 | The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale |  |
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ON THE ANTIQUITIES OF MONMOUTHSHIRE:
A BOOK, JUST PUBLISHED.
Monmouth! in print thou art not doomed to shine!
A sculptor vile, a vile historian, thine!
Dexterous, the one, to tumble rocks on houses;
The other wight your just resentment rouses,
While character he injures, or confounds;
His satire lies, even his encomium wounds!
His periods not with silk, but pack-thread strung,
Expose the cobler of his mother-tongue!
A sculptor vile, a vile historian, thine!
Dexterous, the one, to tumble rocks on houses;
The other wight your just resentment rouses,
While character he injures, or confounds;
His satire lies, even his encomium wounds!
His periods not with silk, but pack-thread strung,
Expose the cobler of his mother-tongue!
Ingenious artist! happy to display
Men, who in arms, or letters, bear the sway!
How faintly Homer's favourite warriour shines,
Compared with him, who decorates thy lines!
His hero was a butcherly French trooper;
Thine is the bright, and peaceful Dr. Hooper!
Men, who in arms, or letters, bear the sway!
How faintly Homer's favourite warriour shines,
Compared with him, who decorates thy lines!
His hero was a butcherly French trooper;
Thine is the bright, and peaceful Dr. Hooper!
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Thy memoirs, faithless to the social scene,
Debase a Griffin, agonize a Green;
Give Lewis no due tribute of the heart;
But only crown him with a ploughman's art:
Praise, for dull botany, his daughter fair;
Formed to excite, and feel, a finer care!
Preposterous times! that give each folly birth!
They, who may chuse their studies, cling to earth;
While o'er them, golden orbs unnumbered roll,
Which press the God upon the reasoning soul!
Debase a Griffin, agonize a Green;
Give Lewis no due tribute of the heart;
But only crown him with a ploughman's art:
Praise, for dull botany, his daughter fair;
Formed to excite, and feel, a finer care!
Preposterous times! that give each folly birth!
They, who may chuse their studies, cling to earth;
While o'er them, golden orbs unnumbered roll,
Which press the God upon the reasoning soul!
Yet Griffin better talents recommend
Even to the praise of a pretended friend:
In him, a classick sense, a taste prevails;
Not the cold genealogy of Wales:—
And if, as Williams tells us, Green is vain;
His heart feels little agonizing pain.
Even to the praise of a pretended friend:
In him, a classick sense, a taste prevails;
Not the cold genealogy of Wales:—
And if, as Williams tells us, Green is vain;
His heart feels little agonizing pain.
Paternal heaven! to me, whose genial power
With mental ardour cheers the lonely hour;
Oh! ever from thy suppliant's mind avert
A frost, impassive to humane desert!
Lewis, perhaps, is not prepared to see
A mite of honest homage payed by me;
But still fair Truth commands my verse to flow;
Hence, I have some dear friends, and many a foe.
This man deserves an eulogy more warm
Than Williams gives;—the rustick skill to form:
Priests breathe a blessing on the hungry poor;
They, loaded with his bounty leave his door;
Like Job, he searches their disputed cause;
And saves them from some harpy of the laws.
With mental ardour cheers the lonely hour;
Oh! ever from thy suppliant's mind avert
A frost, impassive to humane desert!
Lewis, perhaps, is not prepared to see
A mite of honest homage payed by me;
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Hence, I have some dear friends, and many a foe.
This man deserves an eulogy more warm
Than Williams gives;—the rustick skill to form:
Priests breathe a blessing on the hungry poor;
They, loaded with his bounty leave his door;
Like Job, he searches their disputed cause;
And saves them from some harpy of the laws.
Had Bethlehem's star, of humble swains the guide;
Of souls, unclouded with pedantick pride;
On thee benighted, beamed, with friendly ray,
With all the light of evangelick day;
Ideas, in thy brain, had held no dance
Of anarchy, thou citizen of France!
The whole creation frets an impious mind;
To enemies, unjust, to friends, unkind.
Of souls, unclouded with pedantick pride;
On thee benighted, beamed, with friendly ray,
With all the light of evangelick day;
Ideas, in thy brain, had held no dance
Of anarchy, thou citizen of France!
The whole creation frets an impious mind;
To enemies, unjust, to friends, unkind.
Not so, the soul, who views our blooming shore;
Our haven fair, when life's rude storms are o'er;
To him a luminous, bold road is shown;
He marches on; and fears his God alone;
Strives to make tyrants, and oppressors, feel;
Though shields of gold protect their hearts of steel:
In rags, his best, his noblest friend, can see;
If virtue warms his heart, and keeps him free.—
Our haven fair, when life's rude storms are o'er;
To him a luminous, bold road is shown;
He marches on; and fears his God alone;
Strives to make tyrants, and oppressors, feel;
Though shields of gold protect their hearts of steel:
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If virtue warms his heart, and keeps him free.—
Oh! Virtue, all-sufficient! at thy school,
My health invigorate; and my passions rule!
Thy pure; thy frugal; yet thy generous plan,
Throws us on God; far from the dread of man!
Thy influence acts a doubly glorious part;
Improves the mind, while it refines the heart:
The Christian simple, yet exalted laws,
Enforce the pictures which Longinus draws.
A hope, defeating all the wrecks of time,
The soul habituates to a strain sublime;
Ensures the man's; promotes the writer's fate;—
What makes us good, conspires to make us great.
My health invigorate; and my passions rule!
Thy pure; thy frugal; yet thy generous plan,
Throws us on God; far from the dread of man!
Thy influence acts a doubly glorious part;
Improves the mind, while it refines the heart:
The Christian simple, yet exalted laws,
Enforce the pictures which Longinus draws.
A hope, defeating all the wrecks of time,
The soul habituates to a strain sublime;
Ensures the man's; promotes the writer's fate;—
What makes us good, conspires to make us great.
Monmouth, Sunday, April 24th, 1796.
| The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale | |