 | Poems on Various Subjects |  |
174
MISCELLANIES.
CONTENT.
A. D. 1785.
Happy the man, and only he,
Who, from repining ever free,
Enjoys the little he has got,
Unenvious of his neighbour's lot;
Who never sighs for empty state,
Nor impiously repines at Fate
Because it has not made him great.
What tho' compell'd to work and toil;
To wield the quill, or turn the soil?
O'er Coke to kill his tedious hours,
Or range in shrubberies, fruits and flowers?
Or, on the small or greater stage,
Act the feign'd king or real page?
'Tis from the heart that peace must flow:
Content is ever free from woe.
And he, who in a cottage lies,
Finds sleep as fond to kiss his eyes,
Enjoys a slumber as profound
(And sweeter far 'tis often found)
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Sleeps in the chambers of the great.
For not the pompous room nor bed
Kills care, or cures the aching head,
When virtue from the heart is fled.
Nor, when the conscience is at rest,
Can Poverty disturb the breast;
Unless indeed, with frown severe,
Captivity and Want appear.
For if the plain and frugal board
A simple, wholesome joint afford,
Hunger will better sauce provide
Than for luxurious, pamper'd pride,
In China or much injur'd Ind',
The sons of commerce ere could find;
And sparkling amber can impart
More pleasure to the tranquil heart,
Than, to the care-fill'd wealthy man,
Or Burgundy or claret can.
Then to my pray'r good Heav'n be kind,
And grant me—a contented mind,
A grateful and an honest heart:
And riches where thou wilt impart;
I ask them not: for rich or poor,
If happy, what can man have more?
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MODERN VIRTUE CONTRASTED WITH ANCIENT IMPIETY.
Occasioned by a Coach being stopped by a Highwayman, who refused to take the Purse from one of the Ladies.
It has by pedants been insisted long
(For pedants will insist, or right or wrong)
“That modern times with ancient can't compare
“For active Virtue, or for Genius rare.”
They will pretend, “that Courage is no more;
“That Justice, Wisdom on no modern shore,
“Or godlike Fortitude presumes to tread.”
But chief they say “that Piety is fled.”
Why should I, vainly, tire the sacred Muse,
Examples of our valour to produce?
For sure no Briton warm'd with vital blood
Has yet forgot the great and glorious Hood;
Whose naval thunder, in just vengeance, hurl'd
The foes of Britain to the Stygian world.
For Justice, Wisdom, Fortitude of mind,
What need the Muses more examples find?
Has it not long to all the world been known,
That each conspicuous shines on Britain's throne?
In the Third George, in whom we see combin'd,
Ah, mix'd but seldom in one godlike mind!
The private virtues and the ruling art,
The patriot's feelings and the hero's heart.
For Piety, to prove that we excel,
What need I more than two short stories tell?
(For pedants will insist, or right or wrong)
“That modern times with ancient can't compare
“For active Virtue, or for Genius rare.”
They will pretend, “that Courage is no more;
“That Justice, Wisdom on no modern shore,
“Or godlike Fortitude presumes to tread.”
But chief they say “that Piety is fled.”
Why should I, vainly, tire the sacred Muse,
Examples of our valour to produce?
For sure no Briton warm'd with vital blood
Has yet forgot the great and glorious Hood;
Whose naval thunder, in just vengeance, hurl'd
The foes of Britain to the Stygian world.
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What need the Muses more examples find?
Has it not long to all the world been known,
That each conspicuous shines on Britain's throne?
In the Third George, in whom we see combin'd,
Ah, mix'd but seldom in one godlike mind!
The private virtues and the ruling art,
The patriot's feelings and the hero's heart.
For Piety, to prove that we excel,
What need I more than two short stories tell?
'Tis said by Homer, (and there's none so bold,
I hope, will dare deny what Homer told)
When the bright goddess of the sportive eye
Rush'd from the heav'ns to save the Chief of Troy,
The great Æneas, her much honour'd boy!
Bold Diomed (for ancient virtue fam'd!)
With sacrilegious hand the goddess maim'd;
His thirsty falchion drank celestial blood,
And stain'd the field with an immortal flood.
In vain her silver skin his eye detains,
And the bright azure of her mantling veins;
In vain her eyes the tender languish shed;
In vain her panting bosom heaving spread;
In vain her ringlets flow'd with graceful ease;
Vain was she form'd to captivate and please;
Nor charms nor yet divinity could save.
Insensate ruffian! to his rage a slave!
Nor sex, nor sanctity his ire withstand;
He plung'd his sword within her lily hand.
I hope, will dare deny what Homer told)
When the bright goddess of the sportive eye
Rush'd from the heav'ns to save the Chief of Troy,
The great Æneas, her much honour'd boy!
Bold Diomed (for ancient virtue fam'd!)
With sacrilegious hand the goddess maim'd;
His thirsty falchion drank celestial blood,
And stain'd the field with an immortal flood.
In vain her silver skin his eye detains,
And the bright azure of her mantling veins;
In vain her eyes the tender languish shed;
In vain her panting bosom heaving spread;
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Vain was she form'd to captivate and please;
Nor charms nor yet divinity could save.
