BY WILLIAM THOMPSON, M.A. LATE FELLOW OF QUEEN'S COLLEGE, OXON.
Nunc sormosissimus annus.
VIRG.
ARGUMENT.
Subject proposed. Invocation of May. Description of her: Her operations on nature. Bounty recommended; in particular at this season. Vernal apostrophe. Love the ruling passion in May. The celebration of Venus her birth-day in this month. Rural retirement in Spring. Conclusion.
ETherial daughter of the lusty Spring,
And sweet Favonius, ever-gentle May!
Shall I, unblam'd, presume of thee to sing,
And with thy living colours gild my lay?
[Page 2]Thy genial spirit mantles in my brain;
My numbers languish in a softer vein:
I pant, too emulous, to flow in Spenser's strain.
Say, mild Aurora of the blooming year,
With storms when winter blackens Nature's face;
When whirling winds the howling forest tear,
And shake the solid mountains to their base:
Say, what refulgent chambers of the sky
Veil thy beloved glories from the eye,
For which the nations pine, and earth's fair children die?
Where
(a)Leda's twins, forth from their diamond-tower,
Alternate, o'er the night their beams divide,
In light embosom'd, happy and secure
From winter-rage, thou chusest to abide;
Blest residence! for there, as poets tell,
(b)The powers of Poetry and Wisdom dwell;
Apollo wakes the Arts, the Muses strike the shell.
(c)Certes o'er
(d)Rhedicyna's laurel'd mead,
(For ever spread, ye laurels, green and new!)
The brother-stars their gracious nurture shed,
And secret blessings of poetic-dew:
[Page 3]They bathe their horses in the learned flood,
With flame recruited for th' etherial road;
And deem
(e)fair Isis' swans fair as their father-god.
No sooner April, trim'd with girlands gay,
Rains fragrance o'er the world, and kindly showers;
But, in the eastern-pride of beauty, May,
To gladden earth, forsakes her heavenly bowers,
Restoring Nature from her palsied state.
April, retire;
(f)ne longer, Nature, wait:
Soon may she issue from the morning's golden gate.
Come, bounteous May! in fulness of thy might,
Lead briskly on the mirth-infusing hours,
All-recent from the bosom of delight,
With nectar nurtur'd, and involv'd in flowers:
By Spring's sweet blush, by Nature's teeming womb;
By Hebe's dimply smile, by Flora's bloom;
By Venus-self (for Venus-self demands thee) come!
By the warm sighs, in dewy even-tide,
Of melting maidens, in the wood-bine-groves,
To pity loosen'd, soften'd down from pride;
By billing turtles, and by cooing doves;
[Page 4]By the youths' plainings stealing on the air,
(For youths will plain, tho' yielding be the fair)
Hither, to bless the maidens and the youths, repair.
With dew bespangled, by the hawthorn-buds,
With freshness breathing, by the daisied plains;
By the mix'd music of the warbling woods,
And jovial roundelays of nymphs and swains;
In thy full energy, and rich array,
Delight of earth and heaven! O blessed May!
From heaven descend to earth: on earth vouchsafe to stay.
She comes!—A silken
(g)camus, emral'd-green,
Gracefully loose, adown her shoulders flows,
(Fit to enfold the limbs of Paphos' queen)
And with the labours of the needle glows,
(h)Purfled by Nature's hand! the amorous air
And musky-western breezes fast repair,
Her mantle proud to swell, and wanton with her hair:
Her hair (but rather threads of light it seems)
With the gay honours of the Spring entwin'd,
Copious, unbound, in nectar'd ringlets streams,
Floats glittering on the sun, and scents the wind
[Page 5]Lovesick with odours!—now to order roll'd,
It melts upon her bosom's dainty mould,
Or, curling round her waist, disparts its wavy gold.
Young-circling roses, blushing, round them throw
The sweet abundance of their purple rays,
And lillies, dip'd in fragrance, freshly blow,
With blended beauties, in her angel-face:
The humid radiance beaming from her eyes
The air and seas illumes, the earth and skies,
And open, where she smiles, the sweets of Paradise.
On Zephyr's wing the laughing Goddess view
Distilling balm: she cleaves the buxom air,
Attended by the silver-footed dew,
The ravages of winter to repair:
She gives her naked bosom to the gales,
Her naked bosom down the ether sails;
Her bosom breathes delight; her breath the spring exhales.
All as the Phoenix, in Arabian skies,
New-burnish'd from his spicy funeral pyres,
At large,
(i)in roseal undulation, flies;
His plumage dazzles, and the gazer tires:
[Page 6]Around their King the plumy nations wait,
Attend his triumph, and augment his state:
He towering claps his wings, and wins th' etherial height.
So round this Phoenix of the gaudy year
A thousand, nay ten thousand Sports and Smiles,
Fluttering in gold along the hemisphere,
Her praises chant; her praises glad the isles:
Conscious of her approach (to deck her bowers)
Earth from her fruitful lap and bosom pours
A waste of springing sweets, and voluntary flowers.
Narcissus fair, in snowy velvet gown'd;
Ah foolish! still to love the fountain-brim:
Sweet Hyacinth, by Phoebus erst bemoan'd;
And tulip, flaring in her powder'd trim:
Whate'er, Armida, in thy gardens blew;
Whate'er the sun inhales, or sips the dew;
Whate'er compose the chaplet on Ianthe's brow.
He who
(k)undaz'd can wander o'er her face,
May gain upon the solar-blaze at noon!—
What more than female sweetness, and a grace
Peculiar! save, Ianthe, thine alone,
Ineffable effusion of the day!
So very much the same, that lovers say,
May is Ianthe; or the dear Ianthe May.
So far as doth the harbinger of day
The lesser lamps of night in
(l)sheen excell;
So far in sweetness and in beauty May
Above all other months doth bear the bell:
So far as May doth other months exceed,
So far in virtue and in
(m)goodlihead,
Above all other nymphs Ianthe bears the
(n)meed.
Welcome! as to a youthful poet wine,
To fire his fancy, and enlarge his soul:
He weaves the laurel-chaplet with the vine,
And grows immortal as he drains the bowl:
Welcome! as beauty to the lovesick swain,
For which he long had sigh'd, but sigh'd in vain;
He darts into her arms; she smiles away his pain.
The drowzy elements, arouz'd by thee,
Roll to harmonious measures, active all!
Earth, water, air, and fire, with feeling glee,
Exult to celebrate thy festival:
Fire burns intenser; softer breathes the air;
More smooth the waters flow; earth smiles more fair:
Earth, water, air and fire, thy gladdening impulse share.
