so soon!
Our Morning Pleasure turns to Pain at Noon.
The Birds salute us, as to Work we go,
And with new Life our Bosoms seem to glow.
On our right Shoulder hangs the crooked Blade,
The Weapon destin'd to uncloath the Mead:
Our left supports the Whetstone, Scrip, and Beer;
This for our Scythes, and these ourselves to chear.
And now the Field, design'd to try our Might,
At length appears, and meets our longing Sight.
The Grass and Ground we view with careful Eyes,
To see which way the best Advantage lies;
And, Hero-like, each claims the foremost Place.
At first our Labour seems a sportive Race:
[Page 17] With rapid Force our sharpen'd Blades we drive,
Strain ev'ry Nerve, and Blow for Blow we give.
All strive to vanquish, tho' the Victor gains
No other Glory, but the greatest Pains.
BUT when the scorching Sun is mounted high,
And no kind Barns with friendly Shade are nigh;
Our weary Scythes entangle in the Grass,
While Streams of Sweat run trickling down apace.
Our sportive Labour we too late lament;
And wish that Strength again, we vainly spent.
THUS, in the Morn, a Courser have I seen
With headlong Fury scour the level Green;
Or mount the Hills, if Hills are in his Way,
As if no Labour could his Fire allay;
Till PHOEBUS, shining with meridian Heat,
Has bath'd his panting Sides in briny Sweat:
[Page 18] The lengthen'd Chace scarce able to sustain,
He measures back the Hills and Dales with Pain.
WITH Heat and Labour tir'd, our Scythes we quit,
Search out a shady Tree, and down we sit:
From Scrip and Bottle hope new Strength to gain;
But Scrip and Bottle too are try'd in vain.
Down our parch'd Throats we scarce the Bread can get;
And, quite o'erspent with Toil, but faintly eat.
Nor can the Bottle only answer all;
The Bottle and the Beer are both too small.
Time flows: Again we rise from off the Grass;
Again each Mower takes his proper Place;
Not eager now, as late, our Strength to prove;
But all contented regular to move.
We often whet, and often view the Sun;
As often wish, his tedious Race was run.
[Page 19] At length he veils his purple Face from Sight,
And bids the weary Labourer Good-night.
Homewards we move, but spent so much with Toil,
We slowly walk, and rest at ev'ry Stile.
Our good expecting Wives, who think we stay,
Got to the Door, soon eye us in the Way.
Then from the Pot the Dumplin's catch'd in haste,
And homely by its Side the Bacon plac'd.
Supper and Sleep by Morn new Strength supply;
And out we set again, our Work to try;
But not so early quite, nor quite so fast,
As, to our Cost, we did the Morning past.
SOON as the rising Sun has drank the Dew,
Another Scene is open to our View:
Our Master comes, and at his Heels a Throng
Of prattling Females, arm'd with Rake and Prong;
[Page 20] Prepar'd, whilst he is here, to make his Hay;
Or, if he turns his Back, prepar'd to play:
But here, or gone, sure of this Comfort still;
Here's Company, so they may chat their Fill.
Ah! were their Hands so active as their Tongues,
How nimbly then would move the Rakes and Prongs?
THE Grass again is spread upon the Ground,
Till not a vacant Place is to be found;
And while the parching Sun-beams on it shine,
The Hay-makers have Time allow'd to dine.
That soon dispatch'd, they still sit on the Ground;
And the brisk Chat, renew'd, afresh goes round.
All talk at once; but seeming all to fear,
That what they speak, the rest will hardly hear;
Till by degrees so high their Notes they strain,
A Stander by can nought distinguish plain.
[Page 21] So loud's their Speech, and so confus'd their Noise,
Scarce puzzled ECHO can return the Voice.
Yet, spite of this, they bravely all go on;
Each scorns to be, or seem to be, outdone.
Meanwhile the changing Sky begins to lour,
And hollow Winds proclaim a sudden Show'r:
The tattling Crowd can scarce their Garments gain,
Before descends the thick impetuous Rain;
Their noisy Prattle all at once is done,
And to the Hedge they soon for Shelter run.
THUS have I seen, on a bright Summer's Day,
On some green Brake, a Flock of Sparrows play;
From Twig to Twig, from Bush to Bush they fly;
And with continu'd Chirping fill the Sky:
But, on a sudden, if a Storm appears,
Their chirping Noise no longer dins your Ears:
[Page 22] They fly for Shelter to the thickest Bush;
There silent sit, and All at once is hush.
BUT better Fate succeeds this rainy Day,
And little Labour serves to make the Hay.
Fast as 'tis cut, so kindly shines the Sun,
Turn'd once or twice, the pleasing Work is done.
Next Day the Cocks appear in equal Rows,
Which the glad Master in safe Ricks bestows.
THE spacious Fields we now no longer range;
And yet, hard Fate! still Work for Work we change.
Back to the Barns we hastily are sent,
Where lately so much Time we pensive spent:
Not pensive now, we bless the friendly Shade;
And to avoid the parching Sun are glad.
Yet little Time we in the Shade remain,
Before our Master calls us forth again;
[Page 23] And says, "For Harvest now yourselves prepare;
" The ripen'd Harvést now demands your Care.
" Get all things ready, and be quickly drest;
" Early next Morn I shall disturb your Rest."
Strict to his Word! for scarce the Dawn appears,
Before his hasty Summons fills our Ears.
His hasty Summons we obey; and rise,
While yet the Stars are glimm'ring in the Skies.
With him our Guide we to the Wheat-field go,
He to appoint, and we the Work to do.
YE Reapers, cast your Eyes around the Field;
And view the various Scenes its Beauties yield:
Then look again, with a more tender Eye,
To think how soon it must in Ruin lie!
For, once set in, where-e'er our Blows we deal,
There's no resisting of the well-whet Steel:
[Page 24] But here or there, where-e'er our Course we bend,
Sure Desolation does our Steps attend.
THUS, when Arabia's Sons, in Hopes of Prey,
To some more fertile Country take their Way,
How beauteous all Things in the Morn appear!
There rural Cots, and pleasant Villa's here!
So many grateful Objects meet the Sight,
The ravish'd Eye could willing gaze till Night.
But long ere then, where-e'er their Troops have past,
These pleasing Prospects lie a gloomy Waste.
THE Morning past, we sweat beneath the Sun;
And but uneasily our Work goes on.
Before us we perplexing Thistles find,
And Corn blown adverse with the ruffling Wind.
Behind our Master waits; and if he spies
One charitable Ear, he grudging cries,
[Page 25] " Ye scatter half your Wages o'er the Land."
Then scrapes the Stubble with his greedy Hand.
LET those who feast at Ease on dainty Fare,
Pity the Reapers, who their Feasts prepare:
For Toils scarce ever ceasing press us now;
Rest never does, but on the Sabbath, show;
And barely that our Masters will allow.
Think what a painful Life we daily lead;
Each Morning early rise, go late to Bed:
Nor, when asleep, are we secure from Pain;
We then perform our Labours o'er again:
Our mimic Fancy ever restless seems;
And what we act awake, she acts in Dreams.
Hard Fate! Our Labours ev'n in Sleep don't cease;
Scarce HERCULES e'er felt such Toils as these!
BUT soon we rise the bearded Crop again,
Soon PHOEBUS' Rays well dry the golden Grain.
Pleas'd with the Scene, our Master glows with Joy;
Bids us for Carrying all our Force employ;
When strait Confusion o'er the Field appears,
And stunning Clamours fill the Workmens Ears;
The Bells and clashing Whips alternate sound,
And rattling Waggons thunder o'er the Ground.
The Wheat, when carry'd, Pease, and other Grain,
We soon secure, and leave a fruitless Plain;
In noisy Triumph the last Load moves on,
And loud Huzza's proclaim the Harvest done.
OUR Master, joyful at the pleasing Sight,
Invites us all to feast with him at Night.
A Table plentifully spread we find,
And Jugs of humming Ale, to chear the Mind;
[Page 27] Which he, too gen'rous, pushes round so fast,
We think no Toils to come, nor mind the past.
But the next Morning soon reveals the Cheat,
When the same Toils we must again repeat;
To the same Barns must back again return,
To labour there for Room for next Year's Corn.
THUS, as the Year's revolving Course goes round,
No Respite from our Labour can be found:
Like SISYPHUS, our Work is never done;
Continually rolls back the restless Stone.
New-growing Labours still succeed the past;
And growing always new, must always last.
To Mrs. STANLEY.
DEIGN, heav'nly Muses, to assist my Song:
To heav'nly Muses heav'nly Themes belong.
But chiefly Thou, O GOD, my Soul inspire,
And touch my Lips with thy celestial Fire:
If Thou delight'st in flow'ry Carmel's Shade,
Or Jordan's Stream; from thence I crave thy Aid:
Instruct my Tongue, and my low Accents raise,
To sing thy Wonders, and display thy Praise:
Thy Praise let all the Sons of Judah hear,
And to my Song the distant Tribes repair.
So pray'd the Shunammite; Heav'n heard the Dame;
The distant Tribes around her list'ning came,
To hear th'amazing Tale; while thus her Tongue,
Mov'd by some heav'nly Pow'r, began the Song.
ATTEND, ye Seed of ABRAM, and give Ear,
While I JEHOVAH's glorious Acts declare:
How Life from Death, and Joy from Sadness spring,
If He assist the Muse, the Muse shall sing.
My Lord and I, to whom all-bounteous Heav'n
His Blessings with no sparing Hand had giv'n,
Like faithful Stewards of our wealthy Store,
Still lodg'd the Stranger, and reliev'd the Poor.
And as ELISHA, by divine Command,
Came preaching Virtue to a sinful Land;
He often deign'd to lodge within our Gate,
And oft receiv'd an hospitable Treat:
[Page 30] A decent Chamber for him we prepar'd;
And he, the gen'rous Labour to reward,
Honours in Camp, or Court, to us propos'd;
Which I refus'd, and thus my Mind disclos'd:
HEAV'N's King has plac'd us in a fertile Land,
Where he show'rs down his Gifts with copious Hand:
Already we enjoy an affluent Store;
Why should we be solicitous for more?
Give Martial Camps, and Kingly Courts to them,
Who place their only Bliss in fleeting Fame:
There let them live in golden Chains of State;
And be unhappy, only to be great.
But let us in our native Soil remain,
Nor barter Happiness for sordid Gain.
Here may we feed the Indigent in Peace,
Or cloath the Bare with the superfluous Fleece,
And give the weary fainting Pilgrim Ease.
[Page 31] This we prefer to Pomp, and formal Show,
Which only serve to varnish o'er our Woe;
Refulgent Ornaments, which dress the Proud,
Objects of Wonder to the gazing Crowd;
Yet seldom give Content, or solid Rest,
To the vain Man, by whom they are possess'd.
ALL Blessings, but a Child, had Heav'n supply'd;
And only that th'Almighty had deny'd:
Which when the holy prescient Sage had heard,
He said, and I before him strait appear'd:
And, as my Feet approach'd his awful Room,
I saw his Face diviner Looks assume;
Not such a Wildness, and fanatic Mien,
With which, some say, the Delphic Priests are seen;
When they, for Mysteries of Fate, explain
The odd Chimera's of a frantic Brain;
[Page 32] But with a grave majestic Air he stood,
While more than human in his Aspect glow'd;
Celestial Grace sat on his radiant Look,
And Pow'r diffusive shone, before he spoke.
Then thus: "Hail, gen'rous Soul! Thy pious Cares
" Are not forgot, nor fruitless are thy Pray'rs:
" Propitious Heav'n, thy virtuous Deeds to crown,
" Shall make thy barren Womb conceive a Son."
So spake the Seer; and, to complete my Joy,
As he had spoke, I bore the promis'd Boy.
SOON to my Friends the welcome News was known,
Who crowded in apace to see my Son,
Hailing, with kind Salutes, the recent Child;
And, with their pious Hymns, my Pain beguil'd.
When all had said, I mov'd my joyful Tongue;
And thus to Heav'n address'd my grateful Song:
" O GOD, what Eloquence can sing thy Praise?
" Or who can fathom thy stupendous Ways?
" All Things obey at thy divine Command;
" Thou mak'st a fruitful Field of barren Land:
" Obdurate Rocks a fertile Glebe shall be,
" And bring forth copious Crops, if bid by Thee;
" Arabian Deserts shall with Plenty smile,
" And curling Vines adorn the sterile Soil.
As thus she spake, her Audience raise their Voice;
And interrupt her Song, as they rejoice:
" O GOD, we gladly hear thy mighty Pow'r,
" With joyful Heart thy gracious Name adore:
" All Nature is subservient to thy Word;
" And shifts her wonted Course, to please her Lord.
" We, for thy Servant's Joy, our Thanks express;
" As grows the Child, so may her Bliss increase:
[...] [...][Page 34] " And may the Guardian Angels, who preside
" Over the Bless'd, his future Actions guide;
" Make spotless Virtue crown his vital Date,
" And hoary Honour end his Life but late;
" Then safely bear"—The Dame here wav'd her Hand;
The People straight obey her mute Command:
All silent stand, and all attentive look,
Waiting her Words, while thus she, mournful, spoke:
ALL Pleasures are imperfect here below;
Our sweetest Joys are mix'd with bitter Woe:
The Draught of Bliss, when in our Goblet cast,
Is dash'd with Grief; or spilt, before we taste.
Ere twice four Years were measur'd by my Son,
(So soon, alas! the greatest Blessing's gone)
In Harvest-time he to the Reapers goes,
To view the bearded Sheaves, erect in Rows,
[Page 35] Like an embattled Army in the Field;
A new delightful Prospect to the Child!
But either there the scorching Sun display'd
His Heat intense, and on his Vitals prey'd;
Or else some sudden apoplectic Pain,
With racking Torture, seiz'd his tender Brain;
His Spirits fail'd, he straight began to faint,
And to his Father vainly made Complaint:
The glowing Rose was quickly seen to fade;
At once his Beauty, and his Life, decay'd.
SOON, at my House, the dismal News I heard;
Soon, at my House, the dying Child appear'd:
T'embrace him I, with fond Affection, run;
And, O! said I, what Pain afflicts my Son?
He try'd to speak; but, fault'ring, gave a Groan;
No perfect Word proceeded from his Tongue;
But on his Lips the broken Accents hung.
[Page 36] All Means I us'd, that might allay his Pain;
All Means I us'd, but us'd them all in vain.
Yet, while he liv'd, my Soul would not despair;
Nor, till he ceas'd to breathe, I ceas'd my Pray'r:
Deluding Hope now stopt the falling Tears;
Now his increasing Pains increas'd my Fears:
By Hope and Fear alternate was I toss'd,
Till Hope, in a sad Certainty, was lost:
Short, and more short, he drew his panting Breath,
(Too sure Presage of his approaching Death!)
Till soon the Blood, congealing, ceas'd to flow;
He dropt his Head with a declining Bow:
Thrice, from my Breast, to raise himself he try'd,
And thrice sunk down again; then, groaning, dy'd.
THUS, when with Care we've nurs'd a tender Vine,
And taught the docile Branches where to twine;
[Page 37] An Eastern Gale, or some pernicious Frost,
Nips the young Tree, and all our Labour's lost.
WITH Horror chill'd, a-while I speechless stood,
Viewing the Child, and trembling as I view'd:
My Eyes discharg'd their humid Store apace,
And Tears succeeded Tears adown my Face:
Scarcely my Heart the Load of Grief sustain'd;
At length, recov'ring Speech, I thus complain'd:
O fleeting Joys! inconstant as the Wind!
Which only for a Moment please the Mind;
Then fly, and leave a Weight of Woes behind!
But yet in vain I thus lament and mourn;
The Soul, once fled, shall never more return;
And the fair Body now must be convey'd
To Earth's dark Bosom, and eternal Shade—
[Page 38] Yet let me not prescribe a Bound to Heav'n;
'Twas by a Miracle the Child was giv'n;
Nor can I think the Wonder is more great,
Should the departed Soul resume her Seat.
What if I to Mount Carmel haste away,
To him who did his mystic Birth display?
His pow'rful Word the barren fruitful made;
His pow'rful Word, perhaps, may raise the Dead.
