The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse (1735-1820): Edited by the Rev. R. I. Woodhouse |
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 | The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse |  |
126
TO THE Right Honourable LORD LYTTLETON.
AN EPISTLE.
My Lord,
Say, why Augusta yet so long detains
Hagley's lov'd Lord from more inviting scenes?
No longer Phœbus, blithesome god of day!
In fogs envelop'd, shrowds his fost'ring ray.
His genial fires bleak winter's pow'r disarms,
And Hagley shines in all its wonted charms.
Hagley's lov'd Lord from more inviting scenes?
No longer Phœbus, blithesome god of day!
In fogs envelop'd, shrowds his fost'ring ray.
His genial fires bleak winter's pow'r disarms,
And Hagley shines in all its wonted charms.
When blust'ring storm, and long-benighted sky,
Proclaims th' approach of dreary winter nigh;
While motley autumn stains those roseate bow'rs,
And sadness clogs the leaden-sandal'd hours;
No friend to spur them thro' the tedious way,
But books alone beguile the loitering day;
While all the soul seems rankling into spleen,
'Tis wise to fly the melancholy scene;
To fly to bright Augusta's happier sphere,
Whose blandishments renew the smiling year.
No vacant hour, there, dulls the active mind,
But all her pow'rs a full employment find;
Fresh objects rising ever in her view,
The lov'd variety of life renew;
Some new device, still fitted to her taste,
Forbids one sand of time should run to waste.
Proclaims th' approach of dreary winter nigh;
While motley autumn stains those roseate bow'rs,
And sadness clogs the leaden-sandal'd hours;
No friend to spur them thro' the tedious way,
But books alone beguile the loitering day;
While all the soul seems rankling into spleen,
'Tis wise to fly the melancholy scene;
To fly to bright Augusta's happier sphere,
Whose blandishments renew the smiling year.
No vacant hour, there, dulls the active mind,
But all her pow'rs a full employment find;
Fresh objects rising ever in her view,
The lov'd variety of life renew;
Some new device, still fitted to her taste,
Forbids one sand of time should run to waste.
As, roving devious, hum the lab'ring bees,
O'er primrose banks, or flow'ring willow-trees,
And load, with temper'd wax, their thick'ning thighs,
Or bear their golden freightage thro' the skies;
Shape geometric combs, with curious toil,
And store their hexagons with luscious spoil:
As ants, in vernal gleams, their burdens bear,
And damag'd cells with wond'rous art repair;
So move Augusta's sons, a bustling throng!
By various hopes and fears impell'd along;
Some rear the tow'ring structure, others store
The costly freightage of each foreign shore;
One vast machine of life! nor with the day
Its complex movements, or its sounds, decay;
For thick-rang'd lamps, diffusing plenteous light,
Protract the day, and mock th' approach of night.
O'er primrose banks, or flow'ring willow-trees,
And load, with temper'd wax, their thick'ning thighs,
Or bear their golden freightage thro' the skies;
Shape geometric combs, with curious toil,
And store their hexagons with luscious spoil:
As ants, in vernal gleams, their burdens bear,
And damag'd cells with wond'rous art repair;
So move Augusta's sons, a bustling throng!
By various hopes and fears impell'd along;
Some rear the tow'ring structure, others store
The costly freightage of each foreign shore;
One vast machine of life! nor with the day
Its complex movements, or its sounds, decay;
For thick-rang'd lamps, diffusing plenteous light,
Protract the day, and mock th' approach of night.
Beheld with wonder, from surrounding plains,
Supremely spreading o'er her wide domains,
Augusta stands; whose tow'rs, superbly high,
Affect to prop the sapphire-ceiled sky.
Supremely spreading o'er her wide domains,
Augusta stands; whose tow'rs, superbly high,
Affect to prop the sapphire-ceiled sky.
With kingly mien, Paul's rears its awful round,
With living sculpture, breathing statues crown'd;
While columns fair support th' imperial pile,
The pride and glory of Britannia's isle:
Perfidious Gaul, Germania's ample coast,
Nor papal Rome, so fair a structure boast.
With living sculpture, breathing statues crown'd;
While columns fair support th' imperial pile,
The pride and glory of Britannia's isle:
Perfidious Gaul, Germania's ample coast,
Nor papal Rome, so fair a structure boast.
127
In honours first, though not the first in name,
Old Peter's long has grac'd the rolls of fame.
Her pregnant womb with teeming glory shines,
Of martial trophies, and of sainted shrines.
Here poets, heroes, kings, of old, are shewn,
Surviving still in animated stone.
How sweetly-melancholy 'tis to tread
Those hallow'd mansions of the mighty dead!
To conn the story of each blazon'd name,
To drop the tear and sigh for honest fame;
To catch the virtues from the label'd cell,
Of those who nobly liv'd, or bravely fell;
Collect the maxims of the sculptur'd page,
And plan the code of wisdom for the age;
Weigh well the end of ev'ry earth-born joy,
And point our future views beyond the sky.
What gentle mind, in these sad, solemn scenes,
But feels a thousand fancy'd woes and pains;
And hears expiring sounds, or seems to hear,
From marble voice, or spirit hov'ring there?
Repels each rising thought of vicious mould,
Lest some pure, unseen agent should behold;
And, borne on seraph wing, with holy love,
Indict the miscreant in the courts above.
Why there, alone, that caution? His broad eye,
Whose pow'r and wisdom fram'd the earth and sky,
With single ken sees boundless systems roll,
And probes each nook of earth from pole to pole;
Nor cavern'd cell, nor midnight's blackest veil,
Can thought, or action, from that eye conceal.
Old Peter's long has grac'd the rolls of fame.
Her pregnant womb with teeming glory shines,
Of martial trophies, and of sainted shrines.
Here poets, heroes, kings, of old, are shewn,
Surviving still in animated stone.
How sweetly-melancholy 'tis to tread
Those hallow'd mansions of the mighty dead!
To conn the story of each blazon'd name,
To drop the tear and sigh for honest fame;
To catch the virtues from the label'd cell,
Of those who nobly liv'd, or bravely fell;
Collect the maxims of the sculptur'd page,
And plan the code of wisdom for the age;
Weigh well the end of ev'ry earth-born joy,
And point our future views beyond the sky.
What gentle mind, in these sad, solemn scenes,
But feels a thousand fancy'd woes and pains;
And hears expiring sounds, or seems to hear,
From marble voice, or spirit hov'ring there?
Repels each rising thought of vicious mould,
Lest some pure, unseen agent should behold;
And, borne on seraph wing, with holy love,
Indict the miscreant in the courts above.
Why there, alone, that caution? His broad eye,
Whose pow'r and wisdom fram'd the earth and sky,
With single ken sees boundless systems roll,
And probes each nook of earth from pole to pole;
Nor cavern'd cell, nor midnight's blackest veil,
Can thought, or action, from that eye conceal.
What rich delight to spend a fav'rite hour,
In scanning samples of creative pow'r!
Man, curious man! may barren Afric rove,
And brave the perils of each Asian grove;
May navigate the Ganges hallow'd flood,
Trace every western river, isle, and wood;
Each dark recess of earth's wide womb explore,
Each tide-deserted ooze, and rocky shore;
All needless labour; whilst Britannia's isle
Condemns his dangers, and precludes his toil:
In her Museum man may raptur'd see,
The whole creation's fair epitome:
For scarce a fossil lodg'd within the globe,
Or flow'r that sprigs its gorgeous vernal robe;
Or shrub that clings to Neptune's rocky caves,
Or painted shell that drinks his briney waves;
Or insect, prone, that crawls in dank, or dry,
Or, volant, wantons in the fluid sky;
Or hideous reptile, haunting bog, or brake,
Malignant viper, or innoxious snake;
But in those precincts, eyes observant, find,
To feast the fancy, and enrich the mind:
Antiques, coins, medals, tomes of wisdom's lore,
All finish'd works of art compleat the store.
