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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THE KNIGHTS of the BATH, A TALE. |
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 | Mr. Cooke's Original Poems |  |
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THE KNIGHTS of the BATH, A TALE.
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Say, shall the brave like common Mortals dy,
And Acts of Virtue in Oblivion ly?
The Muse forbids, who in recording Lays
Gives ever to Desert the Song of Praise.
What, tho the Tale is not to Anstis known?
Whate'er the Muse recalls she makes her own;
Who, conscious of thy Worth, would give to Fame
Thy Charms Matilda, and Carvilior's Flame.
And Acts of Virtue in Oblivion ly?
The Muse forbids, who in recording Lays
Gives ever to Desert the Song of Praise.
What, tho the Tale is not to Anstis known?
Whate'er the Muse recalls she makes her own;
Who, conscious of thy Worth, would give to Fame
Thy Charms Matilda, and Carvilior's Flame.
'E're the first Cæsar did our Isle subdue,
When Britons Nought but British Virtue knew,
Cingetorix, in his Domains content,
Confin'd his Empire to the Bounds of Kent.
No Lust of Pow'r drives him to Realms unknown,
To rob his Neighbours, and enlarge his own.
At Home no Fear his Peace of Mind molests;
He rules, no Tyrant, over loyal Breasts.
Thrice happy Land, 'tis here the Druids sing,
And are Companions only for the King.
Far hence away the Sons of Battel rage,
Unknown, O! Albion, to thy golden Age.
When Britons Nought but British Virtue knew,
Cingetorix, in his Domains content,
Confin'd his Empire to the Bounds of Kent.
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To rob his Neighbours, and enlarge his own.
At Home no Fear his Peace of Mind molests;
He rules, no Tyrant, over loyal Breasts.
Thrice happy Land, 'tis here the Druids sing,
And are Companions only for the King.
Far hence away the Sons of Battel rage,
Unknown, O! Albion, to thy golden Age.
One only Daughter was this Prince's Care,
Chast as Diana, and as Venus fair;
When in the Woods the Nymph delights to rove,
Matilda walks the Dian of the Grove;
Or if the regal Dome is her Resort,
Matilda shines the Venus of the Court;
If in the Grove, or in the Court, she moves,
She's still attended by a thousand Loves;
Each from her Eyes a thousand Arrows darts,
And leads in Triumph each a thousand Hearts.
All Eyes which see her once confess her Sway,
And her bright Image never fades away.
Chast as Diana, and as Venus fair;
When in the Woods the Nymph delights to rove,
Matilda walks the Dian of the Grove;
Or if the regal Dome is her Resort,
Matilda shines the Venus of the Court;
If in the Grove, or in the Court, she moves,
She's still attended by a thousand Loves;
Each from her Eyes a thousand Arrows darts,
And leads in Triumph each a thousand Hearts.
All Eyes which see her once confess her Sway,
And her bright Image never fades away.
Among the Youths, who dar'd to vow their Flame,
A poor, but gallant, Prince, Carvilior, came;
He walk'd a God amidst th'admiring Throng,
The darling Subject of the Druid's Song.
To all the Beautys of a Form were join'd
Th'unsully'd Virtues of a Soul refin'd.
His ev'ry Act, his ev'ry Word, could move;
Master of all the Rhetoric of Love.
A poor, but gallant, Prince, Carvilior, came;
He walk'd a God amidst th'admiring Throng,
The darling Subject of the Druid's Song.
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Th'unsully'd Virtues of a Soul refin'd.
His ev'ry Act, his ev'ry Word, could move;
Master of all the Rhetoric of Love.
Of all the Suitors who the Fair address'd,
None found a Passage to her virtuous Breast,
But Prince Carvilior. First her Eyes approve,
Forc'd from her Heart at last to call it Love.
They love, the Cause the same, they both adore;
Much do their Persons charm, their Virtues more.
None found a Passage to her virtuous Breast,
But Prince Carvilior. First her Eyes approve,
Forc'd from her Heart at last to call it Love.
They love, the Cause the same, they both adore;
Much do their Persons charm, their Virtues more.
Long had they both with mutual Anguish burn'd,
And unmolested Sigh for Sigh return'd.
Now in the Court, now in the lonely Walk,
Pleas'd with the sweet Varietys of Talk.
Their Vows in Secret they prefer to Fate,
In Life, in Love, to grant an equal Date:
And who so bless'd, who Half so bless'd, as they!
In Love they fancy all a Summer's Day.
And unmolested Sigh for Sigh return'd.
