 | The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison |  |
113
LAURA: OR, THE MISTRESS.
Petrarch and Pattison invoke one Name,
And both by Laura gain immortal Fame.
And both by Laura gain immortal Fame.
115
AN EPISTLE TO LAURA.
To you, dear Object of my first Desires,
And only Partner of my softest Fires:
In artless Eloquence these Lines I send,
And let my Love each lowly Verse commend.
Nor scorn these Numbers, tho' too sadly slow,
Alas! they labour with a Weight of Woe!
The Sibyl of the Godhead dispossess'd,
Speechless, no more the Prophetess confess'd:
The Muse bereft of your inspiring Eyes,
Neglected, now her wonted Aid denies;
From you alone her Harmony she drew,
Nor ever charm'd, unless she charm'd by you.
And only Partner of my softest Fires:
In artless Eloquence these Lines I send,
And let my Love each lowly Verse commend.
Nor scorn these Numbers, tho' too sadly slow,
Alas! they labour with a Weight of Woe!
116
Speechless, no more the Prophetess confess'd:
The Muse bereft of your inspiring Eyes,
Neglected, now her wonted Aid denies;
From you alone her Harmony she drew,
Nor ever charm'd, unless she charm'd by you.
What can I tell you new! You know I love,
For that long since is register'd above.
But when I think on that amazing Art,
That could so easily engage my Heart:
I dread I know not what—but O my Dear!
Kindly forgive your Swain the fondling Fear,
This Heart as easily you may despise,
And scorn so mean a Conquest of your Eyes.
For Fancy often hears new Lovers sigh,
And prostrate sees adoring Vassals die:
But now to chace the Image of Despair,
Kindly she whispers Comfort in my Ear.
Then Heavens! what rising Raptures fill my Soul!
How brisk the Tides of Life around me roll!
Reviving Pleasures dance in ev'ry Vein,
I love, I languish, and I live again.
But ah! too soon these Intervals decay,
And in returning Sorrow melt away!
Raving I curse the stretching Hills that rise
To intercept the Pleasure of my Eyes:
With mournful Looks I measure the wide Vale,
And waft kind Wishes in each passing Gale;
Then melancholy, mourn my self asleep,
And my sad Soul in Tears and Slumbers steep.
For that long since is register'd above.
But when I think on that amazing Art,
That could so easily engage my Heart:
I dread I know not what—but O my Dear!
Kindly forgive your Swain the fondling Fear,
This Heart as easily you may despise,
And scorn so mean a Conquest of your Eyes.
For Fancy often hears new Lovers sigh,
And prostrate sees adoring Vassals die:
But now to chace the Image of Despair,
Kindly she whispers Comfort in my Ear.
117
How brisk the Tides of Life around me roll!
Reviving Pleasures dance in ev'ry Vein,
I love, I languish, and I live again.
But ah! too soon these Intervals decay,
And in returning Sorrow melt away!
Raving I curse the stretching Hills that rise
To intercept the Pleasure of my Eyes:
With mournful Looks I measure the wide Vale,
And waft kind Wishes in each passing Gale;
Then melancholy, mourn my self asleep,
And my sad Soul in Tears and Slumbers steep.
Sometimes to lose, or chace my Cares away,
I mix among the Hurry of the Day.
Pensive, I wander thro' each crowded Street,
But lost my self, bewail my faithless Feet,
The Streets to my distemper'd Fancy seem
But swimming Shadows of a sickly Dream:
While to my Mind the fluctuating Crouds,
Appear but solitary waving Woods.
Where-e'er I turn my thoughtful Eyes, I find
All, but the lovely Image of my Mind;
'Till lost in wild Rapidity of Thought,
Amaz'd, I wonder at the Place I sought.
I mix among the Hurry of the Day.
Pensive, I wander thro' each crowded Street,
But lost my self, bewail my faithless Feet,
The Streets to my distemper'd Fancy seem
But swimming Shadows of a sickly Dream:
118
Appear but solitary waving Woods.
Where-e'er I turn my thoughtful Eyes, I find
All, but the lovely Image of my Mind;
'Till lost in wild Rapidity of Thought,
Amaz'd, I wonder at the Place I sought.
If I to Books, and Study take Recourse,
Ev'n Books, and Study lose their wonted Force;
For what's persuasive Eloquence to me,
Unless to breathe my Love-sick Soul to thee!
And why should I perplexing Thoughts explore,
My Mind's too thoughtful to admit of more.
Ev'n Books, and Study lose their wonted Force;
For what's persuasive Eloquence to me,
Unless to breathe my Love-sick Soul to thee!
And why should I perplexing Thoughts explore,
My Mind's too thoughtful to admit of more.
Thus I the Drudgery of Life pursue,
For Life's but painful Bondage void of You;
My Cares, almost despairing of Relief,
Turn fancy'd Pleasures into real Grief.
For Life's but painful Bondage void of You;
My Cares, almost despairing of Relief,
Turn fancy'd Pleasures into real Grief.
119
But O my lovely Laura, charming Fair,
Joy of my Soul, and Object of my Prayer;
By all those Transports that my Soul exprest,
When I lean'd trembling on your panting Breast:
By all those Languishments that told my Love,
Those Languishments which then could Laura move!
By those dear Sighs that on each Whisper hung,
And sweeten'd e'en the Music of your Tongue:
So may kind Fortune try each happy Art,
To join true Lovers which she cannot part.
Inviolable let our Vows remain:
And imitate, my Dear, your faithful Swain.
Joy of my Soul, and Object of my Prayer;
By all those Transports that my Soul exprest,
When I lean'd trembling on your panting Breast:
By all those Languishments that told my Love,
Those Languishments which then could Laura move!
By those dear Sighs that on each Whisper hung,
And sweeten'd e'en the Music of your Tongue:
So may kind Fortune try each happy Art,
To join true Lovers which she cannot part.
Inviolable let our Vows remain:
And imitate, my Dear, your faithful Swain.
120
On a Rose gathered, by Laura, in Winter.
