Poems to Thespia To Which are Added, Sonnets, &c. [by Hugh Downman] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. | XX.
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| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
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 | Poems to Thespia |  |
68
XX.
[Let some heap wealth with never-ceasing pain]
Let some heap wealth with never-ceasing pain,
Try every art, and brave all ills for gain.
Let others toil in war, whom glory charms,
Their slumbers broken by the din of arms.
Me, neither emulous of pomp or praise,
Choice to a life of indolence betrays.
Nor small the pleasure which the country yields,
It's rills untainted, and innoxious fields.
Try every art, and brave all ills for gain.
Let others toil in war, whom glory charms,
Their slumbers broken by the din of arms.
Me, neither emulous of pomp or praise,
Choice to a life of indolence betrays.
Nor small the pleasure which the country yields,
It's rills untainted, and innoxious fields.
Now from the incircling weed the plant I free,
Now shake the ripen'd apple from the tree;
My thriving nursery view; or lands which bear
The frugal portion of the future year;
In hope, my sheaves arranged with skill, survey,
Or homeward borne, and safely piled away.
Now shake the ripen'd apple from the tree;
My thriving nursery view; or lands which bear
The frugal portion of the future year;
In hope, my sheaves arranged with skill, survey,
Or homeward borne, and safely piled away.
I blush not in my hardy palm to take
The sharpen'd sickle, or collecting rake;
To turn the furrow in the loosen'd plain,
And throw with liberal hand the yellow grain.
Or when unheeded by it's careless dam,
To foster by my fire a tender lamb.
This is the place where life with joy is spent,
These are the haunts which cherish sweet content.
The sharpen'd sickle, or collecting rake;
69
And throw with liberal hand the yellow grain.
Or when unheeded by it's careless dam,
To foster by my fire a tender lamb.
This is the place where life with joy is spent,
These are the haunts which cherish sweet content.
Oh! when a vacant interspace I find,
To tread the paths, myself have taught to wind,
Where the trim hedgerows, neatly pleach'd, around
Defend my farm, and circumscribe it's bound.
To break my fence, and ramble, void of care,
Across the hills and dales, I know not where;
How struck with awe, or pleasure, should my eye
A blasted oak unseen before espy!
Or my ear catch the song of rustic hind
Borne on the pinions of the breathing wind!
To tread the paths, myself have taught to wind,
Where the trim hedgerows, neatly pleach'd, around
Defend my farm, and circumscribe it's bound.
To break my fence, and ramble, void of care,
Across the hills and dales, I know not where;
How struck with awe, or pleasure, should my eye
A blasted oak unseen before espy!
Or my ear catch the song of rustic hind
Borne on the pinions of the breathing wind!
Tho slender are my means, nor large my store,
Yet not unhospitable is my door;
Oft shall my honest neighbour enter there,
And own, that tho not rich, I am sincere.
There helpless age shall gain some small supply,
Nor lift in vain the supplicating eye.
Yet not unhospitable is my door;
70
And own, that tho not rich, I am sincere.
There helpless age shall gain some small supply,
Nor lift in vain the supplicating eye.
Oh! may my fields the bursting torrent spare,
Nor sweep away the produce of the year!
Oh! wholesome be the gales which o'er them blow!
So shall my grazing flock no taintworm know:
So shall my healthy oxen draw the plough,
My kine with well-distended udders low.
Be to my humble prayer propitious, Heaven!
Nor thus make less the little thou hast given!
Nor sweep away the produce of the year!
Oh! wholesome be the gales which o'er them blow!
So shall my grazing flock no taintworm know:
So shall my healthy oxen draw the plough,
My kine with well-distended udders low.
Be to my humble prayer propitious, Heaven!
Nor thus make less the little thou hast given!
That little is enough; with that I'm blest;
And feel each wish abundantly possest.
Yes, 'tis enough; what luxury ne'er knows,
Each eve I steep my limbs in calm repose.
Should I awake, how pleased, to lye, and hear
The raging winds without assail my ear!
And should my Thespia at the tempest start,
To strain the trembling fair one to my heart!
Or when the wintry rain descends in streams
Then to be buried in Elysian dreams!
And feel each wish abundantly possest.
Yes, 'tis enough; what luxury ne'er knows,
Each eve I steep my limbs in calm repose.
Should I awake, how pleased, to lye, and hear
The raging winds without assail my ear!
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To strain the trembling fair one to my heart!
Or when the wintry rain descends in streams
Then to be buried in Elysian dreams!
This be my lot; let him be rich for me,
Who dares the terrors of the uncertain sea;
The pointed rocks, and hidden quicksands braves,
And all the fury of the winds and waves.
This be my lot; content shall league with health,
Nor give one anxious thought to pride or wealth.
My luxury; the summers fervid sun
In some o'er-arching cave, or grove to shun;
Seek the deep shaded stream which steals along,
And pour my unpremeditated song.
When winter drives my cattle to the fold,
And the shrunk æther is benumb'd with cold.
To heap the crackling fuel, and at ease
Enjoy the spreading lustre of the blaze;
Or bid my distant houshold train draw nigh,
And catch the pleasure beaming from their eye.
Who dares the terrors of the uncertain sea;
The pointed rocks, and hidden quicksands braves,
And all the fury of the winds and waves.
