Poetical essays on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

I leave my wonted Themes, the Nymphs and Swains,
The shady Woods, clear Streams, and sunny Plains,
To sing the studious Sage, whose towering Mind
To this low Spot disdain'd to be confin'd:

Who to Creation's distant Regions soar'd,
And Wonders hid from human Eyes explor'd;
Did Nature's deep Recesses open lay,
Dispel the Gloom, and spread immortal Day.

O! could my Numbers like his System move,
Nor from just Laws of Truth, excursive rove,
Be smooth, yet nervous, regular, yet great,
Harmonious, lofty, simple yet compleat,
On Reason's well-pois'd Wings his Fame should rise,
And Newton's Column reach beyond the Skies.

Fair as the Spring, or Heav'n's ethereal Blue,
See each Discovery opens to our View.
See Light from him it's various Beauty draw,
And every sleeping Atom own his Law:
While Stars erratic regularly roll,
Know their markt Orbits, and obey their Pole.
He, doubtful Schemes to Demonstration brought,
What Plato sung, and Samos' Prophet taught.

A wondrous Power he saw diffus'd o'er all,
Which unremitting governs every Ball:
He saw perpetual Gravity obtain,
And o'er the System hold coercive Reign;
Without whose central Power, each lawless World
Wou'd thro' the Void in swift Career be hurl'd,
In boundless Skies still sweeping unwith-held,
For Matter only moves, as 'tis impell'd,
And when no foreign Energy's imprest,
Is still alike inclin'd to roll, or rest.

He shew'd before the wondrous Frame begun,
E'er infant Rays shot radiant from the Sun,
E'er darksome Planets knew their future Bound,
Or ductile Air confest the flow of Sound,
How in each separate Sphere, by Skill divine,
Two different Powers compos'd the great Design;
While the Projectile, and the Central share
Balance of Empire, in celestial Air.

And lo! each stagnate Mass begins its Race,
Starts from its Sleep, and wheels in empty Space.
Attending Moons perceive th'impulsive Force,
And round their Center steer in silent Course:
Still govern'd by the same mechanic Laws,
Each Orb obeys the Universal Cause.
With Force reciprocal in Concert shine,
Associate Planets in a curved Line.
Else by two Motions hung in Balance high,
They'd form a glittering Desart in the Sky,
A stagnate, wild, inhospitable Seat,
Curst with eternal Cold, or scorch'd with Heat.

But see from distant Heav'ns, a blazing Star ,
Visits our Coast, and flames in solar Air.
Nature in Labor sickens at the sight,
And fancy'd Judgments hover in its Light.

The fiery Tail a Croud of Ills portends,
Famine and Sword the baleful Meteor sends,
The Air is poison'd with th'impending Blaze,
And jarring Nations kindle at its Rays.

But Newton views the Scene without Surprize,
Salutes the Star, and hails it to our Skies;
Its wondrous Path soon open'd to his View,
And his swift Thought the lingring Light out flew;
He mark'd its Motions each returning Night,
Nor cou'd the Day conceal it from his sight.
And now it quits our Hemisphere, and flies
Beyond the narrow ken of human Eyes;
Thus Newton quits it not; but sees it sweep,
Far sunk behind the Curtains of the Deep:
Fathoms the vast Ellipsis in his Mind,
And leaves this planetary Spot behind,
Still he was with it where it farthest shone,
And steer'd the flying Flambeau round the Sun.

Led by this Guide, he march'd from Clime to Clime,
And trac'd the mazy Labyrinth of Time;
Beheld it first in morning Robes appear,
And dawning, usher in the infant Year.
Reform'd the Æras of the Golden Fleece,
And mark'd th'Olympic Kalendars of Greece.
When Truth was wrapt in Shade, and Science young,
Thro' the dim Space, he Lamps celestial hung,
To guide the dark Historian's erring way,
And o'er dull Records scatter welcome Day.

The Nations taught by him, no more shall dread
O'er half the Heav'ns, to see the Comet spread,
But pleas'd survey the Horrors of his Tail,
Worship his Beams, and his Approaches hail.

The silver Moon that with resplendent Robe
Majestic walks each Night around our Globe,

Watchful supplies her absent Brother's room,
And Queen of sleeping Nature, gilds the Gloom,
By Newton watch'd in her nocturnal Rounds,
Was oft observ'd to wander in her Bounds;
And shewn as oft to wander with design,
Recede by Rule, and quit th'Ecliptick Line.
To him with various Elegance she moves,
Retires in State, and regularly roves,
And constantly, inconstant in her Pace,
Error itself looks lovely in her Race.
Thus when disorder'd Grace, and artless Shew
Dwells in some Cynthia's careless Dress below,
Tho' we perceive no Order in her Air,
Yet Art lies hid behind each Lock of Hair,
The scatter'd Charms are plac'd with so much ease,
We know not how, but only that they please.

The watry Orb by his attractive Laws,
High in her azure Disk, the Deluge draws:

Ten thousand Streams her Influence obey,
And ebb, or flow by her celestial Sway.
The conscious Seas the wondrous Impulse feel,
And passive Billows with Reluctance reel.
The long mysterious Tides, obscure no more,
By Laws salute, by Laws forsake the Shore;
Their various Flows on Gravity depend,
Rise by its Force, and by its Force descend.
To this th'uncertain Fluxes round the Earth,
Ægean, or Atlantic, owe their birth,
When Cynthia in her Sphere alone attracts,
Or with the feebler Sun in concert acts.
'Tis thus she agitates th'elastic Air,
Successive Tides confess her Influence there;
In springy Filaments expanded rise,
And float in wavy Circles to the Skies.

Then to the Earth the Sage descending slow,
Sees how th'eternal Law prevails below;

Thro' all her Texture propagates its Force,
And keeps inferior Nature in its Course:
Else by the Globe's Rotation, Hills wou'd start,
And Trees, and Towns, in tangent Lines depart.
'Tis thus the Air within its Confines flows,
Moves in an Orb, and its own District knows:
This Power the raging Seas, and Winds contains,
Else might a Tempest reach th'ethereal Plains,
The Waves ungovern'd sally from the Deep,
And lawless Oceans thro' the Concave sweep.

Still step by step, the Godlike Chief pursues
The glorious Purpose, and the Toil renews.
In vain coy Nature wou'd his Grasp elude,
Conceal'd in mystic Shapes, and Solitude;
He traces each Meander of her Flight,
And keeps the shifting Fugitive in sight.
Thro' the fine Texture of material Parts
His subtle Thought with equal Swiftness darts;

Attraction sees in various Form obtain,
And Regent of atomic Kingdoms reign.
To this ascending Fountains owe their Birth,
And oozing Vapors percolate the Earth,
Weep thro' the porous Stone, pervade the Hill,
And filtred thro' the Glebe, in Streams distil.
Thus climbs the vital Sap, and by degrees,
With Heat expanded, penetrates the Trees;
The vivid Blood, thus permeates the Veins,
And thro' invisible Meanders strains.
Thus the minutest Corpuscles attract,
And little Powers in little Orbits act,
Obedient at the Point of Contact draw,
Embrace, and feel the universal Law.

The shining Fountain of refracted Rays,
In Robes of Lustre glitters to his Praise.
Reform'd by him, the Day more beauteous shews,
And the fair Morn with fairer Purple glows;

Earth looks more charming to the curious Eye,
And every Flower displays a richer Dye.
While all the fair Phænomena of Light,
Inform the Judgment, as they please the Sight.
We see the Texture of the glittering Bow,
And parent Colours from their Fountain flow;
Whence variously combin'd, with blended Blaze,
Starts all the wild Variety of Rays.

He taught, that Bodies vibrated around,
Produce the flow of Light, or flow of Sound:
How ambient Air in dancing Pulses heaves,
Unfolds its Web, and propagates its Waves,
Thro' the thin Cantons, undulating plays,
And to the trembling Organ Sound conveys.

How vast, how infinite th'amazing Train
Of simple Truths, which in his System reign!
Beauteous Cement! in one connected Line,
Like Rays from Heav'n, they in conjunction shine:

Thus in Assemblage, shine the starry Rays,
And form afar one undistinguish'd Blaze.

Blest is the Man, whose ever-studious Mind,
Can the fair Series of his Truths unwind,
And step by step th'harmonious Chain pursue,
Till Nature's Secrets open to his View.
In Philosophic Flights he soars serene,
And, rapt in Vision, sees the wondrous Scene:
Th'eternal Beauty opens to his sight,
Diviner Charms, and Deluges of Light.
He sees the Chain from Heav'n to Earth descend,
And on their latent Cause Effects depend,
That unseen Cause which agitates each Sphere,
Pervades the Mass, and rules the circling Year.

He views th'expanded Theatre above,
Where Planets in sublimer Orbits move.
To still remoter Tracts, his Thoughts arise,
And build exalted Stories in the Skies;

Where yon fix'd Stars their own bright Vault behold,
And other Spheres their spangled Lights unfold;
Where other Dramas, other Suns take place,
And flame throughout the Latitudes of Space.
Still rising, he adores the Power which reigns,
Supreme o'er all, and every part sustains.
For Newton saw, fair Stamp of Hand divine,
With conqu'ring Beauty o'er Creation shine;
He saw a mild Omnipotence preside,
And Deity diffus'd the System guide.
Charm'd with this Truth, a calm Devotion fir'd,
And Godlike Virtue all his Frame inspir'd.
A Mind thus buoy'd above terrestrial Show,
Smiles at the Comedy of Life below.

The World inform'd by his unerring Rules,
Quits the Enchantment of the slumbring Schools,
Forsakes her vain, and visionary Schemes,
The Din of Sounds, and Tyranny of Names;

Authority itself can't guard the Youth,
Nor, rob'd in all her Splendor, charm like Truth.
She comes encircled with resistless Ray,
And Sounds, and Signs, and Jargon fly away.

On airy Wings, Conjecture loves to climb,
And builds her Turret to the Skies sublime:
There on a Globe the hov'ring Phantom dwells,
Rais'd on a splendid Pyramid of Shells.
There soars the Phenix, with her flaming Plumes,
Fantastic Beings wander o'er the Rooms,
Chimæras, Sylphs, and banisht Fairies rest,
And Rosicrucian Sects the Clime infest;
But Newton came, and scatter'd all the Spell,
And to the ground the mimic Palace fell.
He from unquestion'd Facts his Work began,
And on a lasting Basis built his Plan.
From plain Experiment deriv'd his Scheme,
Still on Mechanic Reasoning, rais'd his Frame.

And from a Pendule, or Prismatic Glass,
Amazing Theorems of Truth could trace.

Hail! blest Experiment, whose grateful Light,
Dispels the Gloom of Sophistry and Night;
Discov'ry sits, close waiting, at thy side,
And Paths of Evidence thy Foot-steps guide;
Error from thee, as from the Morning, flies,
And Bigots half awake, see Light, and close their Eyes.

But oh! what equal Honors can be paid,
Illustrious Newton! to thy sacred Shade?
Let every gentle Blast of wavy Air,
To distant Climes, thy high Discov'ries bear,
And Light in every tremulating Ray
Diffuse thy Praise, who didst its Robes display:
And while the watry World obeys thy Laws,
Let grateful Billows swell with thy Applause.

Let none for him with Tears inglorious mourn,
Or shed unmanly Sorrows o'er his Urn;

To grace his Exit let no human Show,
Or tinsel Pomp attend his Hearse below:
But Ghosts of ancient Heroes rise in State,
And philosophic Shades, in Silence wait;
While Meteors 'midst the dim Procession play,
And Northern Streamers faintly gild the way,
Or Peals of Thunder murmur o'er the Sky,
Or Storms, like those, which rush, when Heroes die.

See where he mounts the high, diurnal Sphere,
And leaves a Trail of Light along the Air;
The Stars accost him, as he soars along,
And Souls of wandring Sages round him throng.
Mark! where he halts on Saturn, tipt with Snow,
And pleas'd surveys his Theory below;
Sees the five Moons alternate round him shine,
Rise by his Laws, and by his Laws decline,
Then thro' the Void takes his immortal Race,
Amidst the vast Infinity of Space.

The Comet in 1680.

Modern Courtship:

Inscrib'd to Miss *W***t*.

You ask me, Delia, why Papillio reigns
The Darling of the Fair, and mocks the Swains?
You are a Stranger to his Charms; for know,
He powders, prates, and bows profoundly low;
He dresses, dances, dallies, daubs with Snuff,
What think you, Delia? is not this enough?
Pert, pretty, proud, and of a pliant Size,
In Laces, Modes, and Treats extremely wise:
No Sin so great, as Ignorance of Fashion,
Clowns, in his Creed, will scarce obtain Salvation;

Whate'er he says,—is with an Air so bright,
Drury grows chaste, and Dullness sounds polite.
He laughs, he prays, he sneezes with a Grace,
Each Muscle knows its Post, each Curl its Place.
As froths the Yeast fermenting from the Bung,
So lambent Nonsense trickles from his Tongue.
Thus Dross refin'd glides purer thro' the Still,
And Rags are whiten'd in the Paper-Mill.

I know you'll deem Papillio but a Fop,
And all his Furniture a gew-gaw Shop,
A Shop of Toys to please a dazzled Eye,
Which some admire, and some pass wisely by.
Women like Widgeons are decoy'd by Show,
Where one the plain, ten like the painted Beau.
Delia, let Phillis spend each gaudy Day,
In Balls, Ridottos, Puppet-shows, and Play:
As Kate with Rattles lulls the Babe to sleep,
Thus one eternal Lullaby they keep.

Like Squirrels pleas'd with their own tinkling Sound,
And still in Motion ring one airy Round.

The Wise in decent Bounds restrain their Gust,
Season their Joys, nor drink but when they thirst.
He tastes most Bliss who husbands well his store,
We only pall our Appetite with more.
Like Prodigals, the Frolick and the Gay
Lavish their Stock in one short Holiday.
Papillio thus, fantastically vain,
Flies his own Company, and courts a Train
Of low Amusements, to delude the Sense,
And cheat poor Life with gay Impertinence.
Thus he humms Tunes, and trifles with the Fair,
Now Riddles tells, now capers in the Air.
Now suddenly in love, he swears he dies,
And who wou'd think,—so fine a Lover lyes?
Now on his Dinner dwells, and now his Dreams
Of Coffee-Grounds, Flow'rs, Weddings and whipt Creams.