While fierce inclement Storms descend,
And Forests with the Winter bend;
While no kind genial Suns appear,
To mollify the frozen Year;
Tell me, Laura, in what Skies
Could this early Rose arise!
Or perhaps the Queen of Love,
A Sister's Kindness for to prove,
Sent it from her Cyprian Grove.
And Forests with the Winter bend;
While no kind genial Suns appear,
To mollify the frozen Year;
Tell me, Laura, in what Skies
Could this early Rose arise!
Or perhaps the Queen of Love,
A Sister's Kindness for to prove,
Sent it from her Cyprian Grove.
But blushing don't deny, my Dear,
If I should tell you how, or where,
You found the little Wonder grow,
Rising from a Bed of Snow:
For we have Reasons to suffice,
'Twas created by your Eyes;
That Nature by a sudden Look
For the Sun their Beams mistook;
They shed their Influence on the Earth;
And smiling blest the fragrant Birth:
By their genial Rays it grew
Sweet in Odour, sweet in Hue,
Full of Beauty, full of you.
If I should tell you how, or where,
121
Rising from a Bed of Snow:
For we have Reasons to suffice,
'Twas created by your Eyes;
That Nature by a sudden Look
For the Sun their Beams mistook;
They shed their Influence on the Earth;
And smiling blest the fragrant Birth:
By their genial Rays it grew
Sweet in Odour, sweet in Hue,
Full of Beauty, full of you.
But whilst you blush, to hear me say,
Things so far from Reason's Way,
You your very self betray.
For 'twas that Blush, with which you glow,
That Blush which e'en revives me too!
That could such wond'rous Influence give;
Create, and make a Flower live.
Things so far from Reason's Way,
You your very self betray.
For 'twas that Blush, with which you glow,
That Blush which e'en revives me too!
That could such wond'rous Influence give;
Create, and make a Flower live.
122
Achilles in the Nymph conceal'd,
Was by the Warrior's Hand reveal'd.
Was by the Warrior's Hand reveal'd.
Then, Laura, since it is your own,
Let a Mother's Love be shown:
In dewy Tears it mourns for Rest,
Then take your Infant to your Breast.
Let a Mother's Love be shown:
In dewy Tears it mourns for Rest,
Then take your Infant to your Breast.
For since at first it sprung from Snow,
And there, 'tis likely, loves to grow;
Your Bosom's the best place I know;
For that not only has the Hue,
But e'en the very Coldness too.
And there, 'tis likely, loves to grow;
Your Bosom's the best place I know;
For that not only has the Hue,
But e'en the very Coldness too.
123
On Laura's Singing.
When
Laura's tuneful Airs my Soul surprize,
And fan the Flame created by her Eyes;
Forgetful of myself, I rashly gaze
On the dear Magic of her fatal Face;
Each soft'ning Sound my melting Soul disarms,
And I'm an easy Conquest to her Charms.
And fan the Flame created by her Eyes;
Forgetful of myself, I rashly gaze
On the dear Magic of her fatal Face;
Each soft'ning Sound my melting Soul disarms,
And I'm an easy Conquest to her Charms.
Thus the bold Warriour, with undaunted Eye,
Sees scatter'd Troops and Armies round him die;
Inspir'd with Music's animating Sounds,
In Death he triumphs, and he smiles at Wounds,
Undaunted views with Pride the deadly Dart;
Nor fears it, till he feels it in his Heart.
Sees scatter'd Troops and Armies round him die;
Inspir'd with Music's animating Sounds,
In Death he triumphs, and he smiles at Wounds,
Undaunted views with Pride the deadly Dart;
Nor fears it, till he feels it in his Heart.
124
To Laura, walking in the Rain.
See, lovely unrelenting Laura, see,The very Heavens bewail your Cruelty!
The sobbing Breezes to my Grief reply,
Weep to my Tears, and to my Murmurs sigh:
In-animate, my Pity they regard,
And mourn a Nymph so soft, and yet so hard!
But wretched Swain for ever now despair,
Nor fondly hope to melt the cruel Fair;
For how should Mortal's Sighs and Tears prevail,
When even thus the Gods themselves can fail!
125
To Laura, who thought I mistook her for another in the Dark.
I
Tho' Night her deepest Sables spread,To favour the Deceit;
Tho' you yourself, my lovely Maid,
Conspir'd, I knew the Cheat.
II
But yet, my charming Nymph, I swearBy that dear stolen Kiss,
That you can cheat me any where,
Or any way but this.
126
III
You wonder since each Lover's blind,How I could Laura know!
But pardon me, severely kind,
They're such, that Cupid's so.
IV
Nor think I boast I found the CheatBy my own, but by your Eyes;
'Twas they for once, free from Deceit,
'Twas they discover'd the Disguise.
V
'Tis they alone the Sun outshine,Like his, their Darts are hurl'd;
Like his their Office is divine,
But guide a nobler World.
127
Laura's Picture.
When
Nature form'd the lovely Spartan Maid,
Amaz'd the charming Wonder she survey'd;
And thus delighted cry'd: At length in Greece,
With safety I may claim a finish'd Piece.
Yet soon she found, in spight of all her Boast,
Those Beautis but in human Frailties lost.
Amaz'd the charming Wonder she survey'd;
And thus delighted cry'd: At length in Greece,
With safety I may claim a finish'd Piece.
Yet soon she found, in spight of all her Boast,
Those Beautis but in human Frailties lost.
The Goddess griev'd at what she first essay'd,
But common Beauties for long Ages made;
'Till once beholding Britain's beauteous Isle,
Where ev'ry thing conspir'd to make her smile,
Her former Hopes reviv'd with secret Joy,
Awak'd her Pleasure to some new Employ:
Yet still she fear'd th' irreparable Cost
That once was in a fatal Beauty lost;
And nicely cautious, did at first impart
But half the Power of her wondrous Art:
On beauteous Rosamonda try'd her Charms;
And gave the Present to great Henry's Arms:
Then exercis'd her nice creating Care,
To make one virtuous too as well as fair;
In Sacharissa shew'd her justest Art,
The sweetest Face, and the severest Heart.
