THE CONTEMPLATIST: A NIGHT PIECE.
Nox erat—
Cum tacet omnis ager, pecudes, pictaeque volucres.
I.
THE nurse of CONTEMPLATION, Night,
Begins her balmy reign;
Advancing in their varied light
Her silver-vested train.
II.
'Tis strange, the many marshall'd stars,
That ride yon sacred round,
Should keep, among their rapid cars,
A silence so profound!
III.
A kind, a philosophic calm,
The cool creation wears!
And what Day drank of dewy balm,
The gentle Night repairs.
IV.
Behind their leafy curtains hid
The feather'd race how still!
How quiet, now, the gamesome kid
That gambol'd round the hill!
V.
The sweets, that bending o'er their banks,
From sultry Day declin'd,
Revive in little velvet ranks,
And scent the western wind.
VI.
The Moon, preceded by the breeze
That bade the clouds retire,
Appears amongst the tufted trees
A Phoenix nest on fire.
VII.
But soft—the golden glow subsides!
Her chariot mounts on high!
And now, in silent pomp, she rides
Pale regent of the sky!
VIII.
Where TIME, upon the wither'd tree
Hath carv'd the moral chair,
I sit, from busy passions free,
And breathe the placid air.
IX.
The wither'd tree was once in prime;
Its branches brav'd the sky!
Thus, at the touch of ruthless TIME
Shall Youth and Vigour die.
X.
I'm lifted to the blue expanse:
It glows serenely gay!
Come SCIENCE, by my side, advance,
We'll search the Milky Way.
XI.
Let us descend—The daring flight
Fatigues my feeble mind;
And SCIENCE, in the maze of light,
Is impotent and blind.
XII.
What are those wild, those wand'ring fires,
That o'er the moorland ran?
Vapours. How like the vague desires
That cheat the heart of MAN!
XIII.
But there's a friendly guide!—a flame,
That lambent o'er its bed,
Enlivens, with a gladsome beam,
The hermit's osier shed.
XIV.
Amongst the russet shades of night,
It glances from afar!
And darts along the dusk; so bright,
It seems a silver star!
XV.
In coverts, (where the few frequent)
If VIRTUE deigns to dwell;
'Tis thus; the little lamp CONTENT,
Gives lustre to her cell.
XVI.
How smooth that rapid river slides
Progressive to the deep;
The poppies pendent o'er its sides
Have charm'd the waves to sleep.
XVII.
PLEASURE'S intoxicated sons!
Ye indolent! ye gay!
Reflect—for as the river runs,
Life wings its tractless way.
XVIII.
That branching grove of dusky green,
Conceals the azure sky;
Save, where a starry space between,
Relieves the darken'd eye.
XIX.
Old ERROR, thus, with shades impure,
Throws sacred Truth behind:
Yet sometimes, through the deep obscure,
She bursts upon the mind.
XX.
Sleep, and her sister Silence reign,
They lock the Shepherds fold!
But hark—I hear a lamb complain,
'Tis lost upon the wold!
XXI.
To savage herds, that hunt for prey,
An unresisting prize!
For having trod a devious way,
The little rambler dies.
XXII.
As luckless is the virgin's lot
Whom pleasure once misguides,
When hurried from the halcion cot
Where INNOCENCE presides—
XXIII.
The Passions, a relentless train!
To tear the victim run:
She seeks the paths of peace in vain,
Is conquer'd—and undone.
XXIV.
How bright the little insects blaze,
Where willows shade the way;
As proud as if their painted rays
Could emulate the Day!
XXV.
'Tis thus, the pygmy sons of pow'r
Advance their vain parade!
Thus, glitter in the darken'd hour,
And like the glow-worms fade!
XXVI.
The soft serenity of night,
Ungentle clouds deform!
The silver host that shone so bright,
Is hid behind a storm!
XXVII.
The angry elements engage!
An oak, (an ivied bower!)
Repels the rough winds noisy rage,
And shields me from the shower.
XXVIII.
The rancour, thus, of rushing fate,
I've learnt to render vain:
For whilst Integrity's her seat,
The soul will sit serene.
XXIX.
A raven, from some greedy vault
Amidst that cloister'd gloom,
Bids me, and 'tis a solemn thought!
Reflect upon the tomb.
XXX.
The tomb!—The consecrated dome!
The temple rais'd to PEACE!
The port, that to its friendly home,
Compels the human race!
XXXI.
Yon village, to the moral mind,
A solemn aspect wears;
Where sleep hath lull'd the labour'd hind,
And kill'd his daily cares:
XXXII.
'Tis but the church-yard of the Night;
An emblematic bed!
That offers to the mental sight,
The temporary dead.
XXXIII.
From hence, I'll penetrate, in thought,
The grave's unmeasur'd deep;
And tutor'd, hence, be timely taught,
To meet my final sleep.
XXXIV.
'Tis peace—(The little chaos past!)
The gentle moon's restor'd!
A breeze succeeds the frightful blast,
That through the forest roar'd!
XXXV.
The Nightingale, a welcome guest!
Renews her gentle strains;
And HOPE, (just wand'ring from my breast)
Her wonted seat regains.
XXXVI.
Yes—When yon lucid orb is dark,
And darting from on high;
My soul, a more celestial spark,
Shall keep her native sky.
XXXVII.
Fann'd by the light—the lenient breeze,
My limbs refreshment find;
And moral rhapsodies, like these,
Give vigour to the mind.
CONTENT: A PASTORAL.
I.
O'ER moorlands and mountains, rude, barren, and bare,
As wilder'd and weary'd I roam,
A gentle young shepherdess sees my despair,
And leads me—o'er lawns—to her home.
Yellow sheafs from rich CERES her cottage had crown'd,
Green rushes were strew'd on her floor,
Her casement, sweet woodbines crept wantonly round,
And deck'd the sod seats at her door.
II.
We sate ourselves down to a cooling repast:
Fresh fruits! and she cull'd me the best:
While thrown from my guard by some glances she cast,
Love slily stole into my breast!
I told my soft wishes; she sweetly reply'd,
(Ye virgins, her voice was divine!)
I've rich ones rejected, and great ones deny'd,
But take me, fond shepherd—I'm thine.
III.
Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek!
So simple, yet sweet, were her charms!
I kiss'd the ripe roses that glow'd on her cheek,
And lock'd the lov'd maid in my arms.
Now jocund together we tend a few sheep,
And if, by yon prattler, the stream,
Reclin'd on her bosom, I sink into sleep,
Her image still softens my dream.
IV.
Together we range o'er the slow rising hills,
Delighted with pastoral views,
Or rest on the rock whence the streamlet distils,
And point out new themes for my muse.
To pomp or proud titles she ne'er did aspire,
The damsel's of humble descent;
The cottager, PEACE, is well known for her sire,
And shepherds have nam'd her CONTENT.
CORYDON: A PASTORAL. To the Memory of William Shenstone, Esq
I.
COME, shepherds, we'll follow the hearse,
We'll see our lov'd CORYDON laid:
Tho' sorrow may blemish the verse,
Yet let a sad tribute be paid.
They call'd him the pride of the plain;
In sooth he was gentle and kind!
He mark'd on his elegant strain
The graces that glow'd in his mind.
II.
On purpose he planted yon trees,
That birds in the covert might dwell;
He cultur'd his thyme for the bees,
But never wou'd rifle their cell.
[Page 25]Ye lambkins that play'd at his feet,
Go bleat—and your master bemoan;
His music was artless and sweet,
His manners as mild as your own.
III.
No verdure shall cover the vale,
No bloom on the blossoms appear;
The sweets of the forest shall fail,
And winter discolour the year.
No birds in our hedges shall sing,
(Our hedges so vocal before)
Since he that should welcome the spring,
Can greet the gay season no more.
IV.
His PHILLIS was fond of his praise,
And poets came round in a throng;
They listen'd,—they envy'd his lays,
But which of them equal'd his song?
Ye shepherds, hence forward be mute,
For lost is the pastoral strain;
So give me my CORYDON'S flute,
And thus—let me break it in twain.
The ROSE and BUTTERFLY: A FABLE.
AT day's early dawn a gay Butterfly spied,
A budding young Rose, and he wish'd her his bride:
She blush'd when she heard him his passion declare,
And tenderly told him—he need not despair.
Their faith was soon plighted; as lovers will do,
He swore to be constant, she vow'd to be true.
It had not been prudent to deal with delay,
The bloom of a rose passes quickly away,
And the pride of a butterfly dies in a day.
When wedded, away the wing'd gentleman hies,
From flow'ret to flow'ret he wantonly flies;
Nor did he revisit his bride, till the sun
Had less than one-fourth of his journey to run.
[Page 27]The Rose thus reproach'd him—'Already so cold!
'How feign'd, O you false one, that passion you told!
''Tis an age since you left me:' (She meant a few hours;
But such we'll suppose the fond language of flowers)
'I saw when you gave the base vi'let a kiss:
'How—how could you stoop to a meanness like this?
'Shall a low, little wretch, whom we roses despise,
'Find favour, O love! in my butterfly's eyes?
'On a tulip, quite tawdry, I saw your fond rape,
'Nor yet could the pitiful primrose escape:
'Dull daffodils too, were with ardour address'd,
'And poppies, ill-scented, you kindly caress'd.'