Now in the Court, now in the lonely Walk,
Pleas'd with the sweet Varietys of Talk.
Their Vows in Secret they prefer to Fate,
In Life, in Love, to grant an equal Date:
And who so bless'd, who Half so bless'd, as they!
In Love they fancy all a Summer's Day.
When most secure of all our Wish we stand,
Oft' are we cast upon a barren Land;
For cruel Fortune will a Moment find,
A Moment to the Lover's Hopes unkind.
Oft' are we cast upon a barren Land;
For cruel Fortune will a Moment find,
A Moment to the Lover's Hopes unkind.
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Cingetorix had now their Passion seen,
He scan'd Carvilior's Form, his Air, his Mien;
Much did he strive to count his Virtues o'er,
He found them many; but he found him poor.
It is resolv'd. In vain his Virtues plead,
And weak their Succour in the Time of Need.
Th'obdurate Sire, by Avarice betray'd,
Drove the fond Hero from as fond a Maid.
Soon as the Prince receives the harsh Command,
To leave the Court, to leave the blissful Land,
With an obedient, tho dejected, Mind,
He with a Sigh departs: his Soul is left behind.
He scan'd Carvilior's Form, his Air, his Mien;
Much did he strive to count his Virtues o'er,
He found them many; but he found him poor.
It is resolv'd. In vain his Virtues plead,
And weak their Succour in the Time of Need.
Th'obdurate Sire, by Avarice betray'd,
Drove the fond Hero from as fond a Maid.
Soon as the Prince receives the harsh Command,
To leave the Court, to leave the blissful Land,
With an obedient, tho dejected, Mind,
He with a Sigh departs: his Soul is left behind.
A mournful Exile, forc'd from all he loves,
A sudden Shade he seeks the lonely Groves.
To the bleak Plains, wild as his Thoughts, he flys,
And meets no Object now to feast his Eyes.
He shuns all Converse for the silent Bow'rs,
And wears away with Grief the lazy Hours.
Now on the Margin of a murm'ring Stream
He sits all Day, and makes the Nymph his Theme.
Of Health regardless on the Turf he lys,
Loss'd to all Joy, till Sleep has clos'd his Eyes:
On Beds of Roses now he seems to rest,
There reigns, Matilda, Monarch of thy Breast;
All his pass'd Scenes of Bliss his Dreams restore;
O! kind Delusion! he's a Wretch no more.
The Phantom flys, and leaves him to his Pain;
He wakes, alas! and is a Wretch again.
A sudden Shade he seeks the lonely Groves.
To the bleak Plains, wild as his Thoughts, he flys,
And meets no Object now to feast his Eyes.
He shuns all Converse for the silent Bow'rs,
And wears away with Grief the lazy Hours.
Now on the Margin of a murm'ring Stream
He sits all Day, and makes the Nymph his Theme.
Of Health regardless on the Turf he lys,
Loss'd to all Joy, till Sleep has clos'd his Eyes:
On Beds of Roses now he seems to rest,
There reigns, Matilda, Monarch of thy Breast;
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O! kind Delusion! he's a Wretch no more.
The Phantom flys, and leaves him to his Pain;
He wakes, alas! and is a Wretch again.
While thus the Prince his Loss, Matilda, bears,
Counting the Moments each an Age of Cares,
Alike the Fair of adverse Stars complains,
And for Carvilior feels Carvilior's Pains.
True to her Love, as constant to her Grief,
She feeds on Sorrow, and denys Relief.
To her no more the bright Assembly's gay;
Nothing has Charms; and Day no more is Day.
As when the Sun bears from our Eyes the Light,
And for a-while leaves Half the World in Night,
No more the Rose in purple Pride is seen,
The painted Tulip, nor the Willow green,
So to the Fair all worldly Charms are dead,
Her Sun, that gave the Day, Carvilior's fled.
Counting the Moments each an Age of Cares,
Alike the Fair of adverse Stars complains,
And for Carvilior feels Carvilior's Pains.
True to her Love, as constant to her Grief,
She feeds on Sorrow, and denys Relief.
To her no more the bright Assembly's gay;
Nothing has Charms; and Day no more is Day.
As when the Sun bears from our Eyes the Light,
And for a-while leaves Half the World in Night,
No more the Rose in purple Pride is seen,
The painted Tulip, nor the Willow green,
So to the Fair all worldly Charms are dead,
Her Sun, that gave the Day, Carvilior's fled.
His wish'd for Absence frees from their Despair,
The Croud of Lovers that address the Fair;
All hope Advantage from Carvilior's Pain,
And all their Vows renew, and all in vain.