Insensate ruffian! to his rage a slave!
Nor sex, nor sanctity his ire withstand;
He plung'd his sword within her lily hand.
But when of late the goddess deign'd to grace
Sophronia's wedding with her smiling face,
As in the car triumphant back she roll'd,
(Oh happy car, her heav'nly form to hold!)
And sought in Croydon's shade her calm retreat,
A practis'd robber chanc'd her way to meet.
On plunder bent, and eager to despoil,
The startled ruffian own'd the heav'nly smile.
The sprightly lustre of her sparkling eye,
The locks where thousand loves in ambush lie,
The soft smooth skin, as downy cygnets white,
The sanguine blush, than damask rose more bright,
The coral lips, whence sweets ambrosial stray,
The winning graces that around her play,
The smile celestial, and the mien divine;—
When all these charms upon the caitiff shine,
The proffer'd spoils his conscious hands reject,
O'er-aw'd and soften'd by divine respect.
Sophronia's wedding with her smiling face,
As in the car triumphant back she roll'd,
(Oh happy car, her heav'nly form to hold!)
And sought in Croydon's shade her calm retreat,
A practis'd robber chanc'd her way to meet.
On plunder bent, and eager to despoil,
The startled ruffian own'd the heav'nly smile.
The sprightly lustre of her sparkling eye,
The locks where thousand loves in ambush lie,
The soft smooth skin, as downy cygnets white,
The sanguine blush, than damask rose more bright,
The coral lips, whence sweets ambrosial stray,
The winning graces that around her play,
The smile celestial, and the mien divine;—
When all these charms upon the caitiff shine,
The proffer'd spoils his conscious hands reject,
O'er-aw'd and soften'd by divine respect.
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Then pedants say, are old or modern times
More fam'd for daring and for impious crimes?
The Queen of Love an ancient hero wounds,
That with her anguish heav'n's high roof resounds;
A modern plund'rer owns the sacred smile,
Trembling o'er-aw'd, nor even dares to spoil.
More fam'd for daring and for impious crimes?
The Queen of Love an ancient hero wounds,
That with her anguish heav'n's high roof resounds;
A modern plund'rer owns the sacred smile,
Trembling o'er-aw'd, nor even dares to spoil.
On a Dog laying his Head in the Lap of a Lady, while she was playing on an Harpsichord, and singing.
Orpheus no more unrivall'd reigns:
Melissa claims an equal praise;
Like his, her art e'en brutes detains
In fix'd attention while she plays.
Melissa claims an equal praise;
Like his, her art e'en brutes detains
In fix'd attention while she plays.
See where the fawning creature stands,
His head upon her lap reclin'd;
The minstrel warbling to her hands,
Her tuneful breath perfumes the wind.
His head upon her lap reclin'd;
The minstrel warbling to her hands,
Her tuneful breath perfumes the wind.
When harmony and beauty join,
What can resist the potent spell?
E'en brutal Instinct must resign;
E'en Reason ceases to rebel.
What can resist the potent spell?
E'en brutal Instinct must resign;
E'en Reason ceases to rebel.
180
THE SHRINE OF HOWARD.
Oh Howard! Thou whose philanthropic mind,
From every prejudice of pride refin'd,
Show'rs like the God whose agent here thou art,
The balm of comfort on each aching heart!
Whose hand incessant, toils with lenient joy,
To wipe each trembling tear from every eye!
Thou, who not only bear'st a Christian's name,
But glow'st with Christian Love's unbounded flame!
Thou, sent by heav'n, to shew the wond'ring earth
How near of parents frail the mortal birth
May, in the glorious attribute of love,
In emulation of the Saviour move!
How shall my humble lays approach thy ear?
How shall I sing those virtues I revere?
From every prejudice of pride refin'd,
Show'rs like the God whose agent here thou art,
The balm of comfort on each aching heart!
Whose hand incessant, toils with lenient joy,
To wipe each trembling tear from every eye!
Thou, who not only bear'st a Christian's name,
But glow'st with Christian Love's unbounded flame!
Thou, sent by heav'n, to shew the wond'ring earth
How near of parents frail the mortal birth
May, in the glorious attribute of love,
In emulation of the Saviour move!
How shall my humble lays approach thy ear?
How shall I sing those virtues I revere?
Hark! tuneful Hayley
strikes the warbling lyre,
And list'ning cherubim the strain admire:
For sure, when HOWARD wakes the sacred strain,
Heav'n will attend, and all the heav'nly train;
Heav'n's list'ning choir awhile the hymn will cease
While mortals sing of charity and peace.
HOWARD and HAYLEY!—Oh most justly pair'd!
The truest hero and the greatest bard!
While HOWARD's actions fill the hearer's soul
With feelings that each selfish thought controul;
And more than all the names her records hold,
(Henries or Edwards, the great boasts of old,)
Give deathless lustre to Britannia's fame,
And add fresh glory to the Christian name;
Thy strains enchanting Hayley shall impart
Unrival'd bliss to each enlighten'd heart,
Which joys can feel above the vulgar throng,
From dulcet verse, and Fancy's raptur'd song.