The coxcomb was piqu'd, and reply'd with a sneer,
'That you're first to complain, I commend you, my dear!
'But know from your conduct my maxims I drew,
'And if I'm inconstant, I copy from you.
'I saw the boy Zephirus rifle your charms,
'I saw how you simper'd and smil'd in his arms;
[Page 28]'The honey-bee kiss'd you, you cannot disown,
'You favour'd besides—O dishonour!—a drone;
'Yet worse—'tis a crime that you must not deny,
'Your sweets were made common, false rose, to a fly.
MORAL.
This law long ago did Love's providence make,
That ev'ry coquet should be curs'd with a rake,
DAMON and PHEBE.
I.
WHen the sweet rosey morning first peep'd from the skies,
A loud singing lark bade the villagers rise,
The cowslips were lively—the primroses gay,
And shed their best perfumes to welcome the May:
The swains and their sweethearts all rang'd on the green,
Did homage to Phebe—and haild her their queen.
II.
Young Damon step'd forward: he sung in her praise,
And Phebe bestow'd him a garland of bays:
May this wreath, said the fair one, dear Lord of my rows,
A crown for true merit, bloom long on thy brows:
The swains and their sweethearts that danc'd on the green,
Approv'd the fond present of Phebe their queen.
III.
'Mong'st lords and fine ladies we shepherds are told,
The dearest affections are barter'd for gold;
That discord in wedlock is often their lot,
While Cupid and Hymen shake hands in a cot:
At the church with fair Phebe since Damon has been;
He's rich as a monarch—she's blest as a queen.
A PASTORAL HYMN To JANUS. On the BIRTH of the QUEEN.
‘Te primum pia thura rogent—te vota salutent, —te Colat omnis honas.’MART. ad Janum.
I.
TO JANUS, gentle shepherds! raise a shrine:
His honours be divine!
And as to mighty PAN with homage bow:
To him, the virgin troop shall tribute bring;
Let him be hail'd like the green-liveried spring,
Spite of the wint'ry storms that stain his brow.
II.
The pride, the glowing pageantry of MAY,
Glides wantonly away:
But JANUARY, in his rough spun vest,
Boasts the full blessings that can never fade,
He that gave birth to the illustrious maid,
Whose beauties make the BRITISH MONARCH blest!
III.
Could the soft spring with all her sunny showers,
The frolic nurse of flowers!
Or flaunting summer, flush'd in ripen'd pride,
Could they produce a finish'd sweet so rare:
Or from his golden stores, a gift so fair,
Say, has the fertile Autumn e'er supply'd?
IV.
Hence forward let the hoary month be gay
As the white-hawthorn'd MAY!
The laughing goddess of the spring disown'd,
HER rosy wreath shall on HIS brows appear,
Old JANUS as he leads, shall fill the year,
And the less fruitful AUTUMN be dethron'd.
V.
Above the other months supremely blest,
Glad JANUS stands confest!
He can behold with retrospective face
The mighty blessings of the year gone by:
Where to connect a Monarch's nuptial tie,
Assembled ev'ry glory, ev'ry grace!
VI.
When he looks forward on the flatt'ring year,
The golden hours appear;
As in the sacred reign of Saturn, fair:
Britain shall prove from this propitious date,
Her honours perfect, victories compleat,
And boast the brightest hopes, a BRITISH HEIR.
☞STANZAS ON THE FORWARDNESS of SPRING.
—tibi, flores, plenis
Ecce ferunt, nymphae, calathis.
VIR.
I.
O'ER Nature's fresh bosom, by verdure unbound,
Bleak Winter blooms lovely as Spring:
Rich flow'rets (how fragrant!) rise wantonly round,
And Summer's wing'd choristers sing!
II.
To greet the young monarch of Britain's blest isle,
The groves with gay blossoms are grac'd!
The primrose peeps forth with an innocent smile,
And cowslips croud forward in haste!
III.
Dispatch, gentle Flora! the nymphs of your train
Thro' woodlands to gather each sweet:
Go—rob, of young roses, the dew-spangl'd plain,
And strew the gay spoils at his feet.
IV.
Two chaplets of laurel, in verdure the same,
For GEORGE, oh ye virgins, entwine!
From Conquest's own temples these evergreens came,
And those from the brows of the Nine!
V.
What honours, ye Britons! (one emblem implies)
What glory to GEORGE shall belong!
What Miltons, (the other) what Addisons rise
To make him immortal in song!
VI.
To a wreath of fresh Oak, England's emblem of pow'r!
Whose honours with time shall encrease!
Add a fair olive sprig just unfolding its flow'r,
Rich token of Concord and Peace!
VII.
Next give him young Myrtles, by Beauties bright queen
Collected,—the pride of the grove!
How fragrant their odour! their foliage how green!
Sweet promise of conjugal Love!
VIII.
Let Gaul's captive Lillies, cropt close to the ground,
As trophies of Conquest be ty'd:
The virgins all cry, "there's not one to be found!
"Out-bloom'd by his Roses—they dy'd."
IX.
Ye foes of Old England, such fate shall ye share;
With GEORGE, as our glories advance—
Thro' envy you'll sicken,—you'll droop,—you'll despair,
And die—like the Lillies of France.
☞On the APPROACH of MAY.
I.
THE virgin, when soften'd by MAY,
Attends to the villager's vows;
The birds sweetly bill on the spray,
And poplars embrace with their boughs;
On Ida bright Venus may reign,
Ador'd for her beauty above!
We shepherds that dwell on the plain,
Hail MAY as the mother of love.
II.
From the West as it wantonly blows,
[...]ond zephir caresses the vine:
[...] bee steals a kiss from the rose,
[...]d willows and woodbines entwine:
[...] pinks by the rivulet side,
[...]t border the vernal alcove,
[...]ownward to kiss the soft tide:
[...] MAY is the mother of love.
III.
MAY tinges the butterfly's wing,
He flutters in bridal array!
And if the wing'd foresters sing,
Their music is taught them by MAY.
The stock-dove, recluse with her mate,
Conceals her fond bliss in the grove,
And murmuring seems to repeat
That MAY is the mother of love.
IV.
The goddess will visit ye soon,
Ye virgins be sportive and gay:
Get your pipes, oh ye shepherds, in tune,
For music must welcome the MAY.
Would Damon have Phillis prove kind,
And all his keen anguish remove,
Let him tell her soft tales, and he'll find
That MAY is the mother of love.
PHILLIS: A PASTORAL BALLAD.
I.
I Said,—on the banks by the stream,
I've pip'd for the shepherds too long:
Oh grant me, ye Muses, a theme,
Where glory may brighten my song!
But PAN bade me stick to my strain,
Nor lessons too lofty rehearse;
Ambition befits not a swain,
And PHILLIS loves pastoral verse.
II.
The rose, tho' a beautiful red,
Looks faded to PHILLIS'S bloom:
And the breeze from the bean-flow'r bed
To her breath's but a feeble perfume:
The dew-drop so limpid and gay,
That loose on the violet lies,
Wants lustre, compar'd to her eyes.
III.
A lilly I pluck'd in full pride,
Its freshness with her's to compare;
And foolishly thought (till I try'd)
The flow'ret was equally fair.
How, CORYDON, could you mistake?
Your fault be with sorrow confest,
You said the white Swans on the lake
For softness might rival her breast.
IV.
While thus I went on in her praise,
My PHILLIS pass'd sportive along:
Ye poets I covet no bays,
She smil'd,—a reward for my song!
I find the God PAN'S in the right,
No fame's like the fair ones applause!
And CUPID must crown with delight
The shepherd that sings in his cause.
POMONA: A PASTORAL.
I.
FROM orchards of ample extent,
Pomona's compel'd to depart;
And thus, as in anguish she went,
The Goddess unburthen'd her heart:
II.
"To flourish where liberty reigns,
"Was all my fond wishes requir'd;
"And here I agreed with the swains,
"To live till their freedom expir'd.
III.
"Of late you have number'd my trees,
"And threaten'd to limit my store:
"Alas—from such maxims as these,
"I fear—that your freedom's no more.
IV.
"My flight will be fatal to May:
"For how can her gardens be fine?
"The blossoms are doom'd to decay,
"(The blossoms, I mean, that were mine.)
V.
"Rich Autumn remembers me well:
"My fruitage was fair to behold!
"My pears!—how I ripen'd their swell!
"My pippins!—were pippins of gold!
VI.
"Let Ceres drudge on with her ploughs!
"She droops as she furrows the soil;
"A nectar I shake from my boughs,
"A nectar that softens my toil.
VII.
"When Bacchus began to repine,
"With patience I bore his abuse;
"He said that I plunder'd the vine,
"He said that I pilfer'd his juice.
VIII.
"I know the proud drunkard denies
"That trees of my culture should grow:
"But let not the traitor advise;
"He comes from the climes of your foe.
IX.
"Alas! in your silence I read
"The sentence I'm doom'd to deplore:
"'Tis plain the great PAN has decreed,
"My orchard shall flourish no more."
X.
The Goddess flew off in despair;
As all her sweet honours declin'd:
And PLENTY and PLEASURE declare,
They'll loiter no longer behind.
The FOX and the CAT: A FABLE.
THE Fox and the Cat, as they travel'd one day,
With moral discourses cut shorter the way:
''Tis great, says the Fox, to make justice our guide!
