University of Virginia Library

Hail! ag'd remains of what thou once hast been,
When, mantled o'er with vernal foliage green,
For stature thy fair form unrival'd stood,
The landscape's pride, and monarch of the wood.
O did a spark of Pope's unequall'd fire
The elegiac numbers but inspire,
From thy bare stump the laurel should arise,
And thou once more affect sublime the skies!

What revolutions, in life's strange affairs,
In stations, places, fortunes, studies, cares,
Hast thou beheld, since first thy infant root
Did deep in earth its tender fibrils shoot!
To portray all, whate'er the well-earn'd praise,
In pointed numbers, and in faithful lays,
Would occupy the fam'd Horatian quill,
Yet (strange) the catalogue imperfect still;
Or his, at once his subject and his claim,
Who sung the general passion, love of fame.
Yet shall the muse, content with aiming well,
Attempt a theme where others may excell.

Say, since thy birth, what undertakings plann'd,
What armies rais'd—a rumour to withstand.
In seas of their own blood what millions drown'd,
What battles fought—about an inch of ground.
What furies veil'd in sacerdotal gown,
Sent from below to turn worlds upside-down.
What arts a stain on merit to affix,
What villains wafted in a coach and six,
Thousands of Virtue's sons obscurely born,
Haply, the humblest stations to adorn.
What midnight lamps consum'd—a day to fix,
What learning spent—that three and three make six.
What spleen—our merit suffers by compare.
What noble goodly structures—built in air.
To hide us—from ourselves, what treble bars,
What marks of honour—in love's glorious wars.
What tours to distant regions—in the brain.
What contests to support—a harlot's train.
What engines rear'd—a rocket to expel.
What kingly favour shown—for pimping well.
What godlike acts of bounty—to be seen.
What grand contrivances—a knave to screen.
What pomp of language—to describe a dance.
What great resolves—in fashion to advance.
What factions form'd—to discompose a stage,
What laws to mend—the gaming of the age.
What gen'rous friendship—to ourselves avow'd.
What dignity of look—his Lordship bow'd.
What fortunes mortgag'd—that a horse may run.
What striking talents—to compose a pun.
What dreadful terrours—for a midge's sting.
What sums expended—on an insect's wing.
What loud laments—a monkey to bewail,
What grief—for trampling on a lap-dog's tail.
What freedoms us'd by each fierce son of thunder,
Resolv'd—his sword and sheath shall never sunder.
With what audacious haughty front he struts,
Like yonder bull against some tree that butts!
By method valiant, and by piece-meal brave,
How much unlike himself would he behave!
To Clodia, see how quick revers'd his plan,
For Clodia, like a hero, kill'd his man!
Not so mild Ned, he ne'er his rapier gor'd,
And hence is threaten'd by each poltroon's sword.
But let the muse to other objects turn,
With indignation and with anger burn,
While she but narrates, in impartial rhyme,
What pass'd when mankind saw thee in thy prime.

To settle faith what sanguine crouds in arms.
What set devotions paid—to Circe's charms.
What recollection—at a tart reply.
What manly boldness—to maintain a lie.
What high debates—to fix a stallion's price.
What strength of reasoning—to defend a vice.
What strong foretastes of Heav'n, what perfect bliss,
What chaste enjoyments—in a strumpet's kiss.
What looks of dark design, not to disclose
A mighty secret—which all mankind knows.
What cordial shakes, with many a gen'rous vaunt,
What promises—to those who nothing want.
What looks of honest meaning—to beguile.
What years attendance to obtain—a smile.
What learn'd advice—a freckled brow to cure,
What Christian calm—a pimple to endure.
What pious multitudes to church repair,
To take their godly nap, or see the Fair.
How ev'ry night long Sarco's fam'ly pray,
For he defrauds his customers all day.
Vano how like a saint, none really more,
Just now the doctor gave poor Vano o'er.
How Casto's voice in talking seldom sinks,
For the best reason, Casto never thinks.
How furious Marcia, stamping on the floor,
Poor George (black crime) forgot to shut the door.
What obloquy—Aurelia seeks the shade.
What cruel jests—Amanda's roses fade.
What endless sighs—not that Aspasia's ill,
But O! the doctor—kept her from quadrille.
What joyful looks (apart) what triumphs vast,
Just now Almira's husband—breath'd his last.
How wedlock women—of fourteen adore.
How self-deny'd to marriage—full threescore.
How meek Fastidia gen'rously would wed,
Could she but take a coronet to bed;
While Chloe ventures on a man downright,
For O—! he danc'd most charmingly last night.
How many maids to marry still delay,
Because (alas) no husband comes their way;
Because (at the mere thought Compassion starts)
If wed, whole scores would die of broken hearts!

But who can travel through the maze of life,
Its little contests, bustlings, cares, and strife,
Hopes, wishes, fears, in quick rotation seen
Thy vernal bloom and thy decline between?
Sooner the eye may Spring's cast blossoms count,
Or leaves in Autumn's whirling blasts that mount.
But now alas! thy glory is no more,
Thy glory wont each season to restore.
How emblematic of man's common doom,
Man, so conceited of his nodding plume;
Like thee, to see a few short summers glide,
Then be disrob'd of all his gorgeous pride;
Small space between, howe'er his prospects tow'r,
His rites funereal and his natal hour!
Shall mortals then on length of years depend,
And stretch out life almost without an end;
To fortune, strength, to youth, or beauty trust,
To rescue, or detain, them from the dust;
When Elms themselves, with all their proud display
Of branchy verdure, wither and decay?
Elms, that can brave the Winter's northern blast,
But by Time's stronger hand subdu'd at last.