If such Perfections must obtain a Wife,
Give me, ye Gods! a Cave, and private Life.
How soft the Slumber, how secure the Shade,
Safe, where no Coxcombs rush, no Fools invade?
While some fair Nymph, with kind, but artless Air,
Governs each rustic Song, and sooths each Care.
And if some learned Friend his Stock will join,
And mingle Cares with Cares, and Wit with Wine,
W**lp**le, I wou'd not change my Lot for thine.

Pray Ladies, listen to a country Tale,
John treats his Lass with Nutmeg and with Ale;
Clad in new Sunday Clothes, struts thro' the Wake,
And gives her sometimes Kisses, sometimes Cake.

I love thee, charming Joan! with all my heart,
A Love which Death, and Death alone can part;
For let me tell thee with a faithful Sigh,
For thee, my Dear, I willingly wou'd die:

Thy yielding Breasts, like new-press'd Cheeses shew,
And thy blue Eyes are like the glossy Sloe.
A-field I have ten Ewes, and ten milch Kine,
Had I a hundred more, they all were thine.
When home from Plough the weary Team I goad,
And ease the lab'ring Oxen of their Load,
While on our Elm the peaceful Poultry rest,
I find a greater Burden in my Breast.
Their Toil is ended with the setting Sun,
But far from thee,—my Toil is just begun;
Thro' all the live-long Night no rest I find,
Still something lies so heavy on my Mind.
Musing on thee my Sheep are wont to stray,
And I with them have often lost my way;
'Twas strange at first! but I'm surpriz'd no more
To lose my way, who lost my Heart before.

John's Love is homely, but sincere his Heart,
This Nature is, the other is but Art.

For all the tinsel Courtship of the Town,
Give me the honest Passion of the Clown.
But oh! to dress, to dance, to sigh, to sing,
To prate, to play—is so polite a thing—
Thus Moderns love—Delia! you smile at this,
But who thus loves, will seldom love amiss.
Alas! for me there is no room for Hope,
I cannot play Quadrille—nor dance the Rope.
Delia, you say Baboons will do the same,
Ev'n Elephants their Gambols learn when tame.
How fine the Jay, how active is the Ape!
Sure Fops are Monkeys in a human Shape:
Birds have their Notes, and Lap-dogs know their Airs,
There have been dying Polls, and dancing Bears.
If Phillis smiles on such Gallants as these,
I thank my Stars—I was not born to please.
Others like me have felt a fruitless Pain,
Granville for Myra sigh'd, but sigh'd in vain.
Still sounds the Shade with Sacharissa's Name,
And Thames still weeps her injur'd Cowley's Flame.

Then foolish Muse! thy fond Complaints give o'er;
If Delia says 'tis right, I ask no more.
Now hail! ye dusky Groves, ye Fair farewel,
I envy not your Bliss; nor envy you my Cell.

TRANSLATIONS FROM The Italian of Signor Rolli's SONNETS.

Song I. L. 1.

Sweet Nymph! what means your amorous Grace,
And all your beauteous Charms,
If Love is absent from your Face,
And Cupid flies your Arms?

The radiant Splendor of your Eyes
Has set my Soul on flame;
But soon, alas! the Ardor dies,
Unless you feel the same.

When the fair Nymph enjoys those Fires
Which her own Beauty gives,
Blest is the Swain, who then admires,
And on her Beauty lives.

Then let another Phillis dare
To captivate his Eye,
In vain; she is not half so fair,
Nor worthy of a Sigh.

But if the gentle Maid returns,
All ravishing, and bright,
Love in his heaving Bosom burns,
And trembles in his sight.

Not Wealth, nor Pow'r, with all their State,
Like Love can charm the Mind;
Let Love and Beauty on me wait,
I'll leave the rest behind.

Song II.

Oh! shady, solitary Grove,
Receive my troubled Breast,
While to thy silent Gloom I rove,
And court in Shades my Rest.

Those Objects which the World delight,
To me no Pleasure give,
The Charmer's banisht from my sight,
And absent can I live?

O! tell me where my Fair-one's gone,
And in what Covert laid,
Ye Groves, and Woods, while wild I run,
And hunt from Shade to Shade.

Say lovely Boughs! how oft have you
From us fenc'd off the Day,
While the blest Moments peaceful flew,
And gently roll'd away?

Say where she is, ye friendly Trees!
And whisp'ring let me know:
But Echo answers in the Breeze,
And seems to tell me, No.

I hear a Murmur in the Shade,
Perhaps her sighing Strain,
A Sigh from my adored Maid,
That says, return again:

But ah! the Brook deludes my Grief,
O'er Pebbles gliding by,
And only murmurs some Relief,
Responsive to my Cry.

What will her Pity then avail
To her neglected Swain,
When lying breathless, cold and pale,
She weeps for me in vain?

Song II. L. II.

The airy Nymph prefers the Rose
That with such various Beauty blows;
But if it hangs too near a Thorn,
To other Flowers she flies with Scorn.

O! fair, but proud Irene hear
What Doris said the other Day:
The Rose, said she, is Queen of Flow'rs,
The Pride of all the springing Year;
But Jessamin that decks the Bow'rs,
O'er her with blooming Lustre tow'rs.

I own the Jess'min, like the Rose,
Will not the Spring adorn,
But drest in white it beauteous grows,
And hangs without a Thorn.

Others may chuse that glowing Flow'r,
To entertain their Sense;
But let me have fair Jess'min clad
In virgin Innocence.

Song IV.

Beauteous Irene, say no more
Of Love, now I am safe at Shore:
Its Pleasures have so many Pains,
And leave such Stings behind,
That I'm resolv'd to quit the Chains,
And free my captive Mind.

Then cease, my fair Irene, cease
To love; for Lovers have no Peace.
No more I swear, will I consume
Whole Nights without my Rest;
Nor spend the cheerless Day in Gloom,
With a tormented Breast:

Each Moment fearing lest my Love
Will treach'rous or ungrateful prove.

How senseless 'tis to court those Joys,
Which are so full of Smart?
But the free Swain, no Care annoys,
No Fevers plague his Heart:

Let Curses light upon that Swain
Who, when he's free, returns again.

If there's no Pleasure more sincere
Than Liberty, and Ease,
Then wretched's he who courts the Snare,
And trusts again the Seas.

To the Reverend Mr. STOGDON,

Author of Colin's Advice, or Damon to Nisa.

I thought such a Ditty was writ
By some Shepherd inspir'd by Pan;
Simplicity, Softness, and Wit,
Thro' each Stanza so prettily ran:

'Mongst the Grottos, the Lawns, and the Plains,
Those Regions of Pleasure and Love,
Where Nature condoles with the Swains,
And Nymphs such soft Sentiments move.

But when undeceived I knew
'Twas a Spiritual Pastor that wrote,
Then without e'er a Pause I guess'd who,
And trac'd you in ev'ry fine Thought.

Sure divinely inspir'd you write,
And Charity fir'd your Breast
To compassionate Damon's sad Plight,
And your Eloquence furnish'd the rest.

Assemblies dissolve into Joy,
And soar up in Rapture above,
When your Thoughts Hallelujahs employ,
And you picture a Heav'n of Love:

But when you describe the last Day,
And dwell on the Regions of Woe,
We see all the dreadful Array,
And start at the Terrors below.

When disconsolate Damon alone
In Silence breathes forth his sad Sighs,
We too sympathize with his Moan,
And view him with pitiful Eyes.

Her Heart must be harder than Steel
Not to soften with such a soft Muse;
'Twill soon make her Fortitude reel,
Sure Nisa can never refuse.

The Swain will soon have his Desire,
The Courtship will happily end;
The Nymph her poor Damon admire,
And Damon remember his Friend.

The Legacys.

I leave my Carcass to the Dust,
My Soul to Guardian Spirits trust;
My Fortune let my Neighbours share,
To my Good Name the World is Heir.

VERSES To the Memory of a young Gentleman of Bristol.

Huc omnis ista, quæ in foro litigat, in theatris desidet, in templis precatur, turba, dispari gradu, vadit. Et quæ veneraris, et quæ despicis, unus exequabit cinis. Senec.

As springs a Flow'r beneath the orient Skies,
Smiles all the Day, and in the Evening dies;
Thus Phaon fled untimely to the Tomb,
Effac'd his Beauties, and extinct his Bloom.
His guardian Genius chid his lazy Stay,
And beck'ning cry'd, Fly Phaon, fly away;

Leave this fantastic Comedy below,
This chequer'd Theatre of Bliss and Woe;
Where Men of Pleasure have a transient Reign,
And others live but to grow old in Pain.
Where Good and Ill by turns the Mind amuse,
And shift so fast, we know not how to chuse.

Ye fond Companions, and ye happy Few,
Who when he liv'd, his shining Virtues knew,
Leave your vain Mirth, and mourn for ever lost,
All that Good-nature, or a Friend cou'd boast.
View your old Comrade in the Pangs of Death,
With fainting Looks, and agonizing Breath:
Then boast the tinsel Splendor of thy State,
Is it a Pleasure to be bury'd great?
Life smiles out fair, but Fate is ever blind,
While in thy Train Death stalks unseen behind.
An airy Phantom hovers round thy Dome,
Or with thy last sad Tapers lights thee home:

With famish'd Looks haunts thy luxurious Board,
Or stands with fun'ral Napkins near my Lord.

See one not idle in thy lazy Train,
Pensive her Air, and in her Vesture plain;
See by thy side pale Clotho rueful stands,
And spins thy Fate, the Distaff in her hands.

Lament the Youth, ye Groves with all your Shade,
Ye Gardens which he lov'd your Glories fade;
Droop, ye tall Limes, ye Poplars hang your Head,
And every Leaf, ye wintry Tempests shed;
Ye Flow'rs in setting Dews resign your Charms,
Once wont to flourish in your Phaon's Arms.
His Guardian Genius chid his dull Delay,
And beck'ning cry'd, Fly Phaon, Fly away.

RECOVERING FROM SICKNESS.

Eternal God! thy sovereign Power
Our sinking Frame can save,
Scatter the dark impending Show'r,
And snatch us from the Grave.

The Structure of this frail Machine
Was modell'd by thy Art,
In every Breath thy Skill is seen,
Thy Hand in every Part.

By thee th'harmonious Fibres strung
In decent Order move,
And tunefully with silent Song
Confess the Power above.

Thou badst the refluent Muscle beat,
And lo! each Pulse obey'd;
Each conscious Atom knew its Seat,
And in its Station play'd.

The sprightly Flood obsequious flew
Thro' every winding Vein,
And vital Bellows wondrous blew
To fan the purple Train.

See curious Valves unlock their Springs
To let the Current glide,
And close again with folding Wings
To stop the backward Tide.

At every Tube amaz'd we stand
By optic Glass descry'd,
Strange Subtlety! when one small Sand
A thousand Pores will hide.

The Organs strung in various ways
Harmoniously combine,
And every Organ tunes thy Praise,
O! Architect Divine.

When shiv'ring Sickness, Pain, Despair,
In frightful Form arose,
On Thee my Soul devolv'd its Care,
And sleepless found Repose.

When toss'd with Heat, and vext with Pain,
Long, gloomy Nights I lay,
Thou thro' the dark and dismal Scene
Didst spread reviving Day.

May Gratitude inspire my Breast,
And ev'ry Action grace;
The Soul with steady Virtue blest
Dissolving Worlds may face.

While hov'ring round with dubious Fate
Death's meagre Form stood near,
The Prospect of a future State
Dispell'd each gloomy Fear.

In all its Pomp, eternal Day
Unfolded to the View,
Where other Skies new Lights display,
Beyond this Cope of Blue:

Where Beings, unconfin'd in Flight,
With tow'ring Pinions soar
Thro' boundless Latitudes of Light,
And Seas without a Shore.

There Songs of everlasting Praise
Great God! I'll raise to thee,
Till then accept these humble Lays,
And still my Guardian be.

THE Deserts of Devonshire.

Mihi nunc Ligus ora
Intepet. ------ qua latus ingens
Dant scopuli, & multa, terra se valle receptat.
Persius.

Ye Sages, who wise Nature's Laws explore,
And to celestial Regions studious soar,
Who regulate the distant Suns on high
Which nightly dart their Glories o'er the Sky;
Describe each Orb revolving in its Sphere,
And how the Planets round their Center steer.
Look down to this neglected Globe below,
And say from whence such dire Disorders flow;

Uncultivated Deserts, burning Sands,
Ætna's, and Earthquakes that unpeople Lands,
Why fair Creation wears inglorious Stains,
And some black Foil amidst each Beauty reigns.

What Scenes of Horror blest Britannia yields!
So rich in fertile Lands, and blooming Fields.
See in each Shire deformed Prospects rise,
See ruin'd Rocks, and frightful Forms surprize.

Beyond where Exon rears her Steeples fair
With lofty Vanes far glittering in the Air,
Where Ting's impetuous Torrents swiftly glide,
Resistless rolling as the raging Tide;
In lawless Sway despotic Chaos reigns,
And dreary Ruin desolates the Plains:
While Nature takes a pleasure to be odd,
And wears the ancient Spoils of Noah's Flood:
Rocks, Hills, Vales, Caverns, on each side abound,
And spread their solitary Scenes around.

The awful Mountains labor up the Skies,
And o'er your ken in cloudy Summits rise.
When Heav'n's bright Chariot with triumphant Ray
Has o'er Earth's Surface shed meridian Day,
Half the stupendous Pile is darken'd still,
And Light prevails but over half the Hill.

Who can thy shapeless Wilds, O! Dartmore, trace,
And see without Surprize thy haggard Face?
Confusion here its mazy Line has spread,
And drest the howling Mansions of the Dead.
Day hurries hence, and Beauty takes its flight,
While drowsy Dullness rules these Realms of Night.
Hoarse Bats, and Owls, in plaintive Dirge bewail,
And lazy Mists hang thick o'er ev'ry Dale.

Wide, yawning Caves, Æolian Mouths present
As if they ope'd to give some Monster vent.
The Mountain Tops are cover'd o'er with Oaks
Which long have stem'd rough Storms, and Thunder-strokes,

And with bleak Limbs far stretching in the Air,
And solid Trunk, autumnal Tempests dare.

The Ting tumultuous rolls betwixt the Hills,
And all the Country with its Murmurs fills:
In haste the Torrent tumbles swiftly on,
Waves press on Waves, impatient to be gone.
So rough the Stream it cheats the curious Eye,
Alternate Billows intercept the Sky,
And half-form'd Objects just dance up and die.

Nature alone manures the desert Land
Which scorns all Tillage, but of Nature's Hand.
Dark Furze, and darker Broom the Ground o'erspread,
And dully wave a Wilderness of Shade;
But blaze forth Streams, and Pyramids of Light,
When thrifty Peasants on some Winter's Night,
To clear th'encumber'd Ground whole Forests burn,
And long extended Brakes to Embers turn.

Here pond'rous Rocks vast Masses underprop,
Or hideous stare stupendous from the top.
Such Rocks gigantic Ægeon of yore
Himself a Prodigy of Nature bore,
When with audacious Hands the Rebel strove
To hurl them upwards to the Realms of Jove.

Here savage Stags in lonely Wilds reside,
And branchy Heads in shady Coverts hide;
Or browze on some green Hill, or mossy Rock,
Or on the Plain stalk proud before their Flock.
Till kill'd in Chase, the rural Squire's Sport,
Their Horns hung high adorn his Hall or Court.

Uncommon too the Natives in their Kind,
Rough as the Soil, in Manners unrefin'd,
Yet courteous, brave, and of an honest Mind.
In humble Cottages, and homely Cells,
Sweet Peace, Simplicity, and Freedom dwells:

No meanless Modes, no sycophantic Arts,
But Words still speak the Language of their Hearts.
True Valor forms their Tempers, as of yore,
When Gallic Pyrates storm'd the neighb'ring Shore;
Fir'd with a native Love of Liberty
They drove the tim'rous Slaves again to Sea.
An hospitable Goodness fills their Breasts,
And Plenty circles at their frequent Feasts:
Tho' with no Epicurean Oglios stor'd,
No silver Goblets glitter at their Board;
Yet greater Curiosities you find,
A candid Heart, and a contented Mind.

'Twas such a Life the ancient Heroes led,
Blest with low Fortune, and to Virtue bred:
What Nature's Calls requir'd they thankful took,
Rul'd their own Minds, and drank the crystal Brook;
They sought no Riches, for no Wants they knew,
And Gold unminded in their Mountains grew.

Health, and immortal Quiet crown'd their Days,
Humble their State, but high as Heav'n their Praise.
Then like exhausted Lamps, with peaceful Breath,
Serenely slumber'd in the Shades of Death.

THE Lilliputian Combat,

OR PIGMYOMACHIA.

Pygmæus parvus currit bellator in armis.
Juven.

One Summer's Eve, ye Muses say,
At the Declension of the Day;
When from their Coverts Fairies rally,
And muster in some lonely Vally,
O'er Fields, and Hedges nimbly trip,
Or round enchanted Circles skip;
Till sated with nocturnal Sport,
As ancient Chronicles report,

They at some Farmer's Hogshead tipple,
Or pinch at night the churlish People.
When Jack-a-lanthorns in the Air,
Flutter with tremulating Glare,
The wand'ring Light, deluded Swains
Pursue o'er Desarts, Hills, and Plains,
Till in some sedgy Quagmire lost
They vanish with the Moon-light Ghost.

Say how two Pigmies big with Rage
Did terribly this Eve engage:
They too like other Things take fire,
And kindle into wrathful Ire.

That which the Squabble first began
Was who shou'd lord it o'er the Clan:
Each had a Title fair, and clear,
As to himself it did appear;
So to avoid a World of Tattle
They try the Cause in Field of Battle.

Spadillo one my Muse shall name
Long knighted in the Rolls of Fame:
The other Mikro much renown'd
In all the short Republick round
For Prowess, and gigantic Size,
He rose three Foot towards the Skies.
A Kid, or Lambkin cou'd he wield,
And chase the Ravens from the Field:
Nor fled he from the angry Dam,
Or fear'd the horned, warlike Ram.
In a wet Day, or dewy Morn,
He'd travel thro' the Fields of Corn,
Trip thro' the tallest mowing Grass,
And never wet his taller Face.

Yet was Spadillo more heroic,
And had the Courage of a Stoic.
Often he vaunted that true Merit
Lay all in a courageous Spirit;

And tho' he nearer drew to Man,
By the Dimensions of a Span,
Yet real Manhood must consist,
Quoth he, in dint of Sword and Fist.
Thus spoke the puny Prince, not fearing,
To vent such Words in Mikro's hearing:
Who having view'd his Limbs awhile,
Elate, returns a scornful Smile;
Erects his Elbows on his side,
And triumphs in a haughty Stride.

Spadillo fearlesly reply'd,
He shortly wou'd suppress his Pride.

Thus they insult, and brave by turns,
Till in each Breast fell Anger burns.

Resentments rise by slow Degrees,
And swell like an autumnal Breeze;

Which gently first its Progress takes,
And scarce the smallest Scions shakes,
'Till driv'n by some approaching Cloud
It fills its Wings, and roars aloud;
The Tops of stately Cedars bends,
And stubborn Oaks asunder rends.
Or as a little fatal Spark
Creeps unperceived in the dark,
By silent Steps collects new Force,
And lights its own destructive Course;
Till its Foe Water it defies,
And flames, and crackles to the Skies.

Thus in each Breast a Tempest reigns,
And boils within their slender Veins.

And now the fated Time drew nigh,
The Sun had almost left the Sky;
Just on th'Horizon's Verge it stood,
And flusht the Western Skies with Blood.

Some Records scruple not to say,
Strange Omens usher'd in that Day:
That Armies in the Air were seen,
And Spectres stalking o'er the Green.

A melancholy Dale they choose
To grace their dreadful Interviews,
Where Fairies blithe, and Fauns resort,
And where the Pigmies keep their Court.
Hither the puny Champions tripp'd,
For desp'rate Deeds of War equipp'd.
Their Bodies with tough Withy brac'd,
Knit close, and strongly interlac'd.
A Pumpkin's Coat secur'd the Head,
By Art adorn'd, and dy'd with Red.
Adown their Sides sharp Sabres hung,
Shining with fatal Glare, as long
As iron Skewers; but design'd
To stick Flesh of another Kind.

Guns too they bore, and lighted Matches,
Powder, and Ball of fatal Vetches.

Thus Cap-a-pee they both were arm'd,
While all the petty Clan alarm'd
In Troops came tripping o'er the Green
To be Spectators of the Scene.

When Heralds give th'expected Sound,
And shake the Neighbourhood around,
Their Guns the Heroes first explode,
And at a Distance Wounds bestow'd.
Spadillo made the best Discharge,
And seldom miss'd a Mark so large.
The flying Shot, like Storms of Hail,
The brittle Tegument assail.
But Mikro finding all his Strength,
Did nought avail at such a Length,
For closer Fight impatient grew,
And on his Adversary flew;

Who calmly stood, and undismay'd,
Receiv'd him with his glitt'ring Blade.
And now the doughty Fight grows fierce,
The fatal Swords the Armor pierce.
But Mikro guiding well his Stroke,
Spadillo's crested Helmet broke,
Pierc'd thro' the Pumpkin to his Head,
And dy'd it of a diff'rent Red.
But ah! unlucky was the Blow,
And kind, tho' bloody to the Foe,
In Pieces the Toledo flew,
In dismal Spangles to the View.
But Force, nor Fortune ought avail,
When cruel Fate will turn the Scale;
And trivial Accidents oft prove,
The Bane of Heroes, and of Love.

A Cow that Morning chanc'd to stray,
Led by ill Destiny that way;

And dropt behind as she past o'er,
The Food she eat the Morn before;
Who can the dire Mishap relate?
Here fell Spadillo urg'd by Fate,
Then round a Mole-hill stole away,
And Mikro won th'important Day.

Thus in some atmospheric Fleet,
Two Clouds replete with Sulphur meet
Rudely the vap'ry Bodies dash,
The Thunders roar, the Lightnings flash,
They sally, grapple, wheel, and fly,
And chase each other round the Sky;
Till one consum'd in th'other's Fires,
And burst in Floods of Rain expires,
Drops downwards bleeding thro' the Air,
And leaves its Foe triumphing there,
In Peals of Joy, and Streams of Glare.

With daisy Crowns the Pigmies dress'd,
In Swarms around the Victor press'd:

And this Day each revolving Year,
They for their Champion Daisies wear:
Such Numbers rev'lling o'er the Land,
With flow'ry Crowns exulting stand,
The Cows have oft mistook their Meat,
And bit a Pigmy on the Pate.

The regal Pow'r thus Mikro gain'd,
And o'er the petty Cantons reign'd,
Gave to his Subjects Peace and Plenty,
And dy'd, a good old Age, at twenty.

TO A Young Lady.

When, fair Cleora, flusht with Bloom,
Your Beauty furnishes the Room,
Surrounding Objects dull appear,
And wear a Shade when you draw near.
The fading Pictures sully'd shew,
The dying Lamps no longer glow,
The softest Sounds of Music die,
Lost in superior Harmony.

Yet such Perfections grace your Mind,
Whether you are more fair, or kind,

We scarce can tell; for such Debate
Wou'd to a Sanderson create
A knotty Task: yet Beauty fails,
When Virtue over Time prevails.
'Tis not a Dress, a Shape, an Air,
Or Feature, which compose the Fair;
If Sweetness does not deck the Mien,
Mere Beauty is but painted Skin.
Good Sense, and Wit, and Virtue join
To make your Features all divine.
Three Pow'rs maintain with equal Grace
Balance of Beauty in your Face:
Nor can Britannia's Monarch say,
He o'er three Kingdoms has more Sway,
Since such bright Excellencies join'd
Liege Subjects make of all Mankind.

Think not, fair Nymph, in venal Lays,
I flatter you with empty Praise.

'Tis a just Debt we Merit owe,
The Muse wou'd else perfidious grow:
While dunning Cupids Night and Day,
Teize me till I the Debt defray.
Such Charms wou'd dullest Souls excite,
And teach ev'n Savages to write:
Such Charms the blindest Swain can move,
And teach the coldest Breast to love.

ON A Young Gentleman, who died suddenly by a Fall from a Waggon.

Infelix Puer!
Fertur equis, curruque hæret resupinus inani;
Lora tenens tamen, huic cervixque, comæque trahuntur
Per terram.
Virg. Æneid.

To thee, dear Youth, I dedicate this Verse,
And hang the Muses Mourning on thy Herse:
For whom the Poplars sympathising pin'd,
And drooping Flow'rs their painted Heads declin'd;

For whom the Swans sweet sung in dying Strains,
And languid Fountains loiter'd o'er the Plains:
Whom Philomel with Mid-night Note condol'd,
Whose tragic Tale responsive Echos told.

How frail is Life, how sudden Heav'n's Decree?
The Waggoner a Charon prov'd to thee;
The Youth rejoic'd the Chariot to ascend,
Pleas'd with that Motion, which his own must end.
Strange Labyrinth of Life thro' which we stray,
And Slaves to Fortune with Destruction play!
See the slow Car with slumbring Motion slide,
Like the rock'd Billows of a torpid Tide.
'Twas thus in solemn Equipage of old,
Lamented Pallas to his Tomb was roll'd;
When Trojan Eyes with pious Tears o'erflow'd,
And deep Revenge in ev'ry Bosom glow'd.
Cou'd the just Cadence of a tragic Strain,
With plaintive Numbers represent the Wain,

Like that sedate shou'd lagg the sable Woe,
“The Lines too labor, and the Words move slow.
Morpheus himself shou'd guide the lazy Herse,
And drowsy Dullness pause in ev'ry Verse.

Ambitious Boy! like Phaeton to try
Too great a Height, like Phaeton to die.

The Muse in Vision saw him mount afar,
And rising glitter like a Morning Star:
She saw the guilty Team ascend the Sky,
And fix a radiant Monument on high;
Fair in the Heav'ns a shining Relique reign,
And sparkle o'er our Heads like Charles's-Wain.

Why weep ye thus the Rigor of his Fate
Whom Heav'n saw fit so kindly to translate?
And to secure him, snatch'd him up in haste,
E'er tainting Vice his tender Bloom cou'd blast:

Pure and unspotted to those Climes he flew
Where Youth still blooms, and Beauty's ever new.

For if we die but to revive again,
And rise with Pleasure, when we sink with Pain,
Why at Death's Summons pants the Breast with Fear,
Why swell our Eye-lids with the farewel Tear?
'Tis but a short Eclipse by Nature made
That we may shine the fairer for the Shade.

TO CELIA.

In vain, false Charmer! every Grace
Embellishes your Mien;
In vain triumphing o'er your Face
Aurora's Blush is seen.

In vain, if with tyrannic Art,
False Modesty denies,
And cruel Lessons of your Heart
Still contradict your Eyes.

If your Beholders from afar
Must idly view your Charms,
'Tis but like gazing at a Star
Which tempts and mocks our Arms.

Oft on a Tree too tall for you
We see the blushing Rose,
Pray what avails its Tyrian Hue?
Uncropt it blooms and grows.

Thus in some lonely, absent Shade,
Pale Lillies beauteous bloom,
In Silence bud, in Silence fade,
And shed a vain Perfume.

Then, lovely Celia! learn betimes
To act a wiser part;
For Age will but increase your Crimes,
As 'twill increase my Smart.

TO Miss *S*****by*.

Lucinda wonder not to see
Your Parroquets so well agree:
In Love and Harmony ally'd,
They never leave each other's side.
Those beauteous Birds from India came
To raise in you that tender Flame;
And by Example let you know,
Beauty and Love together grow.

THE TEMPEST.

Stay gentle Guardians of the lower Air
Who on your Wings the panting Zephyrs bear,
Who keep unweary'd Centry in the Skies,
And watch the Tempests when they sink or rise,
Permit the Muse with you sublime to soar,
And on your Pinions buoy'd forsake the Shore;
Amidst your pathless Regions guide me right,
And thro' the Storm facilitate my Flight.

Say then how unobserv'd the rising Breeze
With infant Wings first murmurs thro' the Trees:
How on the Tops of Hills it softly blows,
And spreads its little Conquests as it goes:

Now whispers thro' the Vales, and gently bends
The flutt'ring Corn, and with the Flow'rs contends;
Curls the fair Stream, skims o'er the quivering Sea,
And scarce disturbs the Billows as they play.
But soon in loftier Regions learns to soar,
And bends those Trees with which it play'd before:
Thus their old Guide aspiring Youths despise,
And scorn those Rules by which they learnt to rise.
Now the big Current in Meanders roves
Thro' whistling Forests, and resounding Groves,
High with aerial Tide resistless roars,
And Waves indignant lash the sounding Shores.

As rising Springs first bubble on the Hill,
Then gleet down gently in a tinkling Rill;
And as they float along the flow'ry Meads,
The Stream rolls swifter, and the Channel spreads,
Riv'lets croud in from ev'ry neighb'ring Plain,
And now almost a Sea, it tumbles to the Main:

So lesser Gales to louder Surges rise,
Collect new Blasts, and muster new Supplies,
Favonian Winds their lighter Cohorts bear,
And charge with martial Clangor thro' the Air.
While each Æolian Cave Artill'ry yields,
And War, and Discord fill th'ethereal Fields.
Old Boreas takes th'Alarm, and rushes forth
With all his hoary Squadrons from the North:
Th'affrighted Nations at his Progress shakes,
And with his single Breath a Tempest makes.

Thus from the gelid Hyperborean Climes,
Pour'd forth the Goths to scourge the Roman Crimes.
The lab'ring Ground unusual Burden bore,
Earthquakes behind, and Whirlwinds march'd before.
Columns of Dust obscur'd Day's faded Lamp,
And Storms and Chaos travell'd with the Camp.
Then first the Mistress of the World knew Fear,
And Pallas trembled with her Guardian Spear.

Raging as Fire, and as a Deluge strong,
The agitated Fluid sweeps along:
Wave after Wave successively transferr'd
From Clime to Clime the dreadful Din is heard.
Hung like the Sea, the Air observes its Shores,
Knows its own Orb, and in its Circle soars;
Calm, and unruffled, now serenely glides,
Or buoys aloft, and propagates its Tides.
Now marches o'er the desolated Land,
Nor Tow'rs, nor Temples can the Wreck withstand;
Here Sheets of massy Lead are whirl'd on high,
And sacred Statues from their Niches fly.
Beams cross with Beams, and wafted o'er the Plain
To their forsaken Groves return again.

All in the awful Silence of the Night
What Theatres of Woe escape the Sight?
What dire Confusion o'er the Welkin reigns,
Levels the Woods, and palpitates the Plains?

The Hills convuls'd against each other bow,
And tremble from the Basis to the Brow.
Majestic Oaks, the Glory of the Wood,
Which undisturb'd whole Centuries have stood,
Seen Groves decay beneath their spreading Shade,
Are sudden Martyrs to its Fury made.
Prostrate with horrid Crash they rend the Earth,
Cæsarean like, that fed, and gave them birth.

Such was the Scene when Michael's Host engag'd,
And with Hell's Legions War cælestial wag'd;
When Mountains with their Woods on Mountains flew,
And Rocks uplifted charg'd the Rebel Crew.

Nature in Labor her Diseases knows,
Has Ague Horrors, and intestine Throws,
Pants thro' her shockt Machine, her Frailty feels,
With Ferments glows, or in Convulsions reels.

The guiltless Swain in his low Cottage lies
Secure, nor fears the Tumults of the Skies.
In his calm Bosom downy Slumbers dwell,
And Storms on high but murmur o'er his Cell.
While dread Ideas haunt the Miser's Rest,
And fiercer Tempests agitate his Breast.

Still rolls the Element with lawless Reign,
And spreads a watry Chaos o'er the Main.
Neptune can scarce command his tott'ring Throne,
Or call the Empire of the Seas his own;
While civil Anarchy his Realm invades,
And frighted Sea-Nymphs hide in coral Shades;
While Sea on Sea, on Ocean Ocean rolls
Successive Thunder on the sounding Shoals.
Now a wide Deluge o'er the Country flows,
Nor Banks nor Mounds the Torrent can oppose.
The exil'd Fish lie panting on the Shore,
And Seamen vainly struggle with the Oar.

In vain her Notes the airy Songster tries,
Oft claps her Wings, and oft essays to rise;
Stopt in her Flight with many a giddy Round,
Breathless and faint, she silent seeks the Ground.

Thus leaves the weary Muse her native Skies,
And with the Gales to her still Grotto flies.
Her Songs declining with the Tempest cease,
And drowsy Nature slumbers into Peace;
With weaker Pulses each expiring Breeze
But fans the Air, and pants along the Trees.
In Order to their Cells the Winds repair,
And universal Silence cloaths the Air.

TO A Friend in Wales:

Writ in the Spring.

The spacious Theatre we here survey,
Above so splendid, and below so gay;
The Sky's fair Tap'stry hung with Lamps of Light
Which twinkle thro' the Horrors of the Night;
The painted Earth array'd in Mantle green,
With lofty Woods, and limpid Streams between;
All the fair Show and Order of the Frame,
Immortal Skill and Art divine proclaim.
What less cou'd steer the Orbs their pathless Way,
And o'er each Planet spread a Flood of Day;

Bid the Sun travel in an oblique Line,
And with alternate Influence learn to shine;
Cou'd tune th'harmonious Music of the Spheres
Which only sounds to philosophic Ears;
Bid the bleak Winter freeze, fierce Cancer burn,
And all thy Bloom, O! charming Spring return?

Inspir'd by Thee the slumbring Insects wake,
And animated Birds their Silence break;
In Notes of Harmony salute the Year,
And all Creation with their Music cheer.
No more tempestuous Winds the Forest rend,
Nor clatt'ring Hail-storms tho' the Air descend.
In every Gale sweet Smells, and sweeter Sounds
With Blasts alternate keep delightful Rounds.
See how the sleeping Plants forsake the Tomb,
Smile on the Sight, and beautifully bloom.
See the green Herbage on your Mountains grow,
And Streams descending from your Hills of Snow.

And can you pensive sit, be frozen still
Like Scythian Seas, or like an Alpine Hill?
Can you sit mute amidst the tuneful Throng,
Nor join in Nature's universal Song?
While Birds, Plants, Beasts in Symphony conspire,
Awake your Consort, and compleat the Choir.

TO A Retir'd Lady.

Like Pearls in Fish, or Diamonds hid in Stone
Fair Sylvia sparkles to the Croud unknown
In vain; such Charms were made to be reveal'd;
The more you hide, the less you are conceal'd.
Thus glows the Insect in the Dead of Night,
With vivid Beams disclos'd by his own Light:
And Bards retiring thro' their Shades are seen
Crown'd with those Laurels which were once their Screen.

The curious Mind still labors to explore
The arduous Road, and seeks the hidden Store;

No Shade, no Distance cou'd efface the View
Of Danae's Charms, for Love will still pursue.
Shades are oft fatal to a Lover's Pain,
Unhappy Procris in the Groves was slain;
And still to sighing Swains each gloomy Dale
Repeats the Tragedy of Thisbe's Tale.
Tho' soft your Slumbers on the silent Green,
Beware, fair Nymph! there Serpents lurk unseen:
There Satyrs, Harpies, Birds obscene resort,
And frightful Fairies keep their Mid-night Court.
His wily Frauds insidious Satan laid
When in lone Wilds our ductile Parent stray'd.
Lamented Dido in the Shade first fell,
Tho' Virgil blush'd the guilty Tale to tell;
To shun the Storm without the Huntress fled,
Nor dreamt of that which in her Bosom bred.

EPITAPH On Mr. John Mason of Bristol.

Weep not the good Man slumbring here,
For him ev'n Virtue sheds a Tear.
So much of her inspir'd his Heart,
That when he dy'd She bore a Part.
Single he liv'd, but his chaste Mind
Was with this happy Consort join'd.
So just, so kind, so brave, so wise,
Th'Alliance ended in the Skies.
O'er all diffusive Goodness reign'd;
Free, catholic, and unrestrain'd.

Of every Sect Love made him one,
Yet fixt and steady to his own.
To all complacent, yet sincere;
True to his Friends, to Vice alone severe.

THE EARTH:

A Philosophical Poem.

At manet incolumis mundus, sua nomina servat,
Quæ, nec long a dies auget, minuit que senectus.
Manil. L. 1.

Salve, magna parens frugum, pulcherrima Tellus
Magna virum.
Virg. Geor. II.

While some the gaudy Glare of Art admire,
The Pomp of Princes, or the Beaux Attire,
Cascades, Ridottos, animated Rooms,
Mosaic Sculptures, and Corinthian Domes;

My humbler Muse the fertile Earth detains,
Where artless Beauties wander o'er the Plains:
Where Nature blooms in everlasting Greens,
And sheds around ten thousand charming Scenes.

From thee, great Sire! the Vegetables rise,
The reptile Race, and Commonwealths of Flies.
The animated Tribes of every Sort
Which croud the Air, or in the Water sport;
And those new Worlds which Microscopic Aid
Unfolds to View, imprison'd long in Shade.
From thee the Flow'rs their infant Charms commence,
And Sweets luxurious feed the ravish'd Sense;
Rais'd from thy Bed a balmy Fragrance yield,
And spread their morning Blushes o'er the Field.

Hail! ever youthful, ever pregnant Queen!
With lofty Turrets crown'd, array'd in Green.

In Thee a mimic Paradise is found,
Resemblance fair of Eden's happy Ground!
Thy Sons with bushy Tops the Skies invade,
And recompense thy Culture with their Shade.
O'er the parch'd Surface filial Branches play,
And from their Parent screen the Noon-tide Ray,
While her capacious Lap each Year receives
Th'enriching Burden of autumnal Leaves.
When sunk with Age majestic Oaks decline,
Or rent with Winds aspiring Forests pine,
Each fading Tree new Nourishment supplies,
And young Creations from the Ruins rise.
So when in Flames the mystic Bird consumes,
Another Phœnix from her Ashes blooms.

Within Earth's Womb exhaustless Stores lie hid;
Here Isles of Spice, there Woods in one small Seed;
To build some future Palaces design'd,
Or warm the World in Ages far hehind.

Here Fields of Corn are in one Stamen roll'd,
Which the last Conflagration shall unfold,
Rais'd by that Heat their short-liv'd Greens display,
Greens sprung to grace old Nature's fun'ral Day.
Here wrapt in Acorns British Fleets reside,
Which late discover'd Longitude shall guide
To distant Climes, and Regions yet unknown,
The Pole Antarctic, or the Northern Zone.

E'er Time was measur'd out by Nights and Days,
Or feather'd Choirs begun their morning Lays,
E'er from the Deep attracted Vapors flew,
Or o'er the Surface infant Breezes blew,
Replete with plastic Energy the Earth
Contain'd each future Offspring's latent Birth.
From hence the snouted Beast unwieldy grew,
And slender Silk-worms their fine Texture drew.
Here slept the Adder's Spleen, the Lion's Rage,
The Panther roaming, and the Serpent sage.

The vast Leviathan, who spouts a Sea,
In rudimental Seed contracted lay.
Unnotic'd lay the shining Robes of State,
And all the tinsel Splendor of the Great:
The parent Colors blended lay unseen,
The flaming Purple, and refreshing Green.
Formless and void, then Darkness cloath'd the Deep,
And mute Creation felt primæval Sleep.
Till Breath divine the dark Abyss inspir'd,
And hideous Chaos with its Train retir'd.
Their proper Form appointed Atoms knew,
And new-born Worlds from Solitude withdrew.

As on the Banks of Nile the teeming Earth
Replete with Being feels th'approaching Birth,
When solar Heat unlocks the wondrous Store,
And Animalcules throng the living Shore;
Thus from their Coils th'untwisting Organs start,
Expanded into Form by heav'nly Art.

Ev'n Man deriv'd his Miniature from Clay,
A Clod inform'd with a celestial Ray,
Mixture of Elements, of Godlike Form,
A figurated Mould, a reas'ning Worm.
While the new World before its Maker stood,
And God, as Moses wrote, pronounc'd it Good,
Lo! at the known Command obsequious Dust
Swarm'd into Action, and its Fetters burst:
Each conscious Particle harmonious came,
And rang'd in Consort, strung the human Frame.
Some into Tubes in beauteous Order grow,
Or thro' the Veins in gentle Currents flow;
Others more dense acquire a firmer Tone,
Glew into Chords, or harden into Bone:
Of Texture fine some form th'unfathom'd Brain,
Or mixt with Air assume a purple Stain.

Soon sinks the human Frame; but blest with Bloom
Immortal, Earth retains her pregnant Womb.

Still the same vast Fecundity remains,
And still she spreads new Dresses o'er the Plains.
See the pale Fields are fertiliz'd anew,
The drooping Hyacinth resumes its blue;
The gorgeous Piony in Crimson drest
'Midst Violets glows, like Phœbus in the East.
With parti-colour'd Robes, Carnations gay,
And painted Tulips princely Pomp display.
The gaudy Turnsole with majestic Blaze
Still emulous, confronts the solar Rays;
While pale Narcissus hangs with pining Look,
As when he languish'd o'er the crystal Brook.

What diff'rent Offsprings variegate the Fields!
What wise Confusion ev'ry Species yields!
Each checquer'd Herb has its peculiar Grace,
As Features vary in each human Face.
Thus every Clime assumes a different Dress,
And various Products various Soils confess.

Each Plant enjoys a Genius of its own,
And feels the Sickness of a foreign Zone.
The Groves which bloom beneath the burning Line,
Here chill'd amidst our wintry Dog-days pine.

Say what Divinity resides within
The wondrous Globe, and rules the vast Machine.
To brutal Herds Philosophers assign
An innate Soul, and rational Design:
The feather'd Architect contrives her Nest,
And prudent Ants provide for Winter's Rest.
The Indian Beast with armed Turrets crown'd,
The wary Want, wise Collier of the Ground;
And he that o'er Nile's Flood tyrannic reigns,
Or the fierce Lord of Mauritanian Plains,
All with Sagacity of Frame possest,
Are born with Instinct, and with Conduct blest.
Then own, ye Sages, Earth's congenial Soul
Which reigns diffusing Life from Pole to Pole.

As Earth Man's Structure emulates, we find
Some latent Emblems of the Plastic Mind:
See every Part analogous in Frame,
The human Spirit, and terraqueous Flame:
Thro' subterranean Tubes fair Fountains glide,
As in arterial Pipes the purple Tide.
The Sea distributes Juice to ev'ry Part,
Ebbing and flowing like the panting Heart.
Here Nerves and Bones, there Rocks and Hills we find
In adamantine Chains the Fabrick bind
Secreting Ætnas Exhalations vent,
And Nature's Outlets aptly represent:
While like excrescent Hair thick Forests stand,
With shady Heads to grace the subject Land.
Thro' all a constant Circulation reigns,
And scarce an Atom unemploy'd remains,
While the whole Mass with Speed incessant rolls,
And whirls around the Sun its fervent Poles.

In Rapture rais'd I view the trav'lling Sphere,
Clime after Clime successively appear.
See polisht China in the East advance,
And savage Tartary lead on the Dance;
Here Russia clad in Ignorance and Snows,
Here o'er their Mummy-pots dull Germans dose;
Gay Gallia next takes its aerial Round,
And Pipes and Hautboys thro' the Ether sound.
Now distant Thule rises to the Sight,
Where Britons set contending Nations right;
Sedate, yet bold, and blest 'twixt each Extreme
Of Gallic Fury; and Batavian Phlegm.
Beyond, diffus'd, floats the cerulean Main,
With Sun-beams trembling o'er the lucid Plain;
Like spotty Clouds, green Isles promiscuous stand,
Th'Azores here, there fair Bermudas Land:
The wild Canadans in gay Colours drest,
Rove o'er the Woods, with native Freedom blest.

Then Mexico turns up her injur'd Ground,
While murder'd Ghosts indignant haunt around.
Unhappy Clime! for Idol-worship sold
To Christians, worse Idolaters of Gold.
Now shines the Sea again with glossy Dye,
And the same circling Scene salutes the Eye;
Thus glide the Seasons with ambrosial Wing,
And painted Robes, in an eternal Ring;
Thus with revolving Waves a Vortex whirls,
And the lasht Top still round its Centre twirls.

In vain we view this Theatre around,
And all the teeming Glories of the Ground,
If at the View no pleasing Wonder fires
Th'attentive Mind; while ev'ry Part conspires
To form the Drama, and connect the Chain
Where social Harmony and Beauty reign.

Yet Man, unthinking Man! regardless sees
Himself more dull, Herbs, Animals and Trees;

Sees all the fair Creation round him rise,
Sees Ants, and Flow'rs with unsurprized Eyes.
The Scene indeed is grateful to the Sight,
Cool Show'rs refresh us, and gay Fields delight;
While the rich Furniture regales our Taste,
Thoughtless we slumber o'er the full Repast:
Thus Brutes their better Appetites employ,
Their verdant Meads, and Summer Shades enjoy.

We're pleas'd with Prodigies and foreign News,
And Novelty the gaping Croud pursues.
We gaze at Meteors, and the Northern Light,
And visit vagrant Comets all the Night,
That rove like Outlaws up and down the Sky,
We know not whither, and we know not why,
That once an Age within our Heav'ns appear,
And are the Talk of Nations half the Year.

Inconstant Man! Heav'n's Proteus, loves to roam,
And slights the Prospects of his native Home.

Astronomers can distant Worlds descry,
And mark out Shores, and Systems in the Sky;
Imaginary Seas and Kingdoms trace,
And Vales and Mountains claim in Cynthia's Face,
But scorn the base, inglorious Earth, nor know,
How Herbs and Flow'rs in their own Gardens grow.

Descend ye Sages! nor presumptuous rise
With Giant Labor to invade the Skies;
To this paternal Spot your Searches bend,
Where nobler Wreaths the gen'rous Toil attend.
In Thee a fair Preheminence we find,
Parent of Fruits! and Parent of Mankind!

A PRAYER of Cleanthes, a Stoic Philosopher, to the Supream GOD.

Translated from the Greek.

Great Father of the Skies, whose boundless Sway
Both Gods above and Worlds below obey:
Thy Laws sustain the universal Frame,
Various thy Titles, but thy Pow'r the same.
Hail! Sov'reign Jove! all Nations shall address
Their Songs to thee who gave 'em Tongues to bless.
Behold thy Image, grov'ling on the Earth,
Faint Echos of thy Voice which gave us birth:

Then back will I reflect thy Praises still,
And sing the Wonders of Almighty Skill.

The wide Expanse of yon ethereal Plain,
And all below, is subject to thy Reign.
The forked Lightnings which with doubtful Glare
Sublimely wave, and linger in the Air,
From thy dread Arm with pointed Fury fly,
And ting'd with ruddy Vengeance sweep the Sky.
Thy Ray divine o'er all the Frame presides,
Glows in the Sun, and in the Ocean glides.
From thee each Atom of Creation springs,
Hail! great Support of all inferior things.
The Orbs above, and floating Seas below,
Move by thy Laws, and by thy Influence flow.
All rang'd in Order know their destin'd Place,
All but the mad, degen'rate human Race.
But Thou canst Order from Confusion bring,
Bid Peace from Discord, Good from Evil spring;

And when all Nature frowns, and Nations jar,
See Calm in Storms, and Harmony in War.
Great Jove so justly fram'd the earthly Ball
That universal Good results from all.
While common Sense still shines with certain Ray,
And thro' the seeming Maze points out the Way;
Yet thoughtless Men to this blest Convoy blind
Court the wild Dictates of a restless Mind;
Perversely fly the universal Light,
And the sweet Voice of heav'nly Reason slight.
Unhappy Men! who toil, and hunt for Bliss,
But the plain Road of sacred Wisdom miss.
Led by this constant, this unerring Guide,
Thro' flow'ry Paths Man's Life wou'd smoothly glide;
But urg'd by Passion, heedless we pursue
The first mad Pleasures that invite the View.
Some Avarice, and sordid Taste inspire,
Ambition some, and Fame's ungovern'd Fire;
Soft Lux'ry some, and Cyprian Charms delight,
While all rush forward to the Heav'n in Sight.

But Thou who thundrest in the Vault above,
Correct these vain Desires, O! bounteous Jove!
Let Godlike Reason in our Bosoms dwell,
And from weak Minds this Lunacy expel.
A Ray of Wisdom on our Souls bestow,
By which thou rul'st all Nature's Scenes below:
Then with Devotion fir'd we'll hail Thee King,
And in eternal Songs thy Wonders sing.
No greater Good can Men, or Gods attend,
Than at thy Throne with prostrate Hearts to bend.

100

TO Miss *S***y*, dancing at a BALL.

Once I condemn'd the dancing Art
Which captivates each female Heart,
Abhorring that fantastic Fashion
With philosophic Indignation;
And witless thought such motly Shapes
Transform'd Mankind to mimic Apes;
Like Harlequins on Doctor's Stage,
Or Squirrels frisking round a Cage,
Like Puppets drest at Country Wake,
Or Scaramouch with antic Freak.

101

'Midst flutt'ring Hoops, and flying Aprons,
Salutes, Cross-overs, Whirls, and Cap'rings,
Like Fairies now to frisk it round,
Then couple, figure, clap and bound.
Was some old Stoic posted here
To see the Whirligig appear,
He'd deem it a prophetic Trance,
And say Enchantment led the Dance;
Or that some Engine set 'em going,
Or Wind-mill circularly blowing;
While Miller-like the Essenc'd Beau
Does with Perfumes and Powder flow.

But whither roves my Satyr Lay?
Celia, I only meant to say;
Soon as you grac'd the shining Train,
All my Philosophy prov'd vain:
Beauty so graceful, such a Mien,
Wou'd overcome a Cynic's Spleen!

102

With so much Majesty you mov'd,
Ev'n Cato had the Art approv'd,
And acquiesc'd in that bold Notion,
That there is Music ev'n in Motion.
With so much Life you swept the Ground
That all the Tapers hung around
Gave not that Lustre to the Place
As your superior smiling Grace;
In whom so many Charms we view,
They recommend whate'er you do.

Others to dancing owe their Praise,
Celia the Arts themselves can raise;
Dancing from you new Beauty draws,
Nor does it give, but take Applause.

Enchanting Nymph! your Virtue keep;
For shou'd so great a Leader trip,
Vice will almost look lovely too,
In such an Advocate as You.

103

HORACE.

L. I. Ode VIII.

Prithee, Lydia, tell me why,
By all the Gods who rule the Sky,
The Youth Sybaris bold and brave
Is now become thy am'rous Slave?
Once he was wont to range the Plain,
Nor fear'd the Sun, the Dust or Rain;
Why does he cease to take delight
In manly Sports, and martial Fight?
Why fear to ride the gen'rous Horse,
And with the Spur correct his Course?

104

Shun Wrestlers Oil, like Viper's Blood,
And dread to plunge in Tiber's Flood?
With vig'rous Arm no longer throw
The pond'rous Disk, or bend the Bow?
Whirl o'er his Head the Dart around,
And fix it far beyond the bound?
Why does the Youth his Cohorts shun,
And lie conceal'd like Thetis' Son,
Who in a Woman's Dress attir'd,
Ignobly from the Croud retir'd?

L. I. Ode IX.

See, Thaliarch my dearest Friend,
The wintry Skies in Snow descend,
The Woods are whiten'd, and with Pain
The still increasing Load sustain;
Yon Mountain' tops are cover'd o'er,
And Streams transfixed glide no more.

105

Then let the gen'rous Sabine flow,
And cheerful Fires around you glow.
Fill up again the sparkling Bowl
To chase the Frost, and cheer the Soul;
No more for worthless Trifles pine,
But to the Gods your Cares resign.
At their Command the Tempests cease,
The troubled Air is hush'd to peace;
The Waves retire; the Winds are still,
And Silence broods on every Hill;
No more the aged Elms are shook,
And not a Zephyr stirs the Brook.

Strive not with anxious Thought to pry
Into thy secret Destiny;
Enjoy each Day which Fate shall give,
And easy, and contented live.
Let Beauty sometimes court thy Eyes,
Nor too severely Love despise,

106

Before thy sprightly Youth is fled,
And Age comes on with hoary Head.
Let Dancing, Exercise, and Play
Succeed, and crown each shining Day,
While gentle Slumbers bless the Night,
And murm'ring Streams to Sleep invite.
Now pleas'd to see some Fair-one's Smiles,
Her ogling Looks and am'rous Wiles;
To steal a Ring or trifling Toy,
While hypocritically coy,
She half unwilling feigns to fly,
Still granting, when she wou'd deny.

L. II. Ode XV.

How fast the stately Piles ascend,
And o'er departing Fields extend?
The Fish-ponds too enlarge their Bound,
And on the Continent get ground:

107

Wider their Circuit than the Lakes
Which Nature wise, and frugal makes.
Now Jessamin, and Myrtle Bowers,
Lime-trees, and odorif'rous Flow'rs
Stand where fat Olives us'd to thrive,
When our Fore-fathers were alive.
The Sun can hardly force his way
Thro' Groves of Ever-green, and Bay.
Wise Romulus, nor Cato grave,
With rigid Mind, such Lessons gave.
Then was the public Treasure great,
While they enjoy'd a small Estate.
No ten-foot Porticos did then
Refresh the Doors of private Men:
Nor did the Laws lay hold of those
Who us'd green Turf for their Repose.

108

L. IV. Ode VII.

Now the gay Spring her new Attire puts on,
The Hedges bloom, and Frosts and Snows are gone.
Once more the rolling Earth renews the Scene;
Once more the Fields are cloath'd in charming Green:
O'erflowing Streams within their Banks subside,
And in their ancient Channels smoothly glide.
The Graces, Nymphs, and all the rural Train
In naked Dances tread the smiling Plain.

Hope not, frail Man, for an immortal State,
Perpetual Changes warn thee of thy Fate.
The fleeting Moments, the revolving Years
Fly swiftly round, and whirl about the Spheres.
In silent Haste, Time softly steals away,
And soon concludes the kind, the jovial Day.

109

Behold the shifting Seasons take their Turns,
First blooms the Spring, then sultry Summer burns;
Autumn succeeds with loaded Plenty crown'd,
Then torpid Winter lags her lazy Round.
The silver Moon soon rises from her Night,
And fills her Horns afresh with borrow'd Light;
But when we launch, and reach the unknown Shore,
Our Sun is set, and will return no more.
There in still Groves Æneas' Shade is blest,
There Tullus, and good Ancus peaceful rest.

Thou know'st not what th'immortal Pow'rs design,
Nor can'st thou call to-morrow's Moments thine:
Haste then, be liberal, and freely give,
This Day may be the last thou hast to live,
E'er thy forsaken Wealth shall fall a Prey,
And by rapacious Heirs be snatch'd away.
When once we have receiv'd the fatal Doom,
And Death has fix'd us in the silent Tomb,

110

When awful Minos shall decree our Fate,
Not Beauty, Wit, or Wealth shall change our State;
Virtue with all its Charms will not avail,
To move the rigid Judge, or turn the Scale.
In vain wou'd Theseus break Pirithous' Chain,
Or chaste Diana free Hippolitus again.

L. I. Ode VII.

Some Rhodes, some Mytilene prize,
Some lift fam'd Athens to the Skies
To Pallas sacred, and with Verse,
And Olives crown'd, her Praise rehearse.
Some Ephesus, and Corinth please,
Whose Walls are wash'd with double Seas:
Mycenas rich, and Argos known
For Horses swift, and Juno's Throne.
Some say that Tempe's Fields excel,
And wou'd in Thebes or Delphos dwell;

111

Thebes by the God of War renown'd,
And Delphos by Apollo crown'd.

For me, I scorn Larissa's Plains,
And Sparta where such Rigor reigns,
If with Albunca's Seats compar'd
Where Anion's rushing Streams are heard;
Tiburnus' Lake, where Orchards grow,
Water'd by rolling Floods below.
The weeping South not always brings
Dark Clouds and Moisture on its Wings;
Sun-shine, and Sky are sometimes seen
To open 'midst the gloomy Scene.

O! Plancus! thus from Toil forbear,
And mix some Pleasure with your Care,
Whether with shining Troops you rove,
Or peaceful seek Tiburnus' Grove.
When Teucer took his farewel Flight,
And shun'd his angry Father's sight,

112

Thus to his weeping Friends he said,
While Poplar Garlands crown'd his Head:

“My dear Companions, now we trust
“To Fortune, more than Parents just:
“Pursue her Star, in me confide,
“Nor fear while Teucer is your Guide.
“In Lands remote, Apollo cries,
“Another Salamine shall rise.
“Come ye, who long with me have dwelt,
“With me have oft worse Evils felt,
“Come, and in Wine your Sorrows steep,
“To-morrow we'll explore the Deep.

113

ON THE SPRING.

From Anacreon. Ode XXXVII.

With the new-returning Spring
See the Graces Garlands bring:
See the Sea's tumultuous Tide
Calm, and peaceful, now subside.
See the Swans glide o'er the Lake,
And the Crane his Journey take.
While bright Titan shines on high,
And the transient Vapors fly
Swiftly sweeping o'er the Sky.

114

Now again Man's Labours shine
In the Olive and the Vine;
While the Willows all around
Spring luxuriant from the Ground;
And the Fruit-trees budding out
In a thousand Blossoms sprout.

115

ANACREON.

Ode XVII.

Great Vulcan, with thy Art divine,
Make my silver Goblet shine:
But prithee Vulcan grave not there
Grim Mars, with Helmet, and with Spear.
Let me no radiant Armor see,
Pray what has War to do with me?
But let it be as large, and wide,
As you think fit from side to side.
Carve me no Stars, no Charles's-Wain,
Nor stern Orion with his Train;

116

Let Bootes and Bears and Pleiads roll
(I mind them not) around the Pole.
For me engrave the charming Vine,
And here and there let Branches twine;
Here let am'rous Cupids play,
And paint the Cyprian Goddess gay.
Let youthful Bacchus too be there,
And Ivy Garlands deck his Hair.

117

TO A Lady who refus'd to answer a LETTER.

Will you, my Sylvia, always mute remain,
Nor with one distant Whisper ease my Pain?
Blest with your Presence, you vouchsafe Reply;
If not in Words, you answer with a Sigh.
Epistles are but Words expos'd to Sight,
Or but a trav'lling Language in its Flight.
Say not you'd write, but can't your Lines convey;
O! dictate first, and Love will find a way.

118

Cupid, that trusty Post-Boy of the Air,
On silver Wings the am'rous Mail will bear.
How long will this dumb Quietism hold,
And when Love's gentle Heat dissolve the Cold?
Heat softens Steel; what will not Heat subdue?
The lifeless Flow'rs, clos'd up in virgin Dew,
By Heat expanded, all their Charms display,
Diffuse their Fragrance, and adorn the Day.
The feather'd Choirs seal'd up in wintry Sleep,
Awak'd by Heat, their Matin Consort keep.
And the mute Streams in frozen Silence bound,
Dissolv'd from icy Fetters, bless the Ground.
By Heat all Nature moves; by Cold imprest
Creation stagnates to eternal Rest.
This genial Power the Roman Bard implor'd,
And Venus must descend before he soar'd.

May Love with tepid Rays your Frost unbind,
And chase this wintry Torpor from your Mind.

119

Tempests and Storms may break another's Rest,
Your Silence drives all Quiet from my Breast.
Like a Sea-calm, this still, this dead Serene
Portends more Danger than a Hurricane.
The Caves and Rocks, more civil to my Cry,
Will in fond Echos to my Plaints reply.
The Groves in gentle Whispers sigh again,
And babbling Fountains murmur to my Pain:
But you more deaf than Caverns, Rocks, or Trees,
With no kind Answer give a Lover Ease.
In vain you plead you have no Skill to write,
Let Love inspire, and Nature will indite,
E'er th'Art of Writing to Perfection grew,
Various rude Arts the untaught Ancients knew
To fix Ideas e'er they fled away,
And Images of Thought to Sight convey.
Brass, Wax, or Wood the Characters retain'd,
Some liv'd on Slates, and some the Canvas stain'd;
Some trac'd in Iv'ry, or engrav'd on Stone,
Or sunk in Clay, e're Biblo's Reed was known;

120

E're sacred Pergamus acquir'd a Name,
Or humble Charta gave to Egypt Fame.
The magic Tongues, here clad in mystic Shapes,
In Symbols lurkt of Fishes, Birds and Apes.
When Philomela cou'd not speak her Fate,
The silken Robes exprest her tragic State.

O! Sylvia, thus your distant Damon bless,
And in some Vehicle your Thoughts express.
Couch'd in whatever Dress, your Sense I'd find,
And thro' the darkest Cyphers trace your Mind:
Veil'd in Ænigmas let me read my Doom,
O! write, tho' 'tis a Distich for my Tomb.

Writing can fill up Space, can Distance cheat,
And spread Society in dull Retreat.
Thus may our Minds Platonic Friendship boast,
Returning mutual Visits ev'ry Post:
And born in pictur'd Lineaments shall fleet
Thro' the pure Ether, and its Consort greet.

121

HORACE.

L. II. Ode XVI.

Tost on the wide Ægæan Seas
The restless Merchant prays for Ease,
When sable Clouds hide Phœbe's Ray,
And doubtful Stars perplex the Way.
The warlike Thracians who delight
In fierce Exploits of savage Fight;
The Medes adorn'd with glitt'ring Bows,
All sue for Quiet and Repose.
But Peace, my Grosphus! is not sold
For Gems, for Purple, or for Gold.
Nor Wealth, nor Lictors richly drest,
Can quell the Tumults of the Breast.

122

Anxiety, and pensive Gloom,
Hang lingring round the fretted Room.
Content with their paternal Store
The Wise sit down, nor covet more;
In the old trenchard Dish can dine,
Nor at the rural Fare repine;
No sordid Lusts their Minds infest,
No Fears disturb their downy Rest.
Why dost thou pitch thy Aim so high,
Who shortly must descend to die?
Why leave thy native Clime, and run
Restless, beneath some other Sun?
Deluded Men! in vain they try
From their uneasy selves to fly.
Care will pursue with winged Feet,
And climb upon the flying Fleet:
Care will o'ertake the Horseman's Train
Swifter than Hinds, or stormy Rain.
Contented with the Good they feel
The Wise regard not future Ill,

123

Weather the Bad with cheerful Air;
Nothing below is free from Care.
Quick Death Achilles snatch'd away,
But linger'd out Tithonus' Day.
Perhaps old Time may lend to me
Those Hours which he may steal from thee.
A hundred Flocks bleat o'er thy Ground,
Sicilian Heifers low around,
Thy sprightly Horses neigh afar,
Worthy to draw a Consul's Car.
Rich Garments sparkle in thy Train,
Ting'd with a double Tyrian Stain.

But happy in my small Estate,
Peace and Contentment make it great.
Nor did the Fates to me refuse
Some little Portion of the Muse,
With this, a Mind, (the greatest Prize,)
That can the sland'rous Croud despise.

124

TO ARABELLA.

When you, fair Arabella, deign to write,
The Muses round attentive stand,
And catch your Thoughts at second hand,
To aid their Pencil, and inspire their Flight.
Then waft them high on painted Wings
To strike with Harmony their Strings.
The tuneful Sisters love their Play,
And Gods themselves keep Holiday.
Now lest Apollo shou'd the Truants know,
They pillage some bright Genius here below.
But oft, incens'd he finds the Cheat,
And doubly tasks them for Deceit.

125

He sees low Thoughts, and sublunary Light,
And dull Mortality hang o'er each Flight.
So bright your Fancy, and so soft each Line,
That when the Vagrants steal from you
Their Censor thinks each Stanza new,
And says 'tis all divine.

126

THE Wasp and the Lady.

Hasta sub exertam donec perlata papillam
Hæsit, virgineumque altè bibit acta cruorem.
Virg. Æn.

Why, cruel Wasp! didst thou delight
On that fair Arm to wreck thy Spight;
Fell Spight on that defenceless Arm,
Which ne'er did Fly nor Insect harm?

Inhuman Animal! to vex
With armed Force that tender Sex;
A Sex! so merciful, so sweet,
Cou'dst thou no other Object meet?

127

And oh! no other Female find,
Than one so fair, and one so kind?

More cruel than the Asp unseen,
Which stung lamented Egypt's Queen.
The harmless Beast securely laid,
On the rich Basket only prey'd,
Till in her Arm, with fatal Wring,
Th'heroic Lady forc'd the Sting.
Why unprovok'd, O barb'rous Wasp!
More savage than the pois'nous Asp,
Why didst thou wound the gentle Maid,
With Love and Innocence array'd?
Oh! why annoy that peaceful Breast,
Where only Cupids us'd to rest?
Their Darts to her shou'd only fly,
Those Darts with which her Lovers die.
Was it to seize ambrosial Lymph,
Extracted Essence of the Nymph,

128

As Bees cull out the richest Flow'r
And aromatic Sweets devour?
Fly, wicked Chymist! far away,
In Deserts such Alembics lay,
Or on the Garden's Essence prey.
Ye Sylphs! that hover in the Air,
As Poets say, to guard the Fair,
With watchful Wings around their Bed,
Where were ye now, ye Truants fled?

But say what Punishment shall I
Assign for this audacious Fly?
May Dangers still attend his Flight,
Till some dire Vengeance on him light.
May artful Webs his Wings ensnare,
Or Birds transport him thro' the Air;
Or may he with tremendous Clap
Be smother'd by fell Butcher's Flap;
Like Pilgrims choak'd in desert Land,
With Whirlwinds of tempestuous Sand;

129

Or when sojourning in the Streets
The Felon feeds on foreign Sweets,
May the arch Prentice lay a Gin
T'entice the Epicure within;
Some empty Sugar-Cask prepare
With brimstone Toil, and fiery Snare,
While Wasps invited by the Smell
Like Trojans haunt the wooden Cell,
'Till suffocated Crouds expire
In Clouds of Smoak, and nitrous Fire.

Thus where Vesuvio's Cavern reigns,
And Sulphur fructifies the Plains,
The vent'rous Natives oft repair
For finer Soil, and purer Air;
When lo! Eruptions hideous rise,
And Exhalations fill the Skies,
Rivers of burning Brimstone flow,
And eat their Channels as they go,

130

The smother'd Victims gasping die,
Beneath the torrid, sulph'rous Sky.

But if by Wonder kept alive
The Ravisher regains his Hive,
May pirate Boys explore the Nest
And there th'absconded Thief infest,
Plunder the Brood with barb'rous Joy,
And all the Tenement destroy.

Thus does the Muse Revenge pursue,
And sacrifice the Wasp to you:
The Monster at your Feet lies slain,
And here I finish the Campain:
The Muse in Perils oft your Guard,
Now Victor, waits her just Reward.
Heroes you know, and Champions bold,
And those romantic Knights of old
Who Giants vanquish'd, Dragons kill'd,
And for Dulcinea kept the Field,

131

Were always mickle Fav'rites thought
By those fair Dames for whom they fought;
Let me be only dubb'd your Squire,
And I no other Boon require.

132

THE Lady and the Wasp.

Obliqua invidia, stimulisqua agit abit acutis.
Virg. Æn. XI.

Why, Cynthia, will you thus complain
At such a momentary Pain?
Why wonder that the Wasps pursue
A Nymph so innocent as you?
Why let that peaceful Bosom rise,
And Anger kindle in those Eyes?
Those Eyes where gentle Pity flows,
That Breast the Region of Repose.

133

Believe the Muses Divination,
No Errors rise from Inspiration;
Prophets and Bards were once the same
Both in their Virtue, and their Name;
Believe the Muse, 'tis Vengeance sent,
For your own Crimes, just Punishment.
Thus Sages hold, profound of Sense,
That Judgments quadrate with th'Offence,
And like alternate Echos chime
In their Resemblance to the Crime:
As fell brave Cassius in the Field
With the same Sword which Cæsar kill'd;
And Hercules the Robber hung
On the same Tree he Trav'llers swung.
Thus since with dull, tyrannic Joy,
You Cupid's pointed Darts employ,
And new Artillery invent
Your patient Vassals to torment,
At last some small Revenge we meet,
(And oh! Revenge is very sweet!)

134

The Wasp has took each Lover's Part,
And stung your Hand, as you their Heart.

Had she believ'd what Nurses fear
She might have known some Danger near;
But Infidelity will reign,
Calpurnia dream'd, but dream'd in vain.

The Chimny-Insect by her side
Oft with presaging Ditty cry'd,
Omens of Salt spilt near her Plate,
And boding Ravens croak'd her Fate.
Portentous Signs, orac'lous Screams,
Unlucky Sights, and adverse Dreams,
The Fire burn'd blue, the Wine grew sour,
Ev'n Tray foretold the destin'd Hour,
As slumbring with uneasy Nap
He shiv'ring started in her Lap:
While the Death-watch with solemn Knell
Did ev'ry Night some Ill foretel.

135

And Ghosts of living Men were seen,
On well-known Eve, glide o'er the Green.
Her Genii from their Coverts ran,
Some conscious flutter'd round her Fan,
With glowing Heat some flush'd her Ear,
Or hung upon a pearly Tear:
While Voices strange, with Aug'ry dire,
Were heard at Midnight by the Squire,
Yet still the unbelieving Maid
Dar'd all these Omens, undismay'd:
Till round her Room the Insect flew,
Oft hover'd near, and oft withdrew;
Thrice he display'd his sounding Wing,
Thrice brandish'd the tremendous Sting.
O! magic Number! by what Charm
Dost thou portend approaching Harm?
Thrice from the Ground dread Pallas rose,
Her Statue left with Grecian Foes,
Thrice shook her adamantine Spear,
True Harbinger of Perils near.

136

Jove's Thunder flies in triple Line,
A Tripod form'd the Delphian Shrine.
Thus, Harpy-like, return'd again,
Return'd the Wasp, but not in vain:
Deep in her Arm with pungent Smart,
Vengeful, he fix'd th'envenom'd Dart;
Strait from the Wound impetuous flew
The vital Juice, of Tyrian Hue.
Far sounds the Ether with her Cries,
And from her Cheeks the Colour flies.
Not with less Grief Camilla dy'd
When Aruns' Dart had pierc'd her side.

But grateful what Returns shall I
Confer on this advent'rous Fly?
For him may balmy Sweets distil
On ev'ry Vale, on ev'ry Hill:
Rich as that Morning Manna Dew
Which nourish'd once the wandring Jew.

136

Where'er he roves, where'er he flies,
May Gardens bloom, and Odors rise.
Long, unmolested, may he rob
The Butcher's Stall, or Grocer's Tub;
In hollow Tree, on hollow Bank,
Reign dignify'd with princely Rank:
Then metamorphos'd wondring find
Existence in a nobler Kind,
And leave his Species far behind.
Thro' Scenes of Transmigration grace
The finny, or the feather'd Race,
And rob'd with all their Titles shine,
Exalted to the Peacock Line;
O'er his old Troop destructive soar,
And live on what he was before.

Thus oft we see some Upstart rise,
And his own Parentage despise,

146

With Hands rapacious plunder those
Industrious Swains from whom he rose,
And with encroaching Sway infest
Those Fields which his Forefathers drest.

147

CHARACTERS Out of the first Book of Tasso.

Done from the Italian.

Now Tancred came, a bold, intrepid Knight,
Rinaldo only equall'd him in Might:
None but Rinaldo in the Camp was seen
Of nobler Soul, or more majestic Mien.
If any Foil did his vast Glory fade,
'Twas Love; by wretched Love a Captive made.

Fame tells on that great Day when France subdu'd
The Persian Army, and the Foe pursu'd,

148

Victorious Tancred spent with Toil and Heat,
Far from his Troops explor'd a cool Retreat;
His weary'd Limbs near a fair Stream reclin'd
Which gently thro' the Grove did murm'ring wind,
Forgetful of his Cares there peaceful lay,
And pleas'd, survey'd the Triumphs of the Day.
When lo! a pagan Damsel thro' the Glade
Rush'd swift along, and brighten'd all the Shade:
She too fatigu'd some cool Recess desir'd,
All but her Head in shining Arms attir'd.
He saw her martial Air, her lovely Grace,
The Charms and Fire which darted from her Face;
Unable to sustain so bright a View,
The captive Prince, her love-sick Vot'ry grew.
O! wondrous Force of Love! whose Pow'r is such
It quite o'ercomes, when first we feel its Touch.
Soon as the warlike Maid the Knight beheld,
Her Face expos'd, the Helmet close conceal'd,
And had she not approaching Soldiers spy'd,
She Tancred strait to Combat had defy'd:

149

So fled; but left the Prince transfixed there,
Charm'd with the Image of the beauteous Fair;
Still are her Features on his Mind imprest,
And still her lov'd Idea haunts his Breast;
With languid Look and melancholy Air
Sighing he bears his Passion to the War.

But see fair Edward with Gildippe rise
In Song illustrious, and attract our Eyes.
Inseparable Pair! by Love ally'd,
Together liv'd they, and together dy'd,
Love knit their Hearts, what will not Love inspire!
It led her to the War with fond Desire:
Still by his Side a constant Guard she dwelt,
With him, no Trouble, no Fatigue she felt.
A dear and virtuous Friendship warm'd their Veins,
Mutual their Joys, and mutual were their Pains.

The Youth Rinaldo next attracts our View,
In whom ten thousand shining Virtues grew:

150

Of each unrivall'd Excellence possest
Godlike he shines exalted o'er the rest;
With graceful Presence, and majestic Air,
Gives a distinguish'd Lustre to the War.
His Mind serene no sordid Blemish stains,
And instant Courage glows thro' all his Veins.
Commanding Beauty sparkles in his Face,
Where Mars and Venus strive with mutual Grace.
On Adige's flow'ry Banks, Sophia fair
The great Bertoldo's Spouse, the Hero bare:
Beauteous Sophia, worthy such a Son,
But nurs'd by Maud, since Infancy begun.
That tender Princess rais'd him in her Arms,
Train'd him to Virtue, and improv'd his Charms;
Till fir'd with Thirst of deathless Praise, he hears
The Eastern Trumpet sounding in his Ears;
Then fled alone, with native Courage bold
Thro' Paths unknown, scarce fifteen Winters old:
O'er distant Climes he rov'd to Grecian Shores,
Where throng'd with Islands the Ægean roars.

151

Glorious the March, advent'rous was the Flight,
Worthy the Labours of the bravest Knight.
Three Years he past already with Renown
E'er his soft Chin was grac'd with manly Down.

152

AN ELEGY On a late Reverend, Pious, and Ingenious Gentleman.

Omnibus est eadem leti via, non tamen unus
Est vitæ cunctis, exitiique modus:
Hac pueri at que senes pariter, juvenesque feruntur;
Hac par divitibus pauper egenus erit.
Gall. Eleg.

Some as they grow in Fortune, grow in Fame,
And on their Pomp engraft their borrow'd Name;

153

While o'er their sordid Dust proud Piles arise,
And prouder Praises that affront the Skies:
And shalt thou, Strephon, unlamented lie,
And live in Silence, and in Silence die?
Thou who might'st claim thy Monument and Bays,
And Holbein's Pencil to transmit thy Praise.
Fir'd with thy Worth, the Muses shall presume,
To draw some shad'wy Out-lines o'er thy Tomb.

Tho' o'er thy Grave no polisht Marble shines,
Nor Indian Colours gild the glowing Lines,
Yet if chaste Truth her better Charms shall show,
And artless Virtue thro' the Periods flow,
Thy Name without an Obelisk shall live,
Nor greater Fame Egyptian Labors give.

As Painters in light Sketch large Draughts contain,
As living Forests lurk in one small Grain,
Thus each Perfection of the human Race,
In him, divine Epitome! we trace.

154

And the wide Theatres of Truth and Wit
In wondrous Miniature distinctly writ.

With thee, the Sweets of social Life are lost,
And all the Friendship which I valu'd most:
Friendship by no low Views of Int'rest bred,
Kindled by Reason, and by Reason led.
No more in deep Attention shall I sit,
Pleas'd with thy Smiles, and ravisht with thy Wit;
Thy Wit which quick as Lightning flow'd so fast,
That still new Sallies overtook the last.
When spent with thee, soft fled the Hours away,
Untold they fled, and Pleasure rul'd the Day:
Thy Talk, free, hum'rous, solid and sublime
Brighten'd dull Hours, and sped the Wheels of Time.
How was I pleas'd to emulate thy Flight,
And trace the pearly Palaces of Light?
How pleas'd to view, when trav'lling by thy side,
New Truths display'd, new Miracles descry'd?

155

And rais'd by thee behold with vast Surprize
A new Creation all around me rise.
Like that brave Chief who first the Ocean crost,
And found in unknown Skies, an unknown Coast.

When first my Muse her infant Wings essay'd,
And rural Scenes in artless Flights display'd,
He check'd her Sallies, taught her how to fly,
Nor meanly sink too low, nor soar too high:
Still wou'd he labour something to commend,
And often lose the Critic in the Friend.

Long did he slumber in a lone Recess,
And savage Regions with his Presence bless.
A solitary Dale near Mendip lies,
Almost conceal'd by Rocks from human Eyes,
The Scene so wild, so desolate the Hills,
A dreary Horror all the Prospect fills;
So thick the Woods, the Mountains swell so high,
They shade the Plain, and darken half the Sky:

156

Obscure the Place, the Region unadmir'd,
Till Strephon here religiously retir'd;
Pleas'd thro' the venerable Gloom to rove,
And with his Presence sanctify the Grove.
But now the desart Wilds his Name shall bear,
And each rude Rock his dear Remembrance wear;
Each mystic Tree, and each memorial Stream
Flow with his Image, or retain his Name.
Each whisp'ring Breeze shall on his Accents dwell,
And vocal Caves reply from Cell to Cell.
Hail! blest Retirement! innocent Retreat!
Religion's Mansion, and the Muses Seat.
'Twas here he read Young's celebrated Lines
Where the Last Day in tragic Splendor shines;
Fir'd with his Godlike Flights, and magic Lays
He felt himself the Fury of the Blaze;
The Conflagration kindled in his Veins,
And the fresh Flame flew higher in his Strains.

157

Beyond this Scene he rais'd his tow'ring Soul
To Worlds dissolving, and a fiery Pole;
With Strength of Thought surviv'd the final Doom,
And lodg'd frail Nature in a decent Tomb.
See the Rocks rend, the Hills asunder crack,
The azure Curtains of the Skies fold back;
See Earth to Ætna turn, the Ocean fry,
And Peals of Thunder thro' the Chaos fly,
See Storms of Sulphur, Deluges of Fire
Sweep thro' the Skies, and bid the Waves retire:
The vast Abyss display its unknown Store
Where shapeless Monsters in dark Grottos roar,
While the last Trumpet with tremendous Sound
Shakes the firm Basis of the solid Ground.
See the Tombs open, naked stand the Dead,
The grand Tribunal blazing o'er their head;
The Judge conspicuous with a starry Crown
Striking more Terror with a single Frown

158

Than all the dire Catastrophe below,
Tho' Hell and Devils mingle in the Show:
He frowns; the Skies are flusht with crimson Rays,
And at each Glance reflected Lightnings blaze:
He smiles; the Heav'ns their gentle Robes assume,
And with pacific Aspect gild the Gloom:
But see pale Nature all in Flux expire,
Itself a Pile for its own fun'ral Fire.
Convuls'd Creation agonizing lies,
Pants with vext Billows, or in Tempests sighs,
Diffus'd in Atoms one deep Groan she gave,
And Space, at first her Womb, became her Grave.

Thus sung his Muse the Ruins of the Frame,
Clear as the Light, and rapid as the Flame.
But while he drest the Fun'ral of the Sky
In sable Robes, thought not his own so nigh.
Already in his Breast the Train was laid,
And o'er his Veins a Fire as fatal prey'd.

159

So subtle Vapors thro' the Ether glide,
And future Poisons in their Bosom hide.

Thus as Creation's final Peal he rung,
His own sad Dirges too the Poet sung:
The tragic Lines his Elegy wou'd frame,
Various the Subject, but the Plaint the same.

Reason his Pole-star was, his friendly Light
Which thro' Life's Labyrinth convoy'd him right.
For while his tow'ring Genius soar'd so high,
Buoy'd up in Rapture to its native Sky,
Still at the Basis solid Judgment grew,
And sunk as deep as that sublimely flew:
Thus Egypt's Cones the wondring Prospect tire,
But the broad Base supports the rising Spire.
When thick around him gath'ring Tempests brew'd,
He unappal'd the rising Billows view'd:
Perplext in Mazes, or beset with Foes,
Still wou'd the Guardian Mentor interpose.

160

When Bigot's Darts with poison'd Fury flew,
She o'er his Head her heav'nly Helmet threw.
When Levi's Sons in Consultation sate
To pass their Censures, and decree his Fate;
He all their Terrors with a Smile beheld,
Their keenest Rage his Innocence repell'd:
Like the fix'd Stars in purer Light array'd
Beneath his Feet their harmless Thunder play'd.
As well the Pole with ev'ry Breeze might shake,
As his fix'd Peace their zealous Curses break:
Nor cou'd vain Sounds, or vainer Schemes controul,
Or wrest a mean Confession from his Soul.
With just Integrity of Thought possest,
Contempt of Fame, and Suff'ring fir'd his Breast.
The Cause of Virtue is a Godlike Cause,
And scorns to stoop to popular Applause:
Supported on her Wings, he rose sublime,
Where no low persecuting Storms cou'd climb.
And like blest Quintus for his Country's Good,
The Baits of splendid Slavery withstood.

161

Let Epicures in Paphian Pleasures glide,
And venal Sycophants, and Slaves deride.
Let Misers on the Seas their Bliss explore,
And barter Quiet for Peruvian Ore.
The wise Man's happy in himself alone,
And fraught with Peace all India is his own.
He needs not calm a Tempest to be blest,
Nor ask the Ocean leave to sleep at rest.
Wrapt with incircling Probity the Mind
In her own Port a Sanctuary can find;
Collected in herself a Harbor there
Unfolds a Region of untroubled Air;
Where blest Contentment soars with downy Wing,
And smiling Flora breathes eternal Spring.
No sullen Clouds annoy the Peaceful Scene,
The Groves still tuneful, and the Skies serene:
External Toys reach not her Orb within,
We raise the Storm, and Fancy forms the Spleen.

162

Let the World frown, and Tempests shake the Plain,
The Mind's the same, Opinion gives the Pain.
Objects without raise visionary Ill,
Nor is it they that strike, but we that feel.
Thus silver Fountains saliant ebb, or flow,
Just as the Artist guides the Pipes below;
The shifting Breeze without no impulse brings
To raise the Conduit, or direct the Springs.
Like Fountains in the Soul the Passions dwell,
And as we please the Bubbles sink, or swell.

Above the Clouds Contentment builds her Seat,
Or in some Grotto seeks a chaste Retreat:
There views the busy Croud in Flux around
For Trifles pine, and labor for a Sound:
There undisturb'd the present Hour enjoys,
Free from mad Scenes of Folly, Rage and Noise.
So in the silent Caverns of the Deep
On oozy Beds quiescent Billows sleep.

163

Such was our Hero, so sedate his Mind,
Calm as the Light, undaunted, yet resign'd.
So great his Piety that he had been
In Romish Register unstain'd with Sin.
His Body so deform'd, his Thoughts so high,
He was not fram'd to live below the Sky.
It was a Foil by Nature thus design'd
In fairer Contraste to dispose the Mind;
A Mind which soon disdainful took her flight,
Fledg'd for immortal Liberty and Light.

For oh! blest Bard! if any Heav'n there be
There is a Paradise reserv'd for Thee.
Thy dying Pray'rs must unretarded rise,
And pave an easy Entrance to the Skies.
Shall the brave Man here weather Fortune's Frown,
Obscurely fall, and reap no future Crown?
Forbid it Heav'n, and all that's good, and great,
There is beyond this Cope a happier Seat;

164

Full of divine Tranquillity and Peace,
Where all these Hurricanes of Life will cease;
Where no dark Clouds rise low'ring o'er the Day,
No sable Mists obscure th'eternal Ray;
Where free from all his Conflicts, all his Pains,
In blissful Groves triumphant Strephon reigns.

165

Love Idolatrous.

As o'er the Skies bright Venus flew
One shining Summer's Day,
While gentle Doves her Chariot drew,
And Cupids fann'd the Way:

Beneath a Tree fair Phillis sat,
In past'ral Dress array'd,
Where Beauty sparkled without State,
And grac'd the solemn Shade;

The Moon amidst the Gloom of Night
Thus beautifies the Sky,
And flusht with Majesty of Light
Gilds the dark Cope on high.

166

Encircling Flow'rs beneath her Feet
In Emulation grew,
To her they offer'd up each Sweet,
And for her Pleasure blew.

Sweet Innocence sat on her Face
As cloudless Skies serene,
Divinity fill'd all the Place,
And sanctify'd the Scene.

At my Approach the Goddess blush'd
Like Roses in their Bloom,
Fresh Glory deck'd the Grove, and flusht
Refulgent o'er the Gloom.

Struck with such Charms the Gazer fell
Transfix'd with Cupid's Steel;
The Passion was too great to tell,
The Wound too deep to feel.

167

Bright Nymph inferior Charms than thine
A vulgar Flame may raise,
But I like Vot'rys at a Shrine
Pay Homage as I gaze.

Your strict Iconomist I grow,
Thus dedicate my Vow,
As at Loretto's gilded Show
Deluded Papists bow.