'How godlike is mercy, Grimalkin reply'd.'
Whilst thus they proceeded,—a Wolf from the wood,
Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood,
Rush'd forth—as he saw the dull shepherd asleep,
And seiz'd for his supper an innocent sheep.
In vain, wretched victim, for mercy you bleat,
When mutton's at hand, says the wolf, I must eat.
Grimalkin's astonish'd,—The Fox stood aghast,
To see the fell beast at his bloody repast.
[Page 47]'What a wretch, says the cat,—'tis the vilest of brutes:
'Does he feed upon flesh, when there's herbage, —and roots?
'Cries the Fox—while our oaks give us acorns so good,
'What a tyrant is this, to spill innocent blood?'
Well, onward they march'd, and they moraliz'd still,
'Till they came where some poultry pick'd chaff by a mill:
Sly Reynard survey'd them with gluttonous eyes,
And made (spite of morals) a pullet his prize.
A mouse too, that chanc'd from her covert to stray,
The greedy Grimalkin secur'd as her prey.
A Spider that sat in her web on the wall,
Perceiv'd the poor victims, and pity'd their fall;
She cry'd—of such murders how guiltless am I!
So ran to regale on a new taken fly.
MORAL.
The faults of our neighbours with freedom we blame,
But tax not ourselves, tho' we practise the same.
The MILLER: A BALLAD.
I.
IN a plain pleasant cottage, conveniently neat,
With a mill and some meadows—a freehold, estate,
A well-meaning miller by labour supplies,
Those blessings that grandeur to great ones denies:
No passions to plague him, no cares to torment,
His constant companions are health and content;
Their lordships in lace may remark if they will,
He's honest tho' daub'd with the dust of his mill.
II.
Ere the larks early carrols salute the new day
He springs from his cottage as jocund as May;
[Page 49]He chearfully whistles, regardless of care,
Or sings the last ballad he bought at the fair:
While courtiers are toil'd in the cobwebs of state,
Or bribing elections in hopes to be great,
No fraud, of ambition his bosom does fill,
Contented he works, if there's grist for his mill.
III.
On Sunday bedeck'd in his homespun array,
At church he's the loudest, to chaunt or to pray:
He sits to a dinner of plain English food,
Tho' simple the pudding, his appetite's good;
At night, when the priest and exciseman are gone,
He quaffs at the alehouse with Roger and John,
Then reels to his pillow, and dreams of no ill;
No monarch more blest than the man of the mill.
The LVIII. ODE of ANACREON imitated.
AS I wove with wanton care,
Fillets for a virgin's hair,
Culling for my fond design,
What the fields had fresh and fine:
CUPID,—and I mark'd him well,
Hid him in a cowslip bell;
While he plum'd a pointed dart,
Fated to inflame the heart.
Glowing with malicious joy,
Sudden I secur'd the boy;
And, regardless of his cries,
Bore the little frighted prize
Where the mighty goblet stood,
Teeming with a rosy flood.
Urchin, in my rage, I cry'd,
What avails thy saucy pride,
From thy busy vengeance free,
Triumph, now, belongs to me!
Thus—I drown thee in my cup;
Thus—in wine I drink thee up.
Fatal was the nectar'd draught
That to murder LOVE I quaff'd,
O'er my bosom's fond domains,
Now, the cruel tyrant reigns:
On my heart's most tender strings,
Striking with his wanton wings,
I'm for ever doom'd to prove
All the insolence of love.
A LANDSCAPE.
‘Rura mihi et irrigui placeant in vallibus amnes.’VIRG.
I.
NOW that summer's ripen'd bloom
Frolicks where the winter frown'd,
Stretch'd upon these banks of broom,
We command the landscape round.
II.
Nature in the prospect yields
Humble dales, and mountains bold,
Meadows, woodlands, heaths,—and fields
Yellow'd o'er with waving gold.
III.
Goats upon that frowning steep,
Fearless, with their kidlings brouse!
Here a flock of snowy sheep!
There an herd of motly cows!
IV.
On the uplands, every glade
Brightens in the blaze of day;
O'er the vales, the sober shade
Softens to an evening grey.
V.
Where the rill by slow degrees
Swells into a crystal pool,
Shaggy rocks and shelving trees
Shoot to keep the waters cool.
VI.
Shiver'd by a thunder-stroke,
From the mountain's misty ridge,
O'er the brook a ruin'd oak,
Near the farm-house, forms a bridge.
VII.
On her breast the funny beam
Glitters in meridian pride;
Yonder as the virgin stream
Hastens to the restless tide:—
VIII.
Where the ships by wanton gales
Wafted, o'er the green waves run.
Sweet to see their swelling sails
Whiten'd by the laughing sun!
IX.
High upon the daisied hill,
Rising from the slope of trees,
How the wings of yonder mill
Labour in the busy breeze!—
X.
Cheerful as a summer's morn
(Bouncing from her loaded pad)
Where the maid presents her corn,
Smirking, to the miller's lad.
XI.
O'er the green a festal throng
Gambols, in fantastic trim!
As the full cart moves along,
Hearken—'tis their harvest hymn!
XII.
Linnets on the crowded sprays
Chorus,—and the wood-larks rise,
Soaring with a song of praise,
Till the sweet notes reach the skies.
XIII.
Torrents in extended sheets
Down the cliffs, dividing, break:
'Twixt the hills the water meets,
Settling in a silver lake!
XIV.
From his languid flocks, the swain
By the sunbeams sore opprest,
Plunging on the wat'ry plain,
Plows it with his glowing breast.
XV.
Where the mantling willows no [...],
From the green bank's slopy side,
Patient, with his well-thrown rod
Many an angler breaks the tide!
XVI.
On the isles, with osiers drest
Many a fair-plum'd haloion breeds!
Many a wild bird hides her nest,
Cover'd in yon crackling reeds
XVII.
Fork-tail'd pratlers as they pass
To their nestlings in the rock,
Darting on the liquid glass,
Seem to kiss the mimick'd flock.
XVIII.
Where the stone Cross lifts its head,
Many a saint and pilgrim hoar,
Up the hills was wont to tread
Barefoot, in the days of yore.
XIX.
Guardian of a sacred well,
Arch'd beneath yon reverend shades,
Whilome, in that shatter'd cell,
Many an hermit told his beads.
XX.
Sultry mists surround the heath
Where the Gothic dome appears,
O'er the trembling groves beneath,
Tott'ring with a load of years.
XXI.
Turn to the contrasted scene,
Where, beyond these hoary piles,
Gay, upon the rising green,
Many an attic building smiles!
XXII.
Painted gardens—grots—and groves,
Intermingling shade and light!
Lengthen'd vistas, green alcoves,
Join to give the eye delight.
XXIII.
Hamlets—villages, and spires,
Scatter'd on the landscape lie,
Till the distant view retires,
Closing in an azure sky.
On seeing W. R. CHETWOOD cheerful in a Prison.
I.
SAY, lov'd Content—fair goddess, say,
Where shall I seek thy soft retreat,
How shall I find thy halcion seat,
Or trace thy secret way?
II.
Love pointed out a pleasing scene,
Where nought but beauty could be found,
With roses and with myrtles crown'd,
And nam'd thee for its queen.
III.
Delusion all!—a specious cheat!
At my approach the roses fade,
I found each fragrance quite decay'd,
And curs'd the fond deceit.
IV.
At courts I've try'd where splendor shone,
Where pomp and gilded cares reside,
'Midst endless hurry, endless pride,
But there thou wast unknown.
V.
Yet in the captive's dreary cell,
Lodg'd with a long experienc'd sage,
With the fam'd
* CHIRON of the stage
The goddess deign'd to dwell.
VI.
Integrity, and truth serene,
Had eas'd the labours of his breast,
And lull'd his peaceful heart to rest
'Midst perfidy and pain.
VII.
A soul like his, disrob'd of guile,
With native innocence elate,
Above the keenest rage of fate
Can greet her with a smile.
MELODY.
I.
LIghtsome, as convey'd by sparrows,
Love and beauty cross'd the plains,
Flights of little pointed arrows
Love dispatch'd among the swains.
But so much our shepherds dread him,
(Spoiler of their peace profound)
Swift as scudding fawns they fled him,
Frighted, tho' they felt no wound.
II.
Now the wanton God grown slier,
And for each fond mischief ripe,
Comes disguis'd in PAN'S attire,
Tuning sweet an oaten pipe.
Echo, by the winding river,
Doubles his deluding strains;
While the boy conceals his quiver,
From the slow returning swains.
III.
As Palemon, unsuspecting,
Prais'd the sly musician's art;
Love, his light disguise rejecting,
Lodg'd an arrow in his heart.
Cupid will enforce your duty,
Shepherds, and would have you taught,
Those that timid fly from BEAUTY,
May by MELODY be caught.
AN ELEGY ON A PILE of RUINS.
‘Aspice murorum moles, praeruptaque saxa! JANUS VITALIS.’‘Omnia, tempus edax depascitur, omnia carpit.’SENECA.
I.
IN the full prospect yonder hill commands,
O'er barren heaths, and cultivated plains;
The vestige of an ancient abbey stands,
Close by a ruin'd castle's rude remains.
II.
Half buried, there, lie many a broken bust,
And obelisk, and urn, o'erthrown by TIME;
And many a cherub, there, descends in dust
From the rent roof, and portico sublime.
III.
The rivulets, oft frighted at the sound
Of fragments, tumbling from the tow'rs on high;
Plunge to their source in secret caves profound,
Leaving their banks and pebbly bottoms dry.
IV.
Where rev'rend shrines in Gothic grandeur stood,
The nettle, or the noxious night-shade, spreads;
And ashlings, wafted from the neighb'ring wood,
Thro' the worn turrets wave their trembling heads.
V.
There Contemplation, to the croud unknown,
Her attitude compos'd, and aspect sweet!
Sits musing on a monumental stone,
And points to the MEMENTO at her feet.
VI.
Soon as sage ev'ning check'd day's sunny pride,
I left the mantling shade, in moral mood;
And seated by the maid's sequester'd side,
Sigh'd, as the mould'ring monuments I view'd.
VII.
Inexorably calm, with silent pace
Here TIME has pass'd—What ruin marks his way!
This pile, now crumbling o'er its hallow'd base,
Turn'd not his step, nor could his course delay.
VIII.
Religion rais'd her supplicating eyes
In vain; and Melody, her song sublime:
In vain, Philosophy, with maxims wise,
Would touch the cold unfeeling heart of TIME.
IX.
Yet the hoar tyrant, tho' not mov'd to spare,
Relented when he struck its finish'd pride;
And partly the rude ravage to repair,
The tott'ring tow'rs with twisted Ivy tied.
X.
How solemn is the cell o'ergrown with moss,
That terminates the view, yon cloister'd way!
In the crush'd wall, a time-corroded cross,
Religion like, stands mould'ring in decay!
XI.
Where the mild sun, thro' saint-encypher'd glass,
Illum'd with yellow light yon dusky isle;
Many rapt hours might Meditation pass,
Slow moving 'twixt the pillars of the pile!
XII.
And Piety, with mystic-meaning beads,
Bowing to saints on ev'ry side inurn'd,
Trod oft the solitary path, that leads
Where, now, the sacred altar lies o'erturn'd!
XIII.
Thro' the grey grove, between those with'ring trees,
'Mongst a rude group of monuments, appears
A marble-imag'd matron on her knees,
Half wasted, like a Niobe in tears:
XIV.
Low level'd in the dust her darling's laid!
Death pitied not the pride of youthful bloom'
Nor could maternal piety dissuade,
Or soften the fell tyrant of the tomb.
XV.
The relicks of a mitred saint may rest,
Where, mould'ring in the niche, his statue stands;
Now nameless, as the croud that kiss'd his vest,
And crav'd the benediction of his hands.
XVI.
Near the brown arch, redoubling yonder gloom,
The bones of an illustrious Chieftain lie;
As trac'd amongst the fragments of his tomb,
The trophies of a broken FAME imply.
XVII.
Ah! what avails, that o'er the vassal plain,
His rights and rich demesnes extended wide!
That honour, and her knights, compos'd his train,
And chivalry stood marshal'd by his side!
XVIII.
Tho' to the clouds his castle seem'd to climb,
And frown'd defiance on the desp'rate foe;
Tho' deem'd invincible, the conqueror, TIME,
Level'd the fabric, as the founder, low.
XIX.
Where the light lyre gave many a soft'ning sound,
Ravens and rooks, the birds of discord, dwell;
And where Society sat sweetly crown'd,
Eternal Solitude has fix'd her cell.
XX.
The lizard, and the lazy lurking bat,
Inhabit now, perhaps, the painted room,
Where the sage matron and her maidens sat,
Sweet-singing at the silver-working loom.
XXI.
The traveller's bewilder'd on a waste;
And the rude winds incessant seem to roar,
Where, in his groves with arching arbours grac'd
Young lovers often sigh'd in days of yore.
XXII.
His aqueducts, that led the limpid tide
To pure canals, a chrystal cool supply!
In the deep dust their barren beauties hide:
TIME'S thirst, unquenchable, has drain'd them dry!
XXIII.
Tho' his rich hours in revelry were spent,
With Comus, and the laughter-loving crew;
And the sweet brow of Beauty, still unbent,
Brighten'd his fleecy moments as they flew:
XXIV.
Fleet are the fleecy moments! fly they must;
Not to be stay'd by masque, or midnight roar!
Nor shall a pulse amongst that mould'ring dust,
Beat wanton at the smiles of Beauty more!
XXV.
Can the deep statesman, skill'd in great design,
Protract, but for a day, precarious breath?
Or the tun'd follower of the sacred Nine,
Sooth, with his melody, insatiate Death?
XXVI.
No—Tho' the palace bar her golden gate,
Or monarchs plant ten thousand guards around;
Unerring, and unseen, the shaft of fate
Strikes the devoted victim to the ground!
XXVII.
What then avails Ambition's wide stretch'd wing,
The Schoolman's page, or pride of Beauty's bloom!
The crape-clad hermit, and the rich-rob'd king
Level'd, lie mix'd promiscuous in the tomb.
XXVIII.
The Macedonian monarch, wise and good,
Bade, when the morning's rosy reign began,
Courtiers should call, as round his couch they stood,
"PHILIP! remember, thou'rt no more than man.
XXIX.
"Tho' glory spread thy name from pole to pole;
"Tho' thou art merciful, and brave, and just;
"PHILIP, reflect, thou'rt posting to the goal,
"Where mortals mix in undistinguish'd dust!"
XXX.
So SALADIN, for arts and arms renown'd,
(Egypt and Syria's wide domains subdu'd)
[Page 71]Returning with imperial triumphs crown'd,
Sigh'd, when the perishable pomp he view'd:
XXXI.
And as he rode, high in his regal car,
In all the purple pride of conquest drest;
Conspicuous, o'er the trophies gain'd in war,
Plac'd, pendent on a spear, his burial vest:
XXXII.
While thus the herald cry'd—"This son of pow'r,
"This SALADIN, to whom the nations bow'd;
"May, in the space of one revolving hour,
"Boast of no other spoil, but yonder shroud!"
XXXIII.
Search where Ambition rag'd, with rigour steel'd;
Where Slaughter, like the rapid lightning, ran;
And say, while mem'ry weeps the blood-stain'd field,
Where lies the chief, and where the common man?
XXXIV.
Vain then are pyramids, and motto'd stones,
And monumental trophies rais'd on high!
For TIME confounds them with the crumbling bones,
That mix'd in hasty graves unnotic'd lie.
XXXV.
Rests not, beneath the turf, the peasant's head,
Soft as the lord's, beneath the labour'd tomb?
Or sleeps one colder, in his close clay bed;
Than t'other, in the wide vault's dreary womb?
XXXVI.
Hither, let LUXURY lead her loose-rob'd train;
Here flutter PRIDE, on purple-painted wings:
And, from the moral prospect, learn—how vain
The wish, that sighs for sublunary things!
An INSCRIPTION On the House at Mavis-bank near Edinburgh. Situated in a GROVE.
Parva domus! nemerosa quies!
Sis tu, quoque nostris
Hospitium, laribus, subsidiumque diu!
Postes tuas, Flora ornet, Pomonaque mensas!
Conferat ut variat fertilis hortus opes!
Et volucres pictae cingentes voce canora,
Retia sola canent quae sibi tendit amor!
Floriferi colles, dulces mihi soepe recessus
Dent, atque hospitibus gaudia plena meis!
Concedatque Deus nunquam, vel sero senescas,
Séroque terrenas experiare vices!
Integra reddantur quae plurima saecula rodant
Detur, et ut senio pulchrior eniteas.
The INSCRIPTION imitated.
I.
PEACE has explor'd this silvan scene,
She courts your calm retreat,
Ye groves of variegated green,
That grace my genial seat!
Here, in the lap of lenient ease,
(Remote from mad'ning noise)
Let me delude a length of days,
In dear domestic joys!
II.
Long may the parent queen of flow'rs
Her fragrance here display!
Long may she paint my mantling bow'rs,
And make my portals gay!
Nor you—my yellow gardens, fail
To swell Pomona's hoard!
So shall the plenteous, rich regale—
Replenish, long, my board!
III.
Pour through the groves your carols clear,
Ye birds, nor bondage dread:
If any toils entangle here,
'Tis those that love hath spread.
Where the green hill so gradual slants,
Or flowery glade extends,
Long may these fair, these fav'rite haunts,
Prove social to my friends!
IV.
May you preserve perpetual bloom,
My happy halcion seat!
Or if fell time denounce thy doom,
Far distant be its date!
And when he makes, with iron rage,
Thy youthful pride his prey,
Long may the honours of thy age
Be reverenc'd in decay!
DELIA: A PASTORAL.
I.
THE gentle swan with graceful pride
Her glossy plumage laves,
And sailing down the silver tide,
Divides the whisp'ring waves.
The silver tide, that wand'ring flows,
Sweet to the bird must be!
But not so sweet—blyth Cupid knows,
As DELIA is to me.
II.
A parent bird in plaintive mood,
On yonder fruit-tree sung,
And still the pendent nest she view'd,
That held her callow young:
Dear to the mother's flutt'ring heart,
The genial brood must be:
But not so dear (the thousandth part!)
As DELIA is to me.
III.
The roses that my brow surround,
Were natives of the dale:
Scarce pluck'd, and in a garland bound,
Before their sweets grew pale!