What boundless tides of splendor o'er the skies,
O'erflowing brightness, stream their golden rays!
Heaven's azure kindles with the varying dies,
Reflects the glory, and returns the blaze:
Air whitens; wide the tracts of ether
(o)been
With colours damask'd rich, and goodly sheen,
And all above is blue, and all below is green.
At thy approach the wild waves' loud uproar,
And foamy surges of the maddening main,
Forget to heave their mountains to the shore,
Diffus'd into the level of the plain:
For thee the Halcyon builds her summer's nest;
For thee the Ocean smooths her troubled breast,
Gay from thy placid smiles, in thy own purple drest.
Have ye not seen, in gentle even-tide,
When Jupiter the earth hath richly shower'd,
Striding the clouds, a bow
(p)dispredden wide,
As if with light inwove, and gayly flower'd
With bright variety of blending dies?
White, purple, yellow melt along the skies,
Alternate colours sink, alternate colours rise.
The earth's embroidery then have ye eyed,
And smile of blossoms, yellow, purple, white;
Their vernal-tinctur'd leaves, luxurious, died
In Flora's livery, painted by the Light:
Light's painted children in the breezes play,
Unfold their dewy bosoms to the ray,
Their soft enamel spread, and beautify the day.
From the wide altar of the foodful earth
The flowers, the herbs, the plants their incense roll;
The orchards swell the ruby-tinctur'd birth;
The vermil-gardens breathe the spicy soul:
Grateful to May the nectar-spirit flies,
The wafted clouds of lavish'd odours rise,
The Zephyr's balmy load, perfuming all the skies.
The bee, the golden daughter of the Spring,
From mead to mead, in wanton labour, roves,
And loads its little thigh, or gilds its wing
With all the essence of the flushing groves:
Extracts the aromatic soul of flowers,
And, humming in delight, its waxen bowers
Fills with the luscious spoil, and lives ambrosial hours.
Touch'd by thee, May, the flocks and lusty droves,
That low in pastures, or on mountains bleat,
Revive their frolics and renew their loves,
Stung to the marrow with thy generous heat:
The stately courser, bounding o'er the plain,
Shakes to the winds the honours of his mane,
(High arch'd his neck) and snuffing, hopes the dappled train.
Th' aerial songsters sooth the listening groves:
The mellow thrush, the
(q)ouzle sweetly shrill,
And little linnets celebrate their loves
In hawthorn valley, or on tufted hill:
The soaring lark; the lowly nightingale,
A thorn her pillow, trills her doleful tale,
And melancholy music dies along the dale.
This gay exuberance of the gorgeous spring,
The gilded mountain, and the herbag'd vale;
The woods that blossom, and the birds that sing,
The murmuring fountain, and the breathing dale:
The dale, the fountains, birds and woods delight,
The vales, the mountains, and the spring invite,
Yet, unadorn'd by May, no longer charm the sight.
When Nature laughs around, shall man alone,
Thy image, hang (ah me!) the sickly head?
When Nature sings, shall Nature's glory groan,
And languish for the pittance poor of bread?
O may the man that shall his image scorn,
Alive, be ground with hunger, most forlorn,
Die
(r)unanell'd, and dead, by dogs and kites be torn.
Curs'd may he be (as if he were not so)
Nay doubly curs'd be such a breast of steel,
Which never melted at another's woe,
Nor tenderness of bowels knew to feel:
His heart is black as hell, in flowing store
Who hears the needy crying at his door,
Who hears them cry,
(s)ne recks; but suffers them be poor.
But blest, O more than doubly blest be he!
Let honour crown him and eternal rest,
Whose bosom, the sweet fount of charity,
Flows out to
(t)noursle Innocence distrest:
His ear is open to the widow's cries,
His hand the orphan's cheek of sorrow dries;
Like mercy's self he looks on want with pity's eyes.
In this blest season, pregnant with delight,
Ne may the boading owl with screeches wound
The solemn silence of the quiet night,
Ne croaking raven, with unhallow'd sound,
Ne damned ghost
(u)affray with deadly yell
The waking lover, rais'd by mighty spell,
To pale the stars, till Hesper shine it back to hell.
Ne Witches rifle gibbets, by the moon,
(With horror winking, trembling all with fear)
Of many a clinking chain, and canker'd bone:
Nor Imp in visionary shape, appear,
To blast the thriving verdure of the plain;
Ne let Hobgoblin, ne the Ponk profane
With shadowy glare the light, and mad the bursting brain.
Yet fairy-elves
(x)(so antient custom's will)
The green-gown'd fairy-elves, by starry sheen,
May gambol or in valley or on hill,
And leave your footsteps on the circled green:
Full lightly trip it, dapper Mab, around;
Full featly, Ob'ron, thou, o'er grass-turf bound:
Mab brushes off no dew-drops, Ob'ron prints no ground.
Ne bloody rumours violate the ear
Of cities sack'd, and kingdoms desolate,
With plague or sword, with pestilence or war;
Ne rueful murder stain thy aera-date;
Ne shameless calumny, for fell despight,
The foulest fiend that e'er blasphem'd the light,
At lovely lady rail, nor grin at courteous knight.
Ne wailing in our streets nor fields be heard,
Ne voice of misery assault the heart;
Ne fatherless from table be debarr'd;
Ne piteous tear from eye of sorrow start:
But Plenty, pour thyself into the bowl
Of bounty-head; may never want controul
That good, good honest man, who feeds the famish'd soul.
Now let the trumpet's martial thunders sleep;
The viol wake alone, and tender flute:
The Phrygian lyre with sprightly fingers sweep,
And, Erato, dissolve the Lydian lute:
Yet Clio frets and burns, with honest pain,
To rouze and animate the martial strain,
Since William charg'd the foe on fam'd Culloden's plain.
The trumpet sleeps, but soon for thee shall wake,
Illustrious Chief! to sound thy mighty name,
(Snatch'd from the malice of Lethean lake)
Triumphant-swelling from the mouth of Fame:
Mean-while, disdain not (so the virgins pray)
This rosy crown, with myrtle wove and bay,
(Too humble crown I ween) the offering of May.
And while the virgins hail thee with their voice,
Heaping thy crouded way with greens and flowers,
And in the fondness of their heart rejoice
To sooth, with dance and song, thy gentler hours:
Indulge the season, and with sweet repair
Embay thy limbs, the vernal blessing share:
Then blaze in arms again, renew'd for future war.
Britannia's happy isle derives from May
The choicest blessings Liberty bestows,
When royal Charles (for ever hail the day!)
