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POEMS On several Occasions, BY Aquila Rose: To which are prefixed, Some other Pieces writ to him, and to his Memory after his Decease.
Collected and published by his Son Joseph Rose, of Philadelphia.
PHILADELPHIA: Printed at the New Printing-Office, near the Market. 1740.
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ADVERTISEMENT.
THE good Reception the poetical manuscript Writings of my deceased Father Aquila Rose, have met with in this Province, from Men of Wit and Taste, with a Desire of some of those to see them printed, induced me to collect what I could: But, many of his best Pieces were lent out, after his Decease, by my Mother, to Persons who have forgot to return them: And, perhaps the publishing these few, will put them in Mind of sending them to me.
I should be wanting in Gratitude, if I did not return my humble Thanks to those careful People who have favour'd me with the Pieces I now publish to the World; and to the Gentlemen, my Father's Friends, for their nice Encomiums to his Memory.
JOSEPH ROSE.
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TO THE MEMORY OF AQUILA ROSE, Deceas'd.
OFT', O ye Muses! to delightful Scenes,
Are you invok'd or courted on the Greens;
In soothing Verse, to lull the Lover's Pains,
Or sprightly Songs, to glad the blithy Swains:
O now assist! when Sighs and Tears implore,
To sing a Bard, whose Voice we hear no more.
Albion his Birth, his Learning Albion gave;
To Manhood grown, he cross'd the stormy Wave,
More Arts, and Nature's wondrous Ways to find,
Illuminate, and fortify his Mind;
And to divert his Eyes from Cross Affairs:
For Love dissastrous fill'd his Breast with Cares.
In Britain, he would say, he once was bless'd,
And all the Joys of Love and Life possess'd:
But some strange Power who envy'd his Repose,
Chang'd his Enjoyments to combining Woes;
Forc'd him to quit his former peaceful Way,
And prove his Fortune o'er a foamy Sea.
"Dear native Land, he sadly said, farewel,
"And those soft Shades where Love and Silvia dwell:
"Blow swift ye Gales, and waft me from the Shore,
"I fly from Love, and Silvia see no more.
[Page 4]
Long then the Wand'rer sail'd from Land to Land.
To servile Business of rough Seas constrain'd:
Yet not the less, where e'er their Vessel steer'd
Strangers admir'd him, as his Mates rever'd.
So 'tis, where Heaven exalted Sense bestows,
The limpid Mind thro' foul Obstructions glows:
Yet partial Fortune, or mysterious Fate
Debases wise Men, and to Fools gives State.
ROSE well some Post of Eminence could grace,
Who clad in Tar supplies a Sailor's Place.
Such was his Language, such his social Air,
As would th' unequal Destiny declare:
And while his Limbs to vulgar Service bend,
His brighter Thoughts to lofty Themes ascend.
Distinguish'd o're the common Crew he shone,
Unjustly ranked, or 'midst them all alone.
Bless'd in much Wit, and little Pride he strives
With adverse Fortune, as he further drives.
The Iberian Coast he saw, and swarthy Moors,
Etrurian Ports, and sweet Sardinian Shores;
Sardinia, where the Powers of Love reside,
Where sable Veils ten Thousand beauties hide.
Yet not his Heart that charming Place confines,
A wider Search his active Soul designs:
He travels 'till our Western Tract he trode,
Which as he found a Home, here made his last Abode.
When thro' Fatigues by Land and Sea sustain'd,
His resting Point, our little Town he'd gain'd.
A few long Weeks by Sickness held, he lay,
Dark Hours to count, and slowly waste the Day:
Then gloomy Doubts, and pensive Thoughts arise,
And lonely thus, within himself he cries,
"Depriv'd of Health, and every bosom Friend,
"When shall my Toils, my lengthening Sorrows end;
[Page 5] "My own low Genius here forsakes me too,
"And nothing for myself, myself can do:
"But can the Muse by grievous Tempests tost,
"Resume her Notes, and joyful Numbers boast!
"O how shall she her soft Ideas bring,
"And in strange Lands the Songs of Gladness sing!
"When Sorrows draw black Curtains o're the Soul,
"No gay Desires in our sad Bosoms roll:
"But the Remembrance of the Joys I lost
"On Britain's happy Shore, afflicts me most.
"O had I now those pleasing Volumes here,
"Which in Britannia my Companions were;
"They might indeed some tedious Thoughts divert,
"Give some Refreshment to my drooping Heart:
"But destitute of Books, of Health, and Friends,
"As here my Wand'ring, here my Comfort ends.
Thus wail'd he, yet while thus his Griefs complain'd,
His manly Soul to sink beneath disdain'd:
He rous'd anew his Reason to his Aid,
And charg'd his Spirits, not to fly dismay'd.
Now Hopes revive, and Health repairs her Seat,
Round flows the Blood, and equal Pulses beat:
His Name soon known, it led the Curious, where
They might his pleasing Conversation share.
Thus he, who late no friendly Pleasures knew,
Had daily now kind Visitants in View:
Each comes of Choice, and all his Friendship claim,
They courted him, and he delighted them:
Soft in Discourse, and easy of access,
Thankful his Mind, persuasive his address;
The learn'd approv'd his Wit, the unlearn'd admir'd,
And docile Youths to his Regard aspir'd.
O'erjoy'd to find himself so much caress'd,
His grateful Thoughts, he thus to them express'd,
[Page 6] "Tho' Agues late did chill, and Fevers burn,
"Tho' Cares have Wrinkles in my Forehead worn,
"I'll smiling bless, and mark the Day with white,
"That brought such hospitable Friends to Light;
"My native Brethren are in you supply'd,
"And former Blessings now again preside.
Then, lively, from his languid Bed he rose,
Free'd of his Pangs, and melancholy Woes,
Industrious Arts his active Hands could use;
He would the Bread of slothful Means refuse,
Them to his proper Livlihood he join'd,
Where leaden Speech unloads the lab'ring Mind,
And graven Words to distant Ages tell
What various Things in Times foregone befell:
As Mercury cuts thro' the yielding Sky,
So thro' the Work his nimble Fingers fly:
His novel Skill Spectators thronging drew,
Who haste the swift Compositer to view;
Not Men alone, but Maids of softer Air
And nicer Fancies, to the Room repair:
Pleas'd with such mild Impediments he frames,
As they Request, their dear enchanting Names,
To grace a Book, or feast a Lover's Eye,
Or tell Companions of their fancied Joy.
With Complaisance he still dismiss'd the Train,
None ever sought his Courtesy in vain:
Each transient fair one took her Name away,
But thee Maria—'Twas thy Doom to stay;
'Twas soon revers'd, the Work of his quick Hand,
Short did thy Name so gaily printed stand;
Both Hearts consent new Letters to compose,
And give to thine the pleasing Name of ROSE.
Now here the Bard by his own Choice was ty'd,
(Renouncing further Rambling) to a Bride;
[Page 7] Albion for Pennsylvania he resigns,
And now no more at Sylvia's Loss repines:
Those youthful Wounds, that bled so freely there,
Maria heals, more faithful, and as fair.
By this a Cure for former Ills was wrought,
But future to prevent employ'd his Thought:
Fix'd as he was far from his native Home,
Here to reside, and ne'er again to roam,
He counsels with himself what Means to use,
To live with Credit, and what Baits refuse:
First, Clerk to our Provincial Senate rais'd,
He found, besides the Stipend, he was prais'd.
And now a greater Task he takes in Hand,
Which none but true Projectors understand.
What Pity 'tis they seldom live to taste
The Fruits of those pure Spirits that they waste!
For Works so hard and tedious, was it known
A Poet e'er did Poetry disown?
Or for a distant Livelihood give o'er
Those instant Pleasures that he felt before?
Yet so Aquila did—The rustic Toil,
To make firm Landings on a muddy Soil,
Erect a Ferry over Schuylkil's Stream,
A Benefit to Thousands—Death to him!
Describe, O Muse, tho' in rough Lines the Place
Hard for the Pencil or the Pen to trace.
A short Hour's Walk from Delaware it lies
Due West, and which the City-Bounds comprise:
The Buildings yet reach but a Quarter Part,
But yet enough to bring a thronging Mart.
This Ferry-Spot t' improve, Aquila gain'd,
By Merit and polite Address obtain'd.
The Grantors saw, could such a Work be done
As he with Vigour by himself begun,
[Page 8] Both Town and Country must Advantage find
Their Commerce and their Int'rest closer join'd.
Now he, disguis'd, assumes the lab'ring Swain,
And looks as when he lately plough'd the Main.
Great Spirits thus can brook an humble Shew,
And unobserv'd beneath their Burthens grow:
Anon from their Obscurities to rise,
As Friends from Travels feed our wond'ring Eyes.
But passing great Fatigues, Expence and Geer,
The Scene alone shall bear Description here.
