The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour collated with the ms. volume of his poems, and containing several pieces hitherto unpublished; with illustrative notes, and an account of the life of the author. By James Paterson |
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TO A GENTLEMAN GOING TO TRAVEL. |
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 | The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour |  |
TO A GENTLEMAN GOING TO TRAVEL.
Trahit sua quemque voluptas.
Well sung of old, in everlasting strains,
Horace, sweet lyrist! while the Roman harp
He strung by Tiber's yellow bank, to charm
Tuscan Mecenas, thy well-judging ear;
How, in life's journey, various wishes lead
Through different roads, to different ends, the race
Diverse of human kind. The hero runs,
Careless of rest, of sultry Lybian heat
Patient, and Russian cold, to win renown,
Mighty in arms and warlike enterprise;
Vain efforts! the coquettish nymph still flies
Her swift pursuit, and jilts ambitious hope.
At home, this man, with ease and plenty blessed,
The towering dome delights, and gardens fair,
And fruitful fields with sylvan honours crowned,
Stretched out in wide extent; the gay machine,
Dear to the female race, the gilded coach,
With liveried servants in retinue long,
Adorned with splendid robes, the pompous train
Of pageantry and pride. His neighbour sits
Immured at home, a miser dire, nor dares
To touch his store, through dread of fancied want;
Industrious of gain, he treasures up
Large heaps of wealth, to bless a spendthrift heir,
That wastes in riot, luxury, and misrule,
The purchase of his want; nought shall he reck
His father's pine, when lavish he ordains
The feast in pillared hall or sunny bower,
With lust-inflaming wine, and wicked mirth
Prolonged to morning hour, and guilty deed.
Horace, sweet lyrist! while the Roman harp
He strung by Tiber's yellow bank, to charm
95
How, in life's journey, various wishes lead
Through different roads, to different ends, the race
Diverse of human kind. The hero runs,
Careless of rest, of sultry Lybian heat
Patient, and Russian cold, to win renown,
Mighty in arms and warlike enterprise;
Vain efforts! the coquettish nymph still flies
Her swift pursuit, and jilts ambitious hope.
At home, this man, with ease and plenty blessed,
The towering dome delights, and gardens fair,
And fruitful fields with sylvan honours crowned,
Stretched out in wide extent; the gay machine,
Dear to the female race, the gilded coach,
With liveried servants in retinue long,
Adorned with splendid robes, the pompous train
Of pageantry and pride. His neighbour sits
Immured at home, a miser dire, nor dares
To touch his store, through dread of fancied want;
Industrious of gain, he treasures up
Large heaps of wealth, to bless a spendthrift heir,
That wastes in riot, luxury, and misrule,
The purchase of his want; nought shall he reck
His father's pine, when lavish he ordains
The feast in pillared hall or sunny bower,
With lust-inflaming wine, and wicked mirth
Prolonged to morning hour, and guilty deed.
Others again, the woods of Astery
Love to inhabit, or where down the Mount,
Sky-climbing Parnass, her sweet-sounding wave
Castalia pours, with potent virtues blessed;
Powerful to charm the ear of furious wrath,
To close the eye of anguish, or to strike
The lifted dagger from despairing breast.
Such Addison, and such with laurel crowned
Immortal Congreve, such the muses grace
Mæonian Pope; nor do the nine refuse
To rank with these Fergusian nightingale,
Untaught with wood-notes wild, sweet Allan hight;
Whether on the flower-blushing bank of Tweed,
Or Clyde or Tay's smooth winding stream his muse
Chooseth to reside, or o'er the snowy hills,
Benlomond or proud Mormount, all the day
Clad in Tartana varied garb she roves,
To hear of kings' and heroes' godlike deeds;
Or, if delighted on the knee she lies
Of lovely nymph, as happy lap-dog graced,
Intent to soothe the Scottish damsel's ear,
Cochrane or Hamilton, with pleasing song
Of him who sad beneath the withered branch
Sat of Traquhair,
complaining of his lass;
Or the fond maid, that o'er the watery brink
Wept sleepless night and day, still wafting o'er
Her flying love from Aberdour's fair coast.
