The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison

From sacred Shades, and Academic Groves,
Where, lost in Thought, a musing Fancy roves;
What kind endearing Numbers shall I send,
To meet the Critic, in the fondling Friend?

Here learned Solitudes salute our Eyes,
And the gay Scenes in real Raptures rise;
Thro' Classic Shades majestick Domes aspire,
And dimly from the piercing Eye retire.
Deep thro' the Groves, old Cam serenely flows,
Free from the pratling Naiads babling Noise.

His Nymphs in gentle Silence move along,
And hear their Murmurs in some soft'ning Song;
Till by the forcing Torrent borne away,
They mourn because they can no longer stay:
Poetic Hills the wide Horizon bound,
And wall the learned Paradise around.

But yet—Tho' all Things with my Soul agree—
Pall'd are my Joys, and tasteless, without Thee;
These visionary Pleasures but renew
The real Happiness I found in You;
Where venerable Cowley's sacred Shade
The sweetest Scene of Solitude is made;
When stretch'd at Ease, amusingly we lay,
How tunefully the Minutes danc'd away!

Oh! sooth me, Fancy, with some pleasing Dream,
And gently waft me to Ituna's Stream—

Hark! the soft, balmy, breathing Breezes blow—
Hark! Hederinda's warbling Murmurs flow—
Here oft I left the busy World behind,
And found the better Part, in You refin'd.

But would you know how I divide my Time,
Betwixt my Studies, Business, and my Rhime?

Wak'd, by the Promise of a Day, we rise,
And with our Souls salute the dawning Skies;
All summon'd, to Devotion's Fane repair,
And piously begin the Day with Prayer;
Thence, led by Reason's glimm'ring Light, descry
The dark Recesses of Philosophy;
Thro' Classic Groves the wily Wanton trace,
And logically urge the puzling Chace.

But when the Sounds of the presaging Bell
Noon's pleasurable Invitation tell;

Moods, Methods, Figures, swim before my Sight,
And Syllogisms wing their airy Flight.
Confus'd, the Fairy Vision flitts away—
And no Ideas, but of Dinner, stay.

Thus, fabled Hags, at Midnight's solemn Noon,
With Magic Spells inchant the lab'ring Moon;
But when the Cock proclaims the springing Light,
Each horrid Phantom disappears in Night.

Now, those, whom recreating Toils invite,
Pour'd on the Plain, indulge their lov'd Delight;
Now flies aloft in Air the whirling Ball,
Anxious, the learned Rabble wait its Fall;
Pursu'd by wafting Caps the Fury flies,
Rises in Height, and lessens in the Skies.

Thus, healthfully refresh'd, we leave the Plain,
For Pleasure, oft repeated, is but Pain.

Next we survey the vast capacious Ball,
And take long Journies o'er the learned Wall;
Or from her tender Birth Britannia trace,
And all her Glories center'd in great Brunswick's Race.
The dark Original of Time renew,
And bring three thousand wond'ring Years to View.

Now, to the Muses soft Retirements fly,
Or soar with Milton, or with Waller sigh;
Each fav'rite Bard o'erpays my curious View,
For who can fail to please who charms like You.

To find us thus, Apollo takes his Way,
To sooth the sultry Labours of the Day;
The tuneful Muses charm his listning Ears,
And in soft Sounds he hears away his Cares.

Thus, dearest Florio, thus, my faithful Friend,
In learned Luxury my Time I spend;
Till length'ning Shades the setting Sun display,
And falling Dews lament the falling Day:
Then, tost in Thought, where aged Cam divides
Those verdant Groves that paint his Azure Tides,
With musing Pleasure I reflect around,
And stand inchanted in Poetic Ground.
Straight to my glancing Thought those Bards appear,
That fill'd the World with Fame, and charm'd us here:
Here Spenser, Cowley, and that awful Name
Of mighty Milton, flourish'd into Fame;
From these amusing Groves, his copious Mind,
The blooming Shades of Paradise design'd.
In these Retirements, Dryden fann'd his Fire,
And gentle Waller tun'd his tender Lyre;

Hail! happy Bards, whilst thus I think, I hear
Your tuneful Melody improve my Ear,
With Rev'rence I approach each sacred Shade,
Perhaps by Your creating Numbers made.
Delusion helps my Fancy as I walk,
Hears Waters murmur, and soft Ecchoes talk;
Thro' the dim Shade its sacred Poet sees,
Or hears his Music in the wasted Breeze.

Here, Locke and Newton thro' the World were known,
And made unravell'd Nature's Works their own;
Too soon we lost those Fav'rites of the Sky,
Yet, Florio may the double Loss supply.
Haste, then, my Friend, nor let me mourn your Stay,
Lo! the World suffers by your long Delay—
Let prosp'rous Fortune on your Will attend,
And in your happy Wishes bless your Friend,

W. Pattison.

University of Virginia Library

TO A FRIEND.