A Furlong from a Hill of short Ascent,
A level Plain has on the Stream Extent,
Not many Feet above the Waters rais'd,
But firm the Ground, and for its Aspect prais'd;
The ebbing Tide presents the Sight with Ooze,
And then some Pleasure of the View we lose;
But worst of all to bear, and sad to see,
At Winter's End the Floods from Frost break free;
The River's mighty Length, and downward Course,
Gives to the roaring Ice resistless Force;
Away the Causeways, Boats and Piles are borne,
And bord'ring Trees press'd down, or rudely torn,
The House endanger'd, and one Story drown'd,
And scarce a Means of Safety to be found:
And sometimes too, in Seasons warm and gay,
Great sudden Rains their Violence display,
Sweep off the Soil, and bring a different Kind,
And Marks of Ruin ever leave behind.
But neither breaking-Frost, or flooding Rains,
Destroy Projectors Hopes of Praise and Gains:
Nor ev'ry Year, do these their Pow'r exert;
Or what bold Charon could live here alert?
Now (leaving to the last, the pleasing Part
That terrifies not, but delights the Heart.)
[Page 9] Look on the Stream as it pacifick flows,
Which largely bending, more the Prospect shows,
A Summer-Sight, none lovelier can be seen,
And on the Shore a varied Growth of Green:
The Poplars high, erect their stately Heads,
The tawny Water-Beech more widely spreads;
The Linden strong in Breadth and Height, is there,
With Mulberry Leaves—And Trees with Golden Hair,
These, of a smaller Stem, like Filberds seem,
But flatter-leaf'd, and always love the Stream.
Here grows the jagged Birch: and Elm, whose Leaves
With Sides ill-pair'd the observing Eye perceives;
Yet nobly tall and great, it yields a Shade
In which cool Arbours might be fitly made:
Such is the Linden, such the Beech above,
Each in itself contains a little Grove.
Here Hickeries, and Oaks, and Ashes rise,
All diff'ring, but much more in Use than Size;
And Walnuts, with their yellow bitter Dyes.
The fragrant Sassafras enjoys a Place;
And Crabs, whose Thorns their scented Blossoms grace:
Parsimmons vex the Ground, so thick they shoot,
But pleasant is their late autumnal Fruit.
Tedious to name the shrubby Kinds below;
That mingled for Defence, in Clusters grow.
Two Plants remain, with Flow'rs unlike, both fair,
And both deserve th' ingenious Florist's Care:
The wild Althea, red, and white, and cream,
And scarlet Cardinal, with dazzling Gleam:
These tempt the Humming-Bird, whose misty Wings
Support him as he sucks the Flow'r and sings;
Low is his Voice, and simple Notes but few;
And oft' his little Body's lost to View:
When he the Creeper's Blossom tries to drain,
The Blossom will his Beak and Tail [...]
[Page 10] But his gay-colour'd Plumage forms a Show
As mix'd and vivid as the Sky's fair Bow.
So great Variety no Tract can boast,
Of like Dimensions, as this narrow Coast.
The Botanist might here find Exercise;
And every curious Man regale his Eyes.
The Grass shines glist'ning of a lively Green:
And Northward hence the Quarry-Hill is seen,
Whose Top of late with verd'rous Pines is crown'd;
With Forest-Trees of various Kinds around.
And often here, the Clearness of the Stream
And cover'd Gravel-Banks, invite to swim:
But Anglers most their frequent Visits pay,
To toss Old-Wives, and Chubs, and Perch to Day;
And sometimes find the tasteful Trout their Prey.
Others with greater Pains their big Hooks bait;
But for the nobler Bite they seldom wait;
The Time to know their good Success adjourn,
And fail not by next Morning to return;
Then, hook'd, the weighty Rock-Fish draw to Shore
By Lines to Bushes ty'd, or those they moor.
How far th' Adventurer sped, now Muse relate,
Tho' loth we are [...] his early Fate.
He rais'd a Dwelling for himself and Friends,
And now his envy'd Labour almost ends:
He saw his Causeways firm above the Waves,
And nigh the Deeps, unless a Storm outbraves;
When Gusts unusual, strong with Wind and Rain,
Swell'd Schuylkil's Waters o'er the humble Plain,
Sent hurrying all the Moveables afloat,
And drove afar, the needful'st Thing, the Boat.
'Twas then, that wading thro' the chilling Flood,
A cold ill Humour mingled with his Blood,
Convuls'd the Nerves, and shook the strugg'ling Frame,
'Till overpower'd by Febris raging Flame;
[Page 11] Which freezing Juices into boiling turn'd,
Scalded the Veins, and sore the Vitals burn'd.
Alternately the Frost and Fire took Place,
His Joints enfeebl'd, and made pale his Face.
Then soon Defluxions thro' the Bowels rush,
Nor stay for Nature's kind digesting Push.
Physicians try'd their Skill, his Head reliev'd,
And his lost Appetite to Strength retriev'd:
But all was Flatt'ry—So the Lamp decays,
And near its Exit gives an ardent Blaze.
Behind he left his Widow bath'd in Tears,
A Grief supportless to her tender Years:
Against her Breast their first-born Child inclines,
Its Father's Joy, and with its Mother pines:
To Health restor'd, if Heav'n so gracious prove,
He will deserve a Grandsire's Care and Love.
Ah dearest Rose, Farewell, that Face of thine,
That pleasing Tongue, that Hand so near to mine!
How oft' were we to trace the pebbly Strand?
How toss the Fishes twinkling to the Land?
How gladsom on thy little Ocean sail?
And how at once do these fair Prospects fail?
Deceitful Schuylkil thou no more shalt be
A pleasant River to my Friends and me:
Whenever I thy fatal Stream survey
My Blood forgets its Course, my Heart gives Way.
Last Night I dream'd along thy Banks I stray'd,
Where sate an Angler in the brinky Shade,
And sighing deep, in Words like these he pray'd:
"Ye Heavenly Muses with our Griefs complore
"His early Fate, who calls on you no more:
"Or have ye rais'd him to your Bow'rs above,
"In blissful Union of harmonious Love?
"There taught him Songs, immortal as your State,
"Beyond the Reach of Envy and of Fate?
[Page 12] "Once were ye pleas'd your Poet to inspire,
"And warm his Bosom with your sacred Fire;
"Whence Odes, and Hymns, and happiest Verse did flow,
"To gladden and instruct the World below;
"But now your Darling from our Eyes is taken,
"And desolate we seek his Life in vain.
"Shall we not weep so great a Loss to bear?
"And will not you the Lamentation share?
"Oh lend your Aid, as Men your Pow'rs adore,
"To mourn his Death, whose Pen invokes no more
"To you 'tis giv'n to favour mortal Race,
"While evil Daemons watch for Man's Disgrace.
"Good Works in dark Oblivion they conceal;
"In florid Numbers you such Works reveal:
"And when the Springs of human Wisdom fail,
"Divine Inflations from your Founts prevail.
"Ah leave us not all comfortless to moan;
"Give us at least to sing the Bard that's gone.
So pray'd he pensive on that flatt'ring Coast
Where late he liv'd—to us forever lost.
Ye Rose's Friends, that in Britannia dwell,
Who knew his Worth, and best the Loss can tell:
As I transmit such mournful News to you,
Do you the tuneful sad Account pursue.
And ye bright Youths, that meet at Bendall's Board,
An Elegy his hov'ring Shade afford:
Had one of you deceas'd, and he surviv'd,
His Memory by him had been reliv'd.
So true a Friend he was, his Learning such,
That much he lov'd, and would commend as much.
Too great this Task to be perform'd by one
So near the Pole, and far from Helicon.
While Virtues like Aquila's, in smooth Phrase,
Should shine applauded thro' the Length of Days.
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POEMS On several Occasions,
A TRANSLATION of OVID de Tristibus, Elegy II. Book 1.
YE mighty Gods, who rule th' extensive Sea:
Or ye whose Power the Heav'ns and Earth obey:
(For what remains, but Pray'rs alone to you
Who at one Sight can look all Nature thro'?)
Spare ye to shake and tear the shatter'd Ship;
Nor aid great Caesar's Anger in the Deep!
Oft' times the Gods themselves in Parties are,
When one depresses, th' other seeks to spare.
Tho' Phoebus self to save old Ilium sought;
Vulcanian Arms its sure Destruction wrought.
The Trojan Race still found bright Venus true,
Whom fierce Minerva did with Rage pursue.
The good AEneas found Saturnia's Rage;
Yet Love's soft Queen could all her Hate asswage.
Minerva's Pow'r the sly Ulysses saves;
While Neptune sought him on the boist'rous Waves.
And who forbids some Pow'r divine to keep
From angry Gods, the torn and shater'd Ship:
[Page 14] The grievous Waters wash me as I pray,
And horrid Winds enforce my Words away:
Thro' the hoarse Noise no pitying God can hear
The Winds, my Words and Sails in Pieces tear:
The Fault's unknown: Why should I bear such Woes?
Are all the Gods, as well as Caesar Foes?
Ah Wretch! what Hills of Water roll on high!
Just now, just now, you'd think they touch'd the Sky.
How deep the Vallies in the Ocean low'r!
Just now you'd think they touch'd the Stygian Shore.