This be my lot; content shall league with health,
Nor give one anxious thought to pride or wealth.
My luxury; the summers fervid sun
In some o'er-arching cave, or grove to shun;
Seek the deep shaded stream which steals along,
And pour my unpremeditated song.
When winter drives my cattle to the fold,
And the shrunk æther is benumb'd with cold.
To heap the crackling fuel, and at ease
Enjoy the spreading lustre of the blaze;
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And catch the pleasure beaming from their eye.
Riches! I give them to the wind—to me
They shine unnoticed, and my fair to thee.
Riches? again I give you to the wind—
Say, can you add one pleasure to the mind?
Root out the ever-withering branch of care?
Or plant one vegetative virtue there?
They shine unnoticed, and my fair to thee.
Riches? again I give you to the wind—
Say, can you add one pleasure to the mind?
Root out the ever-withering branch of care?
Or plant one vegetative virtue there?
Wide-straying Fancy, whither dost thou rove?
O Thespia, all these thoughts I owe to love.
From thee they spring, by thee my breast was fired,
And reason sanctifies, what love inspired.
Had not thy wishes breathed an humble life,
I might perhaps, with base diseases rife,
Have join'd the sordid throng—have dogg'd the train
Of abject pride, and clank'd my golden chain.
Now do I know to live my Thespia, now
To live indeed, for thou hast taught me how.
O Thespia, all these thoughts I owe to love.
From thee they spring, by thee my breast was fired,
And reason sanctifies, what love inspired.
Had not thy wishes breathed an humble life,
I might perhaps, with base diseases rife,
Have join'd the sordid throng—have dogg'd the train
Of abject pride, and clank'd my golden chain.
Now do I know to live my Thespia, now
To live indeed, for thou hast taught me how.
73
For thee my Love, no toil would I disdain,
But vie in labour with the meanest swain.
My oxen join, when day begins to peep,
Or on the lonely mountain feed my sheep;
And while my arms thy gentle form surround,
Enjoy soft slumbers on the rugged ground.
Who on the embroider'd couch would wish to lye,
If scornful love expand his sleepless eye?
Ah! wretch! soft melody's enchanting strain,
The downy pillow tempts repose in vain.
But vie in labour with the meanest swain.
My oxen join, when day begins to peep,
Or on the lonely mountain feed my sheep;
And while my arms thy gentle form surround,
Enjoy soft slumbers on the rugged ground.
Who on the embroider'd couch would wish to lye,
If scornful love expand his sleepless eye?
Ah! wretch! soft melody's enchanting strain,
The downy pillow tempts repose in vain.
Let vanity in empty shew delight,
To glitter in the gazer's wond'ring sight;
Let proud ambition to the court repair,
There the mean brow of servile flattery wear,
Cringe to some worthless pander every hour,
Creep on the dirty ground, to rise to power.
Let avarice looking on his tumid store,
Exulting lift his head, and curse the poor;
Thou fill'st my every wish, and while the fire
Of life shall burn, no other shall transpire.
To glitter in the gazer's wond'ring sight;
Let proud ambition to the court repair,
There the mean brow of servile flattery wear,
Cringe to some worthless pander every hour,
Creep on the dirty ground, to rise to power.
Let avarice looking on his tumid store,
Exulting lift his head, and curse the poor;
74
Of life shall burn, no other shall transpire.
E'en at the last, thou still my sight shalt bless,
And my weak hand shall strive thy hand to press.
How wilt thou mourn, and droop thy pensive head,
When on my bed of death I shall be laid!
Yes, thou wilt mourn, my pale, cold limbs embrace,
And bathe with ineffectual tears my face.
Thou hast no flinty heart which cannot feel,
Thy bosom is not braced with chains of steel.
With streaming eyes see me inhumed in clay,
Nor force shall tear thee from my grave away.
Yet oh! thy cheeks at that dread moment spare,
Nor rend the flowing tresses of thy hair!
Tho torn from thee by death's relentless will,
My conscious soul shall fondly view thee still.
And my weak hand shall strive thy hand to press.
How wilt thou mourn, and droop thy pensive head,
When on my bed of death I shall be laid!
Yes, thou wilt mourn, my pale, cold limbs embrace,
And bathe with ineffectual tears my face.
Thou hast no flinty heart which cannot feel,
Thy bosom is not braced with chains of steel.
With streaming eyes see me inhumed in clay,
Nor force shall tear thee from my grave away.
Yet oh! thy cheeks at that dread moment spare,
Nor rend the flowing tresses of thy hair!
Tho torn from thee by death's relentless will,
My conscious soul shall fondly view thee still.
Meantime let love be ours; too soon will spread
The sable cloud round each devoted head.
Too soon old age steals on, whose frosted hair
Forbids the genial blandishments to share.
Now let the fugitive be our's! for now
On our flush'd cheeks sits well his fervent glow.
Now it becomes to mix the endearing scene,
And scatter sweet protervity between.
The sable cloud round each devoted head.
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Forbids the genial blandishments to share.
Now let the fugitive be our's! for now
On our flush'd cheeks sits well his fervent glow.
Now it becomes to mix the endearing scene,
And scatter sweet protervity between.
Far be the bustling world! it's trivial joys,
It's fame, it's wealth, it's honours, I despise.
It's fame, it's wealth, it's honours, I despise.
| Poems to Thespia | |