In scanning samples of creative pow'r!
Man, curious man! may barren Afric rove,
And brave the perils of each Asian grove;
May navigate the Ganges hallow'd flood,
Trace every western river, isle, and wood;
Each dark recess of earth's wide womb explore,
Each tide-deserted ooze, and rocky shore;
All needless labour; whilst Britannia's isle
Condemns his dangers, and precludes his toil:
In her Museum man may raptur'd see,
The whole creation's fair epitome:
For scarce a fossil lodg'd within the globe,
Or flow'r that sprigs its gorgeous vernal robe;
Or shrub that clings to Neptune's rocky caves,
Or painted shell that drinks his briney waves;
Or insect, prone, that crawls in dank, or dry,
Or, volant, wantons in the fluid sky;
Or hideous reptile, haunting bog, or brake,
Malignant viper, or innoxious snake;
But in those precincts, eyes observant, find,
To feast the fancy, and enrich the mind:
Antiques, coins, medals, tomes of wisdom's lore,
All finish'd works of art compleat the store.
To Op'ras see a glitt'ring throng repairs,
Where musick in the prize with beauty shares:
Divides the heart, or captivates the soul,
Sooths, chills, inflames, and subjugates the whole,
Both urge a social war; both shew their skill,
To lead the soul in triumph at their will:
While reason bound by philt'ring fancy lies,
And drinks soft poison at the ears and eyes.
Meet field for Venus and her darkling son,
To found new reigns, or fix a reign begun:
Meet scene for nymphs whose hearts with rapture dance,
And hope full conquest from a single glance.
But how absurd, to hear a female note,
Transpire, soft warbling, from a manly throat:
Absurd, to hear a British audience roar,
From troops of warlike lungs the loud encore;
Convuls'd with raptures at a flimsy song,
In lisping accents, and an unknown tongue:
To hear re-choing hands clap wild applause,
At taste inverted, and fair nature's laws:
To hear each clashing passion of the breast,
In mimic trills and soothing sounds exprest.
Can anger, hate, revenge, be felt or shewn;
In trembling notes that breathe a lover's moan?
Shall martial Etius breathing wars alarms,
Be drawn with am'rous Cytherea's charms?
Or warriors plan campaigns, in arms array'd,
Like lovers pining in the sylvan shade?
To join spontaneous talk to artful tune,
Is like constructing wings to coast the moon;
Like! O forgive my half-presumptuous strain!
If coupling sacred things with things prophane,
And fir'd with nature's charms, the muse compares,
Cathedral service with Italian airs;
When gratitude enkindles pure desire,
And love celestial fans the sacred fire,
The tow'ring thoughts in measur'd cadence move,
And tuneful sounds the glowing sense improve:
But music joins unnatural delights,
And quite burlesques the solemn, pious rites,
When calm requests in craving accents rise,
Or words are wing'd with penitential sighs.
Where musick in the prize with beauty shares:
Divides the heart, or captivates the soul,
Sooths, chills, inflames, and subjugates the whole,
Both urge a social war; both shew their skill,
To lead the soul in triumph at their will:
While reason bound by philt'ring fancy lies,
And drinks soft poison at the ears and eyes.
Meet field for Venus and her darkling son,
To found new reigns, or fix a reign begun:
Meet scene for nymphs whose hearts with rapture dance,
And hope full conquest from a single glance.
But how absurd, to hear a female note,
Transpire, soft warbling, from a manly throat:
Absurd, to hear a British audience roar,
From troops of warlike lungs the loud encore;
Convuls'd with raptures at a flimsy song,
In lisping accents, and an unknown tongue:
To hear re-choing hands clap wild applause,
At taste inverted, and fair nature's laws:
To hear each clashing passion of the breast,
In mimic trills and soothing sounds exprest.
Can anger, hate, revenge, be felt or shewn;
In trembling notes that breathe a lover's moan?
Shall martial Etius breathing wars alarms,
Be drawn with am'rous Cytherea's charms?
Or warriors plan campaigns, in arms array'd,
Like lovers pining in the sylvan shade?
To join spontaneous talk to artful tune,
Is like constructing wings to coast the moon;
Like! O forgive my half-presumptuous strain!
If coupling sacred things with things prophane,
And fir'd with nature's charms, the muse compares,
Cathedral service with Italian airs;
When gratitude enkindles pure desire,
128
The tow'ring thoughts in measur'd cadence move,
And tuneful sounds the glowing sense improve:
But music joins unnatural delights,
And quite burlesques the solemn, pious rites,
When calm requests in craving accents rise,
Or words are wing'd with penitential sighs.
Avaunt fantastic op'ras! Shall the night,
Without improvement take an heedless flight?
Give me the feast of wisdom from the stage,
The comic ridicule, or tragic rage;
With laughter just to shake th' expanded breast,
Or weep tho' mimic virtue seems distress'd.
But far be thence the lewd immoral scene,
The low buffoon'ry, and jest prophane.
Let vice and folly boldly stand pourtray'd,
That visit courts, or saunter in the shade,
Let wisdom dare assert her rightful claim,
To fix on folly's front the badge of shame;
Laugh where she may, and pity where she can,
Shew what deforms, what dignifies the man;
And rummage each close quarter of the heart,
To scourge out smuggling vice from ev'ry part.
That minds by vice and folly ulcer'd o'er
Satyr may syringe, precept heal the sore:
Till Britain's sons, by such examples taught,
Stab vice and folly in the womb of thought.
Without improvement take an heedless flight?
Give me the feast of wisdom from the stage,
The comic ridicule, or tragic rage;
With laughter just to shake th' expanded breast,
Or weep tho' mimic virtue seems distress'd.
But far be thence the lewd immoral scene,
The low buffoon'ry, and jest prophane.
Let vice and folly boldly stand pourtray'd,
That visit courts, or saunter in the shade,
Let wisdom dare assert her rightful claim,
To fix on folly's front the badge of shame;
Laugh where she may, and pity where she can,
Shew what deforms, what dignifies the man;
And rummage each close quarter of the heart,
To scourge out smuggling vice from ev'ry part.
That minds by vice and folly ulcer'd o'er
Satyr may syringe, precept heal the sore:
Till Britain's sons, by such examples taught,
Stab vice and folly in the womb of thought.
Far nobler scenes employ the patriot's breast,
Divide his days, contract his nightly rest;
When once his country calls his pleading voice,
To form their judgment, and direct their choice.
Divide his days, contract his nightly rest;
When once his country calls his pleading voice,
To form their judgment, and direct their choice.
How oft, when Britain's weal your tongue inspir'd,
Have crowded senates listen'd and admir'd;
Heard you the virtuous policy unfold
Of ancient states; contrast the new and old;
Shew by what arts these rose to glorious fame,
And by what arts they scarce exist in name.
Shew how, as virtue, or corruption sway'd,
Their rights were fix'd, or liberties betray'd.
While hundred-mouth'd, vocif'rous faction fled,
And pale corruption hid her palsy'd head;
Gaunt envy, skulking in a corner, stood,
And shook her snakey locks, in sulkey mood;
Fermenting spleen her venom'd bosom stor'd,
In dark cabals to vend the pois'nous hoard;
O'er each opponent heav'n-born truth prevails,
Fair justice lifts her equal-poised scales;
Serene, in charms of clemency array'd,
Or, rouz'd to wrath, unsheathes her vengeful blade;
While liberty and law, with semblant face,
Conjoin in fond, reciprocal embrace.
Have crowded senates listen'd and admir'd;
Heard you the virtuous policy unfold
Of ancient states; contrast the new and old;
Shew by what arts these rose to glorious fame,
And by what arts they scarce exist in name.
Shew how, as virtue, or corruption sway'd,
Their rights were fix'd, or liberties betray'd.