But fearing yet again to be betray'd,
For she ne'er knew the Woman's Heart she made,
Waller the tunefull'st of the tuneful Swains,
With all the softest, and the gentlest Strains,
By cunning Nature was inspir'd, to prove
The Nymph superior to the Power of Love.
Confirm'd at length, the Goddess now design'd
To make One perfect Wonder of the Kind,
And all her Charms at once in Laura join'd.
But common Beauties for long Ages made;
'Till once beholding Britain's beauteous Isle,
Where ev'ry thing conspir'd to make her smile,
128
Awak'd her Pleasure to some new Employ:
Yet still she fear'd th' irreparable Cost
That once was in a fatal Beauty lost;
And nicely cautious, did at first impart
But half the Power of her wondrous Art:
On beauteous Rosamonda try'd her Charms;
And gave the Present to great Henry's Arms:
Then exercis'd her nice creating Care,
To make one virtuous too as well as fair;
In Sacharissa shew'd her justest Art,
The sweetest Face, and the severest Heart.
But fearing yet again to be betray'd,
For she ne'er knew the Woman's Heart she made,
Waller the tunefull'st of the tuneful Swains,
With all the softest, and the gentlest Strains,
By cunning Nature was inspir'd, to prove
The Nymph superior to the Power of Love.
129
To make One perfect Wonder of the Kind,
And all her Charms at once in Laura join'd.
On a Feather in her Hair.
If Laura but wear it, a Feather can charm,Ah who can be safe, if a Feather can harm?
Since first I beheld it, the Life I have led!
All Quiet and Ease with the Feather are fled.
Fly Youth from my Laura, whoever thou art,
And, warn'd by the Feather, beware of the Dart.
130
Hellen and Laura.
Two charming Nymphs to Man's Destruction born,One Græcia did, one England does adorn.
The first bright Fair too kindly fatal lov'd,
This by Severities as fatal prov'd:
Alas! how different is our equal Fate!
For that Age fell by Love, and this by Hate.
Alluding to Mr. Dryden's Epigram on Milton. See, another Allusion to this Epigram in Mr. Pattison's Life. Vol. 1st. Page 7.
131
To a Lady, fishing.
Nay, now I yield—for who could e'er withstand
A Foe victorious both by Sea, and Land.
But cannot Earth afford you Slaves enow,
That thus you triumph o'er the Water too?
Yet I confess these Realms to you belong,
Because at first from them fair Beauty sprung;
From them originally took its Rise,
Its boundless Power and Inconstancies.
And lo! the finny Nations of the Flood,
As if they knew you too, around you croud.
Ah! little harmless Wantons timely fly
The magic Influence of her fatal Eye;
In vain these Floods! where now secure ye shun
The scorching Fury of the Mid-day Sun:
In vain shall they oppose their cooling Streams,
To guard ye from Belinda's fiercer Beams.
A Foe victorious both by Sea, and Land.
But cannot Earth afford you Slaves enow,
That thus you triumph o'er the Water too?
Yet I confess these Realms to you belong,
Because at first from them fair Beauty sprung;
From them originally took its Rise,
Its boundless Power and Inconstancies.
And lo! the finny Nations of the Flood,
As if they knew you too, around you croud.
Ah! little harmless Wantons timely fly
The magic Influence of her fatal Eye;
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The scorching Fury of the Mid-day Sun:
In vain shall they oppose their cooling Streams,
To guard ye from Belinda's fiercer Beams.
Here you, bright Nymph, your subject Realms survey,
And see both Elements alike obey:
At once victorious with your Hands and Eyes,
You make the Fishes, and the Men your Prize;
And while the pleasing Slavery we court,
I fear you captivate us both for Sport.
And see both Elements alike obey:
At once victorious with your Hands and Eyes,
You make the Fishes, and the Men your Prize;
And while the pleasing Slavery we court,
I fear you captivate us both for Sport.
But ah! fair Nymph, be cautious, and beware,
Nor to the faithless Margin press too near;
Lest ravish'd with your Charms, some wat'ry God,
Surpriz'd, behold you from his blue Abode;
And hoping long-lost Venus to regain,
Should bear you to the Bottom of the Main.
Nor to the faithless Margin press too near;
Lest ravish'd with your Charms, some wat'ry God,
Surpriz'd, behold you from his blue Abode;
And hoping long-lost Venus to regain,
Should bear you to the Bottom of the Main.
133
THE Fatal Request to Cupid.
Shew me, said I, thou mighty God of Love,The brightest Nymph that ever trod the Grove;
When thus the laughing Deity reply'd;
Well, Swain, for once I'll gratify thy Pride:
Laurinda's Form divinely fair behold,
And that the Boast more safely may be told,
Here, take a Signal of her Power; this Dart:
He said, and fiercely shot it in my Heart.
134
On hearing a very homely, and deformed Lady sing finely.
While with strange Surprize, I see
A Form so foul! such Harmony!
I fancy Things too strange to tell,—
A sudden Taste of Heaven and Hell:
That some bright Angel from above,
Pleas'd a-while on Earth to rove,
Invisible to every Eye,
Has left the Regions of the Sky;
Cœlestial Harmony to show
To us Mortals here below.
A Form so foul! such Harmony!
I fancy Things too strange to tell,—
A sudden Taste of Heaven and Hell:
That some bright Angel from above,
Pleas'd a-while on Earth to rove,
Invisible to every Eye,
Has left the Regions of the Sky;
Cœlestial Harmony to show
To us Mortals here below.
And now, (O listen) now I hear,
The very Music of the Sphere!
Unseen the Angel hovers round,
Melting in harmonious Sound.
But hideous Balba strangely vain,
With moving Lips usurps the Strain:
While her Shape, and Figure show,
A Fiend just conjur'd from below;
A Fiend, that but upon Parole,
From Hell, to hear such Musick, stole;
Knowing when she returns again,
The sure Succession of her Pain;
And learns these Notes to sooth her Grief,
Which in her Torments bring Relief;
To charm each horrid Scene of Woe,
And make another Heaven below.
The very Music of the Sphere!
135
Melting in harmonious Sound.
