Mr. Cooke's Original Poems with Imitations and Translations of Several Select Passages of the Antients, In Four Parts: To which are added Proposals For perfecting the English Language |
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 | Mr. Cooke's Original Poems |  |
146
[ELEGIES.]
ELEGY the First. On Retirement.
Happy the Man who, with a Mind serene,Enjoys the Calmness of the Sylvan Scene,
From Courts remov'd, which honest Worth deride,
Where Flatt'ry triumphs and unmeaning Pride,
Far from the Tumults of the Town, and far
From the vexatious Wranglings of the Bar,
Who from the Baits of ev'ry Vice retires,
And governs by his Reason his Desires!
Bless'd State of Innocence, and State of Health,
More precious far than Crowns, or India's Wealth!
Serv'd up by Nature's Hand here Pleasures rise,
Pleasures to charm the Ear, and feast the Eyes:
Here sings the Thrush, and here's the Linnet's Strain;
Nor warbles here the Blackbird wild in vain:
The Nightingales their ev'ning Notes prolong;
Here chants the Finch; and here's the Woodlark's Song:
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And here the Meads are redolent of May.
Come, Bellamira, come, and crown the Spring;
For thee the Flow'rs shall rise, the Birds shall sing:
I'll minister to thee the Day's Delight,
And make thee wish for the Return of Night.
148
ELEGY the Second. On the Same.
Place me, O! place me soon, ye guardian Pow'rs,
Amid the Meads, cool Springs, and sylvan Bow'rs,
Healthful my Body, and my Mind serene,
A willing Pris'ner to the rural Scene,
From servile Flatt'ry, from Detraction, far,
And party Rage, that dire domestic War!
Where no unhallow'd Bard grows madly proud
Of the false Praises of a tasteless Croud.
Amid the Meads, cool Springs, and sylvan Bow'rs,
Healthful my Body, and my Mind serene,
A willing Pris'ner to the rural Scene,
From servile Flatt'ry, from Detraction, far,
And party Rage, that dire domestic War!
Where no unhallow'd Bard grows madly proud
Of the false Praises of a tasteless Croud.
Free from the Eye of Malice let me rove
Thoughtful from Wild to Wild, from Grove to Grove.
Now on the mossy Bank, beneath the Shade,
For Hours of Love, or Meditation, made,
To the soft Passion I my Heart resign,
And make the long obdurate Maiden mine:
Hence ye prophane, be gone, far hence remove,
Nor listen, Cens'rers, to the Voice of Love!
Arise, my Fair, all cheerful as the Morn,
And let the myrtle Wreath thy Brows adorn!
Thoughtful from Wild to Wild, from Grove to Grove.
Now on the mossy Bank, beneath the Shade,
For Hours of Love, or Meditation, made,
To the soft Passion I my Heart resign,
And make the long obdurate Maiden mine:
149
Nor listen, Cens'rers, to the Voice of Love!
Arise, my Fair, all cheerful as the Morn,
And let the myrtle Wreath thy Brows adorn!
Now in my Breast I feel poetic Fires,
And chant mellifluous what the God inspires,
Or into Nature for her Secrets pry,
And trace her Workings with a curious Eye.
And chant mellifluous what the God inspires,
Or into Nature for her Secrets pry,
And trace her Workings with a curious Eye.
To mend my Virtues, and exalt my Thought,
What the bright Sons of Greece and Rome have wrote
O'er Day and Night I turn: in them we find
A rich Repast for the luxurious Mind.
What the bright Sons of Greece and Rome have wrote
O'er Day and Night I turn: in them we find
A rich Repast for the luxurious Mind.
To crown the Blessings, now in Thought possess'd,
There with a faithful Friend I would be bless'd,
What Converse can, to give Relief inclin'd,
When the dull Blood works Sadness to the Mind.
O! what is Life, or what of Wealth the Pow'r,
Without the Comforts of the social Hour!
There with a faithful Friend I would be bless'd,
What Converse can, to give Relief inclin'd,
When the dull Blood works Sadness to the Mind.
O! what is Life, or what of Wealth the Pow'r,
Without the Comforts of the social Hour!
If, while in this delightful Calm I'm lay'd,
The groaning Nation should demand my Aid,
Should Tyranny provoke to War again,
And Justice call me to th'embattel'd Plain,
Farewel ye craggy Mountains, fragrant Flow'rs,
Ye painted Meads, cool Springs, and sylvan Bow'rs;
Far hence I go to horrid Scenes of Blood,
Where not Ambition calls, but public Good;
Whence if my Stars a kind Return deny,
Without Reluctance in the Field I dy:
But should the wise Disposer, to compleat
My Wish, refix me in the bless'd Retreat,
There with my Friend I would resign my Breath,
And close my Eyes, without a Fear, in Death.
