 | The Poetical Works of John Scott |  |
1
MORAL ECLOGUES.
At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita,
Dives opum variarum; at latis otia fundis,
Speluncæ, vivique lacus; at frigida Tempe,
Mugitusque boum, mollesque sub arbore somni
Non absunt. Illic saltus, ac lustra ferarum,
Et patiens operum parvoque assueta juventus,
Sacra deûm, sanctique patres: extrema per illos
Justitia excedens terris vestigia fecit.
Virg. Georg. II. 1. 467.
Dives opum variarum; at latis otia fundis,
Speluncæ, vivique lacus; at frigida Tempe,
Mugitusque boum, mollesque sub arbore somni
Non absunt. Illic saltus, ac lustra ferarum,
Et patiens operum parvoque assueta juventus,
Sacra deûm, sanctique patres: extrema per illos
Justitia excedens terris vestigia fecit.
Virg. Georg. II. 1. 467.
3
ECLOGUE I. THERON;
or, the Praise of Rural Life.
SCENE, a Heath: Season, Spring; Time, Morning.Fair Spring o'er Nature held her gentlest sway;
Fair Morn diffus'd around her brightest ray;
Thin mists hung hovering on the distant trees,
Or roll'd from off the fields before the breeze.
The Shepherd Theron watch'd his fleecy train,
Beneath a broad oak, on the grassy plain.
A heath's green wild lay pleasant to his view,
With shrubs and field-flowers deck'd of varied hue:
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Here flexile broom's bright yellow interpos'd;
There purple orchis, here pale daisies spread,
And sweet May-lilies richest odour shed.
From many a copse and blossom'd orchard near,
The voice of birds melodious charm'd the ear;
There shrill the lark and soft the linnet sung,
And loud through air the throstle's musick rung.
The gentle Swain the chearful scene admir'd;
The chearful scene the song of joy inspir'd.
‘Chant on,’ he cry'd, ‘ye warblers on the spray!
‘Bleat on, ye flocks, that in the pastures play!
‘Low on, ye herds, that range the dewy vales!
‘Murmur, ye rills! and whisper soft, ye gales!
‘How blest my lot, in these sweet fields assign'd,
‘Where Peace and Leisure sooth the tuneful mind;
‘Where yet some pleasing vestiges remain
‘Of unperverted Nature's golden reign,
‘When Love and Virtue rang'd Arcadian shades,
‘With undesigning youths and artless maids!
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‘A less luxuriant soil, less genial clime,
‘For us the country boasts enough to charm,
‘In the wild woodland or the cultur'd farm.
‘Come, Cynthio, come! in town no longer stay;
‘From crouds, and noise, and folly, haste away!
‘The fields, the meads, the trees, are all in bloom,
‘The vernal show'rs awake a rich perfume.
‘Where Damon's mansion, by the glassy stream,
‘Rears its white walls that thro' green willows gleam,
‘Annual the neighbours hold their shearing-day;
‘And blithe youths come, and nymphs in neat array:
‘Those shear their sheep, upon the smooth turf laid,
‘In the broad plane's or trembling poplar's shade;
‘These for their friends th'expected feast provide,
‘Beneath cool bowers along th' inclosure's side.
‘To view the toil, the glad repast to share,
‘Thy Delia, my Melania, shall be there;
‘Each, kind and faithful to her faithful swain,
‘Loves the calm pleasures of the pastoral plain.
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‘And noise and folly promise high delight;
‘Soon the tir'd soul disgusted turns from these—
‘The rural prospect, only, long can please!’
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ECLOGUE II. PALEMON;
or, Benevolence.
SCENE, a Wood-side on the Brow of a Hill: Season, Summer; Time, Forenoon.
Bright fleecy clouds flew scattering o'er the sky,
And shorten'd shadows shew'd that noon was nigh;
When two young Shepherds, in the upland shade,
Their listless limbs upon the greensward laid.
Surrounding groves the wandering sight confin'd—
All, save where, westward, one wide landscape shin'd.
Down in the dale were neat inclosures seen,
The winding hedge-row, and the thicket green;
Rich marshland next a glossy level show'd,
And thro' grey willows silver rivers flow'd:
Beyond, high hills with towers and villas crown'd,
And waving forests, form'd the prospect's bound.