But hideous Balba strangely vain,
With moving Lips usurps the Strain:
While her Shape, and Figure show,
A Fiend just conjur'd from below;
A Fiend, that but upon Parole,
From Hell, to hear such Musick, stole;
Knowing when she returns again,
The sure Succession of her Pain;
And learns these Notes to sooth her Grief,
Which in her Torments bring Relief;
To charm each horrid Scene of Woe,
And make another Heaven below.
136
To a Friend in Love.
In vain, my Damon, you look pale, and write,
Languish all Day, and sigh away the Night;
For while these inconsistent Forms you try,
She thinks you rival her Inconstancy.
Then show the Man again, and re-assume
The sprightly Pride of One-and-twenty's Bloom:
With Courage take her in your longing Arms,
And when she's conquer'd, she must yield her Charms.
Languish all Day, and sigh away the Night;
For while these inconsistent Forms you try,
She thinks you rival her Inconstancy.
Then show the Man again, and re-assume
The sprightly Pride of One-and-twenty's Bloom:
With Courage take her in your longing Arms,
And when she's conquer'd, she must yield her Charms.
Long thus in borrow'd Shapes Vertumnus strove
To cheat the fair Pomona into Love;
Yet still he try'd his Fallacies in vain,
She mock'd the Soldier, and she scorn'd the Swain:
But when his proper Form the God confess'd,
Yielding, she clasp'd him to her panting Breast.
To cheat the fair Pomona into Love;
Yet still he try'd his Fallacies in vain,
She mock'd the Soldier, and she scorn'd the Swain:
But when his proper Form the God confess'd,
Yielding, she clasp'd him to her panting Breast.
137
The Disappointed Maid, and the drowzy Swain.
A TALE.
As Dolly and her fav'rite SwainWere interrupted by the Rain,
From tedding out the fragrant Hay;
Beneath a shelt'ring Cock they lay:
When thus the lovely, longing Jade,
Unto the drowzy Shepherd said,
Nay, prithee Lobby, why so sleepy?
Indeed—upon my Word I'll nip ye.—
138
Tell o'er old Stories, and all that.—
But you—O L---d, the careless Beast!
As if Folks lie down to take Rest.
Lob, half asleep, made no Replies,
Or answer'd with a Grunt her Sighs.
While she to be reveng'd, arose,
And play'd a Tickler in his Nose.
(But some, the Virgin to disgrace,
Will say, 'twas in another Place.)
Be that as 'twill, she wak'd the Swain,
And tickled him with Words again.
Come Sweeting, Lobby, come my Dear,
I'm sure that nobody is near;
Indeed we may, pray ben't afraid,
Poor I am but an harmless Maid
For since you're so dispos'd to rest,
Pray take a Nap upon my Breast.
You see Time, Leisure, Place, and all
For such Employment, seem to call.
139
When the Sun shines, then make your Hay.
Augh! Augh! quoth Lob, wak'd with Surprize,
To see the Sun flame in his Eyes.
Heigh hoa! come Doll, for as you say,
The Sun shines, we must make our Hay;
So reach me there my Rake and Prong,
'Twas well you wak'd—we've slept too long.
140
The Case stated.
Inter cæsa, & porrecta.
Horace , I think, prescribes this Rule,(And surely Horace is no Fool)
Poets should keep, e'er the World knows it,
Their Poems nine Years in their Closet:
I own the Fancy's very good;
But pray, let this be understood:
Your meagre Poets now-a-days,
Write more for Profit than for Praise:
And whilst their Poems live in Garret,
Themselves, alas! may die for Claret.
141
A PROLOGUE TO THE FUNERAL:
A COMEDY.
I've very often heard what Fear can do,
But never found the sad Effects till now;
And now my Face in sober Sadness shows it,
But hush—before each teazing Coxcomb knows it.
But never found the sad Effects till now;
And now my Face in sober Sadness shows it,
But hush—before each teazing Coxcomb knows it.
142
Pray Sirs, forgive me if I shrewdly guess,
The latent Meaning of this sable Dress;
Did not I know ye, I should think ye come,
Like Ravens, to foretel our Poet's Doom;
But since we act the Funeral to-day,
We'll but suppose ye Mourners in the Play.
The latent Meaning of this sable Dress;
Did not I know ye, I should think ye come,
Like Ravens, to foretel our Poet's Doom;
But since we act the Funeral to-day,
We'll but suppose ye Mourners in the Play.
Yet thanks to Fate, some dawning Hopes appear,
Break thro' the Gloom, and gild the low'ring Sphere.
Lo! Comet-like the Commoners arise,
And as the streaming Light'ning gild the Skies,
But thank 'em, they're too witty to be wise.
Like Light'ning, yet I fear, they'll blast our Toil,
And wound the very Place, on which they smile.
Break thro' the Gloom, and gild the low'ring Sphere.
Lo! Comet-like the Commoners arise,
And as the streaming Light'ning gild the Skies,
But thank 'em, they're too witty to be wise.
Like Light'ning, yet I fear, they'll blast our Toil,
And wound the very Place, on which they smile.
But O ye Sophs, ye mighty Men of Wit!
You that so well can lord it o'er a Pit!
For once guard this with ruminating Face,
And stand the solemn Guardians of the Place!
Clear it from snearing, sly, pretending Fools,
And lug the beardless Criticks to the Schools:
So may the Fresh-men ev'ry Pun approve,
So may your Puns the Fresh-mens Jokes reprove.
So may your Gravities with equal Ease,
Guzzle fat College-Ale, or take Degrees,
Turn Pedants, Parsons, Criticks, what ye please.
You that so well can lord it o'er a Pit!
For once guard this with ruminating Face,
And stand the solemn Guardians of the Place!
143
And lug the beardless Criticks to the Schools:
So may the Fresh-men ev'ry Pun approve,
So may your Puns the Fresh-mens Jokes reprove.
So may your Gravities with equal Ease,
Guzzle fat College-Ale, or take Degrees,
Turn Pedants, Parsons, Criticks, what ye please.
But if the Play's intolerably bad,
And nothing but Damnation can be had;
Torment it with your criticising Tools,
Time, Place, and Characters, and twenty Rules;
Nay, use it like a Fresh-man in the Schools.