And list'ning cherubim the strain admire:
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Heav'n will attend, and all the heav'nly train;
Heav'n's list'ning choir awhile the hymn will cease
While mortals sing of charity and peace.
HOWARD and HAYLEY!—Oh most justly pair'd!
The truest hero and the greatest bard!
While HOWARD's actions fill the hearer's soul
With feelings that each selfish thought controul;
And more than all the names her records hold,
(Henries or Edwards, the great boasts of old,)
Give deathless lustre to Britannia's fame,
And add fresh glory to the Christian name;
Thy strains enchanting Hayley shall impart
Unrival'd bliss to each enlighten'd heart,
Which joys can feel above the vulgar throng,
From dulcet verse, and Fancy's raptur'd song.
And hark! again resounds the tuneful wire.
What skilful bard now wakes the patriot lyre,
And, while his fingers o'er the cordings rove,
Tunes the sweet airs of Charity and Love?
While charm'd Benevolence, delighted, hears
With generous rapture, the descending spheres
Her triumphs sing, and spread her glorious reign:—
Self-love, abash'd, retiring, shuns the strain;
While 'sham'd Ambition from her temples tears
The blood-stain'd wreath—sole fruit of endless wars!
What skilful bard now wakes the patriot lyre,
And, while his fingers o'er the cordings rove,
Tunes the sweet airs of Charity and Love?
While charm'd Benevolence, delighted, hears
With generous rapture, the descending spheres
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Self-love, abash'd, retiring, shuns the strain;
While 'sham'd Ambition from her temples tears
The blood-stain'd wreath—sole fruit of endless wars!
Ah! how shall I with vent'rous wing aspire,
Their heights to soar, or emulate their fire?
When bards like these have rais'd the favour'd strain,
Vain is my praise, my feeble efforts vain.
Wilt thou, Britannia, from their songs divine,
A while thy ear to meaner strains incline,
Nor scorn a theme so unadorn'd as mine?
Rude is my music, uninform'd my mind;
By classic lore nor lumin'd nor refin'd.
Yet let not HOWARD scorn the humble verse
Which love of virtue prompts me to rehearse.
Virtue like thine, must ev'ry soul inspire;
All, all must praise thee, or to praise aspire.
Expiring Age, all silver'd o'er with years,
Whose wrinkled front, death's livid signet bears,
With the last effort of the vital flame,
Shall breathe, enraptur'd, HOWARD's pious name;
While lisping Infancy the couch beside,
Shall catch the fainting sound; with honest pride
Shall glow, transported, at thy virtuous fame,
And prattling, echo HOWARD's pious name.
From shore to shore, from pole to distant pole,
Thy fame, Oh HOWARD! shall perennial roll:
Nor earth shall bound it; heav'n! high heav'n shall ring!
And the bright seraph sound it on the wing.
When shrines decay and moulder into dust,
The Parian statue, urn, and sculptur'd bust.—
Nay, when Creation bursts her bounding chain,
And Night and Chaos re-assume their reign;
Then shall thy tow'ring fame transcendent rise,
And “HOWARD” ring with raptures thro' the skies.
Well may'st thou scorn, of fame like this secure,
The fragile statue and its records poor.
Well may thy Christian fortitude deride
The short-liv'd monuments of earthly pride;
Resign the praise by wond'ring mortals giv'n,
And all rewards despise but those of heav'n.
Their heights to soar, or emulate their fire?
When bards like these have rais'd the favour'd strain,
Vain is my praise, my feeble efforts vain.
Wilt thou, Britannia, from their songs divine,
A while thy ear to meaner strains incline,
Nor scorn a theme so unadorn'd as mine?
Rude is my music, uninform'd my mind;
By classic lore nor lumin'd nor refin'd.
Yet let not HOWARD scorn the humble verse
Which love of virtue prompts me to rehearse.
Virtue like thine, must ev'ry soul inspire;
All, all must praise thee, or to praise aspire.
Expiring Age, all silver'd o'er with years,
Whose wrinkled front, death's livid signet bears,
With the last effort of the vital flame,
Shall breathe, enraptur'd, HOWARD's pious name;
While lisping Infancy the couch beside,
Shall catch the fainting sound; with honest pride
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And prattling, echo HOWARD's pious name.
From shore to shore, from pole to distant pole,
Thy fame, Oh HOWARD! shall perennial roll:
Nor earth shall bound it; heav'n! high heav'n shall ring!
And the bright seraph sound it on the wing.
When shrines decay and moulder into dust,
The Parian statue, urn, and sculptur'd bust.—
Nay, when Creation bursts her bounding chain,
And Night and Chaos re-assume their reign;
Then shall thy tow'ring fame transcendent rise,
And “HOWARD” ring with raptures thro' the skies.
Well may'st thou scorn, of fame like this secure,
The fragile statue and its records poor.
Well may thy Christian fortitude deride
The short-liv'd monuments of earthly pride;
Resign the praise by wond'ring mortals giv'n,
And all rewards despise but those of heav'n.
And ah! what great, what glorious visions rise?
I leave the earth; I tow'r into the skies;
And heav'n's bright conclave opens to my eyes.
Seraphic forms, and Cherubim of fire,
And angels warbling to the speaking lyre!
Round the immortal throne they glorying stand,
The radiant beams stream forth on either hand.
With glowing rapture, all their voices raise;
The full choir'd anthem speaks the Maker's praise.
Their hallelujahs ring thro' all the skies,
And hallelujah heav'n's high vault replies.
I leave the earth; I tow'r into the skies;
And heav'n's bright conclave opens to my eyes.
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And angels warbling to the speaking lyre!
Round the immortal throne they glorying stand,
The radiant beams stream forth on either hand.
With glowing rapture, all their voices raise;
The full choir'd anthem speaks the Maker's praise.
Their hallelujahs ring thro' all the skies,
And hallelujah heav'n's high vault replies.
Now the loud anthems cease. To softer notes
They string their harps, and tune their dulcet throats;
And thus they sing; “Oh HOWARD! sage divine!
“Whose pious deeds all other deeds outshine;
“With holy raptures, heav'nly spirits see
“Unfeign'd benevolence shine forth in thee;
“See Christian meekness ev'ry action guide,
“And see thee spurn the pomps of earthly pride:
“The sculptor's art, the fair inscribing verse,
“Which would to distant times thy worth rehearse.
“These honours all, philanthropist divine!
“Well pleas'd we see thee piously resign.
They string their harps, and tune their dulcet throats;
And thus they sing; “Oh HOWARD! sage divine!
“Whose pious deeds all other deeds outshine;
“With holy raptures, heav'nly spirits see
“Unfeign'd benevolence shine forth in thee;
“See Christian meekness ev'ry action guide,
“And see thee spurn the pomps of earthly pride:
“The sculptor's art, the fair inscribing verse,
“Which would to distant times thy worth rehearse.
“These honours all, philanthropist divine!
“Well pleas'd we see thee piously resign.
“Mortals behold! and while ye gaze admire,
“Let bright example Christian love inspire!
“In HOWARD's actions ye at large may see,
“From worldly pride and affectation free,
“The brightest rays of pure philanthropy.
“Let bright example Christian love inspire!
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“From worldly pride and affectation free,
“The brightest rays of pure philanthropy.
“Who now, deep skill'd in theory, shall dare,
“With arrogant presumption, to declare,
“The love of fame, by Nature's hand imprest,
“Reigns sov'reign monarch of each human breast?
“Who now shall say, that ev'ry noble deed
“Does from this great infirmity proceed?
“Lo! HOWARD's actions, past all question, prove
“A stronger impulse still—in Christian love.
“For who in chace of fame was ever led
“To tread the dangerous paths he loves to tread?
“Did ever love of fame the foot impel
“To tread infected shores, or tainted cell?
“Plagues, and infections; the polluted breath
“Of pestilential caverns, breathing death;
“And all the bloated horrors which abide
“In cells of anguish, who would brave for pride?
“Yet these did HOWARD: these, gaunt ills and more,
“In many a land, on many a distant shore,
“Prompted alone by truly Christian zeal,
“Which teaches all for all mankind to feel.
“And when his native land, with honest pride
“Would sacred to his fame a pile provide;
“Jealous lest foreign climes his birth should claim,
“Would, while he yet survives, assert her fame,
“The matchless fame of giving HOWARD birth—
“HOWARD, who deals a blessing o'er the earth!
“Who, like the sun, attach'd to no one soil,
“Explores the varied globe with ceaseless toil,
“Where'er he meets with Anguish and Distress,
“To dart the Beams of Comfort, and to Bless.—
“And when his Country would, with sculptur'd fame,
“Reward his virtues, and assert her claim,
“With modest, meek, and disint'rested zeal,
“Which unfeign'd piety alone can feel,
“He, all humility, the fane resigns,
“And public plaudits (what he can) declines;
“Striving from man—admiring man! to hide
“The gen'rous deeds his labours scatter wide.
“But all in vain: for Virtue's ray divine,—
“Virtue like his, will still transcendent shine:
“No cloud so thick which Modesty can spread,
“Or humble Meekness, round the radiant head
“Of such transcendent worth, can dim its ray:
“It needs no lustre from the garish day;
“But like the Gem , in native lustre bright,
“Shines most conspicuous when it shuns the light.
“The little virtues of a camp or crown
“May need to court it, to obtain renown;
“But pure Benevolence! so bright thy charms,
“That Fame, enamour'd, woos thee to her arms.
“In vain to secret shades you bashful fly;
“For she'll pursue more swift than thou canst fly;
“Where'er thou turn'st, enraptur'd bend her way,
“And force thee, blushing, to admiring day.
“With arrogant presumption, to declare,
“The love of fame, by Nature's hand imprest,
“Reigns sov'reign monarch of each human breast?
“Who now shall say, that ev'ry noble deed
“Does from this great infirmity proceed?
“Lo! HOWARD's actions, past all question, prove
“A stronger impulse still—in Christian love.
“For who in chace of fame was ever led
“To tread the dangerous paths he loves to tread?
“Did ever love of fame the foot impel
“To tread infected shores, or tainted cell?
“Plagues, and infections; the polluted breath
“Of pestilential caverns, breathing death;
“And all the bloated horrors which abide
“In cells of anguish, who would brave for pride?
“Yet these did HOWARD: these, gaunt ills and more,
“In many a land, on many a distant shore,
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“Which teaches all for all mankind to feel.
“And when his native land, with honest pride
“Would sacred to his fame a pile provide;
“Jealous lest foreign climes his birth should claim,
“Would, while he yet survives, assert her fame,
“The matchless fame of giving HOWARD birth—
“HOWARD, who deals a blessing o'er the earth!
“Who, like the sun, attach'd to no one soil,
“Explores the varied globe with ceaseless toil,
“Where'er he meets with Anguish and Distress,
“To dart the Beams of Comfort, and to Bless.—
“And when his Country would, with sculptur'd fame,
“Reward his virtues, and assert her claim,
“With modest, meek, and disint'rested zeal,
“Which unfeign'd piety alone can feel,
“He, all humility, the fane resigns,
“And public plaudits (what he can) declines;
“Striving from man—admiring man! to hide
“The gen'rous deeds his labours scatter wide.
“But all in vain: for Virtue's ray divine,—
“Virtue like his, will still transcendent shine:
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“Or humble Meekness, round the radiant head
“Of such transcendent worth, can dim its ray:
“It needs no lustre from the garish day;
“But like the Gem , in native lustre bright,
“Shines most conspicuous when it shuns the light.
“The little virtues of a camp or crown
“May need to court it, to obtain renown;
“But pure Benevolence! so bright thy charms,
“That Fame, enamour'd, woos thee to her arms.
“In vain to secret shades you bashful fly;
“For she'll pursue more swift than thou canst fly;
“Where'er thou turn'st, enraptur'd bend her way,
“And force thee, blushing, to admiring day.
“Yes, HOWARD, yes, tho' still thou shouldst refuse
“The sculptur'd honours, and recording muse;
“Tho' thou wouldst still the praise deserv'd decline,
“Yet still thy virtues shall not want their shrine.
“While language lasts, and hearing shall remain,
“To list'ning youth the parent shall explain:
“How virtuous Howard plough'd the dang'rous sea,
“To cure infections, set the captive free,
“Relieve the wretched, soften each distress,
“Bewail the guilty, and the wrong'd redress.
“Thus age to age thy virtue's shall impart;
“And HOWARD's SHRINE be rais'd in every heart.”
“The sculptur'd honours, and recording muse;
“Tho' thou wouldst still the praise deserv'd decline,
“Yet still thy virtues shall not want their shrine.
“While language lasts, and hearing shall remain,
“To list'ning youth the parent shall explain:
“How virtuous Howard plough'd the dang'rous sea,
“To cure infections, set the captive free,
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“Bewail the guilty, and the wrong'd redress.
“Thus age to age thy virtue's shall impart;
“And HOWARD's SHRINE be rais'd in every heart.”
189
THE TEARS OF THE GENII
On the DEATH of JONAS HANWAY, Esq.
I
What pow'r supernal strengthens thus my sight?Why do these sadly beauteous visions rise?
Beatific forms! the heirs of heav'nly light!—
Yet swell with pearly drops their beamy eyes.
Their charge neglected, and their mystic joys,
The drooping Genii 'neath the murky shade
Which yonder thick-grown woodland round supplies,
Sigh in sad concert, all supinely laid;
Careless of sunny hill, cool stream, or winding glade.
Thro' all the echoing wood the note of sorrow dies.
190
II
Lo, sadly murmuring winds each troubled stream!Their charge translucent, lo, the nymphiads slight!
Lo, they who wont to cool the solar beam,
With wing unmov'd, forget their airy flight!
While feather'd warblers, all in doleful plight,
Hang low the wing, and stint their dulcet note:
The awful stilness fills them with affright,
And melody no longer swells the throat,
Tho' late thro' air it wont with pleasing rapture float,
And fill the list'ning soul with sweetly calm delight.
III
Wherefore they droopen thus I fain would learn.Come then, my Muse, of chaste and sober mien,
Lead thy rapt votary where he may discern
Why thus they mournful seek yon sylvan scene.
Can heav'nly agents feel a pang so keen?
Can holy Genii shed the sorrowing tear?
Full sad to know, must be the cause, I ween,
To man portending some misfortune drear—
But lead me, gentle Muse, where I their plaints may hear:
E'en 'mong the bow'ry valves of yonder verdant screen.
191
IV
Meet place I deem these spreading elms behind,Where, antic-twisted, many a thick-wrought brere
Tempteth yon sprite to wail, beneath reclin'd,
Who of them all the chiefest doth appear.
Ah! if it be for woe, or if for fear,
The blushing blossoms seem to fade away,
As they his heart-empiercing accents hear:
Those blooms that shone erewhile so smiling gay.
But peace. My verse record what sadly he doth say,
As thus his mournful plaint steals on the list'ning ear:
V
“Ah Spirit gentle! tho' so frequent toss'd,“In early life on rude Misfortune's wave;
“By Danger sieg'd, by Disappointment cross'd:
“Ah evils borne with resolution brave!)