The Seas and Skies alone attract the Sight,
There pitchy Clouds in black Batallions fight:
Here hollow Murmurs from the Ocean rise,
And fill with spreading Sounds the distant Skies:
Sometimes the East-Wind gathers Strength from far,
And seems the Victor in the windy War:
Sometimes the West is present with his Pow'rs;
As fiercer Boreas from the Northern Shores:
Sometimes the South in dreadful Tempests blows;
Nor which to serve the troubled Ocean knows:
The Pilot's self, these Squalls desires, nor flies,
And from his Art still doubtful Evils rise.
Nothing but Death appears in frightful Forms;
No Hopes of Safety from such horrid Storms:
Ev'n whilst I speak, oppress'd beneath a Wave,
It proves at once a Winding-sheet and Grave.
No Ills like these my pious Consort knows,
She only grieves me as an absent Spouse;
Far from her Thoughts such dreadful Tempest be,
She knows not that I'm tost by Wind and Sea;
Before my Eyes she knows not Death to stand,
'Twas well I left her on the peaceful Land:
How hard, ye Fates, should I resign my Breath!
She being here, 'twould make a double Death:
[Page 15] Myself alone can all my Pains endure,
And longer live, while my lov'd Fair's secure.
Alas, how swift the Clouds have darted Flame!
From Heav'ns huge Axle, what strong Noises came?
While Seas enrag'd in Hills and Vales divide,
With what strong Force the Waters beat the Side!
More light a Cannon Ball pursues its Course,
And rends a massy Wall with lesser Force.
I fear not Death, my Life from Shipwreck guard,
Another Death I'll count a great Reward:
'Tis glorious dying by some honour'd Wound,
Where our bold Corps may lie beneath the Ground.
Our dying Eyes some pitying Friend might close,
And wish our Souls may meet a calm Repose:
But to the Fishes Meat, to Sharks a Prey,
Or Baits for lesser Monsters of the Sea;
Think, think, ye worst of Foes! what have I done
To draw a Fate so very wretched on?
Nor me alone do all these Dangers strike,
Men undeserving meet my Fate alike.
Ye Powers above, and ye green Deities,
Who govern by your Care the raging Seas,
Permit that I, exil'd by Caesar's Pow'r,
May safely reach th' inhospitable Shore:
Seek ye, to slay what his mild Anger spares,
My Fault, less Punishment than Drowning bears:
Had Caesar doom'd me to the Stygian Lake
He need not you to his Assistance take;
He loves no envious Plenty of our Blood,
He gives and takes, and all his Acts are Good.
Ye know my Crime, be satisfy'd in this;
What have I done to your dread selves amiss?
Use all your Power to save, I'm wretched still,
Exil'd and punish'd for my conscious Ill.
[Page 16] I plow no Waves to find the Sweets of Gain;
Nor heap up Wealth from Mexico or Spain:
Nor is my Course to learned Athens bent,
Where with a studious Mind I lately went.
The Asian Town, fair Alexandria, thee,
And jocund Nile, far be your Joys from me.
Small is my Wish, small is my humble Pray'r.
To find a Sky serene, or Breezes fair:
'Tis scarce bellev'd I sail to frigid Climes,
And barb'rous Lands, unknown to former Times.
Yet still the Winds, as cruel as the Shore,
To freezing Pontus will not waft me o're.
Far, far, I fear, far as remotest Thule,
Dread Tomos lies, and the Meotis Pool:
Beneath some stormy and intemperate Zone,
(For Navigation is to me unknown:)
Yet, by my Vows and Oaths, I'm exil'd there;
Then smooth, ye Powers, the Waves and restless Air:
Assist the lab'ring Vessel in her Way;
My Punishment's on Land, and not at Sea:
To dye on Pontus' Shores, is Caesar's Doom,
Far from my Friends: Ah! very far from Rome.
Blow swift ye Winds, Ausonian Coasts I see,
I must from them, or they must fly from me.
Thus Caesar wills, he drives me to the Place,
And barb'rous Scythia must behold my Face:
What he commands sure I deserve; for still
I owe Allegiance to his sacred Will.
Yet if ye Powers our mortal Acts ye see,
Ye know that Wickedness was far from me;
'Twas Error all, a Carelesness of Mind
Which brought, unthinking, all the Ills I find.
If I have lov'd great Caesar's awful State;
If his Commands alone to me is Fate;
[Page 17] If happy Days I liv'd in his blest Reign,
And offer'd Pray'rs for Caesar's kindred Train;
So spare me Gods: If not, destroy my Soul;
O'er my loath'd Head let briny Waters roll.
Am I deceiv'd? the Clouds disperse away,
Stop'd is the Anger of the boist'rous Sea!
From some great Pow'r these sudden Changes spring;
For Chance alone this Help could never bring.
The Seas and Winds obey the pow'rful Voice;
Sailors give Thanks, and exil'd I rejoice.
Ovid de Tristibus, El. III. B. I.
WHEN the sad Image of the Night came on,
The last to me in Rome's delightful Town;
When I recount my Joys and Pleasures there,
Then slides along my Cheeks a briny Tear.
The fatal Day had almost lost its Light,
Vail'd by the Curtains of the sable Night;
Caesar's allotted Hour was night at Hand,
When I must leave the sweet Ausonian Land.
How short the Space! Myself too unprepar'd,
To be from all my Joys at once debar'd.
No Thought of Servants, my Commands to wait,
Or kind Companions in my exil'd State:
So much did Sorrow all my Soul dismay,
I brought nor Cloaths, nor needful Things For Sea.
A silent Monument of Grief I stood,
With all the Pow'rs of human Sense subdu'd.
So he who meets the Wound loud Thunder gives,
Breathes still in Life, yet knows not that he lives.
But when, by Reas'ning, I dispel'd these Fears,
Strong were my Senses in the midst of Cares.
[Page 18] I speak to my sad Friends, and bid Adieu:
(Great Numbers now are dwindled into few.)
A thousand Things I said, a Thousand lost,
Whilst Tears stop'd my Complaints, and Speech (engross'd.
Around my Neck my tender Consort hung,
And tore my Soul with her complaining Tongue:
A Show'r of Tears run down her Cheeks apace,
Whilst Grief itself look'd lovely in her Face.
Far off in Lybia was my Daughter sent,
Entirely ign'rant of my Banishment.
A silent Funeral in the House appear'd,
And solemn Mourning round about was heard.
My Servants, touch'd with my Misfortunes, cry;
And little Children, scarcely knowing why.
So 'twas (if I great Things compare with small)
When burning Troy receiv'd its fatal Fall.
'Twas Night's high Noon, and Cynthia's Horses fly
A downward Course along the glittering Sky.
Nor Voice of Men, nor snarling Dogs were heard,
And Nature's self in Silence now appear'd,
When from the Capitol I view'd th' Abodes,
And gilded Temples of the shining Gods.
In vain so near their Seats our Cottage stands,
No heav'nly Pow'r my Exile countermands:
Mine Eyes no more these spacious Domes must see,
Far, far remov'd must all these Prospects be.
The guarding Shield I now resume too late,
Sore wounded, and expos'd to abject Fate.
Yet, O ye Powers, who in Quirinus dwell,
Hear my strong Pray'rs, and take a last Farewel!
Unload the Ills great Caesar's Anger bears,
And speak my Error in Augustus' Ears:
So may he find no wicked Crime I meant
To cause this Rage and grievous Punishment.
[Page 19] If you're appeas'd, I'm made a full Amends;
Who can be wretched when the Gods are Friends?
When on my Knees this humble Pray'r I made,
My Wife, in Sighing, stop'd me as I pray'd;
Prostrate on Earth her tender Body lay,
And her loose Locks about her Shoulders play:
Her trembling Breast with my Misfortunes pain'd,
Against the adverse Lares she complain'd;
Yet they unmindful, dull and stupid grown,
Nor hear her Sighs, nor answer to her Moan.
Now the quick Night, precipitant of Stay,
Deny'd the Happiness of long Delay.
Turn'd from the Pole was th' Erymanthian Bear,
And all the Symptoms of the Morn appear.
What could I do? 'Twas the important Night,
The last sad Hours of my commanded Flight!
My Country's Love still held me to the Place,
Whilst some kind Friends wou'd tell my shorten'd Space.
Why urge ye me? oft to my Friends I said,
You push my Fate too soon upon my Head;
Knew you the cruel Shores to which I go,
You wou'd not hasten my Departure so.
Oft I resolv'd I would my Journey take,
And touch'd the Threshold thrice, and thrice came back.
The Thoughts of Stay my willing Feet obey'd,
But a slow Progress in my Exile made.
A Thousand Times I bid the last Farewell,
Whilst I recal a Thousand Things to tell.
Departing, I the last dear Kiss repeat;
And kissing on my hurry'd Senses cheat.
The same soft Things I speak, and speak again,
Whilst my poor Children in my Sight remain.
But say, my Friends, why shou'd I haste away?
In Banishment 'tis just to make delay.
[Page 20] Why shou'd I swift to barbarous Soythia run,
And fly the Lands I once cou'd call my own;
Banish'd my Country, banish'd from my Wife,
My House, my Children; all the Joys of Life?
