Poems, by a gentleman

COLIN's ELEGY, On Reviſiting the Place where he firſt became acquainted with DELIA. Indeed (ſaid Lucid) I have often heard Faire Roſalind of divers fowly blamed For being to that Swaine too cruel hard. That her bright glorie elſe hath much defamed. Spenſer's Colin Clout's come home again. YET once again, by wayward fortune led, I view the ſacred walls where dwelt my fair; Where, bleſt with her, my days in rapture fled; Too ſoon alloy'd, and ſhaded with deſpair! Three years are paſt, ſince firſt my yielding heart It's virgin vows to love and Delia paid; (Sincere itſelf, it ne'er ſuſpected art!) And ah! what changes thoſe three years have made! Young Corydon, to whom the fair one gave Her earlieſt faith, and holieſt union vow'd, Sleeps in the ſilent chamber of the grave, And for a wedding garment wears a ſhroud. Large tides of grief in Delia's boſom roll'd: But ſoon Dametas dried the mourner's tears; Dametas, rich, but petulant and old, And damn'd with jealouſy, the crime of years. What need I more—by treach'rous friends deceiv'd, He mark'd each venial fault with jaundic'd eyes, Each paltry tale with partial ear believ'd, And conſtrued Indiſcretion into Vice. Now, baniſh'd from a huſband's board, ſhe mourns; Her woes embitter'd by a parent's frown; Condemn'd, rejected, for a crime ſhe ſcorns; And like a dream her tranſient glories flown. Fair daughter of the morn, thy ſtar is ſet! Thy ſtar is ſet, nor ever more muſt riſe! O may no wrongs of mine, in judgment met, Swell thy full ſoul's diſtreſs with added cries! We might have liv'd!—Ah ſadly pleaſing thought! Vain Recollection! What art thou to me! We might have liv'd! As virtuous love had taught, In unreproved pleaſures ever free. We might have liv'd!—But execrable gold Love's unſubſtantial claims and tears outweigh'd: For wealth her charms the venal Delia ſold, For wealth her lover and her friend betray'd. For me, (who now with pain review the place Where once my Delia call'd her Colin dear; Each well-known path with aching heart retrace, Think on her • ickleneſs and drop a tear:) Silent and ſole, I ſeek th' accuſtom'd bow'r, The Bow'r once ſacred to my love and me; Where oft with her I paſs'd th' enraptur'd hour, And bore the ſyren charmer on my knee. I ſeek the Plane, whoſe trunk, with mine combin'd Bears the dear letters of my Delia's name; I mark their growth, but that diſtracts my mind, For ſuch I once had hop'd our mutual flame. E'en while I write, theſe ſcenes of former bliſs Such fond reflections in my boſom move, What then my fortune was, what now it is, That though I can't eſteem, I ſtill muſt love. I love; but 'tis not with that youthful heat Which once inflam'd my ſoul, to reaſon blind; 'Tis with that ſoothing grief, that ſoft regret, Which thoſe who think on friends departed, find. I grieve; but 'tis a calm and virtuous woe, By reaſon ſanctified, by heav'n approv'd; 'Tis ſuch as kindred ſaints in heaven might know, Seeing thoſe fall whom when on earth they lov'd. Time and reflection long have chas'd away The painted phantoms that bewitch'd my ſight; God's wiſe beheſts ſubmiſſive I obey, And own, convinc'd, "Whatever is, is right." Vain love, farewell!—for me, ſhould heav'n deſign Such added bleſſing to my future life; Soon may I call th' ingenuous Mira mine, And meet, unwarpt by love, a virtuous wife.

COLIN, TO HIS FRIENDS, Exhorting him to the attainment of Honours by a ſteady Application to the LAW. "Buſineſs! too oft the frivolous pretence "Of human luſts, to ſhake off innocence; "Buſineſs! the grave impertinence; "Buſineſs! the thing which I of all things hate; "Buſineſs! the contradiction of thy fate. Cowley's Complaint—The muſe ſpeaks. MY friends, no more!—your kind remonſtrance ſpare! Your kind remonſtrance, your advice is vain: Conſcious I ſhall not anſwer half your care It ſerves no purpoſe but to give me pain. I cannot feel one wiſh for pomp or pow'r, I ſeek no titles, I deſire no place; Born as I was in unambitious hour I ſcorn the prize, and can I run the race? When Weſtminſter Hall. in the Courts I take my ſilent ſtand, Unenvious I behold the judge's ſtate; Behold with pitying eye, Law's reſtleſs band, And wonder man will buſtle to be great. Onward I paſs—A ſoberer ſcene ſucceeds: Weſtminſter Abbey.'Tis the ſad manſion of departed kings! Where every ſtone that blazons forth their deeds Proclaims the vanity of earthly things. Proclaims th' aſpiring croud I left behind, Mere inſect ſwarms that ſhine but for an hour; Then, nipt by cold or ſhatter'd by the wind, Fleet, like the tranſient bow that gilds a ſhow'r. Shall I then ſacrifice life's happieſt prime To gain employments I ſhould wiſh to ſhun? Enſlave the ſacred freedom of my time To win a title I ſhould hate when won? No!—Let me live with independence bleſt, Bleſt with the ſweets of no unlearned eaſe; Indulge th' unruffl'd calm my ſoul loves beſt, And eat my bread in privacy and peace. One ſole inducement could have rous'd my mind; That ſole inducement has been long no more: Delia was falſe!—with her at once reſign'd Fled all the ſchemes I ever form'd for pow'r. Had ſhe been mine, what could not I have done To give that wealth ſhe now has bought ſo dear? What prize ſo great that I could not have won, When all my efforts were inſpir'd by her? Now for myſelf I live:—With books my morn, With friends perchance my evening hours are ſpent: The rich man's wonder, and the proud man's ſcorn, I envy neither, for I feel content. Free, unconſtrain'd, my country's laws I chooſe; Thoſe laws by which e'en monarchs are control'd; Their changes trace, their origin deduce; But do it for inſtruction, not for gold. Thus let me live, till manhood's ſteadier day Matures the ſeeds that lab'ring youth has ſown: Then might ſome fav'ring female, chaſtly gay, Wiſe without pride, and fair without a frown: Would ſuch a one, from mean coquetry free, Who held her word as ſacred as her fame: Would Mira plight her ſpotleſs faith to me, And at the altar grace her Colin's name! Bleſt beyond hope, how gladly I'd forſwear The wild fantaſtick pageants London yields, To breathe the country's pure untainted air That ſweeps with freſh'ning breeze the new-plough'd fields. Me rural ſcenes! me woods! and ſtreams can pleaſe That through the fertile vales irriguous rove! Here let me ſtretch my wearied limbs at eaſe! For I, inglorious, woods and ſtreams can love! Happy the man, whoſe philoſophick eye Could to their cauſes Nature's workings trace; Could learn from thence death's terrors to defy, And joy to meet his Maker face to face. Bleſt too is he, whom woods and ſtreams can charm, Whoſe humble thoughts to leſſer flights aſpire; Who tunes, (his heart with thankful rapture warm,) To Nature's bounteous lord the rural lyre. No toil of office ruffles his repoſe, No purpled monarch's proud unyielding ſtate; Unvers'd in publick ſcenes, he little knows The loud diſcordant ſenate's vain debate. He little knows th' embattled pow'rs that join From Britain's graſp her weſtern world to rend; Nor ſees her ſick'ning Genius droop and pine, Nor deems her leſs'ning glories near their end. Untoſt by ſtorms, he gently glides through life; His fields, his trees, give ſweet though ſimple fare; He ſcapes the madding town's unholy ſtrife, He ſcapes the noiſy clamours of the Bar.

THE DELIGHTS OF FANCY. On the green bank I ſat, and liſten'd long (Sitting was more convenient for the ſong:) Nor till her lay was ended could I move, But wiſh'd to dwell for ever in the grove. Only methought the time too ſwiftly paſs'd, And every note I fear'd would be the laſt. My ſight, and ſmell, and hearing, were employ'd, And all three ſenſes in full guſt enjoy'd. And what alone did all the reſt ſurpaſs, The ſweet poſſeſſion of the fairy place; Single, and conſcious to myſelf alone Of pleaſures to th' excluded world unknown: Pleaſures which no where elſe were to be found, And all Elyſium in a ſpot of ground. Dryden's flower and leaf, imitated from Chaucer. Again the ſummer ſhines! with mightier flame The Sun exults his lengthen'd courſe to roll, And wide diffuſes through the human frame A languid bliſs that melts the poet's ſoul. It melts the ſoul, but gives the pow'r to ſing Thoſe viſionary ſcenes itſelf inſpires; Tunes it to harmonies of nobleſt ſtring, And bids it glow with more than mortal fires. Great Life of all the world, and Lord of day! Beſt ſymbol of our common Maker's might! Well might th' unguided heathen thee obey, And proſtrate hail thy orb's returning light; For oft myſelf have felt thy rapt'rous heat Steal o'er my ſenſes like a fairy dream; Then, when my yielding limbs have ſought retreat, And ſunk in ſilence near ſome ſhaded ſtream; My ſoul, on Fancy's wing ſublimely borne, Hath mus'd of ſcenes too bright for mortal eye; Hath ſeen white robes by ſaints and martyrs worn, And heard th' eternal carols of the ſky. Oft too luxuriant Fancy reigns alone, And calls from fablers old a varying band; And ſcenes of bliſs to waking life unknown, Riſe, change, and vaniſh, as ſhe gives command. Imagination works with all her pow'rs, And gorgeous Knights in glitt'ring troops are ſeen, And courteous ſquires, and dwarfs, and moated tow'rs, And all the ſplendours of the gothick ſcene. Bards too of other times reſume their lyres! The glorious tale that Chaucer's Knight hath told Sounds in mine ears, and fills me with its fires: And now the jouſting warriours I behold, And Palamon is to the ſtake convey'd: Now from the earth upſtarts th' infernal fiend; Now dying Arcite wills the dear bought maid, If ſhe can ever love, to love his friend. Anon See Spenſer's Faerie Queene. prince Arthur's blazing ſhield o'erthrows The giant conqueror of the Red Croſs Knight; Or ruthleſs Talus drives his hoſt of foes With unrelenting flail and iron might. Dear ſcenes of bleſt deluſion! golden dreams! And always innocent, and always new! Where oft with truths ſublime the fiction teems, And Virtue's nobleſt patterns ſtrike the view: Ye feed the fancy, nor ſeduce the heart! For from our reach remote your actions lie; No youth can now aſſume Pyrochles' part, No modern maid like poor See Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia. Parthenia die. Not ſo the ſpurious and deſtructive brood, The graceleſs toys of more enlighten'd times, That teach the child to languiſh to be woo'd, Create her follies, and contrive her crimes: Theſe clear the paths to ruin and to ſhame: Perhaps, by theſe poor Delia was undone! Delia! whoſe loſt and deſolated fame Friendſhip can only weep, and virtue ſhun! But O! the gorgeous tales of earlier days, Where fancy ſhines in myſtick fiction bright; Where chaſtity is woman's faireſt praiſe, And virtue's cauſe inſpires the vent'rous knight; Be theſe my choice! and who, by theſe refin'd, Would bear the bus'neſs of life's publick croud; Would change theſe wand'rings of th' enchanted mind For all the ſplendid ſlav'ry of the proud. But theſe to few are giv'n:—unknown they lie, Unſought, unhonour'd, by the venal herd Where purſeproud wealth can injur'd worth defy, And poverty alone is ſhunn'd and fear'd. Unknown they lie where ſturdy labour lives And earns with ceaſeleſs care his ſcanty meal; Oft too where chance the pow'rs of leiſure gives, Superior fate denies the pow'r to feel. Yet ſome perchance, in this tempeſtuous time Some ſtill remain, and ſure not meanly bleſt, Whoſe rambling thoughts have reach'd this rapt'rous clime, And view'd theſe ſcenes of fancy and of reſt. For them all nature breathes elyſian grace, And ſweets ambroſial ſtream from every flow'r; Fairies for them the green-ſward ringlets trace, And magick's mightieſt influence guards their bow'r. And ſhould bleſt Competence from heav'n deſcend, And from a patron's will their freedom ſave; To ſuch, congenial with myſelf, I'll bend, And conſecrate the verſe theſe viſions gave.

THE END.