The famous Tishbite rais'd a Widow's Son;
ELISHA has as wond'rous Actions done.
When he to Jordan's rapid Torrent came;
And, with the Mantle, smote th'impetuous Stream;
Obsequious to the Stroke, the Waves divide;
And raise a liquid Wall on either Side!
At Jericho long had the barren Soil
Deceiv'd the Husbandman, and mock'd his Toil;
Yet, at his Word, it grew a fertile Field,
And pois'nous Springs did wholsome Waters yield.
[Page 39] Nor can he only such great Blessings send;
But Curses, if invok'd, his Call attend:
Else how at Bethel brought he Vengeance down,
As a just Scourge, on that opprobrious Town?
Again, when Moab Peace with Israel broke,
And vainly strove to quit the servile Yoke;
Our pow'rful Kings led forth th'embattled Host
Thro' Edom's sultry Wilds, and Air adust;
Where the confed'rate Troops no Water found,
Dry were the Springs, and sterile was the Ground;
The Captains wonted Strength and Courage fail'd,
When Thirst and Foes at once their Host assail'd:
The Kings to him their joint Petitions made,
And fainting Soldiers crav'd his timely Aid;
Nor crav'd in vain: The pow'rful Word he spake,
And flowing Waters form'd a spacious Lake;
The shining Streams advanc'd their humid Train,
Till Edom's Wilds became a liquid Plain:
[Page 40] Not in more Plenty did the Waters run
Out of the Rock, when struck by AMRAM's Son.
And who can that amazing Deed forget,
Which he perform'd to pay the Widow's Debt?
Whose Quantity of Oil one Pot contain'd;
Yet num'rous Vessels fill'd, before 'twas drain'd.
Sure he, who such stupendous Acts has done,
If GOD propitious prove, can raise my Son.
So saying, up I caught the Child with Speed;
And laid him on the sacred Prophet's Bed;
Then call'd my Servant to prepare the Steed.
Pensive and sad, my mourning Husband said,
'Tis now in vain to crave ELISHA's Aid:
No God To-day the Prophet does inspire;
Nor can he answer, what thou wouldst inquire.
RATHER than sink, said I, attempt to raise
My Hopes, nor talk of Ceremonial Days;
His God is present still, and hears him when he prays.
Thus said, urging my Steed with eager Haste,
Swift as a Mountain Roe, the Plains I pass'd;
O'er Hills and Dales my Journey I pursu'd;
Nor slack'd my Pace, till Carmel's Mount I view'd;
On whose delightful Brow, in cool Retreat,
Among the curling Vines, the Prophet sat;
Whose twining Arms a verdant Arbour made;
The verdant Arbour form'd a grateful Shade;
The fanning Zephyrs gently play'd around,
And shook the trembling Leaves, and swept the Ground;
Down humbly at his Feet I prostrate fell,
Submiss; and, weeping, told the mournful Tale.
STRIVE to compose thy anxious Soul, said he;
Tears can't revoke JEHOVAH's fix'd Decree:
We live and die, and both, as He thinks fit,
Who may command; but Mortals must submit.
This Fate the King, as well as Peasant, finds;
Nor is it evil, but to evil Minds—
Yet if from Heav'n I can my Suit obtain,
Thy lifeless Son shall yet revive again.
THUS said, with Looks divine, his Staff he views,
As if some pow'rful Charm he would infuse:
Then calls his Servant hastily, and said,
On the Child's Face let this be quickly laid.
O Thou, said I, on whom my Hopes depend,
Do not this Work to Servants Care commend:
[Page 43] If Thou thyself with me refuse to go,
Here, to the list'ning Vines, I'll vent my Woe;
Still prostrate lie, lamenting for my Son,
Till ev'ry Hill prove vocal to my Moan.
More had I said, but Grief the Words supprest;
Yet Sighs, and silent Tears, explain'd the rest.
At length he from his verdant Seat arose,
And hastily adown the Mountain goes:
To Shunem we, with Speed, our Way pursue;
The City soon appears within our View;
And the obedient Servant, at the Gate,
Returning sad, without Success, we met:
The beauteous Child by Death still vanquish'd lay;
Still Death insulted o'er the beauteous Prey;
Till to the House the sacred Seer was come,
And, with supernal Pow'r, approach'd the Room.
BY the dead Child, a-while, he pensive stood;
Then from the Chamber put the mourning Crowd:
That done, to GOD he made his ardent Pray'r,
And breath'd upon the Child with vital Air:
And now the Soul resumes her pristine Seat;
And now the Heart again begins to beat;
Life's purple Current o'er the Body spreads,
While Death, repuls'd, ingloriously recedes.
THUS, when a prowling Wolf has stol'n a Lamb,
He sternly guards it from the bleating Dam;
But if the Keeper comes, he quits his Prey,
And low'ring, with Reluctance, makes away.
AND now the Prophet, to my longing Arms,
Resign'd the Child, with more than wonted Charms:
[Page 45] The blushing Rose shone fresher in his Face,
And Beauty smil'd with a superior Grace.
SO, when Heav'n's Lamp, that rules the genial Day,
Behind the sable Moon pursues his Way;
Affrighted Mortals, when th'Eclipse is o'er,
Believe him more illustrious than before.
HERE ends the Dame; and the promiscuous Throng,
With Hallelujahs, thus conclude the Song:
" Holy and good art Thou, Lord God of Host,
" And all thy Works are wonderful and just:
" Both Life and Death are in thy pow'rful Hand;
" Both Life and Death obey thy great Command:
" By thy great Pow'r the Heav'ns and Earth are aw'd;
" Then let the Heav'ns and Earth adore their GOD.
" Thou glorious Sun, that measur'st all our Days,
" Rising and setting, still advance his Praise:
[Page 46] " Thou Moon, and ye less glitt'ring Orbs, that dance
" Round this terrestrial Globe, his Praise advance:
" Ye Seas, for ever waving to and fro,
" Praise, when ye ebb, and praise him, when ye flow:
" Ye wand'ring Rivers, and each purling Stream,
" As ye pursue your Course, his Praise proclaim:
" Ye Dews, and Mists, and humid Vapours, all,
" Praise, when ye rise; and praise him, when ye fall:
" But chiefly Israel, who dost daily view
" His pow'rful Works, his daily Praise renew."
MENALCAS, COLIN.
MENALCAS.
FRiend COLIN! well o'ertook. I have of late
Observ'd thy chearful Mien, and airy Gait:
Say, what auspicious Change, since t'other Day,
When by thy lonely Cot I took my Way?
Sorrow and Sadness then o'erspread thy Brows,
And ev'ry Look did gloomy Cares disclose:
Now Joys diffusive in thy Aspect rise,
And Mirth and Gladness sparkle in thy Eyes.
COLIN.
[Page 48]WHERE hast thou liv'd, MENALCAS, not to know,
Whose gen'rous Bounty has remov'd my Woe?
I thought, the gracious CAROLINA's Name,
Ere this, had fill'd the sounding Trump of Fame.
MENALCAS.
THAT gracious Name the World is bound to bless;
All grateful Swains her gen'rous Deeds confess:
But, COLIN, say, has she remov'd thy Care?
I'm happy, when thy Happiness I hear.
COLIN.
O You, MENALCAS, know my abject Birth,
Born in a Cot, and bred to till the Earth;
On rigid Worldlings always doom'd to wait,
Forc'd at their frugal Hands my Bread to get:
[Page 49] But when my Wants to CAROLINE were known,
She bless'd me with a Pasture of my own.
This makes new Pleasures in my Bosom glow;
These joyful Looks I to her Bounty owe.
MENALCAS.
AND may kind Heav'n reward that gracious QUEEN,
Who to thy Wants has so propitious been!
Yet, tho' her Bounty has thy Wants supply'd,
Let not her Bounty e'er exalt thy Pride;
But keep an humble Mind, a grateful Heart;
Her Favours far exceed thy own Desert:
Heav'n mov'd the Goodness of the Royal Dame;
And Heav'n and She thy Gratitude must claim.
COLIN.
WHEN me she first into her Favour took,
I cut this oaken Staff, ('tis now my Crook)
[Page 50] And grav'd her Royal Bounty in the Rind;
But grav'd it deeper in my grateful Mind:
The Letters in the Staff may wear away;
Those written in my Soul shall ne'er decay.
MENALCAS.
SO may thy little Flock increase their Tale;
So may thy Field of Pasture never fail;
May Heav'n and She, in just Proportion, still
Or smile, or frown, as thou art good, or ill.
COLIN.
MAY hungry Foxes kill my tender Lambs,
May pois'nous Serpents suck their bleating Dams;
And may my Cows distended Udders fail,
Elude my Hopes, and never fill the Pail;
In short, (to make my Curse the more complete,
Tho' 'tis the only Thing I dread and hate)
[Page 51] May Heav'n and Heav'nly CAROLINE remove
Their Smiles, if COLIN e'er ungrateful prove.
MENALCAS.
THY Thanks and Pray'rs her gen'rous Soul will please;
A Tribute justly due, and paid with Ease:
Sometimes a Song perhaps she may require;
And thou to sing but lately didst aspire;
When in an abject, low, laborious State,
Sunk deep in Cares, and press'd beneath their Weight;
Then (so, at least, 'tis said among our Swains)
In Sonnets COLIN charm'd away his Pains:
Much sooner now thou may'st a Song rehearse,
Whene'er she condescends to hear thy Verse.
COLIN.
O Friend! too well you know, my simple Strains
Are far inferior to each rural Swain's:
[Page 52] Yet, since Great CAROLINA thinks no Scorn,
To patronize a Shepherd meanly born;
Henceforth I'll strive to raise my Voice sublime,
And with her Royal Name adorn my Rhyme;
I'll on each verdant Mountain sing her Praise,
And vocal Groves shall echo to my Lays;
To ev'ry Swain her Godlike Worth proclaim,
Nor ever drop the pleasing glorious Theme.
MENALCAS.
THEN, since we're met, where friendly Branches spread,
And trembling Leaves diffuse a cooling Shade;
Since, on the Sprays, the Thrush and Finch rejoice,
Invoke thy Muse, and tune thy rural Voice.
COLIN.
ANOTHER Day my rural Voice I'll raise,
Another Day the Muse shall tune her Lays:
[Page 53] But now, alas! such crowding Joys I find,
No Words can speak the Transports of my Mind.
Would PHOEBUS warm me with poetic Fire,
Or would the Mantuan Muse my Tongue inspire;
As Great ELIZA shone in SPENCER's Line,
The Greater CAROLINA should in mine;
Then would I emulate the tuneful Throng,
And with her glorious Name immortalize my Song.
AT first in Vales obscure the Lyre I strung;
Vales, where the Muse her annual Labours sung:
Now, leaving these, she ranges o'er the Plains,
And tunes her Voice to Flocks and Shepherd Swains;
Yet, fresh in Grief, but feebly moves her Wings,
Weeps, while she flies, and trembles, as she sings.
TWO Country Swains, in Friendship firmly join'd,
Lov'd each alike, and were, like Brothers, kind:
Great CAROLINE her Royal Bounty show'd
To one, and rais'd him from the grov'ling Crowd;
When straight his smiling Looks, and chearful Mien,
Proclaim'd the Goodness of a gracious QUEEN;
[Page 55] But gloomy Sadness soon his Face possess'd,
And clouded all the Joys before express'd:
The other gay and pleasant still appear'd;
Nor griev'd for Evils past, nor future fear'd:
One Day they met; MENALCAS first began;
And thus the mournful Tale, alternate, ran.
MENALCAS.
WHY, COLIN, dost thou wear that pensive Look,
And sighing stand, supported by thy Crook?
Say, from what Cause this Melancholy springs;
Or dost thou verify what DAMON sings?
" Vain Man can never satiate his Desires;
" The more he has, the more he still requires:
" To-day he's craving, and To-morrow cloy'd;
" New Pleasures grow insipid, when enjoy'd."
So, when our Sheep on Hills refuse to feed,
We straight remove them to the verdant Mead;
[Page 56] Where all, intent, the luscious Herbage graze;
And, for that Day, their Pasture seems to please:
The next, they range around the flow'ry Space;
And bleating tell, they loath the tainted Grass.
COLIN.
'TWAS Yesterday a giddy Sheep I view'd,
Which rose in CUDDY's Fold, and stagg'ring stood;
While one, with burly Horns, secure from Pain,
Ran, enviously, and push'd him down again.
So you, vain jesting Youth! unmov'd with Care,
Insult the hapless Swain, that's in Despair.
MENALCAS.
I nor insulted, nor intended Guile;
And, if I jested, 'twas to make thee smile:
But tell me, Swain, what wond'rous Turn of Fate
O'erclouds thy Face, that look'd serene of late?
[Page 57] What, is thy Harvest blasted on the Ground?
Or has the Royal CAROLINA frown'd?
Unveil thy Griefs, and make thy Sorrows known;
You know, my Friend's Misfortunes are my own.
COLIN.
MY Harvest is not blasted on the Ground,
Nor has the Royal CAROLINA frown'd:
But lately, when the Sun had gaily drest
The lofty Mountains in a purple Vest,
I early rose, to tend my fleecy Care;
Wet was the Grass, and piercing cold the Air.
My lovely SYLVIA, stay behind, I said,
Till I have weav'd a Garland for thy Head;
Till I a Bow'r, with shady Branches, form,
To shun the scorching Ray, or rapid Storm;
And, when the Dew's exhal'd, which Night distill'd,
Bless COLIN with thy Presence in the Field.
[Page 58] She answer'd not; but from her Bosom sent
A deep presaging Sigh, before I went.
The Sun had painted ev'ry Object gay,
When to the chearful Field I took my Way;
The Lark with Mattins welcom'd in the Morn;
The Thrush and Finch sat chirping on the Thorn;
The Swallows round, in airy Circles, flew;
And, ah! poor COLIN then was joyful too:
But suddenly I saw the Mists arise,
And dark'ning Clouds o'erspread the dusky Skies,
Th'Horizon seem'd to cast a gloomy Frown,
While from his airy Height the Lark sunk down
The tuneful Birds their joyous Songs deny'd;
And boding Owls, and sooty Ravens, cry'd.
My drooping Heart, which felt unusual Weight,
Shock'd with such Omens, ceas'd almost to beat:
Yet these, said I, portend no Evil, while
My Royal Mistress condescends to smile:
[Page 59] If She's propitious, what can COLIN fear?
Inur'd the lesser Ills of Life to bear.
Thus said, I took my Way to yonder Grove;
And form'd, with spreading Boughs, an arch'd Alcove:
So close I twisted in each pliant Spray,
As might exclude the Wind, or sunny Ray.
With sweetest Flow'rs I deck'd the mossy Ground,
And strew'd the fragrant Woodbinds all around.
Here, when, said I, my SYLVIA comes a-field,
This grateful Bow'r a safe Retreat shall yield:
If rainy, here she may the Storms evade;
If fair, the Branches will project a Shade:
Here SYLVIA shall, with COLIN, take her Rest;
And COLIN here, with SYLVIA, shall be blest.
As thus I spake, around I cast my Eye,
And saw celestial CELIA drawing nigh:
I saw; but wonder'd why her heav'nly Mien
Was clouded o'er, that us'd to be serene.
[Page 60] CELIA's the Mistress of the flow'ry Plain,
Whose Bounty's known to ev'ry worthy Swain
Not Godlike PAN presided with more Care,
Nor to Arcadian Shepherds was so dear.
When CELIA to the rural Shade retires,
She ev'ry Breast with rising Hope inspires;
Expecting Swains, with joyous Looks, proclaim
The happy Time, and hail the gen'rous Dame:
As languid Plants, which half the Year lie dead,
When Spring approaches, raise their drooping Head.
She cross'd the Plains with a dejected Air;
Her pensive Aspect shew'd her pious Care;
And, loath th'unwelcome Tidings to reveal,
She sighing spoke, and left th'unfinish'd Tale:
" Ah poor unhappy Swain! return, return;
" The sable Clouds foretel a rainy Morn:
" Nor only is the Day o'ercast with Gloom;
" Thy pleasing Hopes are blasted all at home;
[Page 61] " Thy SYLVIA, O!" She said, and dropt the rest;
But my presaging Heart too rightly guess'd:
I silent stood, and spoke my Grief with Tears;
You know, my Heart was firmly link'd to hers.