Love to inhabit, or where down the Mount,
Sky-climbing Parnass, her sweet-sounding wave
Castalia pours, with potent virtues blessed;
Powerful to charm the ear of furious wrath,
To close the eye of anguish, or to strike
The lifted dagger from despairing breast.
Such Addison, and such with laurel crowned
Immortal Congreve, such the muses grace
Mæonian Pope; nor do the nine refuse
To rank with these Fergusian nightingale,
Untaught with wood-notes wild, sweet Allan hight;
Whether on the flower-blushing bank of Tweed,
Or Clyde or Tay's smooth winding stream his muse
Chooseth to reside, or o'er the snowy hills,
Benlomond or proud Mormount, all the day
Clad in Tartana varied garb she roves,
To hear of kings' and heroes' godlike deeds;
Or, if delighted on the knee she lies
Of lovely nymph, as happy lap-dog graced,
Intent to soothe the Scottish damsel's ear,
Cochrane or Hamilton, with pleasing song
Of him who sad beneath the withered branch
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Or the fond maid, that o'er the watery brink
Wept sleepless night and day, still wafting o'er
Her flying love from Aberdour's fair coast.
Others, again, by party rage inflamed,
Blindfolded zeal, and superstition dire,
Offspring of ignorance, and cloister-born,
With undistinguished violence, assault
Both good and bad. Chief of these art thou,
Ill-fated Wodrow, who, with leaden pen,
By furies dipped in gall of Stygian lake,
Writ'st numerous follies; numerous as thy saints
Who or at Pentland or at Bothwell fought
For blind opinion, and laid down their lives
Near where the Cross its unicorn head
Erects aloft, and proudly shines adorned
On Brunswick's day, or where her weekly sale
Grassmarket sees of horses, have harangued
From theatres of wood, the listening saints
Below assembled, sad and discontent.
There is, who, studious of his shape and mien,
On dress alone employs his care to please,
Aspiring with his outward show; who, vain
Of flaxen hair perfumed and Indian cane,
Embroidered vest, and stocking silver-clocked,
Walks through the admiring train of ladies bright,
Sole on himself intent; best likened to
The painted insect, that in summer's heat
Flutters the gardens round with glossy wing,
Distinct with eyes; him oft the tender Miss,
Escaped from sampler and the boarding-school,
Pursues with weary foot from flower to flower,
Tulip or lily bright, or rubied rose,
And often in the hollow of her hand
Retains him captive, sweet imprisonment!
But, ah! how vain the joys the beau can boast;
A while he shines in tavern, visit, dance,
Unrivalled, clad in rich refulgent garb,
Laced or brocaded, till the merchant bold,
With messenger conspiring mortal dire,
Of merciless heart, throw him in dungeon deep,
Recluse from ladies; what avails him then
The love of women, or the many balls
He made to please the fair? there must he lie
Irremediless, if not by pity won,
Fair Cytherea, sea-begotten dame,
By spousal gifts from sooty Vulcan earn
Fallacious key, as erst by love o'ercome,
He forged celestial arms to grace her son,
Anchises-born, and in the borrowed form
Of longing widow, or of maiden aunt,
(While sly Cyllenius, with opiate charm
Of Ceres, the still watching Argus eyes
Of keeper drench in sleep profound), release
The captive knight from the enchanted dome.
Blindfolded zeal, and superstition dire,
Offspring of ignorance, and cloister-born,
With undistinguished violence, assault
Both good and bad. Chief of these art thou,
Ill-fated Wodrow, who, with leaden pen,
By furies dipped in gall of Stygian lake,
Writ'st numerous follies; numerous as thy saints
Who or at Pentland or at Bothwell fought
For blind opinion, and laid down their lives
Near where the Cross its unicorn head
Erects aloft, and proudly shines adorned
On Brunswick's day, or where her weekly sale
Grassmarket sees of horses, have harangued
From theatres of wood, the listening saints
Below assembled, sad and discontent.