But pray, good surly Gentlemen, be sure ye
Observe the just Decorum of a Fury;
And this, among the rest, a Maxim hold,
That, Vixens always clap their Hands and scold.
And nothing but Damnation can be had;
Torment it with your criticising Tools,
Time, Place, and Characters, and twenty Rules;
Nay, use it like a Fresh-man in the Schools.
But pray, good surly Gentlemen, be sure ye
Observe the just Decorum of a Fury;
And this, among the rest, a Maxim hold,
That, Vixens always clap their Hands and scold.
144
The Enjoyment.
Come my Laura, come my Love;
Come my tender Turtle-Dove;
Let us from this Heat retire,
To languish in a softer Fire.
How the waving Elms invite us!
How these Rosy Bowers delight us!
How their am'rous Foldings twine,
To imitate thy Arms and mine!
See these Snowy Lillies blowing,
With the blushing Roses glowing,
Silently the Soul inspire,
To kindle at thy Lover's Fire:
See these springing Violets rise,
Animated by thy Eyes;
Lavishly their Charms they spread,
To make a soft enamel'd Bed;
And like this downy swelling Breast,
They rise, and languish to be press'd.
Come my tender Turtle-Dove;
Let us from this Heat retire,
To languish in a softer Fire.
How the waving Elms invite us!
How these Rosy Bowers delight us!
How their am'rous Foldings twine,
To imitate thy Arms and mine!
See these Snowy Lillies blowing,
With the blushing Roses glowing,
Silently the Soul inspire,
To kindle at thy Lover's Fire:
See these springing Violets rise,
Animated by thy Eyes;
145
To make a soft enamel'd Bed;
And like this downy swelling Breast,
They rise, and languish to be press'd.
But O thou happy, happy Grove,
Sacred to the God of Love,
With the thickest Umbrage shade us,
Let no piercing Rays invade us:
Let no Light but Beauty's charm us,
Let no Heat but Beauty's warm us:
Make our artificial Light,
Close and sweet as our Delight.
Sacred to the God of Love,
With the thickest Umbrage shade us,
Let no piercing Rays invade us:
Let no Light but Beauty's charm us,
Let no Heat but Beauty's warm us:
Make our artificial Light,
Close and sweet as our Delight.
And now, my Dear, no longer coy,
Let us give a Loose to Joy!
Then, closely lay thy Lips to mine,
And let our Souls and Bodies join:
Let me suck thy balmy Breath,
And fainting, glory in my Death.
Take me dying to thy Arms,
And revive me with thy Charms.
Ah me! I die with pleasing Pain,
O kindle me to Life again.
And now, my brighter Queen of Love,
I'll confess the stronger Jove.
Let us give a Loose to Joy!
Then, closely lay thy Lips to mine,
And let our Souls and Bodies join:
Let me suck thy balmy Breath,
And fainting, glory in my Death.
146
And revive me with thy Charms.
Ah me! I die with pleasing Pain,
O kindle me to Life again.
And now, my brighter Queen of Love,
I'll confess the stronger Jove.
O happiest Transport, dearest Blessing,
Sweetest Rapture past expressing!
Who can tell the thrilling Pleasure,
When the Nymph resigns her Treasure!
When she melts in ripen'd Blisses,
Breathing out her Soul in Kisses!
When in Paradise she lies,
And rolls her pretty dying Eyes:
While the Snake with softer Strains,
Sweetly stings her tickling Veins!
She pants, she sighs, she heaves her Charms,
And locks her vig'rous Lover in her Arms.
Sweetest Rapture past expressing!
Who can tell the thrilling Pleasure,
When the Nymph resigns her Treasure!
When she melts in ripen'd Blisses,
Breathing out her Soul in Kisses!
When in Paradise she lies,
And rolls her pretty dying Eyes:
While the Snake with softer Strains,
Sweetly stings her tickling Veins!
She pants, she sighs, she heaves her Charms,
And locks her vig'rous Lover in her Arms.
147
A Description of his Mistress.
She's young, and She's tender,She's handsomely slender,
She's genteel, She's pretty,
Good-natur'd, and witty:
Adorn'd with those Graces,
We want in some Faces;
But moves,—O most sweetly!
Then dances so neatly!
No Scandal she tattles,
But agreeably prattles;
Learns Love and such Fancies,
From Plays, and Romances.
Is proud, but a little,
And my Soul to a Tittle.
148
Sent Me, from a Lady, with a Rose.
Whilst these vernal Sweets exhale,
Whilst you bless the Rosy Gale;
Think upon the Giver's State,
Think, and O compare our Fate!
Whilst you bless the Rosy Gale;
Think upon the Giver's State,
Think, and O compare our Fate!
View your Laura, view her Flower,
Smiling Daughters of an Hour!
Sweet's our Beauty, fair our Hue;
Sweet, and fair, at least to you.
When with tender Ardour prest,
We lie blushing on your Breast:
Happy! could we still enjoy;
Happy! could we never cloy:
Happy! could we keep our Charms
From, or, ever in those Arms!
But when once those Charms decay,
Both, like Weeds, are thrown away.
Smiling Daughters of an Hour!
Sweet's our Beauty, fair our Hue;
Sweet, and fair, at least to you.
When with tender Ardour prest,
We lie blushing on your Breast:
Happy! could we still enjoy;
Happy! could we never cloy:
149
From, or, ever in those Arms!
But when once those Charms decay,
Both, like Weeds, are thrown away.
On an Apple, given me by Laura.
Sure all submit to lovely Laura's Charms,Who with a thousand Darts an Apple arms;
With Adoration I approach'd the Dame,
My Hand receiv'd the Fruit, my Soul the Flame:
Alas, too deep I feel the deadly Smart,
I gain'd an Apple, but I lost my Heart.
150
A Song.
I
Shepherd! if you see me, fly;And why should that thy Fears create?
Maids may be too often shy,
As well in Love, as Hate.
If from you I fly away,
'Tis because I fear to stay.
II
Should I out of Hatred run,Much less would be my Pains and Care.