MENALCAS.
I know, your Hearts are link'd in Friendship fast;
Long may that mutual Bond of Friendship last:
May HYMEN to you both propitious prove,
And Death but late untie the Knot of Love.
COLIN.
O! stop, MENALCAS, and my Loss deplore;
The good, the faithful SYLVIA is no more:
That gloomy Morn she, in my Absence, dy'd;
And rigid Death the last Farewel deny'd.
Another Loss I could content have born;
But must the Loss of SYLVIA always mourn.
[Page 62] My lovely SYLVIA was my softest Theme,
My Song by Day, by Night my pleasing Dream:
But now in Sighs I spend the ling'ring Day;
And, weeping, pass the tardy Night away:
Nor does thy Friend indulge a needless Care;
My Loss is great, and just is my Despair.
MENALCAS.
THY Loss and Sorrows equally are great;
But Death's the Law of Nature, fix'd by Fate:
Our Flocks, our Herds, our All precarious stands;
And fall we must, when Heav'n our Fall commands.
COLIN.
YET Flocks and Herds are with Reluctance spar'd;
And what are Flocks and Herds, with her compar'd?
A hungry Fox stole ten of CUDDY's Lambs,
A lurching Mongrel kill'd their bleating Dams:
[Page 63] Say, did not CUDDY for his Loss repine?
But, ah! what Loss was his, compar'd with mine?
MENALCAS.
I have a Flute, which DAMON lately made;
No Shepherd on a sweeter ever play'd:
I tun'd it Yesterday, and straight a Throng
Of Nymphs and Swains ran crowding to my Song;
My list'ning Ewes, a-while, forsook their Meat;
My tender Lambs, tho' hungry, ceas'd to bleat:
I'll tune again the soft harmonious Lay;
Music, perhaps, may chase thy Cares away.
COLIN.
MENALCAS, Music's for a lighter Ill;
Such Woes as mine would baffle all thy Skill.
Upon his Flute ALEXIS often plays,
And strives to charm my Sorrows with his Lays;
[Page 64] Upon his Flute ALEXIS plays in vain;
His Lays, tho' charming, cannot charm my Pain.
The tuneful Birds rejoice on ev'ry Spray,
My wanton Lambkins in their Pasture play;
In vain the tuneful Birds rejoice, in vain
My wanton Lambkins sport upon the Plain.
WITH chearful Green the spacious Fields are crown'd,
And beauteous Flow'rs adorn the painted Ground;
The snowy Blossoms on the Branches shine,
A pleasing Scene to ev'ry Eye, but mine!
For neither chearful Green, that crowns the Field,
Nor snowy Blossoms, which the Branches yield,
Nor Flow'rs, that spread the painted Meadows o'er,
Delight my Eyes, now SYLVIA is no more.
MENALCAS.
[Page 65]'TIS more than Time thy mournful Dirge to end;
For, see, the whistling Ploughmen homeward tend;
Our fleecy Flocks stand waiting round the Fold;
Damp feel the Dews, the ruffling Breezes cold;
The setting Sun forsakes the blushing Skies,
And hazy Fogs from marshy Grounds arise:
Then fold thy Sheep, thy anxious Cares remove;
Nor weep on Earth, for her who sings above.
On RICHMOND PARK, and ROYAL GARDENS.
OF blissful Groves I sing, and flow'ry Plains:
Ye Sylvan Nymphs, assist my rural Strains.
Shall Windsor Forest gain a deathless Fame,
And grow immortal, as the Poet's Name;
While not a Bard, of all the tuneful Throng,
With these delightful Fields adorns his
This was writ in the Year 1731; since when, great Alterations and Improvements have been made in the Gardens, and several Poems publish'd on the same Subject.
Song?
Thy Gardens, Richmond, boast an equal Theme,
And only ask an equal Muse's Flame.
What, tho' no Virgin Nymphs, of CYNTHIA's Train,
With Belt and Quiver grace the verdant Plain?
[Page 73] What, tho' no fabled consecrated Floods
Flow o'er thy Fields, or murmur thro' thy Woods?
My Song thy real Beauties shall pursue,
And paint the lovely Scenes, and paint 'em true;
A pleasing Task! Nor slight shall be the Praise,
If Royal CAROLINE accept the Lays.
DELIGHTED, often thro' the mazy Groves,
The Muse, in pensive Contemplation, roves;
Or climbs the slow ascending
Richmond Hill.
Hill, whose Brow
Hangs o'er the silver Stream, which rolls below;
Where all around me shining Prospects rise,
And various Scenes invite my gazing Eyes;
And, while I view one Object with Delight,
New pleasing Wonders charm the feasted Sight:
Now this allures, now that attracts it most;
And the first Beauty's in the second lost.
THUS, in a grateful Concert, may we hear
The Sounds at once surprize, and charm our Ear;
The trembling Notes, in hasty Fugues, arise;
And this advances, ere the former flies;
All seem to be confus'd, yet all agree,
To perfect the melodious Harmony.
BENEATH the Mount, with what Majestic Pride
The Sire of Rivers rolls his silver Tide!
Let Poets sing of Hermus' golden Shore,
His amber Foam, and Sands of shining Ore:
Nor Tagus envy we, nor fruitful Nile,
Whose fatt'ning Floods enrich the thirsty Soil:
Happy BRITANNIA boasts as fair a Stream,
As great in Bounties, and as great in Fame;
Since DENHAM's deathless Muse has sung his Tide,
And India's Riches o'er his Surface glide.
OBSEQUIOUS River, when my Eyes survey
Thy Waves, or East, or West, pursue their Way;
Now swiftly roll, to meet the briny Main,
At stated Periods, now return again;
How vain the Schemes of Infidels appear!
How weak their Reas'nings, and the GOD how clear!
Say, Atheists, since you own, by Nature's Laws,
There's no Effect produc'd without a Cause;
Why should the restless Stream run to and fro,
And, with alternate Motion, ebb and flow;
Did not some Being, of superior Force,
Rule the wild Waves, and regulate their Course?
HENCE lofty Windsor to the Sight appears;
And, high in Air, her pompous Turrets rears:
Wide, round her Domes, the spacious Forest shines.
Tho' brighter much in POPE's harmonious Lines:
[Page 76] O! would his tuneful Muse my Breast inspire,
With equal Warmth, with her sublimer Fire;
Then Richmond Hill renown'd in Verse should grow,
And Thames reecho to the Song below;
A second Eden in my Page should shine,
And MILTON's Paradise submit to mine.
OFT, lost in Thought, forgetful of my Way,
I, o'er the Park, thro' Wilds of Beauty, stray;
Where sportive Nature wantons at her Will,
And lavishes her Bloom, uncheck'd by Skill.
Old venerable Trees, majestic, rise,
Sublime in Air, and brave the vaulted Skies;
Which, free from cruel Steel, or Lab'rer's Hand,
In peaceful Age, and hoary Honour, stand.
Here, when AURORA first begins to dawn,
The wakeful Larks spring mounting from the Lawn;
[Page 77] Pois'd by their Plumes, in lofty Flights they play;
With joyful Warblings hail th'approaching Day:
But, when the Sun displays a purple Scene,
And drinks the pearly Dew, that deck'd the Green;
A thousand tuneful Birds in Concert meet,
A thousand tuneful Notes the Groves repeat;
And, when their Music ceases with the Day,
Sweet PHILOMELA chants her pensive Lay.
BUT, hark! I hear a louder Music sound;
From Woods and Vales the various Notes rebound:
'Tis Albion's KING pursues the Royal Chace;
The nimble Stag skims o'er th'unbending Grass:
The Way which Fear directs, he trembling tries;
Nor knows, where Fear directs, or where he flies:
A hundred diff'rent Sounds assail his Ears;
A Death, in ev'ry diff'rent Sound, he fears:
[Page 78] And now he faintly moves a slower Pace,
And closer now the Hounds pursue the Chace;
Till, in Despair, back on his Foes he turns;
Makes feeble Efforts with his branchy Horns;
Short is the Combat, soon he yields his Breath,
And gasping falls, and trembling pants in Death.
Now to a softer Theme descends my Muse;
Thro' artful Walks her pleasing Path pursues;
Where lofty Elms, and conic Lindens rise,
Or where th'extensive Terras charms her Eyes;
Where Elegance and noble Grandeur meet,
As the Ideas of its Mistress, great,
Magnificently fair, majestically sweet.
See, on its Margin, Fields of waving Corn;
These bearded Crops, and Flow'rets this, adorn;
CERES and FLORA lovingly embrace,
And gay Varieties the Landscape grace.
HENCE lead me, Muses, thro' yon arched Grove,
Adorn'd with Sand below, and Leaves above;
Or let me o'er the spacious Oval trace,
Where verdant Carpets spread the lovely Place;
Where Trees in regular Confusion stand,
And sylvan Beauties rise on ev'ry Hand:
Or bear me, Nymphs, to the sequester'd Cell,
Where BOYLE and NEWTON, mighty Sages! dwell;
Whose Fame shall live, altho' the Grot decay,
Long as those sacred Truths their Works display.
HOW sweetly pleasing is this cool Retreat,
When PHOEBUS blazes with meridian Heat!
In vain the fervid Beams around it play;
The rocky Roof repels the scorching Ray;
Securely guarded with a sylvan Scene,
In Nature's Liv'ry drest, for ever green.
TO visit this, the curious Stranger roves,
With grateful Travel, thro' a Wild of Groves;
And, tho' directed, oft mistakes his Way,
Unknowing where the winding Mazes stray;
Yet still his Feet the magic Paths pursue,
Charm'd, tho' bewilder'd, with the pleasing View.
NOT so attractive lately shone the Plain,
A gloomy Waste, not worth the Muses Strain;
Where thorny Brakes the Traveller repell'd,
And Weeds and Thistles overspread the Field;
Till Royal GEORGE, and Heav'nly CAROLINE,
Bid Nature in harmonious Lustre shine;
The sacred Fiat thro' the Chaos rung,
And Symmetry from wild Disorder sprung.
SO, once, confus'd, the barb'rous Nations stood;
Unpolish'd were their Minds, their Manners rude;
[Page 81] Till
Rome her conqu'ring Eagles wide display'd,
And bid the World reform—The World obey'd.
HOW bless'd the Man in these delightful Fields!
New Pleasures each indulgent Moment yields.
Let gayer Minds in Town pursue their Joys,
Exchanging Quietness for Crowds and Noise;
Consume the Night at Masquerade or Play;
Or waste, in busy Idleness, the Day:
I envy not Augusta's pompous Piles,
Since rural Solitude more pleasing smiles.
O Solitude! the Sage's chief Delight!
What Numbers can thy lovely Charms recite!
Hail, peaceful Nymph! thou eldest Thing on Earth!
Nay, like Eternity, thou hadst no Birth:
The Heav'ns alone can thy Commencement tell,
Ere MICHAEL fought, or peccant Angels fell;
[Page 82] Before the Skies with radiant Light were clad,
In awful Gloom, and venerable Shade,
The FATHER thee his sole Companion made.
When to Creation first his Thoughts inclin'd,
And future Worlds were rising in his Mind;
He sat with thee, and plann'd the mighty Scheme;
With thee adjusted the stupendous Frame;
Contriv'd how Globes, self-balanc'd in the Air,
With restless Rounds should rule the circling Year;
How Orbs o'er Orbs in mystic Dance should roll,
What Laws support, and regulate the Whole:
Nor art thou yet impair'd, celestial Dame;
Thy Charms are still attractive, still the same;
With thee the Mind, abstracted from the Crew,
May study Nature, and her Ends pursue;
With thee I hear the feather'd Warblers sing;
With thee survey the Beauties of the Spring,
When Blossoms, Leaves, and Fruits the Branches yield,
And Eden's Glory crowns the happy Field.
HERE first the Muse (auspicious was the Place!)
Rejoic'd to see her Royal Guardian's Face:
How mild, yet how majestic, was her Look!
How sweetly condescending all she spoke!
On ev'ry pleasing Accent Wisdom hung,
And Truth and Virtue dwelt upon her Tongue.
O! were I equal to the glorious Theme,
Then should my Lays immortalize her Fame;
Or paint Great GEORGE in peaceful Laurels drest,
With Albion's Safety lab'ring in his Breast;
Who (while contending Nations round him jar,
And Subjects Wealth supports their Monarchs War)
Guards happy Britain, with his floating Tow'rs,
From purple Slaughter, and invading Pow'rs;
No plund'ring Armies rob our fruitful Plain;
But, bless'd with Peace and Plenty, smiles the Swain.
NOT so he smiles upon the foreign Shores;
But starving walks thro' Nature's lavish Stores;
Poor Peasants with their rigid Burdens groan,
And Till the Glebe for Harvests not their own.
What, tho' their more propitious PHOEBUS shines
With warmer Rays, and chears the curling Vines?
What, tho' rich Olives grace the fertile Soil,
And the hot Climate teems with fatt'ning Oil?
The hungry Farmer views his Crops in vain,
In vain the Vineyard tempts the thirsty Swain;
While their stern Tyrant's arbitrary Pow'r
Rifles the Plains, and ravages their Store:
Thy Sons, BRITANNIA, from such Evils free,
Enjoy the Sweets of Peace and Liberty;
A gracious Sov'reign smiles upon the Throne,
And Heav'n confirms the happy Realm his own.
On the Marriage of his Serene Highness the Prince of Orange.
ILLUSTRIOUS Prince! forgive the feeble Lay,
That now aspires to hail your Nuptial Day;
Nor scorn a Muse, the meanest of the Nine,
Who brings her humble Off'ring to your Shrine.
And you, Imperial Nymph! whose lovely Face
Invites the Hero to your chaste Embrace,
Vouchsafe a Spark of your celestial Fire;
Harmonious Words, and pleasing Thoughts inspire,
Soft, as your Love, and tuneful, as your Lyre:
So shall my Numbers charm the list'ning Ear,
And ev'n the glad NASSAU delighted hear.
[Page 178] NASSAU has long enrich'd the Book of Fame,
And ANNA now adorns the noble Name.
Nations, who saw the Light of ORANGE rise,
With awful Splendor, in the Belgian Skies;
Shall soon behold it with new Lustre shine,
Join'd to a glorious Star, of BRUNSWIC's Line.
SO, where the flowing Sambre gently glides,
The Swain delights to view the beauteous Tides:
But, when his more extended Eye surveys
The shining Torrent join the spacious Maese;
Both Rivers, thus, with friendly Union flow,
And to the Sight superior Beauty show.
WHENE'ER the Gods a noble Race intend,
They suit the Causes to the destin'd End,
Nor yoke unequal Hearts in Nuptial Love:
JOVE's valiant Bird disdains the fearful Dove;
[Page 179] Great Minds, by native Sympathy, combine,
As golden Particles the closest join.
Paternal Virtues in their Bosom roll,
Ally'd in Love by Nobleness of Soul:
Hence Thrones and Sceptres shine neglected Things,
Hence Royal ANNE prefers NASSAU to Kings;
While Britons with united Hearts rejoice,
And willing Senators applaud the Choice,
To see their KING (to Honour ever true)
Discharge the Debt to sacred WILLIAM due;
Immortal WILLIAM! by whose prudent Cares
We yet enjoy the Fruits of all our Wars;
Our Laws, Religion, Liberty, and Peace,
And ev'n the Blessings of the BRUNSWIC Race.
NOR Thou, Illustrious ORANGE! blush to own,
Thy Honour, thus ally'd to Albion's Crown;
[Page 180] Blest with a Princess, in whose Form we trace
Her Father's Majesty, and Mother's Grace;
Bright Orbs of Pow'r, that, with propitious Ray,
Dispel our Clouds, and beautify our Day:
Not as the Comet, raging thro' the Air,
Infects the World with Pestilence and War;
But, like the Sun, their Beams of Goodness glow,
Inspiring Life, and chearing all below.
Such are the glorious SIRE, and gracious DAME,
From whence the beauteous Bride of ORANGE came.
And shall unerring Nature change her Kind?
What Lion e'er produc'd a tim'rous Hind?
The Royal Eagles Royal Eagles breed,
And Heroes from heroic Sires proceed:
Rome's Founder, thus, confess'd his Race Divine;
Thus NASSAU copies the NASSOVIAN Line;
Thus ANNA's noble Stream of Virtue flows,
High, as the Regal Spring, from whence it rose.
[Page 181] Thrice happy Nymph, with ev'ry Grace supply'd!
Thrice happy Prince, with such a heav'nly Bride!
In whom superior Sense with Judgment joins,
Her Beauty much, but more her Merit shines.
How glorious! When such Worth adorns the Great,
We hear, we see, admire, and imitate:
Virtue, in Them, attracts remotest Eyes;
But, in the vulgar Soul, unheeded lies.
As radiant PHOEBUS darts superior Light,
While smaller Planets shun the watchful Sight.
ACCOMPLISH'D thus, let her Example fire
The drooping Muse, and wake the sounding Lyre:
To aid Religion, be her chiefest Care,
(Heav'n justly claims the Soul, it made so fair)
To stem the Torrent of licentious Rage,
And prop the Virtues of a sinking Age;
[Page 182] Exalting Science to her ancient Height,
To raise declining Arts, and make the Rude polite:
While great NASSAU, whom native Glory warms,
Whene'er his Country calls him forth to Arms,
May fire the Belgians in the Field of MARS,
Consult their Peace, or animate their Wars;
Paint his Forefathers to their wond'ring Eye,
And teach 'em how to conquer, or to die;
Like him, who bravely dar'd to break their Chain,
Tho' held by all the Force and Fraud of Spain:
For injur'd Liberty the Sword he draws,
Resolv'd to gain, or perish in the Cause;
And having long the doubtful Combat try'd,
Like CAESAR vanquish'd, and like CAESAR
King WILLIAM's Great-Grandfather, the First great Assertor of the Belgian Liberties, assassinated at Delph.
dy'd;
Tho' diff'rent far the Motives of their Mind;
That fought to conquer, this to save Mankind;
[Page 183] Till prais'd, lamented, envy'd, and admir'd,
The Hero, Patriot, and the Prince expir'd.
O! where did then the Guardian Angels hide?
Nor watch'd to turn the guilty Ball aside;
When he, whom armed Hosts could not withstand,
Now falls a Victim to one Villain's Hand!
BUT rise, ye Muses, quit the pensive Lay:
Nor damp the Joys of this auspicious Day.
Since yet the glorious Name of ORANGE stands,
Since Royal ANNA seals the Nuptial Bands;
Soon may Imperial ADOLPHS rise again,
Again new FRED'RICS thunder on the Main,
Rouzing the Martial Youth to War's Alarms,
(If proud Iberians shine again in Arms)
To guard their Country from tyrannic Pow'r,
And be, what glorious WILLIAM was before.
NOR shall the States invading Forces fear,
Ere pregnant Time the promis'd Heroes bear;
Nor want Allies their Freedom to defend,
Since BRUNSWIC reigns, and ALBION is their Friend.
As branching Oaks protect the rural Swain,
Secure from Summer Heat, and Winter Rain;
So shall our Monarch, with paternal Aid,
His Regal Shelter o'er Batavia spread:
Long as the Sceptre fills his Royal Hand,
A true Palladium shall insure the Land.
AND if the prescient Muses guide my Lay,
Or future Secrets PHOEBUS can display;
The Day shall shine distinguish'd from the rest,
That ANNA dignify'd, and HYMEN blest;
In which AUGUSTUS fortifies his Throne,
And plans a Scheme of Union for his Son;
[Page 185] Bespeaks Allies for Princes yet to come,
New Friends to Britain, and new Foes to Rome.
PROCEED, Great MONARCH! new Allies to gain,
And with new Nuptial Leagues our Peace maintain:
So shall thy beauteous Nymphs secure with Charms
That Safety, other Kings defend with Arms;
They, VENUS like, could MARS himself surprize,
And awe stern Tyrants with their conqu'ring Eyes.
A Description of a Journey To Marlborough, Bath, Portsmouth, &c.
To the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount PALMERSTON.
WHILE some, my Lord, the Roman Coast explore,
Survey the Fanes, and trace their Beauties o'er,
Studious of Arts, by which ingenious BOYLE
Now draws the Plan, or now erects the Pile;
More bounded in my Fancy, and my Purse,
I, o'er domestic Plains, pursue my Course;
And ev'ry pleasing Object in the Way,
The Muse shall sing, if you accept her Lay.
WHEN CANCER fiercely glow'd with PHOEBUS' Heat,
And Clouds of Dust flew ev'n in Brentford-street;
O'er Hounslow-heath my early Course I steer,
For Robbers fam'd; but I no Robbers fear:
Let Gold, like Guilt, increase the Miser's Grief;
A Poet's Purse, like Virtue, dares a Thief.
Colebrook I quickly pass, and soon my Eyes
Survey the Royal Tow'rs of Windsor rise:
Charm'd with the Theme of POPE's harmonious Song,
I check my Steed, and slowly move along;
As ling'ring Mariners contract their Sails,
To feast on Odours of Arabian Gales.
But lest, my Lord, your Patience should accuse
The dull Narration of a tedious Muse,
I will not sing each Trifle that occurr'd,
How much I eat, and drank, and whipp'd, and spurr'd:
Till
* Hatford ends the Travel of the Day;
Where kind
†MENALCAS, Partner of my Soul,
Revives me with his friendly, flowing Bowl;
Yet forces no intemp'rate Bumpers round,
Except when DELIA's Health the Glasses crown'd.
A thousand Labours past, we now run o'er,
What Scenes we acted, and what Toils we bore:
No Party Feuds, nor Politics we name;
The Joys of Friendship mostly were our Theme.
Warn'd by the Clock, we now retire to Rest,
Till rising PHOEBUS streak'd the purple East.
Breakfast soon o'er, we trace the verdant Field,
Where sharpen'd Scythes the lab'ring Mowers wield:
Straight Emulation glows in ev'ry Vein;
I long to try the curvous Blade again.
AS when, at Hockley-hole, old Gamesters view
Young Combatants their Martial Sports renew,
A youthful Vigour fires their ancient Soul,
Nor former Wounds their Courage can controul;
Again they mount the Stage, again they play,
Again they bear the noble Prize away:
So with Ambition burns my daring Breast;
I snatch the Scythe, and with the Swains contest;
Behind 'em close, I rush the sweeping Steel;
The vanquish'd Mowers soon confess my Skill.
NOT long at this laborious Sport I stay;
But, with my Friend, to
* Charlton take my Way:
'Twas there, my Lord, induc'd by potent Ale,
Swains leave their Ploughs, and Threshers quit their Flail:
[Page 209] Your
*Bounty soon provokes the Bells to ring;
Clowns dance, Boys hollow, and hoarse Coblers sing.
Not greater was the Joy in ancient Greece,
When AESON's Son produc'd the Golden Fleece,
Than now appear'd in ev'ry Thresher's Breast,
Soon as your Gold sung Prologue to the Feast.
WHY should the Muse recite our Bill of Fare,
And with a long Description tire your Ear?
None can your gen'rous Treat with Want reproach;
All eat enough, and many drank too much:
Full twenty Threshers quaff around the Board;
All name their Toast, and ev'ry one, my Lord.
No Cares, no Toils, no Troubles now appear;
For Troubles, Toils, and Cares are drown'd in Beer;
Till soon the chol'ric Fumes of Liquor rise,
Flush in their Face, and sparkle in their Eyes:
[Page 210] They now the rustic Feats of Manhood boast,
Who best could reap, or mow, or thresh the most:
Contention doubtful! All with Anger burn,
While each appears a Hero in his Turn:
Hard Words succeed; so far can Beer prevail,
That Blows are menac'd, ev'n without the Flail;
Till thus our Landlord, rising from his Chair,
Like prudent NESTOR, stops impending War:
" WHAT Madness, Friends, what Madness can engage
" Your Minds to burn with this unseemly Rage?
" For Shame, stain not with Blood our grateful Chear;
" Desist from Blood—or else desist from Beer.
" Are these the only Thanks you give my Lord?
" And is it thus his Favours you reward?
" If no Respect you pay this chearful Feast,
" Yet pay the noble Founder some, at least—"
HE said: Abash'd the conscious Heroes stood,
Shook Hands, and thirsted more for Beer—than Blood:
Another Glass to TEMPLE's Health they pour;
And praise their Liquor much, his Bounty more.
OFT as this
* Day returns, shall
Threshers claim
Some Hours of Rest sacred to TEMPLE's Name;
Oft as this Day returns, shall TEMPLE chear
The Threshers Hearts with Mutton, Beef, and Beer:
Hence, when their Childrens Children shall admire
This Holiday, and, whence deriv'd, inquire;
Some grateful Father, partial to my Fame,
Shall thus describe from whence, and how it came.
" HERE, Child, a Thresher liv'd in ancient Days;
" Quaint Songs he sung, and pleasing Roundelays;
[Page 212] " A gracious QUEEN his Sonnets did commend;
" And some great Lord, one TEMPLE, was his Friend:
" That Lord was pleas'd this Holiday to make,
" And feast the Threshers, for that Thresher's sake."
THUS shall Tradition keep my Fame alive;
The Bard may die, the Thresher still survive.
NEXT, over Pewsey's fertile Fields I haste,
Fields with the bearded Crops of CERES grac'd!
While pleasing Hopes my grateful Bosom chear;
But soon they vanish'd—
*STANLEY was not here.
FROM hence the Muse to silver Kennet flies,
On whose green Margin Hertford's Turrets rise.
Here often round the verdant Plain I stray,
Where
†THOMSON sung his bold, unfetter'd Lay;
[Page 213] Or climb the winding, mazy
*Mountain's Brow;
And, tho' I swiftly walk, ascend but slow.
The spiral Paths in gradual Circles lead,
Increase my Journey, and elude my Speed:
Yet, when at length I reach the lofty Height,
Towns, Vallies, Rivers, Meadows meet my Sight;
A thousand grateful Objects round me smile,
Whose various Beauties overpay my Toil.
So may you often see the studious Youth
Begin the long, laborious Search for TRUTH;
How slow his Progress, but how great his Pain!
How many mazy Problems vex his Brain!
Before he o'er the Hills of Science rise,
Where, far from vulgar Sight, the Goddess lies:
Yet, there arriv'd, he ends the happy Chace;
Reflects, with Pleasure, on his glorious Race;
[Page 214] Sees the bright Nymph so many Charms display,
As crown the Labours of the lengthen'd Way.
WITHIN the Basis of the verdant Hill,
A beauteous Grot confesses HERTFORD's Skill;
Who, with her lovely Nymphs, adorns the Place;
Gives ev'ry polish'd Stone its proper Grace;
Now varies rustic Moss about the Cell;
Now fits the shining Pearl, or purple Shell:
CALYPSO thus, attended with her Train,
With rural Palaces adorns the Plain;
Nor with more Elegance her Grots appear,
Nor with more Beauty shines th' Immortal Fair.
THE Muse her Journey, next, to Bath pursues;
Bath, fix'd by Nature to delight the Muse!
Where flow'ry Shrubs, and curling Vines unite;
Hills, Vales, and waving Woods attract the Sight;
[Page 215] A vary'd Scene! For Nature here displays
A thousand lovely Charms, a thousand Ways:
ALLEN attends, to dress her beauteous Face,
With Handmaid Art improving ev'ry Grace;
Now forms the verdant Walk, or sunny Glade,
Or pours the Waters o'er the steep Cascade;
Or now contracts 'em with judicious Skill,
And leads 'em, gently murm'ring, down the Hill.
A Son of AESCULAPIUS here I meet;
Polite his Manners, and his Temper sweet:
His sage Discourse, with soft, persuasive Art,
Charm'd the pleas'd Ear, till it improv'd the Heart:
Bright Truth, and Virtue, were his lovely Theme;
Which seem'd more lovely, when describ'd by him.
VARIOUS Diversions here employ the Fair;
To Dancing some, and some to Play repair:
The Dame who bad me sing JEHOVAH's Praise:
Uncharm'd with all the flutt'ring Pomp of Pride,
Heav'n, and domestic Care her Time divide:
In her own Breast she seeks a calm Repose,
And shuns the crowded Rooms of Belles and Beaux;
Where COQUETILLA oft her Eyes has roll'd,
Oft won a worthless Heart, and lost her Gold.
FROM Bath, I travel thro' the sultry Vale,
Till Sal'sb'ry Plains afford a cooling Gale:
Arcadian Plains, where PAN delights to dwell,
In verdant Beauties cannot these excel:
These too, like them, might gain immortal Fame,
Resound with CORYDON and THYRSIS' Flame;
If, to his Mouth, the Shepherd would apply
His mellow Pipe, or vocal Music try:
[Page 217] But, to his Mouth, the Shepherd ne'er applies
His mellow Pipe, nor vocal Music tries:
Propt on his Staff, he indolently stands;
His Hands support his Head, his Staff his Hands;
Or, idly basking in the sunny Ray,
Supinely lazy, loiters Life away.
Here, as I pass'd the Plains, (a lovely Scene,
Array'd in Nature's Liv'ry, gaily green!)
On ev'ry Side the wanton Lambkins play'd,
Whose artless Bleatings rural Music made;
Too harsh perhaps to please politer Ears,
Yet much the sweetest Tune the Farmer hears.
SOON as the Plains are ravish'd from my Sight,
New diff'rent Prospects equally delight;
Where
*PEMBROKE's Turrets charm my gazing Eyes,
And awful Statues solemnly surprize:
[Page 218] Bards, Sages, Heroes, Patriots, Princes stand,
A mixt, majestic, venerable Band!
Here mighty HOMER, PHOEBUS' eldest Son,
Or sings, or seems to sing, in breathing Stone.
See Martial PHOCION silently persuade,
And smooth tongu'd CICERO, in Marble, plead:
Here shines great POMPEY, greater JULIUS there,
With daring BRUTUS, honestly severe:
Friendship, and Freedom in his Soul contend;
Forgive him, CAESAR, if he wrong'd his Friend!
Tho' BRUTUS' Dagger pierc'd thy Bosom thro',
'Twas Liberty, not Malice, struck the Blow.
Unhappy BRUTUS, destin'd to withstand
Thy Friend's Ambition with a fatal Hand!
Unhappy CAESAR, whose Ambition mov'd
That fatal Hand, to murder whom it lov'd!
Hadst thou, like Britain's MONARCH, strove to save
Expiring Nations, not the World enslave;
[Page 219] Thy Laurels then had still unblasted stood,
Nor BRUTUS e'er been stain'd with CAESAR's Blood.
NOT far from hence, old Sarum's Ruins stand,
High on a bleak and barren Tract of Land;
A Mount, which once sustain'd a City's Weight,
And lofty Tow'rs adorn'd its awful Height;
Till Want of Water forc'd the thirsty Crowd
To seek the Vale, where crystal Rivers flow'd.
There
*POORE the first auspicious Work began;
First, for a Temple, drew the glorious Plan;
Then quickly makes the sacred Columns rise,
And bids the lofty Spire invade the Skies.
The prudent People too, with equal Haste,
New Dwellings built, which far their old surpast:
Cautious of Thirst, they make the docile Tide,
In winding Currents, thro' the City glide:
[Page 220] In ev'ry Street the wanton NAIADS play,
To ev'ry Door their liquid Urns convey;
In which the lately thirsty Peasant spies
At once the cooling Draught, and scaly Fries;
Scenes, which, before, the lofty Mount deny'd!
Hence let Ambition learn to check its Pride:
High Stations often bring a Weight of Cares;
True Happiness is found in humble Spheres:
This useful Truth let Sarum's Glory show,
Which faded when on high, but flourishes below.
I next to BATHURST's
*rural Seat ascend,
BATHURST, my infant Muse's gen'rous Friend!
And, as around his spacious Park I stray'd,
Charm'd with the Prospect, which the Fields display'd,
Musing on Verse, the willing Numbers came,
My Song began, and Clarendon my Theme.