Sweet was the covert where the Swains reclin'd!
There spread the wild rose, there the woodbine twin'd;
There stood green fern; there, o'er the grassy ground,
Sweet camomile and alehoof crept around;
And centaury red and yellow cinquefoil grew,
And scarlet campion, and cyanus blue;
And tufted thyme, and marjoram's purple bloom,
And ruddy strawberries yielding rich perfume.
Gay flies their wings on each fair flower display'd,
And labouring bees a lulling murmur made.
Along the brow a path delightful lay;
Slow by the youths Palemon chanc'd to stray,
A Bard, who often to the rural throng,
At vacant hours rehears'd the moral song!
The song the Shepherds crav'd; the Sage reply'd:
‘As late my steps forsook the fountain side,
‘Adown the green lane by the beechen grove,
‘Their flocks young Pironel and Larvon drove;
‘With us perchance they'll rest awhile’—The Swains
Approach'd the shade; their sheep spread o'er the plains:
Silent they view'd the venerable man,
Whose voice melodious thus the lay began.
‘What Alcon sung where Evesham's vales extend,
‘I sing; ye Swains, your pleas'd attention lend!
‘There long with him the rural life I led,
‘His fields I cultur'd, and his flocks I fed.
‘Where, by the hamlet road upon the green,
‘Stood pleasant cots with trees dispers'd between,
‘Beside his door, as waving o'er his head
‘A lofty elm its rustling foliage spread,
‘Frequent he sat; while all the village train
‘Press'd round his seat, and listen'd to his strain.
‘And once of fair Benevolence he sung,
‘And thus the tuneful numbers left his tongue:
“Ye youth of Avon's banks, of Bredon's groves,
“Sweet scenes, where Plenty reigns, and Pleasure roves!
“Woo to your bowers Benevolence the fair,
“Kind as your soil, and gentle as your air.
“She comes! her tranquil step, and placid eye,
“Fierce Rage, fell Hate, and ruthless Avarice fly.
“She comes! her heav'nly smiles, with powerful charm,
“Smooth Care's rough brow, and rest Toil's weary arm.
“She comes! ye Shepherds, importune her stay!
“While your fair farms exuberant wealth display,
“While herds and flocks their annual increase yield,
“And yellow harvests load the fruitful field;
“Beneath grim Want's inexorable reign,
“Pale Sickness, oft, and feeble Age complain!
“Why this unlike allotment, save to show,
“That who possess, possess but to bestow?”
And shorten'd shadows shew'd that noon was nigh;
When two young Shepherds, in the upland shade,
Their listless limbs upon the greensward laid.
Surrounding groves the wandering sight confin'd—
All, save where, westward, one wide landscape shin'd.
Down in the dale were neat inclosures seen,
The winding hedge-row, and the thicket green;
Rich marshland next a glossy level show'd,
And thro' grey willows silver rivers flow'd:
Beyond, high hills with towers and villas crown'd,
And waving forests, form'd the prospect's bound.
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There spread the wild rose, there the woodbine twin'd;
There stood green fern; there, o'er the grassy ground,
Sweet camomile and alehoof crept around;
And centaury red and yellow cinquefoil grew,
And scarlet campion, and cyanus blue;
And tufted thyme, and marjoram's purple bloom,
And ruddy strawberries yielding rich perfume.
Gay flies their wings on each fair flower display'd,
And labouring bees a lulling murmur made.
Along the brow a path delightful lay;
Slow by the youths Palemon chanc'd to stray,
A Bard, who often to the rural throng,
At vacant hours rehears'd the moral song!
The song the Shepherds crav'd; the Sage reply'd:
‘As late my steps forsook the fountain side,
‘Adown the green lane by the beechen grove,
‘Their flocks young Pironel and Larvon drove;
9
Approach'd the shade; their sheep spread o'er the plains:
Silent they view'd the venerable man,
Whose voice melodious thus the lay began.
‘What Alcon sung where Evesham's vales extend,
‘I sing; ye Swains, your pleas'd attention lend!
‘There long with him the rural life I led,
‘His fields I cultur'd, and his flocks I fed.
‘Where, by the hamlet road upon the green,
‘Stood pleasant cots with trees dispers'd between,
‘Beside his door, as waving o'er his head
‘A lofty elm its rustling foliage spread,
‘Frequent he sat; while all the village train
‘Press'd round his seat, and listen'd to his strain.
‘And once of fair Benevolence he sung,
‘And thus the tuneful numbers left his tongue:
“Ye youth of Avon's banks, of Bredon's groves,
“Sweet scenes, where Plenty reigns, and Pleasure roves!
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“Kind as your soil, and gentle as your air.
“She comes! her tranquil step, and placid eye,
“Fierce Rage, fell Hate, and ruthless Avarice fly.
“She comes! her heav'nly smiles, with powerful charm,
“Smooth Care's rough brow, and rest Toil's weary arm.
“She comes! ye Shepherds, importune her stay!
“While your fair farms exuberant wealth display,
“While herds and flocks their annual increase yield,
“And yellow harvests load the fruitful field;
“Beneath grim Want's inexorable reign,
“Pale Sickness, oft, and feeble Age complain!
“Why this unlike allotment, save to show,
“That who possess, possess but to bestow?”
Palemon ceas'd.—‘Sweet is the sound of gales
‘Amid green osiers in the winding vales;
‘Sweet is the lark's loud note on sunny hills,
‘What time fair Morn the sky with fragrance fills;
‘Sweet is the nightingale's love-soothing strain,
‘Heard by still waters on the moonlight plain!
‘But not the gales that thro' green osiers play,
‘Nor lark's nor nightingale's melodious lay,
‘Please like smooth numbers by the Muse inspir'd!’—
Larvon reply'd, and homeward all retir'd.
‘Amid green osiers in the winding vales;
‘Sweet is the lark's loud note on sunny hills,
‘What time fair Morn the sky with fragrance fills;
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‘Heard by still waters on the moonlight plain!
‘But not the gales that thro' green osiers play,
‘Nor lark's nor nightingale's melodious lay,
‘Please like smooth numbers by the Muse inspir'd!’—
Larvon reply'd, and homeward all retir'd.
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ECLOGUE III. ARMYN;
or, The Discontented.
SCENE, a Valley: Season, Summer; Time, Afternoon.
Summer o'er heav'n diffus'd serenest blue,
And painted earth with many a pleasing hue;
When Armyn mus'd the vacant hour away,
Where willows o'er him wav'd their pendent spray.
Cool was the shade, and cool the passing gale,
And sweet the prospect of the adjacent vale:
The fertile soil, profuse of plants, bestow'd
The crowfoot's gold, the trefoil's purple show'd,
And spiky mint rich fragrance breathing round,
And meadsweet tall with tufts of flowrets crown'd,
And comfry white, and hoary silver-weed,
The bending osier, and the rustling reed.
There, where clear streams about green islands spread,
Fair flocks and herds, the wealth of Armyn, fed;
There, on the hill's soft slope, delightful view!
Fair fields of corn, the wealth of Armyn, grew.
His sturdy hinds, a slow laborious band,
Swept their bright scythes along the level land:
Blithe youths and maidens nimbly near them past,
And the thick swarth in careless wind-rows cast.
Full on the landscape shone the westering sun,
When thus the Swain's soliloquy begun:
And painted earth with many a pleasing hue;
When Armyn mus'd the vacant hour away,
Where willows o'er him wav'd their pendent spray.
Cool was the shade, and cool the passing gale,
And sweet the prospect of the adjacent vale:
The fertile soil, profuse of plants, bestow'd
The crowfoot's gold, the trefoil's purple show'd,
And spiky mint rich fragrance breathing round,
And meadsweet tall with tufts of flowrets crown'd,
And comfry white, and hoary silver-weed,
The bending osier, and the rustling reed.
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Fair flocks and herds, the wealth of Armyn, fed;
There, on the hill's soft slope, delightful view!
Fair fields of corn, the wealth of Armyn, grew.
His sturdy hinds, a slow laborious band,
Swept their bright scythes along the level land:
Blithe youths and maidens nimbly near them past,
And the thick swarth in careless wind-rows cast.
Full on the landscape shone the westering sun,
When thus the Swain's soliloquy begun:
‘Haste down, O Sun! and close the tedious day:
‘Time, to the unhappy, slowly moves away.
‘Not so, to me, in Roden's sylvan bowers,
‘Pass'd Youth's short blissful reign of careless hours;
‘When to my view the fancy'd future lay,
‘A region ever tranquil, ever gay.
‘O then, what ardors did my breast inflame!
‘What thoughts were mine, of friendship, love, and fame!
‘How tasteless life, now all its joys are try'd,
‘And warm pursuits in dull repose subside!’
He paus'd: his closing words Albino heard,
As down the stream his little boat he steer'd;
His hand releas'd the sail, and dropt the oar,
And moor'd the light skiff on the sedgy shore.
‘Cease, gentle Swain,’ he said; ‘no more, in vain,
‘Thus make past pleasure cause of present pain!
‘Cease, gentle Swain,’ he said; ‘from thee, alone,
‘Are youth's blest hours and fancy'd prospects flown?
‘Ah, no!—remembrance to my view restores
‘Dear native fields, which now my soul deplores;
‘Rich hills and vales, and pleasant village scenes
‘Of oaks whose wide arms stretch'd o'er daisied greens,
‘And wind-mill's sails slow-circling in the breeze,
‘And cottage-walls envelop'd half with trees—
‘Sweet scenes, where Beauty met the ravish'd sight,
‘And Music often gave the ear delight;
‘Where Delia's smile, and Mira's tuneful song,
‘And Damon's converse, charm'd the youthful throng!
‘How chang'd, alas, how chang'd!—O'er all our plains,
‘Proud Norval, now, in lonely grandeur reigns;
‘His wide-spread park a waste of verdure lies,
‘And his vast villa's glittering roofs arise.
‘For me, hard fate!—But say, shall I complain?
‘These limbs yet active Life's support obtain.
‘Let us, or good or evil as we share,
‘That thankful prize, and this with patience bear.’
The soft reproach touch'd Armyn's gentle breast;
His alter'd brow a placid smile exprest.
‘Calm as clear ev'nings after vernal rains,
‘When all the air a rich perfume retains,
‘My mind,’ said he, ‘its murmurs driv'n away,
‘Feels Truth's full force, and bows to Reason's sway!’
He ceas'd: the sun, with horizontal beams,
Gilt the green mountains, and the glittering streams.
Slow down the tide before the sinking breeze,
Albino's white sail gleam'd among the trees;
Slow down the tide his winding course he bore
To watry Talgar's aspin-shaded shore.
Slow cross the valley, to the southern hill,
The steps of Armyn sought the distant vill,
Where thro' tall elms the moss-grown turret rose;
And his fair mansion offer'd sweet repose.
‘Time, to the unhappy, slowly moves away.
‘Not so, to me, in Roden's sylvan bowers,
‘Pass'd Youth's short blissful reign of careless hours;
‘When to my view the fancy'd future lay,
‘A region ever tranquil, ever gay.
‘O then, what ardors did my breast inflame!
‘What thoughts were mine, of friendship, love, and fame!
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‘And warm pursuits in dull repose subside!’
He paus'd: his closing words Albino heard,
As down the stream his little boat he steer'd;
His hand releas'd the sail, and dropt the oar,
And moor'd the light skiff on the sedgy shore.
‘Cease, gentle Swain,’ he said; ‘no more, in vain,
‘Thus make past pleasure cause of present pain!
‘Cease, gentle Swain,’ he said; ‘from thee, alone,
‘Are youth's blest hours and fancy'd prospects flown?
‘Ah, no!—remembrance to my view restores
‘Dear native fields, which now my soul deplores;
‘Rich hills and vales, and pleasant village scenes
‘Of oaks whose wide arms stretch'd o'er daisied greens,
‘And wind-mill's sails slow-circling in the breeze,
‘And cottage-walls envelop'd half with trees—
‘Sweet scenes, where Beauty met the ravish'd sight,
‘And Music often gave the ear delight;
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‘And Damon's converse, charm'd the youthful throng!
‘How chang'd, alas, how chang'd!—O'er all our plains,
‘Proud Norval, now, in lonely grandeur reigns;
‘His wide-spread park a waste of verdure lies,
‘And his vast villa's glittering roofs arise.
‘For me, hard fate!—But say, shall I complain?
‘These limbs yet active Life's support obtain.
‘Let us, or good or evil as we share,
‘That thankful prize, and this with patience bear.’
The soft reproach touch'd Armyn's gentle breast;
His alter'd brow a placid smile exprest.
‘Calm as clear ev'nings after vernal rains,
‘When all the air a rich perfume retains,
‘My mind,’ said he, ‘its murmurs driv'n away,
‘Feels Truth's full force, and bows to Reason's sway!’
He ceas'd: the sun, with horizontal beams,
Gilt the green mountains, and the glittering streams.
16
Albino's white sail gleam'd among the trees;
Slow down the tide his winding course he bore
To watry Talgar's aspin-shaded shore.
Slow cross the valley, to the southern hill,
The steps of Armyn sought the distant vill,
Where thro' tall elms the moss-grown turret rose;
And his fair mansion offer'd sweet repose.
17
ECLOGUE IV. LYCORON;
or, The Unhappy.
SCENE, a Valley: Season, Autumn; Time, Evening.
The matron, Autumn, held her sober reign
O'er fading foliage on the russet plain:
Mild Evening came; the moon began to rise,
And spread pale lustre o'er unclouded skies.
'Twas silence all—save, where along the road
The slow wain grating bore its cumb'rous load;
Save, where broad rivers roll'd their waves away,
And screaming herons sought their watry prey—
When hapless Damon, in Algorno's vale,
Pour'd his soft sorrows on the passing gale.
O'er fading foliage on the russet plain:
Mild Evening came; the moon began to rise,
And spread pale lustre o'er unclouded skies.
'Twas silence all—save, where along the road
The slow wain grating bore its cumb'rous load;
Save, where broad rivers roll'd their waves away,
And screaming herons sought their watry prey—
When hapless Damon, in Algorno's vale,
Pour'd his soft sorrows on the passing gale.
‘That grace of shape, that elegance of air,
‘That blooming face so exquisitely fair;
‘That eye of brightness bright as morning's ray,
‘That smile of softness soft as closing day,
‘Which bound my soul to thee; all, all are fled—
‘All lost in dreary mansions of the dead!
‘Ev'n him, whom distance from his Love divides,
‘Toil'd on scorch'd sands, or tost on rolling tides,
‘Kind Hope still chears, still paints, to sooth his pain,
‘The happy moment when they meet again.
‘Far worse my lot! of Hope bereft, I mourn!—
‘The parted spirit never can return!’
‘That blooming face so exquisitely fair;
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‘That smile of softness soft as closing day,
‘Which bound my soul to thee; all, all are fled—
‘All lost in dreary mansions of the dead!
‘Ev'n him, whom distance from his Love divides,
‘Toil'd on scorch'd sands, or tost on rolling tides,
‘Kind Hope still chears, still paints, to sooth his pain,
‘The happy moment when they meet again.
‘Far worse my lot! of Hope bereft, I mourn!—
‘The parted spirit never can return!’
Thus Damon spoke, as in the cypress gloom
He hung lamenting o'er his Delia's tomb.
In the still valley where they wander'd near,
Two gentle Shepherds chanc'd his voice to hear:
Lycoron's head Time's hand had silver'd o'er,
And Milo's cheek Youth's rosy blushes bore.
He hung lamenting o'er his Delia's tomb.
In the still valley where they wander'd near,
Two gentle Shepherds chanc'd his voice to hear:
Lycoron's head Time's hand had silver'd o'er,
And Milo's cheek Youth's rosy blushes bore.
‘How mournful,’ said Lycoron, ‘flows that strain!
‘It brings past miseries to my mind again.
‘When the blithe Village, on the vernal green,
‘Sees its fair Daughters in the dance convene;
‘And Youth's light step in search of Pleasure strays,
‘And his fond eyes on Beauty fix their gaze;
‘Shouldst thou then, lingering midst the lovely train,
‘Wish some young Charmer's easy heart to gain,
‘Mark well, that Reason Love's pursuit approve,
‘Ere thy soft arts her tender passions move:
‘Else, tho' thy thoughts in Summer regions range,
‘Calm sunny climes that seem to fear no change;
‘Rude Winter's rage will soon the scene deform,
‘Dark with thick cloud, and rough with battering storm!’
‘When parents interdict, and friends dissuade,
‘The prudent censure, and the proud upbraid;
‘Think! all their efforts then shalt thou disdain,
‘Thy faith, thy constancy, unmov'd, maintain?
‘To Isca's fields, me once Ill-fortune led;
‘In Isca's fields, her flocks Zelinda fed:
‘There oft, when Ev'ning, on the silent plain,
‘Commenc'd with sweet serenity her reign,
‘Along green groves, or down the winding dales,
‘The Fair-one listen'd to my tender tales;
‘Then when her mind, or doubt, or fear, distrest,
‘And doubt, or fear, her anxious eyes exprest,
“O no!” said I, “let oxen quit the mead,
“With climbing goats on craggy cliffs to feed;
“Before the hare the hound affrighted fly,
“And larks pursue the falcon through the sky;
“Streams cease to flow, and winds to stir the lake,
“If I, unfaithful, ever thee forsake!—”
‘What my tongue utter'd then, my heart believ'd:
‘O wretched heart, self-flatter'd and deceiv'd!
‘Fell Slander's arts the Virgin's fame accus'd;
‘And whom my love had chose, my pride refus'd.
‘For me, that cheek did tears of grief distain?
‘To me, that voice in anguish plead in vain?
‘What fiend relentless then my soul possest?
‘Oblivion hide! for ever hide the rest!
‘Too well her innocence and truth were prov'd;
‘Too late my pity and my justice mov'd!
‘It brings past miseries to my mind again.
‘When the blithe Village, on the vernal green,
‘Sees its fair Daughters in the dance convene;
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‘And his fond eyes on Beauty fix their gaze;
‘Shouldst thou then, lingering midst the lovely train,
‘Wish some young Charmer's easy heart to gain,
‘Mark well, that Reason Love's pursuit approve,
‘Ere thy soft arts her tender passions move:
‘Else, tho' thy thoughts in Summer regions range,
‘Calm sunny climes that seem to fear no change;
‘Rude Winter's rage will soon the scene deform,
‘Dark with thick cloud, and rough with battering storm!’
‘When parents interdict, and friends dissuade,
‘The prudent censure, and the proud upbraid;
‘Think! all their efforts then shalt thou disdain,
‘Thy faith, thy constancy, unmov'd, maintain?
‘To Isca's fields, me once Ill-fortune led;
‘In Isca's fields, her flocks Zelinda fed:
‘There oft, when Ev'ning, on the silent plain,
‘Commenc'd with sweet serenity her reign,
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‘The Fair-one listen'd to my tender tales;
‘Then when her mind, or doubt, or fear, distrest,
‘And doubt, or fear, her anxious eyes exprest,
“O no!” said I, “let oxen quit the mead,
“With climbing goats on craggy cliffs to feed;
“Before the hare the hound affrighted fly,
“And larks pursue the falcon through the sky;
“Streams cease to flow, and winds to stir the lake,
“If I, unfaithful, ever thee forsake!—”
‘What my tongue utter'd then, my heart believ'd:
‘O wretched heart, self-flatter'd and deceiv'd!
‘Fell Slander's arts the Virgin's fame accus'd;
‘And whom my love had chose, my pride refus'd.
‘For me, that cheek did tears of grief distain?
‘To me, that voice in anguish plead in vain?
‘What fiend relentless then my soul possest?
‘Oblivion hide! for ever hide the rest!
‘Too well her innocence and truth were prov'd;
‘Too late my pity and my justice mov'd!
21
He ceas'd, with groans that more than words exprest;
And smote in agony his aged breast.
His friend reply'd not; but, with soothing strains
Of solemn music, sought to ease his pains:
Soft flow'd the notes, as gales that waft perfume
From cowslip meads, or linden boughs in bloom.
Peace o'er their minds a calm composure cast;
And slowly down the shadowy vale in pensive mood they past.
And smote in agony his aged breast.
His friend reply'd not; but, with soothing strains
Of solemn music, sought to ease his pains:
Soft flow'd the notes, as gales that waft perfume
From cowslip meads, or linden boughs in bloom.
Peace o'er their minds a calm composure cast;
And slowly down the shadowy vale in pensive mood they past.
| The Poetical Works of John Scott | |