In mercy triumph'd o'er ignoble foes:
Restor'd with him, the Arts their drooping head
Gaily again uprear'd; the Muses shade
With fresher honours bloom'd, in greener trim array'd.
And thou, the goodliest blossom of our isles!
Great Frederick's and his Augusta's joy,
Thy native month approv'd with infant smiles,
Sweet as the smiling May, Imperial Boy!
Britannia hopes thee for her future Lord,
Lov'd as thy Parents, only not ador'd!
When-e'er a George is born, Charles is again restor'd.
O may his Father's pant for finer fame,
And boundless bountyhead to human kind;
His Grandsire's glory, and his Uncle's name,
Renown'd in war! inflame his ardent mind!
So arts shall flourish 'neath his equal sway,
So arms the hostile nations wide affray;
The laurel Victory, Apollo wear the bay.
Thro' kind infusion of celestial power
The dullard earth May quickeneth with delight:
Full suddenly the seeds of joy
(y)recure
Elastic spring, and force within
(z)empight:
[Page 16]If senseless elements invigorate prove
By genial May, and heavy matter move,
Shall shepherdesses cease, shall shepherds fail to love?
Ye shepherdesses, in a goodly round,
Purpled with health, as in the greenwood-shade,
Incontinent ye thump the echoing ground,
And
(a)defftly lead the dance along the glade;
(O may no showers your merry-makes affray!)
Hail at the opening, at the closing day,
All hail, ye
(b)Bonnibels, to your own season, May.
Nor ye absent yourselves, ye shepherd-swains,
But lend to dance and song the liberal May,
And while in jocund ranks you beat the plains,
Your flocks shall nibble and your lambkins play,
Frisking in glee. To May your girlands bring,
And ever and anon her praises sing:
The woods shall echo May, with May the vallies ring.
Your may-pole deck with flowery coronal;
Sprinkle the flowery coronal with wine;
And, in the nimble-footed galliard, all,
Shepherds and shepherdesses lively join:
[Page 17]Hither from village sweet and hamlet fair,
From bordering cot and distant
(c)glenne repair:
Let youth indulge its sport, to
(d)Eld bequeathe its care.
Ye wanton Dryads, and light-tripping Fawns,
Ye jolly Satyrs, full of
(e)lusty-head,
And ye that haunt the hills, the brooks, the lawns;
O come with rural chaplets gay dispread!
With heel so nimble wear the springing grass;
To shrilling bagpipe, or to tinkling brass,
Or foot it to the reed: Pan pipes himself apace.
In this soft season, when creation smil'd,
A quivering splendor on the ocean hung,
And from the fruitful froth, his fairest child,
The queen of bliss and beauty, Venus sprung.
The Dolphins gambol o'er the watery way,
Carol the Naiads, while the Tritons play,
And all the sea-green sisters bless the Holy-day.
In honour of her natal-month, the queen
Of bliss and beauty consecrates her hours,
Fresh as her cheek, and as her brow serene,
To buxom ladies, and their paramours.
[Page 18]Love tips with golden alchimy his dart;
With rapturous anguish, with an honey'd smart
Eye languishes on eye, and heart dissolves on heart.
A softly-swelling hill, with myrtles crown'd,
(Myrtles to Venus
(f)algates sacred been)
Hight Acidale, the fairest spot on ground,
For ever fragrant and for ever green,
O'erlooks the windings of a shady vale,
By beauty form'd for amorous regale:
Was ever hill so sweet as sweetest Acidale?
All down the sides, the sides profuse of flowers,
An hundred rills, in shining mazes, flow
Thro' mossy grottoes, amaranthine bowers,
And form a laughing flood in vale below:
Where oft their limbs the Loves and Graces
(g)bay,
(When Summer sheds insufferable day)
And sport, and dive, and flounce in wantonness of play.
No noise o'ercomes the silence of the shades,
Save short-breath'd vows, the dear excess of joy;
Or harmless giggle of the youths and maids,
Who yield obeysance to the Cyprian boy:
[Page 19]Or lute, soft-sighing in the passing gale;
Or fountain, gurgling down the sacred vale,
Or hymn to Beauty's queen, or lover's tender tale.
Here Venus revels, here maintains her court
In light festivity and gladsome game:
The young and gay in frolic troops resort,
Withouten censure, and withouten blame.
In pleasure steep'd, and dancing in delight,
Night steals upon the day, the day on night:
Each knight his lady loves, each lady loves her knight.
Where lives the man (if such a man there be)
In idle wilderness or desert drear,
To beauty's sacred power an enemy?
Let foul fiends
(h)harrow him; I'll drop no tear.
I deem that
(i)carl, by Beauty's power unmov'd,
Hated of heaven, of none but hell approv'd:
O may he never love! O never be belov'd!
Hard is his heart, unmelted by thee, May!
Unconscious of Love's nectar-tickling sting,
And, unrelenting, cold to Beauty's ray;
Beauty the mother and the child of Spring!
[Page 20]Beauty and Wit declare the sexes even;
Beauty to woman, Wit to man is given;
Neither the slime of earth, but each the fire of heaven.
Alliance sweet! let Beauty, Wit approve,
As flowers to sunshine ope the ready breast:
Wit Beauty loves, and nothing else can love:
The best alone is grateful to the best.
Perfection has no other parallel:
Can light with darkness, doves with ravens dwell?
As soon,
(k)perdie, shall heaven communion hold with hell.
I sing to you, who love alone for love:
For gold the beauteous fools (O fools besure!)
Can win; tho' brighter wit shall never move:
But folly is to wit the certain cure.
Curs'd be the men, (or be they young or old)
Curs'd be the women, who themselves have sold
To the detested bed for lucre base of gold.
Not Julia such: she higher honour deem'd
To languish in the Sulmo-Poet's arms,
Than, by the potentates of earth esteem'd,
To give to sceptres and to crowns her charms.
[Page 21]Not Laura such: in sweet Vauclusa's vale
She listened to her Petrarch's amorous tale:
But did poor
(l)Colin Clout o'er Rosalind prevail?
Howe'er that be;
(m)in Acidalian shade,
Embracing Julia, Ovid melts the day:
No dreams of banishment his loves invade;
Encircled in eternity of May.
Here Petrarch with his Laura, soft reclin'd
On violets, gives sorrow to the wind:
And Colin Clout pipes to the yielding Rosalind.
Pipe on, thou sweetest of th' Arcadian train,
That e'er with tuneful breath inform'd the quill:
Pipe on, of lovers the most loving swain!
Of bliss and melody O take thy fill!