“Thee, never form'd for Passion's fickle slave,
“Nor Danger's frown, nor sad Misfortune's woe
“The tender feelings from thy bosom drave,
“Nor made thee mild Benevolence forego.
“Yet HANWAY art thou dead—oh tale of heavy woe!
“Ah must such worth as thine sink in the senseless grave!
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VI
“Ah Spirit meek! whom not the gaudy beams“Of giddy Fortune e'er could tempt away
“To thoughtless Pride or Passion's wide extremes—
“Ah much too apt frail mortals to betray!
“But Charity did rule thy breast for aye;
“And, busy e'er to bring the wretch relief,
“No time had'st thou for thoughtless follies gay,
“Which promise pleasure, but which end in grief.
“Oh Britain mourn thy loss, nor be thy mourning brief;
“For roll may many years ere thou his like survey.
VII
“Ah Spirit patriotic! who didst toil“To save the wretch forlorn from Guilt and Shame,
“And make the youth a guardian of this isle
“Who else, perhaps, had stigmatiz'd her name
“With crimes of blackest dye, which who proclaim
“With shuddering horror shed the gloomy tear.
“Full oft thro' him, I ween, the trump of Fame
“Hath bade us worthily some name revere
“Which else in guilt had sunk, and fall'n by doom severe.
“Yet dead is he, alas! who well such praise might claim!
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VIII
“Ah Spirit pious! in whose moral lines“Is kindly pictur'd to the lowly mind
“How bright in vale obscure fair Virtue shines;
“And teachest how true bliss that wight may find,
“Who, to calm dale of Humbleness confin'd,
“Far from the pompous blaze of gilded Joy—
(“False Joy, external, of the baser kind!)
“Doom'd in the sylvan scene the axe to ply,
“Might for luxurious Ease and fickle Honour sigh.
“Ah few like him I ween hath HANWAY left behind!
IX
“Ah Spirit kind! his name ye females bless!“To ye the Sage I deem the best of friends:
“When traitor man has plung'd ye in distress,
“When guilty Woe your tortur'd bosoms rends,
“And ghastly Want her sad assistance lends;—
“Then, when ye seek that refuge from despair
“Which Peace restores, and tort'ring anguish ends,
“Then, then remember well, ye weeping fair,
“To him the boon ye owe which may your state repair,
“And make those comforts yours to which repentance tends.
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X
“Nor you, ye fair, who o'er the waves of life“With fav'ring gales of smiling honour sail,
“Who boast the name of Virgin, or of Wife,
“Treat with false pride your hapless sisters frail:
“E'en you, yourselves, perchance the self-same bale
“Experienc'd had, had ye so tempten been:
“Who vaunt the most themselves do easiest fail.
“With different eyes their fate hath Hanway seen,
“And to reclaim them sought, and from new dangers screen;
“But dead is he, alas! whose toils did oft avail.
XI
“How oft, invited by his gen'rous care,“Sad wretches, trembling with disease and want,
“From Guilt's vile shed, and Misery's horrid fare,
“Have crawl'd with haggard eye, and visage gaunt,
“Paler than midnight Ghosts, who church-yards haunt!
“Him have they crawl'd to bless, whose voice so sweet
“Bade black Despair their hearts no longer daunt,
“For he had kindly founded a retreat,
“Where, by Repentance led, they Happiness might meet:
“Yet is he dead, alas! weep, weep to think upon't.
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XII
“Now will we weep and wail in drearyment,“And all unheeded each one leave his charge:
“Ye gentle Breezes cease your merryment;
“No longer ply the sportive wing at large;
“Ye watry Nymphiads quit the babbling marge,
“And ye who wont to tend the spreading bow'r,
“And all unwholesome blights from thence discharge,
“And ye who fed with sweets each fragrant flow'r,
“And health reviving dews thro' ev'ry vale did show'r,
“Here flock, with dismal notes my wailings to enlarge.
XIII
“For ah! how little boots the gentle gale,“That freshens vales, and wakes the warbling throat?
“The babbling streams, how little they avail,
“That fertilize the valley as they float?
“How little merit bow'rs or blossoms note,
“Which shade afford, or render nature gay?
“Or rich perfumes, which scent fair Nature's coat,
“To what we in Benevolence survey,
“Which cheers the human breast and drives all care away?
“Ah then for HANWAY's death let Sorrow swell the note!
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XIV
“See round his tomb the heav'n-rob'd forms attend!“Lo Charity, with ever open hand;
“Sweet Sensibility, fair Virtue's friend,
“And kind Benevolence, with aspect bland,
“Whose bounteous smilings with a soft command
“Chace blank Affliction from Misfortune's face:
“And close beside doth tender Pity stand—
“Her azure eyes the pearls of Sorrow grace:
“Yet from each other cheek she Sorrow's pearls doth chace.
“These water with their tears the newly delved land.
XV
“Since then of three who bless'd the present age,“Humane and generous, Howard, Hanway, Hawes,
“Too soon, tho' late, one quits life's busy stage,
“Ah loud let us lament, for we have cause—
“We who are doom'd by Heav'n's all-sapient laws
“Man's woes to mitigate, and guard his joys.
“But see, yon sable cloud aloft withdraws;
“A glorious vision opens to my eyes:
“Array'd in glory's beams, lo HANWAY mounts the skies,
“While hymning angels give his virtues due applause!
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XVI
“Yes, pious sage! 'tis just that thou at last,“After so many years of virtuous toil,
“Shouldst be rewarded for thy labours past
“In that blest realm where joys perennial smile.
“Yet drooping Nature must lament awhile
“For her own loss, not thy imagin'd woe:
“Lamentings sad her anguish must beguile;
“For who could e'er thy worth, oh Hanway! know,
“Nor weep when sadly forc'd such virtue to forego?
“Then pardon these our tears, thou boast of Britain's isle!”
XVII
Thus wail'd the Genii 'neath the verdant screen,Whose thick'ning lab'rinths cast an awful gloom,
All listless stretch'd on mossy couches green,
While tears celestial wet each op'ning bloom.
Then, lowly couching 'mongst the flow'ry broom,
Did Philomela sad, with drooping wing,
Near where was newly made lost Hanway's tomb,
From dulcet pipe his mournful requiem sing,
'Till round the Genii flock'd to hear her in a ring:
Tho' sooth'd she, sad, their woe for Fate's malignant doom.
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ODE TO FANCY.
Formerly intended as an Introduction to a Poem on the Pleasures of a warm Imagination.
STROPHE I.
Oh Nymph divine, of heav'nly race,Who erst by Avon's favour'd side,
Array'd in all thy splendid pride,
Adorn'd with every varying grace,
Came lightly tripping in the vernal wind,
While Shakespeare on the flow'ry bank reclin'd,
And call'd the destin'd bard from slumber's soft embrace!
ANTISTROPHE I.
Oh veil thee in thy splendid vest,Ting'd by the sun's immortal rays,
Where every hue alternate plays,
Where every image is imprest—
I see thee now; thy orient zone unbound,
Thy dazzling robe flits in light's folds around,
Now hides now shews the graces of thy heaving breast.
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EPODE I.
And as the vernal am'rous galeLightly 'mong the foldings plays,
In antic postures curves the veil,
And o'er its dancing surface strays,
See how many various dyes
O'er the splendid habit rise:
Here the rose's blush is spread,
Here the violet seems to blow,
Yonder glares the rubies red,
Here the gold appears to glow;
Here the silver's glossy white,
And em'ralds there, and sapphires bright.
But ah what boots the quickest numbers pride?
For all so swift the fleeting shadows glide,
That ere the lute's mellifluous note
Can in the yielding æther float,
Or ere the panther's rapid pace
Can o'er the sands a cubit trace,
Each various hue forsakes its transient place,
And other dyes the varying vestment grace:
Now gay, now sad, now simple, now sublime,
The glow-worm tints in swift succession shine.
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STROPHE II.
Here, Goddess! bend thy antic step;Now dancing to the cymbal's noise,
Now to the flute's complaining voice,
In solemn sadness slowly sweep:
Be all thy pow'rs vicissitudes imprest
Deep on the tablet of thy suppliant's breast:
With fictions make me smile, at fictions make me weep.
ANTISTROPHE II.
What dazzling glories dart around,Where waving o'er thy sprightly head
The rainbow's various beams are spread,
And by a zone thy temple's crown'd:—
An azure zone with chrystal stars inlaid,
Whose beaming radiance is afar display'd;
Thy splendent tresses waving by no fillets bound.
EPODE II.
Thus nimbly while you pace along,Nature's freshest verdure wakes;
The thrush and linnet's gayest song
From groves and smiling hedge-briars breaks;
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And the Naiad clearer flows.
Touch'd by thee the violet shines
With a deeper, clearer blue;
'Neath thy hand, the purple vines
Seem to blush a brighter hue.
Thou canst gild the darkling cloud,
Or Phœbus' brightest glories shroud.
And ah, how swift thy gaudy vestments fade!
That robe erewhile which ev'ry hue display'd,
The zone and looks which transport warm'd,
Are now to sable weeds transform'd,
While all surrounding objects show
Sad symptoms of responsive woe.
Come then, bright nymph, with all thy various pow'r,
Into my breast thy strongest influence show'r,
While I the pleasures of thy reign rehearse,
And sing thy praises in immortal verse.
210
EPILOGUE.
“Ye gentle soothers of my lonely heart!
“Ye tuneful offspring of my teeming brain!
“Go—to the world, the critic world depart;
“In lowly vale obscure no more remain.
“Go—for my brow the laurel wreath obtain—
“The laurel wreath by smiling Virtue 'twin'd,
“Where lurks no sting conceal'd, which by no thorn is lin'd.
“Ye tuneful offspring of my teeming brain!
“Go—to the world, the critic world depart;
“In lowly vale obscure no more remain.
“Go—for my brow the laurel wreath obtain—
“The laurel wreath by smiling Virtue 'twin'd,
“Where lurks no sting conceal'd, which by no thorn is lin'd.
