University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
  

collapse sectionI. 
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse sectionII. 
collapse section 
  
collapse section 
  
collapse sectionI. 
 I. 
 II. 
collapse sectionII. 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
collapse sectionIII. 
 I. 
 II. 
collapse sectionIV. 
 I. 
 II. 
collapse sectionV. 
 I. 
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

Maker of heaven, and earth!—of human kind!
Of Universe the Parent, Source of mind!
Hence, may my age expunge the faults of youth,
Devoted firmly to the cause of truth!
Not to those truths alone, which lead to fame;
To write strong verse; to argue; to declaim;
But to that truth, by which, in life, we show
Thy beauteous moral government, below.
That government, by whose benign controul,
We keep the body subject to the soul;
Beneath whose power our happiness is wrought
By virtuous action, and exalted thought.
May I, by temperance, live exempt from pain,
And health, vivacity, and glory gain;

188

And while the muse's pure, ethereal ray,
My night illumines, and adorns my day;
And while the social hour, propitious, blends
A few select, and literary friends,
Or, by the influence of the virtuous fair,
Breathes through my verses a diviner air;
Content shall soothe me, should no titled dame
Pronounce me foremost in the lists of fame;
Should no factitious bliss my life beguile;
The splendid circle, and the courtly smile.
What though my chamber seldom can admit
Deep living science, or illustrious wit;
Yet Plutarch visits me, and with him brings
A wondrous train of Sages, Heroes, Kings;
Whose vast exploits our little deeds efface;
A species different from the modern race.
When wintry horrours chill the drooping year,
Will not the gloom an Aristides cheer?
Feels not my bosom emulation's flame,
With his, my form, my origin, the same?
Alike of peace, and war, the generous guide,
At once, the shame of Athens, and the pride!

189

In other countries, in the worst of times,
Men are, in general, banished for their crimes;
His virtues drove him from his parent state,
His justice doomed him to an exile's fate.
Sertorius flies from Sylla's dreadful power,
And deigns to actuate my sequestered hour;
Again bids freedom in Iberia bloom;
And colonizes, there, a second Rome;
But ah! at Rome, his mother yields her breath;
Long mourns the hero for maternal death;
Then with new spirit is his vengeance hurled
Against the ruthless tyrant of the world.
See Cato animate the Grecian page;
The first of mortals, in the vilest age;
Yet (the fine magick such of virtue's charms)
Without a weapon, ruffians he disarms;
Awed by his presence; pierced by virtue's ray,
The aggregated bands dissolve away.
In Afric he renews the patriot's toils;
A hero is the same in different soils;

190

Anxious to save his poor, transplanted Rome;
To counteract expiring freedom's doom:
At length, he sheaths his unsuccessful sword;
Determined, soon, to plunge it in it's lord.
Feeling for others, yet with look serene,
Behold him close his last, his awful scene!
See how august a great man's grief appears!
Cato collected; every friend in tears;
Those friends (no private fears his soul annoy)
His latest cares, his latest breath, employ.
Unvexed with envy, let me, still behold
All the delusive magick wrought by gold;
It's baubles rattle, and it's tinsel shine;
While nature's amphitheatre is mine.
Oft, in a vernal morn, with early dawn,
Let my steps brush the dew-drops from the lawn;
See Sol's majestick orb, with orient ray,
Rise, mount, and flame, and dart more vigorous day.
The little, active lark, inhales his fire,
It's note preluding nature's grateful choir;
Melodious warblers carol all around;
An ancient forest multiplies the sound;

191

With stronger flush the red carnation blows;
A livelier tint adorns each opening rose;
With glowing colours, fragrant odours vie;
Creation wafts it's incense to the sky!
When the day's ardour, with it's toil is o'er,
The sun descending to the western shore;
When sight uninjured meets his gentle rays,
“Shorne of their” fiercer “beams,” of noon-tide blaze;
When with his calmer fires the mind is blessed,
And sinks, in pleasing sympathy, to rest;
When deeper shades dismiss the parting day;
Let me the majesty of night survey.
See, from the East, the placid, “peerless queen,”
Emerging, bids us read the solemn scene;
Hail, heavenly monitor, refulgent moon!
To me still dearer than the god of noon!
Higher, and higher, now behold her rise,
And silver all the azure of the skies;
The sweet Enthusiast says, or seems to say
(She shoots an argument in every ray)

192

Can I, oh! man, can all our system shine,
And move harmonious, but by Power Divine!
In the rapt soul her eloquence we feel;
While silence listens to her fair appeal!
Celestial apparatus! while the muse
Your dread magnificence, your beauty views;
How even shall candour soften my disdain
Of trifles which attract the thoughtless train!
Must I not villas, palaces despise,
That charm, and sicken, vulgar, envious eyes!
Yes, all these childish toys of tortured art,
“Play round the head, but ne'er affect the heart;”
A Sandby's, and a Brown's ingenious plan,
Direct my thoughts to terminate in man;
While Phœbe, sailing in her orient car;
The strong theology of every star;
The foliage of the grove, of every tree,
Of every flower, presents my GOD to me.
 

“Shorne of his beams,” is an expression of Milton.

Mr. Sandby of Windsor-park; a Gentleman equally well known, as a masterly architect; and as a man of amiable manners, and of a friendly heart.