While hundred-mouth'd, vocif'rous faction fled,
And pale corruption hid her palsy'd head;
Gaunt envy, skulking in a corner, stood,
And shook her snakey locks, in sulkey mood;
Fermenting spleen her venom'd bosom stor'd,
In dark cabals to vend the pois'nous hoard;
O'er each opponent heav'n-born truth prevails,
Fair justice lifts her equal-poised scales;
Serene, in charms of clemency array'd,
Or, rouz'd to wrath, unsheathes her vengeful blade;
While liberty and law, with semblant face,
Conjoin in fond, reciprocal embrace.
Relax'd from senatorial toil and care,
You lose no time, the wise have none to spare.
In chariot borne you speed the friendly tour,
Or friendly rapps assault your sounding door.
Or, steep'd in study, time unnotic'd flies;
Or friendship clips his wings with social joys.
What higher bliss can human life afford,
Than friendly converse round the festive board?
As gloomy ghost or spectre slinks away,
When mild Aurora's cheeks are flush'd with day,
So anxious care and melancholy flee,
Before the dawning rays of social glee;
The tranquil bosom feels its peace refin'd,
The strings of life in unison are join'd;
Sweet friendship in the heart confirms her throne,
Joy stamps each meaning feature for her own.
When, smit with love of virtue, you resort,
Where clad in beauty's charms she keeps her court;
Where plenty crowns the board with pleasing wealth,
And gen'rous bounty weds with sprightly health;
For plenty's handmaid, elegance, attends,
And watchful temp'rance guards the health of friends.
No mawkish adulation palls the taste,
Nor pickl'd Satyr sours the rich repast;
In streams of eloquence the periods glide,
While taste and virtue over speech preside:
Where sense and learning in conjunction sit,
And strong discretion bridles restive wit,
Where neither modest maid, or matron meek,
With words confront that stain the bashful cheek;
Nor holy zeal, nor contrite conscience, fear,
Licentious speech to shock the tender ear:
But gen'rous bosoms, more than gems of gold,
Rich funds of morals, knowledge, sense, unfold;
Transmitting each, to each, the rising store,
For wisdom's plants, while cropping, flourish more,
A magic circle! whose enchanted round,
Admits no fiend to tread the hallow'd ground;
In judgment's sunshine fancy's flow'rets bloom,
And innocence exalts their fresh perfume:
No weeds of envy choke the fertile soil,
In sleek dissimulation's fost'ring smile;
But virtuous reputation's blossom there,
Nor blights of scandal, or, detraction fear.
You lose no time, the wise have none to spare.
In chariot borne you speed the friendly tour,
Or friendly rapps assault your sounding door.
Or, steep'd in study, time unnotic'd flies;
Or friendship clips his wings with social joys.
What higher bliss can human life afford,
Than friendly converse round the festive board?
As gloomy ghost or spectre slinks away,
When mild Aurora's cheeks are flush'd with day,
So anxious care and melancholy flee,
Before the dawning rays of social glee;
The tranquil bosom feels its peace refin'd,
The strings of life in unison are join'd;
Sweet friendship in the heart confirms her throne,
Joy stamps each meaning feature for her own.
When, smit with love of virtue, you resort,
Where clad in beauty's charms she keeps her court;
Where plenty crowns the board with pleasing wealth,
And gen'rous bounty weds with sprightly health;
For plenty's handmaid, elegance, attends,
And watchful temp'rance guards the health of friends.
No mawkish adulation palls the taste,
Nor pickl'd Satyr sours the rich repast;
In streams of eloquence the periods glide,
While taste and virtue over speech preside:
Where sense and learning in conjunction sit,
And strong discretion bridles restive wit,
Where neither modest maid, or matron meek,
With words confront that stain the bashful cheek;
Nor holy zeal, nor contrite conscience, fear,
Licentious speech to shock the tender ear:
But gen'rous bosoms, more than gems of gold,
Rich funds of morals, knowledge, sense, unfold;
Transmitting each, to each, the rising store,
For wisdom's plants, while cropping, flourish more,
A magic circle! whose enchanted round,
129
In judgment's sunshine fancy's flow'rets bloom,
And innocence exalts their fresh perfume:
No weeds of envy choke the fertile soil,
In sleek dissimulation's fost'ring smile;
But virtuous reputation's blossom there,
Nor blights of scandal, or, detraction fear.
Dissolv'd are now those spells, that magic scene;
The sweet enchantress charms the rural plain;
And London like a worn-out jilt appears;
Oppress'd with burning lust, disease and years;
Whose rich gallants, desert her loathed arms,
To court the virgin spring's unrifl'd charms;
And leave her noisy haunts, and harlot face,
To plodding trade, and busy cits embrace.
The sock and buskin strut the stage no more,
Nor eunuch squeaks excite the clapp'd encore;
No senates call you in your country's cause,
To guard her sacred liberty and laws;
Then what allurements can Augusta yield,
To vie with verdant wood and flow'ry field?
Can squatting smoke, low-hov'ring in the sky,
With Sol's celestial, fleecy curtains vie?
Can whirling dust, and smutty, stifling air,
With azure skies, or breezy hills compare?
Or mingl'd streams a richer fragrance bring,
Than brisk Favonius' incense-wafting wing?
Can tinsel signs, and tawdry toy-shops please,
Like flow'ring hedge-rows, and the leafy trees?
Or endless jolts, o'er rattling pavements drawn,
Like smoothly swimming o'er the silent lawn?
Can busy traders, or confused throngs,
Excel the hum of bees, or vernal songs?
Or noisy hacks, and sly jew, croaking deep,
The low of oxen, and the bleat of sheep?
Or shady Ranelagh and Sadlers-wells,
The warbling milkmaid and umbrageous dells?
If simple nature's boorish charms deride,
The city's gorgeous pomp, and studied pride;
Supernal pleasure must her charms impart,
When deck'd, and soften'd, by her pupil, art:
Where art and nature join their utmost skill,
Where nature's art, yet art is nature still;
By art and nature such is Hagley drawn,
Each building, woodland, water, hill and lawn.
The sweet enchantress charms the rural plain;
And London like a worn-out jilt appears;
Oppress'd with burning lust, disease and years;
Whose rich gallants, desert her loathed arms,
To court the virgin spring's unrifl'd charms;
And leave her noisy haunts, and harlot face,
To plodding trade, and busy cits embrace.
The sock and buskin strut the stage no more,
Nor eunuch squeaks excite the clapp'd encore;
No senates call you in your country's cause,
To guard her sacred liberty and laws;
Then what allurements can Augusta yield,
To vie with verdant wood and flow'ry field?
Can squatting smoke, low-hov'ring in the sky,
With Sol's celestial, fleecy curtains vie?
Can whirling dust, and smutty, stifling air,
With azure skies, or breezy hills compare?
Or mingl'd streams a richer fragrance bring,
Than brisk Favonius' incense-wafting wing?
Can tinsel signs, and tawdry toy-shops please,
Like flow'ring hedge-rows, and the leafy trees?
Or endless jolts, o'er rattling pavements drawn,
Like smoothly swimming o'er the silent lawn?
Can busy traders, or confused throngs,
Excel the hum of bees, or vernal songs?
Or noisy hacks, and sly jew, croaking deep,
The low of oxen, and the bleat of sheep?
Or shady Ranelagh and Sadlers-wells,
The warbling milkmaid and umbrageous dells?
If simple nature's boorish charms deride,
The city's gorgeous pomp, and studied pride;
Supernal pleasure must her charms impart,
When deck'd, and soften'd, by her pupil, art:
Where art and nature join their utmost skill,
Where nature's art, yet art is nature still;
By art and nature such is Hagley drawn,
Each building, woodland, water, hill and lawn.
As late, lone musing, thro' those groves I stray'd,
A pleasing voice sweet-warbled from the shade;
I list'ning turn'd, while, from a princely oak,
In plaintive strains, the hamadryad spoke.