But the Youth I love, I shun;
Who can such a Trial bear?
Who, that such a Swain could see,
Or who can love, and fly like me!
151
III
Cruel Duty bids me go,But gentle Love commands my Stay,
Pity, still to Love a Foe;
O shall I this, or that obey?
Duty frowns, and Cupid smiles,
That destroys, but this beguiles.
IV
Ever by this Crystal Stream,O! I could sit me down and weep;
Ravish'd with the pleasing Theme,
O! 'tis worse than Death to sleep;
But the Danger is so great,
That Love gives Wings, instead of Hate.
V
Shepherd! if you love me, leave me,Leave me to my Self alone,
O! you may with Ease deceive me!
Prithee, charming Boy, be gone!
Heaven has decreed that we must part,
That has my Vows, but you my Heart.
152
On hearing a Lady sing Prior's Alexis.
I
When Philly sings these tender Strains,Such magic Airs the Notes improve,
I languish with the Shepherd's Pains,
And kindle at another's Love.
II
Some from a sweet bewitching Eye,Receive the gaily fatal Dart;
Their Cupid's Arrows I defy,
'Tis Musick only strikes my Heart.
III
But when soft Strains, and Beauty's Charms,Harmoniously to wound, conspire;
A double Stroke my Breast disarms,
And breathing Musick blows the Fire.
153
IV
Such is charming Philly's Power,Enchanting Smiles, enchanting Sound!
That were we from her Eyes secure,
Her Voice, with latent Force would wound.
V
Thus when keen Light'nings gild the Skies,The Trav'ler shakes with holy Dread;
Trembles as the Flashes rise,
Nor sees the Bolt that strikes him dead.
VI
So soft! so sweet the Charmer sings,Each yielding Thought the Strains controul.
But Love—and Love from Music springs,
That sooths, with piercing Sounds, the Soul.
154
VII
But would the powerful Charmer tryThis Token of her Art to prove,
To melt me first with Harmony,
Then make me such as she can love!
To a Lady,
Who, in return for a Copy of Verses, sent me a flower'd Cap.
Is this, dear Maid! the Price of all my Pains,My Sighs, my Prayers, and never-ceasing Strains?
Fair Daphne thus, a grateful Heart to show,
The Lover scorn'd, but crown'd the Poet's Brow.
155
On Crito , who wrote against Me.
They say that out of pure Ill-Nature
Crito has lately wrote a Satire;
On me too—That the silly Elf
Should be forgetful of Himself!
Crito has lately wrote a Satire;
On me too—That the silly Elf
Should be forgetful of Himself!
Satire's a very dangerous thing,
And often wears a double Sting;
And tho' it chance to lose its Aim,
It seldom fails in getting Game.
So Gun enrag'd to miss the Black-bird,
Recoiling, knocks poor Lobcock backward.
And often wears a double Sting;
And tho' it chance to lose its Aim,
It seldom fails in getting Game.
So Gun enrag'd to miss the Black-bird,
Recoiling, knocks poor Lobcock backward.
156
But Crito tells me, full of Choler,
He'as drawn me in my proper Colour;
I thank him for his merry Whim,
And fain would do the same by him;
But hang it tho', 'tis cursed Cost,
To daub an Ass on every Post!
But all consider'd tho', I think
I'ad e'en as good take up with Ink:
On second Thoughts too, 'cause 'tis black,
It seems the very thing I lack,
For I am apt to think his Soul
Is somewhat darker than a Coal.
He'as drawn me in my proper Colour;
I thank him for his merry Whim,
And fain would do the same by him;
But hang it tho', 'tis cursed Cost,
To daub an Ass on every Post!
But all consider'd tho', I think
I'ad e'en as good take up with Ink:
On second Thoughts too, 'cause 'tis black,
It seems the very thing I lack,
For I am apt to think his Soul
Is somewhat darker than a Coal.
But yet, old Boy, I see in spight
Of all your forc'd ill-natur'd Wit,
The very self-same thing you strive at;
The very End and Aim you drive at:
But faith I han't Time, tho' you lack now,
The Favour Dryden did for Flecknoe.
And slily want to steal in Print,
And that I'm sure is all that's in't.
Of all your forc'd ill-natur'd Wit,
The very self-same thing you strive at;
The very End and Aim you drive at:
But faith I han't Time, tho' you lack now,
The Favour Dryden did for Flecknoe.
157
And that I'm sure is all that's in't.
So Country-Girl, in Breeding awkard,
Whips up Ralph's Chair, and tilts him backward;
Tho' all the while she means no Hurt,
And does it, as she says, for Sport:
Ay, ay, but if I rightly guess,
Her Sport, summ'd up, amounts to this;
That she, in jest, may teach the Clown
To throw herself in earnest down.
Whips up Ralph's Chair, and tilts him backward;
Tho' all the while she means no Hurt,
And does it, as she says, for Sport:
Ay, ay, but if I rightly guess,
Her Sport, summ'd up, amounts to this;
That she, in jest, may teach the Clown
To throw herself in earnest down.
One Ch---y, of St. John's Coll. a most vain Scribler, who bound up his own Rhymes in Turkey Leather, and set 'em off with Pictures. See his Character in the Session of Poets. Vol. 1. page 28.
158
On Reading the Turtle and Sparrow, A TALE.
Let Tears no more lament the Dead in vain,
For see! our easy Prior lives again.
These genuine Lines the gentle Bard reveal,
And paint that Nature he alone could feel:
With tender Accents touch the soft'ning Soul,
Or gaily mock the Philosophic Fool.
For see! our easy Prior lives again.
These genuine Lines the gentle Bard reveal,
And paint that Nature he alone could feel:
With tender Accents touch the soft'ning Soul,
Or gaily mock the Philosophic Fool.
159
When
Turturella tells her piteous Moan,
Who does not make the Mourner's Grief his own?
How ravishingly sweet the Numbers move,
And breathe the dying Agonies of Love!
Such sympathizing Tenderness impart,
They melt the Reader's to a Lover's Heart.
Who does not make the Mourner's Grief his own?