The groaning Nation should demand my Aid,
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And Justice call me to th'embattel'd Plain,
Farewel ye craggy Mountains, fragrant Flow'rs,
Ye painted Meads, cool Springs, and sylvan Bow'rs;
Far hence I go to horrid Scenes of Blood,
Where not Ambition calls, but public Good;
Whence if my Stars a kind Return deny,
Without Reluctance in the Field I dy:
But should the wise Disposer, to compleat
My Wish, refix me in the bless'd Retreat,
There with my Friend I would resign my Breath,
And close my Eyes, without a Fear, in Death.
151
ELEGY the Third. On seeing Bellamira's Picture.
As when the curious Eye admiring roves
O'er Lely's Portraits, or Albano's Groves,
As when Carac's majestic Forms we view,
Or what the Master Hand of Rubens drew,
Beautys on Beautys to the Sight arise,
And as we longer gaze they more surprise,
We doubt where first to praise the Painter's Art,
Which merits our Applause in ev'ry Part:
So, Bellamira, we with Wonder trace
The various Charms of thine angelic Face.
O'er Lely's Portraits, or Albano's Groves,
As when Carac's majestic Forms we view,
Or what the Master Hand of Rubens drew,
Beautys on Beautys to the Sight arise,
And as we longer gaze they more surprise,
We doubt where first to praise the Painter's Art,
Which merits our Applause in ev'ry Part:
So, Bellamira, we with Wonder trace
The various Charms of thine angelic Face.
See by a Master Hand the Canvass spread,
Like Chaos, 'e're the Birth of Nature, dead;
Beneath the Pencil see the Goddess rise;
The Form divine with Wonder strikes our Eyes.
Thro many Cent'rys may the Portrait last,
And charm each Age succeeding like the pass'd:
But O! that Hour will come, (thy Fate before
Apelles!) when Vandyke shall please no more,
When Raphael's Draughts shall be no longer seen,
And Kneller's Beautys as they'd never been.
Painting and Poetry have, to create,
Alike the Pow'r, but how unlike their Fate!
The monumental Marble shall decay,
Kings be forgot, and Ages rowl away;
Castles and Towns may fall the Prey of Flames;
And Nations in the Deep may lose their Names;
Yet shall Corinna live in Ovid's Page,
And Lesbia triumph o'er the Waste of Age,
Till Earth herself is from her Axis hurl'd,
Or in one Conflagration burns the World.
Like Chaos, 'e're the Birth of Nature, dead;
Beneath the Pencil see the Goddess rise;
The Form divine with Wonder strikes our Eyes.
Thro many Cent'rys may the Portrait last,
And charm each Age succeeding like the pass'd:
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Apelles!) when Vandyke shall please no more,
When Raphael's Draughts shall be no longer seen,
And Kneller's Beautys as they'd never been.
Painting and Poetry have, to create,
Alike the Pow'r, but how unlike their Fate!
The monumental Marble shall decay,
Kings be forgot, and Ages rowl away;
Castles and Towns may fall the Prey of Flames;
And Nations in the Deep may lose their Names;
Yet shall Corinna live in Ovid's Page,
And Lesbia triumph o'er the Waste of Age,
Till Earth herself is from her Axis hurl'd,
Or in one Conflagration burns the World.
153
ELEGY the Fourth. To Bellamira.
What Language can I chuse, what pow'rful Strains,
To the false Fair, when injur'd Love complains!
While my fond Heart forbids the vengeful Lay,
Honour recalls the Heart that pants to stray.
To the false Fair, when injur'd Love complains!
While my fond Heart forbids the vengeful Lay,
Honour recalls the Heart that pants to stray.
O! Bellamira, once my fairest Flow'r,
Whose Love was all I ask'd, was all thy Dow'r,
Call to Remembrance thy repeated Vow,
In this black Moment of thy Falsehood, now.
How many Days are conscious of our Flame!
What Nights have witness'd to the perjur'd Dame!
How oft' in gentle Murm'rings hast thou cry'd,
No Time, no Fortune, shall our Loves divide,
The Eye of Day shall be disrob'd of Light,
And all to come be one eternal Night,
The Face of Beauty shall no longer be,
'E're I, be Witness Heav'n, am false to thee.
Fall from your Throne of Light, great Prince of Day,
And all ye glitt'ring Orbs dissolve away;
Give to the faithless Nymph, just Heav'n, her Due,
To Bellamira, now no longer true.
Whose Love was all I ask'd, was all thy Dow'r,
Call to Remembrance thy repeated Vow,
In this black Moment of thy Falsehood, now.
How many Days are conscious of our Flame!
What Nights have witness'd to the perjur'd Dame!
How oft' in gentle Murm'rings hast thou cry'd,
No Time, no Fortune, shall our Loves divide,
The Eye of Day shall be disrob'd of Light,
And all to come be one eternal Night,
The Face of Beauty shall no longer be,
'E're I, be Witness Heav'n, am false to thee.
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And all ye glitt'ring Orbs dissolve away;
Give to the faithless Nymph, just Heav'n, her Due,
To Bellamira, now no longer true.
O! Bellamira, how my Heart complains
Of broken Vows, and unregarded Pains!
When on thy panting Breast I pass'd the Day,
The Hours were joyful all, and all was gay;
But now thy Absence, perjur'd Charmer, gives
Thy Lover Cause to curse, because he lives.
Of broken Vows, and unregarded Pains!
When on thy panting Breast I pass'd the Day,
The Hours were joyful all, and all was gay;
But now thy Absence, perjur'd Charmer, gives
Thy Lover Cause to curse, because he lives.
E'en now what Numbers can express the Smart,
What the dire Anguish of my bleeding Heart!
E'en now I see, the Source of all my Pain,
On thy soft Bosom lay'd the happyer Swain!
I see him now, in Joys too fierce to last,
Ranging the Paths of Love which I have pass'd:
With glowing Kisses he salutes thine Eyes,
Thence to thy Breast descends where Lillys rise;
Thence wand'ring to thy Cheek, with Blushes spread,
He on thy Rose imprints a deeper Red:
On thy dear Lips he feasts, where Cupids play,
And where transporting breathes the Breath of May:
Behold he revels o'er thy panting Breast!
How my Soul sickens when I paint the Rest!
This Praise, this Censure, to the Nymph is due,
To Bellamira, now no longer true.
What the dire Anguish of my bleeding Heart!
E'en now I see, the Source of all my Pain,
On thy soft Bosom lay'd the happyer Swain!
I see him now, in Joys too fierce to last,
Ranging the Paths of Love which I have pass'd:
With glowing Kisses he salutes thine Eyes,
Thence to thy Breast descends where Lillys rise;
Thence wand'ring to thy Cheek, with Blushes spread,
He on thy Rose imprints a deeper Red:
On thy dear Lips he feasts, where Cupids play,
And where transporting breathes the Breath of May:
Behold he revels o'er thy panting Breast!
How my Soul sickens when I paint the Rest!
155
To Bellamira, now no longer true.
Say, dear Deceiver, what ill-fated Youth
Like me prefers his ardent Vows of Truth?
Say for what Wretch you practice, to beguile,
The Look alluring, and attractive Smile,
Who, while he sees thy fair angelic Form,
Blesses the Calm, and never dreads a Storm?
Unhappy Youth, if into Fate I see,
What Hours of Sorrow are reserv'd for thee,
When the false Nymph, now in Appearance true,
With cold Indiff'rence shall thy Presence view!
How will you curse the Change, how curse the Day
In which you gaz'd your lovesick Heart away!
I know what Tortures shall 'e'relong be thine;
For well I weigh them by the Weight of mine.
Like me prefers his ardent Vows of Truth?
Say for what Wretch you practice, to beguile,
The Look alluring, and attractive Smile,
Who, while he sees thy fair angelic Form,
Blesses the Calm, and never dreads a Storm?
Unhappy Youth, if into Fate I see,
What Hours of Sorrow are reserv'd for thee,
When the false Nymph, now in Appearance true,
With cold Indiff'rence shall thy Presence view!
How will you curse the Change, how curse the Day
In which you gaz'd your lovesick Heart away!
I know what Tortures shall 'e'relong be thine;
For well I weigh them by the Weight of mine.
O! Bellamira, tho no Tongue can tell
What Pains I suffer when I say farewel,
Yet, since thy Falsehood tells me we must part,
Farewel, tho with that Word I tend my Heart.
The Muse no more shall search the Meads and Fields,
And rifle ev'ry Flow'r the Garden yields,
To the rich Tree that blooms in Java's Grove,
To Syrian Pow'rs of Bliss, no more shall rove,
No more shall ransack ev'ry Flow'r and Tree,
And sum up all their Sweets, false Fair, in thee.
O! Love adieu, adieu, delusive Dream,
Farewel my morning and my ev'ning Theme:
My once belov'd, my now belov'd, adieu,
O! Bellamira, now no longer true.
What Pains I suffer when I say farewel,
Yet, since thy Falsehood tells me we must part,
Farewel, tho with that Word I tend my Heart.
The Muse no more shall search the Meads and Fields,
And rifle ev'ry Flow'r the Garden yields,
To the rich Tree that blooms in Java's Grove,
To Syrian Pow'rs of Bliss, no more shall rove,
156
And sum up all their Sweets, false Fair, in thee.
O! Love adieu, adieu, delusive Dream,
Farewel my morning and my ev'ning Theme:
My once belov'd, my now belov'd, adieu,
O! Bellamira, now no longer true.
| Mr. Cooke's Original Poems | |