 | American poems, selected and original |  |
154
PHILOSOPHIC SOLITUDE.
BY WILLIAM LIVINGSTON, ESQ. Late Governor of the State of New-Jersey, &c. &c.
Let ardent heroes seek renown in arms,
Pant after fame, and rush to war's alarms;
To shining palaces let fools resort,
And dunces cringe, to be esteem'd at court:
Mine be the pleasure of a rural life,
From noise remote, and ignorant of strife;
Far from the painted belle, and white-glov'd beau,
The lawless masquerade, and midnight show:
From ladies, lap-dogs, courtiers, garters, stars,
Fops, fidlers, tyrants, emperors, and czars.
Pant after fame, and rush to war's alarms;
To shining palaces let fools resort,
And dunces cringe, to be esteem'd at court:
Mine be the pleasure of a rural life,
From noise remote, and ignorant of strife;
Far from the painted belle, and white-glov'd beau,
The lawless masquerade, and midnight show:
From ladies, lap-dogs, courtiers, garters, stars,
Fops, fidlers, tyrants, emperors, and czars.
Full in the centre of some shady grove,
By nature form'd for solitude and love;
On banks array'd with ever-blooming flowers,
Near beauteous landscapes, or by roseate bowers,
My neat, but simple mansion I would raise,
Unlike the sumptuous domes of modern days;
Devoid of pomp, with rural plainness form'd,
With savage game, and glossy shells adorn'd.
By nature form'd for solitude and love;
On banks array'd with ever-blooming flowers,
Near beauteous landscapes, or by roseate bowers,
My neat, but simple mansion I would raise,
Unlike the sumptuous domes of modern days;
Devoid of pomp, with rural plainness form'd,
With savage game, and glossy shells adorn'd.
No costly furniture should grace my hall;
But curling vines ascend against the wall,
Whose pliant branches should luxuriant twine,
While purple clusters swell'd with future wine:
To slake my thirst a liquid lapse distil
From craggy rocks, and spread a limpid rill.
Along my mansion, spiry firs should grow,
And gloomy yews extend the shady row:
The cedars flourish, and the poplars rise,
Sublimely tall, and shoot into the skies:
Among the leaves, refreshing zephyrs play,
And crouding trees exclude the noon-tide ray;
Whereon the birds their downy nests should form,
Securely shelter'd from the battering storm;
And to melodious notes their choir apply,
Soon as Aurora blush'd along the sky:
While all around th'enchanting music rings,
And ev'ry vocal grove responsive sings.
But curling vines ascend against the wall,
Whose pliant branches should luxuriant twine,
While purple clusters swell'd with future wine:
To slake my thirst a liquid lapse distil
From craggy rocks, and spread a limpid rill.
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And gloomy yews extend the shady row:
The cedars flourish, and the poplars rise,
Sublimely tall, and shoot into the skies:
Among the leaves, refreshing zephyrs play,
And crouding trees exclude the noon-tide ray;
Whereon the birds their downy nests should form,
Securely shelter'd from the battering storm;
And to melodious notes their choir apply,
Soon as Aurora blush'd along the sky:
While all around th'enchanting music rings,
And ev'ry vocal grove responsive sings.
Me to sequester'd scenes ye muses guide,
Where nature wantons in her virgin pride;
To mossy banks, edg'd round with op'ning flowers,
Elysian fields and amaranthine bowers,
To ambrosial founts, and sleep-inspiring rills,
To herbag'd vales, gay lawns, and sunny hills.
Where nature wantons in her virgin pride;
To mossy banks, edg'd round with op'ning flowers,
Elysian fields and amaranthine bowers,
To ambrosial founts, and sleep-inspiring rills,
To herbag'd vales, gay lawns, and sunny hills.
Welcome, ye shades! all hail, ye vernal blooms:
Ye bow'ry thickets, and prophetic glooms!
Ye forests, hail! ye solitary woods!
Love-whispering groves, and silver-streaming floods:
Ye meads, that aromatic sweets exhale!
Ye birds, and all ye sylvan beauties, hail!
Oh how I long with you to spend my days,
Invoke the muse, and try the rural lays!
Ye bow'ry thickets, and prophetic glooms!
Ye forests, hail! ye solitary woods!
Love-whispering groves, and silver-streaming floods:
Ye meads, that aromatic sweets exhale!
Ye birds, and all ye sylvan beauties, hail!
Oh how I long with you to spend my days,
Invoke the muse, and try the rural lays!
No trumpets there with martial clangor sound,
No prostrate heroes strew the crimson ground;
No groves of lances glitter in the air,
Nor thund'ring drums provoke the sanguine war:
But white-rob'd Peace, and universal Love
Smile in the field, and brighten ev'ry grove:
There all the beauties of the circling year,
In native ornamental pride appear.
Gay, rosy-bosom'd Spring, and April show'rs,
Wake, from the womb of earth, the rising flow'rs:
In deeper verdure, Summer clothes the plain,
And Autumn bends beneath the golden grain;
The trees weep amber; and the whispering gales
Breeze o'er the lawn, or murmur through the vales:
The flow'ry tribes in gay confusion bloom,
Profuse with sweets, and fragrant with perfume;
On blossoms blossoms, fruits on fruits arise,
And varied prospects glad the wand'ring eyes.
In these fair seats, I'd pass the joyous day,
Where meadows flourish, and where fields look gay;
From bliss to bliss with endless pleasure rove,
Seek crystal streams, or haunt the vernal grove,
Woods, fountains, lakes, the fertile fields, or shades,
Aerial mountains, or subjacent glades.
There from the polish'd fetters of the great,
Triumphal piles, and gilded rooms of state—
Prime ministers, and sycophantic knaves,
Illustrious villains, and illustrious slaves,
From all the vain formality of fools,
And odious task of arbitrary rules;
The ruffling cares, which the vex'd soul annoy,
The wealth the rich possess, but not enjoy,
The visionary bliss the world can lend,
Th'insidious foe, and false, designing friend,
The seven-fold fury of Xantippe's soul,
And S---'s rage, that burns without controul:
I'd live retir'd, contented, and serene,
Forgot, unknown, unenvied, and unseen.
No prostrate heroes strew the crimson ground;
No groves of lances glitter in the air,
Nor thund'ring drums provoke the sanguine war:
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Smile in the field, and brighten ev'ry grove:
There all the beauties of the circling year,
In native ornamental pride appear.
Gay, rosy-bosom'd Spring, and April show'rs,
Wake, from the womb of earth, the rising flow'rs:
In deeper verdure, Summer clothes the plain,
And Autumn bends beneath the golden grain;
The trees weep amber; and the whispering gales
Breeze o'er the lawn, or murmur through the vales:
The flow'ry tribes in gay confusion bloom,
Profuse with sweets, and fragrant with perfume;
On blossoms blossoms, fruits on fruits arise,
And varied prospects glad the wand'ring eyes.
In these fair seats, I'd pass the joyous day,
Where meadows flourish, and where fields look gay;
From bliss to bliss with endless pleasure rove,
Seek crystal streams, or haunt the vernal grove,
Woods, fountains, lakes, the fertile fields, or shades,
Aerial mountains, or subjacent glades.
There from the polish'd fetters of the great,
Triumphal piles, and gilded rooms of state—
Prime ministers, and sycophantic knaves,
Illustrious villains, and illustrious slaves,
From all the vain formality of fools,
And odious task of arbitrary rules;
The ruffling cares, which the vex'd soul annoy,
The wealth the rich possess, but not enjoy,
The visionary bliss the world can lend,
Th'insidious foe, and false, designing friend,
The seven-fold fury of Xantippe's soul,
And S---'s rage, that burns without controul:
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Forgot, unknown, unenvied, and unseen.
Yet not a real hermitage I'd choose,
Nor wish to live from all the world recluse;
But with a friend sometimes unbend the soul,
In social converse, o'er the sprightly bowl.
With cheerful W---, serene and wisely gay,
I'd often pass the dancing hours away:
He, skill'd alike to profit and to please,
Politely talks with unaffected ease;
Sage in debate, and faithful to his trust,
Mature in science, and severely just;
Of soul diffusive, vast and unconfin'd,
Breathing benevolence to all mankind;
Cautious to censure, ready to commend,
A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted friend;
In early youth, fair wisdom's paths he trod,
In early youth, a minister of God,
Each pupil lov'd him, when at Yale he shone,
And ev'ry bleeding bosom weeps him gone.
Dear A--- too, should grace my rural seat,
Forever welcome to the green retreat:
Heav'n for the cause of righteousness design'd
His florid genius, and capacious mind:
Oft have I heard, amidst th'adorning throng,
Celestial truths devolving from his tongue:
High o'er the list'ning audience seen him stand,
Divinely speak, and graceful stretch his hand;
With such becoming grace and pompous sound,
With long rob'd senators encircled round,
Before the Roman bar, while Rome was free,
Nor bow'd to Cæsar's throne the servile knee,
Immortal Tulley plead the patriot cause,
While ev'ry tongue resounded his applause.
Next round my board should candid S--- appear,
Of manners gentle, and a friend sincere,
Averse to discord, party-rage and strife,
He sails serenely down the stream of life.
With these three friends, beneath a spreading shade,
Where silver fountains murmur thro' the glade;
Or in cool grots, perfum'd with native flow'rs,
In harmless mirth, I'd spend the circling hours;
Or gravely talk, or innocently sing,
Or, in harmonious concert, strike the trembling string.
Nor wish to live from all the world recluse;
But with a friend sometimes unbend the soul,
In social converse, o'er the sprightly bowl.
With cheerful W---, serene and wisely gay,
I'd often pass the dancing hours away:
He, skill'd alike to profit and to please,
Politely talks with unaffected ease;
Sage in debate, and faithful to his trust,
Mature in science, and severely just;
Of soul diffusive, vast and unconfin'd,
Breathing benevolence to all mankind;
Cautious to censure, ready to commend,
A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted friend;
In early youth, fair wisdom's paths he trod,
In early youth, a minister of God,
Each pupil lov'd him, when at Yale he shone,
And ev'ry bleeding bosom weeps him gone.
Dear A--- too, should grace my rural seat,
Forever welcome to the green retreat:
Heav'n for the cause of righteousness design'd
His florid genius, and capacious mind:
Oft have I heard, amidst th'adorning throng,
Celestial truths devolving from his tongue:
High o'er the list'ning audience seen him stand,
Divinely speak, and graceful stretch his hand;
With such becoming grace and pompous sound,
With long rob'd senators encircled round,
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Nor bow'd to Cæsar's throne the servile knee,
Immortal Tulley plead the patriot cause,
While ev'ry tongue resounded his applause.
Next round my board should candid S--- appear,
Of manners gentle, and a friend sincere,
Averse to discord, party-rage and strife,
He sails serenely down the stream of life.
With these three friends, beneath a spreading shade,
Where silver fountains murmur thro' the glade;
Or in cool grots, perfum'd with native flow'rs,
In harmless mirth, I'd spend the circling hours;
Or gravely talk, or innocently sing,
Or, in harmonious concert, strike the trembling string.
Amid sequester'd bow'rs, near gliding streams,
Druids and bards enjoy'd serenest dreams.
Such was the seat where courtly Horace sung,
And his bold harp immortal Maro strung:
Where tuneful Orpheus' unresisted lay
Made rapid tigers bear their rage away:
While groves, attentive to th'extatic sound,
Burst from their roots, and, raptur'd, danc'd around.
Such seats the venerable seers of old
(When blissful years in golden circles roll'd)
Chose and admir'd: e'en goddesses and gods
(As poets feign) were fond of such abodes:
Th'imperial consort of fictitious Jove
For fount-full Ide forsook the realms above.
Oft to Idalia, on a golden cloud,
Veil'd in a mist of fragrance, Venus rode:
There num'rous altars to the queen were rear'd,
And love-sick youths their am'rous vows prefer'd,
While fair-hair'd damsels (a lascivious train)
With wanton rites ador'd her gentle reign.
The silver-shafted huntress of the woods,
Sought pendant shades, and bath'd in cooling floods.
In palmy Delos by Scamander's side,
Or where Cajister roll'd his silver tide,
Melodious Phœbus sang; the muses round
Alternate warbling to the heavenly sound.
E'en the feign'd monarch of heav'n's bright abode,
High thron'd in gold, of gods the sov'reign god,
Oft' time prefer'd the shade of Ida's grove
To all th'ambrosial feasts, and nectar'd cups above.
Druids and bards enjoy'd serenest dreams.
Such was the seat where courtly Horace sung,
And his bold harp immortal Maro strung:
Where tuneful Orpheus' unresisted lay
Made rapid tigers bear their rage away:
While groves, attentive to th'extatic sound,
Burst from their roots, and, raptur'd, danc'd around.
Such seats the venerable seers of old
(When blissful years in golden circles roll'd)
Chose and admir'd: e'en goddesses and gods
(As poets feign) were fond of such abodes:
Th'imperial consort of fictitious Jove
For fount-full Ide forsook the realms above.
Oft to Idalia, on a golden cloud,
Veil'd in a mist of fragrance, Venus rode:
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And love-sick youths their am'rous vows prefer'd,
While fair-hair'd damsels (a lascivious train)
With wanton rites ador'd her gentle reign.
The silver-shafted huntress of the woods,
Sought pendant shades, and bath'd in cooling floods.
In palmy Delos by Scamander's side,
Or where Cajister roll'd his silver tide,
Melodious Phœbus sang; the muses round
Alternate warbling to the heavenly sound.
E'en the feign'd monarch of heav'n's bright abode,
High thron'd in gold, of gods the sov'reign god,
Oft' time prefer'd the shade of Ida's grove
To all th'ambrosial feasts, and nectar'd cups above.
Behold, the rosy-finger'd morning dawn,
In saffron rob'd, and blushing o'er the lawn!
Reflected from the clouds, a radiant stream
Tips with etherial dew the mountain's brim.
Th'unfolding roses, and the op'ning flow'rs
Imbibe the dew, and strew the varied bow'rs,
Diffuse nectareous sweets around, and glow
With all the colours of the show'ry bow.
Th'industrious bees their balmy toil renew,
Buz o'er the field, and sip the rosy dew.
But yonder comes th'illustrious god of day,
Invests the east, and gilds th'etherial way;
The groves rejoice, the feather'd nations sing,
Echo the mountains, and the vallies ring.
In saffron rob'd, and blushing o'er the lawn!
Reflected from the clouds, a radiant stream
Tips with etherial dew the mountain's brim.
Th'unfolding roses, and the op'ning flow'rs
Imbibe the dew, and strew the varied bow'rs,
Diffuse nectareous sweets around, and glow
With all the colours of the show'ry bow.
Th'industrious bees their balmy toil renew,
Buz o'er the field, and sip the rosy dew.
But yonder comes th'illustrious god of day,
Invests the east, and gilds th'etherial way;
The groves rejoice, the feather'd nations sing,
Echo the mountains, and the vallies ring.
Hail, orb! array'd with majesty and fire,
That bids each sable shade of night retire!
Fountain of light! with burning glory crown'd,
Darting a deluge of effulgence round!
Wak'd by thy genial and prolific ray,
Nature resumes her verdure, and looks gay:
Fresh blooms the rose, the drooping plants revive,
The groves reflourish, and the forests live.
Deep in the teeming earth, the rip'ning ore
Confesses thy consolidating pow'r;
Hence Labour draws her tools, and artists mould
The fusile silver and the ductile gold;
Hence war is furnish'd; and the regal shield
Like light'ning flashes o'er th'illumin'd field.
If thou so fair with delegated light,
That all heav'n's splendors vanish at thy sight;
With what effulgence must the ocean glow,
From which thy borrow'd beams incessant flow!
Th'exhaustless source whose single smile supplies
Th'unnumber'd orbs that gild the spangled skies!
That bids each sable shade of night retire!
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Darting a deluge of effulgence round!
Wak'd by thy genial and prolific ray,
Nature resumes her verdure, and looks gay:
Fresh blooms the rose, the drooping plants revive,
The groves reflourish, and the forests live.
Deep in the teeming earth, the rip'ning ore
Confesses thy consolidating pow'r;
Hence Labour draws her tools, and artists mould
The fusile silver and the ductile gold;
Hence war is furnish'd; and the regal shield
Like light'ning flashes o'er th'illumin'd field.
If thou so fair with delegated light,
That all heav'n's splendors vanish at thy sight;
With what effulgence must the ocean glow,
From which thy borrow'd beams incessant flow!
Th'exhaustless source whose single smile supplies
Th'unnumber'd orbs that gild the spangled skies!
Oft' would I view, in admiration lost,
Heav'n's sumptuous canopy, and starry host;
With level'd tube, and astronomic eye,
Pursue the planets whirling thro' the sky:
Immeasurable vault! where thunders roll,
And forky lightnings flash from pole to pole.
Say, railing infidel! canst thou survey
Yon globe of fire, that gives the golden day,
The harmonious structure of this vast machine,
And not confess its architect divine!
Then go, vain wretch! tho' deathless be thy soul,
Go, swell the riot, and exhaust the bowl;
Plunge into vice—humanity resign—
Go fill the stie—and bristle into swine!
Heav'n's sumptuous canopy, and starry host;
With level'd tube, and astronomic eye,
Pursue the planets whirling thro' the sky:
Immeasurable vault! where thunders roll,
And forky lightnings flash from pole to pole.
Say, railing infidel! canst thou survey
Yon globe of fire, that gives the golden day,
The harmonious structure of this vast machine,
And not confess its architect divine!
Then go, vain wretch! tho' deathless be thy soul,
Go, swell the riot, and exhaust the bowl;
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Go fill the stie—and bristle into swine!
None but a pow'r omnipotent and wise
Could frame this earth, or spread the boundless skies:
He made the whole; at his omnific call,
From formless chaos rose this spacious ball,
And one Almighty God is seen in all.
By him our cup is crown'd, our table spread
With luscious wine, and life-sustaining bread.
What countless wonders doth the earth contain!
What countless wonders the unfathom'd main!
Bedrop'd with gold, there scaly nations shine,
Haunt coral groves, or lash the foaming brine
Jehovah's glories blaze all nature round,
In heaven, on earth, and in the deeps profound;
Ambitious of his name, the warblers sing,
And praise their maker, while they hail the spring;
The zephyrs breathe it; and the thunders roar,
While surge to surge, and shore resounds to shore.
But man, endu'd with an immortal mind,
His Maker's image, and for heaven design'd,
To loftier notes his raptur'd voice should raise,
And chaunt sublimer hymns to his Creator's praise.
Could frame this earth, or spread the boundless skies:
He made the whole; at his omnific call,
From formless chaos rose this spacious ball,
And one Almighty God is seen in all.
By him our cup is crown'd, our table spread
With luscious wine, and life-sustaining bread.
What countless wonders doth the earth contain!
What countless wonders the unfathom'd main!
Bedrop'd with gold, there scaly nations shine,
Haunt coral groves, or lash the foaming brine
Jehovah's glories blaze all nature round,
In heaven, on earth, and in the deeps profound;
Ambitious of his name, the warblers sing,
And praise their maker, while they hail the spring;
The zephyrs breathe it; and the thunders roar,
While surge to surge, and shore resounds to shore.
But man, endu'd with an immortal mind,
His Maker's image, and for heaven design'd,
To loftier notes his raptur'd voice should raise,
And chaunt sublimer hymns to his Creator's praise.
When rising Phœbus ushers in the morn,
And golden beams th'impurpled skies adorn;
Wak'd by the gentle murmur of the floods,
Or the soft music of the waving woods;
Rising from sleep with the melodious quire,
To solemn sounds I'd tune the hallow'd lyre.
Thy name, O God! should tremble on my tongue,
Till ev'ry grove prov'd vocal to my song:
(Delightful task! with dawning light to sing
Triumphant hymns to heav'n's eternal king.)
Some courteous angel should my breast inspire,
Attune my lips, and guide the warbled wire,
While sportive echoes catch the sacred sound,
Swell ev'ry note, and bear the music round;
While mazy streams meand'ring to the main,
Hang in suspence to hear the heav'nly strain,
And, hush'd to silence, all the feather'd throng
Attentive listen to the tuneful song.
And golden beams th'impurpled skies adorn;
Wak'd by the gentle murmur of the floods,
Or the soft music of the waving woods;
Rising from sleep with the melodious quire,
To solemn sounds I'd tune the hallow'd lyre.
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Till ev'ry grove prov'd vocal to my song:
(Delightful task! with dawning light to sing
Triumphant hymns to heav'n's eternal king.)
Some courteous angel should my breast inspire,
Attune my lips, and guide the warbled wire,
While sportive echoes catch the sacred sound,
Swell ev'ry note, and bear the music round;
While mazy streams meand'ring to the main,
Hang in suspence to hear the heav'nly strain,
And, hush'd to silence, all the feather'd throng
Attentive listen to the tuneful song.
Father of light! exahustless source of good!
Supreme, eternal, self-existent God!
Before the beamy sun dispens'd a ray,
Flam'd in the azure vault, and gave the day;
Before the glimm'ring moon, with borrow'd light,
Shone queen amid the silver host of night;
High in the heav'ns, thou reign'dst superior Lord,
By suppliant angels worship'd and ador'd.
With the celestial choir then let me join
In cheerful praises to the pow'r divine.
To sing thy praise, do thou, O God! inspire
A mortal breast with more than mortal fire:
In dreadful majesty thou sit'st enthron'd,
With light encircled, and with glory crown'd;
Thro' all infinitude extends thy reign,
For thee, nor heav'n, nor heav'n of heav'ns contain;
But tho' thy throne is fix'd above the sky,
Thy omnipresence fills immensity.
Saints, rob'd in white, to thee their anthems bring,
And radiant martyrs hallelujahs sing:
Heaven's universal host their voices raise
In one eternal chorus, to thy praise;
And, round thy awful throne, with one accord,
Sing, holy, holy, holy is the Lord.
At thy creative voice, from ancient night,
Sprang smiling beauty, and yon worlds of light:
Thou spak'st—the planetary chorus roll'd,
And all th'expanse was starr'd with beamy gold;
Let there be light, said God—light instant shone,
And from the orient, burst the golden sun;
Heav'n's gazing hierarchs, with glad surprise,
Saw the first morn invest the recent skies,
And strait th'exulting troops thy throne surround
With thousand thousand harps of heav'nly sound:
Thrones, powers, dominions, (ever shining trains!)
Shouted thy praises in triumphant strains:
Great are thy works, they sing; and, all around,
Great are thy works, the echoing heav'ns resound.
The effulgent sun, insufferably bright,
Is but a beam of thy o'erflowing light;
The tempest is thy breath: the thunder hurl'd,
Tremendous roars thy vengeance o'er the world;
Thou bow'st the heav'ns, the smoking mountains nod,
Rocks fall to dust, and nature owns her God;
Pale tyrants shrink, the atheist stands aghast,
And impious kings in horror breathe their last.
To this great God alternately I'd pay
The ev'ning anthem, and the morning lay.
Supreme, eternal, self-existent God!
Before the beamy sun dispens'd a ray,
Flam'd in the azure vault, and gave the day;
Before the glimm'ring moon, with borrow'd light,
Shone queen amid the silver host of night;
High in the heav'ns, thou reign'dst superior Lord,
By suppliant angels worship'd and ador'd.
With the celestial choir then let me join
In cheerful praises to the pow'r divine.
To sing thy praise, do thou, O God! inspire
A mortal breast with more than mortal fire:
In dreadful majesty thou sit'st enthron'd,
With light encircled, and with glory crown'd;
Thro' all infinitude extends thy reign,
For thee, nor heav'n, nor heav'n of heav'ns contain;
But tho' thy throne is fix'd above the sky,
Thy omnipresence fills immensity.
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And radiant martyrs hallelujahs sing:
Heaven's universal host their voices raise
In one eternal chorus, to thy praise;
And, round thy awful throne, with one accord,
Sing, holy, holy, holy is the Lord.
At thy creative voice, from ancient night,
Sprang smiling beauty, and yon worlds of light:
Thou spak'st—the planetary chorus roll'd,
And all th'expanse was starr'd with beamy gold;
Let there be light, said God—light instant shone,
And from the orient, burst the golden sun;
Heav'n's gazing hierarchs, with glad surprise,
Saw the first morn invest the recent skies,
And strait th'exulting troops thy throne surround
With thousand thousand harps of heav'nly sound:
Thrones, powers, dominions, (ever shining trains!)
Shouted thy praises in triumphant strains:
Great are thy works, they sing; and, all around,
Great are thy works, the echoing heav'ns resound.
The effulgent sun, insufferably bright,
Is but a beam of thy o'erflowing light;
The tempest is thy breath: the thunder hurl'd,
Tremendous roars thy vengeance o'er the world;
Thou bow'st the heav'ns, the smoking mountains nod,
Rocks fall to dust, and nature owns her God;
Pale tyrants shrink, the atheist stands aghast,
And impious kings in horror breathe their last.
To this great God alternately I'd pay
The ev'ning anthem, and the morning lay.
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For sov'reign gold I never would repine,
Nor with the glitt'ring dust of monarchs mine.
What tho' high columns heave into the skies,
Gay cielings shine, and vaulted arches rise?
Tho' fretted gold the sculptur'd roof adorn,
The rubies redden, and the jaspers burn!
O what, alas! avails the gay attire
To wretched man, who breathes but to expire!
Oft' on the vilest, riches are bestow'd,
To show their meaness in the sight of God.
High from a dunghill, see a Dives rise,
And, Titan-like, insult th'avenging skies:
The crowd, in adulation, calls him Lord,
By thousands courted, flatter'd and ador'd:
In riot plung'd, and drunk with earthly joys,
No higher thought his grov'ling soul employs:
The poor he scourges with an iron rod,
And from his bosom banishes his God.
But oft' in height of wealth and beauty's bloom,
Deluded man is fated to the tomb!
For, lo! he sickens; swift his colour flies,
And rising mists obscure his swimming eyes:
Around his bed his weeping friends bemoan,
Extort the unwilling tear, and wish him gone;
His sorrowing heir augments the tender show'r,
Deplores his death—yet hails the dying hour.
Ah bitter comfort! Sad relief! to die,
Tho' sunk in down, beneath the canopy!
His eyes no more shall see the cheerful light,
Weigh'd down by death in everlasting night,
And now the great, the rich, the proud, the gay,
Lie breathless, cold—unanimated clay!
He, that just now was flatter'd by the crowd
With high applause, and acclamations loud—
That steel'd his bosom to the orphan's cries,
And drew down torrents from the widow's eyes—
Whom, like a God, the rabble did adore—
Regard him now—and, lo! he is no more.
Nor with the glitt'ring dust of monarchs mine.
What tho' high columns heave into the skies,
Gay cielings shine, and vaulted arches rise?
Tho' fretted gold the sculptur'd roof adorn,
The rubies redden, and the jaspers burn!
O what, alas! avails the gay attire
To wretched man, who breathes but to expire!
Oft' on the vilest, riches are bestow'd,
To show their meaness in the sight of God.
High from a dunghill, see a Dives rise,
And, Titan-like, insult th'avenging skies:
The crowd, in adulation, calls him Lord,
By thousands courted, flatter'd and ador'd:
In riot plung'd, and drunk with earthly joys,
No higher thought his grov'ling soul employs:
The poor he scourges with an iron rod,
And from his bosom banishes his God.
But oft' in height of wealth and beauty's bloom,
Deluded man is fated to the tomb!
For, lo! he sickens; swift his colour flies,
And rising mists obscure his swimming eyes:
Around his bed his weeping friends bemoan,
Extort the unwilling tear, and wish him gone;
His sorrowing heir augments the tender show'r,
Deplores his death—yet hails the dying hour.
Ah bitter comfort! Sad relief! to die,
Tho' sunk in down, beneath the canopy!
His eyes no more shall see the cheerful light,
Weigh'd down by death in everlasting night,
And now the great, the rich, the proud, the gay,
Lie breathless, cold—unanimated clay!
165
With high applause, and acclamations loud—
That steel'd his bosom to the orphan's cries,
And drew down torrents from the widow's eyes—
Whom, like a God, the rabble did adore—
Regard him now—and, lo! he is no more.
My eyes no dazzling vestments should behold,
With gems instarr'd, and stiff with woven gold;
But the tall ram his downy fleece afford,
To clothe, in modest garb, his frugal lord.
Thus the great Father of mankind was drest,
When shaggy hides compos'd his flowing vest;
Doom'd to the cumb'rous load, for his offence,
When clothes supply'd the want of innocence:
But now his sons (forgetful whence they came)
Glitter in gems, and glory in their shame.
With gems instarr'd, and stiff with woven gold;
But the tall ram his downy fleece afford,
To clothe, in modest garb, his frugal lord.
Thus the great Father of mankind was drest,
When shaggy hides compos'd his flowing vest;
Doom'd to the cumb'rous load, for his offence,
When clothes supply'd the want of innocence:
But now his sons (forgetful whence they came)
Glitter in gems, and glory in their shame.
Oft' would I wander thro' the dewy field,
Where clust'ring roses balmy fragrance yield:
Or in lone grots, for contemplation made,
Converse with angels and the mighty dead;
For all around unnumber'd spirits fly,
Waft on the breeze, or walk the liquid sky,
Inspire the poet with repeated dreams,
Who gives his hallow'd muse to sacred themes,
Protect the just, serene their gloomy hours,
Becalm their slumbers, and refresh their pow'rs.
Methinks I see th'immortal beings fly,
And swiftly shoot athwart the streaming sky:
Hark! a melodious voice I seem to hear,
And heav'nly sounds invade my list'ning ear!
“Be not afraid of us, innoxious band,
“Thy cell surrounding by divine command;
“Ere while, like thee, we led our lives below,
“(Sad lives of pain, of misery, and woe!)
“Long by affliction's boist'rous tempests tost,
“We reach'd at length the ever blissful coast:
“Now in th'embow'ring groves, and lawns above,
“We taste the raptures of immortal love,
“Attune the golden harp in roseate bow'rs,
“Or bind our temples with unfading flow'rs.
“Oft' on kind errands bent, we cut the air,
“To guard the righteous, heav'n's peculiar care!
“Avert impending harms, their minds compose,
“Inspire gay dreams, and prompt their soft repose.
“When from thy tongue divine hosannas roll,
“And sacred raptures swell thy rising soul,
“To heav'n we bear thy pray'rs, like rich perfumes;
“Where, by the throne, the golden censer fumes;
“And when with age thy head is silver'd o'er,
“And, cold in death, thy bosom beats no more,
“Thy soul, exulting, shall desert its clay,
“And mount, triumphant, to eternal day.”
Where clust'ring roses balmy fragrance yield:
Or in lone grots, for contemplation made,
Converse with angels and the mighty dead;
For all around unnumber'd spirits fly,
Waft on the breeze, or walk the liquid sky,
Inspire the poet with repeated dreams,
Who gives his hallow'd muse to sacred themes,
Protect the just, serene their gloomy hours,
Becalm their slumbers, and refresh their pow'rs.
Methinks I see th'immortal beings fly,
And swiftly shoot athwart the streaming sky:
Hark! a melodious voice I seem to hear,
And heav'nly sounds invade my list'ning ear!
166
“Thy cell surrounding by divine command;
“Ere while, like thee, we led our lives below,
“(Sad lives of pain, of misery, and woe!)
“Long by affliction's boist'rous tempests tost,
“We reach'd at length the ever blissful coast:
“Now in th'embow'ring groves, and lawns above,
“We taste the raptures of immortal love,
“Attune the golden harp in roseate bow'rs,
“Or bind our temples with unfading flow'rs.
“Oft' on kind errands bent, we cut the air,
“To guard the righteous, heav'n's peculiar care!
“Avert impending harms, their minds compose,
“Inspire gay dreams, and prompt their soft repose.
“When from thy tongue divine hosannas roll,
“And sacred raptures swell thy rising soul,
“To heav'n we bear thy pray'rs, like rich perfumes;
“Where, by the throne, the golden censer fumes;
“And when with age thy head is silver'd o'er,
“And, cold in death, thy bosom beats no more,
“Thy soul, exulting, shall desert its clay,
“And mount, triumphant, to eternal day.”
But to improve the intellectual mind,
Reading should be to contemplation join'd.
First I'd collect from the Parnassian spring,
What muses dictate, and what poets sing.—
Virgil, as prince, shou'd wear the laurel'd crown,
And other bards pay homage to his throne;
The blood of heroes now effus'd so long,
Will run forever purple thro' his song,
See! how he mounts toward the blest abodes,
On planets rides, and talks with demigods!
How do our ravish'd spirits melt away,
When in his song Sicilian shepherds play!
But what a splendor strikes the dazzled eye,
When Dido shines in awful majesty!
Embroidered purple clad the Tyrian queen,
Her motion graceful, and august her mien;
A golden zone her royal limbs embrac'd,
A golden quiver rattled by her waist.
See her proud steed majestically prance,
Contemn the trumpet, and deride the launce!
In crimson trappings, glorious to behold,
Confus'dly gay with interwoven gold!
He champs the bit, and throws the foam around,
Impatient paws, and tears the solid ground.
How stern Æneas thunders thro' the field!
With tow'ring helmet, and refulgent shield!
Coursers o'erturn'd, and mighty warriors slain,
Deform'd with gore, lie welt'ring on the plain,
Struck through with wounds, ill-fated chieftains lie,
Frown e'en in death, and threaten as they die.
Thro' the thick squadrons see the hero bound!
(His helmet flashes, and his arms resound!)
All grim with rage, he frowns o'er Turnus' head
(Re-kindled ire! for blooming Pallas dead)
Then in his bosom plung'd the shining blade—
The soul indignant sought the Stygian shade!
Reading should be to contemplation join'd.
First I'd collect from the Parnassian spring,
What muses dictate, and what poets sing.—
Virgil, as prince, shou'd wear the laurel'd crown,
And other bards pay homage to his throne;
The blood of heroes now effus'd so long,
Will run forever purple thro' his song,
167
On planets rides, and talks with demigods!
How do our ravish'd spirits melt away,
When in his song Sicilian shepherds play!
But what a splendor strikes the dazzled eye,
When Dido shines in awful majesty!
Embroidered purple clad the Tyrian queen,
Her motion graceful, and august her mien;
A golden zone her royal limbs embrac'd,
A golden quiver rattled by her waist.
See her proud steed majestically prance,
Contemn the trumpet, and deride the launce!
In crimson trappings, glorious to behold,
Confus'dly gay with interwoven gold!
He champs the bit, and throws the foam around,
Impatient paws, and tears the solid ground.
How stern Æneas thunders thro' the field!
With tow'ring helmet, and refulgent shield!
Coursers o'erturn'd, and mighty warriors slain,
Deform'd with gore, lie welt'ring on the plain,
Struck through with wounds, ill-fated chieftains lie,
Frown e'en in death, and threaten as they die.
Thro' the thick squadrons see the hero bound!
(His helmet flashes, and his arms resound!)
All grim with rage, he frowns o'er Turnus' head
(Re-kindled ire! for blooming Pallas dead)
Then in his bosom plung'd the shining blade—
The soul indignant sought the Stygian shade!
The far-fam'd bards that grac'd Britannia's isle,
Should next compose the venerable pile.
Great Milton first, for tow'ring thought renown'd,
Parent of song, and fam'd the world around!
His glowing breast divine Urania fir'd,
Or God himself th'immortal bard inspir'd,
Borne on triumphant wings he takes his flight,
Explores all heaven, and treads the realms of light;
In martial pomp he clothes th'angelic train,
While warring myriads shake the etherial plain.
First Michael stalks, high tow'ring o'er the rest,
With heavenly plumage nodding on his crest:
Impenetrable arms his limbs infold,
Eternal adamant, and burning gold!
Sparkling in fiery mail, with dire delight,
Rebellious Satan animates the fight:
Armipotent they sink in rolling smoke,
All heav'n resounding, to its centre shook.
To crush his foes, and quell the dire alarms,
Messiah sparkled in refulgent arms:
In radiant panoply divinely bright,
His limbs incas'd, he flash'd devouring light:
On burning wheels, o'er heav'n's crystalline road
Thunder'd the chariot of the filial God;
The burning wheels on golden axles turn'd,
With flaming gems the golden axles burn'd.
Lo! the apostate host, with terror struck,
Roll back by millions! Th'empyrean shook!
Sceptres, and orbed shields, and crowns of gold,
Cherubs and seraphs in confusion roll'd;
Till from his hand the triple thunder hurl'd,
Compell'd them, head-long, to th'infernal world.
Should next compose the venerable pile.
168
Parent of song, and fam'd the world around!
His glowing breast divine Urania fir'd,
Or God himself th'immortal bard inspir'd,
Borne on triumphant wings he takes his flight,
Explores all heaven, and treads the realms of light;
In martial pomp he clothes th'angelic train,
While warring myriads shake the etherial plain.
First Michael stalks, high tow'ring o'er the rest,
With heavenly plumage nodding on his crest:
Impenetrable arms his limbs infold,
Eternal adamant, and burning gold!
Sparkling in fiery mail, with dire delight,
Rebellious Satan animates the fight:
Armipotent they sink in rolling smoke,
All heav'n resounding, to its centre shook.
To crush his foes, and quell the dire alarms,
Messiah sparkled in refulgent arms:
In radiant panoply divinely bright,
His limbs incas'd, he flash'd devouring light:
On burning wheels, o'er heav'n's crystalline road
Thunder'd the chariot of the filial God;
The burning wheels on golden axles turn'd,
With flaming gems the golden axles burn'd.
Lo! the apostate host, with terror struck,
Roll back by millions! Th'empyrean shook!
Sceptres, and orbed shields, and crowns of gold,
Cherubs and seraphs in confusion roll'd;
Till from his hand the triple thunder hurl'd,
Compell'd them, head-long, to th'infernal world.
169
Then tuneful Pope, whom all the nine inspire,
With sapphic sweetness, and pindaric fire,
Father of verse! melodious and divine!
Next peerless Milton should distinguish'd shine.
Smooth flow his numbers, when he paints the grove,
Th'enraptur'd virgins list'ning into love.
But when the night, and hoarse-resounding storm
Rush on the deep, and Neptune's face deform,
Rough runs the verse, the son'rous numbers roar,
Like the hoarse surge that thunders on the shore.
But when he sings th'exhilirated swains,
Th'embow'ring groves, and Windsor's blissful plains,
Our eyes are ravish'd with the sylvan scene,
Embroider'd fields, and groves in living green:
His lays the verdure of the meads prolong,
And wither'd forests blossom in his song.
Thames' silver streams his flowing verse admire,
And cease to murmur while he tunes his lyre.
With sapphic sweetness, and pindaric fire,
Father of verse! melodious and divine!
Next peerless Milton should distinguish'd shine.
Smooth flow his numbers, when he paints the grove,
Th'enraptur'd virgins list'ning into love.
But when the night, and hoarse-resounding storm
Rush on the deep, and Neptune's face deform,
Rough runs the verse, the son'rous numbers roar,
Like the hoarse surge that thunders on the shore.
But when he sings th'exhilirated swains,
Th'embow'ring groves, and Windsor's blissful plains,
Our eyes are ravish'd with the sylvan scene,
Embroider'd fields, and groves in living green:
His lays the verdure of the meads prolong,
And wither'd forests blossom in his song.
Thames' silver streams his flowing verse admire,
And cease to murmur while he tunes his lyre.
Next should appear great Dryden's lofty muse,
For who would Dryden's polish'd verse refuse?
His lips were moisten'd in Parnassus' spring,
And Phœbus taught his laureat son to sing.
How long did Virgil untranslated moan,
His beauties fading, and his flights unknown;
Till Dryden rose, and, in exalted strain,
Re-sang the fortune of the god-like man!
Again the Trojan prince, with dire delight,
Dreadful in arms, demands the ling'ring fight:
Again Camilla glows with martial fire,
Drives armies back, and makes all Troy retire,
With more than native lustre, Virgil shines,
And gains sublimer heights in Dryden's lines.
For who would Dryden's polish'd verse refuse?
His lips were moisten'd in Parnassus' spring,
And Phœbus taught his laureat son to sing.
How long did Virgil untranslated moan,
His beauties fading, and his flights unknown;
Till Dryden rose, and, in exalted strain,
Re-sang the fortune of the god-like man!
Again the Trojan prince, with dire delight,
Dreadful in arms, demands the ling'ring fight:
Again Camilla glows with martial fire,
Drives armies back, and makes all Troy retire,
170
And gains sublimer heights in Dryden's lines.
The gentle Watts, who strings his silver lyre
To sacred odes, and heav'n's all-ruling Sire;
Who scorns th'applause of the licentious stage,
And mounts yon sparkling worlds with hallow'd rage,
Compels my thoughts to wing th'heav'nly road,
And wafts my soul, exulting, to my God:
No fabled nine, harmonious bard! inspire
Thy raptur'd breast with such seraphic fire;
But prompting angels warm thy boundless rage,
Direct thy thoughts, and animate thy page.
Blest man! for spotless sanctity rever'd,
Lov'd by the good, and by the guilty fear'd:
Blest man! from gay, delusive scenes remov'd,
Thy Maker loving, by thy Maker lov'd,
To God thou tun'st thy consecrated lays,
Nor meanly blush to sing Jehovah's praise.
Oh! did, like thee, each laurel'd bard delight
To paint Religion in her native light,
Not then with plays the lab'ring press would groan,
Nor Vice defy the pulpit and the throne;
No impious rhymers charm a vicious age,
Nor prostrate Virtue groan beneath their rage:
But themes divine in lofty numbers rise,
Fill the wide earth, and echo thro' the skies.
To sacred odes, and heav'n's all-ruling Sire;
Who scorns th'applause of the licentious stage,
And mounts yon sparkling worlds with hallow'd rage,
Compels my thoughts to wing th'heav'nly road,
And wafts my soul, exulting, to my God:
No fabled nine, harmonious bard! inspire
Thy raptur'd breast with such seraphic fire;
But prompting angels warm thy boundless rage,
Direct thy thoughts, and animate thy page.
Blest man! for spotless sanctity rever'd,
Lov'd by the good, and by the guilty fear'd:
Blest man! from gay, delusive scenes remov'd,
Thy Maker loving, by thy Maker lov'd,
To God thou tun'st thy consecrated lays,
Nor meanly blush to sing Jehovah's praise.
Oh! did, like thee, each laurel'd bard delight
To paint Religion in her native light,
Not then with plays the lab'ring press would groan,
Nor Vice defy the pulpit and the throne;
No impious rhymers charm a vicious age,
Nor prostrate Virtue groan beneath their rage:
But themes divine in lofty numbers rise,
Fill the wide earth, and echo thro' the skies.
These for delight. For profit I would read
The labour'd volumes of the learned dead.
Sagacious Locke, by Providence design'd,
To exalt, instruct, and rectify the mind.
The unconquerable sage
whom virtue fir'd,
And from the tyrant's lawless rage retir'd,
When victor Cæsar freed unhappy Rome
From Pompey's chains, to substitute his own.
Longinus, Livy, fam'd Thucydides,
Quintilian, Plato, and Demosthenes,
Persuasive Tully, and Corduba's sage,
Who fell by Nero's unrelenting rage;
Him whom ungrateful Athens doom'd to bleed,
Despis'd when living, and deplor'd when dead.
Raleigh I'd read with ever fresh delight,
While ages past rise present to my sight:
Ah man unblest! he foreign realms explor'd,
Then fell a victim to his country's sword!
Nor should great Derham pass neglected by,
Observant sage! to whose deep-piercing eye,
Nature's stupendous works expanded lie.
Nor he, Britannia, thy unmatch'd renown!
(Adjudg'd to wear the philosophic crown)
Who on the solar orb uplifted rode,
And scann'd the unfathomable works of God!
Who bound the silver planets to their spheres,
And trac'd the elliptic curve of blazing stars!
Immortal Newton; whose illustrious name
Will shine on records of eternal fame.
The labour'd volumes of the learned dead.
Sagacious Locke, by Providence design'd,
To exalt, instruct, and rectify the mind.
171
And from the tyrant's lawless rage retir'd,
When victor Cæsar freed unhappy Rome
From Pompey's chains, to substitute his own.
Longinus, Livy, fam'd Thucydides,
Quintilian, Plato, and Demosthenes,
Persuasive Tully, and Corduba's sage,
Who fell by Nero's unrelenting rage;
Him whom ungrateful Athens doom'd to bleed,
Despis'd when living, and deplor'd when dead.
Raleigh I'd read with ever fresh delight,
While ages past rise present to my sight:
Ah man unblest! he foreign realms explor'd,
Then fell a victim to his country's sword!
Nor should great Derham pass neglected by,
Observant sage! to whose deep-piercing eye,
Nature's stupendous works expanded lie.
Nor he, Britannia, thy unmatch'd renown!
(Adjudg'd to wear the philosophic crown)
Who on the solar orb uplifted rode,
And scann'd the unfathomable works of God!
Who bound the silver planets to their spheres,
And trac'd the elliptic curve of blazing stars!
Immortal Newton; whose illustrious name
Will shine on records of eternal fame.
By love directed, I would choose a wife,
To improve my bliss, and ease the load of life.
Hail, wedlock! hail, inviolable tye!
Perpetual fountain of domestic joy!
Love, friendship, honour, truth, and pure delight
Harmonious mingle in the nuptial rite.
In Eden, first the holy state began,
When perfect innocence distinguish'd man;
The human pair, the Almighty pontiff led,
Gay as the morning, to the bridal bed;
A dread solemnity the espousals grac'd,
Angels the witnesses, and God the priest!
All earth exulted on the nuptial hour,
And voluntary roses deck'd the bow'r;
The joyous birds on every blossom'd spray,
Sung hymeneans to the important day,
While Philomela swell'd the spousal song,
And Paradise with gratulation rung.
To improve my bliss, and ease the load of life.
172
Perpetual fountain of domestic joy!
Love, friendship, honour, truth, and pure delight
Harmonious mingle in the nuptial rite.
In Eden, first the holy state began,
When perfect innocence distinguish'd man;
The human pair, the Almighty pontiff led,
Gay as the morning, to the bridal bed;
A dread solemnity the espousals grac'd,
Angels the witnesses, and God the priest!
All earth exulted on the nuptial hour,
And voluntary roses deck'd the bow'r;
The joyous birds on every blossom'd spray,
Sung hymeneans to the important day,
While Philomela swell'd the spousal song,
And Paradise with gratulation rung.
Relate, inspiring muse! where shall I find
A blooming virgin with an angel mind?
Unblemish'd as the white-rob'd virgin quire
That fed, O Rome! thy consecrated sire?
By reason aw'd, ambitious to be good,
Averse to vice, and zealous for her God?
Relate, in what blest region can I find
Such bright perfections in a female mind?
What phœnix-woman breathes the vital air
So greatly good, and so divinely fair?
Sure not the gay and fashionable train,
Licentious, proud, immoral, and profane;
Who spend their golden hours in antic dress,
Malicious whispers, and inglorious ease.
A blooming virgin with an angel mind?
Unblemish'd as the white-rob'd virgin quire
That fed, O Rome! thy consecrated sire?
By reason aw'd, ambitious to be good,
Averse to vice, and zealous for her God?
Relate, in what blest region can I find
Such bright perfections in a female mind?
What phœnix-woman breathes the vital air
So greatly good, and so divinely fair?
Sure not the gay and fashionable train,
Licentious, proud, immoral, and profane;
Who spend their golden hours in antic dress,
Malicious whispers, and inglorious ease.
173
Lo! round the board a shining train appears
In rosy beauty, and in prime of years!
This hates a flounce, and this a flounce approves,
This shows the trophies of her former loves;
Polly avers, that Sylvia drest in green,
When last at church the gaudy nymph was seen;
Chloe condemns her optics; and will lay
'Twas azure sattin, interstreak'd with grey;
Lucy, invested with judicial power,
Awards 'twas neither,—and the strife is o'er.
Then parrots, lap dogs, monkeys, squirrels, beaux,
Fans, ribands, tuckers, patches, furbeloes,
In quick succession, thro' their fancies run,
And dance incessant, on the flippant tongue.
And when, fatigu'd with ev'ry other sport,
The belles prepare to grace the sacred court,
They marshal all their forces in array,
To kill with glances, and destroy in play.
Two skilful maids with reverential fear,
In wanton wreaths collect their silken hair;
Two paint their cheeks, and round their temples pour
The fragrant unguent, and the ambrosial shower;
One pulls the shape-creating stays; and one
Encircles round her waist the golden zone;
Not with more toil to improve immortal charms,
Strove Juno, Venus, and the queen of arms,
When Priam's son adjudg'd the golden prize,
To the resistless beauty of the skies.
At length, equip'd in Love's enticing arms,
With all that glitters, and with all that charms,
The ideal goddesses to church repair,
Peep thro' the fan, and mutter o'er a pray'r,
Or listen to the organ's pompous sound,
Or eye the gilded images around;
Or, deeply studied in coquettish rules,
Aim wily glances at unthinking fools;
Or show the lily hand with graceful air,
Or wound the fopling with a lock of hair:
And when the hated discipline is o'er,
And misses tortur'd with repent, no more,
They mount the pictur'd coach; and, to the play,
The celebrated idols hie away.
In rosy beauty, and in prime of years!
This hates a flounce, and this a flounce approves,
This shows the trophies of her former loves;
Polly avers, that Sylvia drest in green,
When last at church the gaudy nymph was seen;
Chloe condemns her optics; and will lay
'Twas azure sattin, interstreak'd with grey;
Lucy, invested with judicial power,
Awards 'twas neither,—and the strife is o'er.
Then parrots, lap dogs, monkeys, squirrels, beaux,
Fans, ribands, tuckers, patches, furbeloes,
In quick succession, thro' their fancies run,
And dance incessant, on the flippant tongue.
And when, fatigu'd with ev'ry other sport,
The belles prepare to grace the sacred court,
They marshal all their forces in array,
To kill with glances, and destroy in play.
Two skilful maids with reverential fear,
In wanton wreaths collect their silken hair;
Two paint their cheeks, and round their temples pour
The fragrant unguent, and the ambrosial shower;
One pulls the shape-creating stays; and one
Encircles round her waist the golden zone;
Not with more toil to improve immortal charms,
Strove Juno, Venus, and the queen of arms,
When Priam's son adjudg'd the golden prize,
To the resistless beauty of the skies.
At length, equip'd in Love's enticing arms,
With all that glitters, and with all that charms,
174
Peep thro' the fan, and mutter o'er a pray'r,
Or listen to the organ's pompous sound,
Or eye the gilded images around;
Or, deeply studied in coquettish rules,
Aim wily glances at unthinking fools;
Or show the lily hand with graceful air,
Or wound the fopling with a lock of hair:
And when the hated discipline is o'er,
And misses tortur'd with repent, no more,
They mount the pictur'd coach; and, to the play,
The celebrated idols hie away.
Not so the lass that should my joys improve,
With solid friendship, and connubial love:
A native bloom, with intermingled white,
Should set her features in a pleasing light;
Like Helen flushing with unrival'd charms,
When raptur'd Paris darted in her arms.
But what, alas! avails a ruby cheek,
A downy bosom, or a snowy neck!
Charms ill supply the want of innocence,
Nor beauty forms intrinsic excellence:
But in her breast let moral beauties shine,
Supernal grace and purity divine:
Sublime her reason, and her native wit
Unstrain'd with pedantry, and low conceit;
Her fancy lively, and her judgment free
From female prejudice and bigotry:
Averse to idol pomp, and outward show,
The flatt'ring coxcomb, and fantastic beau.
The fop's impertinence she should despise,
Tho' sorely wounded by her radiant eyes;
But pay due rev'rence to the exalted mind,
By learning polish'd, and by wit refin'd,
Who all her virtues, without guile, commends,
And all her faults as freely reprehends.
Soft Hymen's rites her passion should approve,
And in her bosom glow the flames of love:
To me her soul, by sacred friendship, turn,
And I, for her, with equal friendship burn:
In ev'ry stage of life afford relief,
Partake my joys, and sympathize my grief;
Unshaken, walk in Virtue's peaceful road,
Nor bribe her Reason to pursue the mode;
Mild as the saint whose errors are forgiv'n,
Calm as a vestal, and compos'd as heaven.
This be the partner, this the lovely wife,
That should embellish and prolong my life,
A nymph! who might a second fall inspire,
And fill a glowing cherub with desire!
With her I'd spend the pleasurable day,
While fleeting minutes gayly danc'd away:
With her I'd walk, delighted, o'er the green,
Thro' ev'ry blooming mead, and rural scene;
Or sit in open fields damask'd with flow'rs,
Or where cool shades imbrown the noon-tide bow'rs.
Imparadis'd within my eager arms,
I'd reign the happy monarch of her charms;
Oft on her panting bosom would I lay,
And, in dissolving raptures melt away;
Then lull'd, by nightingales, to balmy rest,
My blooming fair should slumber at my breast.
With solid friendship, and connubial love:
A native bloom, with intermingled white,
Should set her features in a pleasing light;
Like Helen flushing with unrival'd charms,
When raptur'd Paris darted in her arms.
But what, alas! avails a ruby cheek,
A downy bosom, or a snowy neck!
Charms ill supply the want of innocence,
Nor beauty forms intrinsic excellence:
But in her breast let moral beauties shine,
Supernal grace and purity divine:
Sublime her reason, and her native wit
Unstrain'd with pedantry, and low conceit;
Her fancy lively, and her judgment free
From female prejudice and bigotry:
Averse to idol pomp, and outward show,
The flatt'ring coxcomb, and fantastic beau.
175
Tho' sorely wounded by her radiant eyes;
But pay due rev'rence to the exalted mind,
By learning polish'd, and by wit refin'd,
Who all her virtues, without guile, commends,
And all her faults as freely reprehends.
Soft Hymen's rites her passion should approve,
And in her bosom glow the flames of love:
To me her soul, by sacred friendship, turn,
And I, for her, with equal friendship burn:
In ev'ry stage of life afford relief,
Partake my joys, and sympathize my grief;
Unshaken, walk in Virtue's peaceful road,
Nor bribe her Reason to pursue the mode;
Mild as the saint whose errors are forgiv'n,
Calm as a vestal, and compos'd as heaven.
This be the partner, this the lovely wife,
That should embellish and prolong my life,
A nymph! who might a second fall inspire,
And fill a glowing cherub with desire!
With her I'd spend the pleasurable day,
While fleeting minutes gayly danc'd away:
With her I'd walk, delighted, o'er the green,
Thro' ev'ry blooming mead, and rural scene;
Or sit in open fields damask'd with flow'rs,
Or where cool shades imbrown the noon-tide bow'rs.
Imparadis'd within my eager arms,
I'd reign the happy monarch of her charms;
Oft on her panting bosom would I lay,
And, in dissolving raptures melt away;
176
My blooming fair should slumber at my breast.
And when decrepid age (frail mortals' doom)
Should bend my whither'd body to the tomb,
No warbling syrens should retard my flight
To heavenly mansions of unclouded light.
Tho Death, with his imperial horrors crown'd,
Terrific grinn'd, and formidably frown'd,
Offences pardon'd and remitted sin,
Should form a calm serenity within:
Blessing my natal and my mortal hour,
(My soul commited to the eternal pow'r)
Inexorable Death should smile, for I
Who knew to live, would never fear to die.
Should bend my whither'd body to the tomb,
No warbling syrens should retard my flight
To heavenly mansions of unclouded light.
Tho Death, with his imperial horrors crown'd,
Terrific grinn'd, and formidably frown'd,
Offences pardon'd and remitted sin,
Should form a calm serenity within:
Blessing my natal and my mortal hour,
(My soul commited to the eternal pow'r)
Inexorable Death should smile, for I
Who knew to live, would never fear to die.
| American poems, selected and original | |