 | Poetical Trifles |  |
18
ELEGY
WRITTEN IN A COLLEGE LIBRARY.
The Chapel Bell with hollow mournful sound,
Awakes the Fellows, slumb'ring o'er their fires,
Rous'd by the custom'd note, each stares around,
And sullen from th' unfinish'd pipe retires.
Awakes the Fellows, slumb'ring o'er their fires,
Rous'd by the custom'd note, each stares around,
And sullen from th' unfinish'd pipe retires.
Now from the Common-Hall's restriction free,
The sot's full bottles in quick order move,
While gayer coxcombs sip their amorous tea,
And Barber's daughters soothe with tales of love.
The sot's full bottles in quick order move,
While gayer coxcombs sip their amorous tea,
And Barber's daughters soothe with tales of love.
Through the still courts a solemn silence reigns,
Save where the broken battlements among,
The East wind murmurs through the shatter'd panes,
And hoarser ravens croak their evening song.
Save where the broken battlements among,
The East wind murmurs through the shatter'd panes,
And hoarser ravens croak their evening song.
19
Where groan yon shelves beneath their learned weight,
Heap piled on heap, and row succeeding rows,
In peaceful pomp, and undisturb'd retreat,
The labours of our ancestors repose.
Heap piled on heap, and row succeeding rows,
In peaceful pomp, and undisturb'd retreat,
The labours of our ancestors repose.
No longer sunk in ceaseless, fruitless toil,
The half-starv'd student o'er their leaves shall pore,
For them no longer blaze the midnight oil,
Their sun is set, and sinks to rise no more.
The half-starv'd student o'er their leaves shall pore,
For them no longer blaze the midnight oil,
Their sun is set, and sinks to rise no more.
For them no more shall Booksellers contend,
Or rubric posts their matchless worth proclaim,
Beneath their weight no more the press shall bend,
While common-sense stands wondering at their fame.
Or rubric posts their matchless worth proclaim,
Beneath their weight no more the press shall bend,
While common-sense stands wondering at their fame.
Oft did the classics mourn their critic rage,
While still they found each meaning, but the true;
Oft did they heap with notes poor Ovid's page,
And give to Virgil words he never knew;
While still they found each meaning, but the true;
Oft did they heap with notes poor Ovid's page,
And give to Virgil words he never knew;
Yet ere the partial voice of Critic scorn
Condemn their memory, or their toils deride,
Say, have not we had equal cause to mourn
A waste of words, and learning ill applied?
Condemn their memory, or their toils deride,
Say, have not we had equal cause to mourn
A waste of words, and learning ill applied?
20
Can none remember?—yes, I know all can—
When readings against different readings jarr'd,
While Bentley led the stern scholastic van,
And new editions with the old ones warr'd.—
When readings against different readings jarr'd,
While Bentley led the stern scholastic van,
And new editions with the old ones warr'd.—
Nor ye, who lightly o'er each work proceed,
Unmindful of the graver moral part,
Contemn these works if as you run, and read,
You find no trophies of th' engraver's art.
Unmindful of the graver moral part,
Contemn these works if as you run, and read,
You find no trophies of th' engraver's art.
Can Bartolozzi's all-enrapturing pow'r
To heavy works the stamp of merit give?
Could Grignion's art protract Oblivion's hour,
Or bid the Epic rage of Blackmore live?
To heavy works the stamp of merit give?
Could Grignion's art protract Oblivion's hour,
Or bid the Epic rage of Blackmore live?
In this lone nook, with learned dust bestrew'd,
Where frequent cobwebs kindly form a shade,
Some wonderous legend, fill'd with death and blood,
Some monkish history, perhaps is laid.
Where frequent cobwebs kindly form a shade,
Some wonderous legend, fill'd with death and blood,
Some monkish history, perhaps is laid.
With store of barbarous Latin at command,
Though arm'd with puns, and jingling quibble's might,
Yet could not these sooth Time's remorseless hand,
Or save their labours from eternal night.
Though arm'd with puns, and jingling quibble's might,
Yet could not these sooth Time's remorseless hand,
Or save their labours from eternal night.
21
Full many an Elegy has mourn'd its fate,
Beneath some pasty “cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd;”
Full many an Ode has soar'd in lofty state,
Fix'd to a kite, and quivering in the wind.
Beneath some pasty “cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd;”
Full many an Ode has soar'd in lofty state,
Fix'd to a kite, and quivering in the wind.
Here too perhaps, neglected now, may lie
The rude memorial of some antient song,
Whose martial strains, and rugged minstrelsy,
Once wak'd to rapture every listening throng.
The rude memorial of some antient song,
Whose martial strains, and rugged minstrelsy,
Once wak'd to rapture every listening throng.
To trace fair Science through each wildering course,
With new ideas to enlarge the mind,
With useful lessons drawn from Classic source,
At once to polish, and instruct mankind;
With new ideas to enlarge the mind,
With useful lessons drawn from Classic source,
At once to polish, and instruct mankind;
Their times forbade: nor yet alone represt
Their opening fancy; but alike confin'd
The senseless ribaldry, the scurvy jest,
And each low triumph of the vulgar mind.
Their opening fancy; but alike confin'd
The senseless ribaldry, the scurvy jest,
And each low triumph of the vulgar mind.
With Griffiths, Langhorne, Kenrick, and the tribe
Whom science loaths, and scorn disdains to name,
To snarl unpaid, or soften'd by a bribe,
Smear with vile praise, and deem their daubing fame,
Whom science loaths, and scorn disdains to name,
22
Smear with vile praise, and deem their daubing fame,
—Their humbler science never soar'd so far,
In studious trifles pleas'd to waste their time,
Or wage with common-sense eternal war,
In never-ending clink of monkish rhyme.
In studious trifles pleas'd to waste their time,
Or wage with common-sense eternal war,
In never-ending clink of monkish rhyme.
Yet were they not averse to noisy fame,
Or shrank reluctant from her ruder blast,
But still aspir'd to raise their sinking name,
And fondly hoped that name might ever last;
Or shrank reluctant from her ruder blast,
But still aspir'd to raise their sinking name,
And fondly hoped that name might ever last;
Hence each proud volume to the wondering eye
Rivals the gaudy glare of Tyrrel's urn,
Where Ships, Wigs, Fame, and Neptune, blended lie,
And weeping cherubs for their bodies mourn.
Rivals the gaudy glare of Tyrrel's urn,
Where Ships, Wigs, Fame, and Neptune, blended lie,
And weeping cherubs for their bodies mourn.
For who with rhymes e'er rack'd his weary brain,
Or spent in search of epithets his days,
But from his lengthen'd labours hop'd to gain
Some present profit, or some future praise.
Or spent in search of epithets his days,
But from his lengthen'd labours hop'd to gain
Some present profit, or some future praise.
23
Though folly's self inspire each dead-born strain,
Still flattery prompts some blockhead to commend,
Perhaps e'en Kenrick hath not toil'd in vain,
Perhaps e'en Kenrick hath as dull a friend.
Still flattery prompts some blockhead to commend,
Perhaps e'en Kenrick hath not toil'd in vain,
Perhaps e'en Kenrick hath as dull a friend.
For thee, whose muse with many an uncouth rhyme
Dost in these lines neglected worth bewail,
If chance (unknowing how to kill the time)
Some kindred idler should enquire thy tale;
Dost in these lines neglected worth bewail,
If chance (unknowing how to kill the time)
Some kindred idler should enquire thy tale;
Haply some antient Fellow may reply—
“Oft have I seen him, from the dawn of day,
“E'en till the western sun went down the sky,
“Lounging his lazy, listless hours away;
“Oft have I seen him, from the dawn of day,
“E'en till the western sun went down the sky,
“Lounging his lazy, listless hours away;
“Each morn, he sought the cloister's cool retreat,
“At noon, at Tom's he caught the daily lie,
“Or from his window looking o'er the street,
“Would gaze upon the travellers passing by.
“At noon, at Tom's he caught the daily lie,
“Or from his window looking o'er the street,
“Would gaze upon the travellers passing by.
“At night, encircled with a kindred band,
“In smoke and ale roll'd their dull lives away;
“True as the College clock's unvarying hand,
“Each morrow was the echo of to-day.
“In smoke and ale roll'd their dull lives away;
“True as the College clock's unvarying hand,
“Each morrow was the echo of to-day.
24
“Thus free from cares, and children, noise, and wife,
“Past his smooth moments; till by fate's command,
“A lethargy assail'd his harmless life,
“And check'd his course, and shook his loitering sand.
“Past his smooth moments; till by fate's command,
“A lethargy assail'd his harmless life,
“And check'd his course, and shook his loitering sand.
“Where Merton's towers in Gothic grandeur rise,
“And shed around each soph a deeper gloom,
“Beneath the center aisle interr'd he lies,
“With these few lines engrav'd upon his tomb:”—
“And shed around each soph a deeper gloom,
“Beneath the center aisle interr'd he lies,
“With these few lines engrav'd upon his tomb:”—
THE EPITAPH.
Of vice, or virtue void; here rests a man
By prudence taught each rude excess to shun;
Nor love nor pity marr'd his sober plan,
And Dulness claim'd him for her favourite son.
By prudence taught each rude excess to shun;
Nor love nor pity marr'd his sober plan,
And Dulness claim'd him for her favourite son.
By no eccentric passion led astray,
Not rash to blame, not eager to commend,
Calmly through life he steer'd his quiet way,
Nor made an enemy, nor gain'd a friend.
Not rash to blame, not eager to commend,
Calmly through life he steer'd his quiet way,
Nor made an enemy, nor gain'd a friend.
25
Seek not his faults—his merits—to explore,
But quickly drop this uninstructive tale,
His works—his faults—his merits—are no more,
Sunk in the gloom of dark oblivion's veil.
But quickly drop this uninstructive tale,
His works—his faults—his merits—are no more,
Sunk in the gloom of dark oblivion's veil.
| Poetical Trifles | |