My vital bloom would thus be froze,
If luckless torn from thee;
For what the root is to the rose,
My DELIA is to me.
IV.
Two doves I found like new-fall'n snow,
So white the beauteous pair!
The birds to DELIA I'll bestow,
They're like her bosom fair!
When, in their chaste connubial love,
My secret wish she'll see;
Such mutual bliss as turtles prove,
May DELIA share with me!
MAY-EVE: Or, KATE of ABERDEEN.
I.
THE silver moon's enamour'd beam
Steals softly through the night,
To wanton with the winding stream,
And kiss reflected light.
To beds of state go balmy sleep,
('Tis where you've seldom been)
May's vigil whilst the shepherds keep
With KATE of Aberdeen.
II.
Upon the green the virgins wait,
In rosy chaplets gay,
Till morn unbar her golden gate,
And give the promis'd May.
Methinks I hear the maids declare,
The promis'd May, when seen,
Not half so fragrant, half so fair,
As KATE of Aberdeen.
III.
Strike up the tabor's boldest notes,
We'll rouse the nodding grove;
The nested birds shall raise their throats,
And hail the maid I love:
And see—the matin lark mistakes,
He quits the tufted green:
Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks,
'Tis KATE of Aberdeen.
IV.
Now lightsome o'er the level mead,
Where midnight Fairies rove,
Like them, the jocund dance we'll lead,
Or tune the reed to love.
For see the rosy May draws nigh:
She claims a virgin queen;
And hark the happy shepherds cry
'Tis KATE of Aberdeen.
The SYCAMORE SHADE: A BALLAD.
I.
T'Other day as I sat in the Sycamore shade,
Young Damon came whistling along,
I trembled—I blush'd—a poor innocent maid!
And my heart caper'd up to my tongue.
Silly heart, I cry'd, fie! What a flutter is here!
Young Damon designs you no ill;
The shepherd's so civil you've nothing to fear,
Then prythee, fond urchin, lie still.
II.
Sly Damon drew near, and knelt down at my feet,
One kiss he demanded—No more!
But urg'd the soft pressure with ardour so sweet,
I could not begrudge him a score.
My lambkins I've kiss'd, and no change ever found,
Many times as we play'd on the hill:
But Damon's dear lips made my heart gallop round,
Nor would the fond urchin lie still.
III.
When the sun blazes fierce, to the Sycamore shade
For shelter, I'm sure to repair;
And, virgins, in faith I'm no longer afraid,
Altho' the dear shepherd be there.
At ev'ry fond kiss that with freedom he takes,
My heart may rebound if it will:
There's something so sweet in the bustle it makes,
I'll die 'ere I bid it lie still.
The XXXIII. ODE of ANACREON imitated. To the SWALLOW.
SOON as summer glads the sky,
Hither, gentle bird, you fly;
And with golden sunshine blest,
Build your pretty plaster'd nest.
When the seasons cease to smile,
(Wing'd for Memphis or the Nile)
Charming bird, you disappear
Till the kind succeeding year.
Like the Swallow, LOVE, depart!
Respite for a while my heart.
No, he'll never leave his nest,
Tyrant tenant of my breast!
There a thousand WISHES try
On their callow wings to fly;
There you may a thousand tell,
Pertly peeping through the shell:
In a state unfinish'd, rise
Thousands of a smaller size.
Till their noisy chirpings cease,
Never shall my heart have peace.
Feather'd ones the younglings feed,
Till mature they're fit to breed;
Then, to swell the crowded store,
They produce their thousands more:
Nor can mighty numbers count
In my breast their vast amount.
LOVE and CHASTITY: A CANTATA.
RECITATIVE.
FRom the high mount
*, whence sacred groves depend,
Diana and her virgin troop descend;
And while the buskin'd maids with active care,
The business of the daily chace prepare:
A favourite nymph steps forward from the throng,
And thus, exulting, swells the jovial song.
AIR.
Jolly HEALTH springs aloft at the loud sounding horn,
Unlock'd from soft SLUMBER'S embrace;
And JOY sings an hymn to salute the sweet morn,
That smiles on the nymphs of the chace.
The rage of fell Cupid no bosom prophanes,
No rancour disturbs our delight,
[Page 88]All the day with fresh VIGOUR we sweep o'er the plains;
And sleep with CONTENTMENT all night.
RECIT.
Their clamour rous'd the slighted god of love:
He flies, indignant, to the sacred grove:
Immortal myrtles wreathe his golden hair,
His rosy wings perfume the wanton air;
Two quivers fill'd with darts his fell designs declare.
A crimson blush o'erspreads fair Dian's face,
A frown succeeds—She stops the springing chace,
And thus, forbids the boy the consecrated place:
AIR.
Fond disturber of the heart,
From these halcion shades depart:
Here's a blooming troop disdains
Love, and his fantastic chains.
Sisters of the silver bow,
Pure and chaste as virgin snow,
Melt not at thy feeble fires,
Wanton god of wild desires!
Rage and revenge divide Love's little breast,
Whilst thus the angry goddess he addrest:
AIR.
Virgin snow does oft remain
Long unmelted on the plain,
Till the glorious god of day
Smiles, and wastes its pride away.
What is Sol's meridian fire
To the darts of strong desire!
Love can light a raging flame
Hotter than his noontide beam.
RECIT.
Now, through the forest's brown-embower'd ways,
With careless steps the young Endymion strays:
His form erect!—loose flows his lovely hair,
His glowing cheek, like youthful Hebe's, fair!
His graceful limbs with ease and vigour move,
His eyes—his ev'ry feature form'd for love:
[Page 90]Around the list'ning woods attentive hung,
While thus, invoking sleep, the shepherd sung:
AIR.
Where the pebbled streamlet glides
Near the wood nymph's rustic grot,
If the god of Sleep resides,
Or in Pan's sequester'd cot;
Hither if he'll lightly tread,
Follow'd by a gentle dream,
We'll enjoy this grassy bed,
On the bank beside the stream.
RECIT.
As on the painted turf the shepherd lies,
Sleep's downy curtain shades his lovely eyes;
And now a sporting breeze his bosom shews
As marble smooth, and white as Alpine snows:
The Goddess gaz'd, in magic softness bound;
Her silver bow falls useless to the ground!
Love laugh'd, and, sure of conquest, wing'd a dart
Unerring, to her undefended heart.
She feels in every vein the fatal fire,
And thus persuades her virgins to retire:
I.
Ye tender maids be timely wise;
Love's wanton fury shun!
In flight alone your safety lies,
The daring are undone!
II.
Do blue-ey'd doves, serenely mild,
With vultures fell engage!
Do lambs provoke the lion wild,
Or tempt the tyger's rage!
III.
No, no, like fawns, ye virgins fly,
To secret cells remove;
Nor dare the doubtful combat try
'Twixt CHASTITY and LOVE.
DAMON and PHILLIS: A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.
‘Donec gratus eram, &c.’HOR.
DAMON.
WHEN Phillis was faithful, and fond as she's fair,
I twisted young roses in wreaths for my hair:
But ah! the sad willow's a shade for my brows,
For Phillis no longer remembers her vows!
To the groves with young Collin the shepherdess flies,
While Damon disturbs the still plains with his sighs.
PHILLIS.
Bethink thee, false Damon, before you upbraid,
When Phoebe's fair lambkin had yesterday stray'd,
[Page 93]Thro' the woodlands you wander'd, poor Phillis forgot!
And drove the gay rambler quite home to her cot;
A swain so deceitful no damsel can prize;
'Tis Phoebe, not Phillis, lays claim to your sighs.
DAMON.
Like summer's full season young Phoebe is kind,
Her manners are graceful, untainted her mind!
The sweets of contentment her cottage adorn,
She's fair as the rose-bud, and fresh as the morn!
She smiles like Pomona.—These smiles I'd resign,
If Phillis were faithful, and deign'd to be mine.
PHILLIS.
On the tabor young Collin so prettily plays!
He sings me sweet sonnets, and writes in my praise!
He chose me his true-love last Valentine's day,
When birds sat like bridegrooms all pair'd on the spray;
Yet I'd drive the gay shepherd far, far from my mind,
If Damon, the rover, were constant and kind.
DAMON.
[Page 94]Fine folk, my sweet Phillis, may revel and range,
But fleeting's the pleasure that's founded on change!
In the villager's cottage such constancy springs,
That peasants with pity may look down on kings.
To the church then let's hasten, our transports to bind,
And Damon will always prove faithful and kind.
PHILLIS.
To the church then let's hasten, our transports to bind,
And Phillis will always prove faithful and kind.
FORTUNE: An APOLOGUE. Fabula narratur.
I.
JOVE and his senators, in sage debate
For Man's felicity, were settling laws,
When a rude roar that shook the sacred gate,
Turn'd their attention to enquire the cause.
II.
A long-ear'd wretch, the loudest of his race!
In the rough garniture of grief array'd,
Came brawling to the high imperial place,
Let me have justice, JUPITER!—he bray'd.
III.
"I am an ass, of innocence allow'd
"The type, yet FORTUNE persecutes me still;
"Whilst foxes, wolves, and all the murd'ring crowd,
"Beneath her patronage can rob and kill.
IV.
"The pamper'd horse, (he never toil'd so hard!)
"Favour and friendship from his owner finds:
"For endless diligence,—(a rough reward!)
