 | Poems |  |
Mrs. BILLINGTON.
Behold a blythe Syren, high priz'd and high finish'd!
Fall back, ye meek songsters, abash'd and diminish'd:
'Tis Billington comes, public praise to implore,
Whom Honor pursues, and the Muses adore!
Receive her with with homage, ye slaves of Apollo,
As Destiny sent her, for Merit to follow;
To command suppliant throngs, like the tyrant of Delhi,
High charg'd with caprice like renown'd Gabrielli:
With Beauty's soft blandishments arm'd to delight,
Resistless and charming, she bursts on the sight;
From her eyes issue rays of voluptuous mirth,
And she catches applause, ere the judgment has birth.
Fall back, ye meek songsters, abash'd and diminish'd:
'Tis Billington comes, public praise to implore,
Whom Honor pursues, and the Muses adore!
140
As Destiny sent her, for Merit to follow;
To command suppliant throngs, like the tyrant of Delhi,
High charg'd with caprice like renown'd Gabrielli:
With Beauty's soft blandishments arm'd to delight,
Resistless and charming, she bursts on the sight;
From her eyes issue rays of voluptuous mirth,
And she catches applause, ere the judgment has birth.
Had Helen, who set the Greek states in a flame,
Been as lovely in feature, as beauteous in frame;
What man but would combat his legions delighted,
And rush upon Death's ebon spear unaffrighted;
By desparate action amaze human wonder,
And laugh at old Jove, and the point of his thunder!
Were Anacreon living, to brighten these days,
He'd weave her high name in his amorous lays;
And Latian minstrels her gifts would rehearse,
In all the rich splendor of classical verse;
Her lips red as coral, soft, pulpy and sweet,
For Love's warm embraces, in silence, intreat:
Like the fruit of the vintage, decreed for our use,
They promise, on pressure, an exquisite juice;
The High Priest of Comus gave birth to her wiles,
And Venus corrected her dimples and smiles:
She arm'd her fine eye with that envied ability,
To warm the cold bosom of Insensibility:
Thus she makes greater numbers their liberties yield,
Than Cæsar subdu'd in Pharsalia's field.
As radiant Phœbus, to nymphs ever kind,
With the spirit of harmony, blended her mind;
Illumin'd and lovely the chantress appears,
If cloath'd with ineffable laughter or tears:
The sons of Humanity felt not such glee,
When the regent of Paphos emerg'd from the sea;
And shook from her tresses the drops of the ocean,
And leap'd on the beach, to wake bliss into motion.
Insatiate Attention devours the strains,
And listening wretches forget all their pains:
Like the visits of Peace, to our miseries kind,
She calms those rough tumults which torture the mind.
The wandering Zephyrs creep round when she sings,
To steal her best notes, with aerial wings;
Then leave the gay nymph, of her powers bereft,
And flit o'er the Alps, with the elegant theft;
Where Cecilia descends to unburthen the gales,
As kingdom's applaud in Italia's vales;
Been as lovely in feature, as beauteous in frame;
What man but would combat his legions delighted,
And rush upon Death's ebon spear unaffrighted;
By desparate action amaze human wonder,
And laugh at old Jove, and the point of his thunder!
Were Anacreon living, to brighten these days,
He'd weave her high name in his amorous lays;
And Latian minstrels her gifts would rehearse,
In all the rich splendor of classical verse;
141
For Love's warm embraces, in silence, intreat:
Like the fruit of the vintage, decreed for our use,
They promise, on pressure, an exquisite juice;
The High Priest of Comus gave birth to her wiles,
And Venus corrected her dimples and smiles:
She arm'd her fine eye with that envied ability,
To warm the cold bosom of Insensibility:
Thus she makes greater numbers their liberties yield,
Than Cæsar subdu'd in Pharsalia's field.
As radiant Phœbus, to nymphs ever kind,
With the spirit of harmony, blended her mind;
Illumin'd and lovely the chantress appears,
If cloath'd with ineffable laughter or tears:
The sons of Humanity felt not such glee,
When the regent of Paphos emerg'd from the sea;
And shook from her tresses the drops of the ocean,
And leap'd on the beach, to wake bliss into motion.
Insatiate Attention devours the strains,
And listening wretches forget all their pains:
Like the visits of Peace, to our miseries kind,
She calms those rough tumults which torture the mind.
The wandering Zephyrs creep round when she sings,
To steal her best notes, with aerial wings;
Then leave the gay nymph, of her powers bereft,
And flit o'er the Alps, with the elegant theft;
Where Cecilia descends to unburthen the gales,
As kingdom's applaud in Italia's vales;
142
But how great the reduction of eminent skill,
When the graces of Art are o'erthrown by the will!
Should Pride follow Worth, in a constant gradation?
Should Caprice be the offspring of high Reputation?
Philosophy shrinks when bright Genius, inspir'd,
Can forfeit by Pride, what by Worth she acquir'd;
Tho' she breathes her soft notes with a soul-melting thrill
Poor Nature is lost in the triumphs of Skill;
As she courts Affectation to win us and please,
But leaves to her mates, artless manners and ease.
Thus harmoniz'd Reynolds shews part of her power,
As the bud glads the sight before Time opes the flower.
When the graces of Art are o'erthrown by the will!
Should Pride follow Worth, in a constant gradation?
Should Caprice be the offspring of high Reputation?
Philosophy shrinks when bright Genius, inspir'd,
Can forfeit by Pride, what by Worth she acquir'd;
Tho' she breathes her soft notes with a soul-melting thrill
Poor Nature is lost in the triumphs of Skill;
As she courts Affectation to win us and please,
But leaves to her mates, artless manners and ease.
Thus harmoniz'd Reynolds shews part of her power,
As the bud glads the sight before Time opes the flower.
In the lofty bravuras she copies the spheres;
But in madrigal ballads gives pain to our ears;
Her trills, the sweet bosom of Sense never warm,
Tho' her sportive cantabilies win us and charm:
With wonderful art, she can marshal her voice,
And, selecting her airs, makes a judicious choice;
By fine-spun address, gains our plaudits and favour,
And husbands that little which Providence gave her.
She oft wants the gentle assistance of Ease,
And seems more intent to surprise than to please:
Tho' the nymph in Mandane excites admiration,
The wild notes of Catley had more inspiration.
In songs fraught by Judgment, her powers are plain,
Tho' her tones are confin'd, and her shakes give us pain;
Impressing her stomach, as sick, sore or lame,
She drags up the notes from the caves of her frame;
Opes her mouth like a well, 'till poor Reason flies from it,
And doubts if the nymph means to carol or vomit.
But in madrigal ballads gives pain to our ears;
Her trills, the sweet bosom of Sense never warm,
Tho' her sportive cantabilies win us and charm:
With wonderful art, she can marshal her voice,
And, selecting her airs, makes a judicious choice;
By fine-spun address, gains our plaudits and favour,
And husbands that little which Providence gave her.
She oft wants the gentle assistance of Ease,
And seems more intent to surprise than to please:
Tho' the nymph in Mandane excites admiration,
The wild notes of Catley had more inspiration.
143
Tho' her tones are confin'd, and her shakes give us pain;
Impressing her stomach, as sick, sore or lame,
She drags up the notes from the caves of her frame;
Opes her mouth like a well, 'till poor Reason flies from it,
And doubts if the nymph means to carol or vomit.
Sweet Harmony, hail! to our miseries given,
As parent of Concord, and daughter of Heaven.
The powers of Music were sent as a blessing,
The evils attendant on mortals redressing:
Like the converse of Beauty, for rapture design'd,
She purifies, softens, and gladdens the mind;
The burthens of Want imperceptibly stealing,
And lightens the dark habitations of Feeling.
Aonian maids croud her fanes in a throng,
Imploring her influence to fashion their song;
The proud and the petulant, poor and the vain,
Who from life's varied weaknesses, shrink and complain;
Intreat all the force of her excellent power,
To wound that despondence which fills up their hour.
By her aid the grim furies could Orpheus quell,
And charm his lost nymph from the torments of hell;
The voice of the minstrel could Fierceness destroy,
And Tartarus blaz'd with a gleam of new joy:
Implacable Dis own'd the charms of his lyre,
And Proserpine waken'd to sigh and admire.
She eases the smart of Affliction's keen rod,
She elevates Sense to the state of a God:
And the tones from her shell can all beings refine,
'Till the brute leaps in sport, and the man feels divine.
As parent of Concord, and daughter of Heaven.
The powers of Music were sent as a blessing,
The evils attendant on mortals redressing:
Like the converse of Beauty, for rapture design'd,
She purifies, softens, and gladdens the mind;
The burthens of Want imperceptibly stealing,
And lightens the dark habitations of Feeling.
Aonian maids croud her fanes in a throng,
Imploring her influence to fashion their song;
The proud and the petulant, poor and the vain,
Who from life's varied weaknesses, shrink and complain;
Intreat all the force of her excellent power,
To wound that despondence which fills up their hour.
By her aid the grim furies could Orpheus quell,
And charm his lost nymph from the torments of hell;
The voice of the minstrel could Fierceness destroy,
And Tartarus blaz'd with a gleam of new joy:
Implacable Dis own'd the charms of his lyre,
And Proserpine waken'd to sigh and admire.
She eases the smart of Affliction's keen rod,
She elevates Sense to the state of a God:
144
'Till the brute leaps in sport, and the man feels divine.
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