No more my longing Eyes my Friends shall see,
Friends bound with a Thesean Faith to me.
Yet let me use the short allotted Space,
And end my Parting with a close Embrace.
I must resign, 'tis Death to stop my Flight,
This last sad Hour must tear me from your Sight.
I left my Words imperfect on my Tongue,
And on each Friend with close Embraces hung.
But whilst we speak and weep, the Morning-Star
Aloft in Heav'n, scarce peep'd thro' twilight Air.
How grievous was the first Approach of Day,
That forc'd Wife, Children, Friends, and all away?
Such piercing Pain, my Friends, I felt for you,
This last sad Time I bad you all adieu,
As if my Limbs in adverse Halves were torn,
One part to stay, and one to Exile born.
So Priam look'd, when Greeks in Arms came down
From out the monst'rous Horse, and fir'd the Town.
Now the loud Moans of all my Friends arise,
Deaf the quick Ear, and sadden all the Skies:
My wretched Breast with my mad Hands I strike,
Whilst my dear Consort hung about my Neck:
The pearly Tears run down her beauteous Cheeks,
She clasp'd me fast, and thus in Passion speaks;
They cannot; No, they shall not force from me
The Man I love; we both will trust the Sea.
Since thou'rt exil'd, I'll be an Exile too,
And with thee into barbarous Soythia go.
I'll add but little Murden to the Ship,
And strive to ease thy Troubles on the Deep.
[Page 21] When thou art drove by Caesar's Wrath away,
My Piety commands me not to stay;
That shall itself to me a Caesar prove,
And nothing, nothing shall divide our Love.
She try'd such Words, and try'd 'em oft before:
I lov'd too well to take her from the Shore,
And unconsenting from her Presence stole,
With my torn Hair, my Face and Body foul:
Mad with the Thoughts, she falls, and faints and dies,
And on the Floor a wretched Object lies.
Soon her dead Senses start again to Life,
Yet left her Soul confus'd with Love and Grief.
At length she rose from off the dusty Ground,
Bewail'd herself, and then the Lares round:
No Help, says she, these houshold Gods afford;
They neither banish me, nor save my Lord:
And, why to add to my Misfortune more,
Am I deny'd to reach the Pontean Shore?
Why was my Heart in Hymen's Fetters ty'd
Yet forc'd from all the Pleasures of a Bride?
Then my lov'd Name she often would repeat,
Our tender Joys and Love, and envious Fate.
She griev'd as much my Absence and Exile
As if my Corps had grac'd the funeral Pile.
Herself half dead, was languishing for me;
And I, dear Wife, still do the same for thee:
But may'st thou live to help me by thy Care,
Since Caesar and the Fates so cruel are.
The Star that o're th' Arcadian Bear presides,
His Face beneath the Sea-green Waters hides.
Not of myself the Ionian Surge I plow,
My Boldness to Augustus' Wrath I owe.
O what strong Winds now blacken all the Sea!
What mountain Waves their soamy Heads display!
[Page 22] On the strong Deck the giant Billows leap,
And wash the painted Gods that grace the Ship.
The Vessel's self groans at our fatal Woes,
And Pine-Tree Planks sound with oppressing Blows.
A livid Paleness in each Face appears,
And every Sailor [...] gives way to Fears:
O'er Art itself our [...] so prevails,
The Ship is ballan [...] [...]y her lower Sails;
And while the guiding Helm is lash'd A-lee,
On the Broad-side she makes a sidelong Way.
Except great Aeolus change the troubled Air,
Such Winds the Ship to unknown Realms will bear.
We left Illyrium on the Larboard-Side,
Yet still the Shore is seen: To me deny'd.
To Lands forbidden cease ye Winds to drive;
Why should your Powers against Augustus strive?
I speak, desire and fear; and all alike
The lab'ring Sides the monstrous Billows strike.
Ye Powers of azure Ponlus, spare, at least,
The shatter'd Remnants of a Man distrest!
Sure 'tis enough great Caesar's Wrath to prove,
And the fierce Vengeance of an anger'd Jove.
Preserve my wearied Soul from cruel Death,
And let loy'd Latium take my latest Breath;
If he can live, that perish'd long before
Our spreading Sails had touch'd the Euxine Shore.
[Page 23]
To his Companion at Sea.
DEBARR'D, my Friend, of all the Joys
The Land, and charming Sex can give,
Nor Wind, nor Wave, our Peace destroys;
We'll laugh, and drink, and nobly live.
The gen'rous Wine imparts a Heat
To raise and quicken every Sense.
No Thoughts of Death our Bliss defeat,
Nor steal away our Innocence.
Secure, should Earth in Ruins lie,
Should Seas and Skies in Rage combine;
Unmov'd, all Dangers we'll defie,
And feast our Souls with gen'rous Wine.
For, should a Fear each Sense possess,
Of chilly Death and endless Fate,
Our Sorrow ne'er can make it less;
But Wine alone can dissipate.
Then fill the Glass; nay, fill a Bowl,
And fill it up with sparkling Wine;
It shall the strongest Grief controul,
And make soft Wit with Pleasure join.
[Page 24]
To Richard Hill, Esq
Gaudent securi narrare pericula nautae.
Juven. Satyr. 22.
Pax optima rerum.
Silius Italic. Ch. 11. Bell. Pun. 2.
SAY, Hill, what Pow'r could make a Man like thee,
Brought up in Wars and Tempests on the Sea;
Unknown to fear, or fly the daring Foe;
At once the Brav'ry of the Sword forego?
Some heav'nly Force, has, by a powerful Charm,
Unstrung thy Sinews, and restrain'd thy Arm;
Shewn thee what Joys from peaceful Virtues rise,
That lift to Heav'n, and scale the distant Skies:
When Blood, and Horror, and the Lust of Fight,
Lead to the Shades of everlasting Night,
Whilst thus retir'd, our Country's Friend you prove,
In all th' social Arts of Peace and Love.
So Scipio, dreadful in Rome's sharpest War,
Amidst all Danger stood, unus'd to Fear:
Retir'd from Noise, he serv'd his Country more,
In blissful Peace, than in his Wars before.
Like Scipio too, in Justice Cause enroll'd,
You, with as equal Hand, her Ballance hold;
A Consul's Seat, with equal Grace maintain;
And Scipio like, the Course of Vice restrain:
Like him, your Country's Quarrels you decide,
Just to a Fault, and free from selfish Pride;
Severe and obstinate in sacred Laws;
True in each Sentence, and in ev'ry Cause:
[Page 25] With so divine a Hand you Justice deal,
From you we scarcely dare to Heav'n appeal.
Since in each Act, a sacred Pow'r we see,
And find Astraea's Impulse governs thee,
Go on: And mayst thou still that Influence find,
To judge aright, and luminate the Mind:
Whilst we, oblig'd by thy great Merits, praise
And bless the Pow'r that leads to peaceful Ways.
To his Excellency Sir WILLIAM KEITH, Bart. on his Journey to Connestogoe, and Treaty with the Indians there.
‘—Labor omnia vincit Improbus.—’
AS wise Lycurgus, thro' unwearied Toil,
Made Sparta fertile from a desart Soil,
By his wise Counsels fix'd th' unsetled State
Of human Race, and taught 'em to be great;
In peaceful Ways led on the wond'ring Throng,
Whilst ag'd Experience rul'd the sprightly young;
So thou, great KEITH, thro' Toils and Travels past,
Shalt make an Eden of a spacious Waste:
To Indians thou shalt a Lycurgus be,
Who Ages hence shall almost worship thee.
Tho' from immortal GEORGE your Potence springs,
Here you're obey'd by arbitrary Kings:
Some sacred Pow'r must sure your Wisdom send,
When Virtue, Peace and Concord is the End.
[Page 26] The Indian Children shall be taught thy Name,
And Woods and Rivers echo with thy Fame:
The Sasquehannah Banks shall take the Sound,
And bear the Echo to the Nations round;
The Indian Nations round thy Name applaud,
And call thee, not unjustly, like a God.
To J—N C—DGE, Esq on his generous Entertainment of Sir William Keith, and his Company, at Conestogoe.
NO sooner KEITH was from Virginia come,
But publick Business forc'd him still from Home:
To Woods remote he took a painful Way,
Nor less Provision made than for the Sea.
Those who for kind Respect or Pleasure went,
Thought each beneath a Tree to pitch his Tent;
Eat his own Bisket, Hams, and private Store,
Drink the cool Spring, and hardly dream'd of more.
But (false to all our wretched Thoughts) we found
A House capacious, and a fertile Ground:
Luxurious Dishes grac'd the loaded Board,
With all the Bounties of rich Nature stor'd.
The flowing Cups with sprightly Liquor smil'd,
And pleasant Talk the running Hours beguil'd.
C—DGE to thee we owe this gen'rous Treat,
And, forc'd to Praise, thy spreading Name repeat.
The 'Delphian Town shall know how well we fare,
Since we are sure to feed less sumptuous there.
May those, who ill requite the Kindness done,
Be doom'd to nought but Hominy and Pone,
And in an Indian Cabbin live alone.