A pleasing voice sweet-warbled from the shade;
I list'ning turn'd, while, from a princely oak,
In plaintive strains, the hamadryad spoke.
Immur'd in town, why will our patron stay,
While Hagley revels in the pride of May?
Apollo's fiery coursers bounding high,
Attempt the zenith of our arctic sky.
The wintry train, before his blazing shield,
With dastard flight resign the conquer'd field;
In varied glory shine the meteor train,
His bright retinue! o'er the chequer'd plain,
Thro' which he frequent stoops, from golden seat,
Still wanting Him to make his reign complete;
Sheds thro' these fanning shades attemper'd beams,
And eyes, well pleas'd, his image in the streams:
The streams that toss their liquid arms around,
No more in winters icey handcuffs bound.
While Hagley revels in the pride of May?
Apollo's fiery coursers bounding high,
Attempt the zenith of our arctic sky.
The wintry train, before his blazing shield,
With dastard flight resign the conquer'd field;
In varied glory shine the meteor train,
His bright retinue! o'er the chequer'd plain,
Thro' which he frequent stoops, from golden seat,
Still wanting Him to make his reign complete;
Sheds thro' these fanning shades attemper'd beams,
And eyes, well pleas'd, his image in the streams:
The streams that toss their liquid arms around,
No more in winters icey handcuffs bound.
Fair Flora long has mourn'd her first-born flow'rs,
Successive cherish'd in these fav'rite bow'rs;
Her maiden snow-drops prank'd the infant year,
Till daffodils bedeck'd their early bier;
The pensive primrose soon bewail'd their doom,
And vi'lets wept soft odours o'er their tomb;
Now mournful Hyacinth with drooping head,
Laments in silence o'er his sisters dead;
Nor hopes his murd'rous friend can longer save,
His purple reliques from their annual grave.
The tribes that deck yon garden's glowing space,
Tho' Phœbus courts them with a smiling face,
And sportive Sylphs, in fragrant robes array'd,
On bland Zephyrus' tepid gales convey'd,
Caressing, whisper ev'ry shrub and flow'r,
No more to dread the night-frost's nipping pow'r,
Still husband all their sweets with niggard care,
When He arrives to flood the scented air.
Successive cherish'd in these fav'rite bow'rs;
Her maiden snow-drops prank'd the infant year,
Till daffodils bedeck'd their early bier;
The pensive primrose soon bewail'd their doom,
And vi'lets wept soft odours o'er their tomb;
Now mournful Hyacinth with drooping head,
Laments in silence o'er his sisters dead;
Nor hopes his murd'rous friend can longer save,
His purple reliques from their annual grave.
The tribes that deck yon garden's glowing space,
Tho' Phœbus courts them with a smiling face,
And sportive Sylphs, in fragrant robes array'd,
On bland Zephyrus' tepid gales convey'd,
Caressing, whisper ev'ry shrub and flow'r,
No more to dread the night-frost's nipping pow'r,
Still husband all their sweets with niggard care,
When He arrives to flood the scented air.
Then haste, beloved patron! quickly haste,
Nor lovely spring, nor life, will ever last.
Nor solitary come, but bring along,
The patroness of virtue and of song:
She, whose bright presence, dull December's day
Might metamorphose into sprightly May;
Whose virtuous manners, and whose polish'd mind,
May stand the test and mirror of mankind:
Where mortals may detect each vicious stain,
That spots the heart or taints th' ungovern'd brain;
And, closely scanning her, may clearly know,
How near perfection human virtues grow.
Her gentle soul's with richer treasure stor'd,
Than Indian mines, and sands, and woods afford.
Each art and science lodg'd in her fair breast,
With heav'n's bright caravan of virtues rest.
Her tuneful tongue with eloquence and ease,
The golden merchandize of thought conveys;
Brisk fancy wafts it with her sprightly gales,
While judgment ballasts all the swelling sails.
Thus form'd to give, and relish, social joys,
Time limps not idle, or ignobly flies,
Where she resides; but moves with chearful pace,
Conceals his glass, and smiles with youthful grace.
Her presence vice nor folly dare prophane,
But chaste delights confirm her friendly reign;
And dove-like innocence is ever by,
With artless mien, and heav'n-reflecting eye.
Thus once we saw her in this happy shade,
With ev'ry virtue, ev'ry grace array'd;
And view'd her charms with such intense delight,
Each jealous wood-nymph sicken'd at the sight,
While, here beside these consecrated streams,
Your raptur'd fancy sung enchanting themes:
Each sister grace the magic notes obey'd,
And pac'd, with measur'd steps, the chequer'd shade;
While, warbling soft, the Heliconian choir,
To strains responsive wak'd the tuneful lyre.
Again, with you, oh! would she now appear,
With new delights we'd crown the rip'ning year;
Proclaiming while she treads the blissful scene,
All hail! bright summer's celebrated queen!
Our quiv'ring leaves in canopies should meet,
And painted flow'rs surround your passing feet,
Still pave your way, and still with dying breath,
Bequeath their richest sweets, and smile in death.
We'd purge the hot and rheumy blasts that blow,
And fan pure balmy airs to you below;
Implore propitious Jove with pray'rs and vows,
In aromatic fumes, from whisp'ring boughs,
To interpose his providential pow'r,
With health, and peace, to crown each gladsome hour,
With zeal more ardent than to calm the sky,
When tempests rage, or forky lightnings fly.
Then haste, beloved Patron! quickly haste,
Nor lovely Spring, nor life, will ever last.
Nor lovely spring, nor life, will ever last.
Nor solitary come, but bring along,
The patroness of virtue and of song:
She, whose bright presence, dull December's day
Might metamorphose into sprightly May;
Whose virtuous manners, and whose polish'd mind,
130
Where mortals may detect each vicious stain,
That spots the heart or taints th' ungovern'd brain;
And, closely scanning her, may clearly know,
How near perfection human virtues grow.
Her gentle soul's with richer treasure stor'd,
Than Indian mines, and sands, and woods afford.
Each art and science lodg'd in her fair breast,
With heav'n's bright caravan of virtues rest.
Her tuneful tongue with eloquence and ease,
The golden merchandize of thought conveys;
Brisk fancy wafts it with her sprightly gales,
While judgment ballasts all the swelling sails.
Thus form'd to give, and relish, social joys,
Time limps not idle, or ignobly flies,
Where she resides; but moves with chearful pace,
Conceals his glass, and smiles with youthful grace.
Her presence vice nor folly dare prophane,
But chaste delights confirm her friendly reign;
And dove-like innocence is ever by,
With artless mien, and heav'n-reflecting eye.
Thus once we saw her in this happy shade,
With ev'ry virtue, ev'ry grace array'd;
And view'd her charms with such intense delight,
Each jealous wood-nymph sicken'd at the sight,
While, here beside these consecrated streams,
Your raptur'd fancy sung enchanting themes:
Each sister grace the magic notes obey'd,
And pac'd, with measur'd steps, the chequer'd shade;
While, warbling soft, the Heliconian choir,
To strains responsive wak'd the tuneful lyre.
Again, with you, oh! would she now appear,
With new delights we'd crown the rip'ning year;
Proclaiming while she treads the blissful scene,
All hail! bright summer's celebrated queen!
Our quiv'ring leaves in canopies should meet,
And painted flow'rs surround your passing feet,
Still pave your way, and still with dying breath,
Bequeath their richest sweets, and smile in death.
We'd purge the hot and rheumy blasts that blow,
And fan pure balmy airs to you below;
Implore propitious Jove with pray'rs and vows,
In aromatic fumes, from whisp'ring boughs,
To interpose his providential pow'r,
With health, and peace, to crown each gladsome hour,
With zeal more ardent than to calm the sky,
When tempests rage, or forky lightnings fly.
Then haste, beloved Patron! quickly haste,
Nor lovely Spring, nor life, will ever last.
May, 1765.
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