The Shamrock or, Hibernian Cresses. A Collection of Poems, Songs, Epigrams, &c. Latin as well as English, The Original Production of Ireland. To which are subjoined thoughts on the prevailing system of school education, respecting young ladies as well as gentlemen: with practical proposals for a reformation [by Samuel Whyte] |
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| LOMNANA.
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 | The Shamrock |  |
426
LOMNANA.
I. VENUS on EARTH.
What is Beauty!—'Tis a Flower,Blown and blasted in an Hour:
'Tis a Meteor passing bright,
Soon, alas! to set in Night:
Mixing with surrounding Shades,
Lovely Vision, how it fades!—
When, bursting from a golden Cloud,
Thus a Voice as Thunder loud—
False to what Earth and Heaven adore,
Beauty, rash Youth, is something more;
Fairest Daughter of the Skies,
She rules the Great, the Brave, the Wise:
Lo! where, once stain'd with native Blood!
Old Shannon rolls his monarch Flood,
In Nature's richest colouring drest,
She shines, a Deity confest,
Bright as she sprung from Ocean's Breast!
Mark, where her careless Steps she bends,
The light-wing'd Train of Joy attends,
427
The Smiles and Graces round her play!
Go—behold the radiant Form,
Lovely, animated, warm!
Yet, lest the pure ethereal Light,
Should prove too strong for human Sight,
Pleas'd she conceals her heavenly Birth,
And Bloomfield is her Name on Earth.
II. A DIALOGUE.
A
My eager Eyes have sought in vain,Around to find the lovely Pair—
Good Night, my Friend, I'll Home again—
The Sister-Graces are not there.
B
Yet, hold—to Grady turn your Eyes,The Cause no longer you'll enquire:—
When the bright Sun illumes the Skies,
The Stars withdraw their waning Fire,
III. The VINDICATION.
While Poetry, ill-natur'd Maid,Two lovely Sisters would degrade:
Philosophy, from Fields of Air
Descends, to vindicate the Fair;
428
And sees a Sun in every Star,
Suns more resplendent and more gay,
Than that, which gladdens Earth with Day;
Diffusing o'er the Heavens a Light,
Which Distance lessens to the Sight;
But some, Opinion leads astray,
Their weaker Opticks they betray;
Who know not justly how to prize,
Beauty beyond their View that lies;
They wake, soon as the Sun is near,
And Sleep, when brighter Suns appear.
IV. The ENQUIRY.
Fair Sun!—bright Stars!—and rival Queens of Love!Angels on Earth, and Goddesses above!
Who deign at Times to quit your native Skies,
And visit Mortals in this sweet Disguise!
How lovely each! but who'll remove the Doubt;
Or dare the Fairest singly to point out?
Beware rash Poet! how thou giv'st the Prize,
And let the Fate of Paris make thee wise:
A ten Years Siege, a thousand Heroes slain,
Troy razed, and Venus shedding Tears in vain.
But, Gods! where is she?—
429
V. The ANSWER.
Nunc Deus intersit! Nunc dignus vindice nodus!
When
Pallas, and the Queen of Love,
With Jove's imperial Consort strove,
Each proudly claiming as her Due,
The golden Fruit which Discord threw;
They sought, descending from the Skies,
A Mortal to adjudge the Prize.
With Jove's imperial Consort strove,
Each proudly claiming as her Due,
The golden Fruit which Discord threw;
They sought, descending from the Skies,
A Mortal to adjudge the Prize.
Three,
fairer far, in modern Days,
Demand our Wonder, and our Praise;
But which of the angelick Forms,
With keenest Fire the Bosom warms;
Which first to place, where all excell,
Would ask a Deity to tell.
Demand our Wonder, and our Praise;
But which of the angelick Forms,
With keenest Fire the Bosom warms;
Which first to place, where all excell,
Would ask a Deity to tell.
VI. The WISH.
Tho' the Assertion be odd,
'Tis a Task which a God
Could only discharge on Condition,
That each Fair should submit
(As of old they thought fit)
To a perfect and full Exhibition.
'Tis a Task which a God
Could only discharge on Condition,
That each Fair should submit
(As of old they thought fit)
To a perfect and full Exhibition.
430
But, jesting apart,
Let each from his Heart
Thank the Powers which such Beauty have shew'd us:
And, whom either shall bless,
Shall, enraptur'd, confess,
Dignus, en! Deo vindice nodus.
Let each from his Heart
Thank the Powers which such Beauty have shew'd us:
And, whom either shall bless,
Shall, enraptur'd, confess,
Dignus, en! Deo vindice nodus.
These Knots, O that I
Were the God to untie!—
Yet, in Life, what Disasters await us!
Perhaps, entre nous,
In a Fortnight, or two,
Each Nodus might prove an Hiatus.
Were the God to untie!—
Yet, in Life, what Disasters await us!
Perhaps, entre nous,
In a Fortnight, or two,
Each Nodus might prove an Hiatus.
VII. A fourth CANDIDATE.
Thanks to our Stars, our Poets, grown more wise,
Seem not so forward to adjudge the Prize;—
And, Grady now, and Bloomfield in our Days,
Shine out with equal, tho' with rival Praise.
Seem not so forward to adjudge the Prize;—
And, Grady now, and Bloomfield in our Days,
Shine out with equal, tho' with rival Praise.
But still the Muse seems faithful to her Task:
The Shannon murmurs, and his Naiads ask,
Are then our native Bards so partial grown,
To abandon us, for Beauties “not their own?”
Where parent Shannon rolls his kingly Tide.
Bathing fam'd Lomna's Walls on either Side,
The Graces fled, Love's Empire fall'n, no more,
“A native Beauty treads this barren Shore?”
The Shannon murmurs, and his Naiads ask,
Are then our native Bards so partial grown,
To abandon us, for Beauties “not their own?”
Where parent Shannon rolls his kingly Tide.
Bathing fam'd Lomna's Walls on either Side,
The Graces fled, Love's Empire fall'n, no more,
“A native Beauty treads this barren Shore?”
431
Eliza spoke: Grief still enhanc'd her Charms,
When the fond Shannon press'd her to his Arms;
And, wiping from her Cheek the sparkling Tear,
My Child, he says, my darling Nymph, forbear;
High as the Shannon lifts his sovereign Head,
Far as his Name, and sounding Billows spread,
Wide as the Ocean bathes the Hibernian Coast,
Eliza fair is Shannon's reigning Toast.
When the fond Shannon press'd her to his Arms;
And, wiping from her Cheek the sparkling Tear,
My Child, he says, my darling Nymph, forbear;
High as the Shannon lifts his sovereign Head,
Far as his Name, and sounding Billows spread,
Wide as the Ocean bathes the Hibernian Coast,
Eliza fair is Shannon's reigning Toast.
VIII. The CHARM.
To Mrs. ******
Dear Object of my tenderest Care,
Where all my Hopes and Wishes meet,
For whom my Heart shall burn sincere,
'Till its true Pulse forget to beat;
Where all my Hopes and Wishes meet,
For whom my Heart shall burn sincere,
'Till its true Pulse forget to beat;
By Nature bless'd with every Grace
Of Power, the enamour'd Soul to chain;
You task your Servant's Skill to trace
The Means your Empire to retain:
Of Power, the enamour'd Soul to chain;
You task your Servant's Skill to trace
The Means your Empire to retain:
O'er all Reserve your Wish prevails—
Then, what Truth speaks, attentive hear,
Tho' far unlike the soothing Tales,
Which Flattery pours in Beauty's Ear.
Then, what Truth speaks, attentive hear,
Tho' far unlike the soothing Tales,
Which Flattery pours in Beauty's Ear.
It is not Beauty's brightest Blaze
Can long support the tender Flame;
Too soon the meteor Fire decays,
And Folly mourns her vanish'd Dream.
Can long support the tender Flame;
Too soon the meteor Fire decays,
And Folly mourns her vanish'd Dream.
432
Nor lively Satire's pointed Dart,
Can e'er attain the wish'd-for End;
Too deep her Poison wounds the Heart,
To hold the Lover, or the Friend.
Can e'er attain the wish'd-for End;
Too deep her Poison wounds the Heart,
To hold the Lover, or the Friend.
Nor light Coquetry's practis'd Airs,
That, flying, seeks to be pursued;
Nor starch Reserve's affected Fears,
That mask the Wishes of the Prude,
That, flying, seeks to be pursued;
Nor starch Reserve's affected Fears,
That mask the Wishes of the Prude,
Nor Learning's ostentatious Pride;
Nor solemn Wisdom's clouded Brow;
Nor Birth, nor Wealth's unfailing Tide,
Can bind secure the Lover's Vow.
Nor solemn Wisdom's clouded Brow;
Nor Birth, nor Wealth's unfailing Tide,
Can bind secure the Lover's Vow.
“Where lies the Magic, then, (you cry)
“Dear Celadon, instruct me where?”
Your own unconscious Bosom try—
The secret Charm is written there.
“Dear Celadon, instruct me where?”
Your own unconscious Bosom try—
The secret Charm is written there.
The Chearfulness, whose steady Ray
On every Object throws a Grace;
The Temper like a Summer Sea,
When not a Zephyr curls its Face;
On every Object throws a Grace;
The Temper like a Summer Sea,
When not a Zephyr curls its Face;
The modest, unassuming Sense;
The gentle Manners; native Ease;
The Wit, that never gives Offence;
The unaffected Wish to please.
The gentle Manners; native Ease;
The Wit, that never gives Offence;
The unaffected Wish to please.
These, these shall keep alive Desire,
Even in the Winter of Fourscore,
When Grady's Eyes shall lose their Fire,
And Tuthill's Beauty charm no more.
Even in the Winter of Fourscore,
When Grady's Eyes shall lose their Fire,
And Tuthill's Beauty charm no more.
433
Hence learn the Charm, ye Fair and Gay,
That most imports or Maid or Wife:—
The rest may triumph for a Day,
The Wish to please, will please for Life.
That most imports or Maid or Wife:—
The rest may triumph for a Day,
The Wish to please, will please for Life.
The LINNET and GOLDFINCH.
Address'd to JAMES DIGGES LATOUCHE, Esq.
That Man is made by Nature free,
The Tyrant grants, and Slaves agree;
Yet few assert the mighty Claim,
Man, born in Glory, lives in Shame;
For most, like Isaac's hasty Boy,
Exchange their Blessing for a Toy,
To fancy'd Wants their Birth-right give,
And living, lose the Cause to live.
The Tyrant grants, and Slaves agree;
Yet few assert the mighty Claim,
Man, born in Glory, lives in Shame;
For most, like Isaac's hasty Boy,
Exchange their Blessing for a Toy,
To fancy'd Wants their Birth-right give,
And living, lose the Cause to live.
The Light of Reason scarce we claim,
When Custom clouds the infant Beam:
Man's Tutor is the general Voice,
And leaves no Room to Reason's Choice;
For each Opinion we embrace,
Is Accident of Time and Place.
When Custom clouds the infant Beam:
Man's Tutor is the general Voice,
And leaves no Room to Reason's Choice;
For each Opinion we embrace,
Is Accident of Time and Place.
Next Passion rules with scepter'd Sway,
And each, by turns, commands its Day;
Like Phaeton, they drive the Team,
And waste the World of Man in Flame:
Hope's gay Elysium here displays
Visions of Joy, and Shades of Ease;
There Grief casts down her tear-worn Eyes,
Strikes her sad Breast, and swells with Sighs;
Here Fame with generous Ardour fills,
There Pleasure, as she kisses, kills:
Here burns Revenge, there Anger glows,
Here Pity weeps for others Woes,
And Love, that wins o'er every Breast,
Appears in Liveries of the Rest.
Thus his own Tyrant Man first reigns,
And fits himself for foreign Chains.
And each, by turns, commands its Day;
Like Phaeton, they drive the Team,
And waste the World of Man in Flame:
434
Visions of Joy, and Shades of Ease;
There Grief casts down her tear-worn Eyes,
Strikes her sad Breast, and swells with Sighs;
Here Fame with generous Ardour fills,
There Pleasure, as she kisses, kills:
Here burns Revenge, there Anger glows,
Here Pity weeps for others Woes,
And Love, that wins o'er every Breast,
Appears in Liveries of the Rest.
Thus his own Tyrant Man first reigns,
And fits himself for foreign Chains.
Is there a Clime, where social Life
Feels not the Wounds of public Strife?
The first Attack by Sap's begun,
A Breach once made, our Rights are won;
The Men awake, they ope their Eyes,
And know the Angel, as she flies;
For Freedom, as for Friends, we moan;
'Till lost, their Worth is rarely known.
Feels not the Wounds of public Strife?
The first Attack by Sap's begun,
A Breach once made, our Rights are won;
The Men awake, they ope their Eyes,
And know the Angel, as she flies;
For Freedom, as for Friends, we moan;
'Till lost, their Worth is rarely known.
Order and Peace, harmonious Train,
Attends Subordination's Chain,
Quiet and Strength we trace from this,
And form the Scale of Common Bliss;
Yet Links, which Place and Honours crown,
Crush their inferior Brethren down;
For Power, like some unfriendly Shade,
Kills the weak Plant, that courts its Aid.
Attends Subordination's Chain,
Quiet and Strength we trace from this,
And form the Scale of Common Bliss;
Yet Links, which Place and Honours crown,
Crush their inferior Brethren down;
For Power, like some unfriendly Shade,
Kills the weak Plant, that courts its Aid.
Amidst these Ills, weak groveling Man
Boasts himself Lord of Nature's Plan,
He boasts of Reason's heavenly Light,
He boasts—and gives up Reason's Right.
The Spendthrift vaunts in idle Prate
The Rent-roll of his lost Estate,
With abject Pride in Bondage swells,
And plays his Chains, as Beasts their Bells.
Boasts himself Lord of Nature's Plan,
He boasts of Reason's heavenly Light,
He boasts—and gives up Reason's Right.
435
The Rent-roll of his lost Estate,
With abject Pride in Bondage swells,
And plays his Chains, as Beasts their Bells.
But these are Morals long since stale,
And serve—to introduce a Tale.
And serve—to introduce a Tale.
A Goldfinch, taken in the Snare,
Relenting Fate made Chloe's Care;
His streaky Plumes, his native Lays,
Engag'd her Love, and Love her Praise.
Around him Blooms of various Hues
Lavish'd the Fragrance of their Dues;
The chrystal Stream's transparent Face
Received new Brightness from his Vase;
What Pomp could give, his Chloe gave;
Thus oft a Palace holds a Slave.
Relenting Fate made Chloe's Care;
His streaky Plumes, his native Lays,
Engag'd her Love, and Love her Praise.
Around him Blooms of various Hues
Lavish'd the Fragrance of their Dues;
The chrystal Stream's transparent Face
Received new Brightness from his Vase;
What Pomp could give, his Chloe gave;
Thus oft a Palace holds a Slave.
But now the sickly Summer burns,
The River-Gods forsake their Urns;
The languid Flowerets lose their Paint;
And Parent Nature seems to faint.
Then Chloe sought the panting Breeze,
Where mix the Boughs of crowding Trees,
Where the fork'd Beam in vain assails,
And Freshness breathes in lively Gales;
Hither the Nymph her Charge convey'd,
To taste the cool refreshing Shade;
Extatic Pleasure swells his Veins,
He pours to Heaven his loudest Strains,
While sportive Echoes wake around,
And undulate a kindred Sound.
The River-Gods forsake their Urns;
The languid Flowerets lose their Paint;
And Parent Nature seems to faint.
Then Chloe sought the panting Breeze,
Where mix the Boughs of crowding Trees,
Where the fork'd Beam in vain assails,
And Freshness breathes in lively Gales;
Hither the Nymph her Charge convey'd,
To taste the cool refreshing Shade;
Extatic Pleasure swells his Veins,
He pours to Heaven his loudest Strains,
While sportive Echoes wake around,
And undulate a kindred Sound.
436
On some near Branch a Linnet stood,
A Warbler of the neighbouring Wood,
Who ne'er debas'd his woodland Song
To mix with Flattery's venal Throng;
No lawless Whim could bound his Flight,
He own'd no Rule, but that of Right.
Now reach'd his Ear the tuneful Sound,
That joy'd the woody Scenes around;
Ravish'd he hears, then speeds his Wing
To find this favourite Son of Spring:
Not long he soar'd in curious Flight,
Before the Goldfinch met his Sight;
First moves his Pity, then his Rage,
He sees a Brother, sees a Cage;
Silent some Time he trod the Spray,
At length thus burst his generous Lay.
A Warbler of the neighbouring Wood,
Who ne'er debas'd his woodland Song
To mix with Flattery's venal Throng;
No lawless Whim could bound his Flight,
He own'd no Rule, but that of Right.
Now reach'd his Ear the tuneful Sound,
That joy'd the woody Scenes around;
Ravish'd he hears, then speeds his Wing
To find this favourite Son of Spring:
Not long he soar'd in curious Flight,
Before the Goldfinch met his Sight;
First moves his Pity, then his Rage,
He sees a Brother, sees a Cage;
Silent some Time he trod the Spray,
At length thus burst his generous Lay.
Say Thou, whose melting Notes proclaim
At once thy Praises, and thy Shame,
While round thee broods the Captive's Woe,
Should the loud Hymns of Rapture flow?
Say, can'st thou drag the servile Chain,
And feel no Sting of mental Pain?
From thee the generous Ardour's fled,
Each inborn Virtue hangs her Head;
Know this, that Freedom is Life's Breath,
Who lives a Slave, he lives a Death.
At once thy Praises, and thy Shame,
While round thee broods the Captive's Woe,
Should the loud Hymns of Rapture flow?
Say, can'st thou drag the servile Chain,
And feel no Sting of mental Pain?
From thee the generous Ardour's fled,
Each inborn Virtue hangs her Head;
Know this, that Freedom is Life's Breath,
Who lives a Slave, he lives a Death.
See! how unbounded I can rove,
From Hill to Plain, from Field to Grove;
For me the Floweret shoots in Bloom,
Varies its Hues, and breathes Perfume;
For me thro' Vales the Rivulets stray,
And curl their Streams in wanton Play;
The Tree for me its Boughs displays,
A welcome Screen from mid-day blaze;
And Freedom tunes my grateful Song,
She grants me all—but Power of Wrong.
From Hill to Plain, from Field to Grove;
For me the Floweret shoots in Bloom,
Varies its Hues, and breathes Perfume;
437
And curl their Streams in wanton Play;
The Tree for me its Boughs displays,
A welcome Screen from mid-day blaze;
And Freedom tunes my grateful Song,
She grants me all—but Power of Wrong.
Honour and Love, my Hours employ,
That spurs to Danger, this to Joy,
As Justice leads, and Reason guides,
The different Call my Life divides:
But Tyrant's Lusts thy Joys controul,
Fetter thy Reason, damp thy Soul;
Unknown to thee Earth's Beauties pass,
The golden Corn, the Carpet Grass;
Thy Song ne'er banish'd gloomy Night,
Nor thank'd the Sun for warming Light;
On thee thy Country calls in vain,
A Slave declines the embattled Plain,
His Cloud of Woe is on him burst,
Fates, do your Spight: he knows the worst.
Oh! rouze to Virtue, hear my Call,
Live free, or with thy Freedom fall;
Awake thy Soul, thy Shackles spurn,
To Liberty, or Dust, return.
That spurs to Danger, this to Joy,
As Justice leads, and Reason guides,
The different Call my Life divides:
But Tyrant's Lusts thy Joys controul,
Fetter thy Reason, damp thy Soul;
Unknown to thee Earth's Beauties pass,
The golden Corn, the Carpet Grass;
Thy Song ne'er banish'd gloomy Night,
Nor thank'd the Sun for warming Light;
On thee thy Country calls in vain,
A Slave declines the embattled Plain,
His Cloud of Woe is on him burst,
Fates, do your Spight: he knows the worst.
Oh! rouze to Virtue, hear my Call,
Live free, or with thy Freedom fall;
Awake thy Soul, thy Shackles spurn,
To Liberty, or Dust, return.
Too weak thy Plea, the Goldfinch cries,
False, as thy Joys in freer Skies;
No outward Forms of Life can grace
Its varied Scenes with real Peace,
The softest Tints of Bliss, we find,
Are pencil'd by the easy Mind;
Then cease to call me Child of Woe,
For Self-persuasion answers, No.
False, as thy Joys in freer Skies;
No outward Forms of Life can grace
Its varied Scenes with real Peace,
The softest Tints of Bliss, we find,
Are pencil'd by the easy Mind;
Then cease to call me Child of Woe,
For Self-persuasion answers, No.
438
In Trains I see around thy Head,
What daily Horror Dangers spread;
For thee the patient Fowlers set
The viscous Branch, the meshy Net;
Thy Young each wandering Boy invades,
And mocks the Fence of thorny Shades,
Thy tender Joys he makes his Prize,
Nor heeds thy hovering Wings and Cries.
When Winter sends her Storms around,
And Rains and Frosts deform the Ground,
How chill'd each Vein! how drips each Plume!
While Famine threats her lingering Doom:
But I defy the driving Snows;
Around me Spring eternal blows;
In vain the Storm attempts my Rest,
Secure I sleep in Chloe's Breast,
Nestling in Sweets I there can lie,
Where thousands, thousands wish to die.
What daily Horror Dangers spread;
For thee the patient Fowlers set
The viscous Branch, the meshy Net;
Thy Young each wandering Boy invades,
And mocks the Fence of thorny Shades,
Thy tender Joys he makes his Prize,
Nor heeds thy hovering Wings and Cries.
When Winter sends her Storms around,
And Rains and Frosts deform the Ground,
How chill'd each Vein! how drips each Plume!
While Famine threats her lingering Doom:
But I defy the driving Snows;
Around me Spring eternal blows;
In vain the Storm attempts my Rest,
Secure I sleep in Chloe's Breast,
Nestling in Sweets I there can lie,
Where thousands, thousands wish to die.
Me should the Voice of Freedom move,
Freedom, that boasted Power to rove?
Inconstant Minds inclined to range,
On this Pretence indulge in Change,
Vary their Course, as Fancy strays,
And whirl, like Chaff, in eddy Maze.
What shall I quit my easy Chain,
And forfeit Chloe's Smiles for Pain?
Deluder, hence, I see your Snare,
And hate you Libertines of Air.
Freedom, that boasted Power to rove?
Inconstant Minds inclined to range,
On this Pretence indulge in Change,
Vary their Course, as Fancy strays,
And whirl, like Chaff, in eddy Maze.
What shall I quit my easy Chain,
And forfeit Chloe's Smiles for Pain?
Deluder, hence, I see your Snare,
And hate you Libertines of Air.
Too deep, alas! has Pleasure's Bowl,
Reply'd the Linnet, drench'd thy Soul;
Thy Thoughts in languid Motions creep,
And give each Sense to lazy Sleep,
While, Virtue, Country, and Renown
Lie buried in luxurious Down.
Reply'd the Linnet, drench'd thy Soul;
439
And give each Sense to lazy Sleep,
While, Virtue, Country, and Renown
Lie buried in luxurious Down.
Say, hast thou e'er revolv'd in Mind
The Ends, peculiar to thy Kind?
Why these thy Wings? Are these to lie
Unfurl'd, and Strangers to the Sky?
Should these endure the Pain of Wounds,
And feel the Dungeon's Iron Bounds?
Better hadst thou have crawl'd thy way,
A blind Inhabitant of Clay.
Why this thy Voice? To wake the Wood,
And spur thy Kind to Public Good;
Not tun'd to chaunt a Tyrant's Praise,
And sooth his pamper'd Hours to Ease.
For Shame! Does Pain alarm thy Breast?
Pain gives to Life a pleasing Zest;
For endless Scenes of constant Joy,
Fill the lull'd Soul, and filling, cloy.
And when fair Liberty's the Prize,
The Hero Pain or Death defies.
The Ends, peculiar to thy Kind?
Why these thy Wings? Are these to lie
Unfurl'd, and Strangers to the Sky?
Should these endure the Pain of Wounds,
And feel the Dungeon's Iron Bounds?
Better hadst thou have crawl'd thy way,
A blind Inhabitant of Clay.
Why this thy Voice? To wake the Wood,
And spur thy Kind to Public Good;
Not tun'd to chaunt a Tyrant's Praise,
And sooth his pamper'd Hours to Ease.
For Shame! Does Pain alarm thy Breast?
Pain gives to Life a pleasing Zest;
For endless Scenes of constant Joy,
Fill the lull'd Soul, and filling, cloy.
And when fair Liberty's the Prize,
The Hero Pain or Death defies.
No fickle Passion Freedom gives,
Where Freedom reigns, there Reason lives,
She scorns wild Fancy's clamorous Din,
And owns the living Law within;
Freedom and Conscience are the same,
And are distinguish'd but by Name:
Why then—but now the Captive's Fair
In Haste resum'd her little Care,
The Slave respectful Homage paid,
And with his Chirrup hail'd the Maid;
The Linnet breath'd a pitying Sigh,
Chid with a Look, then wing'd the Sky.
Where Freedom reigns, there Reason lives,
She scorns wild Fancy's clamorous Din,
And owns the living Law within;
Freedom and Conscience are the same,
And are distinguish'd but by Name:
Why then—but now the Captive's Fair
In Haste resum'd her little Care,
The Slave respectful Homage paid,
And with his Chirrup hail'd the Maid;
440
Chid with a Look, then wing'd the Sky.
Thus, studious of the Public Weal,
The Patriot burns with honest Zeal,
His honey'd Truths awake the Throng,
And sweet Persuasion gilds his Tongue:
Who but approves the manly Cause?
Glory invites—but Danger awes.
The Patriot burns with honest Zeal,
His honey'd Truths awake the Throng,
And sweet Persuasion gilds his Tongue:
Who but approves the manly Cause?
Glory invites—but Danger awes.
O Thou, to whom the Muse would pay
The Offering of a friendly Lay,
Receive that Praise thy Country owes,
That Praise, which from thy Virtue flows;
For, while employ'd in Freedom's Cause,
Success may fail thee, not Applause.
The Offering of a friendly Lay,
Receive that Praise thy Country owes,
That Praise, which from thy Virtue flows;
For, while employ'd in Freedom's Cause,
Success may fail thee, not Applause.
When sculptur'd Brass shall mix with Dust,
And mouldering falls the laurell'd Bust,
When grateful Poets' Toils shall fail,
Shrouded in dark Oblivion's Veil,
Borne on the Wings of Time, thy Name
Unhurt shall soar, and gather Fame:
Thy Patriot worth above all Art,
Shall live, engraven on the Heart.
And mouldering falls the laurell'd Bust,
When grateful Poets' Toils shall fail,
Shrouded in dark Oblivion's Veil,
Borne on the Wings of Time, thy Name
Unhurt shall soar, and gather Fame:
Thy Patriot worth above all Art,
Shall live, engraven on the Heart.
In the Year 1749, during the Administration of William, Earl of Harrington, Mr. Latouche, to whom this little Piece is address'd, offered himself, in Conjunction with Dr. Lucas, Candidate for the City of Dublin, and was accordingly duly elected, by a considerable Majority of the Citizens, to represent them in Parliament. But a Party soon after prevailing against him in the House, he was deprived of his Seat. The Doctor could not stand the Election; he had made himself obnoxious to Government by his Writings, which was the ostensible Cause of his Banishment some Time before.
441
The REMONSTRANCE.
To three young Ladies, who declared themselves dying, and insisted
upon some Verses to their Memory.
For God's Sake, dear Ladies, how can you impose
A Task of this Nature on me?
'Tis clear, past a Doubt, and what every one knows,
I hold not the Muses in Fee.
A Task of this Nature on me?
'Tis clear, past a Doubt, and what every one knows,
I hold not the Muses in Fee.
I have courted them sometimes, 'tis true, but in vain,
They ne'er would indulge my Request;
They mock'd my Addresses; derided my Pain;
And turn'd all my Prayers to a Jest.
They ne'er would indulge my Request;
They mock'd my Addresses; derided my Pain;
And turn'd all my Prayers to a Jest.
The Subject too, truly! Supposing you dead,
An Elegy I must indite!
The Town would all swear, I was turn'd in my Head;
The Town, at least, once would be right.
An Elegy I must indite!
The Town would all swear, I was turn'd in my Head;
The Town, at least, once would be right.
But grant me dispos'd with your Wish to agree,
I deal not in Fiction nor Art;
How then should I furnish Description for three,
Where each is supreme in Desert?
I deal not in Fiction nor Art;
How then should I furnish Description for three,
Where each is supreme in Desert?
Of Goddesses, Graces, and many such more
Trite Fancies, 'twere easy to speak;
And Roses, and Lillies, and Dimples, good Store,
And Cupids bedecking each Cheek.
Trite Fancies, 'twere easy to speak;
And Roses, and Lillies, and Dimples, good Store,
And Cupids bedecking each Cheek.
442
The Sex, tho' I stripp'd, as most Sonneteers do,
And all in your Persons combin'd;
Tho' I, and some others, might feel it full true,
Yet you would continue still blind.
And all in your Persons combin'd;
Tho' I, and some others, might feel it full true,
Yet you would continue still blind.
Admit now, sweet Nancy's
Perfections I sung,
What more could for Fanny be writ?
And Jenny, thy Praises must die on my Tongue,
Unless I could borrow thy Wit.
What more could for Fanny be writ?
And Jenny, thy Praises must die on my Tongue,
Unless I could borrow thy Wit.
'Mongst Brothers, and Beauties, Affection is rare,
All Ages and Nations attest;
But Concord and Friendship, this let me declare,
Here mutually glow in each Breast.
All Ages and Nations attest;
But Concord and Friendship, this let me declare,
Here mutually glow in each Breast.
Long, blessing and bless'd then, O! may you survive
Still greater Enjoyments to prove;
New Pleasures from yours, my fond Heart shall derive,
Then take me a Fourth in your Love.
Still greater Enjoyments to prove;
New Pleasures from yours, my fond Heart shall derive,
Then take me a Fourth in your Love.
EPIGRAM. To a young Lady blowing a Turf Fire with her Petticoat.
Cease, cease, Amira, peerless Maid!
Though we delighted gaze,
While artless you excite the Flame,
We perish in the Blaze.
Though we delighted gaze,
While artless you excite the Flame,
We perish in the Blaze.
443
Haply you too provoke your Harm,
Forgive the bold Remark,
Your Petticoat may fan the Fire,
But, O! beware a Spark.
Forgive the bold Remark,
Your Petticoat may fan the Fire,
But, O! beware a Spark.
OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE To the Tragedy of Cato, perform'd by young Gentlemen.
“
The
World's a Stage,” as you'll in Shakespeare read,
But few, I have heard, on this or that succeed;
And, as in Manhood, so it holds at School,
Some play the Sage, and Numbers play the Fool—
But which is this the Child's or Parent's Fault?
Why neither, Truth to speak, act as they ought—
At Random sent—but at the least Expence!
We babble Lilly, spight of common Sense;
Wild Gantlopes, then, from School to School we run,
Smattering from Branch to Branch—digesting none—
And Pedants quit what Ignorance begun.
But grant, in Science, one in ten advances,
'Tis not from Conduct—all the Effect of Chance is.
By Instinct led, or crude Advices blinded,
Neither Time, nor Place, nor Circumstance, is minded;
Experience, Reason, Justice, urge in vain,
Custom prevails, and Prejudices reign.
Hence, many a Swift, neglected, scours a Trench,
While Plowmen preach, and Dunces load the Bench.
Thus, here, observe, a Case in Point comes pat in,
Great Newton's Self was a mere Dolt at Latin;
And Pit, with all his Powers, was scarcely able
To learn, we are told, his Numeration Table.
But few, I have heard, on this or that succeed;
And, as in Manhood, so it holds at School,
Some play the Sage, and Numbers play the Fool—
But which is this the Child's or Parent's Fault?
Why neither, Truth to speak, act as they ought—
At Random sent—but at the least Expence!
We babble Lilly, spight of common Sense;
Wild Gantlopes, then, from School to School we run,
Smattering from Branch to Branch—digesting none—
And Pedants quit what Ignorance begun.
But grant, in Science, one in ten advances,
'Tis not from Conduct—all the Effect of Chance is.
By Instinct led, or crude Advices blinded,
Neither Time, nor Place, nor Circumstance, is minded;
Experience, Reason, Justice, urge in vain,
Custom prevails, and Prejudices reign.
444
While Plowmen preach, and Dunces load the Bench.
Thus, here, observe, a Case in Point comes pat in,
Great Newton's Self was a mere Dolt at Latin;
And Pit, with all his Powers, was scarcely able
To learn, we are told, his Numeration Table.
By philologic Doctrine, strange and new,
Now all must shine, Newtons and Chathams too,
And Popes and Virgils—should we fail to shew,
—Hush!—'tis the Master's Fault; not Ours, you know.
We cannot err—dear Mothers, a'n't it true?
We are all Perfection, or all Blindness you:
Yet, were you in his Place, 'twould little please ye,
We'd try your Patience, faith! we'd set you crazy—
Young Sulky by his Tutor once reprov'd,
Swell'd with Revenge, and vow'd he'd be remov'd;
And lo! a Miracle! to make it good,
A Bottle of red Ink was turn'd to Blood!
He smear'd his Shirt, and Abigail, his Friend,
Alarm'd Mamma! and so he gain'd his End;
And every Tea Table throughout the Nation
Branded the Tyrant's Name, and tore his Reputation!
Now all must shine, Newtons and Chathams too,
And Popes and Virgils—should we fail to shew,
—Hush!—'tis the Master's Fault; not Ours, you know.
We cannot err—dear Mothers, a'n't it true?
We are all Perfection, or all Blindness you:
Yet, were you in his Place, 'twould little please ye,
We'd try your Patience, faith! we'd set you crazy—
Young Sulky by his Tutor once reprov'd,
Swell'd with Revenge, and vow'd he'd be remov'd;
And lo! a Miracle! to make it good,
A Bottle of red Ink was turn'd to Blood!
He smear'd his Shirt, and Abigail, his Friend,
Alarm'd Mamma! and so he gain'd his End;
And every Tea Table throughout the Nation
Branded the Tyrant's Name, and tore his Reputation!
But why all this? methinks I hear you say,
And how connected with a private Play?
Nay, look not grave! indeed I mean no Satire,
I only “hold the Mirror up to Nature.”
'Tis said, from Babes and Sucklings you may learn;
Then pray attend—'tis Matter of Concern—
We plead our Years too—I am, Sirs, only seven,
Our Marcia's nine, her Father scarce eleven:
But with great Cato's Sentiments impress'd,
Honour and filial Reverence fill each Breast.
Lead you the Way, throw Prejudice aside,
Let Candour judge, and cool Discretion guide;
Shew, by Example, more than Precept can,
What forms the great, the virtuous happy Man;
Fir'd with the View, and panting after Fame,
Heirs to your Love, we'll well approve our Claim,
“And emulate the Greek and Roman Name.”
And how connected with a private Play?
Nay, look not grave! indeed I mean no Satire,
I only “hold the Mirror up to Nature.”
'Tis said, from Babes and Sucklings you may learn;
Then pray attend—'tis Matter of Concern—
We plead our Years too—I am, Sirs, only seven,
Our Marcia's nine, her Father scarce eleven:
But with great Cato's Sentiments impress'd,
Honour and filial Reverence fill each Breast.
445
Let Candour judge, and cool Discretion guide;
Shew, by Example, more than Precept can,
What forms the great, the virtuous happy Man;
Fir'd with the View, and panting after Fame,
Heirs to your Love, we'll well approve our Claim,
“And emulate the Greek and Roman Name.”
- Cato, Master Whyte.
- Lucius, Master George Carleton.
- Sempronius, Master John Bird.
- Juba, Master Anthony Gore.
- Syphax, Master Marnell.
- Marcus, Master William Holmes.
- Portius, Master Lynam.
- Decius, Master William Irvine.
- Marcia, Master Nugent.
- Lucia, Master Gibson.
- The Prologue, Master Richard Holmes.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Dancing between the Acts, by Master M'Neil; and Singing by Master Bird.
This Play was twice performed by the young Gentlemen of the English Grammar-School, as above, first at the little Theatre in Capel-street, December 24, 1771, with the Addition of an Ode to Peace, written by a very young Lady of Quality, Pupil to Mr. Whyte, spoken by Master Lynam; and afterwards at the particular Desire of the Audience, their Parents, and Friends, at the Theatre-Royal, Crow-street, January 2, 1772, for the Relief of the Debtors confined in the several Marshalseas, with the Addition of Dryden's Alexander's Feast, by Master Whyte. The Marquis of Kildare, the Earl of Bellamont, and Lord Dunluce, were nominated, and condescended to be Trustees to the Charity. The Receipts, 162l. 5s. 8d. were duly accounted for, and paid into their Hands, which was properly disposed of, and distributed accordingly.
446
AN ELEGY On the Death of two Goldfinches, given to the Writer by the Right Honourable Lady Mary Leslie, on her leaving Ireland.
Adieu! O ye Favourites, so dear!
Ye pretty sweet Warblers, adieu!
No more your glad Notes shall I hear,
No more meet your Welcomes so true;
No more on my Shoulder and Head,
Free perching, my Tea shall ye sip;
No more shall ye eye me for Bread,
And snatch, with your Bills, from my Lip.
Ye pretty sweet Warblers, adieu!
No more your glad Notes shall I hear,
No more meet your Welcomes so true;
No more on my Shoulder and Head,
Free perching, my Tea shall ye sip;
No more shall ye eye me for Bread,
And snatch, with your Bills, from my Lip.
Dull Censors, ye hold it in Scorn,
From such Motives Distress should appear:
Yet, I lov'd them, and cannot but mourn;
They are dead, and I must drop a Tear.
Whoe'er shall such Feelings despise,
May act the more stoical Part,
May vaunt himself happy and wise,
But let him not boast of his Heart.
From such Motives Distress should appear:
Yet, I lov'd them, and cannot but mourn;
They are dead, and I must drop a Tear.
Whoe'er shall such Feelings despise,
May act the more stoical Part,
May vaunt himself happy and wise,
But let him not boast of his Heart.
Affection with Virtue is join'd,
It dwells with the Brave and the Free,
It warms, and ennobles the Mind,
Then, is it a Weakness in me?
If Gratitude Weakness implies,
That Weakness for ever be mine—
And the Gift for the Giver I prize;
They, lovely Maria, were thine.
It dwells with the Brave and the Free,
It warms, and ennobles the Mind,
Then, is it a Weakness in me?
447
That Weakness for ever be mine—
And the Gift for the Giver I prize;
They, lovely Maria, were thine.
At Newland,
where often I stray'd,
And often you tripp'd by my Side,
One Evening, slow winding the Glade,
In a Hawthorn the Nestlings were spy'd;
Soft Transport quick glanc'd from your Eye,
Sweet Innocence lisp'd on your Tongue;
They chirrup'd—you wish'd, with a Sigh,
To protect both the Nest and the Young.
And often you tripp'd by my Side,
One Evening, slow winding the Glade,
In a Hawthorn the Nestlings were spy'd;
Soft Transport quick glanc'd from your Eye,
Sweet Innocence lisp'd on your Tongue;
They chirrup'd—you wish'd, with a Sigh,
To protect both the Nest and the Young.
Full feather'd, they Home were convey'd—
For Honour and Freedom well known,
With a Leslie nought had they to dread,
And their Fears were soon over and gone.
At large, in your Chamber, they flew—
O! there, that 'till now they might rove!—
And fed, and attended by you,
Forgot both the Fields and the Grove.
For Honour and Freedom well known,
With a Leslie nought had they to dread,
And their Fears were soon over and gone.
At large, in your Chamber, they flew—
O! there, that 'till now they might rove!—
And fed, and attended by you,
Forgot both the Fields and the Grove.
But the Season of Sorrow drew nigh—
Far hence must their Mistress depart:
Remembrance, even now, fills my Eye,
For Maria was dear to my Heart.
And she kiss'd her poor Favourites, and cry'd,
And she begg'd, to her Birds I'd be kind;
And she much in my Care did confide,
And her Words ever liv'd in my Mind.
Far hence must their Mistress depart:
Remembrance, even now, fills my Eye,
For Maria was dear to my Heart.
And she kiss'd her poor Favourites, and cry'd,
And she begg'd, to her Birds I'd be kind;
And she much in my Care did confide,
And her Words ever liv'd in my Mind.
448
One Morn, of my Charley
bereft,
What else could from Hirelings ensue?
The Window wide open was left,
And away the dear Libertine flew.
All the Day, though 'tis strange to relate,
All the Day did he wantonly roam;
But at Eve the soft Notes of his Mate,
Recall'd the bold Fugitive Home.
What else could from Hirelings ensue?
The Window wide open was left,
And away the dear Libertine flew.
All the Day, though 'tis strange to relate,
All the Day did he wantonly roam;
But at Eve the soft Notes of his Mate,
Recall'd the bold Fugitive Home.
For Years, the sole Joy of her Heart,
Thence faithful he sung by her Side;
And at her, when cold Death flung his Dart,
He languish'd; he sicken'd; he died.
Adieu! ye Companions, so dear!
Ye pretty sweet Warblers, adieu!
No more your glad Notes shall I hear!
How rare meet Affection so true!
Thence faithful he sung by her Side;
And at her, when cold Death flung his Dart,
He languish'd; he sicken'd; he died.
Adieu! ye Companions, so dear!
Ye pretty sweet Warblers, adieu!
No more your glad Notes shall I hear!
How rare meet Affection so true!
SONG. By a young LADY.
Sure when my gentle Swain was born,
Nature his Person to adorn,
Each manly Grace assign'd;
And, willing to complete the Whole,
Into his Bosom breathed a Soul,
The best of human Kind.
Nature his Person to adorn,
Each manly Grace assign'd;
And, willing to complete the Whole,
Into his Bosom breathed a Soul,
The best of human Kind.
449
His Heart delights in doing Good,
Nor would he injure, if he cou'd,
The basest of his Foes;
But fly with Pleasure to the Wretch,
And Fortune's Aid, unsparing fetch,
To mitigate his Woes.
Nor would he injure, if he cou'd,
The basest of his Foes;
But fly with Pleasure to the Wretch,
And Fortune's Aid, unsparing fetch,
To mitigate his Woes.
No Tongue can tell, no Pen express,
The thrilling Joys, the fond Excess,
That in my Bosom reigns,
When sighing at my Feet, he cries,
‘Without thy Love, thy Damon dies,
‘In Pity, ease his Pains.’
The thrilling Joys, the fond Excess,
That in my Bosom reigns,
When sighing at my Feet, he cries,
‘Without thy Love, thy Damon dies,
‘In Pity, ease his Pains.’
Dear Youth, may Heaven preserve thy Life,
And grant thee, to thy Wish, a Wife,
Such as thy Merits claim!
May she with grateful Care attend
Her Husband, Lover, and her Friend,
And feel a mutual Flame!
And grant thee, to thy Wish, a Wife,
Such as thy Merits claim!
May she with grateful Care attend
Her Husband, Lover, and her Friend,
And feel a mutual Flame!
A HYMN. By the same; a little before her Death, October 5, 1763.
Tho' little else thy Servant knows,
But Sorrow, Care, and Pain;
On thee, my Saviour, I repose,
Nor of my Lot complain.
But Sorrow, Care, and Pain;
On thee, my Saviour, I repose,
Nor of my Lot complain.
450
Thy Mercies, in my Woes, I prove;
Thy Justice I confess;
Thy Kindness, and paternal Love,
In thy Corrections bless.
Thy Justice I confess;
Thy Kindness, and paternal Love,
In thy Corrections bless.
Now almost spent, an early Prey,
All human Aid I see
Is vain; yet cast me not away,
Lord! still I have Hope in thee.
All human Aid I see
Is vain; yet cast me not away,
Lord! still I have Hope in thee.
O may I, once more, Comfort find,
(Nor shall my Soul despair)
In Death; submitting all resign'd,
I ask no Favour here.
(Nor shall my Soul despair)
In Death; submitting all resign'd,
I ask no Favour here.
Grant me, O Lord! a safe Retreat,
In that important Hour,
World without End to celebrate,
Thy Glory and thy Power.
In that important Hour,
World without End to celebrate,
Thy Glory and thy Power.
EPITAPH On Miss ****, Pancras Church-Yard.
Go, spotless Honour, and unsullied Truth;Go, smiling Innocence, and blooming Youth;
Go, winning Wit, that never gave Offence;
Go, female Sweetness, join'd to manly Sense;
451
Go, saint-ey'd Patience, from Affliction's Door;
Go, Modesty, that never wore a Frown;
Go, Virtue, and receive thy heavenly Crown.
Not from a Stranger came this heart-felt Verse,
The Friend inscribes thy Tomb, whose Tears bedew'd thy Hearse.
HYMN.
[Parent of Good! O God supreme!]
Parent of Good! O God supreme!
The helpless Orphan's Friend!
Thy gracious Aid the Wretched claim,
To thee their Cries ascend:
With tender Pity warm each Heart,
With Charity divine;
And boundless Bliss to those impart,
Whose Works resemble Thine.
The helpless Orphan's Friend!
Thy gracious Aid the Wretched claim,
To thee their Cries ascend:
With tender Pity warm each Heart,
With Charity divine;
And boundless Bliss to those impart,
Whose Works resemble Thine.
When, cloath'd with Terrors, God shall rise,
To scourge a Nation's Pride;
When, wing'd with Death, his Lightning flies,
And spreads Destruction wide;
When Earthquakes burst the trembling Sphere,
And Nature's Face deform;
Your pious Alms shall guard you there,
And shield you from the Storm.
To scourge a Nation's Pride;
When, wing'd with Death, his Lightning flies,
And spreads Destruction wide;
When Earthquakes burst the trembling Sphere,
And Nature's Face deform;
Your pious Alms shall guard you there,
And shield you from the Storm.
452
Since God, with unexampled Care,
Bestows what you possess,
'Tis Yours, the Gifts of Heaven to share,
And whilst He blesses, bless.
Think, while you bid the fruitful Stream
Of Christian Bounty flow,
That Angels shall, in Heaven, proclaim
Each Mercy shewn below.
Bestows what you possess,
'Tis Yours, the Gifts of Heaven to share,
And whilst He blesses, bless.
Think, while you bid the fruitful Stream
Of Christian Bounty flow,
That Angels shall, in Heaven, proclaim
Each Mercy shewn below.
This Hymn was sung by the Children of St. Peter's Parish, Dublin, before a Charity Sermon preached by the Rev. John Lawson, D. D. S. F. T. C. D. shortly after the Earthquake at Lisbon.
453
A SONG.
[The Smiles of Favour, o'er thy Cheeks, that stray]
Inscribed to Miss KNOX.
The Smiles of Favour, o'er thy Cheeks, that stray;
Thy winning Tones that thrill thro' all my Breast;
The Glances, from thine Eyes, that play;
Thy Hand soft yielding to be press'd,
Have flatter'd oft' my Fire:
Have told me thou wert all mine own;
And well form'd Hopes, that I alone
Could to thy Heart aspire.
Thy winning Tones that thrill thro' all my Breast;
The Glances, from thine Eyes, that play;
Thy Hand soft yielding to be press'd,
Have flatter'd oft' my Fire:
Have told me thou wert all mine own;
And well form'd Hopes, that I alone
Could to thy Heart aspire.
But, ah! those melting Harbingers of Love,
Those soft Seducers of the impassion'd Heart,
No more my Pride and Pleasure prove,
But Grief, and deep Distress impart;
No more delight, but wound:
Since what I thought to me confin'd,
I see, by Turns free as the Wind,
Diffus'd on all around.
Those soft Seducers of the impassion'd Heart,
No more my Pride and Pleasure prove,
But Grief, and deep Distress impart;
No more delight, but wound:
Since what I thought to me confin'd,
I see, by Turns free as the Wind,
Diffus'd on all around.
454
Kind, cruel Maid! whose Mercies bid despair;
Whose Softness, Kindness, Goodness, are our Bane;
Whose open Smiles breed clouded Care;
Whose general Favour, general Pain;
Oh! favour one alone.
So one at least shall happy be;
And since I sigh for only thee,
Make me that happy one.
Whose Softness, Kindness, Goodness, are our Bane;
Whose open Smiles breed clouded Care;
Whose general Favour, general Pain;
Oh! favour one alone.
So one at least shall happy be;
And since I sigh for only thee,
Make me that happy one.
PREPOSSESSION: A SONG.
Inscribed to Miss CLEMENTS.
Before I saw that pleasing Frame,
Or heard that joy-diffusing Tongue,
Won by the lavish Voice of Fame,
Enraptur'd on thy Name I hung.
While Fancy wander'd, unrestrain'd,
And all my fond Imagination
The lov'd Idea entertain'd,
I thought it was but Prepossession.
Or heard that joy-diffusing Tongue,
Won by the lavish Voice of Fame,
Enraptur'd on thy Name I hung.
While Fancy wander'd, unrestrain'd,
And all my fond Imagination
The lov'd Idea entertain'd,
I thought it was but Prepossession.
But when thy Presence bless'd my View,
And every Charm, before ideal;
The sprightly Eye; the florid Hue;
The manly Sense, alas! prov'd real:
While, struck by Virtue's awful Ray,
I gaz'd with placid Admiration;
I felt that Reason bore the Sway;
Nor longer thought it Prepossession.
And every Charm, before ideal;
The sprightly Eye; the florid Hue;
The manly Sense, alas! prov'd real:
455
I gaz'd with placid Admiration;
I felt that Reason bore the Sway;
Nor longer thought it Prepossession.
Lo! now thine Image melts my Soul,
And o'er my Breast unrivall'd reigns;
I look—my Thoughts in Tumult roll;
I touch—and Transport fires my Veins.
Now, fluttering like the entangled Dove,
My Heart invites the fierce Sensation;
O wretched Fate! 'tis surely Love;
Not Reason this, nor Prepossession.
And o'er my Breast unrivall'd reigns;
I look—my Thoughts in Tumult roll;
I touch—and Transport fires my Veins.
Now, fluttering like the entangled Dove,
My Heart invites the fierce Sensation;
O wretched Fate! 'tis surely Love;
Not Reason this, nor Prepossession.
MARIA.
Inscribed to Miss RUTTLEDGE.
Since each admiring Swain is seen,
Struck with Flavilla's Air and Mein;
And the discerning Few are smit
With Stella's Virtue, Judgement, Wit:
With what Delight, with what surprize,
Must they behold Maria's Eyes;
And see with Ravishment, combin'd.
So fair a Face, so pure a Mind.
Struck with Flavilla's Air and Mein;
And the discerning Few are smit
With Stella's Virtue, Judgement, Wit:
With what Delight, with what surprize,
Must they behold Maria's Eyes;
And see with Ravishment, combin'd.
So fair a Face, so pure a Mind.
456
O what a Train of springing Joys!
From such Perfection must arise,
Where Youth, and sprightly Innocence
Beam o'er the Sterling of good Sense!
Tho' Time, invidious, should presume
To rob her Beauties of their Bloom,
Her mental Charms shall still improve,
And thus secure eternal Love.
From such Perfection must arise,
Where Youth, and sprightly Innocence
Beam o'er the Sterling of good Sense!
Tho' Time, invidious, should presume
To rob her Beauties of their Bloom,
Her mental Charms shall still improve,
And thus secure eternal Love.
PASCHASIUS.
Quæ capit illa fecit.
Not even a Day, nor Hour, alas!
No, nor a Moment's Time can pass,
Wherein my Wife, curs'd Fate! will fail,
At all her Servants round to rail;
And, when I would the Storm asswage,
Upon myself she vents her Rage.
No, nor a Moment's Time can pass,
Wherein my Wife, curs'd Fate! will fail,
At all her Servants round to rail;
And, when I would the Storm asswage,
Upon myself she vents her Rage.
With all the Changes of her Face,
My Life still varies.—Fond of Peace,
I am forced to wage eternal War;
And her to please, with them must jar.
Thus I, for Quiet, live in Noise,
And love of Ease, my Ease destroys.
My Life still varies.—Fond of Peace,
I am forced to wage eternal War;
And her to please, with them must jar.
Thus I, for Quiet, live in Noise,
And love of Ease, my Ease destroys.
How wretched is the luckless Wight,
Who, even at Home, must ever fight!
Or, with his Servants, still at Strife;
Or, ever battling with his Wife—
With me, alas, thus Matters are,
My marriage State's a State of War.
Who, even at Home, must ever fight!
457
Or, ever battling with his Wife—
With me, alas, thus Matters are,
My marriage State's a State of War.
SONG.
[Sweet is the Lark at early Dawn]
Inscribed to Miss BOSWELL.
Sweet is the Lark at early Dawn,
And sweet sad Philomel by Night;
The Thrush, at Evening, glads the Lawn;
Maria ever gives Delight.
And sweet sad Philomel by Night;
The Thrush, at Evening, glads the Lawn;
Maria ever gives Delight.
Not Thrush, nor Lark, nor Philomel,
Nor all the feather'd vocal Choir,
With such a Note can Sorrows quell,
With such a Note can Joy inspire.
Nor all the feather'd vocal Choir,
With such a Note can Sorrows quell,
With such a Note can Joy inspire.
Pleas'd, we attend the Finch's Song,
The Peacock's Plumes engage our Eyes;
More potent Charms to her belong,
For she can Sense and Soul surprize.
The Peacock's Plumes engage our Eyes;
More potent Charms to her belong,
For she can Sense and Soul surprize.
Her Judgement, Taste, and winning Air,
With each attractive Grace of Youth;
Her Looks, her Actions, all declare,
A Mind to Virtue form'd, and Truth.
With each attractive Grace of Youth;
Her Looks, her Actions, all declare,
A Mind to Virtue form'd, and Truth.
458
It is not Wealth can Peace procure,
And Beauty but a Moment warms;
But such a Mind so form'd, so pure,
The fond Admirer ever charms.
And Beauty but a Moment warms;
But such a Mind so form'd, so pure,
The fond Admirer ever charms.
A FRAGMENT.
Address'd to Mrs. BOYD.
If, in these Lines, there aught of Merit shine—
Which much I fear—Amanda, all be thine:
In Years, in Skill, in Observation young,
I, as thy Virtues prompted, fondly sung:
But if Confession can for Faults atone,
Numerous, I know they are, and all my own.
A thousand, thousand Times, perhaps, and more,
The same trite Notions have been urg'd before,
And better urg'd; convinc'd of this, your Claim
Alone repriev'd them, destin'd to the Flame;
Nor a less Compliment was justly due
To one so long, so much esteem'd, as you—
With swelling Hopes of proud Repute inspir'd,
I never yet the Poet's Meed desir'd;
But wheresoe'er thy Name its Influence gives,
Fame sets her Seal, and the Production lives.
Lavish of Praise, to prove—their own Desert,
What Talents, here, might flowery Wits exert!
But I, who know your modest, candid Heart,
Well know, I need not wear the Mask of Art—
They only are, and only should be bless'd,
Who think like you, and strive to act the best.
Which much I fear—Amanda, all be thine:
In Years, in Skill, in Observation young,
I, as thy Virtues prompted, fondly sung:
But if Confession can for Faults atone,
Numerous, I know they are, and all my own.
A thousand, thousand Times, perhaps, and more,
The same trite Notions have been urg'd before,
And better urg'd; convinc'd of this, your Claim
Alone repriev'd them, destin'd to the Flame;
Nor a less Compliment was justly due
To one so long, so much esteem'd, as you—
With swelling Hopes of proud Repute inspir'd,
I never yet the Poet's Meed desir'd;
But wheresoe'er thy Name its Influence gives,
Fame sets her Seal, and the Production lives.
459
What Talents, here, might flowery Wits exert!
But I, who know your modest, candid Heart,
Well know, I need not wear the Mask of Art—
They only are, and only should be bless'd,
Who think like you, and strive to act the best.
I often blush, and am amaz'd to hear,
The froward Tribe their Grievances declare,
And yet, as indolent and careless live,
As if Dame Fortune were oblig'd to give;
And, with vague Wishes, Errors past deplore,
Yet, still plod on, and multiply the Score.
But let them all the Force of wishing try,
Will that alone one single Meal supply?
Will that alone one single Suit procure,
When meagre Famine shivers at the Door?
No; meagre Famine long may shivering stand,
Wishing, alas! will small Relief command;
And station'd here, or there, or how we please,
Mankind was made for Action, not for Ease.
Want of Occasion, is a poor Pretence,
And lazy Wishes shew a Want of Sense.
Nor will our Disappointments turn the Scale,
For still, not Wishes, Action must prevail.
The froward Tribe their Grievances declare,
And yet, as indolent and careless live,
As if Dame Fortune were oblig'd to give;
And, with vague Wishes, Errors past deplore,
Yet, still plod on, and multiply the Score.
But let them all the Force of wishing try,
Will that alone one single Meal supply?
Will that alone one single Suit procure,
When meagre Famine shivers at the Door?
No; meagre Famine long may shivering stand,
Wishing, alas! will small Relief command;
And station'd here, or there, or how we please,
Mankind was made for Action, not for Ease.
Want of Occasion, is a poor Pretence,
And lazy Wishes shew a Want of Sense.
Nor will our Disappointments turn the Scale,
For still, not Wishes, Action must prevail.
Suppose, which Heaven forefend! it were decreed
In all Pursuits, that Mortals should succeed;
We, giddy, restless, changeful as the Moon,
To fatal Purpose should employ the Boon;
From wild Extremes, we should to wilder run,
And, by their Wishes, all would be undone.
In all Pursuits, that Mortals should succeed;
We, giddy, restless, changeful as the Moon,
To fatal Purpose should employ the Boon;
From wild Extremes, we should to wilder run,
And, by their Wishes, all would be undone.
460
The Woes we feel, we for ourselves create,
Murmuring, unconscious, at our bless'd Estate;
And in the Means, the purpos'd Ends we miss,
Grasping at Shadows, for substantial Bliss.
Witness the Dolt, who, erst, the Clouds controul'd,
And he, whose Touch converted all to Gold.
All Men possess some great peculiar Good.
And may be all as happy as they shou'd.
Neglected this, blind to the Abundance given,
With daring Impudence insult we Heaven.
Hence vain our Labours, and prudential Cares;
Vain all our Wishes; fruitless all our Pray'rs;
Vain all Amusement; vain our Wealth we find;
For Happiness exists but in the Mind:
Still the Companion of Contentment found,
And Poor and Rich may equally abound.
Yet is there one in all this peopled Sphere
Admits that he feels Happiness sincere?
What State? What Region ever yet confess'd
The Residence of that most welcome Guest,
By all so courted, by so few possess'd?
Murmuring, unconscious, at our bless'd Estate;
And in the Means, the purpos'd Ends we miss,
Grasping at Shadows, for substantial Bliss.
Witness the Dolt, who, erst, the Clouds controul'd,
And he, whose Touch converted all to Gold.
All Men possess some great peculiar Good.
And may be all as happy as they shou'd.
Neglected this, blind to the Abundance given,
With daring Impudence insult we Heaven.
Hence vain our Labours, and prudential Cares;
Vain all our Wishes; fruitless all our Pray'rs;
Vain all Amusement; vain our Wealth we find;
For Happiness exists but in the Mind:
Still the Companion of Contentment found,
And Poor and Rich may equally abound.
Yet is there one in all this peopled Sphere
Admits that he feels Happiness sincere?
What State? What Region ever yet confess'd
The Residence of that most welcome Guest,
By all so courted, by so few possess'd?
In fierce Extremes the Poles and Indies lie,
Envying the 'Vantage of our temperate Sky;
The imperious Archon, there, but nods his Head,
Treasures are seiz'd, and vassal Kings lie dead.
A thousand Nymphs, all beauteous as the Day,
Grace his Seraglio, and his Calls obey;
And yet, Circasia, tho' her Sultan smiles,
Pines for her Freedom, and her Fate reviles.
The pamper'd Eunuchs vainly view the Fair,
And curse the fatal Stroke which brought them there;
Whilst the dark Slaves of his despotic Will,
Watch but their Time, when to depose, or kill.
And every proud Bashaw, and petty Knave,
Is in his Turn, and Sphere, Tyrant, and Slave.
These Things unknown, tho' granted, in our Climes,
We cannot thence infer we have no Crimes;
A baneful Something still disturbs Content,
And plain the Cause is, we are not innocent:
But to demonstrate, search Conditions round,
And try, if solid Bliss can e'er be found.
Envying the 'Vantage of our temperate Sky;
The imperious Archon, there, but nods his Head,
Treasures are seiz'd, and vassal Kings lie dead.
A thousand Nymphs, all beauteous as the Day,
Grace his Seraglio, and his Calls obey;
And yet, Circasia, tho' her Sultan smiles,
Pines for her Freedom, and her Fate reviles.
The pamper'd Eunuchs vainly view the Fair,
And curse the fatal Stroke which brought them there;
Whilst the dark Slaves of his despotic Will,
Watch but their Time, when to depose, or kill.
461
Is in his Turn, and Sphere, Tyrant, and Slave.
These Things unknown, tho' granted, in our Climes,
We cannot thence infer we have no Crimes;
A baneful Something still disturbs Content,
And plain the Cause is, we are not innocent:
But to demonstrate, search Conditions round,
And try, if solid Bliss can e'er be found.
Then turn we first Reason's impartial Eyes,
Where that deep Phalanx of bright Treasure lies;
Transiently view'd, how glorious it appears!
How fraught with Blessings! how remote from Cares
But let it put its native Semblance on,
Our Hopes are frustrate, all its Powers gone!
O Wealth! thou Darling of the human Soul!
Who do'st each Action, every Thought controul
To thy Possession all our Labours tend;
In thee they center, but, alas! not end.
The most exalted Bliss thou can'st confer,
Is dash'd with Sorrow and corroding Care.
Even when our Chests teem with exhaustless Sums,
And both the Indies decorate our Rooms;
Tho' Earth, and Air, and Sea, yield us to dine,
And every Climate furnishes our Wine;
Unsatisfied, our Wants we still lament,
And find, that Riches cannot buy Content;
But with them bring accumulating Woe,
Which none but Sons of Opulence can know.
Where that deep Phalanx of bright Treasure lies;
Transiently view'd, how glorious it appears!
How fraught with Blessings! how remote from Cares
But let it put its native Semblance on,
Our Hopes are frustrate, all its Powers gone!
O Wealth! thou Darling of the human Soul!
Who do'st each Action, every Thought controul
To thy Possession all our Labours tend;
In thee they center, but, alas! not end.
The most exalted Bliss thou can'st confer,
Is dash'd with Sorrow and corroding Care.
Even when our Chests teem with exhaustless Sums,
And both the Indies decorate our Rooms;
Tho' Earth, and Air, and Sea, yield us to dine,
And every Climate furnishes our Wine;
Unsatisfied, our Wants we still lament,
And find, that Riches cannot buy Content;
But with them bring accumulating Woe,
Which none but Sons of Opulence can know.
At Dead of Night, Shylock patrols his House,
Rous'd by the stilly Clamours of a Mouse
In quest of Food; Robbers, he thinks, he hears;
But for his Gold, not for himself, he fears.
When having finish'd his nocturnal Round,
Try'd Locks, and Bolts, and all in Safety found,
He, with elated Heart, tho' ill at Ease,
His wonted Visit to his Mammon pays;
And bending o'er it with lack-lustre Eyes,
Devours the Piles, and still for more he sighs;
Sighs, and steals off, dreading his very Self,
Might with felonious Hands secrete the Pelf.
On his worn Pallet, now, view him reclin'd;
Terrifick Visions haunt his tortur'd Mind;
A thousand Ills his croaking Fears suggest—
The gleaming Poniard pointed at his Breast!
His Servant, Brother, or, perhaps, his Wife,
Prepares the noxious Bowl against his Life;
And, sometimes, struggling in the Jaws of Death,
His rake-hell Heir, relentless, stops his Breath,
Plunders his Coffers, to the Dice Box flies,
Stakes the last Guinea, and in Prison dies.
Now Morpheus, with a Sledge, or ponderous Stone,
Forces the Door: He with a doleful Groan,
Expressive of his Pain and dire Dismay,
Starts up, and chides the slow Return of Day.
Thus is his Rest disturb'd, broken, destroy'd,
And not a Moment is with Peace enjoy'd.
Not so blithe Corin, in his humble Cell,
Within his Bosom kinder Tenants dwell;
And though no Locks, or massy Bolts, secure
The slight Obstruction of his simple Door;
He sleeps at Ease, secure in Heaven's good Care,
Reckless of Villains, and exempt from Fear.
Exempt and reckless! is he then at Rest?
And do no secret Throws at Times molest?
Rous'd by the stilly Clamours of a Mouse
In quest of Food; Robbers, he thinks, he hears;
But for his Gold, not for himself, he fears.
462
Try'd Locks, and Bolts, and all in Safety found,
He, with elated Heart, tho' ill at Ease,
His wonted Visit to his Mammon pays;
And bending o'er it with lack-lustre Eyes,
Devours the Piles, and still for more he sighs;
Sighs, and steals off, dreading his very Self,
Might with felonious Hands secrete the Pelf.
On his worn Pallet, now, view him reclin'd;
Terrifick Visions haunt his tortur'd Mind;
A thousand Ills his croaking Fears suggest—
The gleaming Poniard pointed at his Breast!
His Servant, Brother, or, perhaps, his Wife,
Prepares the noxious Bowl against his Life;
And, sometimes, struggling in the Jaws of Death,
His rake-hell Heir, relentless, stops his Breath,
Plunders his Coffers, to the Dice Box flies,
Stakes the last Guinea, and in Prison dies.
Now Morpheus, with a Sledge, or ponderous Stone,
Forces the Door: He with a doleful Groan,
Expressive of his Pain and dire Dismay,
Starts up, and chides the slow Return of Day.
Thus is his Rest disturb'd, broken, destroy'd,
And not a Moment is with Peace enjoy'd.
Not so blithe Corin, in his humble Cell,
Within his Bosom kinder Tenants dwell;
And though no Locks, or massy Bolts, secure
The slight Obstruction of his simple Door;
He sleeps at Ease, secure in Heaven's good Care,
Reckless of Villains, and exempt from Fear.
Exempt and reckless! is he then at Rest?
And do no secret Throws at Times molest?
463
Let us, for Proof, at yonder Farm enquire,
Whom they think happy? They reply, the 'Squire.
The 'Squire, the while, soliciting a Place,
Opines himself less happy than his Grace:
His Grace, encumber'd with the State Affairs,
The Peasant, happier than himself declares.
His Corn to Market brought, the gaping Clown
Admires the Riches of the thriving Town;
And, vex'd at Tythes and Landlords, longs to pop
His little Stock and Team, into a Shop.
The suburb Chandler here observes with Pain
The Citizen's Returns, and countless Gain;
The griping Citizen burns to command
The Coach of State, and magisterial Wand;
The Alderman, and his aspiring Wife,
Without a Title, see no Joy in Life;
Now Courtiers grown, aukward, disgusted, cloy'd—
A thousand Wants are still to be supply'd:
And all find Reason, high and low, to fret,
Something to wish, or something to regret.
Even the enamour'd Pair, unweeting, moan,
And long till sacred Hymen makes them one.
That scarce atchiev'd, in crowd domestic Cares,
Then how delicious single Life appears!
But, O! let Prudence warn them to beware
How they admit so dangerous a Snare;
And with her uttermost let Reason try
To palliate Faults, or pass, unheeding, by;
For, if Disgust gets Entrance in the Soul,
It soon encreases, and absorbs the whole:
Ting'd with that Jaundice Motes we Monsters think,
And even Virtues into Vices sink;
And none need hope, connubial Bliss to find,
But with Esteem and Delicacy join'd.
Whom they think happy? They reply, the 'Squire.
The 'Squire, the while, soliciting a Place,
Opines himself less happy than his Grace:
His Grace, encumber'd with the State Affairs,
The Peasant, happier than himself declares.
His Corn to Market brought, the gaping Clown
Admires the Riches of the thriving Town;
And, vex'd at Tythes and Landlords, longs to pop
His little Stock and Team, into a Shop.
The suburb Chandler here observes with Pain
The Citizen's Returns, and countless Gain;
The griping Citizen burns to command
The Coach of State, and magisterial Wand;
The Alderman, and his aspiring Wife,
Without a Title, see no Joy in Life;
Now Courtiers grown, aukward, disgusted, cloy'd—
A thousand Wants are still to be supply'd:
And all find Reason, high and low, to fret,
Something to wish, or something to regret.
Even the enamour'd Pair, unweeting, moan,
And long till sacred Hymen makes them one.
That scarce atchiev'd, in crowd domestic Cares,
Then how delicious single Life appears!
But, O! let Prudence warn them to beware
How they admit so dangerous a Snare;
And with her uttermost let Reason try
To palliate Faults, or pass, unheeding, by;
For, if Disgust gets Entrance in the Soul,
It soon encreases, and absorbs the whole:
Ting'd with that Jaundice Motes we Monsters think,
And even Virtues into Vices sink;
And none need hope, connubial Bliss to find,
But with Esteem and Delicacy join'd.
464
Bans of Compulsion, and gross sensual Love,
Are self-dissolv'd, and never seal'd above.
One must the Will, one the Affections be,
And all in all, in every Point agree;
Reciprocal the Deed, the Heart, the Hand,
Free, and unaw'd, all else is contraband.
All venal Ties are void; all Compacts where
Illicit Means are us'd, and Cheats appear:
For there, altho' prohibited, we find
The Body's Shame, we prostitute the Mind;
And as our Souls the mortal Part exceed,
Religion stronger interdicts the Deed;
And Conscience, sacred and unerring Test
Of Right and Wrong within the human Breast,
Stronger anticipating, feels the Force
Of Horrors consequent, and fell Remorse.
Nor can the stern Behest of Law controul
The outward Man to sin against his Soul.
The civil Jurisdiction was ordain'd,
That moral Justice might not be prophan'd;
But general Systems all, it is confess'd,
However full and accurate express'd,
Leave Individuals often unredress'd—
But He, who rules the World, and fills the Skies,
To whom all Hearts, all Nature open lies,
Impartial Blessings equally assign'd
To all his Works according to their Kind;
And ere the tuneful Orbs their Course began,
Creative Wisdom form'd the extensive Plan
Of future Weal, on present good to Man.
And all his Scriptures every where presume
Bliss here a Prototype of Bliss to come.
Hence, failing human Institutes, 'tis given
To fly for Succour, and appeal to Heaven;
Reason's Vicegerency Relief provides,
Asserts her Right, sits Umpire and decides;
And Nature's primal Duty, Self-Defence,
May safely with some formal Points dispense;
Provided always, for no carnal Lust,
The Ends be virtuous, and the Means be just.
'Tis false Philosophy, and ne'er was meant
Mankind should suffer Ills they can prevent;
And Holy Writ, explicit on the Case,
Declares expressly, we are call'd to Peace.
Are self-dissolv'd, and never seal'd above.
One must the Will, one the Affections be,
And all in all, in every Point agree;
Reciprocal the Deed, the Heart, the Hand,
Free, and unaw'd, all else is contraband.
All venal Ties are void; all Compacts where
Illicit Means are us'd, and Cheats appear:
For there, altho' prohibited, we find
The Body's Shame, we prostitute the Mind;
And as our Souls the mortal Part exceed,
Religion stronger interdicts the Deed;
And Conscience, sacred and unerring Test
Of Right and Wrong within the human Breast,
Stronger anticipating, feels the Force
Of Horrors consequent, and fell Remorse.
Nor can the stern Behest of Law controul
The outward Man to sin against his Soul.
The civil Jurisdiction was ordain'd,
That moral Justice might not be prophan'd;
But general Systems all, it is confess'd,
However full and accurate express'd,
Leave Individuals often unredress'd—
But He, who rules the World, and fills the Skies,
To whom all Hearts, all Nature open lies,
Impartial Blessings equally assign'd
To all his Works according to their Kind;
And ere the tuneful Orbs their Course began,
Creative Wisdom form'd the extensive Plan
Of future Weal, on present good to Man.
And all his Scriptures every where presume
Bliss here a Prototype of Bliss to come.
465
To fly for Succour, and appeal to Heaven;
Reason's Vicegerency Relief provides,
Asserts her Right, sits Umpire and decides;
And Nature's primal Duty, Self-Defence,
May safely with some formal Points dispense;
Provided always, for no carnal Lust,
The Ends be virtuous, and the Means be just.
'Tis false Philosophy, and ne'er was meant
Mankind should suffer Ills they can prevent;
And Holy Writ, explicit on the Case,
Declares expressly, we are call'd to Peace.
Yet on Surmises let us not decide,
But to such Nuptials be the Test apply'd;
Let Observation and Experience tell,
If Peace with them, and heavenly Concord dwell.
But to such Nuptials be the Test apply'd;
Let Observation and Experience tell,
If Peace with them, and heavenly Concord dwell.
Behold a Couple, fond without Esteem,
Spurr'd on by Instinct, Avarice, or Whim;
There no good Planets kindly Influence shed,
Nor joyous Omens tend the genial Bed.
A few short Days, irregularly spent,
The Palate nauseates, and breeds Discontent;
The Bridegroom lours; the Bride in secret mourns,
And Liking sated, to Aversion turns;
Incessant Feuds confirm, and make it worse,
And every Hour entails some penal Curse.
Both have their Faults, yet neither will atone,
For both are blind, or partial to their own.
But mutual Wrongs, mutual Concessions claim,
And both incurring, both should suffer Blame.
What Wonder then, for all on that depends,
If in Extremes the venal Bondage ends?
The towery Strength perennial Marble forms,
Expos'd to sapping Rain, and Winter Storms,
To every Blast is more or less a Prey,
And from slight Causes subject to decay;
Time eats insensibly the nodding Walls,
And prone, at length, the mouldering Ruin falls.
Thus they, their Souls with rough Contentions torn,
Ensure Destruction, and their Fate suborn;
And like the Angels, who from Heaven fell,
They feed on Death, and are themselves a Hell.
Spurr'd on by Instinct, Avarice, or Whim;
There no good Planets kindly Influence shed,
Nor joyous Omens tend the genial Bed.
A few short Days, irregularly spent,
The Palate nauseates, and breeds Discontent;
The Bridegroom lours; the Bride in secret mourns,
And Liking sated, to Aversion turns;
Incessant Feuds confirm, and make it worse,
And every Hour entails some penal Curse.
Both have their Faults, yet neither will atone,
For both are blind, or partial to their own.
But mutual Wrongs, mutual Concessions claim,
And both incurring, both should suffer Blame.
What Wonder then, for all on that depends,
If in Extremes the venal Bondage ends?
466
Expos'd to sapping Rain, and Winter Storms,
To every Blast is more or less a Prey,
And from slight Causes subject to decay;
Time eats insensibly the nodding Walls,
And prone, at length, the mouldering Ruin falls.
Thus they, their Souls with rough Contentions torn,
Ensure Destruction, and their Fate suborn;
And like the Angels, who from Heaven fell,
They feed on Death, and are themselves a Hell.
But let not this the more discreet deter,
Some hit the White, though many Thousands err.
Nor let my Verse the virgin Fair perplex,
'Twas for their Use intended, not to vex;
Nor that they should oppose indulgent Heaven,
By whom their Charms, and Love itself was given:
Those to inspire the tender Flame design'd,
And that to bless and propagate Mankind.
When Hearts, with Hands unite, and only there,
Peace sits enthron'd between the married Pair;
All their Intentions smiling Concord guards,
Guides all their Actions, brightens and rewards:
Connubial Bliss, inspir'd by mutual Love,
Gives them a Fore-taste of the Joys above;
But take that Harmony and Love away,
The very damn'd endure not more than they.
The Groom should lay all surly Airs aside,
And meek Submission best befits the Bride;
And all Contention, and their mutual Boast,
Should be to please, and who should please the most.
Some hit the White, though many Thousands err.
Nor let my Verse the virgin Fair perplex,
'Twas for their Use intended, not to vex;
Nor that they should oppose indulgent Heaven,
By whom their Charms, and Love itself was given:
Those to inspire the tender Flame design'd,
And that to bless and propagate Mankind.
When Hearts, with Hands unite, and only there,
Peace sits enthron'd between the married Pair;
All their Intentions smiling Concord guards,
Guides all their Actions, brightens and rewards:
Connubial Bliss, inspir'd by mutual Love,
Gives them a Fore-taste of the Joys above;
But take that Harmony and Love away,
The very damn'd endure not more than they.
The Groom should lay all surly Airs aside,
And meek Submission best befits the Bride;
And all Contention, and their mutual Boast,
Should be to please, and who should please the most.
Love's the pure Essence of a generous Race,
Nice Honour, Freedom, Nobleness, and Peace;
Gentle Benevolence his Forehead crowns,
And sweet good Humour, undeform'd with Frowns.
Fix'd on one Object all his Wishes rest,
And all his Hopes in blessing to be bless'd.
The sordid Glance of squint Suspicion tears
His tender Form, and from the Bosom scares;
And with Resentment, inwardly he burns,
Where Rudeness lords it, or ill Nature scorns;
And, long provok'd, spurning, he stands confess'd,
Nor Hymen's Bonds restrain the injur'd Guest.
Unstudied this, they obstinately run
In froward Error, 'till they are quite undone.
But tho' oppos'd in all beside, we see,
They in one Point, and but in one agree;—
A widow'd Bed;—and ardently invoke
Death to relieve them from the galling Yoke.
Nice Honour, Freedom, Nobleness, and Peace;
467
And sweet good Humour, undeform'd with Frowns.
Fix'd on one Object all his Wishes rest,
And all his Hopes in blessing to be bless'd.
The sordid Glance of squint Suspicion tears
His tender Form, and from the Bosom scares;
And with Resentment, inwardly he burns,
Where Rudeness lords it, or ill Nature scorns;
And, long provok'd, spurning, he stands confess'd,
Nor Hymen's Bonds restrain the injur'd Guest.
Unstudied this, they obstinately run
In froward Error, 'till they are quite undone.
But tho' oppos'd in all beside, we see,
They in one Point, and but in one agree;—
A widow'd Bed;—and ardently invoke
Death to relieve them from the galling Yoke.
Thus each dissatisfied, his Neighbour eyes,
And none are happy but the Good and Wise.
And none are happy but the Good and Wise.
The Good and Wise, in Scripture Phrase, the Elect,
With grateful Hearts on Providence reflect;
And favour'd Suppliants at his gracious Throne,
The Wisdom of his Dispensations own;
To him disclose their Wants, on him depend;
Their bounteous Parent, and unfailing Friend.
Supported thus, superior to Despair,
They wish for nothing, and for nothing care;
No present Grief, nor aught foreboding Ill
Disturbs their Quiet, or affects their Will;
They know, on all sufficient he bestows,
And bless their Maker in the Midst of Woes.
For he that cloaths the Lilies of the Field,
Will, sure to them, a Competency yield;
He gives the hungry Wolf, and Raven, Meat,
Nor can the Image of himself forget;
And since, unheeded, not a Sparrow falls,
Man, tho' degenerate, more Attention calls.
Thus prov'd, in Faith the great Arcanum lies,
The truly happy, are the truly wise.
The Goal in View, no shining Bait they chase,
But run with chearful Steps the appointed Race;
Alike to them the best and worst Extreme,
Virtue in both, in both Vice is the same;
Unenvying, they survey the Rich and Great,
And scan the Miseries of inferior State;
And thence resulting, this sage Axiom give,
That Good is sure, Ill but comparative.
Bless'd in themselves, thus, out of Fortune's Power,
They pass thro' Life, enjoying every Hour.
Why should we then at high Preferments aim?
And why should Wealth such vast Attention claim?
The meek Arabian, stripp'd of all his Store,
Enjoy'd Content; Can Bedford's Self do more?
With grateful Hearts on Providence reflect;
And favour'd Suppliants at his gracious Throne,
The Wisdom of his Dispensations own;
To him disclose their Wants, on him depend;
Their bounteous Parent, and unfailing Friend.
Supported thus, superior to Despair,
They wish for nothing, and for nothing care;
No present Grief, nor aught foreboding Ill
Disturbs their Quiet, or affects their Will;
They know, on all sufficient he bestows,
And bless their Maker in the Midst of Woes.
For he that cloaths the Lilies of the Field,
Will, sure to them, a Competency yield;
468
Nor can the Image of himself forget;
And since, unheeded, not a Sparrow falls,
Man, tho' degenerate, more Attention calls.
Thus prov'd, in Faith the great Arcanum lies,
The truly happy, are the truly wise.
The Goal in View, no shining Bait they chase,
But run with chearful Steps the appointed Race;
Alike to them the best and worst Extreme,
Virtue in both, in both Vice is the same;
Unenvying, they survey the Rich and Great,
And scan the Miseries of inferior State;
And thence resulting, this sage Axiom give,
That Good is sure, Ill but comparative.
Bless'd in themselves, thus, out of Fortune's Power,
They pass thro' Life, enjoying every Hour.
Why should we then at high Preferments aim?
And why should Wealth such vast Attention claim?
The meek Arabian, stripp'd of all his Store,
Enjoy'd Content; Can Bedford's Self do more?
Some gentle Stripes, for our Probation here,
Omnipotence inflicts, and we should bear;
For, shall he his eternal Blessings give,
And, unreprov'd, we him offending live?
In Fancy's Mirror, we but darkling see,
What must, hereafter, our Advantage be;
And falsely of Prosperity we deem,
Since Heaven's Correction shews us Heaven's Esteem.
No longer, then, injuriously, in vain,
Let thoughtless Man of Providence complain;
But with mute, humble Resignation trust,
For God is merciful, as well as just.
The keenest corporal Anguish will decrease,
If we, with Patience, learn to acquiesce,
'Twill blunt the Tooth of life-corroding Woe,
And teach Affliction less intense to glow;
Religion will her healing Balm impart,
And pour glad Comfort on the bleeding Heart;
Whilst bright-ey'd Hope her kind Assistance gives,
And every Pang disperses, or relieves.
Omnipotence inflicts, and we should bear;
For, shall he his eternal Blessings give,
And, unreprov'd, we him offending live?
In Fancy's Mirror, we but darkling see,
What must, hereafter, our Advantage be;
And falsely of Prosperity we deem,
Since Heaven's Correction shews us Heaven's Esteem.
No longer, then, injuriously, in vain,
Let thoughtless Man of Providence complain;
But with mute, humble Resignation trust,
For God is merciful, as well as just.
469
If we, with Patience, learn to acquiesce,
'Twill blunt the Tooth of life-corroding Woe,
And teach Affliction less intense to glow;
Religion will her healing Balm impart,
And pour glad Comfort on the bleeding Heart;
Whilst bright-ey'd Hope her kind Assistance gives,
And every Pang disperses, or relieves.
Say not from Plenitude these Reasonings flow;
Nor empty Theory untry'd in Woe.
For since the vital Principle I drew,
(When of my Life I take a strict Review)
Scarcely a Day, a single Day appears,
Exempt from Pain, Adversity, or Tears;
Me, Fate before these Eyes beheld the Light,
Seem'd to have mark'd obnoxious to her Spite.
Nor less their Force, which ever is maintain'd,
Our Deeds are of Free-will, or pre-ordain'd;
For who, if Destiny controuls our State,
Can trace the devious Labyrinth of Fate?
Can the Perception of a human Clod
Pervade the Workings of a boundless God;
And into dark Futurity extend,
And view each Cause, productive of its End?
Time may so far, nay will enlarge our Sight,
That we shall see, “Whatever is, is right;”
Shall see this well-imagin'd Truth made plain,
That not one Atom of Creation's vain.
In firm Expectance, then, of better Days,
Bear we our Lot, and give Jehovah Praise.
Nor empty Theory untry'd in Woe.
For since the vital Principle I drew,
(When of my Life I take a strict Review)
Scarcely a Day, a single Day appears,
Exempt from Pain, Adversity, or Tears;
Me, Fate before these Eyes beheld the Light,
Seem'd to have mark'd obnoxious to her Spite.
Nor less their Force, which ever is maintain'd,
Our Deeds are of Free-will, or pre-ordain'd;
For who, if Destiny controuls our State,
Can trace the devious Labyrinth of Fate?
Can the Perception of a human Clod
Pervade the Workings of a boundless God;
And into dark Futurity extend,
And view each Cause, productive of its End?
Time may so far, nay will enlarge our Sight,
That we shall see, “Whatever is, is right;”
Shall see this well-imagin'd Truth made plain,
That not one Atom of Creation's vain.
In firm Expectance, then, of better Days,
Bear we our Lot, and give Jehovah Praise.
Did Reason always operate in the Mind;
Were we to free Conviction still inclin'd;
Would proud Opinion Prejudice forego,
And Mortals strive, God and themselves to know;
To know of God, as far as Mortals can,
His Justice, Mercy, and Regard to Man;
Our Passions all restrain'd in Wisdom's Lore,
For Vice's Flesh-pots we should sigh no more;
White-rob'd Content would be the Prophet's Wand,
And every simple Cot the Promis'd Land;
Insatiate Cravings there, would never breed,
But happy Man from Pestilence be freed:
Ambitious Fools, on impious Conquest bent,
Would all their idle Victories repent;
The horrid Work of wasteful War give o'er,
And to the World Tranquillity restore;
The Sword and Javelin would descend again,
To prune the Vine, and to subdue the Plain:
The Sons of Faction would not nurse Debates,
But to their private Interest join the State's;
Religion would her pristine Force exert,
And stiff Divines want Points to controvert;
Lawyers, the Nation's Pest, at their own Suit,
Might puzzle Judgement, and prolong Dispute,
No hardy Client would submit his Cause,
To the Decision of perverted Laws;
Nor, by Appearances, would Friends be mov'd,
To cruel Strife with the dear Friends they lov'd:
Discord in private Families would cease,
And even contentious Brothers live in Peace;
Hate, Envy, or Distrust, we ne'er should see,
But all Mankind in social Love agree.
Were we to free Conviction still inclin'd;
470
And Mortals strive, God and themselves to know;
To know of God, as far as Mortals can,
His Justice, Mercy, and Regard to Man;
Our Passions all restrain'd in Wisdom's Lore,
For Vice's Flesh-pots we should sigh no more;
White-rob'd Content would be the Prophet's Wand,
And every simple Cot the Promis'd Land;
Insatiate Cravings there, would never breed,
But happy Man from Pestilence be freed:
Ambitious Fools, on impious Conquest bent,
Would all their idle Victories repent;
The horrid Work of wasteful War give o'er,
And to the World Tranquillity restore;
The Sword and Javelin would descend again,
To prune the Vine, and to subdue the Plain:
The Sons of Faction would not nurse Debates,
But to their private Interest join the State's;
Religion would her pristine Force exert,
And stiff Divines want Points to controvert;
Lawyers, the Nation's Pest, at their own Suit,
Might puzzle Judgement, and prolong Dispute,
No hardy Client would submit his Cause,
To the Decision of perverted Laws;
Nor, by Appearances, would Friends be mov'd,
To cruel Strife with the dear Friends they lov'd:
Discord in private Families would cease,
And even contentious Brothers live in Peace;
Hate, Envy, or Distrust, we ne'er should see,
But all Mankind in social Love agree.
471
The GROTTO.
Near a smooth River's lonely Side,
Where tuneful Naiads gently glide,
A secret Grotto stands;
Within a Rock's hard Bosom made,
Hid in the Gloom of awful Shade;
The Work of Nature's Hands.
Where tuneful Naiads gently glide,
A secret Grotto stands;
Within a Rock's hard Bosom made,
Hid in the Gloom of awful Shade;
The Work of Nature's Hands.
This sweet Retreat, that once had been,
Of Joy and Love, the chosen Scene,
Poor injur'd Flavia sought:
But,—to complain of Damon's Vow
There made, and broke;—she chose it now,
With Rage and Sorrow fraught.
Of Joy and Love, the chosen Scene,
Poor injur'd Flavia sought:
But,—to complain of Damon's Vow
There made, and broke;—she chose it now,
With Rage and Sorrow fraught.
The hollow Rock, where she reclin'd,
She thought, was like false Damon's Mind;
His dark Design,—the Shade:
The deep smooth Stream,—his tempting Face;
Its Sound,—his Tongue's deluding Grace,
That won, and that betray'd.
She thought, was like false Damon's Mind;
His dark Design,—the Shade:
The deep smooth Stream,—his tempting Face;
Its Sound,—his Tongue's deluding Grace,
That won, and that betray'd.
Damon, one Evening, as he stray'd,
To meet some other tender Maid,
O'er-heard her mournful Plaint:
Her Sighs, and Tears, and soft Despair,
Infected all the neighbouring Air,
And forc'd him to relent.
To meet some other tender Maid,
O'er-heard her mournful Plaint:
Her Sighs, and Tears, and soft Despair,
Infected all the neighbouring Air,
And forc'd him to relent.
472
And now, she thinks, since Damon's kind,
The steady Rock still like his Mind;
His Love, the friendly Shade:
The clear smooth Stream,—his lovely Face;
Its soothing Sound,—the Tongue's soft Grace,
That all her Woes repaid.
The steady Rock still like his Mind;
His Love, the friendly Shade:
The clear smooth Stream,—his lovely Face;
Its soothing Sound,—the Tongue's soft Grace,
That all her Woes repaid.
‘No more be fear'd, then, Fortune's Powers!
‘'Tis Fancy all our Bliss devours,
‘Or gives Content, we find.
‘Men may be happy, if they please;
‘We are ourselves, our own Disease;
‘The Fault is in the Mind.’
‘'Tis Fancy all our Bliss devours,
‘Or gives Content, we find.
‘Men may be happy, if they please;
‘We are ourselves, our own Disease;
‘The Fault is in the Mind.’
A HYMN: On recovering from a Fit of Illness.
O thou, my Soul, in sacred Hymns,
Thy gracious God adore:
And whilst his Mercy spares thee Breath,
That Mercy still implore!
Thy gracious God adore:
And whilst his Mercy spares thee Breath,
That Mercy still implore!
When all my Follies number'd were,
And Justice spake me Dead;
The Thunder roar'd, the Lightening flew,
And shiver'd o'er my Head.
And Justice spake me Dead;
The Thunder roar'd, the Lightening flew,
And shiver'd o'er my Head.
473
Oh! could my Blood Atonement make
For all my Days mis-spent;
For slighted Grace; for secret Crimes;
For Thoughts I dared not vent!
For all my Days mis-spent;
For slighted Grace; for secret Crimes;
For Thoughts I dared not vent!
Then let the chilling Hand of Death,
In Darkness seal my Eyes;
And let the Earth my Limbs receive,
To Worms a Sacrifice.
In Darkness seal my Eyes;
And let the Earth my Limbs receive,
To Worms a Sacrifice.
But see the widow'd
Parent's Prayers
The holy Hills ascend—
‘Oh, spare my Child! my Age's Stay!
‘The Staff on which I bend.’
The holy Hills ascend—
‘Oh, spare my Child! my Age's Stay!
‘The Staff on which I bend.’
The righteous Lord, who willing hears
Whene'er the Just implores,
Back to my breathless, lifeless Corse,
The fleeting Soul restores.
Whene'er the Just implores,
Back to my breathless, lifeless Corse,
The fleeting Soul restores.
O thou, my Soul, in sacred Hymns,
Thy gracious God adore:
And whilst his Mercy spares thee Breath,
That Mercy still implore!