[Page 27]
To Mr. W—M C—R, on the Death of his Wife.
AMONGST the Numbers, who thy Loss condole,
And mourn with thee, by sympathy of Soul,
I, not the least, in sorr'wing Verse, deplore
Thy virtuous Consort, who is now no more.
Tho' seeming unconcern'd I walk'd along,
And mix'd, unheeded, with the fun'ral Throng;
The Thoughts on such a Subject pierc'd my Heart,
That thou at once from such a Friend must part.
Forgive, R—a, my unskilful Verse,
Thy Name revives a Sister's Death in Tears:
I knew thy Worth: And Virtue hence shall be,
In ev'ry Sketch, a lively Draught of thee:
In thee united all the Joys of Life,
And choice Endowments of a matchless Wife;
Whate'er Perfection is thy Ser's Boast,
Was known in thee, and by thy Death is lost.
How shall the Muse dilate on such a Theme,
Where Heav'n, by robbing us, deserts its Claim:
A Resignation must the Loss requite;
For what th' Eternal acts is always right.
Resign, my Friend, to Heav'n thy Right resign,
She leaves the Mansions here for Realms divine.
No more, in Tears, ye dear Relations, mourn,
Her Heav'n-born Soul must to its Home return.
[Page 28]
On the Death of his Friend's much-lov'd Child.
—Omnes una manet nox;
Et calcanda somel via lethi.
HOR. Od. 28. Lib. 1.
THOU mournful Muse, bewail the lovely Boy,
The Parents Hope, and near Relations Joy;
In Notes that suit my Sorrow, guide my Quill,
And tear the Cypress from the sacred Hill.
Aurelius, lovely Boy! how soon thou'rt fled,
To silent Mansions of the peaceful Dead!
So nipping Frosts the tender Buds decay,
And make the finest Flow'rs to fade away:
So Death's sharp Scythe all humane Things destroys,
Mars our chief Hopes, and spoils our greatest Joys:
The Youth but came, and saw, and pass'd away,
Snatch'd in the Morning of the flow'ry Day.
Mourn all ye Loves beneath the sacred Shade,
Aurelius in his Bloom of Youth is dead.
His lisping Tongue a future Wit declar'd,
And ev'ry Accent was with Pleasure heard:
His Actions gave a Presage to the Sense
Of pious Love, with graceful Negligence:
No Affectation in his Humour pass'd,
He seem'd a Child with manly Virtues grac'd:
Yet him, nor Grace, nor Wit, nor Beauty save,
Too soon he leaves us for the darksome Grave.
Mourn, all ye Youths, the fair Aurelius lies
In Death's cold Arms a mournful Sacrifice.
[Page 29]
Mean were our Joys, too worthless, and too vile,
That would his Truth and Innocence beguile:
Tir'd with the Sight, his Spirit left the Earth,
For those immortal Realms that gave him Birth;
Whilst all his Friends lament his Absence here,
And spend in ev'ry Thought of him a Tear;
Their Mem'ries paint his Image still in View,
And the dear Shade their Care and Griefs renew:
The Halcyons so, in briny Grief, complain
To the deaf Billows and relentless Main;
With new-made Wings their feather'd Breasts they beat,
And OEnus' Death in mournful Notes repeat.
Clymene so; and so her Daughters, mourn
The generous Youth from Phoebus' Chariot born.
So Philomel bewail'd sad Itis' Fate,
And mournful Accents still her Woes relate.
So mourn the Youth, adorn'd with Wit and Grace,
Who breathless lies in chilly Death's Embrace.
But Mourning's vain: No Tears will Death controul,
Or stop one Moment the departing Soul:
What Mortal dares with Providence contend;
He rul'd the Birth, and will command the End?
Can we a Life, to Death-struck Plants, supply,
Or save the meanest Flow'r that's doom'd to dye?
Our Skill's too weak to ward off potent Death,
No Physick's Aid can call the flying Breath:
Our lengthen'd Years are measur'd by a Span,
And fleeting Shuttles shew the State of Man:
We're poor and helpless at our infant Breath,
And Old-Age-Childhood terminates in Death:
Whilst Death at once can set the Spirit free,
To find a State that shall forever be.
No longer mourn, Aurelius happy reigns,
Himself a Cherub in th' etherial Plains.
[Page 30]
No more, my Friends, let Sorrow thus arise,
Nor pierce with your Complaints the distant Skies:
Let holy David mitigate your Grief,
David, will sure, at once afford Relief;
Whilst his dear Child in deadly Sickness lay,
That Heav'n might spare the Boy he'd sigh and pray;
But when the Will of Heav'n at once he found,
And his Soul fled thro' Death's capacious Wound,
He dry'd his Eyes, bedew'd with briny Tears,
Left off his Sorrows, and dispell'd his Fears;
Then quiet rests: I shall to him, said he,
Return in Peace; he cannot come to me.
No longer mourn, ye Friends no longer mourn,
All heav'nly Forms must sure to Heav'n return.
To the Memory of his Sister, who died on his Birth-Day.
THE Day I snatch'd from Fate my infant Breath,
That Day I grieve a dear lov'd Sister's Death:
How shall it bear the usual Hymns of Praise,
When Death's black Thoughts can all my Joys debase!
When the revolving Year shall bring along
This Tale of Woe, to stop the Muse's Song.
Say, ye kind Friends, who mix your Griefs with mine,
How shall I bear the Loss, and not repine?
Say, how shall I a Sister's Death rehearse
In briny Tears, and mourn in flowing Verse?
And thou, dear Shade, these worthless Lines approve,
A slender Tribute for thy mighty Love;
Thy Due in Praise is too too much for me,
And my weak Verse is scarcely worthy thee;
[Page 31] Yet I this Off'ring to thy Mem'ry bring,
And taught by thy great Worth shall boldly sing.
Her Virgin-Youth was past unknown to Strife,
Each fleeting Hour as if the last in Life:
No Word from her e're stole upon the Ear
But what an Angel might delight to hear:
Actions receiv'd a Tincture from her Heart,
Unmix'd with Fraud, and unimprov'd by Art:
So chaste: She being dead. is only more
Divorc'd from Objects, as she is from Pow'r:
Devout as Saints in dying Raptures are,
Who spend their Time in Extacy and Pray'r:
All innocent, as is the Turtle Dove,
Unyok'd, unmated with her secret Love:
Sweet as the op'ning Roses infant Bloom,
Who their own Lives in Fragrancy consume:
By Nature beauteous, and that Beauty shone,
Bright'ned by Rays shot from th' All-beauteous One:
All the Perfection of the lovely Sex
Did in her Mind, as in their Center mix.
Thus much, her Soul, did Nature kindly arm;
Thus kinder Virtue kept her Soul from Harm:
With Honour thus; but not from Censure free,
She liv'd the strictest Life of Piety:
Sober, not dull, fill'd with superiour Sense,
Grac'd with the Charms of native Innocence,
The slow Disease still urg'd her Sickness on,
And active Life stood waiting to be gone:
In Pain her Pray'r to Heav'n incessant flew,
And GOD himself was present to her View;
In soft'ned Verse his endless Praise she sung,
And sacred Truths flow'd from her melting Tongue:
By Contemplation, Faith, and pow'rful Love,
She antedated all the Bliss Above,
[Page 32] Till the brisk Springs of Nature lost their Force,
And the Soul fleeting took the heav'nly Course.
Thus Death can all our strong Desires destroy,
The Parents Hope, and near Relations Joy.
Her pious Life at one short Gasp is o'er,
And chilly Nature lies devoid of Pow'r.
In her lov'd Face no more the Graces play,
She is what all must be—unactive Clay:
Yet her bright self shall still a Pattern be,
And Ages hence, dear Maid, shall think of Thee.
If VIRTUE lives when Nature's self is dead,
Let this for her, and Virtue's sake be read:
So shall these short Memorial-Verses give
Life to that Name, by which alone they live.
The three following Pieces, were wrote, by him, for the Boys who carried out the Weekly News-Papers to their Master's Customers, in Philadelphia; to whom, commonly, every New-Year's Day, they present Verses of this Kind.
Wrote in 1720.
FULL fifty Times have roul'd their Changes on,
And all the Year's Transactions now are done;
Full fifty Times I've trod, with eager Haste,
To bring you weekly News of all Things past.
Some grateful Thing is due for such a Task,
Tho' Modesty itself forbids to ask;
A Silver Thought, express'd in ill-shap'd Ore,
Is all I wish; nor would I ask for more.
[Page 33] To grace our Work, swift Merc'ry stands in View;
I've been a Living Merc'ry still to you.
Tho' Ships, and tiresom Posts Advices bring,
Till we impress it, 'tis no current Thing.
C—n may write, but B—d's Art alone
Distributes News to all th' expecting Town.
How far remov'd is this our Western Shore,
From those dear Lands our Fathers knew before;
Yet our bold Ships the raging Ocean dare,
And bring us constant News of Actions there.
Quick to your Hands the fresh Advices come,
From England, Sweden, France, and ancient Rome.
What Spain intends against the barbarous Moors,
Or Russian Armies on the Swedish Shores.
