The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale :: :: University of Virginia Library

The following verses were the ruling object of their authour when he could not move himself, nor be moved, without agony. They were composed by several short exertions of his mind, which were interrupted by debility, or by pain. After this honest apology, they will never incur the frown of generous criticism.

VERSES ADDRESSED TO OXFORD.

FAIR seat of sages, and of bards divine!
Terrestrial residence of all the nine!
Oh! had my ardent, and aspiring youth
Felt in thy hallowed groves, important truth;
Inhaled, in them, the God's inspiring ray;
Caught the strong thought, and waked the glowing lay;
Then, reason, fancy, happily combined,
And tuneful diction, had my verse refined:
Then would thy liberal sons have raised my fame;
And high above my merit, fixed my name.

377

But now, my life's, my mind's meridian o'er;
Poetick vigour, active hope, no more;
Thy shades, my faint, my setting fires, receive,
Just ere our vital hemisphere they leave.
Yet, could I live, one effort more to make,
For verse's and for fairer virtue's sake,
(Oh! might I fill our ancient province, here;
And prove at once, a poet, and a seer!)
Haply, some verdict, of decisive praise,
Would crown my memory with perpetual bays:
Oxford herself might mark my merit's tomb;
Restore it's life, and bid it's honours bloom.

Thus (for, like Maro's swain, an object small
I near a great one place) at Dryden's call,
Britons enamoured grew of nature's rules,
And spurned the jargon of the doating schools;
To genius, and to taste, were converts made;
With wonder Milton's vast sublime surveyed;
Imbibed seraphick rapture from his page,
To glory rescued from a barbarous age.

Middleton-Stoney, Oxfordshire, July 10th, 1794.

378

VERSES TO A ROBIN-RED-BREAST, WHO SINGS EVERY MORNING, NEAR MY BED-CHAMBER.

SWEET bird; thy music charms my rest;
It's warbling soothes my pensive breast.
Delighted fancy hears thy song
It's artless melody prolong;
For oh! when nature strikes the heart,
She leaves no trace of Cramer's art.

Care, pain, and dire misfortune flee
The powers of Morpheus, and of thee;
Those powers combined, with soft controul
Diffuse Elysium o'er my soul;
The sails of persecution furled,
I steer to some ideal world;
Some finer world, where Zephyr's breeze
Panting on aromatick trees,
Descends from æther ne'er o'ercast
With clouds that hurl the wintry blast.
There I repose in fragrant bowers,
Where Flora crowns the glowing flowers;

379

Where a meandring, murmuring stream
Prompts, and improves the muse's theme:
Through shades imagination roves,
Which far exceed St. Dial's groves;
Where a majestick river flows,
Disdaining all descriptive prose;
His deep, clear floods, the Thames outvie;
His playful beauties, even the Wye.

In this bright, visionary scene,
Our species with angelick mien,
And friendly voice, the stranger greet;
Their virtues, as their forms, complete:
Illusive dream! in which I find
That generous actions mark mankind!

Since, then, sweet songster of the town,
Whose accents bid me sleep on down,
With numerous ills thy tuneful strife
Dispels their gloom, and gilds my life;
When Boreas heaps our world with snow,
Come to a heart inured to woe;

380

Hence, quick, when miseries are displayed,
To recollect;—to feel;—to aid;
With safe, and timely pinion, fly
The wild oppression of the sky;
Fly to protectors, mild, like thee;
Compassion, and tranquillity;
Each ruffled, and each flagging plume,
With me, their health shall soon resume;
Restored from cold, from famine's pain,
Shall soon their equal gloss regain:
Thy genius we shall soon descry
In the new lustre of thine eye:
And soon shall thy harmonious throat
Pour forth, again, it's liquid note!
Who can with hold the generous deed,
When innocence, and beauty plead?
Then, surely, for thy life, thy weal,
A poet ardently must feel!
Yes;—he will give thee all thy claim;
Present relief; and future fame!

Monmouth, Sept. 13th, 1794.

A country house delightfully situated, near Monmouth.