Thy gracious God adore:
And whilst his Mercy spares thee Breath,
That Mercy still implore!
ÆNIGMA I.
Inscribed to Miss LATOUCHE.
You'll scarce believe it, yet, by Nature,
I am a quiet, sober Creature;
Content to live and die at Home,
And never form'd a Wish to roam,
Like Birds in Cage to spend my Breath,
And beat, and beat myself to Death:
But Woman, Woman is my Ruin,
She takes Delight in my Undoing.
O! it would melt a very Stone,
To hear what I have undergone!
Though blind myself, I fall a Prize,
Struck thro' and thro' by her bright Eyes.
When once she has caught me in her Net,
I am thrown neglected at her Feet;
There, without Mercy, roll in Pain,
And yet am pleas'd to bear my Chain.
On Hopes I live, on Looks I feed,
And jump, and burn, and burst, and bleed.
I am a quiet, sober Creature;
Content to live and die at Home,
And never form'd a Wish to roam,
474
And beat, and beat myself to Death:
But Woman, Woman is my Ruin,
She takes Delight in my Undoing.
O! it would melt a very Stone,
To hear what I have undergone!
Though blind myself, I fall a Prize,
Struck thro' and thro' by her bright Eyes.
When once she has caught me in her Net,
I am thrown neglected at her Feet;
There, without Mercy, roll in Pain,
And yet am pleas'd to bear my Chain.
On Hopes I live, on Looks I feed,
And jump, and burn, and burst, and bleed.
But if I once again get free,
I learn to prize my Liberty.
Like Bees, from Fair to Fair I range;
Like her, I learn each Hour to change;
With her own Arts I learn to vex,
And boldly fly at all the Sex.
I learn to prize my Liberty.
Like Bees, from Fair to Fair I range;
Like her, I learn each Hour to change;
With her own Arts I learn to vex,
And boldly fly at all the Sex.
ÆNIGMA II.
So small my Size, that Men despise me,
But I am content, while Ladies prize me;
For still 'tis my peculiar Care,
To guard, and to adorn the Fair.
Aye! and, good Sirs, 'tis very true!
I have a Head as well as you.
O how 'twould make you fret and grieve
To hear what Favours I receive;
How much in secret I am caress'd;
How oft 'twixt Cloe's Fingers press'd!
How oft her balmy Lips I have tasted,
And there, for Hours together feasted!
To me her Beauties she revails,
Nor from me any Charm conceals:
Even the most secret have I seen;
And been—ye Gods, where I have been!—
Perch'd at my Ease! while Lovers toil,
To watch her Looks, and catch her Smile.
Then if some Youth, with amorous Haste,
Presumes to clasp her slender Waist;
Ready to fly to her Assistance,
I make him keep his proper Distance.
When I am there, who dares be rude,
He surely pays for't with his Blood.
And, O ye Fair! forgive the Tale,
For tho' you are fair, you are sometimes frail,
How many I have preserv'd from Ruin,
And, that vile Creature, Man's Undoing:
When in Appearance all was over,
And he almost a happy Lover,
Have I stept in, with timely Care,
And boldly push'd my Point so far,
I have made him curse and swear with Passion,
And fly with mad Precipitation.
But I am content, while Ladies prize me;
For still 'tis my peculiar Care,
To guard, and to adorn the Fair.
Aye! and, good Sirs, 'tis very true!
I have a Head as well as you.
475
To hear what Favours I receive;
How much in secret I am caress'd;
How oft 'twixt Cloe's Fingers press'd!
How oft her balmy Lips I have tasted,
And there, for Hours together feasted!
To me her Beauties she revails,
Nor from me any Charm conceals:
Even the most secret have I seen;
And been—ye Gods, where I have been!—
Perch'd at my Ease! while Lovers toil,
To watch her Looks, and catch her Smile.
Then if some Youth, with amorous Haste,
Presumes to clasp her slender Waist;
Ready to fly to her Assistance,
I make him keep his proper Distance.
When I am there, who dares be rude,
He surely pays for't with his Blood.
And, O ye Fair! forgive the Tale,
For tho' you are fair, you are sometimes frail,
How many I have preserv'd from Ruin,
And, that vile Creature, Man's Undoing:
When in Appearance all was over,
And he almost a happy Lover,
Have I stept in, with timely Care,
And boldly push'd my Point so far,
I have made him curse and swear with Passion,
And fly with mad Precipitation.
But now, good Folks, the Sequel note,
How soon past Service is forgot!
See how compos'd she tells the Story,
And to herself takes all the Glory;
Talks of her mighty Self-denial,
How she withstood the fiery Trial;
Cracks of her spotless Chastity,
And boasts of Virtue—sav'd by me!
How soon past Service is forgot!
See how compos'd she tells the Story,
And to herself takes all the Glory;
476
How she withstood the fiery Trial;
Cracks of her spotless Chastity,
And boasts of Virtue—sav'd by me!
ÆNIGMA III.
Tho' I am younger than six others,Yet I take Place of all my Brothers;
I was the last of the Creation,
And always held in Veneration:
For God, well-pleas'd when I was come,
Bless'd me, and went in Triumph Home.
As for my Brothers, to their Shame
I blush, whene'er I hear their Name;
For they mind nothing but their Pleasure,
And heaping up of worldly Treasure.
They all love Tricks, and Over-reaching;
All my Delight's in Prayers and Preaching!
With their good Will no one should rest;
But I am Friend to Man and Beast;
I cheer his Heart, and glad each Feature,
And make him quite another Creature.
I give the plodding Lawyer Leisure;
The honest Tradesman Ease and Pleasure—
With Wife in Chaise, and eldest Son,
Smiling, he sallies out of Town;
Then, if I prove but clear and fine,
Woe to the Cheesecakes and the Wine.
Even Debtors long for my Return,
And bless the Hour that I am born!
477
CUPID and the PAINTER.
Inscribed to the Honourable Miss St. GEORGE.
I lately saw wing'd Cupid stand,
His Crest elate with Pride,
His Bow bent ready in his Hand,
His Quiver by his Side.
His Crest elate with Pride,
His Bow bent ready in his Hand,
His Quiver by his Side.
An Arrow keen, of fearful Length,
He to the Bow apply'd;
Then drew the String with all his Strength,
And, Vive l'Amour, he cry'd.
He to the Bow apply'd;
Then drew the String with all his Strength,
And, Vive l'Amour, he cry'd.
At me a certain Aim he took,
And would have pierc'd my Heart;
But, luckily, I snatch'd a Book,
This warded off the Dart.
And would have pierc'd my Heart;
But, luckily, I snatch'd a Book,
This warded off the Dart.
Another, soon, he levell'd true,
Resolv'd that I should yield;
But this, like t'other, hurtless flew,
My Pallet was my Shield.
Resolv'd that I should yield;
But this, like t'other, hurtless flew,
My Pallet was my Shield.
Thus, every Arrow shot in vain,
His Quiver emptied quite;
I laugh'd to see the Urchin's Pain,
He cry'd for very Spite.
His Quiver emptied quite;
I laugh'd to see the Urchin's Pain,
He cry'd for very Spite.
But me the Rogue at length beguil'd,
In Ambush for my Heart;
He shot—just when Emilia smil'd,—
Unerring was the Dart.
In Ambush for my Heart;
He shot—just when Emilia smil'd,—
Unerring was the Dart.
478
ODE.
[The Sun, in Glory, wins his Way]
Written August 1751.
The Sun, in Glory, wins his Way,
And pours around refulgent Day;
The wide Horizon glows with Fire,
No balmy Breeze to asswage the Flame;
To yonder Arbour I'll retire,
And shade me from the noontide Beam.
The fainting Herds forsake the Mead,
And, panting, seek the grateful Shade.
The wanton Steed, whose ample Veins
Impetuous boil with generous Blood,
Eager deserts the thirsty Plains,
And laves him in the limpid Flood.
And pours around refulgent Day;
The wide Horizon glows with Fire,
No balmy Breeze to asswage the Flame;
To yonder Arbour I'll retire,
And shade me from the noontide Beam.
The fainting Herds forsake the Mead,
And, panting, seek the grateful Shade.
The wanton Steed, whose ample Veins
Impetuous boil with generous Blood,
Eager deserts the thirsty Plains,
And laves him in the limpid Flood.
Yonder the wearied Reaper stands,
The Scythe forsakes his nerveless Hands—
All rest, except the strenuous Bee;
She, vigorous at this sultry Hour,
From Leaf to Leaf expatiates free,
And flies, and toils from Flower to Flower.
Lo! where yon Beach, with Ivy bound,
Its verdant Foliage stretches round;
A faithful Youth, and tender Maid,
By Nature's simple Beauties grac'd,
Recline beneath the friendly Shade;
And Joys, unknown to Greatness, taste.
The Scythe forsakes his nerveless Hands—
All rest, except the strenuous Bee;
She, vigorous at this sultry Hour,
From Leaf to Leaf expatiates free,
And flies, and toils from Flower to Flower.
Lo! where yon Beach, with Ivy bound,
Its verdant Foliage stretches round;
A faithful Youth, and tender Maid,
By Nature's simple Beauties grac'd,
Recline beneath the friendly Shade;
And Joys, unknown to Greatness, taste.
479
Ah! would my lov'd Therania deign,
With one kind Smile to bless her Swain!
Thus, rapturous, on her Face I'd gaze;
That Face which beams seraphic Charms—
Thus, to my Lips, her Hand I'd raise;
Thus, ever clasp her in my Arms.
Far from the Whirl of busy Life,
From Hurry, Folly, Fraud, and Strife,
Smoothly along the peaceful Tide
Of blissful Time, we'd float away;
Steer down Life's Bosom, Side by Side,
And launch into the eternal Sea.
With one kind Smile to bless her Swain!
Thus, rapturous, on her Face I'd gaze;
That Face which beams seraphic Charms—
Thus, to my Lips, her Hand I'd raise;
Thus, ever clasp her in my Arms.
Far from the Whirl of busy Life,
From Hurry, Folly, Fraud, and Strife,
Smoothly along the peaceful Tide
Of blissful Time, we'd float away;
Steer down Life's Bosom, Side by Side,
And launch into the eternal Sea.
What means this Tumult? Why, my Heart,
Throb'st thou, transfix'd, as with a Dart?
Ah, whence this Trembling? why thus shrink.
My inmost Thoughts, and damp my Soul?
Why do my Limbs enfeebl'd sink?
And Life's chill'd Fluid backward roll?
Begone, thou false Intruder, Love!
Nor longer tempt my Thoughts to rove.
What! wilt thou ever thus torment?
Can no Recess thy Wiles elude?
Incessant shall my Heart be rent?
And pierc'd the deepest Solitude?
Throb'st thou, transfix'd, as with a Dart?
Ah, whence this Trembling? why thus shrink.
My inmost Thoughts, and damp my Soul?
Why do my Limbs enfeebl'd sink?
And Life's chill'd Fluid backward roll?
Begone, thou false Intruder, Love!
Nor longer tempt my Thoughts to rove.
What! wilt thou ever thus torment?
Can no Recess thy Wiles elude?
Incessant shall my Heart be rent?
And pierc'd the deepest Solitude?
Even when pale Cynthia's silver Robe,
Has mantled o'er the drowsy Globe;
When Night, still Goddess! shrouds the Sky;
And Nature sinks in soft Repose;
When ravening Wolves to Covert fly;
And dungeon'd Slaves forget their Woes.
Even then, estrang'd to needful Rest,
Unruly Passions tear my Breast,
Still, still she moves before mine Eyes—
That Form august! that Face divine!
But oh! my Heart within me dies,
She never, never can be mine.
Has mantled o'er the drowsy Globe;
When Night, still Goddess! shrouds the Sky;
And Nature sinks in soft Repose;
When ravening Wolves to Covert fly;
And dungeon'd Slaves forget their Woes.
480
Unruly Passions tear my Breast,
Still, still she moves before mine Eyes—
That Form august! that Face divine!
But oh! my Heart within me dies,
She never, never can be mine.
Why do I thus embrace my Bane?
Why cherish what but gives me Pain?
Fortune and Rank, Therania raise,
Far, far above my humble Sphere;
No more I'll roam in Fancy's Maze,
Alas! it leads but to Despair—
Thus, in her Absence, I complain;
She's present—and I grasp my Chain;
Gaze on her Charms with ravish'd Eyes;
Drink deep of Love at every Breath;
Still gaze, though that Way Madness lies;
Still drink, though every Draught is Death.
Why cherish what but gives me Pain?
Fortune and Rank, Therania raise,
Far, far above my humble Sphere;
No more I'll roam in Fancy's Maze,
Alas! it leads but to Despair—
Thus, in her Absence, I complain;
She's present—and I grasp my Chain;
Gaze on her Charms with ravish'd Eyes;
Drink deep of Love at every Breath;
Still gaze, though that Way Madness lies;
Still drink, though every Draught is Death.
[Were Parents but more cautious whom they trust]
Were Parents but more cautious whom they trust,And to good Masters more exact and just,
Great Revolutions soon in Schools they'd find,
Pleasing to both, and useful to Mankind:
‘ And each his several Charge might well command,
‘ Would all but stoop to what they understand ’
FINIS
| The Shamrock | |