"I'm cudgel'd by a race of paltry hinds.
V.
"On wretched provender compel'd to feed!
"The rugged pavements ev'ry night my bed!
"For me, dame FORTUNE never yet decreed,
"The gracious comforts of a well-thatch'd shed.
VI.
"Rough and unseemly's my irreverent hide!
"Where can I visit—thus uncouthly drest?
"That outside elegance the dame deny'd,
"For which her fav'rites are too oft caress'd.
VII.
"To suff'ring virtue, sacred JOVE, be kind!
"From FORTUNE'S Tyranny pronounce me free!
"She's a deceiver, if she says she's blind,
"She sees, propitiously sees all—but me."
VIII.
The plaintiff cou'd articulate no more:
His bosom heav'd a most tremendous groan!
The race of long-ear'd wretches join'd the roar,
Till JOVE seem'd tott'ring on his high-built throne.
IX.
The Monarch with an all-commanding Sound,
(Deepen'd like thunder through the rounds of space)
Gave order, that dame FORTUNE should be found,
To answer, as she might, the plaintiff's case.
X.
Soldiers, and citizens, a seemly train!
And lawyers and physicians, sought her cell;
[Page 98]With many a schoolman—But their search was vain:
Few can the residence of FORTUNE tell.
XI.
Where the wretch Avarice was wont to hide
His gold, his emeralds, and rubies rare;
'Twas rumour'd that dame FORTUNE did reside,
And JOVE'S ambassadors were posted there.
XII.
Meagre and wan, in tatter'd garments drest,
A feeble porter at the gate they found:
Doubled with wretchedness—with age distrest,
And on his wrinkled forehead Famine frown'd.
XIII.
Mortals avaunt, the trembling spectre cries,
"'Ere you invade these sacred haunts, beware!
"To guard Lord Avarice from rude surprize,
"I am the centinel—my name is Care.
XIV.
"Doubts, Disappointments, Anarchy of mind,
"These are the soldiers that surround his hall:
[Page 99]"And every
Fury that can lash mankind,
"Rage, Rancour and Revenge attend his call.
XV.
"FORTUNE'S gone forth, you seek a wand'ring dame,
"A settled residence the harlot scorns:
"Curse on such visitants, she never came,
"But with a cruel hand she scatter'd thorns!
XVI.
"To the green vale, yon shelt'ring hills surround,
"Go forward, you'll arrive at Wisdom's cell:
"Wou'd you be taught where FORTUNE may be found,
"None can direct your anxious search so well."
XVII.
Forward they went, o'er many a dreary spot:
(Rough was the road, as if untrod before)
Till from the casement of a low-roof'd cot
Wisdom perceiv'd them, and unbarr'd her door.
XVIII.
Wisdom, (she knew of FORTUNE but the name)
Gave to their questions a serene reply:
"Hither, she said, if e'er that goddess came
"I saw her not—she pass'd unnotic'd by."
XIX.
"Abroad with Contemplation oft I roam,
"And leave to Poverty my humble cell:
"She's my domestic, never stirs from home,
"If FORTUNE has been here, 'tis she can tell.
XX.
"The Matron eyes us from yon mantling shade,
"And see her sober footsteps this way bent!
"Mark by her side, a little rose-lip'd maid,
"'Tis my young daughter, and her name's Content."
XXI.
As Poverty advanc'd with lenient grace,
"FORTUNE, she cry'd, hath never yet been here:
[Page 101]"But
Hope, a gentle neighbour of this place,
"Tells me, her Highness may, in time, appear.
XXII.
"Felicity, no doubt, adorns their lot,
"On whom her golden bounty beams divine!
"Yet tho' she never reach our rustic cot,
"Patience will visit us—we sha'nt repine."
XXIII.
After a vast (but unavailing) round,
The messengers returning in despair;
On an high hill a fairy mansion found,
And hop'd the goddess, FORTUNE, might be there.
XXIV.
The dome, so glitt'ring, it amaz'd the sight,
('Twas adamant, with gems encrusted o'er)
Had not a casement to admit the light,
Nor could JOVE'S deputies descry the door.
XXV.
But eager to conclude a tedious chace,
And anxious to return from whence they came,
[Page 102]Thrice they invok'd the Genius of the place:
Thrice utter'd, awfully, JOVE'S sacred name.
XXVI.
As Echo from the hill announc'd high JOVE,
Illusion and her fairy dome withdrew:
(Like the light mist by early sunbeams drove)
And FORTUNE stood reveal'd to public view.
XXVII.
Oft for that happiness high courts deny'd,
To this receptacle dame FORTUNE ran:
When harrass'd, it was here she us'd to hide,
From the wild suits of discontented Man.
XXVIII.
Prostrate, the delegates their charge declare,
(Happy the courtier that salutes her feet!)
FORTUNE receiv'd them with a flatt'ring air,
And join'd them till they reach'd JOVE'S judgment seat.
XXIX.
Men of all ranks at that illustrious place
Were gather'd; tho' from diff'rent motives keen:
Many—to see dame FORTUNE'S radiant face,
Many—by radiant FORTUNE to be seen.
XXX.
JOVE smil'd, as on a fav'rite he esteems,
He gave her, near his own, a golden seat:
Fair FORTUNE'S an adventurer, it seems,
The deities themselves are glad to greet.
XXXI.
"Daughter, says JUPITER, you're sore accus'd!
"Clamour incessantly reviles your name!
"If, by the rancour of that wretch abus'd,
"Be confident, and vindicate your fame.
XXXII.
"Tho' pester'd daily with complaints from Man,
"Through this conviction I record them not;
"Let my kind providence do all it can,
"None of that species ever lik'd his lot.
XXXIII.
"But the poor quadrupede that now appeals!
"Can wanton cruelty the weak pursue!
"Large is the catalogue of woes he feels,
"And all his wretchedness he lays to you."
XXXIV.
"Ask him—high JUPITER—reply'd the dame,
"In what he has excell'd his long-ear'd class?
"Is FORTUNE (a divinity) to blame
"That she descends not to regard—an Ass?"
XXXV.
Fame enter'd in her rolls the sage reply;
The dame, defendant, was discharg'd with grace!
Go—(to the plaintiff, said the Sire) and try
By merit to surmount your low-born race.
XXXVI.
Learn from the Lion to be just and brave,
Take from the Elephant instruction wise;
With gracious breeding like the Horse behave,
Nor the sagacity of Hounds despise.
XXXVII.
These useful qualities with care imbibe,
For which some quadrupedes are justly priz'd:
Attain those talents that adorn each tribe,
And you'll no longer be a wretch despis'd.
STANZAS On the Death of his MAJESTY King GEORGE II.
‘Pallida mors, aequo pulsat pede, pauperum tabernas Regumque turres.’HOR.
I.
TENANTS of liberty on Britain's plain,
With flocks enrich'd, a vast unnumber'd store!
'Tis gone, the mighty GEORGE'S golden reign!
Your Pan, your great defender is no more.
II.
The nymphs that in the sacred groves preside,
Where Albion's conq'ring oaks eternal spring,
In the brown shades their secret sorrows hide,
And, silent, mourn the venerable king.
III.
Hark! how the winds, oft bounteous to his will,
That bore his conq'ring fleets to Gallia's shore,
After a pause, pathetically still,
Burst in loud peals, and thro' the forests roar.
IV.
On CONQUEST'S cheek the vernal roses fail;
Whilst laurel'd VICTORY distressful bows!
And HONOUR'S fire etherial burns but pale,
That late beam'd glorious on our GEORGE'S brows.
V.
The muses mourn—an ineffectual band!
Each sacred harp without an owner lies;
The Arts, the Sciences, dejected stand,
For ah! their patron, their protector dies.
VI.
BEAUTY no more, the toy of fashion wears,
(So late by LOVE'S designful labour drest)
But from her brow the glowing diamond tears,
And with the sable cypress veils her breast.
VII.
RELIGION lodg'd high on her pious pile,
Laments the fading state of crowns below;
Whilst MELANCHOLY fills the vaulted isle
With the slow music of a nation's woe.
VIII.
The dreary paths of unrelenting fate,
Must monarchs mix'd with common mortals try?
Is there no refuge?—are the good, the great,
The gracious, and the god-like, doom'd to die?
IX.
Must the gay court be chang'd for horror's cave;
Must mighty Kings that kept the world in awe,
Conquer'd by time, and the unpitying grave,
Submit their laurels to Death's rig'rous law?
X.
If in the tent retir'd, or battle's rage,
Britannia's sighs shall reach great Fredrick's ear,
*[Page 133]He'll drop the sword, or close the darling page,
And pensive pay the tributary tear.
XI.
Then shall the monarch weigh the moral thought,
(As he laments the parent, friend, ally)
The solemn truth by sage reflection taught,
That, spight of glory, Fred'rick's-self shall die.
XII.
The parent's face a prudent painter hides
*,
While death devours the darling of his age:
NATURE, the stroke of pencil'd ART derides,
When grief distracts with agonizing rage.
XIII.
So let the muse her sablest curtain spread,
By sorrow taught her nerveless power to know:
When nation's cry, their king, their father's dead,
The rest is dumb, unutterable woe!
XIV.
But see—a sacred radiance beams around,
And with returning hope a people cheers:
Look at yon youth, with grace imperial crown'd:
How awful! yet how lovely in his tears!