Ne envy I, if dear Ianthe smile,
Tho' low my numbers, and tho' rude my stile;
Ne quit for Acidale fair Albion's happy isle.
Come then, Ianthe! milder than the Spring,
And grateful as the rosy month of May,
O come; the birds the hymn of Nature sing,
Inchanting-wild, from every bush and spray:
Swell the green gems, and teem along the vine,
A fragrant promise of the future wine,
The spirits to exalt, the genius to refine!
Let us our steps direct where Father-Thames
In silver windings draws his humid train,
And pours, where-e'er he rolls his naval-streams,
Pomp on the city, plenty o'er the plain.
Or by the banks of Isis shall we stray?
(Ah why so long from Isis banks away!)
Where thousand damsels dance, and thousand shepherds play.
Or chuse you rather Theron's calm retreat,
Embosom'd, Surry, in thy verdant vale,
At once the Muses and the Graces seat!
There gently listen to my faithful tale.
[Page 23]Along the dew-bright parterres let us rove,
Or taste the odours of the mazy grove:
Hark how the turtles coo: I languish too with love.
Amid the pleasaunce of Arcadian scenes,
Love steals his silent arrows on my breast;
Nor falls of water, nor enamell'd greens,
Can sooth my anguish, or invite to rest.
You, dear Ianthe, you alone impart
Balm to my wounds, and cordial to my smart:
The apple of my eye, the life-blood of my heart.
With line of silk, with hook of barbed steel,
Beneath this oaken umbrage let us lay,
And from the water's crystal-bosom steal
Upon the grassy bank the finny prey:
The Perch, with purple speckled manifold;
The Eel, in silver labyrinth self-roll'd,
And Carp, all-burnish'd o'er with drops of scaly gold.
Or shall the meads invite, with Iris-hues
And nature's pencil gay-diversified,
(For now the sun has lick'd away the dews)
Fair-flushing and bedeck'd like virgin-bride?
Thither (for they invite us) we'll repair,
Collect and weave (whate'er is sweet and fair)
A posy for thy breast, a garland for thy hair.
Fair is the lilly, clad in balmy snow;
Sweet is the rose, of spring the smiling eye;
Nipt by the winds, their heads the lillies bow;
Cropt by the hand, the roses fade and die.
Tho' now in pride of youth and beauty drest,
O think, Ianthe, cruel time lays waste
The roses of the cheek, the lillies of the breast.
Weep not; but, rather taught by this, improve
The present freshness of thy springing prime:
Bestow thy graces on the god of Love,
Too precious for the wither'd arms of Time.
In chaste endearments, innocently gay,
Ianthe! now, now love thy spring away;
Ere cold October-blasts despoil the bloom of May.
Now up the chalky mazes of yon hill,
With grateful diligence we wind our way;
What opening scenes our ravish'd senses fill,
And wide their rural luxury display!
Woods, dales, and flocks, and herds, and cots and spires,
Villas of learned clerks, and gentle squires;
The villa of a friend the eye-sight never tires.
If e'er to thee and Venus, May, I strung
The gladsome lyre, when
(n)livelood swell'd my veins,
And Eden's nymphs and Isis' damsels sung
In tender elegy, and pastoral strains;
[Page 25]Collect and shed thyself on Theron's bowers,
O green his gardens! O perfume his flowers!
O bless his morning walks, and sooth his evening hours!
Long, Theron, with thy Annabell enjoy
The walks of nature, still to virtue kind,
For sacred solitude can never cloy
The wisdom of an uncorrupted mind!
O very long may Hymen's golden chain
To earth confine you and the rural-reign;
Then soar, at length, to heaven! nor pray, O muse, in vain!
Where-e'er the muses haunt, or poets muse,
In solitary silence sweetly tir'd,
Unloose thy bosom, May! thy stores effuse,
Thy vernal stores, by poets most desir'd,
Of living fountain, of the woodbine-shade,
Of Philomel, sweet warbling from the glade:
Thy bounty, in his verse, shall certes be repaid.
On Twit'nam bowers (Aonian-Twit'nam bowers!)
Thy softest plenitude of beauties shed,
Thick as the winter stars, or summer flowers;
(o)Albè the tuneful master (ah!) be dead.
[Page 26]To Colin next he taught my youth to sing,
My reed to warble, to resound my string:
The king of shepherds he, of poets he the king.
Hail, happy scenes, where joy would chuse to dwell;
Hail, golden days, which Saturn deems his own;
Hail music, which the Muses
(p)scant excell;
Hail flowrets, not unworthy Venus' crown.
Ye linnets, larks, ye thrushes, nightingales,
Ye hills, ye plains, ye groves, ye streams, ye gales,
Ye ever-happy scenes! all you, your poet hails.
All hail to thee, O May! the crown of all!
The recompence and glory of my song:
Ne small the recompence, ne glory small,
If gentle ladies, and the tuneful throng,
With lover's myrtle, and with poet's bay May!
Fairly
(q)bedight, approve the simple lay,
And think on Thomalin whene'er they hail thee,
Nox erat, et coelo fulgebat Luna sereno,
Inter minora Sidera.
HOR.
HAil! empress of the star-bespangled sky!
At thy benign approach night throws aside
Her raven-colour'd vest, and from her cave
Starts forth to visibility. And now
With thy bright edging burnish'd, on the eye
The tree-tops glitter. Hills, and vales, and plains,
Thy softest influence feel. The weary ox,
Forgetful of the labours of the day,
Slumbers at ease beneath thy kindly beam.
Tho' now the lamp, that late illum'd the day,
Its blaze withdraws, to light up other worlds,
I cannot weep its absence, while this scene
Invites to speculation more refin'd.
Witness this canopy of cluster'd stars,
In dazzling order spread, immensely bright!
Witness yon glittering mounts and valley streams
Dancing beneath thy silver-shedding orb.
Mute are the choral warblers of the day;
Yet, tho' the choral warblers of the day
No more symphonious lull attention's ear;
And tho' nor linnet sings, nor laughing finch
Shrill twittles from the spray—O smiling night,
[Page 33]Still, still thou hast thy charms, while Philomel
Is thine. Ah! let me hear th' extatic swells
By echo's voice return'd—so sweet's the strain,
The nymph enamour'd doubles every note,
Save ever and anon thy softest trill
In imperfection dies upon her tongue.
If aught of sound the troubled breast can sooth,
And from its course avert the tide of grief,
'Tis thine, thou sweet musician. Tho' thy dirge
Be querulous, yet does it fill the mind
With solemn musing and celestial wonder.
Nor yet I scorn, O night, thy loving bird,
As on her ivy-slaunting turret perch'd,
Wooing thy brownest solitude, she hoots
To some discordant—yet again, ere morn
Affright thine eye, and rob me of thy note!
Oh! 'tis a pleasing melancholy air,
Which fancy well may melodize. How oft
From jarring strings harmonious sounds are drawn:
Turn upwards, eyes! and see yon flaming arch,
Behold—there view the Deity immense;
How glows each sacred light! yon falling star!
'Tis he who shines in all; th' eternal One
Who form'd and rules with awe the wonderous whole.
Here let the atheist tremble as he looks,
And blush into belief.—But can there live
[Page 34]A monster so absurd?—Where art thou, then,
Oh conscience?—What, asleep?—Then must thou wake
In torments wrapt, when death disturbs thy dream.
For know (poor crawling worm of little faith)
Thou canst not die the wretch that thou hast liv'd.
Here let me gaze, and, in the trance of thought,
Forget that I am mortal.—But behold,
Alas! the prospect lessens, and each star
From the fair face of sun retires, eclipsed
With lustre more predominant. Farewell,
Sweet nurse of virtue, contemplation sage!
For I must leave thee now. The busy day
My lingering chides. I go, till night return,
To plunge into that sea of sin, a bustling world.
A FAREWELL HYMNE TO THE COUNTRY.
ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER'S EPITHALAMION.
BY MR. POTTER.
SWeet poplar shade, whose trembling leaves emong
The cheerefull birds delight to chaunt their laies;
Where oft the linnet powres the dulcet song,
And oft the thrilling thrush descanting plaies;
Their tunes attempring to the silver Yare,
Which gently murmurs here,
A babbling brook; but swelling in his pride
Sees two fam'd towns upon his bankes appeare,
And the tall ships on his faire bosom ride;
Indignant then rolls his prowde waves away,
And somes ore half the sea:
Sweet stream, with shade refresht, orehung with bowres
Entrailed with the honied woodbine faire;
Where breathes the gentlest, softest, simplest aire
Stealing fresh odors from the rising flowres,
Joy of my calmer howres,
O sooth me with thy murmurs whiles I sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
With pleasance oft two silver swannes I view
Pranking their silken plumes with conscious pride,
A comely couplement of goodly hew,
Come softly swimming down the crystal tide;
The crystal tide, resplendent as it may,
Looks not so faire as they,
Whether their snowie necks they love to lave,
Or pluck with jettie bill in wanton play
The yellow flowres that flote upon the wave;
Orsdeigne to tinge their plumage, lest they might
Soyle their pure beauties bright;
But with slow pomp on the clear surface move.
Sweet cygnets, whiter than the new-faln snow
That silvers ore Thessalian Pindus brow;
Purer than those that draw the queen of love,
Fayrer than Laeda's Jove,
Tune your melodious voices whiles I sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
Oft when the modest morn in purple drest,
Wak'd by the lively larke's love-learned laye,
Unbarrs the golden light-gate of the east,
And as a bridemaid leads the blushing daye;
The sunnes bright harbinger before her goes
Scattring violet, scattring rose;
The jolly sunne, uprist with lusty pride,
Shakes his fair amber locks, and round him throws
His glitterand beams to wellcome up his bride;
[Page 53]Then bids his livery'd clouds before him flie,
And daunces up the skie.
Sweet is the breath of heaven with day-spring born;
Sweet are the flowres, that ore the damaskt meads
To the new sunne unfold their velvet heads;
Sweet is the dewe, the spangled child of morn,
That does the leaves adorn;
Sweet is the matin hymne the glad birds sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
With early step yon verdant slope I tread
Crown'd with the florisht bowre of cremosin health;
Whence auntient Norwic rears her towred head,
Norwic, fair nurse of industrie and wealth!
Down in the dale my lowly hamlet lies,
Where truth without disguise,
Where dove-like peace, and virgin virtue where.
Hence Bacon's villa greets my pleasur'd eyes;
Bacon to Phoebus and the Muses deare,
Seeking, uncombred with the toyles of state,
This grove-embosom'd seate.
The tufted hill, the valley flowre-bedight,
The silver shinings of my winding Yare,
The corn green-springing, and the fallows seare,
The lambkins sporting round, rural delight,
From hence enchaunt the sight,
And wake the rural pipe, and tempt to sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
Oft when the eve demure with dewy eye,
Clad in a lengthned stole of raven-gray,
Assumes the sober empire of the skye,
The streakt west glimmering to the parting day;
When golden Hesperus, forth-streaming bright,
The leader of the night,
Marshals his radiant troopes, and gives command
In heaven's hie arch their lovely lamps to light;
Shouting he walks the Gideon of the band:
When first the youthfull moon begins to show
New-bent her blessed bow;
When, or uprising from her eastern bowre
Full-orb'd she strives her glowing face to shroud,
Gorgeously mantled in a lucid cloud;
Or all her beaming brightness deignes to powre
The silver'd landskip o'er;
And shepherd swains their evening carrols sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring,
Ore the new-shaven level green I rove,
Where the fresh haycock breathes along the mead,
Or wander thro' th' uncertain-shaded grove,
Or the trim margent of the river tread;
Where the soft murmurs of the poplars tall,
To the streames liquid fall
Attempred sweet, the museful mind delight;
Where the lone partridge to her mate does call,
Responsive in his homeward-hasting flight;
[Page 55]Where the lowe quail with modulation bland
Runnes piping ore the land;
Where, as I stray along the upland ground,
The farre-off clock just trembles to my ear;
Where the mad citties louder mirth I hear,
When swinging in full peal, a festive sound,
The deep bells roar around:
In mute attention hush'd I cease to sing;
Nor hills, nor dales, nor woods, nor fountaines ring.
Now night's pale fires a peacefull influence shed,
The flockes forget to bleat, the herds to low,
Loosely along the grassie green dispred:
The slumbring trees seem their tall tops to bow,
Rocking the careless birds that on them nest
To gentle, gentle rest;
Silent each one, save the lone nightingale;
Of all the tuneful sisters sweetest, best;
She, soft musitian, thro' th' encharmed dale
Powres dainty-dittied warblings to delight
The stillness of the night.
'Tis sacred thus to tread the dewy glade;
In the calme solitude of that still howre
To nature's God the gratefull soul to powre
Or in the silvery shine, or doubtfull shade
By quivering branches made:
Rapt with the aweful thought I cease to sing;
Nor hills, nor dales, nor woods, nor fountaines ring.