How ravishingly sweet the Numbers move,
And breathe the dying Agonies of Love!
Such sympathizing Tenderness impart,
They melt the Reader's to a Lover's Heart.
But while th' inimitable Bard displays,
The wanton Sparrow in gallanter Lays;
The Marriage-State is image'd to the Life,
The careless Husband and the peevish Wife;
The Troubles of the fet-lock'd Couple shew,
And either Sex is open'd to the View.
The wanton Sparrow in gallanter Lays;
The Marriage-State is image'd to the Life,
The careless Husband and the peevish Wife;
The Troubles of the fet-lock'd Couple shew,
And either Sex is open'd to the View.
Thus sung delightful Matt—but sings no more,
Long since lamented on the lonesome Shore;
Pensive for Him in vain my Voice essays,
To court Thalia to her Poet's Praise;
Like Turturella she neglects her Charms,
Despairing of another Prior's Arms:
Alike their Tenderness, alike their Woe,
For what Columbo was, is Prior now:
Time's Period past—He shall for ever live,
And like these Labours by his Death revive.
Long since lamented on the lonesome Shore;
Pensive for Him in vain my Voice essays,
To court Thalia to her Poet's Praise;
Like Turturella she neglects her Charms,
Despairing of another Prior's Arms:
160
For what Columbo was, is Prior now:
Time's Period past—He shall for ever live,
And like these Labours by his Death revive.
On seeing Mr. Prior's Monument in Westminster-Abbey.
Say, Prior, stands this Busto here to show;Thy Life had not its Vanities enow;
And could a Poet, that immortal Name,
Implore the Chissel's Charity of Fame?
Alluding to these Words of Mr. Prior in his Will (after having ordered a Monument) “For this last Piece of Human Vanity, I Will, “that the Sum of Five Hundred Pounds be set aside.
161
A Receipt to make a Modern Poet.
Semper ego Auditor—
Q.
Well then—when will these Railings end?
A.
Lord Sir, as soon as Poets mend.
Q.
But durst thou thus, profanely bold,
Thy Argument so stiffly hold?
Restrain in time this sour ill-Nature,
And dread The Universal Satire.
How durst you say (nay ne'er deny,
And poorly truckle with a Lye)
162
We scarce have now one Perfect Poet.
A.
Why what I think, Sir, still I'll stand to,
And what I say I'll set my Hand to:
But lest uncourteously you think,
I mix ill-Nature with my Ink,
For leaving out Pack, Prior, Pope,
This Answer may suffice I hope—
Q.
Faith Sir, you're very wise I own,
Is Homer then no better known?
Tibullus and old Chaucer too,
I wonder you forget them so.
A.
Those Bards, but now, you heard me name,
And are not These the very same,
Alike their Worth, alike their Fame!
For Nature conscious of the Cost,
(And her Receipt-Poetic lost)
In Prior, Pack, and Pope infuses
Their very transmigrated Muses;
163
Let's see how Art can work a Wonder;
And where the Lion's Skin shall fail,
We'll patch it with the Fox's Tail.
Well then—Imprimis—Recipe—
Q.
But what? How much?—
A.
Why let me see,
First, take, a little Stock of Learning,
Then, a less Portion of Discerning,
Sufficient, if you reach the Rules
(Of Ipse Dixit, and the Schools)
Next take, of Vanity enough,
Modest-Assurance, Irish proof;
Then frugally to spare your Wit,
Take something that resembles it;
And to prevent a thousand things
Which Judgment to my Fancy brings,
This one Ingredient is the best,
(Nay faith 'tis worth e'en all the rest,
For I have known it oft prevail
Where Art and stronger Nature fail)
164
But 'tis so hard to get of late!
To this infuse a Knack of Rhyming,
Then set the Whirligig a chyming.
These, nicely mix, but if you lack more,
You'll find 'em all summ'd up in Blackmore.
165
The Battle of the Pygmies and Cranes.
Translated from the Latin of Mr. Addison.
Contending Troops, and Fields of Death I sing,
Ye tuneful Nine your sacred Succour bring,
In Arms my Pygmy-Sons of Fame prepare,
And rouze the Cranic Furies to the War;
Their Acts, their Valour, and their Worth rehearse,
And let their slaughter'd Heroes live in Verse.
Ye tuneful Nine your sacred Succour bring,
In Arms my Pygmy-Sons of Fame prepare,
And rouze the Cranic Furies to the War;
166
And let their slaughter'd Heroes live in Verse.
The Wrath of Peleus' Son, the Golden Fleece,
With all the num'rous labour'd Themes of Greece,
Long since exhausted, are too vulgar grown,
To shine in any Colours but their own;
Who does not know the pious Prince of Troy?
And William's Triumphs ev'ry Tongue employ:
Whilst in reviving Numbers I pursue,
A Theme less Glorious, but a Theme more new;
Wars yet unsung, and Warriours yet unknown,
Rush thro' the Fields of Air my Brow to crown.
With all the num'rous labour'd Themes of Greece,
Long since exhausted, are too vulgar grown,
To shine in any Colours but their own;
Who does not know the pious Prince of Troy?
And William's Triumphs ev'ry Tongue employ:
Whilst in reviving Numbers I pursue,
A Theme less Glorious, but a Theme more new;
Wars yet unsung, and Warriours yet unknown,
Rush thro' the Fields of Air my Brow to crown.
Where
Indian Groves their warmer Shades display,
Blest with the earliest Influence of the Day,
Deep in a Vale, by Nature's Hand secur'd,
With Woods defended, and with Rocks immur'd,
In happier Days indulgent Fate design'd
To fix the Empire of the Pygmy Kind:
Here long in easy State the Nation reign'd,
Soft Peace indulging what their Toils obtain'd.
O happy had it known an happy Life,
Serene from Cares, and unally'd to Strife:
But heedless Mortals ever blind to Fate,
Rush on impenitently, wise too late!
For now the tender-hearted Traveller,
Weeping, beholds the sad Effects of War;
No more he views, alas! with sweet Surprize,
The early Hopes of future Empires rise:
But O! the miserable Turn of Fate,
Presents reverse, a ruinated State;
Skulls, broken Arms, a pallid Horrour spread,
The wretched Ruins of the mighty Dead!