With mighty Dow'rs some strive her Soul to move;
And Crowns are lay'd to be the Snares of Love.
Nor mighty Dow'rs, nor Crowns, can change the Dame,
True to her Virtue, and her first-born Flame.
The Croud of Lovers that address the Fair;
All hope Advantage from Carvilior's Pain,
And all their Vows renew, and all in vain.
With mighty Dow'rs some strive her Soul to move;
And Crowns are lay'd to be the Snares of Love.
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True to her Virtue, and her first-born Flame.
At a small Distance from the Palace stood,
For sweet Retirement, a convenient Wood;
Where oft' the Princess and her Maids remove;
Where she aviods th'ingrateful Voice of Love:
And now the Damsels crop the woodland Flow'rs,
Now tell her tender Tales in fragrant Bow'rs;
Now secret to the inmost Shade they go,
Where a cool Riv'let's silver Currents flow;
In which divested of the Veil of Dress,
Whene'er she blaz'd in modest Nakedness,
The Sun inamour'd, as Traditions say,
Would, gazing on her Charms, prolong the Day.
Hither two Lords, who long, too long, had borne
Thy Frowns, Matilda, and of Love the Scorn,
As void of Fear the Nymphs were bathing, came,
And bless'd the Hour that should revenge their Shame.
Once jealous Rivals, now with Vengeance fir'd,
They league against the Virtues they admir'd.
Behind a Thicket they conceal'd remain,
And view the Goddess with her virgin Train;
Her iv'ry Arms, and snowy Breasts, explore,
The Waves forbid it, they can see no more.
They doubt, or shall they bear the Fair away,
Or act their Horrors in the Face of Day.
The dire Remembrance of their slighted Flame,
Their burning Passion for the scornful Dame,
Their brutal Nature, prone to Rapes, combine
To execute in Haste the black Design.
Quick on the River's Bank each Monster stands,
Fire in their Looks, their Ponyards in their Hands;
No outward Signs their deepest Thoughts disguise;
For their dark Souls glare dreadful thro their Eyes.
To hide their naked Charms the Virgins strove,
And their Shrieks echo'd thro the plaintive Grove.
The boding Crys Carvilior's Ears invade,
Who pensive lay beneath a distant Shade;
He knew the much lov'd Voice, and from the Ground
Starting, he trembled at the well known Sound;
His Bow, and Quiver, o'er his Arms he threw,
And, wing'd with Love, swift as the Winds he flew.
Soon on the Bank he stood, a new Surprise!
The royal Virgin scarce believ'd her Eyes.
Desist, he cry'd aloud, nor touch the Fair;
An unexpected Foe demands your Care:
Then to the Head he drew the barbed Dart,
And found a Passage to a savage Heart;
The Traytor prostrate on the Ground he lay'd,
A breathless Victim to the virtuous Maid.
To shun his Fate by Flight the second strove,
And sought for Refuge in the shady Grove.
The Prince pursues fast as the Wretch can fly,
Resolv'd his Vengeance to compleat, or dy.
Mean-while the Damsels to the Shade repair,
Studious to dress, and to relieve, the Fair;
With her they Prince Carvilior's Fate deplore,
And fear for him, as for themselves before;
But soon their Fears are with the Danger fled,
And now the Nymph uprears her drooping Head;
For lo! the bless'd Preserver of her Fame,
Safe from the Work of Fate, and Justice, came.
Quick to his Breast he clasp'd the love-sick Maid,
And thought the Toils he bore were well repay'd.
In silent Raptures they their Joys reveal,
Which none can well describe, but when they feel.
So shall the Soul, if true the Sages say,
Mark out her Partner in the last great Day;
As great as those met to eternal Ease,
Tho not so lasting, are the Joys of these.
For sweet Retirement, a convenient Wood;
Where oft' the Princess and her Maids remove;
Where she aviods th'ingrateful Voice of Love:
And now the Damsels crop the woodland Flow'rs,
Now tell her tender Tales in fragrant Bow'rs;
Now secret to the inmost Shade they go,
Where a cool Riv'let's silver Currents flow;
In which divested of the Veil of Dress,
Whene'er she blaz'd in modest Nakedness,
The Sun inamour'd, as Traditions say,
Would, gazing on her Charms, prolong the Day.
Hither two Lords, who long, too long, had borne
Thy Frowns, Matilda, and of Love the Scorn,
As void of Fear the Nymphs were bathing, came,
And bless'd the Hour that should revenge their Shame.