XV.
Mark how his breast expands the filial sigh,
He droops, distrest like a declining flower,
Till GLORY, from her radiant sphere on high,
Hails him, to hold the regal reins of power.
XVI.
The sainted sire to realms of bliss remov'd,
(Like the fam'd Phoenix) from his pyre shall spring
Successive Georges, gracious, and belov'd,
And good and glorious as the parent King.
The BROKEN CHINA.
I.
SOON as the sun began to peep,
And gild the morning skies,
Young Chloe from disorder'd sleep
Unveil'd her radiant eyes.
II.
A guardian Sylph, the wanton sprite
That waited on her still,
Had teiz'd her all the tedious night
With visionary ill.
III.
Some shock of fate is surely nigh,
Exclaim'd the tim'rous maid:
What do these horrid dreams imply!
My Cupid can't be dead!
IV.
She call'd her Cupid by his name,
In dread of some mishap;
Wagging his tail, her Cupid came,
And jump'd into her lap.
V.
And now the best of brittle ware,
Her sumptuous table grac'd:
The polish'd emblems of the fair,
In beauteous order plac'd!
VI.
The kettle boil'd, and all prepar'd
To give the morning treat;
When Dick, the country beau, appear'd;
And bowing, took his seat.
VII.
Well—chatting on of that and this,
The maid revers'd her cup;
And, tempted by the forfeit [...]
The humpkin turn'd it [...]
VIII.
With transport he demands the prize;
Right fairly it was won!
With many a frown the fair denies:
Fond baits to draw him on!
IX.
A man must prove himself polite,
In such a case as this;
So Richard strives with all his might
To force the forfeit kiss.
X.
But as he strove—Oh, dire to tell!
(And yet with grief I must)
The table turn'd—the china fell,
A heap of painted dust!
XI.
O fatal purport of my dream!
The fair afflicted cry'd,
Occasion'd (I confess my shame)
By childishness and pride!
XII.
For in a kiss, or two, or three,
No mischief could be found!
Then had I been more frank and free,
My china had been sound.
DAPHNE: A SONG.
I.
NO longer, Daphne, I admire
The graces in thine eyes;
Continu'd coyness kills desire,
And famish'd passion dies.
Three tedious years I've sigh'd in vain,
Nor could my vows prevail;
With all the rigours of disdain,
You scorn'd my amorous tale.
II.
When Celia cry'd, how senseless she,
That has such vows refus'd;
Had Damon giv'n his heart to me,
It had been kinder us'd.
The man's a fool that pines and dies,
Because a woman's coy:
The gentle bliss, that one denies,
A thousand will enjoy.
III.
Such charming words, so void of art,
Surprizing rapture gave;
And tho' the maid subdu'd my heart,
It ceas'd to be a slave.
A wretch condemn'd, shall Daphne prove;
While blest without restraint,
In the sweet calendar of love
My Celia stands—a saint.
The DANCE. ANACREONTIC.
HARK! the speaking strings invite,
Music calls us to delight:
See the maids in measures move,
Winding like the maze of love.
As they mingle, madly gay
Sporting Hebe leads the way.
On each glowing cheek is spread
Rosy Cupid's native red;
And from ev'ry sparkling eye,
Pointed darts at random fly.
LOVE, and active YOUTH, advance
Foremost in the sprightly dance.
As the magic numbers rise,
Through my veins the poison flies;
Raptures, not to be exprest,
Revel in my throbbing breast.
Jocund as we beat the ground,
LOVE and HARMONY go round.
Every maid (to crown his bliss)
Gives her youth a rosy kiss;
Such a kiss as might inspire
Thrilling raptures,—soft desire:
Such Adonis might receive,
Such the queen of Beauty gave,
When the conquer'd goddess strove
(In the conscious myrtle grove)
To inflame the boy with love.
Let not Pride our sports restrain,
Banish hence, the Prude, DISDAIN!
Think—ye virgins, if you're coy,
Think—ye rob yourselves of joy;
Every moment you refuse,
So much extasy you lose:
If you should too long deny
Love and Beauty both will die.
A BIRTH-DAY ODE: Performed in DUBLIN.
RECIT.
HARK—how the soul of music reigns,
As when the first great birth of nature sprung,
When chaos burst his massy chains,
'Twas thus the Cherubs sung:
AIR.
Hail—hail, from this auspicious morn
Shall British glories rise!
Now are the mighty treasures born,
That shall Britannia's fame adorn,
And lift her to the skies.
Let George's mighty banners spread,
His lofty clarions roar;
Till warlike echo fills with dread
The hostile Gallic shore.
AIR.
Mark—how his name with terror fills!
The magic sound rebellion kills,
And brightens all the northern hills,
Where pallid treasons dwell;
The monster shall no more arise,
Upon the ground she panting lies!
Beneath his William's foot she dies,
And now, she sinks to hell.
RECIT.
Haste—let Jerne's harp be newly strung,
And after mighty George be William sung.
AIR.
Talk no more of Grecian glory,
William stands the first in story:
See—the pride of Gallia fading!
See—the youthful warrior leading
Britons, vengeful, to their foes!
RECIT.
Fair is the olive branch Hibernia boasts,
Nor shall the din of war disturb her coasts;
While Stanhope smiles, her sons are blest,
In native loyalty confest!
AIR.
See—O see, thrice happy isle!
See what gracious George bestow'd;
Twice
* you've seen a Stanhope smile,
These are gifts become a god!
How the grateful island glows!
Stanhope's name shall be rever'd;
Whilst by subjects, and by foes,
Sacred George is lov'd and fear'd.
CHORUS.
Like Persians to the rising sun,
Respectful homage pay;
At George's birth our joys begun:
Salute the glorious day!
An irregular ODE on Music.
I.
CEASE, gentle sounds, nor kill me quite,
With such excess of sweet delight!
Each trembling note invades my heart,
And thrills through ev'ry vital part;
A soft—a pleasing pain
Pursues my heated blood thro' ev'ry vein;
What—what does the enchantment mean?
Ah! give the charming magic o'er,
My beating heart can bear no more.
II.
Now wild with fierce desire,
My breast is all on fire!
In soften'd raptures, now, I die!
Can empty sound such joys impart;
Can music thus transport the heart,
With melting extasy!
Each celestial charm expressing!
Kindest gift the gods bestow!
Sweetest good that mortals know!
III.
When seated in a verdant shade
(Like tuneful Thyrsis) Orpheus play'd;
The distant trees forsake the wood;
The list'ning beasts neglect their food
To hear the heav'nly sound;
The Dryads leave the mountains,
The Naiades quit the fountains,
And in a sprightly chorus dance around.
IV.
To raise the stately walls of ancient Troy,
Sweet Phoebus did his tuneful harp employ;
See what soft harmony can do!
The moving rocks the sound pursue,
Till in a large collected mass they grew:
Had Thyrsis liv'd in these remoter days,
His were the chaplet of immortal bays!
Apollo's harp unknown!
The shepherd had remain'd of song
The Deity alone.
On a very young LADY.
SEE how the buds and blossoms shoot:
How sweet will be the summer fruit!
Let us behold the infant rose;
How fragrant when its beauty blows!
The morning smiles, serenely gay:
How bright will be the promis'd day!
Contemplate next the charming maid,
In early innocence array'd!
If, in the morning of her years,
A lustre so intense appears,
When time shall point her noontide rays,
When her meridian charms shall blaze,
None but the eagle-ey'd must gaze.
An INVITATION. (Including the Characters of the particular Company that frequented Mr Buxton's elegant Country House, at Weston) The Family intending for London.
COME, Daphne, as the widow'd turtle true,
Foremost in grief, conduct the mournful crew;
Come, Delia, beauteous as the new-born spring,
With song more soft than raptur'd angels sing;
Let Thyrsis, in the bloom of summer's pride,
With folded arms, walk pensive by her side;
Clarinda, come, like rosy morning fair,
Thy form as beauteous as thy heart's sincere;
On her shall Cimon gaze with rude delight,
Till polish'd by her charms he grows polite:
[Page 209] Dorinda next—her gay, good humour fled!
With silent steps, and grief-dejected head!
Palemon! see, his tuneless harp unstrung,
Is on the willow boughs neglected hung!
Come Coelia, sigh'd for by unnumber'd swains!
Rosetta, pride of the extended plains!
With Phillis, whose unripen'd charms display
A dawn, that promises the future day.
With cypress crown'd, to Weston's groves repair;
The conscious shades shall witness our despair:
To vales, and lawns, and woodlands, late so gay,
Where in sweet converse we were wont to stray:
The joys we've lost, in plaintive numbers tell,
And bid the social seat a long farewel.
APOLLO, to the Company at Harrowgate.
FRom my critical court, at a quarterly meeting,
To my Harrowgate subjects this embassy greeting:
Whereas from the veteran poets complaint is,
Their works are no longer consider'd as dainties,
And Shakespear, and Congreve, and Farquhar and others,
The tragical—comical—farcical brothers,
Petition us oft for some gents and some ladies;
(Our subjects, no doubt, since dramatic their trade is.)
We govern their stational stage by direction,
And send 'em to you for your friendly protection;
[Page 215]'Tis Apollo invites, with some ladies, (the muses)
We denounce him immensely ill-bred that refuses.