“Haply these lays, in solitude conceiv'd,
“To chace blank Sadness from my lonely heart,—
“These lays which oft my drooping soul reliev'd,
“And bade Despondence flee, and Woe depart,
“Might, if corrected with attentive art,
“From loath'd Obscurity preserve my name,
“And round my temples spread the lambent rays of Fame!”
“To chace blank Sadness from my lonely heart,—
“These lays which oft my drooping soul reliev'd,
“And bade Despondence flee, and Woe depart,
“Might, if corrected with attentive art,
“From loath'd Obscurity preserve my name,
“And round my temples spread the lambent rays of Fame!”
By dreams like these did flattering Fancy warm;
(Ah soothing dreams, too soon, perhaps, believ'd)
Rash I adventur'd.—But what fears alarm
Of threat'ning dangers now too late perceiv'd!
With anxious throb how oft my heart has heav'd,
Lest by vain hopes, delusions fond! betray'd,
I on a sea too rough my canvas have display'd!
(Ah soothing dreams, too soon, perhaps, believ'd)
Rash I adventur'd.—But what fears alarm
Of threat'ning dangers now too late perceiv'd!
With anxious throb how oft my heart has heav'd,
Lest by vain hopes, delusions fond! betray'd,
I on a sea too rough my canvas have display'd!
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Lo! now the mists which youthful ardour shed,
And proud, delusive dreams all glide away;
Around the solar beams of Reason spread,
My threaten'd dangers my weak bark display;
Here critic rocks my trembling eyes survey,
'Gainst which I dread to split by doom severe:
There sands oblivious threat to swallow me for e'er.
And proud, delusive dreams all glide away;
Around the solar beams of Reason spread,
My threaten'd dangers my weak bark display;
Here critic rocks my trembling eyes survey,
'Gainst which I dread to split by doom severe:
There sands oblivious threat to swallow me for e'er.
Why did I listen to Ambition's voice?
Why did I e'er believe the partial friend?
Why was it not my calm, my humble choice,
Thro' lowly vale obscure my course to bend,
Where sweet Content and smiling Peace attend,
Far from the flattering trump of haughty Fame,
Far from discordant clang of Disappointment's blame?
Why did I e'er believe the partial friend?
Why was it not my calm, my humble choice,
Thro' lowly vale obscure my course to bend,
Where sweet Content and smiling Peace attend,
Far from the flattering trump of haughty Fame,
Far from discordant clang of Disappointment's blame?
Yet oh ye sacred daughters, ever young,
Of Memory sage, and of Creative Pow'r,
To whom the lyre my boyish fingers strung,
If at the entrance of your hallow'd bow'r
I vent'rous thus approach in youthful hour,
And sue to gain admittance 'mong your train.
Be this, ye maids, my plea, nor be that plea in vain:
Of Memory sage, and of Creative Pow'r,
To whom the lyre my boyish fingers strung,
If at the entrance of your hallow'd bow'r
I vent'rous thus approach in youthful hour,
And sue to gain admittance 'mong your train.
Be this, ye maids, my plea, nor be that plea in vain:
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“To Virtue's notes alone the tuneful wire
“Was taught to tremble by my artless hand;
“I never strove to fan unhallow'd fire,
“Or spread of wanton Vice the lewd command.
“A ready champion did I ever stand
“For hapless beauty by feign'd Love betray'd;
“The stings of Guilt I sung, and Virtue's charms display'd.
“Was taught to tremble by my artless hand;
“I never strove to fan unhallow'd fire,
“Or spread of wanton Vice the lewd command.
“A ready champion did I ever stand
“For hapless beauty by feign'd Love betray'd;
“The stings of Guilt I sung, and Virtue's charms display'd.
“Of pure Benevolence the hallow'd shrine
“Oft with the incense of the Muse I heap;
“Or warm'd by Gratitude, that pow'r divine,
“The harp of praise my raptur'd fingers sweep.
“Perish the Bard whose idle harp can sleep,
“When heav'n-born Gratitude demands the lays
“To Friendship's gen'rous name to swell the note of praise!”
“Oft with the incense of the Muse I heap;
“Or warm'd by Gratitude, that pow'r divine,
“The harp of praise my raptur'd fingers sweep.
“Perish the Bard whose idle harp can sleep,
“When heav'n-born Gratitude demands the lays
“To Friendship's gen'rous name to swell the note of praise!”
Then give, ye Muses, to your vot'ry's pray'r,
Still in the number of your train to live.
The honest verse let critic rigour spare,
The artless rhime, the theme unlearn'd forgive.
Let on my brow your verdant chaplet thrive,
And grant, ere yet my youthful prime decays,
To 'twine one flow'ring sprig of Myrtle with my Bays.
Still in the number of your train to live.
The honest verse let critic rigour spare,
The artless rhime, the theme unlearn'd forgive.
Let on my brow your verdant chaplet thrive,
And grant, ere yet my youthful prime decays,
To 'twine one flow'ring sprig of Myrtle with my Bays.
FINIS.
| Poems on Various Subjects | |