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Poems to Thespia

To Which are Added, Sonnets, &c. [by Hugh Downman]
Downman, Hugh (1740-1809)
  
[epigraph]

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[section]
  
INTRODUCTION.
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POEMS to THESPIA.
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
 III. 
III.
 IV. 
IV.
 V. 
V.
 VI. 
VI.
 VII. 
VII.
 VIII. 
VIII.
 IX. 
IX.
 X. 
X.
 XI. 
XI.
 XII. 
XII.
 XIII. 
XIII.
 XIV. 
XIV.
 XV. 
XV.
 XVI. 
XVI.
 XVII. 
XVII.
 XVIII. 
XVIII.
 XIX. 
XIX.
 XX. 
XX.
 XXI. 
XXI.
 XXII. 
XXII.
 XXIII. 
XXIII.
 XXIV. 
XXIV.
 XXV. 
XXV.
 XXVI. 
XXVI.
 XXVII. 
XXVII.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII.
 XXIX. 
XXIX.
 XXX. 
XXX.
 XXXI. 
XXXI.
 XXXII. 
XXXII.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV.
 XXXV. 
XXXV.
 XXXVI. 
XXXVI.
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII.
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII.
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX.
 XL. 
XL.
 XLI. 
XLI.
 XLII. 
XLII.
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SONNETS, PRESENTED WITH THE FIRST IMPRESSION OF POEMS TO THESPIA.
 I. 
I. To Dr. GLASS.
 II. 
II. To Mr. PITFIELD.
 III. 
III. To Mr. PATCH.
 IV. 
IV. To Mr. GIBBS.
 V. 
V. To Mr. CODRINGTON.
 VI. 
VI. To Lord Viscount COURTENAY.
 VII. 
VII. To the DEAN of EXETER.
 VIII. 
VIII. To Chancellor QUICKE.
 IX. 
IX. To Archdeacon SLEECH.
 X. 
X. To JAMES WHITE, Esq.
 XI. 
XI. To Mr. JACKSON.
 XII. 
XII. To J. B. CHOLWICH, Esq.
 XIII. 
XIII. To Mr. J. SPURWAY.
 XIV. 
XIV. To Mr. J. CHURCHILL.
 XV. 
XV. To Mrs. DOWNMAN.
 XVI. 
XVI. To Archdeacon MOORE.
 XVII. 
XVII. To Lieutenant-Colonel SIMCOE.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. To Mr. BENT.
 XIX. 
XIX. To Mrs. ANDREW.
 XX. 
XX. To Mr. HOLE.
 XXI. 
XXI. To Mr. WOOD.
 XXII. 
XXII. To E. DREWE, Esq.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. To Mrs. ILBERT.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. To Mr. ANDREW.
 XXV. 
XXV. To J. RICHARDS, Esq.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. To Miss E. WALKER.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. To Mr. STACEY.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. To Mr. D. WILLIAMS.
 XXIX. 
XXIX. To Mr. SYMONDS.
 XXX. 
XXX. To Mr. S. CODRINGTON.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. To J. P. TAYLOR, Esq.
 XXXII. 
XXXII. To Mr. BLACKALL.
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COMPLIMENTARY VERSES TO THE AUTHOR.
  
SONNET.
  
To the AUTHOR,
  
AN EPISTLE
  
To the SAME.
  
To the SAME.
  
To the SAME,
  
To the SAME,
  
To the SAME.
  
To the SAME.
  
To the SAME,
  
To the SAME.

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133

XL.

[Again my Thespia must I sing]

December 20, 1789.
Again my Thespia must I sing,
Again the chiming couplets string?
And shall thy Poet ne'er be free,
But ever tune the lyre to thee?
Reflect, that since my natal day,
Now, fifty suns have past away.
The old will swear, with fiction's tongue
I only strive to ape the young:
That love is quite extinct, or fled,
And every soft sensation dead:
That nature pales her brighter fires,
And only frigid art inspires.
The young will titter at the sound,
The wink and nod will circle round;
Humour, himself will archly bless,
And wit cut jokes at my distress
134

Condemn'd to bring at thy command
Elysian dreams from fairy land.
Yet spite of youth, and spite of age,
The frolic laugh, or censure sage,
Thy Poet, dreading to be free,
Shall ever tune the lyre to thee.
Whether with eye acute, or blind,
Still own the beauties of thy mind.
Whether with memory fresh, or doating,
Look thro the husk, the outer coating,
And all thy former charms survey
Conspicuous as the bloom of May.
That goodness, which unchanged remains,
Which adds new fetters to the chains,
The chains which worn however long,
Are but more polisht, not less strong.
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