There is, who, studious of his shape and mien,
On dress alone employs his care to please,
Aspiring with his outward show; who, vain
Of flaxen hair perfumed and Indian cane,
Embroidered vest, and stocking silver-clocked,
Walks through the admiring train of ladies bright,
Sole on himself intent; best likened to
The painted insect, that in summer's heat
Flutters the gardens round with glossy wing,
Distinct with eyes; him oft the tender Miss,
Escaped from sampler and the boarding-school,
Pursues with weary foot from flower to flower,
Tulip or lily bright, or rubied rose,
And often in the hollow of her hand
Retains him captive, sweet imprisonment!
But, ah! how vain the joys the beau can boast;
A while he shines in tavern, visit, dance,
Unrivalled, clad in rich refulgent garb,
Laced or brocaded, till the merchant bold,
With messenger conspiring mortal dire,
Of merciless heart, throw him in dungeon deep,
Recluse from ladies; what avails him then
The love of women, or the many balls
He made to please the fair? there must he lie
Irremediless, if not by pity won,
Fair Cytherea, sea-begotten dame,
By spousal gifts from sooty Vulcan earn
Fallacious key, as erst by love o'ercome,
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Anchises-born, and in the borrowed form
Of longing widow, or of maiden aunt,
(While sly Cyllenius, with opiate charm
Of Ceres, the still watching Argus eyes
Of keeper drench in sleep profound), release
The captive knight from the enchanted dome.
Thus others choose, their choice affects not me;
For each his own delight, with secret force
Magnetic, as with links of love, constrains.
Behoves me then to say what bias rules
My inclinations, since desire of fame
Provokes me not to win renown in arms,
Nor at Pieria's silver spring to slake
The insatiate thirst; to write on the coy nymph
Love-laboured sonnet, nor in well-dressed beau
To please the lovely sex. For me at Keith's
Awaits a bowl, capacious for my cares;
There will I drown them all, no daring thought
Shall interrupt my mirth, while there I sit
Surrounded with my friends, and envy not
The pomp of needless grandeur, insolent.
Nor shall alone the bowl of punch delight,
Compounded fluid! rich with juicy spoil
Of fair Iberia's sunny coast, combined
With the auxiliar aid of rack or rum,
Barbade or Sumatra, or Goan-born,
The luscious spirit of the cane, that in
Fermenting cups, with native element
Of water mixed, pure limpid stream! unite
Their social sweets. For us her ruddy soul
The Latian grape shall bleed, nor will thy hills,
Far-flowing Rhine, withhold their clustering vines;
Haste then, to friendship sacred let us pour
The exhilirating flood, while, as our hands
In union knit, we plight our mutual hearts
Close as the loving pair, whom holy writ
Renowns to future times, great Jonathan
And Jesse's son. Now this delights my soul!
For each his own delight, with secret force
Magnetic, as with links of love, constrains.
Behoves me then to say what bias rules
My inclinations, since desire of fame
Provokes me not to win renown in arms,
Nor at Pieria's silver spring to slake
The insatiate thirst; to write on the coy nymph
Love-laboured sonnet, nor in well-dressed beau
To please the lovely sex. For me at Keith's
Awaits a bowl, capacious for my cares;
There will I drown them all, no daring thought
Shall interrupt my mirth, while there I sit
Surrounded with my friends, and envy not
The pomp of needless grandeur, insolent.
Nor shall alone the bowl of punch delight,
Compounded fluid! rich with juicy spoil
Of fair Iberia's sunny coast, combined
With the auxiliar aid of rack or rum,
Barbade or Sumatra, or Goan-born,
The luscious spirit of the cane, that in
Fermenting cups, with native element
Of water mixed, pure limpid stream! unite
Their social sweets. For us her ruddy soul
The Latian grape shall bleed, nor will thy hills,
Far-flowing Rhine, withhold their clustering vines;
Haste then, to friendship sacred let us pour
The exhilirating flood, while, as our hands
In union knit, we plight our mutual hearts
Close as the loving pair, whom holy writ
Renowns to future times, great Jonathan
And Jesse's son. Now this delights my soul!
There was a time we would not have refused
Macdougal's lowly roof, the land of ale;
Flowing with ale, as erst Canaan is said
To flow with honey. There we often met,
And quaffed away our spleen, while fits of mirth
Frequent were heard; nor wanted amorous song
Nor jocund dance; loud as in Edin town,
Where the tired writer pens the livelong day
Summons and horning, or the spousal band
Of Strephon, and of Cloe, lovely lass,
Spent with his toil, when thirsty twilight falls,
He hies him gladsome to the well-known place,
Bull-cellar, or, O Johnstoun's, thine! where fond
Of drink and knowledge, erst philosophers
Have met; or Coutts's dark cymerian cell,
Full many a fathom deep: from far he hears
The social clamour through the dome resound,
He speeds amain to join the jovial throng.
So we delighted once. The bowl, meanwhile,
Walked ceaseless still the round, to some fair name
Devoted. Thine, Maria, toasted chief,
With duty obsequious, and thy looks benign
Missed not their due regard. Dundasia fair
Claimed next the kindred lay; nor didst thou pass
Constance uncelebrated or unsung.
Hail, sacred three! hail, sister-minds! may heaven
Pour down uncommon blessings on your heads!
Macdougal's lowly roof, the land of ale;
Flowing with ale, as erst Canaan is said
To flow with honey. There we often met,
And quaffed away our spleen, while fits of mirth
Frequent were heard; nor wanted amorous song
Nor jocund dance; loud as in Edin town,
Where the tired writer pens the livelong day
Summons and horning, or the spousal band
98
Spent with his toil, when thirsty twilight falls,
He hies him gladsome to the well-known place,
Bull-cellar, or, O Johnstoun's, thine! where fond
Of drink and knowledge, erst philosophers
Have met; or Coutts's dark cymerian cell,
Full many a fathom deep: from far he hears
The social clamour through the dome resound,
He speeds amain to join the jovial throng.
So we delighted once. The bowl, meanwhile,
Walked ceaseless still the round, to some fair name
Devoted. Thine, Maria, toasted chief,
With duty obsequious, and thy looks benign
Missed not their due regard. Dundasia fair
Claimed next the kindred lay; nor didst thou pass
Constance uncelebrated or unsung.
Hail, sacred three! hail, sister-minds! may heaven
Pour down uncommon blessings on your heads!
Thus did our younger years in pleasing stream
Flow inoffensive; friendship graced our days,
And dream of loving mistress blessed our night.
Now from these joys conveyed (so fate ordains),
Thou wanderest into foreign realms, from this
Far, far sejoined; no more with us to drain
The ample bowl; or when in heaven sublime
The monthly virgin, from full-gathered globe,
Pours down her amber streams of light, till wide
The ether flame, with choral symphony
Of voice, attempered to sweet hautboy's breath,
Mixed with the violin's silver sound, below
The window of some maid beloved, shall ply
The nightly serenade. To other joys
Thou now must turn, when on the pleasing shore
Of mild Hesperia thou behold'st, amazed,
The venerable urns of ancient chiefs,
Who stern in arms, and resolute to dare,
In freedom's cause have died, or glorious lived:
Camillus, Brutus, great from tyrant's blood;
Coriolanus, famous in exile;
Laurelled Zamean Scipio, the scourge
Of Punic race, or liberty's last hope,
Self-murdered Cato; consecrate to fame,
They live forever in the hearts of men,
Far better monument than costly tomb
Of Egypt's kings. Time, with destructive hand,
Shall moulder into dust the piled up stone
With all its praises! Ah! how vain is fame!
With virtue then immortalize thy life.
Flow inoffensive; friendship graced our days,
And dream of loving mistress blessed our night.
Now from these joys conveyed (so fate ordains),
Thou wanderest into foreign realms, from this
Far, far sejoined; no more with us to drain
The ample bowl; or when in heaven sublime
The monthly virgin, from full-gathered globe,
Pours down her amber streams of light, till wide
The ether flame, with choral symphony
Of voice, attempered to sweet hautboy's breath,
Mixed with the violin's silver sound, below
The window of some maid beloved, shall ply
The nightly serenade. To other joys
Thou now must turn, when on the pleasing shore
Of mild Hesperia thou behold'st, amazed,
The venerable urns of ancient chiefs,
Who stern in arms, and resolute to dare,
In freedom's cause have died, or glorious lived:
Camillus, Brutus, great from tyrant's blood;
Coriolanus, famous in exile;
Laurelled Zamean Scipio, the scourge
Of Punic race, or liberty's last hope,
Self-murdered Cato; consecrate to fame,
They live forever in the hearts of men,
Far better monument than costly tomb
Of Egypt's kings. Time, with destructive hand,
Shall moulder into dust the piled up stone
With all its praises! Ah! how vain is fame!
With virtue then immortalize thy life.
But these, so potent nature's will decrees,
Delight not me, on other thoughts intent;
Not studious at midnight lamp to pore
The medal, learned coin where laurel wreathes
The sacred head of kings, or beauty bright
Of kings' sweet paramour, the lettered sage
Or prudent senator, by eating time
Defaced injurious, the faithless trust
Of human greatness. Nor do I incline
To pass the Firth that parts from Gallia's reign
My native coast, solicitous to know
What other lands impart; all my delights
Are with my friends in merry hour at Steel's
Assembled, while unrespited the glass
Swift circles round the board, charged with fair name,
Erskine, or Pringle thine, until the sun
That, setting, warned us to the friendly cups,
Awake, and view our revels incomplete.
But if the heaven's disposer of our fate
Force me, unwilling, shift my native land,
O, in whatever soil my weary feet
Are doomed to stray, O might I meet my friend!
Or, if the rising sun shall gild my steps
On fruitful fields of Ind. Bengalia's shore,
Spice-bearing Tidor's Isle, or where at eve,
Near western Califurn, beneath the main
He sinks in gold; or on vine-fostering hills
Of nearer Latium, nurse of kings and gods.
O, might I view thee on the flowery verge
Of Tiber stream renowned in poet's song,
Or in the Roman streets, with curious eye
Studying the polished stone, or trophied arch
Trajan or Antonin, not long content
With toil unprofitable; thee I'd lead,
Well-pleased, to Horace' tomb, dear laughing bard,
Where the Falernian vintage should inspire
Sweet thoughts of past delight, the goblet rough
With sculptured gold, rosy from Chio's Isle,
Should warm our hearts, sacred to Pringle's cheek
Still glowing, and to sweet Humeia's lip,
To Drummond's eye, Maria's snowy breast
Soft heaving, or to lovely Erskine's smile;
While on the wounded glass the diamond's path
Faithful shall show each favourite virgin's name,
Not without verse and various emblem graced:
The Latian youth, at merry revels met,
In fancy shall admire the Scottish maid,
Bright as the ruddy virgin Roman born;
Nor with their native dames refuse to join,
Impartial, their health beloved: and would
The nine inspire me equal to my choice,
In lays such as the Roman swan might sing,
Fair as Horatian Lydia should my Hume
Forever flourish, or Næra bright
Of soft Tibullus' muse the lovely theme.
Nor should alone, in melancholy strains
Of cruel nymph and constant vows refused,
Gallus complain, when on the flinty rock,
Or wailing near earth-diving Arethuse,
Sicilian stream, he made to woods his moan,
Despairing of his loves. Maria's scorn,
Clothed in the style of Mantua, should shine
As thine, Lycoris, theme of future song
Surviving as itself. Maria's scorn
Forever I endure; ah! hard return
To warmth like mine! Nathless, the mourning muse
Must praise the maid still beauteous in her eye,
Crowned with each lovely grace and warm in bloom;
Though sullen to my suit, her ear be shut
Against my vows, ungracious to my love.
Delight not me, on other thoughts intent;
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The medal, learned coin where laurel wreathes
The sacred head of kings, or beauty bright
Of kings' sweet paramour, the lettered sage
Or prudent senator, by eating time
Defaced injurious, the faithless trust
Of human greatness. Nor do I incline
To pass the Firth that parts from Gallia's reign
My native coast, solicitous to know
What other lands impart; all my delights
Are with my friends in merry hour at Steel's
Assembled, while unrespited the glass
Swift circles round the board, charged with fair name,
Erskine, or Pringle thine, until the sun
That, setting, warned us to the friendly cups,
Awake, and view our revels incomplete.
But if the heaven's disposer of our fate
Force me, unwilling, shift my native land,
O, in whatever soil my weary feet
Are doomed to stray, O might I meet my friend!
Or, if the rising sun shall gild my steps
On fruitful fields of Ind. Bengalia's shore,
Spice-bearing Tidor's Isle, or where at eve,
Near western Califurn, beneath the main
He sinks in gold; or on vine-fostering hills
Of nearer Latium, nurse of kings and gods.
O, might I view thee on the flowery verge
Of Tiber stream renowned in poet's song,
Or in the Roman streets, with curious eye
Studying the polished stone, or trophied arch
Trajan or Antonin, not long content
With toil unprofitable; thee I'd lead,
Well-pleased, to Horace' tomb, dear laughing bard,
Where the Falernian vintage should inspire
Sweet thoughts of past delight, the goblet rough
With sculptured gold, rosy from Chio's Isle,
Should warm our hearts, sacred to Pringle's cheek
Still glowing, and to sweet Humeia's lip,
To Drummond's eye, Maria's snowy breast
Soft heaving, or to lovely Erskine's smile;
While on the wounded glass the diamond's path
Faithful shall show each favourite virgin's name,
Not without verse and various emblem graced:
The Latian youth, at merry revels met,
In fancy shall admire the Scottish maid,
Bright as the ruddy virgin Roman born;
Nor with their native dames refuse to join,
Impartial, their health beloved: and would
The nine inspire me equal to my choice,
In lays such as the Roman swan might sing,
100
Forever flourish, or Næra bright
Of soft Tibullus' muse the lovely theme.
Nor should alone, in melancholy strains
Of cruel nymph and constant vows refused,
Gallus complain, when on the flinty rock,
Or wailing near earth-diving Arethuse,
Sicilian stream, he made to woods his moan,
Despairing of his loves. Maria's scorn,
Clothed in the style of Mantua, should shine
As thine, Lycoris, theme of future song
Surviving as itself. Maria's scorn
Forever I endure; ah! hard return
To warmth like mine! Nathless, the mourning muse
Must praise the maid still beauteous in her eye,
Crowned with each lovely grace and warm in bloom;
Though sullen to my suit, her ear be shut
Against my vows, ungracious to my love.
But this as time directs; thy health demands
The present care, and joys within our power:
Nor shall we not be mindful of thy love,
Met in our festivals of mirth; but when
Thou to thy native Albion shalt return,
From whate'er coast, or Russia's northern bear,
Inclement sky! or Italy the blest
Indulgent land, the muse's best beloved,
Over a wonderous bowl of flowing punch
We'll plight our hands anew at Don's or Steel's,
Who bears the double keys, of plenty sign;
Or at facetious Thom's, or Adamson,
Who rears alone—what needs she more?—the vine,
Emblem of potent joys! herself with looks
Suasive to drink, fills up the brimming glass,
Well-pleased to see the sprightly healths go round!
The present care, and joys within our power:
Nor shall we not be mindful of thy love,
Met in our festivals of mirth; but when
Thou to thy native Albion shalt return,
From whate'er coast, or Russia's northern bear,
Inclement sky! or Italy the blest
Indulgent land, the muse's best beloved,
Over a wonderous bowl of flowing punch
We'll plight our hands anew at Don's or Steel's,
Who bears the double keys, of plenty sign;
Or at facetious Thom's, or Adamson,
Who rears alone—what needs she more?—the vine,
Emblem of potent joys! herself with looks
Suasive to drink, fills up the brimming glass,
Well-pleased to see the sprightly healths go round!
Hail, and farewell! may heaven defend thee safe,
And to thy natal shore and longing friends
Restore thee, when thy destined toils are o'er,
Polished with manners and enriched with arts.
And to thy natal shore and longing friends
Restore thee, when thy destined toils are o'er,
Polished with manners and enriched with arts.
| The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour | |