The Poems of John Byrom :: :: University of Virginia Library

Our worthy Founder, Gentlemen, this Day
Orders the Youth an Hour's poetic Play,—
Me, on its annual Return, to choose
One single Subject for their various Muse,
That you may see how Fancy will create
Her diff'rent Image in each Youngster's Pate.

II

Now, since our Milton, a renownèd Name,
Had been attack'd for stealing into Fame;
I told 'em: “Lads, now be upon your Guard;
Exert yourselves, and save your famous Bard!
He's call'd a Plagiary: 'tis your's to show
The vain Reproach, and silence Milton's Foe.

185

III

“The Point,” said I, “at which ye now take Aim,
Remember, as ye rime, is Milton's Fame,—
Fame as a Poet only, as attack'd
For plund'ring Verses. Ne'er contest the Fact;
Defend your Bard, tho' granted; and confine
To three times six, at most, your eager Line.”

IV

Then lend a fav'ring Ear, whilst they rehearse
Short and almost extemporary Verse;
A Thought work'd up, that came into the Mind,
With Rimes the first and fittest they could find.
Such was their Task. The Boys have done their best;
Take what you like, Sirs; and excuse the rest.

FIRST LAD.

I

Milton pursu'd, in Numbers more sublime,
Things unattempted yet in Prose or Rime.

186

'Tis said: “The Bard did but pretend to soar;
For such and such attempted them before.”

II

'Tis now an Age ago since Milton writ:
The rest are sunk into Oblivion's Pit;
A Critic diving to their Wrecks, perhaps,
Has, now and then, brought up some loosen'd Scraps.

III

We'll not dispute the Value of them now,
But say one Thing which Critics must allow,
Which all the Nations round us will confess:
“Milton alone—attempted with Success.”

SECOND LAD.

I

When Milton's Ghost into Elysium came
To mix with Claimants for poetic Fame,

187

Some rose, the celebrated Bard to meet,
Welcom'd, and laid their Laurels at his Feet.

II

“Immortal Shades,” said he, “if aught be due
To my Attempts, 'tis owing all to you,”
Then took the Laurels, fresh'ning from his Hand,
And crown'd the Temples of the sacred Band.

III

Others, in Crowds, stood muttering behind;
“Who is the Guest? He looks as he were blind;—
O! this is Milton, to be sure, the Man
That stole from others all his rimeless Plan;—

IV

From those conceited Gentleman, perchance,
That rush to hail him with such Complaisánce.
Ay, that's the Reason of this fawning Fuss.
I like him not,—he never stole from us.”

THIRD LAD.

I

“Crime in a Poet, Sirs, to steal a Thought?”
No, that 'tis not, if it be good for aught.
'Tis lawful Theft; 'tis laudable to boot;
'Tis want of Genius if he does not do't.

188

The Fool admires, the Man of Sense alone
Lights on a happy Thought, and makes it all his own;

II

Flies, like a Bee, along the Muses' Field,
Peeps in, and tastes what any Flow'r can yield,—
Free, from the various Blossoms that he meets
To pick, and cull, and carry Home the Sweets;
While, saunt'ring out, the heavy, stingless Drone
Amidst a thousand Sweets makes none of 'em his own.

FOURTH LAD.

I

A Critic once to a Miltonian made
Of Milton's Plagiarisms a long Parade,
To prove his Work not owing to his Genius,
But to Adamus Exul and Masenius;

189

That he had stol'n the greater Part by much,
Both of his Plan and Matter from the Dutch;

II

“His Abdiel, his fine Charactérs, he took,
And heav'nly Scenes, from such and such a Book;
His hellish, too, the same; from such a one,
He stole his Pandemonium,—and so on;—
Till Milton's Friend cry'd out, at last, quite giddy:
“Poh! hold thy Tongue! he stole the Devil, did he?”

FIFTH LAD.

I

When Oxford saw in her Radclivian Dome
Greek skill and Roman rivall'd here at Home,
Wond'ring she stood, till one judicious Spark
Address'd the Crowd, and made this sage Remark:
“The most unlicens'd Plagiary, this Gibbs!
Nothing in all his Pile, but what he cribs!

190

II

“The Ground he builds upon is not his own;
I know the Quarry whence he had his Stone;
The Forest, too, where all his Timber grow'd;
The Forge wherein his fusèd Metals flow'd;—
In short, survey the Edifice entire,
'Tis all a borrow'd Work, from Base to Spire.”

III

Thus with our Epic Architect he deals,
Who says that Milton in his Poem steals;—
“Steals” if he will; but “without Licence?” no!
Pedlars in Verse unmeaningly do so:
Him Phœbus licens'd, and the Muses Nine
Help'd the rare Thief to raise up—a Design.

SIXTH LAD.

I

Lauder! thy Authors Dutch and German
There is no need to disinter, Man!
To search the mould'ring Anecdote
For Source of all that Milton wrote.
We'll own, from these, and many more,
The Bard enrich'd his ample Store.

II

Phœbus himself could not escape
The Tricks of this poetic Ape:

191

For, to complete his daring Vole,
From his enliven'd Wheels he stole,
Prometheus-like, the Solar Ray
That animated all his Clay.

III

Prometheus-like, then, chain him down;
Prey on his Vitals of Renown;
With critic Talons, and with Beak,
Upon his Fame thy Vengeance wreak:
It grows again, at ev'ry Hour,
Fast as the Vulture can devour.

SEVENTH LAD.

I

Miltonum Vir, O facinus nefarium!
Exagitavit tanquam Plagiarium.
Miramur, hanc qui protulisset Thesin,
Quid esse, Momus, crederet Poësin.
Num, quæso, vult ut, hâc obstetricante,
Dicendum sit quod nemo dixit ante?

192

II

O admirandam hominis versuti
Calliditatem, quâ volebat uti!
Dixisset ipse, nimium securus,
Quod nemo dicet præsens aut futurus,
Dum Felis ungues persequentur murem
Miltonum, scilicet, fuisse Furem.

III

Exulent ergo, (ejus ex Effatis)
Quicunque Nomen usurparint Vatis;
Nullum vocemus prorsus ad Examen
Eorum Sensum, Vim, aut Modulamen:
Furantur omnes;—habeamus verum
Poetam, exhinc, unicum Lauderum!