What awful Hand pestiferous Judgments bears,
And lays the sad Marseilles in Death and Tears.
From GEORGE alone what Peace and Plenty spring,
The greatest Statesman, and the greatest King.
Long may he live, to us a Blessing giv'n,
Till he shall change his Crown for that of Heav'n.
The happy Day, Dear Sir, appears ag'in,
When human Nature lodg'd a God within.
The Angel now was heard amongst the Swains;
A God resounds from all the distant Plains:
O'erjoy'd they haste, and left their fleecy Care,
Found the blest Child, and knew the God was there.
Yet whilst, with gen'rous Breath, you hail the Day,
And, like the Shepherds, sacred Homage pay,
Let gen'rous Thoughts some kindly Grace infuse,
To him that brings, with careful Speed, your NEWS.
[Page 34]
Wrote in 1721.
Labitur occulte, fallitque volubilis AEtas,
Et nibil est Annis velocins. —
OVID. Met.
HOW swift the Weeks in various Changes run,
And push the Years and coming; Ages on,
Whilst I as swift my weekly Course maintain,
And bring to light the joyful Day again:
The painful Task with Pleasure I pursue,
And print the State of Kingdoms to your View.
Shall I again those sad Transactions tell,
How South Sea Projects rose, and how they fell:
How half Britannia in Conjectures lost,
Whilst they vast airy Treasures had engross'd,
Wak'd with Confusion at the startling Thought,
That all was but a golden Dream of Nought.
How still the Plague, with unabated Pow'r,
Rolls swift Destruction on the Gallic Shore.
How peopled Towns in baleful Horrors lie,
And Cities now, as well as Men, shall die.
Or, shall I stretch far as the Baltic Sea,
Where Russia's Monarch frozen Realms obey,
Whose Winter Soldiers so victorious grow,
That Suevia's ruin'd by her Neighb'ring Foe:
But GEORGE alone, whom all the Nations dread,
Makes the rough Czar (undaunted else) afraid;
Our British Castles, in those rocky Seas,
Force the contending Northern Pow'rs to Peace.
Shall I again our Homeward News reveal,
What bileous Woes New-England's Subjects feel,
Where Tyrant Death pale Terror shakes around,
And lays one Half of Boston under Ground.
[Page 35]
Or, shall I nearer yet the Scene display,
And spread Caesaria's Wealth in open Day;
What burthen'd Mines her fruitful Province boasts,
To match Panaman and Peruvian Coasts?
Or Pennsylvania, bless'd with fertil Earth,
Whose Hills of shining Metals groan for Birth?
We thoughtless tread on Magazines of Ore,
Yet court that Blessing from a distant Shore.
Or, Philadelphia's Pile with Pleasure trace,
And paint the Beauties of this Rising Place,
How regular the Plan! How bright the View!
Her Neighbour's Wonder, and their Envy too?
Too great's the Task; unpractis'd in the Song,
More humble Theams to my low Sphere belong;
To ask a kind Reward for weary Pains,
And praise the Donor equal to the Gains.
May gen'rous Thoughts a white Idea frame,
To give the Boon I wish, yet blush to name.
Wrote in 1722.
TEMPORA labuntur, tacitisque senescimus Annis,
Et fugiunt Freno non remorante DIES.
TO bring New Years, revolving Time makes haste,
And dulls the treach'rous Mem'ry to the Past.
As Ages fly, and Seasons quick return,
An Infant Race, that shall succeed, in born;
Whose Father's Acts shall in our News be read,
When we and they are call'd the senseless Dead.
To trace fresh Deeds, red War, and vast Design,
From the cold Artic to th' Antartic Line,
[Page 36] Our Types perform the hard, yet pleasing, Toll,
And Science spread to Earth's remotest Isle.
If you delight to view Muscovia's Lord;
What diff'rent Scenes his Projects can afford,
Our News impart, and paint the wond'rous Man,
From Moscow's Court to distant Astracan.
The Volga, and Tanais' rapid Stream,
And Half th' extensive Caspian, yield to him:
E'er this th' Euxinus, and Meotis' shore,
Where Azof rears her Head, confess his Pow'r.
Thus prone to War, and disciplin'd in Fight,
At last to Half the Globe he'll claim a Right.
If Prussia please: It self a little State,
Obeys a Prince, whose Virtues make him Great.
If Suevia: Peace repairs her Loss in Fight;
She happy seems: But Holstein wants his Right.
Denmark with Envy views the Czar's Design.
Poland's vex'd Lords sad Poland undermine.
In Peace the wand'ring Portugueze remain;
And no new Stratagems are form'd in Spain.
Whilst Mahomet's Hereditary Cheat
Sways Half the World, and reigns superbly Great:
His proud Sultanas, in Calm Midland Seas,
Ride uncontroul'd, and dare what Port they please:
Ev'n Malta's self, and Gozzo's Fort, appear
Secure in Strength; yet now possess'd with Fear.
If Persia: Scenes of Blood offend the Eye;
Here Heaps of Slain in grinning Horrors lie:
There, in Confusion, plunder'd Towns arise,
To Meriveis' Lust a Sacrifice:
Contending Cheats assert Religion's Right,
And Mahomet has Ali put to flight.
If, on the Prospect of Our Native Isle,
You spend a serious Thought, forbear to smile;
[Page 37] Britain against all Force, except her own,
Remains unhurt, whilst George maintains the Throne;
But trayt'rous Plots her kindly Peace devour,
And murd'rous Schemes of Profit make her poor.
If o'er the Country, where we live, we roam,
And view the private Managements at Home,
No Scenes of Pleasure will the Senses joy:
'Tis Rapine all, and Aptness to destroy.
Designs, for want of Cash, in Embrio rest;
Whilst, to retrieve, each thinks his Project best.
Here Paper-Schemes, for Paper-Cash, appear,
Here Satyr lies, and — Lampoon there.
Confus'd, amid'st the Prate of Thousand Fools,
We fly the Cure propos'd by Reason's Rules.
Now to apply.—
My annual Task is done,
And a new Year of News with us begun;
Yet for my Weekly Toil, to visit you,
Something, among the GEN'ROUS must be due.
As once th' Egyptians Hieroglyphicks wrote,
Made Signs for Words, and Pictures shew'd the Thought;
Asham'd to ask, I Figures form'd, to try
How well with you that Language wou'd comply.
But knowing that our Art the Pref'rence bore
Of all the Ways of silent Speech before,
I still, more plain, express my self in Print,
To beg the Annual Gift; that's all that's in't.
[Page 38]
On the Gift of a Boat, by W—M C—R, to him.
MR. C—R, sure you are much in the Wrong,
To part with a Vessel to purchase a Song:
For how can a Poet, who never gets Chink,
And makes all his Business to write or to think,
Pay Money for Goods; 'tis too weighty indeed, Sir,
For tho' of your Vessel he stands much in Need, Sir:
Except you take Verses, and Pennyworths of Praise,
He'll remain your poor Debtor to the End of his Days.
But the Way of the Country, is, Goods and Discount;
And, Sir, if you'll reckon to what 'twill amount:
In sweet Panegyricks, soft Strains, or rough Satyr,
Such Goods as lie by me; Why then, Sir, have at her.
Or if you insist on't, e're Sol flies his round,
I'll hunt for a Mine, Sir, and pay when 'tis found.
Now, if you despise the Proposal that's fair,
And refuse to commit the poor Boat to my Care;
May she rest in the Bed, Sir, that Fate seems to give her,
And fly the Mishaps of a boysterous River;
Since she's swamp'd, and escap'd, to be wreek'd by a Rock,
Make a Palace for Bull-Frogs, and rot in the Dock.
Written EXTEMPORE.
INDEED, Mr. H—y, you live very pleasant;
What you got by your Labour, you now have the Ease on't.
If every fine House was as honestly gotten,
'Twou'd stand Generations, and never be rotten:
But the House that is built by vile Cheating and Tricks,
Soon the Timber's confounded, and moulder the Bricks.
[Page 39]
To AQUILA ROSE, on Lamenting, in Sickness, to his Friend, of being separated from his Friends and Companions in England.
TO thee, sweet Bard, my Muse attempts to sing;
To thee she owes the Practice of her Wing:
Great the Example; but the Fault is mine,
She cannot bound in Flights so high as thine:
For in dejected Fancy thou canst soar
To loftiest Scenes, to the remotest Shore;
The widest Stretch of Thought thy Numbers show,
Immortal Springs in thy smooth Cadence flow.
Thy soft Complaints affect my Heart with Grief,
While in the self same Words I find Relief:
A pleasing Sorrow agitates my Veins,
When such a melting Israelite complains:
I sympathize; for I have known the same,
And felt in Absence (of the Cause) the Flame;
Have been sequest'red from my native Soil,
(Tho' less susceptible of such a Toil)
Enough to guess the Burthen thou dost bear,
And, like a Friend, participate a Share.
But in such Phrase thy Story is display'd,
In Colours beauteous by an Artist laid;
That while I pity, Joy alternate steals
On all the Sentiments thy Pen reveals,
Ev'n to a Crime: Because they please so well,
I'm almost glad for what has thee befel.
Were I to taste like Ills, and have the Muse
That tells my Friend what moving Words to chuse,
I'd not the Curse for such a Bliss refuse.
[Page 40]
Go on, relate the Troubles thou hast past;
And tho' I weep, pray dole me out the last.
So Dido, while Aeneas sung his Woes,
With pleasing Sadness her full Bosom rose;
Her brimfull Heart found Passage at her Eyes,
Where Love return'd to symphonize her Sighs.
I bring a Female Simile, to shew
The ductile State thy Song reduc'd me to.
But let us rouse the manly Will, my Friend;
Where shall this soft delusive Story end?
Resolve, resume thy wonted Strength, and try
If thou or thy Adversities must die:
Forget 'em all, or wave them for a while,
(Ah, why must Rhime renew the blissful Isle!)
Wise T—r, and facetious F—h, will strive,
And I, depend, to keep our Friend alive.
If Recreations, of a rustick Kind,
Can help his Body, or restore his Mind;
Or any Means (excepting Verse like thine)
Command thy Friend whose Love will ne'er decline.
To AQUILA ROSE.
HOW can my Verse before Aquila stand!
How droops my Head to hear its Numbers scan'd!
Already I the Critick's Censures hear,
At least I know my Doom, and needs must fear.
My Heart suggests this Nonsense will offend;
My Brain has Prescience; but not Skill to mend:
And must my cripled Fancy write, to show
What Laurels in our fertile Country grow?
More safe it were for me no Friends to claim
Than such, who, trifling with a Poet's Name.
[Page 41] Have plac'd me in the List of Phaebus' Sons:
Oh! had their Commendations pass'd for Puns;
That I unprais'd Incognito might lain,
Not wishing Fame, nor meeting with Disdain:
But I must bear the Test, the Tryal's short,
And quick the Sentence in Apollo's Court.
Each feeble Line wears Guilt; and I have writ
Ev'n here enough to damn me for a Wit.
Alas! what must I do?—Some Mercy give,
Not that I crave a Poet's Name to live.
But pity me, while I Confession make,
Think it no Conquest such a Life to take:
My Mother-Tongue is all I dare pretend;
No learned Schisms by me were ever pen'd:
The Church and State for me may be at rest;
No dang'rous Libels e'er escap'd my Breast.
No beauteous Female from my flatt'ring Quill
Has learnt more Pride, or found more Ways to kill.
The Muses chast Recesses to invade,
I never durst, or still in vain I pray'd.
Some glim'ring Light shone at my Birth, they say,
And to Parnassus show'd a dubious Way.
Hence 'tis I wander to'ards the happy Stream;
But faintly shines my Star, and all's a Dream.
The Fate of Tantalus forever threats,
And that of Icarus my Woe compleats.
Depriv'd of Science, and a Friend to guide,
I travel none, or else I travel wide:
Yet skilful T—r's Eye has oft' survey'd
The Muse's Tracks, and lent his needful Aid.
Had forming Nature so auspicious been,
E'er now the Wonders of their Mount I'd seen.
Oh Muse! or Oh! thou little busy Sprite,
That flutters in the Soul and urgest me to write,
[Page 42] Contented with the Relish of a Song,
Give to the Bright what can't to me belong.
Let Admiration of superiour Lays
Be found my Task, to chaunt a Poet's Praise,
Sublimely sing, in elevated Strains,
Of Nymphs their Beauty, and the Loves of Swains.
All this without a Muse! No, faithless Star,
Thou'st led me Dreaming in the Wilds too far.
Nay, rather, if the World I must oblige,
To stand a Mock let be my Privilege,
That Wits, who write Burlesque, may call upon,
What me inspir'd, to drive them laughing on.
An Encomium to AQUILA ROSE, on his Art in Praising.
RECEIVE th' Addresses of a thankful Muse,
Who, as oblig'd, her Tribute still renews,
Pays what she can, her Mite she freely gives,
Not half what Rose deserves, or she receives;
With tardy Pinions I attempt his Praise,
And at his Feet lay down my abject Lays:
And much I fear his speculative Eyes,
Which like Apollo's wander thro' the Skies,
In distant Scenes may be employ'd, nor know
The humble Off'ring that I make below,
So trample under Foot the groveling Wit of —.
Teach me to rise in Accents like to thine,
And in such Cadence smoothly to decline;
(So with strong Wings the tow'ring Bird of Jove
Resistless gains his ample Range Above;
With level Quills he circles down again,
And lighting, skims with Pleasure on the Plain.)
[Page 43] Then, as in such Poetic Wealth I grow,
More rich Applauses shall my Muse bestow.
When thou thy Hero's Character wouldst paint,
Or bring to Light the Vertues of a Saint,
An awful Homage ev'ry Line attends,
And ev'ry Reader to the Picture bends:
Nor can they see what they so much adore
Without extolling too the Painter's Pow'r:
But when to foreign Climes thy Verse shall spread,
And H—ll's aggrandiz'd Honour shall be read,
Each doubting Ear attentive to the Song,
Arraigns the Story, and will have it wrong;
Examines if a Mortal e'er was known
Cou'd all those Graces, and those Blessings own.
Again, thy well digested Words they scan,
Grow credulous, and laud the godlike Man.
(What thy prevailing Numbers do declare
We're apt to grant, tho' Flatt'ry may be there,)
And wish to view that Worthy's rev'rend Face
Who in Fame's Temple merits such a Place.
How does thy nervous Genius proudly bound,
Fearless of Rivals, on our vulgar Ground,
In right of A—n's arbitrating Sense,
His graceful Mein, and pow'rful Eloquence;
Such tuneful Language from his Lips proceeds,
And such bright Reason blazons from his Deeds,
That Orators may learn of him to gain
Their Cause from all, and Malice to restrain.
Go on, and find more Candidates for Praise,
Our infant Country's Reputation raise;
Doubt not but Strangers far remote will come
For what they are so much in Want at Home,
And visit us as ancient Greece or Rome.
Angels (permit me) too may deign to see
Those Characters sublimely drawn by thee;
[Page 44] For not being present when a Soul imbib'd
Such vast Endowments as thou hast describ'd,
Would know from what caelestial Fount they sprung,
And why they're absent, and so long unsung.
Perhaps the World, in Ages not arriv'd,
Will say thy Works were near alike contriv'd
To that great Macedonian's, first in Fame,
Who to preserve and magnify his Name
Caus'd Armour of prodigious Size and Weight
To be embowel'd deep in Earth, 'till late,
By Delvers found, they might by Signals know
He did some Race of Giants overthrow.
But ah! too fond of Fame, 'twas meanly done,
When he'd enough already bravely won.
Superlatively high thou aimst to soar;
Wouldst thou thy gallant Feathers stoop to low'r,
In easy Panegyrick's Truth display,
And spread thy Labours to the Face of Day,
Where Fact, as well as Patterns, might appear,
Thou needst not Satyrs from the Criticks fear;
Spur not thy willing Muse, but regularly steer.
[Page]
A POEM TO THE MEMORY OF Aquila Rose: Who died at Philadelphia, August the 22d, 1723. Aetat. 28.
BY ELIAS BOCKETT.
LONDON: Printed, PHILADELPHIA: Re-printed at the New-Printing-Office.
[Page]
To the MEMORY of AQUILA ROSE.
DAMON, MARINO.
DAMON.
MARINO! — welcome from the Western Shore,
Welcome to Britain! to thy Friend once more:
Why silent thus: — Why this dejected Air:
The melancholy Cause let Damon hear.
By some fair Tyrant has my Friend been crost?
Or was his Cargo in a Tempest lost?
Or to what more disastrous Accident,
Must I impute these Signs of Discontent?
MARINO.
Impute 'em to a Loss that human Pow'r
Can ne'er retrieve — Amintas is no more!
DAMON.
[Page 48]Forbid it Heav'n —
MARINO.
— Yes, 'tis a fatal Truth —
Cold in the Earth, lies the lamented Youth.
DAMON.
Then dy'd the Man, the Muse so oft' inspir'd,
Belov'd so justly, and so much admir'd;
In whom, with Wit, Sincerity was join'd,
A pleasant, generous, and a faithful Friend.
MARINO.
Merit, like his cou'd ne'er be long unknown,
His native Britain saw it not alone;
Where e'er he came, distinguish'd it appear'd,
At ev'ry Port Amintas was rever'd,
Scarce was our Philadelphia in his View,
Before his Fame q'er all the Province flew;
His Virtues, Pennsylvania soon confest
They shone conspicuous, tho' by Fate opprest;
Fate, even there, frown'd on the Bard awhile,
But smooth'd her Brow at length, and cast a flatt'ring Smile.
[Page 49]
To him the blooming Myra yields her Charms,
And faints with Pleasure, folded in his Arms.
A Scene of Affluence then attracts his View,
And he the Prospect boldly does pursue;
But e'er he reaches it — invidious Death,
At once deprives him of his Hopes and Breath.
So when the Heavens appear serence and gay,
Some gallant Ship, now prosp'rous on the Sea,
With Colours flying and expanded Sails,
Born tow'rds her Port by kind auspicious Gales;
From Pirates late escap'd, and Storms blown o'er,
Strikes on a Rock and sinks in sight of Shore.
DAMON.
If through the Cloud of envious Fortune's Frown,
The Genius of Amintas radiant shone;
With what Advantage had his Worth been seen
Amidst her Smiles, propitiously serene?
So does the glorious Parent of the Day,
Not his full Lustre thro' thick Fogs display;
But those dispers'd, the lucid Orb of Light
Shoots Beams around, insuperably bright.
MARINO.
'Tis Fortune's common Pastime to dispense
To Fools her Favour, Scorn to Men of Sense;
[Page 50] Desert neglected with Delight she sees,
And Sots in gilded Chariots loll at Ease.
This once Amintas knew — but now no more
Can feel th' Effects of her capricious Pow'r.
He's gone—the Debt to Nature when he paid,
Around him swift the fatal News was spread,
And all that knew him living, mourn'd him dead.
In moving Lays, our Bards his Worth rehearse,
(For Pennsylvania has her Sons of Verse,)
Lively they paint the Beauties of his Mind
With Freedom, just, and without Flatt'ry, kind.
But who can calm the lovely Myra's Grief,
Too mighty, ev'n for Verse to give Relief:
On Schuylkill Banks disconsolate she mourns,
Her wonted Pleasure there to Sorrow curns.
"Whither (she cries) dear Partner of my Bed,
"Ah! whither art thou from thy Myra fled?
"With thee my gay, my smiling Hours are flown!
"My Joy! my Happiness! my All is gone!
"Thy soft Expressions I no more shall hear,
"No more thy pleasing Voice delights my Ear;
"My longing Eyes no more be fix'd on thine,
"Nor thy fond Arms around thy Myra twine.
"In thee was my Felicity complete,
"In thee, the Husband and the Lover met —
[Page 51] "But Heav'n has snatch'd thee from me, and in vain
"I Heav'n invoke, to give thee back again."
Thus mourns the widow'd Fair in Sorrow drown'd,
And her Complaints the ambient Hills resound.
DAMON.
We must resign to Nature what she gave,
But Fame, immortal, triumphs o'er the Grave;
To distant Ages Virtue will survive,
Nor Wit from Death a Period can receive.
When Tombs, and what we leave with them in Trust,
Appear one undistinguish'd Heap of Dust,
Preserv'd to late Posterity by Fame,
Amintas' Works shall eternize his Name.
— But see my Friend! the Skies begin to low'r,
And Clouds condens'd foretel a sudden Show'r —
Octavio yonder lives — there we may find,
A timely Shelter, and Reception kind.
[Page 52]
The following Verses were wrote by one of the Companions of AQUILA ROSE, who touching at Philadelphia, on his Way to Great Britain, had but Time to hear a Relation of his Friend's Death, view the Place of his Interment, and write these Lines, without Revising 'em; which he entituled, On Sight of Myris' Tomb, An ELEGY.
STREAM on my Eyes, with generous Grief o'erflow,
At this most solemn Spectacle of Woe!
'Tis Myris' Tomb: This little Spot contains
Of that once active Youth, the Dead-Remains!
His mould'ring Dust in silent Darkness lies,
Dumb his sweet Tongue, and clos'd his chearful Eyes!
Lamented Friend! thy Glass too swiftly run;
Too swift the Life, thou hadst so well begun.
Oh why wert thou so early snarch'd away;
So quickly vanish'd from the Realms of Day,
And e're we knew thy Merit, mix'd with common Clay?
Great Sire of Verse, and Harmony divine!
Why no Regard to thy own sacred Line?
Else, why was wanting in that fatal Hour,
Thy AEsculapius, and his healing Pow'r?
That heav'nly Art, which could inspire new Breath,
Break the strong Bands, and loose the Chains of Death,
But Fate decreed, and Myris is no more;
So soon we mourn what we admir'd before.
What now avails it him, the Muse was kind,
And once with lawrel Wreaths his Brows entwin'd:
[Page 53] No longer now, her Inspiration warms;
No more thro' him we view the Muses Charms!
No more together they adorn the Plains,
The Pride and Joy of the delighted Swains;
In Britain's Isle, where Pleasure always springs,
And Liberty spreads forth her golden Wings;
Oh happy Land! the Muses lov'd Retreat;
But we, unhappy! there no more shall meet:
No more shall Myris view thy pleasant Shores,
Unheard by him the circling Ocean roars:
And thou no more shalt hear him touch the Lyre;
Nor his lov'd Strains thy list'ning Youth inspire.
The Bard no more on Beauty's Theme shall write,
Nor fair Augusta's fairer Nymphs recite.
Nor shall the Zephyrs gently touch the Sound,
Nor Venus, and the Graces, dance around:
Nor joyful Thames shall rear his lawrel'd Head,
Nor Neptune, charm'd, repose on his rough Bed.
No more we hear him with satyric Rage
Scourging the Vices of an impious Age:
Scandal forbear his Virtues to disguise,
For he was Enemy to nought but Vice;
His Soul disdain'd all mercenary Guile,
Or with malicious Falshoods to revile.
But while licentious Precepts are admir'd,
And brainsick Whimsies pass for Thoughts inspir'd;
Instead of Blame, he well deserves Applause
Who vindicates Religion's sacred Cause:
Such Myris was thy Care, such thy Regard;
And Persecution thy unjust Reward.
But if to sympathize with others Harms,
Or if Humanity has any Charms,
If holy Friendship Blessings does afford,
If godlike Goodness ought to be ador'd;
[Page 54] Then Myris none can injure thy fair Fame,
Vertue secures thee an immortal Name.
With Pleasure we beheld, O Delaware!
Thy woody Banks become the Muses Care;
Thy docile Youth were with her Beauty fir'd,
And Folly, Vice and Ignorance retir'd:
And had but Myris liv'd, we hop'd to see
A new Arcadia to arise on thee.
Mourn all ye Streams; mourn all ye gentle Floods,
And thou great Genius of these endless Woods;
Ye Sylvan Pow'rs that danc'd the Groves along,
And all who us'd to wonder at his Song;
His Song no more sounds thro' the rural Glade,
Nor Joy diffuses thro' the secret Shade.
Mourn ye fair Nymphs; mourn all ye faithful Swains,
His late belov'd Companions on the Plains;
And while your willing Tears unbidden flow
Let me be Sharer in the gen'rous Woe;
Such Woe as his own Words could best impart,
For Myris had a Key to every Heart.
But Love, the sweetest Passion of the Mind,
Delight of Heav'n, and Blessing to Mankind,
His favourite Theme: Oh Myris, who like you,
Could talk of Love could paint it half so true!
With soft Address thou couldst persuade the Fair;
With heav'nly Rhetorick thou couldst charm Despair.
Thou, once dear Partner of his Marriage Joys,
This World no Blessings give, but Time destroys;
Asswage thy Grief, compose thy troubled Mind,
Two lovely Pledges he has left behind:
May gracious Heav'n smile on their infant Years,
And make amends for all the Mother's Tears.
Now, grateful Muse, thy mournful Labour cease,
And let his honour'd Ashes rest in Peace:
[Page 55] Endless his many Vertues to rehearse,
A Task unequal to thy humble Verse.
Oh Philadelphia! now with conscious Shame,
His Enemies submit to his just Fame:
Their Envy is in Admiration lost,
Taught by thy gen'rous Sons, his Worth they boast,
And load, with Praise deserv'd, that hospitable Coast.
On the Death of AQUILA ROSE, by a young Woman.
FAME, thou transporting, rude, uncertain Sound,
Now fly for Haste, and be forever sped;
Thou canst no more give such a vocal Wound,
As this sad Truth, Aquila Rose is dead.
Dead to our Eyes, and never to return,
While faded Laurels Schuylkil Rocks adorn.
Now, now, no more, ye shady Hills an Bow'rs,
Shall your droop'd Heads rejoice to hear those Lays
That flow'd so sweetly from those lofty Pow'rs,
So near ally'd to the Orphean Bays.
Ab me, ye Woods and Shores assist to mourn,
And faded Laurels Schuylkil Rocks adorn.
Ye glitt'ring Springs that beautify the Shore
With warbling Notes, to meet the rowling Stream,
Go bid your Fountains lend their utmost store,
To pay their Tribute to so just a Theme,
With mournful Sound around his silent Urn,
While faded Laurels Schuylkil Rocks adorn.
[Page 56]
Ah! why so sad? ye Shepherds, why so mute?
Are all your wretched Pipes forever fled?
Now breathless Silence dwells on ev'ry Lute,
To find the Author of their Musick dead.
Let us lament, and ev'ry Echo mourn,
And faded Laurels Schuylkil Rocks adorn.
Immortal Musick, bright victorious Palms,
Let your melodious indiscording Songs,
So tune our Lays with your caelestial Charms,
To warm our Bosoms and inspire our Tongues,
That we may meet around Aquila's Urn,
And the dear Bard in brightest Numbers mourn.