When flaming in the zenith of his powre,
Darting directly down his fiery ray,
The hotte sunne, leaving his meridian bowre,
Enfevers with his beams the cloudlesse day;
The gadding herd from such a fervent skie
To the cool thicket flie,
Tormented with the bryzes teazefull sting;
Th' enduring sheep in th' hot sands panting lie;
The grasshoppers, blithe insects, daunce and sing;
The mower swart his sweeping scythe forsakes,
The damzels quit their rakes,
And seated where the freshing shade is found
With joyous jolliment the daye beguile;
Sweet is the quaver'd laugh, the simper'd smile,
When, as the tale or gamesome song goes round,
The vocal vales resound;
Nor less to me, whiles I essay to sing,
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
Ye lordings great, that in prowde citties wonne,
Which gently-cooling breezes never blesse;
In gorgeous palaces with heat foredonne,
Come here and envy at my littlenesse.
All on a hanging hill, a simple home,
For its small tenant roome,
Safe-nested in the bosom of a grove,
Where pride, and strife, and envie never come,
Nor any cares, save the sweet cares of love:
[Page 57]A little garden gives a cool retreat
From the daies powrefull heat;
Where flowes my gentle Yare, whose bankes along
Th' inwoven branches, like a girlond made,
With wanton wreathing decke a daintie shade;
While the smooth watry glass, reflecting strong,
With bending bankes, and shades respondent vies,
Pointing to downward skies:
Here in this soft enclosure whiles I sing,
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
Here bountious nature, like a virgin faire,
Whose ladie fingers deck the velvet green
With cunning colourings of broidery rare
Sweetly enterchang'd the varied shades atween,
The grassie groundsoil, as a lovely bride,
Hath richly beautifide,
Strowing the primrose pale, the violet blew,
The silver'd snow-drop, and the daisie pied,
The crocus glistering in its golden hew,
The cowslip drops of Amber weeping still,
The flaunting daffodil,
The virgin lillie, and the modest rose,
The prettie pink, the red and white yfere;
Flowres of all hewes that paint the various yeare;
And the mild zephyr, that emong them blows,
Around sweet odors throws,
Scenting the soft enclosure where I sing,
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
The chemist bee with busy murmurings
Extracts the soul of sweetness from each flowre,
Such as the Syracosian Thyrsis sings,
All in the shadow of the shepherd's bowre;
The stock-doves, darlings of the Mantuan swaine,
In melting murmurs plaine;
Sweet birds of such a swaine to be the care,
The sootest he that ever chaunted straine,
Or with the gladfull pipe enthrald the ear;
Him, as he sung, the graces dauncing round,
With their own girlonds crown'd ;
The nymphes that haunt the river and the grove,
Whether his skilfull reed he sweetly charms,
Or strikes the sounding lyre, and sings of arms,
Apollo him, and him the Muses love
Their own blest quire above:
Ah! would they deigne their visits whiles I sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
Here the poetic birds no fear molests:
Did I, sweet tenants of my garden, say,
With ruthlesse hand ere marre your prettie nests,
Or steal th' unfeather'd innocence away?
For you my trees the spring's gay livery wear;
For you the ripening year
Purples the plum, in the deep cherrie glows,
And tempers the rich honie of the pear;
For you the laughing vine with nectar flows;
[Page 59]For you the permain, comely to behold,
Glows with irradiate gold,
The burnisht bough vermilioning; for you
The mellow'd fruit beyond its time has hung;
Well have you paid me, for you well have sung.
On nature's music shall we not bestowe
Gifts we to nature owe?
Fond of our fellow poets while they sing,
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
An academic leisure here I find
With learning's lore to discipline my youth;
By virtue's wholesome rules to form my mind,
To seek and love the wise man's treasure, truth.
Oft too thy hallow'd sons enthroned hie,
O peerlesse poesie!
Sounding great thoughts my raptur'd mind delight;
He first, the glorious child of libertie,
Maeonian Milton, beaming heavenly bright;
He who full fetously the tale ytold,
The Kentish Tityrus old;
And he above the pride of greatness great,
Sweet Cowley, with the gentlest spirit blest
That ever breath'd a calme in humane brest;
Who the poor muses richest manor seat
The garden's mild retreat,
Wrapt in the arms of quiet lov'd to sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
And he, forth-beaming thro' the mystic shade
In all the might of magic sweetly strong;
Who steep'd in teares the pitious lines he made,
The tendrest bard that ere empassion'd song:
Or when of love's delights he cast to play,
Couth deftly dight the lay;
And with gay girlonds goodly beautifide,
Bound trew-love-wise to grace his bridale day,
With dainty carrols hymn'd his happy bride;
Lov'd Spenser, of trew verse the well-spring sweet!
The footing of whose feet
I, painefull follower, assay to trace.
Bring fayrest flowres, the purest lillies bring,
With all the purple pride of all the spring;
And make great store of poses trim, to grace
The prince of poets race;
And hymen, hymen, io hymen sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
Witness ye hills, and dales, and woods, and plains,
Th' unmoved quiet of my silver daies,
Free here from all the cares, and all the pains,
Whose storms do threat the citties dangerous waies:
There falsing forgery, and foule defame,
And lust of sclanderous blame;
There cancred tongues, school'd in th' ungratious art
To blast the bloosme of a well-deemed name;
There malice wonneth deep in hollow hart;
[Page 61]Ambition there and pride, the lies of life,
Sleek guile, and carled strife:
Away plain honestie of simple eye,
And dove-like peace that calms the shepherd's day;
Away each science, and each muse away,
And single truth, and sunne-bright honour flie:
And lovely libertie:
Here then, sweet shade, O shield me, whiles I sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
Thus on his rustic reed the recklesse swaine,
Smit with the peacefull joys of lowly life,
The world's gay shows forgiving, charm'd the plaine,
Withouten envie, and withouten strife:
All on a knot-grass bank, ore-arched hie
With ivy-canopie,
And with wild roses richly well inwove,
He lay, and tun'd his rural minstrelsie;
When, lo! the favouring genius of the grove,
Fair Physis nam'd, to his entranced sight
Appeared heavenly bright;
Loose her fine tresses flow'd, like golden wire,
With budding flowrets perled all atween,
And shaded with a daintie girlond green;
And aye in green she did herself attire:
Beneath her feet in youthful rich array
A voluntary May
Threw sweets, threw flowres; the birds more joyous sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
Then with a smile that brighten'd all the shade,
Mild she bespake, and deign'd to press his hand,
Enough, fond youth, to Physis has been paid,
Break then thy rural pipe at her command:
These woodnotes wild, this flowre-perfumed aire,
And thy sweet-streaming yare
Must charm no more; no more the hallow'd cell,
Where white-rob'd peace, and free-born fancy faire
With sacred solitude delight to dwell.
Wake then the spark of glorious great intent,
In action excellent
Thot fires the noble-passion'd soul to shine:
In all the depths of useful lore ingage,
To grace thy youth, and dignifie thine age:
Ne ween that Physis bids those paths decline,
For all those paths are mine.
Change then the straine; to hill, to valley tell
Farewell, sweet shade: sweet poplar shade, farewell.
But, ah! beware; for in this goodly chace
A vile enchauntress spreds her vaine delights;
With guilefull semblants charming all that pass,
Till she enslaved hath their feeble sprights:
And sooth she is to view a lady faire,
Of beauty past compare:
And aye around her crowd a gorgeous throng,
Skill'd in the mincing step, the vestment rare,
And the fine squeaking of an eunuch's song;
[Page 63]But sacred science, tender love, trew fame,
And honour's heaven-born flame
They know not; yet the pompous name vertù
To th' idle pageant give: she cruel prowd
Deals magic charms emong the carelesse crowd,
And does them all to hideous apes transmew.
But fear not thou the minion's magic pride,
For Physis is thy guide:
Come then; to hill, to dale this burden tell,
Farewell, sweet shade: sweet poplar shade, farewell.
To Cosme's polish'd court thy steps I'll lead,
My sister she, tho' eft we strangers seem;
Far otherwise of us the wise aread,
But follies feeble eyes of things misdeem.
The straw-roof'd cott, the pastur'd mead I love,
The mavis-haunted grove,
The moss-clad mountaine hoar, a rugged scene;
Along the streamlet's mazy margent rove,
That sweetly steals the broken rocks atween:
She thro' the manner'd cittie powres the flame
Of high atchieved fame,
The star-bright guerdon of the great and good;
And breathes her vivid spirit in the mind
Whose generous aimes extend to all mankind,
And vindicate the worth of noble blood;
Such as, in bowre Lycaean holding place,
The man of Spargrove grace:
[Page 64]Come then; to hill, to dale this burden tell,
Farewell, sweet shade: sweet poplar shade, farewell.
Als like a girlond her enring around
The sphere-born muses lyring heavenly strains;
The graces eke with bosoms all unzon'd,
A trinal band that concord sweet maintains;
And who is she that, placed them atween,
Seems a fourth grace I ween?
So looks the rubie pretious rare, enchaced
In the bright crownet of a maiden queen.
Each science too with verdant bay-leaves graced,
With honour brought from Attic land again,
Adorns the radiant train.
Come then, let nobler aimes thy soul inspire:
But bring the cherub Innocence along,
And Contemplation sage, on pineon strong
High-soaring ore yon lamping orb of fire—
Thus pip'd the Doric oate, while echoes shrill,
To fountaine, dale, and hill
Resyllabling the notes, this burden tell,
Farewell, sweet shade: sweet poplar shade, farewell.
BY J.E.W.
—Tantaene animis coelestibus irae;
VIRG.
FRom gay St. James's Myra was return'd,
Within her breast the flames of envy burn'd,
Reclin'd upon the couch she sought relief,
But the soft plumage added to her grief;
Now to the citron cordial she applies,
The cordial too its usual balm denies;
Will not kind Morpheus one short nap bestow?
He never perches on a breast of woe.
What! has her peerless face betray'd some flaws?
Or does some mighty loss the conflict cause?
Has some dire pimple, to disturb her eye,
Made an irruption where the lillies lie?
Smokes there less incense at her virgin shrine?
Or crowns some rival-toast th' enamour'd wine?
What can she dread, whose every charm subdues
The garter'd noble—and invites the muse?
Not one of those, nor all of them conjoin'd
Have ruffled the composure of her mind;
But at the court she saw, what tongue can tell!
Worse than Quevedo's visionary hell—
[Page 99]A female implement! and at the sight
Her spirit sunk—she swoon'd away for spite!
Clarinda's hand the glittering pageant grac'd,
With which she led the beaux, and men of taste;
Discarded Myra saw the envied prize;
She saw—and curst it with her heart and eyes.
So, even at church, if some new dress arrive,
The blazing meteor galls the female hive;
Each eye, arrested, on the fashion glotes,
And every woman imprecates, and doats;
The clerk's proud wife neglects her husband's song,
And comminations fly from every tongue.
A fan! the mighty cause of Myra's care,
For beauties envy trifles light as air!
The fashion dawn'd from madam Pompadour,
Newly imported to the British shore:
Clarinda, to improve her magazine
Of charms—had lately at the toyshop been,
Searching for trinkets, she the bawble found,
And seiz'd the product of a foreign ground,
Resolving to transplant it to the court,
She bought, and paid a hundred guineas for't;
Arm'd with this bright umbrella she appear'd,
And, wafted by its gales, to conquest steer'd;
A hecatomb of hearts were soon resign'd
To young Clarinda's eyes intrench'd behind;
[Page 100]While stars and garters emulating strove
Which should croud foremost to present his love,
His vows thro' this gay medium to enhance;
Such are thy fashionable tools—oh France!
While thus Clarinda's innovating pride
From Myra's charms drew dukes and lords aside,
Like a discarded statesman, in disgrace
The fair one to the victor left the place;
Thus, like a beaten general, forc'd to yield,
She quits the glories of the long-fought field:
In sullen discontent she seeks the gloom
To meditate revenge within her room.
At length to Venus with uplifted eyes,
And fervent prayer, the baffled maid applies:
" Oh! Venus, by thy myrtles and thy doves,
" And every symbol of the Paphian groves,
" By all thy bright regalia I implore,
" Oh! grant one favour to thy Myra more;
" Let not Clarinda such a conquest boast,
" Nor lead of nobles, thus, her shining host:
" For lo! what stars, like silver Cynthia's train,
" Attend her triumph, and support her reign!
" See, how each garter, like the Zodiac, vies
" To grace the blue horizon of her eyes!
" Debase her trinket, her new-fangled toy,
" And crush the infant dawning of her joy,
[Page 101]" Give me, by some rich implement, to win
" The men—tho' 'twere a diamond—headed pin:
" Then shall a thousand hearts, a thousand days,
" With sweetest incense on thy altars blaze.
" Then, for each lover which thy gift imparts,
" A hymn shall carol to the God of Hearts."
Propitious Venus heard the maiden's prayer,
And sent a pleasing dream to sooth her care:
Fair to her raptur'd fancy there arose
A crimson orb, but richer far than those
Which stately cardinals in triumph wear,
The boon and earnest of the papal chair;
Its ample brim three rows of sapphires grac'd,
The cestus, as a ribband, gave it taste:
A thousand brilliants, here and there display'd,
With blushing rubies, lent it light and shade.
In emerald cut, a king imperial sate
Beneath a golden canopy of state,
Powder'd with hieroglyphics of his reign,
As undisputed monarch of the main.
The consort of his throne was seated nigh
In pearl, and clearest crystal form'd each eye;
Attending nobles the regalia bore,
The crown and sceptre both of massy ore.
In solemn order the procession moves,
A prelate waits to crown their happy loves.
[Page 102]Why should we here describe, what all have seen,
The coronation of a king and queen?
Or why attempt in colours to display
That state, when George and Charlotte blest the day.
Dazzled with lustre, Myra now awakes,
And from the visionary model takes
A hat, which soon eclips'd Clarinda's fan,
Nor left the fair competitor a man.
With this she claims Love's empire as her own,
Reigns absolute, nor envies George his throne.
THE ACCIDENT. A PASTORAL ELEGY.
FRom rosy singers Morning shook the dew,
From Nature's charms the veil of Night she drew;
Reviving colour glow'd with broken light;
The varied landscape dawn'd upon the sight;
The lark's first song melodious floats on air;
And Damon rises, wak'd by Love and Care,
Unpens the fold, and o'er the glittering mead,
With thoughtful steps, conducts his fleecy breed.
Near, in rude majesty, a mountain stood
Projecting far, and brow'd with pendant wood;
The foliage, trembling as the breezes blow,
Inverted, trembled in a brook below.
The mountain echoed every plaintive strain,
The sighing breeze return'd his sighs again,
The gliding brook re-murmur'd to his grief,
As thus from song the shepherd sought relief:
" When late in rural sports I took my share,
" Blithe as the blithest in the crouded fair,
" What tho' from ten, contending in the race,
" I snatch'd the prize, with yet unrivall'd pace?
" What tho', in wrestling, arduous to excell,
" I stood the victor, when each rival fell?
" What tho', when Colin, oft in combat crown'd,
" The cudgel seiz'd, and aw'd the circle round,
[Page 113]" I boldly dar'd the champion of the green,
" And from his head the trickling blood was seen?
" What tho', in softer strife, my rural song
" Won the loud plaudit of the listening throng?
" Tho' every prize, by every voice, was mine,
" And rival hands for me the chaplet twine,
" On Robin's shoulders thro' the croud convey'd
" Of maids that blush'd, and shepherds that huzza'd;
" Vain all my strength, activity and speed,
" Vain all my skill to tune the vocal reed,
" No joy the chaplet, or the prize could give,
" For Phillis frown'd, the nymph for whom I live;
" Phillis! whose charms alone my wishes fir'd,
" Whose charms, ambition not my own inspir'd;
" Who made my feet more swift, my arm more strong,
" My heart more dauntless, and more sweet my song.
" Love gave me conquest, but denied me bliss,
" When from her lips she wip'd the ravish'd kiss;
" Cruel and coy she blasted all my pride,
" And 'midst the transports of my friends I sigh'd;
" Denied her love, I'm poor with all the rest,
" Indulg'd with that, of more than all possess'd.
" What giddy caprice rules a woman's mind,
" As fate relentless, and as fortune blind!
" On vanquish'd Colin Phillis shed her smiles,
" And all his sorrows, and his pain beguiles;
[Page 114]" She, from the wound I gave, with lenient care
" Wash'd the stiff gore, and clipp'd the clotted hair;
" The healing simples with soft touch applied,
" Own'd and caress'd him spite of female pride,
" Mourn'd his disgrace, and now from future harms,
" Perhaps she hides him in her circling arms.
" O! had kind heaven to me transferr'd his blow,
" O! had I own'd him a superior foe,
" Fled from the general hiss, with shame deprest,
" To hide my blushes in her downy breast!
" To him, with rapture, every prize I'd yield,
" And all the tasteless honours of the field,
" For each gay trifle with her love o'erpaid,
" Blest, tho' forgotten, in the secret shade!
" Vain wish! to Colin is that bliss decreed—
" Distracting thoughts distracting thoughts succeed—
" May swift destruction seize the hated pair,
" Or, worse than swift destruction, my despair!
" No—may the fruitless curse leave Phillis free,
" But doubled, Colin! be fulfill'd in thee."
High on the neighbouring mountain's airy head
His browzing goats as happy Colin led,
Pronounc'd with hasty rage, he heard his name,
And near the brow with still attention came;
Too near—the treacherous brink gives way, and lo!
He shrieks, and plunges in the brook below;
[Page 115]The sounding waters, whitening as they rose,
Now with subsiding murmurs round him close.
Damon, alarm'd, his falling rival knew,
And, swift as lightning, to his aid he flew;
Prevailing virtue triumph'd in his breast,
And pity love and enmity supprest;
He saw him gasp emerging from the brook,
And reach'd, with generous haste, his saving crook,
Caught by the drowning wretch with both his hands,
And grateful, trembling, on the bank he stands.
Short recollection serv'd him, thus to show
How much a friend he rose, who fell a foe;
" Born to subdue me, and subdued to save,
" Thine from this moment is the life you gave;
" Here, by the gods who sent thee to my aid,
" I swear no more to see thy favourite maid,
" By partial favour, not by merit mine,
" To thee, more worthy, Phillis I resign;
" Go, and my falshood to thy mistress plead,
" Go, and may heaven and love thy suit succeed.
Thus soon with ardent looks, with honest pride,
And just disdain, the kindling swain replied:
' What Damon's faithful love essay'd in vain,
' He scorns by Colin's broken vows to gain;
' Be thine the maid, since fate ordains it so,
' And time and absence shall allay my woe;
[Page 116]' Friends, from this hour forever, let us live,
' My friendship's pledge, this spotless ewe I give;'
" And I, yon kid than falling snow more white,"
Glad Colin cried, and mutual faith they plight.
Thus busied, Phillis, unperceiv'd, drew near,
Foredoom'd, her love now twice renounc'd, to hear;
" Take, Damon," thus the blushing maid begins,
" The hand, the heart, thy generous virtue wins;
" Not Colin's broken vows, but Damon's truth,
" Now blends my fate with thine, deserving youth!
" To try thee, O! forgive if tried too far,
" Was all I meant, whate'er my actions were."
Her hand, with sudden rapture, Damon prest,
The joyful pair consenting Colin blest;
To Damon's cot they take the flowery way,
With guiltless mirth to crown the happy day.