Be it known by the bye, from our helicon fountain,
Enrich'd by the soil of Parnassus's mountain,
Your Harrowgate water directly proceeding,
Produces fine sense, with true taste, and good breeding.
Talk of taste—none but heathens would call it in question:
Yet some insolent wits might advance a suggestion!
While our deputies daily invite all the neighbours,
But find no Maecenas to smile on their labours.
Thus far we've proceeded your favour to curry,
And could tell ye much more,—but we write in a hurry.
A FRAGMENT. To Mr WOODS, Architect of the Exchange at Liverpool.
WHERE Mersey
* rolls her wealth-bestowing waves,
And the wide sandy beech triumphant laves;
Where naval store in harbour'd safety rides,
Unmov'd by storms, unhurt by threat'ning tides;
Commerce—(paternal goddess!) sits serene,
Commandant of the tributes of the main.
But yet no temple lifts its high-top'd spire,
Simple her seat—and artless her attire!
Around attendant priests, in order wait,
Guiltless of pomp, and ignorant of state;
The Godhead's power, tho' unadorn'd, they own,
And bend with incense—at her low-built throne.
Pallas beheld—she quits the ambient skies,
And thus the blue-ey'd maid indignant cries:
"Is it for thee—my Woods!—to sit supine;
"(Thy genius fraught with ev'ry grace of mine)
"Is it for thee—to whose mysterious hand,
"Science—and sister Arts, obsequious stand,
"Inglorious thus, to let a goddess pine?
"No throne!—no temple—no superior shrine!
"Haste, haste! command the well wrought columns rise,
"And lift my favourite, Commerce, to the skies."
* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * *
A PROLOGUE, Spoke by Mr WALLACE, on opening the New Theatre at Newcastle, 1766.
IF to correct the follies of mankind,
To mend the morals—to enlarge the mind,
To strip the self-deceiving passions bare,
With honest mirth, to kill an evening's care;
If these kind motives can command applause,
For these, the motly stage her curtain draws.
Does not the poet, that exists by praise,
Like to be told that he has reach'd the bays?
Is not the wretch (still trembling for his store)
Pleas'd when he grasps a glitt'ring thousand more?
Cheers not the mariner, propitious seas?
Likes not the lawyer to be handling fees?
Lives not the lover, but in hopes of bliss?
To ev'ry question we'll reply with—yes.
Suppose them gratified—their full delight,
Falls short of ours on this auspicious night;
When rich in happiness—in hopes elate,
Taste has receiv'd us to her fav'rite seat.
O that the soul of Action were but ours,
And the vast energy of vocal powers!
That we might make a grateful off'ring, fit
For these kind judges that in candour sit.
Before such judges, we confess, with dread,
These new dominions we presume to tread;
Yet if you smile, we'll boldly do our best,
And leave your favour to supply the rest.
EPIGRAMS, &c.
An EPIGRAM.
A Member of the modern great
Pass'd Sawney with his budget,
The Peer was in a car of state,
The tinker forc'd to trudge it.
But Sawney shall receive the praise
His Lordship would parade for:
One's debtor for his dapple greys,
And t'other's shoes are paid for.
ANOTHER.
TO Wasteall, whose eyes were just closing in death,
Doll counted the chalks on the door;
[Page 224]In peace, cry'd the wretch, let me give up my breath,
And Fate will soon rub out my score.
Come, bailiffs, cries Doll, (how I'll hamper this cheat!)
Let the law be no longer delay'd,
I never once heard of that fellow call'd Fate,
And by G—d he sha'nt die till I'm paid.
A POSTSCRIPT.
WOULD honest Tom G—d
* get rid of a scold,
The torture, the plague of his life!
Pray tell him to take down his lion of gold,
And hang up his brazen-fac'd wife.
A RECANTATION.
OF spleen so dormant, indolence so great,
I've thoughtless flatter'd, what in truth I hate.
To DELIA.
SAY, my charmer, right or wrong,
Say it from your heart or tongue:
Be sincere, or else deceive,
Say you love—and I shall believe.
The following ACROSTICS were wrote at the Request of the Two Ladies who are the Subjects of them.
PRAY tell me, says Venus, one day to the Graces,
(On a visit they came, and had just ta'en their places)
Let me know why of late I can ne'er see your faces:
Ladies, nothing, I hope, happen'd here to affright ye:
You've had compliment cards every day to invite ye.
Says Cupid, who guess'd their rebellious proceeding,
"Underhand, dear mamma, there's some mischief a-breeding:
"There's a fair one at Lincoln, so finish'd a beauty,
"That your loves and your graces all swerve from "their duty."
On my life, says dame Venus, I'll not be thus put on,
Now I think on't, last night, some one call'd me Miss Sutton.
ANOTHER.
WHERE no ripen'd summer glows,
In the lap of northern snows;
Desarts gloomy, cold, and drear,
(Only let the nymph be there)
Wreaths of budding sweets would wear.
MAY would every fragrance bring,
All the vernal bloom of spring:
Dryads, deck'd with myrtles green,
Dancing, would attnd their queen:
Every flower that nature spreads,
Rising where the charmer treads!
On Mr CHURCHILL'S death.
SAYS Tom to Richard, Churchill's dead;
Says Richard, Tom, you lie,
Old Rancour the report hath spread,
But Genius cannot die.
APOLLO—To Mr C— F—, on his being satirized by an ignorant Person.
WHether he's worth your spleen or not,
You've ask'd me to determine;
I wish, my friend, a nobler lot,
Than that of trampling vermin.
A blockhead can't be worth our care,
Unless that we'd befriend him:
As you've some common sense to spare,
I'll pay you what you lend him.
On seeing J— C—ft, Esq abused in a Newspaper.
WHEN a wretch to public notice,
Would a man of worth defame;
Wit, as threadbare as his coat is,
Only shews his want of shame.
Busy, pert, unmeaning parrot!
Vilest of the venal crews!
Go—and in your Grubstreet garret,
Hang yourself and paltry muse.
Pity too the meddling sinner,
Should for hunger hang or drown;
F—x, (he must not want a dinner)
Send the scribbler half a crown.
On hearing DAVID HUME, Esq particularly admired in a Company of petit Maitres.
DID rocks and trees in ancient days
Round tuneful Orpheus throng,
Mov'd by the bard's enliv'ning lays,
And sensible of song!
When the bold Orpheus of our age,
With true pathetic fire,
Unfolds the philosophic page,
The very beaux admire.
A CHARACTER.
THE muse of a soldier so whimsical sings,
He's captain at once to four different kings;
And tho' in their battles he boldly behaves,
To their queen's he's a cull, and a dupe to their knaves;
Whilst others are cheerfully join'd in the chace,
Young Hobbinol's hunting the critical ace:
On feasts or on fasts, tho' the parson exclaim,
Under hedges or haycocks he'll stick to his game.
Yet the priest cannot say he's quite out of his fold,
For he's always at church—when a tythe's to be sold.
EPIGRAPH for Dean SWIFT'S Monument. Executed by Mr P. CUNNINGHAM, Statuary in Dublin.
SAY to the Drapier's vast unbounded fame,
What added honours can the sculptor give?
None—'tis a sanction from the Drapier's name,
Must bid the sculptor and his marble live.
EPIGRAM.
COULD Kate for Dick compose the gordian string,
The Tyburn knot how near the nuptial ring!
A loving wife, obedient to her vows,
Is bound in duty to exalt her spouse.
An Apology for a certain Lady.
TO an old dotard's wretched arms betray'd,
The wife (miscall'd) is but a widow'd maid;
Young, and impatient at her wayward lot,
If the dull rules of duty are forgot;
Whatever ills from her defection rise,
The parent's guilty who compell'd the ties.
On GOLD.
BEAUTY's a bawble, a trifle in price!
'Tis glass, or 'tis something as glaring;
But set it in gold—'tis so wonderful nice,
That a prince shall be proud in the wearing.
How feeble the transport when passion is gone,
How pall'd when the honey-moon's over!
When kissing—and cooing—and toying are done,
'Tis gold must enliven the lover.
To CHLOE, on a Charge of Inconstancy.
HOW can Chloe think it strange,
Time should make a lover change?
Time brings all things to an end,
Courage can't the blow defend.
See the proud aspiring oak,
Falls beneath the fatal stroke:
If on Beauty's cheek he preys,
Straight the rosy bloom decays:
Joy puts out his lambent fires,
And at Time's approach—expires.
How can Chloe think it strange,
Time should make a lover change?
On Alderman W—. The History of his Life.
THAT he was born, it cannot be deny'd,
He eat, drank, slept, talk'd politics, and dy'd.
An ELEGY on his Death.
THAT Fate would not grant a reprieve,
'Tis true, we have cause to lament;
Yet faith 'tis a folly to grieve,
So e'en let us all be content.
On the stone that was plac'd o'er his head,
(When he mingled with shadows so grim)
These words may be ev'ry day read,
"Here lies the late Alderman WHIM."
From the Author to a celebrated Methodist Preacher.
I.
HYPOCRISY's son!
No more of your fun,
A truce with fanatical raving:
Why censure the stage?
'Tis known to the age,
That both of us thrive by—deceiving.
II.
'Tis frequently said,
That two of a trade
Will boldly each other bespatter:
But trust me they're fools
Who play with edg'd tools;
So let's have no more of the matter.
FINIS.