Once jealous Rivals, now with Vengeance fir'd,
They league against the Virtues they admir'd.
Behind a Thicket they conceal'd remain,
And view the Goddess with her virgin Train;
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The Waves forbid it, they can see no more.
They doubt, or shall they bear the Fair away,
Or act their Horrors in the Face of Day.
The dire Remembrance of their slighted Flame,
Their burning Passion for the scornful Dame,
Their brutal Nature, prone to Rapes, combine
To execute in Haste the black Design.
Quick on the River's Bank each Monster stands,
Fire in their Looks, their Ponyards in their Hands;
No outward Signs their deepest Thoughts disguise;
For their dark Souls glare dreadful thro their Eyes.
To hide their naked Charms the Virgins strove,
And their Shrieks echo'd thro the plaintive Grove.
The boding Crys Carvilior's Ears invade,
Who pensive lay beneath a distant Shade;
He knew the much lov'd Voice, and from the Ground
Starting, he trembled at the well known Sound;
His Bow, and Quiver, o'er his Arms he threw,
And, wing'd with Love, swift as the Winds he flew.
Soon on the Bank he stood, a new Surprise!
The royal Virgin scarce believ'd her Eyes.
Desist, he cry'd aloud, nor touch the Fair;
An unexpected Foe demands your Care:
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And found a Passage to a savage Heart;
The Traytor prostrate on the Ground he lay'd,
A breathless Victim to the virtuous Maid.
To shun his Fate by Flight the second strove,
And sought for Refuge in the shady Grove.
The Prince pursues fast as the Wretch can fly,
Resolv'd his Vengeance to compleat, or dy.
Mean-while the Damsels to the Shade repair,
Studious to dress, and to relieve, the Fair;
With her they Prince Carvilior's Fate deplore,
And fear for him, as for themselves before;
But soon their Fears are with the Danger fled,
And now the Nymph uprears her drooping Head;
For lo! the bless'd Preserver of her Fame,
Safe from the Work of Fate, and Justice, came.
Quick to his Breast he clasp'd the love-sick Maid,
And thought the Toils he bore were well repay'd.
In silent Raptures they their Joys reveal,
Which none can well describe, but when they feel.
So shall the Soul, if true the Sages say,
Mark out her Partner in the last great Day;
As great as those met to eternal Ease,
Tho not so lasting, are the Joys of these.
Soon as the good old King the Story hears,
He owns the god-like Act in gen'rous Tears;
A thousand Sorrows swell his lab'ring Breast,
To see such Virtues by himself oppress'd.
He sighs, when to his Mind Reflection brings
That Avarice should be the Vice of Kings!
His royal Griefs confess his Sense of Shame;
And now he hears with Joy Carvilior's Name,
Firmly resolv'd, impatient of Delay,
Not to defer the marriage Rites a Day:
And that the Tale might e'er be told on Earth,
That such a Pattern of heroic Worth
To future Ages might be handed down,
He thrice twelve gallant Youths, of high Renown,
Selected Souls, of all the Land the Flow'r,
Appointed to adorn the bridal Hour.
They go, conducted by the Man divine,
Full of Devotion to the sacred Shrine.
Before the Altar to the God they bow;
And make, with Zeal unfeign'd, the solemn Vow:
To give, in Time of Need, the wretched Aid,
To guard from brutal Force the spotless Maid.
He owns the god-like Act in gen'rous Tears;
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To see such Virtues by himself oppress'd.
He sighs, when to his Mind Reflection brings
That Avarice should be the Vice of Kings!
His royal Griefs confess his Sense of Shame;
And now he hears with Joy Carvilior's Name,
Firmly resolv'd, impatient of Delay,
Not to defer the marriage Rites a Day:
And that the Tale might e'er be told on Earth,
That such a Pattern of heroic Worth
To future Ages might be handed down,
He thrice twelve gallant Youths, of high Renown,
Selected Souls, of all the Land the Flow'r,
Appointed to adorn the bridal Hour.
They go, conducted by the Man divine,
Full of Devotion to the sacred Shrine.
Before the Altar to the God they bow;
And make, with Zeal unfeign'd, the solemn Vow:
To give, in Time of Need, the wretched Aid,
To guard from brutal Force the spotless Maid.
And thus, long since, the Knights of Bath began,
In Honour to the brave and godlike Man;
An Order, ever to Carvilior's Fame,
Which from the Virgins bathing took the Name.
In Honour to the brave and godlike Man;
An Order, ever to Carvilior's Fame,
Which from the Virgins bathing took the Name.
| Mr. Cooke's Original Poems | |