[Page 221] What sweeter Subject could I wish to chuse?
What Scenes more lovely can delight a Muse?
See, FLORA paints the Ground with vary'd Dyes,
And fragrant Shrubs with Odours fill the Skies!
Here curling Vines their luscious Sweets disclose,
There fair POMONA loads the blushing Boughs:
See, fruitful CERES crowns the Vales with Corn,
And fleecy Flocks the verdant Hills adorn!
Here waving Trees project a cooling Shade,
Where BATHURST oft converses with the Dead;
Reads over what the ancient Sages wrote;
Nor only reads, but acts as Sages taught;
Improves the present Hour, that Fortune gives;
Nor trusts To-morrow, but To-day he lives.
As thus my careless Lay, unlabour'd, flows,
Before my Eyes a
*Pile of Ruins rose;
[Page 222] Whose rugged Walls, like native Rock-work, shone;
For Time had turn'd the Cement into Stone.
Our Second HENRY here, if Fame be true,
Measur'd the Prince's Right, and People's Due;
Made Laws to bound the Priests and Barons Claim—
Nor ev'n those Laws did haughty BECKET blame;
BECKET! true Tyrant of the Roman State,
Curs'd with Religion just enough to hate;
Whose stern, ambitious Zeal his King defy'd,
And damn'd all those, who dar'd oppose his Pride.
O Thou Supreme! whose Mercy ever shone
The best, the brightest Jewel in thy Crown!
Never let me such cruel Faith approve,
Which bids me hate, whom Heav'n commands to love!
Let Christian Charity incline my Mind
To wish the Happiness of all Mankind!
[Page 223] In social Friendship always let me live,
Slow to be angry, easy to forgive!
PAULTONS affords me next a kind Retreat,
Where crowding Joys my grateful Heart dilate;
To see the Friend, who first my Lays approv'd,
Who loves the Muse, and by her is belov'd;
Who taught her tender Pinions how to fly,
Told when she crept too low, or soar'd too high.
O STANLEY! if, forgetful of thy Love,
I e'er to Gratitude rebellious prove;
Still may I want a Friend, but never find;
May FORTUNE, PHOEBUS, STANLEY, prove unkind!
HERE often thro' the gloomy Woods I rove,
Pleas'd with the silent Horror of the Grove.
And now the Lawn, and winding Walks delight;
And now the Memphian Turret charms my Sight:
[Page 224] Here conic Firs in graceful Order stand;
Tall Cedars there, the Growth of Syrian Land.
Lead me, ye sacred DRYADS! leads me thro'
Your sylvan Scenes, where future Navies grow;
Where lofty Oaks their branching Arms extend,
And tow'ring Pines to kiss the Clouds ascend;
Where op'ning Glades admit the sunny Ray,
Or venerable Groves exclude the Day.
There let me Knaves, and Fools, and Fops despise,
And think of Actions worthy of the Wise.
MY Friend and me, Southampton next receives;
Southampton, wash'd with THETIS' silver Waves:
Upon whose sandy Margin
* Bevis rears
His Head, on which a stately Dome appears;
Where British SCIPIO, crown'd with Martial Bays,
In Solitude enjoys his ancient Days:
[Page 225] Yet, still inclin'd to conquer, wages here,
With stubborn Woods and Wilds, innoxious War;
Subdues the native Rudeness of the Soil,
And makes the barren Sand with Verdure smile;
Bends the young Plant obedient to his Will,
Or thro' the Vally leads the crystal Rill;
Sublimes the Mount, or bids the Mole subside,
To stretch the Prospect o'er the lucid Tide:
The Foils of Art illustrate his Design;
And make the Di'mond NATURE brighter shine.
CHARM'D with the Beauties of the silver Sea,
We board a Ship, and skim the watry Way:
Blown with propitious Gales, we quickly view
BRITANNIA's Strength, her Guard, and Glory too;
Where
*GEORGE's dreadful Eagles waiting stood,
To bear his fatal Thunder o'er the Flood.
[Page 226] The wondrous Scene delights my gazing Eyes,
At once imparting Pleasure and Surprize:
Intrepid Sailers, swarming in the Sky,
Intent on Bus'ness, diff'rent Labours try:
Some stride the Yard, or tow'ring Mast ascend;
Some on the Ropes, in airy Crowds, depend;
Thick as the Insects, round the Poplar, play,
When PHOEBUS gilds 'em with a Western Ray.
BUT unexpected Dangers oft deceive
The daring Man, who tempts the foamy Wave:
While on the Fleet we all delighted gaze,
The sudden Winds arise, and sweep the Seas;
With rapid Force they fly, and from the Ship
Disjoin the Boat, and drive it o'er the Deep:
Our cautious Pilot quickly shifts the Sails,
Reverts his Course against the furious Gales.
[Page 227] O CHLOE! then what ruthless Pains distrest
Thy dizzy Head, and rack'd thy tender Breast!
How often did the Bard thy Fate bemoan!
How often did he wish thy Pains his own!
How did the TRITONS, mov'd with Pity, gaze
On thy fair Face, distorted twenty Ways!
Yet, tho' distorted, still thy Features show
Bright in Distress, and innocent in Woe.
So VENUS oft her silver Light displays,
Thro' Ev'ning Mists, that rise to cloud her Rays.
BUT NEPTUNE now, who pity'd CHLOE's Pain,
Returns the Boat; we steer our Course again,
At Six, we safely land at Port smouth Key,
And soon forget the Dangers of the Sea.
Straight to some hospitable Inn we haste,
Revive our Spirits with a sweet Repast:
[Page 228] The smiling Glass, with rosy Liquor crown'd,
Sacred to friendly Healths, goes chearful round;
While Time, in mirthful Converse, sweetly flows,
Till gentle Sleep invites us to Repose.
THE Morning come, we to the Wharfs repair,
Survey the mighty Magazines of War:
Tremendous Rows of Cannon meet our Eyes;
And Iron Deaths, in massy Mountains, rise:
Store-house of MARS! where, rang'd in Order, lay
Ten thousand Thunders for some fatal Day.
DEPARTING hence, the Dock we travel round,
Where lab'ring Shipwrights rattling Axes sound:
Some bend the stubborn Planks, while others rear
The lofty Mast, or crooked Timber square;
Some ply their Engines, some direct the Toil,
And carefully inspect the mighty Pile;
The winged Castle ventures from the Shore.
So, when the youthful Crane intends to fly
Her first long Journey thro' the spacious Sky;
Before she rears herself sublime in Air,
She ranges ev'ry Plume with prudent Care;
Tries if her Pinions can her Flight sustain;
Then springs away, and soars above the Main.
BUT see! the smoking firy Forge appears;
Vulcanian Sounds surprize our list'ning Ears:
See! busy Smiths around their Anvils sweat;
Their brawny Arms the glowing Anchor beat;
Alternately the chiming Hammers fall,
And loud Notes echo thro' the sooty Hall.
Such, haply, on the sounding Anvil rung,
When first the Harp melodious TUBAL strung:
[Page 230] As TUBAL-CAIN the ductile Metal wrought,
And VULCAN's heav'nly Art to Mortals taught;
The Brother, pleas'd to hear his Hammers chime,
Soon harmoniz'd their Notes to proper Time:
Man's Bosom then sonorous Organs warm'd,
The softer Lyre his gloomy Sorrows charm'd;
While Tyrants Hearts unusual Pity found,
And savage Tempers soften'd with the Sound.
'TWAS now the Time, when PHOEBUS' piercing Ray
Shot down direct, and measur'd half the Day:
A bold
*Commander luckily we meet,
Who courteously invites us to the Fleet:
A Table elegantly spread we found,
And loyal Healths the Captain pushes round;
AUGUSTUS first, and all the Royal Line,
Give sweeter Flavour to the sparkling Wine;
[Page 231] WAGER, and NORRIS, next, who boldly reign,
In floating Castles, Monarchs of the Main.
BUT now again our winged Sails we spread,
Again we visit Paulton's sylvan Shade;
Where, parting from my Friend, I mount my Steed,
And, o'er the Wilds of Wellow, urge his Speed:
Wilds, which were lately sterile, as the Coast,
Where patient CATO march'd his fainting Host!
Nor could the Swain explore a cooling Shade,
When fervid PHOEBUS burnt his glowing Head;
Till CHANDOS bad the dreary Desert smile
With verdant Groves, and beautify'd the Soil:
He said; ten thousand Trees adorn'd the Plain,
Ten thousand Shades, delightful to the Swain.
HENCE, o'er the Plains, and fruitful Fields I pass,
Full forty Miles, till Witney ends my Race.
In whom the Scholar, Friend, and Critic join;
Who freely judges of an Author's Thoughts,
Improves his Beauties, and corrects his Faults;
Severely kind, and candidly severe;
Polite, as Courtiers; and, as Truth, sincere;
Who, in MINERVA's Temple, taught our Youth
The Path to Wisdom, Virtue, Honour, Truth;
Till having, with a gen'rous Mind, bestow'd
The Flow'r of all his Years in doing Good;
Fatigu'd with Labours, and with Age decay'd,
Retires, with Honour, to the rural Shade.
SO, when the Prince of Rivers, fruitful Nile,
Has flow'd, and fatten'd all the Memphian Soil,
Spent all the Richness, that his Waves contain,
Back to his Banks, he draws his humid Train.
I pay my Off'rings next at PHOEBUS' Shrine,
Oxford, the Seat of all the tuneful Nine.
Forgive me, God of Verse, who daring greet
Thy sacred Temples with unhallow'd Feet!
As pious Mussulmen to Mecca roam,
Zealous to worship at their Prophet's Tomb;
So comes the Poet to thy rev'rend Fanes,
Invoking thee to aid his humble Strains.
O! might a Spark of thy celestial Flame
But raise my Numbers equal to my Theme,
ALFRED immortal in my Page should shine;
ALFRED, the Monarch, Hero, and Divine!
Who, having bravely all his Foes o'erthrown,
Advanc'd thy Kingdom, and confirm'd his own;
Water'd his Realm with the Pierian Spring,
Recall'd the banish'd Arts, and bad the Muses sing.
[Page 234] Then should my Numbers sound with
*WICKHAM's Praise;
Nor less should
†FOXE's Fame adorn my Lays,
Whose pious Care the decent Fabric rear'd,
Which kindly shelter'd the unworthy Bard;
Nor the unworthy Bard should leave unpaid
The grateful Debt, contracted while he stay'd:
Thy Favours, chiefly, WINDER, should be known,
In lasting Numbers, tuneful as thy own.
Thee, BODLEY, would I sing; who can refuse
A Verse to BODLEY, Patron of the Muse?
Whose letter'd Bounty to the World declares
The treasur'd Wisdom of three thousand Years.
Nor should the Muse forget the
§Prelate's Fame,
Who grac'd the River with a stately Frame,
[Page 235] Known by the flow'ry Meads, which round it lie,
And beauteous Walks, that charm the Student's Eye;
Where courtly ADDISON attun'd his Lays,
And rais'd his own, by singing DRYDEN's Praise.
Hail, happy Bard! whose Genius still could shine
In ev'ry Art; for ev'ry Art was thine:
Whether thou didst the Critic's Pen engage,
The Critic's Pen improv'd the Poet's Rage;
Whether thou didst the Hero's Deeds rehearse,
The Hero's Deeds shone brighter in thy Verse:
Or did thy tragic Muse sublimely tell,
How stubborn CATO for his Country fell;
Parties no more retain'd their factious Hate;
All pity'd CAESAR's, honour'd CATO's Fate:
Nor less thy soft diurnal Essays please,
That Glass, where ev'ry Fool his Folly sees;
Where Virtue shines with such attractive Grace,
She tempts the Vicious to her chaste Embrace.
My Thoughts and Actions o'er Life's devious Tide!
If Pride, or Passion check my doubtful Sail,
Let thy Instructions lend a friendly Gale,
To waft me to the peaceful, happy Shore,
Where thou, immortal Bard! art gone before:
Then those who grant me not a Poet's Name,
Shall own I left behind a better Fame.
PENELOPE to ULYSSES.
Paraphras'd from OVID.
THESE Lines I send, impatient of your Stay,
To you, my Lord, who kill me with Delay;
Yet crave not any Answer back, beside
Yourself, the best of Answers to your Bride.
Sure Troy, so hateful to the Grecian Dames,
Is ruin'd now, with dire, consuming Flames;
Tho' scarcely Troy, nor all her King could boast,
Was worth the Trouble, which her Ruin cost.
O! had lewd PARIS sunk beneath the Tide,
When, o'er the Seas, he sought the Spartan Bride;
I had not then accus'd the ling'ring Day,
Nor weav'd, to charm the tedious Night away;
Lain weeping, cold and comfortless, till Morn.
WHENE'ER of Dangers in your Camp I heard,
Those Dangers threaten'd you, I always fear'd:
For Love, like mine, no cold Indiff'rence bears;
It feeds on tim'rous Thoughts, and anxious Cares.
I fansy'd, furious Trojans round thee came;
And trembling, ever dreaded HECTOR's Name:
If any said, ANTILOCHUS was slain,
ANTILOCHUS was he who caus'd my Pain:
Or, if in borrow'd Arms PATROCLUS bled,
I wept, because his Craft no better sped:
When Rhodian Blood had bath'd the Lycian Spear,
The
Rhodian *Youth again renew'd my Care:
In fine, whatever Grecian Chief was kill'd,
My fearful Heart, like srigid Ice, was chill'd;
[Page 239] Lest flatt'ring Fame my doubtful Ears should cheat,
And, for my Lord's, proclaim another's Fate:
But Heav'n, propitious to my chaste Desire,
Preserv'd you safe, and Troy consum'd with Fire.
BUT now the other Grecian Chiefs return,
And on their smoking Altars Off'rings burn;
Their useless Arms they consecrate to Peace,
And Trojan Spoils the Grecian Temples grace:
Each youthful Bride some pleasing Gift affords,
To welcome home their safe-returning Lords;
Their safe-returning Lords, in Songs of Joy,
Resound the vanquish'd Fates of ruin'd Troy:
The wond'ring Sages crowd around to hear,
The trembling Girls admire the Tales of War:
The Wives stand list'ning, while their Husbands tell,
How Greece had conquer'd, and how Ilion fell:
[Page 240] One stains a Table with the purple Draught,
And shews the furious Battles, which you fought;
Paints, with the Wine, which from the Glass he pours,
Camps, Rivers, Hills, and all the Trojan Tow'rs:
And, This, says he, is the Sigean Plain;
And here the silver Simois rolls his Train;
There stood old PRIAM's stately Palace, here
ACHILLES pitch'd his Tent, ULYSSES there:
Here mangled HECTOR, dreadful in his Fall,
Affrights the Steeds, that drag him round the Wall.
Your Son, who sent by me to NESTOR's Court,
To seek his Father, brought me this Report
From NESTOR's Mouth, and how the Thracian Lord,
In Sleep, became a Victim to your Sword;
How DOLON fell into your crafty Snare—
But, O! ULYSSES, you too boldly dare;
Too fearless, thro' the Camp of Foes you rove,
Mindful of Wiles, forgetful of your Love;
One Friend alone, to aid you in the Fight.
It was not thus you rashly us'd to go
Among the midnight Terrors of the Foe;
Fondly of me you formerly have thought,
With Prudence acted, and with Caution fought.
Heav'n knows, with Fear my trembling Bosom beat,
To hear my Son your daring Deeds relate;
Till told how you victoriously return'd,
Safe, to your Camp, with Thracian Spoils adorn'd.
BUT what avails it me, your Arms have thrown
Troy's stately Walls, and lofty Turrets down?
As when they stood, if I am robb'd of thee,
Troy's fall'n to others, standing still to me;
To others, who, with captive Oxen, toil
To turn the Glebe, and till the Trojan Soil;
[Page 242] And while, with crooked Ploughs, they discompose
Th'ill-bury'd Ashes of their slaughter'd Foes;
While Phrygian Fields, grown fat with native Blood,
Bear fruitful Crops, where stately Ilion stood;
While verdant Harvests hide their ruin'd Wall,
I mourn my absent Lord, who wrought its Fall;
Nor can I know the Land, where you reside,
Nor who, nor what detains you from your Bride.
WHATEVER Sailers on our Coast appear,
(Hopeful to find some Tidings of my Dear)
I fly to them, and ask 'em o'er and o'er,
If e'er they saw you on some foreign Shore?
Then to their Hands a Letter I impart,
To give it you, the Partner of my Heart;
If Chance, or Destiny should ever prove
So kind to lead them to my absent Love.
WE sought for you at ancient NESTOR's Court;
But sought in vain, we heard no true Report:
We sent to ask the Spartans too; but they
Knew not the Climate, where you, ling'ring, stay.
O! had APOLLO sav'd his sacred Town—
Ye Gods! why did I ever wish it down?
If that were standing, and ULYSSES there,
I nothing, but the Chance of War, should fear:
I should not then be singly curst to cry;
Others would fear the War, no less than I.
But now a thousand Whimsies feed my Care,
Nor know I what to hope, or what to fear;
Yet fearing all, that Fancy can suggest,
Unnumber'd Troubles rack my anxious Breast:
Upon the Land whatever Dangers reign,
I fear those Dangers make you there remain;
[Page 244] Upon the Seas whatever Storms increase,
I fear those Storms detain you on the Seas.
While thus my foolish Thoughts uncertain rove,
Perhaps you revel with a foreign Love;
Perhaps you ridicule your Bride at home,
Tell how she spins, or drudges in the Loom:
Suspicious Thoughts! that vex my jealous Mind,
Begone, and vanish into empty Wind!
If cruel Fate did not obstruct the Way,
My Lord would never make so long Delay.
Your long Delay my Father often blames,
And often chides me for my constant Flames:
My constant Flames shall ever true remain;
Let Fathers chide, and Suiters court in vain.
At length my Sire, who finds he can't remove
My Faith from you, nor shake my settled Love,
Remits his Anger, soften'd with my Pray'rs;
Yet still a Crowd of Suiters teaze my Ears;
[Page 245] From various Realms they come to seek your Crown,
And feast, and reign securely in your Throne:
'Twould tire me ev'n to count their Number o'er,
MEDON, PISANDER, and a hundred more!
All bent on Love, and Robbers of the State,
And All, by your pernicious Absence, great!
To crown your Shame, the Beggar IRUS preys
Upon your Sheep, and all the fattest slays:
And ev'n your Shepherd, faithless to his Lord,
Slaughters your Lambs, to grace the Suiter's Board:
Nor have we Strength, their Rapine to oppose;
For how can Three resist so many Foes?
Your feeble Wife, your Father worn with Age,
Your tender Son, too weak to check their Rage;
For whom they lately crafty Ambush laid,
And menac'd Death on his devoted Head;
When, mocking all their Stratagems, he crost
The Seas, to seek you on the Pylian Coast.
And guard his Life, till ours submit to Fate:
So may he close our Eyes with decent Care;
Such is your Servant's, such his Nurse's Pray'r.
SINCE then your aged Father, feeble grown,
Amidst your Foes, cannot defend your Crown;
Your Wife, too weak to chase the Foes away,
Your Son, too young to bear the Regal Sway;
Haste, haste, ULYSSES, to your Royal Seat;
For you alone can cure our troubled State:
Think of your Son, who wants you to inspire
His Soul with all the Virtues of his Sire:
Think, on the Brink of Fate your Father lies:
Return, my Lord, return and close his Eyes:
Think of your faithful Wife, whose youthful Face,
At your Departure, blush'd with blooming Grace:
[Page 247] But now I blush with blooming Grace no more;
Tears, for your Absence, cloud my Beauty o'er.
O! may you soon return, before I prove
An ancient Dame, unworthy of your Love.
FELIX and CONSTANCE.
A POEM, taken from BOCCACE.
To the Right Honourable the Countess of POMFRET.
BLOWN on the rolling Surface of the Deep,
The mourning Maid at length reclines to Sleep;
While conscious Visions labour in her Breast,
And airy Spectres discompose her Rest.
Sometimes she seems upon her native Shore,
Bless'd with the beauteous Youth, as heretofore;
Hears him converse, while from his tuneful Tongue
Melodious Sense, in melting Music, rung:
[Page 254] Sometimes she finds, or seems at least to find,
His shatter'd Vessel forc'd before the Wind,
With foaming Waves, and furious Tempests tost,
The Mast, and broken Sails, and Sailers lost:
Sometimes her Dream, in frightful Forms, display'd
A Crowd of Martyrs, cruel Love had made;
Lamenting THISBE's Shade before her stands,
Shews her capacious Wound, and purple Hands;
Now Lyric SAPPHO in the Tide expires,
Now faithful PORCIA eats the living Fires.
At length, awaking from her Dream, she hears
A Latian Voice, which thus salutes her Ears:
UNHAPPY Christian Maid! (for such, at least,
You, by your decent Habit, seem exprest)
Say whence you came, and hither how convey'd,
Expos'd to Sea, without the Seaman's Aid?
SOON as the Nymph her native Language hears,
Her frighted Soul was fill'd with Doubts and Fears:
She thought, the adverse Wind, or refluent Main,
Had forc'd her back to Liparis again;
Till, starting up, a spacious Land she spies;
Barbarian Caves and Cots her Sight surprize:
She sees a Matron on the neighb'ring Strand;
Nor knows the Matron, nor the neighb'ring Land.
O! whither, whither am I blown? she cries;
What Dens and Caves appear before my Eyes?
And who inhabit 'em? or Beasts of Prey,
Or Men, less kind, and crueller than they?
To whom the Matron: Fly, nor dare to trust.
The faithless People of this hated Coast:
Here Sailers oft their hapless Fate deplore;
Who scape the Seas, are wreck'd upon the Shore:
[Page 256] For, when the forceful Wind, and foaming Deep,
To this inhuman Coast impel the Ship;
Around the Beach the rude Barbarians stray,
Destroy the Mariners, and seize their Prey;
By others Death, they keep themselves alive,
Subsist by Rapine, and by Ruin thrive.
UNHAPPY Fate! the mourning Nymph reply'd;
O! had I perish'd in the safer Tide!
For much I fear, the Land I now survey,
Dooms me to greater Evils, than the Sea:
And yet what greater Ills can Fate provide,
Than thus to seek for Death, and be deny'd?
Not so my FELIX scap'd the raging Waves;
Him NEPTUNE sunk, and me unkindly saves;
Saves, only to increase my former Woes;
To fall, perhaps, by more ungen'rous Foes;
[Page 257] Or to indulge some lustful Tyrant's Will:
But, O ye Heav'ns! avert the fatal Ill;
Protect my Honour in this foreign Coast,
The only Blessing which I have not lost!
THE list'ning Matron wonders with Surprize;
Nor hears, unmov'd, the weeping Damsel's Cries:
But leads her to her neighb'ring Cottage, where
She chears her fainting Soul with homely Fare;
Condoles her Grief, and begs her to disclose
Her Country, Cares, and Cause of all her Woes.
Excited by her Words, the pensive Maid
Preludes with Sighs, and thus, reluctant, said:
O hospitable Dame! why would you move
A Wretch to tell a Tale of hapless Love?
Which, in relating, must renew my Grief;
Nor can I hope, nor you bestow, Relief:
[Page 258] Yet, since you seem a Partner of my Care,
'Tis just a Partner know the Weight I bear.
NOT far from Aetna's flaming Mount I came,
From Liparis, and CONSTANCE is my Name:
Great Honours and Estates my Sire possess'd,
And, O! too much to make his Daughter bless'd.
I once with Fame and Fortune was supply'd,
Nor envy'd Empresses their Pomp and Pride;
Now, like a Meteor, fallen from its Height,
My Glory's vanish'd, and extinct my Light—
Full twenty Years in Happiness I pass'd,
And ev'ry Year was happier than the last.
Young FELIX then his Love began to show;
(Young FELIX was the Cause of all my Woe)
A beauteous Youth, endow'd with manly Grace;
But far his noble Soul excell'd his Face:
[Page 259] And, tho' his niggard Fate had Wealth deny'd,
The Want of Wealth by Virtue was supply'd.
Two Years to win my doubtful Heart he strove,
Two Years my doubtful Heart declin'd his Love:
Yet still he press'd me with his am'rous Tale,
Nor found at length, 'twas fruitless to assail:
For, by degrees, insensibly I came
To first approve, and then indulge, his Flame;
Nor could his Suit, nor would his Vows reprove;
I heard with Joy, nor thought it Sin to love;
Till in my Breast imperious CUPID reign'd:
Alas! how easy Love a Conquest gain'd!
And now my Reason check'd my Will no more;
But fed the Flame, it strove to quench before:
Yet durst not an immodest Thought approve;
Love rul'd my Heart, but Honour rul'd my Love:
I scorn'd to stain my Virtue with a King;
As much my Lover scorn'd so mean a thing.
[Page 260] What could we do? What cannot
Love inspire?
The Youth reveals his Passion to my Sire;
And in such melting Accents made it known,
As might have mov'd all Fathers, but my own:
But proudly he my Lover's Suit repell'd;
And, frowning, thus our mutual Ruin seal'd:
No more, presumptuous Youth! thy Passion name;
Suppress the Sparks, before they rise to Flame.
How dar'st thou, vulgar Wretch, ignobly born,
My Daughter's Scandal, and her Father's Scorn!
Aspire to wed so far above thy Fate?
He sternly said, and forc'd him from his Gate.
O Avarice! what Evils dost thou cause,
Breaking the Bands of Love, and Nature's Laws?
Go, hungry God! and rule the Narrow-soul'd;
Collect, and guard their curst, bewitching Gold;
[Page 261] Fit Province for thy Reign! too mean to prove
The Charms of Nuptial Life, and Joys of Love!
Ah! what avails to gain a pompous Name,
With boasted Titles of paternal Fame,
Deriv'd from Ancestors of noble Blood?
Things common to the Vicious, and the Proud!
Refulgent Equipage, and gaudy Shows,
Fictitious Ornaments of real Woes!
If Love be absent, Pomp and worldly Gain
But gild our Cares, and varnish o'er our Pain.
O! had my cruel Father thought like me,
I ne'er had prov'd the Dangers of the Sea,
Nor ever wander'd here a banish'd Maid;
And, O dear FELIX! thou hadst not been dead!—
So speaks the trembling Nymph; and, while she speaks,
The pearly Torrents stream adown her Cheeks;
[Page 262] Cold clammy Sweats, and throbbing Sighs arise,
Slow moves the Blood, and dizzy roll her Eyes;
So much affected with her Lover's Fate,
She struggled, groan'd, and fainted from her Seat.
Her Hostess straight a grateful Cordial sought,
And to her Lips applies the chearful Draught,
Washing her Temples with reviving Oil;
The vital Spirits answer to her Toil;
The purple Tide begins to roll again,
Again diffuses Life thro' ev'ry Vein:
And now she sighing, rais'd her drooping Head;
And, Is my Death, she cries, again delay'd?
Why did you check me on the Brink of Fate?
Better the Soul had fled her loathsome Seat.
Death is the only Good I wish to know,
End of my Pain, and Period of my Woe.
To whom replies the Dame: Unhappy Fair!
Rely on Heav'n, nor let your Soul despair:
Teach me to give your troubled Heart Relief;
Or teach me how, at least, to share your Grief:
Your mournful Story much affects my Mind;
Yet something seems remaining still behind.
O! much, CONSTANTIA says, remains to come,
The fatal Part, that finishes my Doom:
For, when my FELIX, (FELIX now no more!)
Was banish'd from my haughty Father's Door,
Not able to obtain me for his Bride,
Nor willing to resign me, tho' deny'd;
Hope, from Despair, his daring Soul conceives;
A Bark he builds, to plough the briny Waves:
Then call'd a few Domestics to his Aid,
Embrac'd me in his Arms, and sighing, said:
O Thou, for ever dear, for ever blest,
At once the Joy, and Trouble of my Breast!
Since Poverty expels me from thy Arms,
Since Wealth alone is worthy of thy Charms;
I swear by all the mighty Pow'rs above,
(Sad Fate, that drives me from the Nymph I love!)
To try my Fortune on remoter Shores,
And seek the Gold, thy Sire so much adores.
Perhaps the Planets, unpropitious here,
In other Climes may kinder Aspects wear;
May lead me where the rocky Di'monds lie,
Or where the golden Mines may Wealth supply;
If not, the last sad Pleasure is to die.
SUCH was the fatal Vow he rashly made;
O fatal Vow, and fatally obey'd!
[Page 265] Struck dumb, my Tears the want of Words supply'd;
His, mixt with mine, increas'd the pearly Tide:
Yet, lest I should his Resolution shake,
He rush'd away, and mounted on the Deck:
His hasty Crew expand the swelling Sails,
Strong rolls the Sea before impulsive Gales;
The crooked Keel the frothy Flood divides,
Swift flies the Ship, and rushes thro' the Tides.
MY Lover long my gazing Eyes pursue;
As long my Lover kept me in his View:
Reluctant so, departing Souls prepare
To wing their doubtful Flight, they know not where;
Reluctant so, expiring Bodies lie,
Nor willing these to stay, nor those to fly.
TWICE twenty Days I spent in fruitless Tears,
Before the fatal Tidings reach'd my Ears;
Was wreck'd on Rocks, and perish'd in the Sea.
O! then what Trouble, Grief, and anxious Care,
Confus'd my Soul, and bent it to Despair!
I curs'd the Cause, that forc'd him to expire;
O Heav'n! forgive me, if I curs'd my Sire:
I fled his House, and sought the lonely Grove,
(The gloomy Witness of my former Love!)
Where, once resolv'd to seek the Shades below,
I drew the Knife, to strike the mortal Blow;
Till Piety the cruel Thought supprest,
And check'd the Roman Courage of my Breast:
I trembling saw two doubtful Paths; nor knew,
Which Path was best to shun, or which pursue;
Opposing Passions in my Bosom strove,
And Conscience now prevail'd, and now my Love.
As when the Wind and Tide a Contest make,
The Sailer, trembling, sees his Vessel shake;
This way, and that, and both, by turns reclin'd,
As swells the Surge, or blows the furious Wind:
So was my Soul with diff'rent Notions sway'd,
Of this, of that, of both, and all, afraid.
Ah! why should Mortals of their Reason boast,
Which most deserts 'em, when they want it most?
For, when the troubled Mind's confus'd with Pain,
'Tis but an Ignis-fatuus of the Brain;
Which, if our wand'ring Souls from Virtue stray,
But leads us more and more from Virtue's Way:
So led it me to stem the devious Tide,
And seek for Death, where wretched FELIX dy'd.
NOT distant far, a fishing Vessel stood,
Nor wholly on the Land, nor in the Flood:
[Page 268] Arriv'd to this, I row'd it from the Shore;
And, bent on Death, the Tide I now explore;
Expecting, soon, the friendly-furious Wave
Would give my Troubles and myself a Grave.
But, when I saw the Billows round me flow,
The boundless Skies above, and Seas below;
Scar'd with the Terrors of the watry Space,
I wrapt my Mantle round my tim'rous Face:
Then lay me down, to all the Dangers blind;
Chance was my Compass, and my Pilot, Wind.
Blown here and there, I floated on the Deep,
Which rock'd my Eyes, but not my Fears, asleep:
For now my dreaming Soul, in Fancy's Maze,
A thousand tragic airy Ghosts surveys;
Which flutter'd round me, and reproaching, said;
Die, Coward! follow FELIX to the Shade:
Why wouldst thou wish to live, now he is dead?
[Page 269] But when, at length, your friendly Voice I heard,
My Vision ceas'd, the Spectres disappear'd.
Thus have I told, but can't dispel my Care;
For who can conquer Love, or cure Despair?
THUS she; and thus CAPRESA spake again:
(So was she call'd, who wak'd her on the Main)
Unhappy Nymph! compose your troubled Mind,
Nor doubt the gracious Guide of human Kind:
That GOD, who sav'd you from the foamy Wave,
Will doubtless guard the Life, he deign'd to save.
Vouchsafe to take the Counsel I can lend:
At Susa Heav'n has blest me with a Friend,
Much fam'd for Wealth, for pious Actions more;
No Husband, and no Children, but the Poor:
Let me conduct you to her friendly Gate;
(Too small my Cottage for a Guest so great)
[Page 270] She will protect you from
Barbarian Foes,
With prudent Counsel mitigate your Woes,
And charm your ruffled Soul to soft Repose.
BLEST Partner of my Grief! the Damsel said,
Some Angel surely sent you to my Aid;
For now some dawning Rays of Hope appear,
That chase away the Clouds of dark Despair.
This Pause of Pain, and Interval of Grace,
Shall be employ'd in Search of future Peace.
Then guide, and guard me to your noble Friend;
So may you never want this Aid you lend!
And, as we travel, deign to let me know,
To whom so many Thanks I justly owe;
What hapless Fortune cast you on this Land,
What Occupation here employs your Hand.
Sweet Conversation may suspend my Care,
Dispel my Grief, or make it less severe:
[Page 271] So shall I easier reach the neighb'ring Town;
And, list'ning to your Fate, forget my own.
THUS she; and thus the pensive Dame replies:
(With briny Drops distilling from her Eyes)
Fain would I, lovely Nymph! suspend your Care,
Dispel your Grief, or make it less severe:
But, were I all my Fortune to explain,
'Twould not alleviate, but increase your Pain;
For in your Soul such Sparks of Nature glow,
As make you share your Neighbour's Joy or Woe.
The Christian Faith I secretly embrace,
Tho' doom'd to dwell among a Pagan Race:
Trepanum wasted all my Bloom of Life,
Where long I liv'd, a Farmer's happy Wife:
My careful, loving Husband till'd the Soil,
Nor was the Field ungrateful to his Toil:
[Page 272] For, ev'ry Summer, CERES crown'd the Plain;
Each Autumn, fill'd the Barn with golden Grain:
So thick the verdant Harvest yearly stood,
The Meadows seem'd to groan beneath their Load.
Our fleecy Flocks were fruitful of their Young,
Hail were our Oxen, and our Horses strong;
Nor did our Kine of milky Produce fail,
But with distended Udders fill'd the Pail.
'Twas then, alas! how often have I cry'd,
I would not wish to be a Monarch's Bride!
When all around my little Infants came,
Hung on my Knees, and lisp'd their Mama's Name;
Or met their Father with the Ev'ning Ray,
Embrac'd his Neck, and kiss'd his Cares away.
Soon as their riper Age could Labour bear,
We sent 'em forth to feed the fleecy Care;
Where often have we spent the Summer's Day,
Charm'd to behold the wanton Cattle's Play.
[Page 273] What Pleasure 'twas to see the skipping Lambs?
What Music, when they bleated for their Dams?
We thought our Joys could never be increas'd;
Love, Peace, and Plenty join'd to make us bless'd.
But see how Fortune holds her fickle Reign!
She raises up, to tumble down again:
For now our Thread of Happiness was spun;
The Gains of twenty Years were lost in one.
'Twas in the Season, when the verdant Mead
Begins to ask the Mower's crooked Blade;
Before the Wheat receives the yellow Stain,
Or milky Juice is harden'd into Grain;
A Gale of Poison baleful EURUS cast;
The vernal Product sicken'd with the Blast;
Our Meadows straight a saffron Scene disclose,
Our infant Apples quit the blighted Boughs;
Pease, Wheat, and Barley, wither'd in the Fields,
And Nature one abortive Harvest yields:
[Page 274] Nor stopt it here; the flying Plague began
To spread the Bane in Beasts, and thence to Man:
First dy'd our Sheep upon the russet Plain,
Next swell'd our Oxen with a fatal Blain;
Here tumbles, o'er her Meat, the moping Cow;
There drops the panting Horse before the Plough:
At length the dire Contagion spread so wide,
My Virgin Children made the Tomb their Bride.
This Nature bore—But when our Landlord sent
His Officers, to seize my Lord for Rent;
And he, to shun the Prison, flies the Shore;
Lists on the Sea, to tug the lab'ring Oar;
I wept, I rav'd, I curs'd the baleful Air;
And fled my native Land, but not my Care.
Thus, banish'd here, a Widow, and a Wife,
Condemn'd to suffer, not enjoy a Life,
I toil for those, who catch the finny Prey;
The Toils are great, but very small the Pay!
Oft in the Ocean wash their thready Snare;
And then was washing, when, with great Surprize,
You, and your floating Vessel, met my Eyes.
NOW Heav'n defend us both! the Nymph reply'd;
And can such Rage in Christian Minds reside?
What, could the curst, inhuman Tyrant wrest
Thy tender Husband from thy loving Breast,
When all thy Wealth was lost, thy Children dead?
O Virtue! Virtue! whither art thou fled?
Why must such Evils on the Guiltless flow?
Ye Heav'ns! is Innocence rewarded so?
SO spake the Nymph; her Friend no more replies;
For now PRISCILLA's Dome attracts their Eyes:
Approaching to her friendly Gate, they found
The gen'rous Lady dealing Alms around
[Page 276] To needy Souls, a hapless, helpless Crowd,
Who daily bless'd her Hand for daily Food!
When thus CAPRESA: Hail, for ever bless'd!
'Tis Godlike thus to succour the Distress'd:
Yet none of these, who claim your Christian Aid,
Deserves it more than this unhappy Maid;
Who once was bless'd with Fame and Riches too,
Tho' fickle Fortune now is turn'd her Foe;
Unlike the Mendicants, who daily share
Your friendly Bounty, and maternal Care.
TO whom the Lady, with a gracious Look,
That seem'd to breathe Compassion, while she spoke:
Sure Decency forbids, a Guest so great
Should, undistinguish'd, with the Vulgar eat.
No; deck my Table with the choicest Fare;
The Nymph, with me, a kind Repast shall share;
[Page 277] For, by her Looks if Truth may be divin'd,
That lovely Body cloaths a lovely Mind.
SHE said, and CONSTANCE low Obeisance made;
Then gladly follow'd, where PRISCILLA led.
Within the Gate a spacious Room she found,
Whose Walls were beautify'd with Tap'stry round;
Where pious Tales appear'd, so lively wrought,
The Work seem'd vital, and the Figures Thought:
Here, in the Shade, the Jewish Patriarch stood,
Feasting the Sons of Heav'n with earthly Food;
While, there, the good Samaritan confest
His Kindness, and reproach'd the cruel Priest;
With many more, a charitable Band,
The skilful Labour of PRISCILLA's Hand.
HITHER the Dame convey'd a sweet Repast;
Rich Meats, and rosy Wines the Table grac'd:
[Page 278] They eat, they drank, in pleasing Converse join'd;
And chear'd at once the Body and the Mind.
The Call of Nature being soon supprest,
Thus spake the Lady to her youthful Guest:
SAY, lovely Stranger! (for I long to know;
So may propitious Heav'n remove thy Woe!)
Whence thus reduc'd? By Famine, Sword, or Fire?
What Sire thy Beauty boasts, what Land thy Sire?
Perhaps some Princess, banish'd from her Home,
Thus condescends to grace my rustic Dome:
If so, I greatly fear, my homely Feast
Has been unworthy of my Royal Guest.
SHE said, the Nymph unfolds her Tale again;
The prudent Dame attempts to sooth her Pain,
And thus reply'd: Tho' weighty are your Woes,
The weightiest Ill, with Patience, lighter grows:
[Page 279] Then bear with Patience all that Heav'n design'd,
Whose Ways are just, tho' difficult to find,
Plann'd for the gen'ral Good of Human Kind.
God's Paths in winding Mazes often lie,
Too intricate for feeble Reason's Eye;
Most regular, when in Confusion lost;
Most constant, when they seem to vary most.
Perhaps his Mercy forc'd you thus to roam,
To shun a more unhappy Fate at home;
For with one Evil he removes a worse,
And blesses oft with what we think a Curse.
Then let your Soul at Fortune not repine;
But trust in Heav'n's Protection, next, in mine:
In me you still shall find a faithful Friend,
With whom, in time, your Troubles all may end:
But, since you now are harass'd out with Woes,
Refresh your weary Soul with sweet Repose;
[Page 280] And when you wake, at Morning, may you find
Heav'n's balmy Comfort heal your wounded Mind!
THUS chear'd, the Nymph obsequiously withdrew,
And bath'd her Cares in Sleep's refreshing Dew;
Till PHOEBUS, rising from the Shades of Night,
With rosy Keys unlock'd the Gates of Light:
Bright as his Beams, arose the beauteous Maid;
And, to her Patroness returning, said:
WHAT Thanks, propitious Lady! shall I give
For all the Godlike Bounties I receive?
O! let my Silence thank you; for I know,
Words can't express the Gratitude I owe.
To whom replies the venerable Dame:
No other Thanks, but Gratitude, I claim:
Love and Compassion are their own Reward:
A Soul, that succours Virtue, when distrest,
Can with Reflection make a noble Feast;
Which nourishes the Mind, and overpays
A gen'rous Deed with self-approving Praise.
SUCH was their Converse, till domestic Care
Invites PRISCILLA from the youthful Fair;
Who sat in pensive Solitude, and strove
To soften, or suspend the Pains of Love.
At length the Linen on her Knee she spread,
And with her Needle work'd the docile Thread.
Young THISBE's Fate she first began to frame;
But soon commits her Labour to the Flame:
Next drew she HERO sinking in the Main;
Then raz'd the finish'd Image out again:
[Page 282] Both these displeas'd her, tho' judicious Art,
And Rays of Nature shone in ev'ry Part.
At length her own unhappy Tale she chose,
And lively paints the Scene of all her Woes:
Her charming FELIX first the Linen grac'd;
By whom her Father, frowning stern, she plac'd:
Her Lover's Parting next to these appears;
(But, weeping here, she soil'd her Work with Tears)
Next, on the Seas, she drew her floating Ship;
Next, her own Boat, slow-wand'ring o'er the Deep:
By these she fix'd CAPRESA on the Strand,
Who wak'd her first, and welcom'd her to Land:
The good PRISCILLA last employ'd her Art,
Whose Aspect spoke the Bounty of her Heart;
Her friendly Roof, a Refuge for the Poor,
The Horn of Plenty, pendent o'er the Door,
Diffusing Blessings still, and still increasing more.
[Page 283] All these confest such Beauty, Skill, and Care,
Not HELEN better wove the Trojan War,
While HECTOR, PARIS, and their Martial Train,
With Grecian Heroes battled on the Plain.
HERE let us leave the lovely Nymph a-while,
To pass her tedious Hours in pleasing Toil:
Her absent Lover now my Song pursues,
Whose valiant Deeds require a nobler Muse.
SWIFT-PINION'D FAME, which often babbling flies,
To bear unwelcome Truths, and oft'ner Lyes,
Had spread the ductile Error far and wide,
How wand'ring FELIX perish'd in the Tide.
But FELIX safely reach'd the Thunic Port,
And soon arriv'd to Honours in the Court:
His Wisdom there the wisest Peers excell'd;
His Valour more surpass'd 'em in the Field.
[Page 284] When first he to the Royal Palace came,
An Accident occurr'd to raise his Fame:
A noble Lord there was, of great Renown,
Rebell'd against the King, and claim'd his Crown:
Great Preparations made he for the Fight;
Nor less the Monarch, to defend his Right;
But summon'd all, to meet the daring Foe,
Whose Strength could wield a Sword, or bend a Bow;
And promis'd to reward their Martial Care,
With Honours equal to their Deeds in War.
Now rings the Region with the Foe's Alarms,
Terrific shines the Field with burnish'd Arms;
The Martial Trumpet, sounding from afar,
With dreadful Notes, proclaims approaching War.
The Royal Army valiant FELIX join'd;
Intrepid Courage animates his Mind:
[Page 285] Fix'd in the Front, the Foe he bravely dares,
Like PALLAS prudent, and as bold as MARS.
Say, Muse, What Goddess, that tremendous Hour,
Aided the Youth with such unusual Pow'r?
Bright VENUS, conscious of the Lover's Smart,
Sharpen'd his Sword, and pointed ev'ry Dart:
Fierce, as a Lion, thro' the Lines he sprung;
And forc'd his Foes, like trembling Stags, along.
As when resistless Winds rush o'er the Deep,
And from its Anchor force the driving Ship,
Or furiously against the Woodland roar;
The leafy Harvest, tumbling, flies before:
So rush'd the Hero on the adverse Band,
So fled the Legions from his pow'rful Hand;
Till soon the rebel Lord he Pris'ner made,
And to the King his captive Prize convey'd
Now reaps the Youth the Glory of his Toil;
To him the Monarch gives the Martial Spoil,
Rewards his Valour with a noble Post,
And makes him First Commander of his Host.
Thus, quickly FELIX gain'd a deathless Name;
Thus, was his Labour crown'd with Wealth and Fame:
But Wealth and Fame insipid Things appear;
To give them Taste, he wants the lovely Fair;
The lovely Fair, opprest with equal Grief,
To make her happy, wants the glorious Chief.
HIS Fame, which soon at Susa was reveal'd,
(Heroic Actions seldom lie conceal'd)
With pleasing Wonder struck CONSTANTIA's Ears,
And fill'd her doubtful Soul with Hopes and Fears:
For, tho' the wise PRISCILLA often strove
With prudent Counsel to suppress her Love;
[Page 287] Her Love was only lessen'd, not supprest;
But glows again, again distracts her Breast.
AS when, in rural Cots, the Flames aspire,
And lab'ring Peasants quench the mounting Fire:
If chance a latent Spark remain behind,
In heapy Ashes, fann'd with ambient Wind;
The Fires again, with former Fury, rise,
Flame thro' the Roof, and flash into the Skies:
So in her Bosom glows the am'rous Fire,
And fills her tender Soul with soft Desire.
And is my FELIX yet alive? she says;
And is he crown'd with Wealth, and deathless Praise?
No, no; I fear the flatt'ring Tale deceives;
Methinks I see him plunging in the Waves.
Ah! why, ye Heav'ns, are feeble Mortals curst,
In Things uncertain, to believe the worst?
[Page 288] No; rather let me seek the
Thunic Court;
There, with my Eyes, confirm the blest Report:
Hope flies before, and points the pleasing Way;
Love urges on, and Love I must obey.
SO saying, to PRISCILLA straight she came,
And with her Thoughts acquaints the pious Dame;
The pious Dame, with tender Pity sway'd,
Approves the Passion of the loving Maid;
And, with CAPRESA, guards her to the Place,
Resolv'd herself to view the Hero's Face.
The Hero meets 'em at the Regal Gate,
Array'd in Armour, formidably great;
For on that Morning, by the King's Command,
The Chief was to review the Martial Band:
His studded Chariot darted Splendor round,
His stately Coursers, neighing, paw'd the Ground;
[Page 289] The nodding Plumes around his Temples wave,
With awful Grace, and beautifully brave.
He knew th'approaching Nymph; but, in Surprize,
The joyous Stream descended from his Eyes:
The Nymph beheld the weeping Chief; nor knew,
For what he wept, nor whom she came to view:
His Martial Dress, bespangled o'er with Gold,
The dreadful Warrior, not the Lover, told:
But, when he cast the Helmet from his Head,
And thro' the Gates the blushing Damsel led;
She knew her Lover, clasp'd him to her Breast,
While silent Eloquence her Joy confest:
The conscious Pains an absent Lover bears,
Despair, fallacious Hope, and anxious Fears,
For want of Words, were painted with their Tears.
And when, at length, their crystal Sluices ceas'd,
The joyful Hero thus the Nymph address'd:
YE Gods! and have I then my Charmer found?
And are my Labours thus completely crown'd!
Yes! let me clasp thee to my longing Arms,
Drink in thy Breath, and feed upon thy Charms.
As widow'd Turtles, roving round the Fields,
Thro' all the fruitful Stores, which Nature yields,
Curst in the midst of Plenty, cannot eat;
But starve, lamenting for their absent Mate:
Thus have I been with Fame and Riches grac'd;
Yet wanted thee, to give my Riches Taste.
But say, how came this Wealth I wanted most?
What brought my Love to this Barbarian Coast?
HE said; and now the joyful Damsel spake
The Dangers which she suffer'd for his sake;
Shews him the Dame, who found her on the Tide;
PRISCILLA too, who all her Wants supply'd:
[Page 291] Then, prostrate, on her Knees before him bends,
And begs him to reward her faithful Friends.
The grateful Chief, by native Goodness sway'd,
Embrac'd 'em both, and soon the Nymph obey'd;
But first before his Royal Master came,
And begs he may resign his Post of Fame:
At which the Monarch frowns with awful Eyes,
Till FELIX straight, who saw his Passion rise,
Falls on the Ground, and to his Master shows
The various Scene of all his am'rous Woes.
This heard, the King resumes his former Grace;
Love tun'd his Soul, and smooth'd his ruffled Face:
He rais'd the Hero, bids the Nymph appear;
The Nymph approach'd him with a modest Fear;
Before his awful Throne, submiss, she fell,
And to him straight unfolds th'amazing Tale.
Mute, on the Ground a-while he fix'd his Eyes;
Then, Is the Force of Love so great? he cries:
[Page 292] We falsely
Man the World's Commander call;
Thou, mightier Monarch, Love! commandest All:
Young AMMON's Self could not thy Pow'r confine;
The World his Subject was, but He was thine.
THEN, smiling, thus he chear'd the trembling Fair:
Henceforward, lovely Nymph, dismiss thy Care;
For, since thy Love has conquer'd Wind and Sea,
Curst be the King, that's crueller than they!
Let HYMEN straight confirm the Marriage Ties;
Thou justly hast deserv'd the Nuptial Prize.
THUS said, he crown'd the Hero's Martial Care,
With Riches far superior to the Fair:
Due Thanks return'd, they to PRISCILLA came,
Bestowing Gifts and Honours on the Dame:
CAPRESA next, with Age and Labour worn,
In comely Robes the grateful Pair adorn;
[Page 293] With ample Wealth her former Bliss restor'd,
And from the Seas redeem'd her Nuptial Lord;
Her Nuptial Lord again enjoys his Wife,
Again delightful Freedom crowns his Life;
Till Nature calls him to resign his Breath,
In honourable Age, and peaceful Death.
THIS done, the loving Couple quit the Shore,
And joyfully the destin'd Port explore;
While sportive NEREIDS round their Vessel play,
And wanton CUPIDS hail 'em on their Way;
Rough THETIS' Self assumes a pleasing Smile,
Glad to return 'em to their native Soil;
Where sacred HYMEN join'd their mutual Hands,
And Heav'n, indulgent, bless'd their Nuptial Bands.
OCELIA! You, whose Rays of friendly Fire,
Constant as those of Nature, ne'er expire;
If in your Breast no weighty Cares you find,
Nor better Thoughts employ your gen'rous Mind;
Vouchsafe an Ear: These Numbers are your Due;
I sing of Friendship, and I sing to You:
Friendship! a Theme, which all Mankind profess,
No Virtue more admire, none practise less;
For most have learn'd the
Grecian *Sage's Text,
"To love one Day, as if to hate the next."
[Page 317] They change, forsake, as serves their selfish Ends,
Nor are their Dresses vary'd more than Friends.
YOU therefore, who are worthy Friendship's Name,
And cherish in your Breast the genuine Flame,
Attend to what a faithful Muse imparts,
A Muse unpractis'd in fallacious Arts:
Tho' young in Life, that Life has made her know,
A friendly Aspect oft conceals a Foe;
That, tho' so many seeming Friends abound,
For one that's true, a thousand false are found.
WHEN first you strive a faithful Friend to find,
Explore the secret Motives of his Mind;
Nor, rashly credulous, his Friendship trust,
Before you know, what Passion rules him most:
But, as a Horseman checks the Courser's Speed,
Till he has try'd the Temper of his Steed;
[Page 318] So check the Reins of Friendship, till you prove,
What sways the Person, Interest, or Love.
AVOID the Fop impertinently vain,
And shun the Slave, who flatters you for Gain;
Beware of him, who sells you for a Jest;
But, most of all, beware the leaky Breast:
(Who hopes to keep his Wine the Season round,
Must first be sure his Cask is sweet and sound)
Nor should a formal Fool your Friendship claim,
Tho' Wealth and Honours dignify his Name.
Let Knaves and Fools in kindred Vices join;
Chuse you a Friend, where Sense and Virtue shine;
Whose Passions move by Reason's Rule alone,
Much better, if agreeing with your own.
The Hart and Lion at a Distance keep;
Wolves company with Wolves, and Sheep with Sheep:
Most love those Tempers, that resemble ours.
YET, if it be too difficult to find
A Friend so justly moulded to your Mind,
Among the virtuous Few select the best;
And such is he, whose Failings are the least:
Let him a modest Freedom always claim,
To praise your Virtues, or your Vices blame;
Nor be displeas'd his mild Reproof to hear;
For Friends may often kindly be severe;
The Best sometimes each other may controul,
Yet not destroy the Harmony of Soul.
Rough Notes in Music never should be found,
Except adapted to improve the Sound.
WHEN mutual Faith the friendly Knot has ty'd,
And when that mutual Faith is truly try'd,
With conscious Pains, that struggle in your Breast:
For, as the Flames, in Aetna closely pent,
Convulse the Mountain, lab'ring for a Vent;
Thus in the Soul uneasy Thoughts confin'd,
For want of Passage, rack the suff'ring Mind.
Unveil your Bosom to your other Part;
Your Friend shall share the Burden of your Heart,
Alleviate ev'ry Ill your Soul sustains,
Double your Pleasures, and divide your Pains.
BE zealous for your Friends, whene'er you know
Their Reputation censur'd by a Foe;
Nor with a faint Excuse degrade your Friends;
The Man, who coldly praises, discommends.
Or are they justly censur'd for a Crime?
Reprove them mildly at some proper Time:
[Page 321] In private chide all Failings which you find,
In public praise the Beauties of their Mind;
Place all their Virtues in the clearest Light,
Omit their Faults, or touch them very slight;
As Painters, when they draw a beauteous Face,
Contract a Blemish, heighten ev'ry Grace.
NEITHER let Passion, Pride, or private Ends,
Or changing Fortune, make you change your Friends.
Who varies oft, a faithless Temper shows,
Or, at the best, ill Judgment, when he chose.
Some Persons with themselves so disagree,
They're fix'd to nothing but Inconstancy;
With each new Day, new Resolutions come,
Expel the former, and usurp their Room:
Succeeding Billows thus the foremost throng,
Tides roll on Tides, and Waves urge Waves along.
[Page 322] Not but we may with a new Friend engage,
Before we see an old one quit the Stage;
Yet should not think the new our old exceeds,
As
*Jockeys value most their youngest Steeds.
One Maxim will in Wine and Friendship hold,
Alike the better both for being old.
BUT must we then be bound in deathless Bands,
And still obey whate'er a Friend commands?
Aid him to gain what he unjustly craves?
No—Leave the Man, who Truth and Virtue leaves.
Should furious CATILINE some Plot devise,
To ruin Thousands, that himself might rise;
The Laws of Honour, Truth, and Conscience show,
'Tis Friendship to the World to be his Foe.
Or, should a Friend basely betray his Trust,
To pardon him were to yourself unjust:
[Page 323] For,
*as the Wool, with Crimson colour'd o'er,
Never acquires its native Whiteness more;
So he who breaks his Faith, will ne'er obtain
Your Credit, nor his Innocence again.
If otherwise he disoblige his Friends,
(For where's the perfect Man, who ne'er offends?)
Try if his Ear will kind Reproof endure;
And, if the Balm of Counsel work a Cure,
O'erlook the Failure: All offend, that live;
Let Foes resent a Trespass, Friends forgive.
Yet let the pardon'd Friend not, many times,
Proceed in Folly, and repeat his Crimes.
Tho' purest Gold a vast Extent will bear,
Yet purest Gold will break, if stretch'd too far:
And Friends may bear some Slips from Wisdom's Rule;
But who can pardon the persisting Fool?
*AMONG the various Causes, that conspire
To cool our Love, and quench the friendly Fire,
Vile Avarice assumes the greatest Pow'r,
A God which base ignoble Souls adore:
To pleasure him, a Tide of broken Vows
(Needful Libations!) on his Altar flows:
Yet, never satisfy'd, he craves for more;
And keeps his Votaries, in Plenty, poor:
Who worships him, will break the friendly Bands,
Whene'er the sordid, selfish God commands.
OTHERS there are, induc'd by Thirst of Praise,
(And ev'n the greatest Men this Passion sways)
Who quit their Friends for Honours of the State,
And turn their Love into the rankest Hate.
[Page 325] Nor is it wonder these desert their Friends,
Since all are Foes, who will not serve their Ends:
For wild Ambition like a Torrent roars,
Which, when obstructed, climbs th'opposing Shores;
Till to the Top the lab'ring Flood attains,
Swells o'er the Banks, and foams along the Plains.
Not but we may an honest Fame embrace;
Nay, Friends should aid us in the glorious Chace.
Man has some Principle of heav'nly Fire,
That warms his Breast, and prompts him to aspire;
Wakes him to Actions of superior Kind,
And keeps alive the Faculties of Mind;
For Sloth begets a Lethargy of Soul,
As want of Motion taints the clearest Pool:
Yet, if, too fond and covetous of Fame,
We blow that native Spark into a Flame,
It quickly rises to a firy Storm,
And burns the Fabric 'twas design'd to warm.
[Page 326] What Bands of Nature can restrain its Course?
What friendly Offices suppress its Force?
See how its Rage the young
* Numidian fires,
The worst of Children to the best of Sires!
Deep, thro' his Brothers Blood, he wades his Way,
And leaps o'er Gratitude to Regal Sway.
Young CAESAR's Tutor by his Pupil dies,
While TULLY falls by him he help'd to rise;
Friends, Fathers, Brothers, Uncles, yield to Fate,
To make three Tyrants infamously great!
O! grant me, gracious Heav'n, where-e'er I go,
To be a faithful Friend, or gen'rous Foe;
Nor let me pant so much for empty Praise,
As to obtain it by dishonest Ways;
Nor wrong my Friend, tho' 'twere to gain a Throne;
Nor ruin others Fame, to raise my own.
HE who is only learn'd in Books, will find
A harder Lesson, when he learns Mankind;
A Volume gilded o'er with smiling Art,
Where few can read the Meaning of the Heart.
We often take our Flatterers for Friends;
One would suspect the Man who still commends,
Who, like the Sharper in the Roman Play,
Or right or wrong, assents to all you say;
Bends here or there, which way his Lord's inclin'd,
As Reeds submit to ev'ry diff'rent Wind.
Nor is it strange such Parasites prevail,
When greedy Ears devour their flatt'ring Tale:
While THRASO loves to hear his Praises told,
GNATHO will give him Praise, and take his Gold.
But you, who walk by Wisdom's safer Rules,
(For 'twere but Labour lost to counsel Fools)
[Page 328] Detest the Wretch, who ne'er can Courage find
To speak the genuine Dictates of his Mind;
But, like the Syrens sweet, pernicious Song,
At once would charm and ruin with his Tongue.
YET some there are, in social Bands ally'd,
Who, with blunt Truths, err on the other Side;
Void of Good-nature, and Good-breeding too,
They sourly censure ev'ry thing you do.
O! never flatter ev'n a Monarch's Pride,
Nor, with the Sternness of a Cynic, chide;
But, when you would an erring Friend reprove,
Let gentle Cautions shew, the Motive's Love:
Do not begin with Rashness to exclaim;
But rather hint the Fault, before you blame.
'Tis not enough your Admonition's just;
Prudence must guide it, or the Labour's lost:
[Page 329] Friends should allure, and charm us into Sense;
Harsh Counsels not reform, but give Offence.
Nature, impatient of severe Reproof,
Loves mild Instruction, but abhors the rough:
As Fruits and Flow'rs improve with gentle Rain;
But fade, if rapid Storms o'erflow the Plain.
SOME Men are Friends, when Fortune fills the Sails,
And wafts you on with favourable Gales;
But quit the tott'ring Ship, and make to Shore,
When Storms descend, and adverse Surges roar.
Long as in Credit, Pow'r, or Place you stand,
Their fawning, formal Friendship you command:
With twenty Squeezes, and a hundred Bows,
As many Compliments, as many Vows,
They swear your Interest shall be their own,
And wish the Time to make it better known;
[Page 330] Like false hot Coursers, waiting for the Chace,
Which foam, and neigh, and proudly spurn the Grass,
Intent to run; but droop their jaded Crest,
And fail you most, when most you want their Haste.
WE make a Prostitute of Friendship's Name,
If only Complaisance supports our Claim.
And yet there are, of this polite Degree,
Who treat you still with forc'd Civility;
In each obliging Art so well refin'd,
Tho' ever false, they never seem unkind.
Not that my Muse would Decency offend;
For 'tis Good-breeding polishes a Friend:
Nor shines it less, with Truth and Virtue join'd,
Than comely Features with a noble Mind:
But those, whose Friendships most in Speeches dwell,
Neglect the Fruit, and trifle with the Shell.
[Page 331] True Friendship more intrinsic Worth affords,
Defin'd by Actions better than by Words;
A warm Affection, that can never cool,
Concord of Mind, and Music of the Soul;
Which tunes the jarring Strings of Life to Love,
Shews Men below, how Angels live above.
There are in Friendship such attractive Charms,
It draws Esteem from those it never warms.
See how
*PACUVIUS' tragic Scenes could move
The People's Praises with fictitious Love!
When on the Stage two doubtful Princes strive,
Each seeking Death, to keep his Friend alive:
Now PYLADES deceives the Monarch's Eye;
Faithful, yet fraudulent, resolves to die:
ORESTES now displays the friendly Cheat,
Invites the threat'ning Sword, and courts his Fate.
[Page 332] Mov'd with their gen'rous Love, the Audience rose;
With social Flame each changing Bosom glows;
All feel the sacred Pow'r of Friendship's Laws,
And the Stage rocks, and thunders with Applause.
I know the Muse may give to some Offence,
(Tho' rather Men of Wit, than Men of Sense)
Whose Counsel is; "Be not engag'd too far;
" The greatest Friendship brings the greatest Care:
" Our own Concerns have Plagues enough in Store;
" Who joins in Friendship, only makes 'em more:
" The Cares and Troubles, which your Friend endures,
" Are all by Sympathy adopted yours."
WHAT base, ungen'rous, selfish Souls are these?
Mere Quacks, who turn ev'n Health into Disease;
And but the darkest Side of Friendship find,
To all its radiant Beams and Beauties blind.
[Page 333] Two faithful Friends, in any State, may gain
Comfort to heighten Joy, or lessen Pain:
If weighty Cares the pensive Mind invade,
They make the Burden light with mutual Aid;
If Profit, or if Pleasure chears the Soul,
The Blessing's common, each enjoys the whole:
If Bus'ness calls them to some distant Place,
Swift-pinion'd Love contracts the lengthen'd Space;
Each keeps the other's Image in his Breast,
As Wax preserves the Form a Seal imprest.
HAIL, sacred Friendship! by whose chearing Ray
All Joys increase, without it fade away:
Ev'n HYMEN's Torch, tho' burning e'er so bright,
Aided by Friendship, shines with double Light.
This you, OCELIA! by Experience find,
Whose nuptial Friend lives always in your Mind:
[Page 334] No Length of Time, no Distance, ever ras'd
His lov'd Idea from your tender Breast:
Your friendly Flame admits of no Decays;
But glows, unclouded, with augmented Rays,
And makes your bridal Lamp much brighter blaze.
That faint, pale, languid Lamp, in Age, expires,
Except 'tis fed with Friendship's constant Fires:
These to the Winter of our Years extend;
And, when the Lover cools, they warm the Friend.
When all the transient Joys of Youth are o'er,
When all the Charms of Beauty charm no more;
Surviving Friendship gives us fresh Supplies
Of lasting Bliss, and more substantial Joys;
Which sweeten all the Troubles Age has brought,
And make the Dregs of Life a cordial Draught.
FINIS.