My Love does to Devotion turn,
Devotion kindles Love;
And thus alternately I burn,
And in two Regions move.

You, Phillis, you can turn the Scale,
False Idol, I your Priest,
Let Love o'er Reverence prevail,
And idol Vows desist.

168

Regard my Sighs, or you'll become
Some Magdalene indeed,
Fit Image to adorn a Room,
And dumb Adorers feed.

Phidias, or Guido, in their Sphere,
May have Admirers still,
But ah! fine Paintings cannot hear,
Nor a Minerva feel.

169

TEDEUM.

From the Latin of Dr. Alsop.

Great God! thy Praises we proclaim
In Hymns of grateful Verse;
Great God! all Climes revere thy Name,
All Climes thy Pow'r confess.

Bright Choirs of Angels round thy Throne
Thro' Heav'n's high Regions sing,
And all the shining Cohorts own
Thee, their eternal King.

170

The Cherubim for ever cry,
And Seraphim around,
O'er all the Palaces on high,
Thy Praise for ever sound.

Great God of Armies, God of Grace,
Thy boundless Glory reigns
Thro' all th'Immensity of Space,
And fills th'ethereal Plains.

Apostles shout thy Praises loud,
While ecchoing Prophets throng,
And Martyrs, an illustrious Croud,
Wind up the glorious Song.

Th'Assemblies of the Just combine,
And joyfully acclaim,
And with united Worship join
Harmonious in thy Name;

171

Thy boundless Attributes confess,
And hail th'eternal Son,
And the coæval Spirit bless,
All equal in the Throne.

All hail! O glorious Paraclete,
Who gave the sacred Word,
Hail Christ! who, in immortal Light
Still lives immortal Lord.

Who the eternal Offspring reigns
Of Heav'n's eternal Sire,
And to redeem our mortal Pains
Did in the Womb retire.

Soon as thy Godlike Spirit fled,
Great Victor of the Grave,
The Gates of Heav'n expanding spread
Our sinking Souls to save.

172

To all who thy Perfections love
Thy bounteous Favour shew;
And may they reign with Saints above,
Who worship thee below.

There in full Bliss triumphant shine,
With fadeless Glory crown'd,
While chaunting on thy Name divine
Thro' ev'ry Age shall sound.

This Day devoutly may we spend
In Piety and Love,
Great God! thy gentle Grace extend
To guide us safe above.

May Beams of everlasting Light
Descend on all the Just,
And to thy Kingdom lead us right
Who on Thee fix our Trust.

173

Ungenerous Love.

With youthful Blood Flotillo fir'd
A blooming Beauty long admir'd:
And vow'd, and sigh'd, and sung, and swore
How he did every Charm adore.
Not Sleep by Night, nor Cares by Day
His flaming Passion cou'd allay;
'Twas Heav'n did she but smile or sing,
Her Breath was sweeter than the Spring;
But when she frown'd what Storms wou'd rise,
And sudden Gloom eclipse the Skies?
Then oh! ye Gods! what Lips, what Breast?
Twas too divine to be exprest.

174

And—for her Eyes—they shone so bright
They made it Sun-shine when 'twas Night:
With all the Cant which Coxcombs use
When they the injur'd Sex abuse.

At length the Nymph reliev'd his Pain,
And smil'd upon the dying Swain.
Such Softness in her Bosom dwelt
All that Flotillo feign'd, she felt.

But ah! how soon the Scene is turn'd,
The Beau grew cool, the Beauty burn'd.
His Pray'rs, his Curses, and what not?
Are all forsook, or all forgot.
The Sailor thus for Help implores
When frowning Tempests shake the Shores,
But soon as a calm Heav'n succeeds
Nor Pray'rs, nor Tears, nor Vows he heeds.

175

But cease, Belinda, nor lament
That Fate which Virtue can't prevent;
The Wise from needless Grief abstain,
Nor mourn when they must mourn in vain.

176

ON The Prince of Orange's Arrival at Bath.

Translated from the Latin of Robert Parran, S. T. P. and Chaplain to the Duke of Dorset.

Great Offspring of that Hero's Blood
Who royal Tyranny withstood,
And with propitious Courage broke
Ignoble Chains of Servile Yoke!

Come gentle Prince! to bless our Isle,
And bid Britannia's Genius smile,

177

Let Gratitude inspire each Breast
Thus with a second William blest.

Hear Joy tumultuous shout aloud,
And Echos murmur midst the Croud;
While Nobles guard thee thro' the Street,
And sulph'rous Streams thy Presence greet.
Where Bath's divine Protectress, see,
Presents her sacred Draughts to Thee,
For Thee she guides the Urns below,
And with new Heat the Waters glow.
While thus the Goddess—Taste these Springs,
Great Prince! which have befriended Kings.
Nassau did hence new Health resume,
And hence thy future Sister Bloom.
Witness thy own too, Pallas cries,
And smiles at such a glorious Prize.
The Guardian now with juster Pride
Her tutelary Rills shall guide.

178

O! may these Streams prolong thy Years,
And doubly thus repay th'Arrears
Of those which a devouring Tide
Did from thy luckless Sire divide.
Unhappy Prince! by Fortune slain;
But cease, my Muse, thy Verse to stain,
Nor mingle in thy tragic Lays
His gloomy Fate with brighter Days.

Taste then, blest Prince! while Sickness flies,
And Vigor sparkles in thy Eyes:
O! may thy Youth immortal be,
From each Disease, and Danger free.
In this just Pray'r all Britons join,
Whose Senate owes its Health to thine;
All Europe to this Pray'r will bow,
And Anna crown the gen'ral Vow.

179

TO The Reverend Dr. Watts,

Author of Horæ Lyricæ.

When thy pure Soul, seraphic Watts, shall rise,
And mingle with the Music of the Skies;
Thy Bliss with greater Extacy will glow,
For thou hast felt a Taste of Heav'n below:
Already tun'd sublime, immortal Lays,
And strung thy Harp in Jubilees of Praise;
Already pitch'd for Saints thy lofty Song,
And Hallelujahs consecrate thy Tongue,

180

Anticipate the sacred Choirs on high,
And ope' the Antichambers of the Sky.
Inferior Saints will feel but little more
Of their first Heav'n than Watts has felt before:
Angels to hear his Lays in Crouds will throng,
And Heav'n will learn new Lessons from his Song.

181

TO The Right Honourable Lord Viscount Weymouth,

on his late Marriage with Miss Carteret.

While Crouds, my Lord, applaud your happy Choice
The Muse attempts the Theme with grateful Voice.
Tho' low her Notes, and unobserv'd her Song,
Lost in the louder Murmurs of the Throng,
Yet are her Raptures true, her Duty paid,
Tho' sung to Rocks, and utter'd in the Shade.

182

Yet shall the vocal Rocks resound thy Lays,
And vocal Hills the nuptial Concert raise;
The whisp'ring Winds repeat it as they rove,
And waft the welcome News from Grove to Grove.
While Birds harmonious catch the artless Strains,
And Hymen, Hymen ecchoes o'er the Plains.
How oft they hear me in the russet Vale,
Or low-brow'd Downs, repeat the nuptial Tale?
And when Aurora's Curtains gild the Sky
Swift as her Beams the gentle Tidings fly.

How blest th'Alliance where no Int'rest rules,
The Bane of Bliss, and Perquisite of Fools!
Where Love its full unmingled Joy displays,
And Reason dictates while the Heart obeys:
Where Wisdom, Innocence, and Beauty join
To make the destin'd Object all Divine.
Well might such Virtues rigid Romans win,
And in soft Bondage captivate a Thynne.

183

Beauty like her's cou'd Envy's Sting disarm,
And with one Smile reluctant Stoics charm.
Sprung from a Peer whom matchless Virtues grace,
And stamp a lasting Lustre on his Race:
Alike Mæcenas to the Muse, and State,
Whom Foes must love, and Faction cannot hate.

How gay the Country, and the Fields how drest,
When first the Fair these rural Regions blest!
While Sylvan Choirs conduct her o'er the Plain,
And smiling Meads reflect her Smiles again,
The jocund Swains dance rustic Carols round,
And Pan loud piping propagates the Sound:
The distant Dales the Harmony prolong,
And bubbling Fountains murmur out a Song:
Blithe Fauns and Naiads on the Banks are seen,
And hail her guardian Goddess of the Green.

Welcome, bright Nymph! to these poetic Rills,
These savage Forests, and romantic Hills:

184

Like Druid Priests you consecrate the Grove,
And each soft Scene breathes Innocence and Love.
The rugged Wilds a gentler Air assume,
And sudden Verdures brighten thro' the Gloom.
To these lone Walks you unknown Day diffuse,
And warm these Accents of the rustic Muse:
'Twas thus Minerva civiliz'd the Swains,
And spread Politeness o'er Arcadia's Plains.

Still may your Joys increase, illustrious Pair!
Not flusht by Fortune, nor deprest by Care,
Till beauteous Offsprings in your Likeness smile,
And add fresh Graces to Britannia's Isle.

185

TO His Royal Highness the Prince of Orange.

Design'd to have been presented to him, on his Arrival at Bath.

Illustrious Prince! while Crouds their Vows address,
Accept the Tribute of a rustic Verse.
What Swain, what Savage can a Moment pause,
When Princes, and when Heroes claim Applause?
Amidst the wintry Horrors of the Year.
The Muse her Halcyon feels when you draw near;
Forth from her Cell, where she had slumber'd long,
Now ventures out, and meditates a Song;

186

Like Birds in Covert, from the Shade she springs,
With short-liv'd Flights, and tries her infant Wings.
New Meteors thus with welcome Light surprize
The northern Natives in benighted Skies.
Think not I labour at ignoble Praise,
In artful Lines, and mercenary Lays.
Fame is the Tax of Justice to the Few,
To Virtue, Learning, Liberty, and You;
A Friend to each triumphing Britain sees
Dawn forth in You, and ripen by Degrees.

No Monuments can screen a Tyrant's Name,
Nor Titian hide, nor Maro guard his Fame.
When Merit calls, the Labor is not lost,
He who says least of Merit, praises most;
Ev'n silent Eloquence can more display
Than all the Pomp of Language can convey:
Who writes—here Bacon rests—here Milton lies,
May Raphael's Paint, and Tully's Tongue despise.
Thus o'er your Tomb, whatever Poet weeps,
And says with pious Tears—Here Orange sleeps;

187

In one short Sentence has your Annals writ
With Cæsar's Energy, and Plutarch's Wit.
Your future Conquests grav'd on ev'ry Breast
In fairer Characters will speak the rest.

Pleas'd we behold you rise betwixt th'extreme
Of Gallic Fury, and Batavian Phlegm:
Contraste of both, the British Soul is seen
In all your Actions, and in all your Mien.
Calmness, and Courage, Constancy and Fire
To form the Patriot, and the Prince, conspire:
Like that brave Monarch, when he swore sedate
In the last Dyke to meet his Country's Fate;
And fir'd with Freedom in the Bloom of Age,
Withstood the Torrent of a Tyrant's Rage.
Heir to his Virtues, as his Lands, we view
Great Nassau from his Tomb revive in you.
Behold the Patriot from his Slumbers rise,
And all his Triumphs sparkle in your Eyes!
To you his Arms and Genius he bequeaths,
Fires with his Deeds, and crowns you with his Wreaths.

188

Then like Anchises in th'Elysian Plain
Returns, and rushes to the Shades again.

The scatter'd Virtues of that glorious Line
Centring in you, with blended Lustre shine.
A Line commission'd from the Gods to save
Afflicted Lands, and Bourbon's Fury brave;
Born to redress the injur'd Captives Pains,
And break the Curse of arbitrary Chains.
To bid Mankind that lawful Freedom use
Which Nature gave, and Vassals would refuse.
For this in ev'ry Age have Heroes rose,
Whom Heav'n Avengers of its Wrath has chose.

May you for this your native Health resume,
And all the Graces in your Aspect bloom:
Restore lost Peace and Liberty again,
And bless the Nations with a golden Reign.

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library

II. VOL. II.

A POEM Sacred to the Memory of Sir ISAAC NEWTON.

Modern Courtship:

Inscrib'd to Miss W***t.

TRANSLATIONS FROM The Italian of Signor Rolli's SONNETS.

Song I. L. 1.

Song II.

Song II. L. II.

Song IV.

To the Reverend Mr. STOGDON,

Author of Colin's Advice, or Damon to Nisa.

The Legacys.

VERSES To the Memory of a young Gentleman of Bristol.

RECOVERING FROM SICKNESS.

THE Deserts of Devonshire.

THE Lilliputian Combat,

OR PIGMYOMACHIA.

TO A Young Lady.

ON A Young Gentleman, who died suddenly by a Fall from a Waggon.

TO CELIA.

TO Miss S*****by.

THE TEMPEST.

TO A Friend in Wales:

Writ in the Spring.

TO A Retir'd Lady.

EPITAPH On Mr. John Mason of Bristol.

THE EARTH:

A Philosophical Poem.

A PRAYER of Cleanthes, a Stoic Philosopher, to the Supream GOD.

Translated from the Greek.

TO Miss S***y, dancing at a BALL.

HORACE.

L. I. Ode VIII.

L. I. Ode IX.

L. II. Ode XV.

L. IV. Ode VII.

L. I. Ode VII.

ON THE SPRING.

From Anacreon. Ode XXXVII.

ANACREON.

Ode XVII.

TO A Lady who refus'd to answer a LETTER.

HORACE.

L. II. Ode XVI.

TO ARABELLA.

THE Wasp and the Lady.

THE Lady and the Wasp.

CHARACTERS Out of the first Book of Tasso.

Done from the Italian.

AN ELEGY On a late Reverend, Pious, and Ingenious Gentleman.

Love Idolatrous.

TEDEUM.

From the Latin of Dr. Alsop.

Ungenerous Love.

ON The Prince of Orange's Arrival at Bath.

Translated from the Latin of Robert Parran, S. T. P. and Chaplain to the Duke of Dorset.

TO The Reverend Dr. Watts,

Author of Horæ Lyricæ.

TO The Right Honourable Lord Viscount Weymouth,

on his late Marriage with Miss Carteret.

TO His Royal Highness the Prince of Orange.

Design'd to have been presented to him, on his Arrival at Bath.

Inscrib'd to Miss *W***t*.

TO Miss *S*****by*.

TO Miss *S***y*, dancing at a BALL.