While with insulting Pride the Cranic Foe
Menaces Vengeance on the Bones below:
Triumphantly the screaming Tyrants reign,
And proudly lord it o'er th' unpeopled Plain.
Blest with the earliest Influence of the Day,
Deep in a Vale, by Nature's Hand secur'd,
With Woods defended, and with Rocks immur'd,
167
To fix the Empire of the Pygmy Kind:
Here long in easy State the Nation reign'd,
Soft Peace indulging what their Toils obtain'd.
O happy had it known an happy Life,
Serene from Cares, and unally'd to Strife:
But heedless Mortals ever blind to Fate,
Rush on impenitently, wise too late!
For now the tender-hearted Traveller,
Weeping, beholds the sad Effects of War;
No more he views, alas! with sweet Surprize,
The early Hopes of future Empires rise:
But O! the miserable Turn of Fate,
Presents reverse, a ruinated State;
Skulls, broken Arms, a pallid Horrour spread,
The wretched Ruins of the mighty Dead!
While with insulting Pride the Cranic Foe
Menaces Vengeance on the Bones below:
Triumphantly the screaming Tyrants reign,
And proudly lord it o'er th' unpeopled Plain.
168
Not thus they dar'd when happier Days of Yore,
Loudly confess'd the potent Pygmies Power:
How timorously then they skimm'd the Air!
And e'en in Clouds, imagin'd Pygmies near.
Then durst the boldest Crane the Plains invade,
His forfeit Life the certain Ransom paid;
His mangled Carcass furnish'd out a Feast,
At once the Banquet, and at once the Guest:
Or could he rarely 'scape their hostile Rage,
'Twas but with greater Evils to engage:
For he no sooner to his Nest returns,
But that despoil'd with bleeding Infants mourns;
Eluded Danger gives him no Relief,
Weeping, he dies with fond paternal Grief.
Loudly confess'd the potent Pygmies Power:
How timorously then they skimm'd the Air!
And e'en in Clouds, imagin'd Pygmies near.
Then durst the boldest Crane the Plains invade,
His forfeit Life the certain Ransom paid;
His mangled Carcass furnish'd out a Feast,
At once the Banquet, and at once the Guest:
Or could he rarely 'scape their hostile Rage,
'Twas but with greater Evils to engage:
For he no sooner to his Nest returns,
But that despoil'd with bleeding Infants mourns;
Eluded Danger gives him no Relief,
Weeping, he dies with fond paternal Grief.
From these inhuman Villanies arose
The Cranes Resentment, and the Pygmies Woes;
Hence dreadful Wars ensu'd, and direful Arms,
That shook the peaceful Country with Alarms.
The Cranes Resentment, and the Pygmies Woes;
Hence dreadful Wars ensu'd, and direful Arms,
That shook the peaceful Country with Alarms.
169
Less Wrongs resented, and less noble Rage,
In former Days did Homer's Muse engage,
When to the Field his downy Chiefs he led,
With sable Troops of croaking Heroes spread:
Deep thro' the Vales confounding Clamours rise,
And in hoarse Echoes murmur to the Skies;
Disjointed Heroes of their Limbs bereft,
Bewail the useless Life that Fate has left.
In former Days did Homer's Muse engage,
When to the Field his downy Chiefs he led,
With sable Troops of croaking Heroes spread:
Deep thro' the Vales confounding Clamours rise,
And in hoarse Echoes murmur to the Skies;
Disjointed Heroes of their Limbs bereft,
Bewail the useless Life that Fate has left.
And now the great, th' important Day appear'd,
A Day for ever by the Pygmies fear'd!
Now conscious of their Crimes, they view their Fate,
And penitentially grow wise too late!
In vain the Cranes their plumy Troops prepare,
And rally all their Forces to the War;
Summon'd the Chiefs that drink Cayister's Stream,
Receive the welcome Call, and thirst for Fame;
Cold Scythia pours her winged Armies forth,
And heads the hardy Millions of the North.
Fomented Wrongs their injur'd Souls excite,
Burn for Revenge, and kindle to the Fight;
Eager they meditate their absent Foes,
And exercise imaginary Blows:
Imaginary Conquests swell their Minds,
And each Breast labours with some vast Designs.
A Day for ever by the Pygmies fear'd!
Now conscious of their Crimes, they view their Fate,
And penitentially grow wise too late!
In vain the Cranes their plumy Troops prepare,
And rally all their Forces to the War;
Summon'd the Chiefs that drink Cayister's Stream,
Receive the welcome Call, and thirst for Fame;
Cold Scythia pours her winged Armies forth,
And heads the hardy Millions of the North.
170
Burn for Revenge, and kindle to the Fight;
Eager they meditate their absent Foes,
And exercise imaginary Blows:
Imaginary Conquests swell their Minds,
And each Breast labours with some vast Designs.
But now warm Breezes melt the frozen Year,
And warbling Birds bespeak the Summer near:
Embody'd then the winged Nations rise,
Darken the Day, and stretch along the Skies;
In sounding Gales the hov'ring Armies flow,
And seem a Tempest to the World below.
Shrill screaming Thunders thro the Welkin fly,
And terribly presage Destruction nigh.
And warbling Birds bespeak the Summer near:
Embody'd then the winged Nations rise,
Darken the Day, and stretch along the Skies;
In sounding Gales the hov'ring Armies flow,
And seem a Tempest to the World below.
Shrill screaming Thunders thro the Welkin fly,
And terribly presage Destruction nigh.
All Mr. Addison's Latin Poems are translated by Dr. Sewell, Mr. Newcomb, and Mr. Amhurst. viz. 1. On the Peace of Reswick. 2. On the Resurrection. 3. The Bowling-Green. 4. The Barometer. 5. The Puppet-Show. 6. The Battle of the Pygmies and Cranes. 7. An Ode to Dr. Burnet, on his Theory. 8. An Ode to Dr. Hannes, &c. With his Dissertation upon the Classicks. Printed for H. Curll, in the Strand.
| The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison | |