University of Virginia Library

Again the morning calls the muse abroad,
In heart-reviving radiant garb array'd,
Which bribes the soul through ev'ry raptur'd sense,
And ravish'd fancy to her charms invites;
Again the muse enjoys the orient queen,
With fragrant tresses dipt in virgin dew,
Her rosy bosom deck'd with pearls from heaven,
Those tears rich shedding from the infant dawn,
New born, whose eye drops gems on Flora's mantle,
Her mantle green, with purple mix'd, with gold,
With heaven-wrought tints, by blushing April worn,
In early sweets, in bridal beauty clad,
With modest step to meet the lusty May,
When rosy Summer wreaths her wedded arm
With crimson chaplets, and the festal year,
When new-dress'd Nature bids the world awake.

Again the sun lays out the gladsome scene
To Taste's enchanted view; the garden now
When eye-dethroning Night her pow'r withdraws
From earth and heav'n, when raptur'd vision reigns;
The garden now with morning rays renew'd,
Its robe reveals in all the sportive pride
Of livery'd Spring's prolific genius, wrought
In her own various and delightful bloom,
Her vernal web, and pours abroad its wealth;
And now the flocks, with humid fleeces rich,
With gilded backs beneath the slanting beam,
With nibbling step, slow stretching by degrees,
In random march, still feeding as they stray,
Eager athwart the misty mantled lawn
Ascend with devious tardy step the hills,
Made rich by staple wealth, and whiten all the sides.

The many-peopled lake, loquacious now,
And all alive, appears; the clamorous tribes
Now bask exulting on the sunny banks,
With voices different as their different plumes,
A motley Babel, yet in social bands,
The notes are various, but the song the same,
One ardent joy through every language speaks,
In amorous descant, whilst they prune their state,
On tip-toe now with out-stretch'd pinions stand,
Now wanton dash amidst the scatt'ring wave,
With vary'd clang, and clap the wat'ry wing.

So when wild party-colour'd factions struck
Their strife-inspiring standards down, by pride
Upheld so long, seditious baleful flags!
And laid their ensigns low at George's feet,
That glorious victory of his opening reign,
Fell Discord then through all her mouths was chang'd
To sounds reciprocal of in-bred joy;
Her jarring dialects to social mirth
Were sudden turn'd in one harmonious hymn,
Sweet concord reign'd, and every heart was glad.

The joyful sun now gains with fervid wheel
Upon the steep of heaven with gradual speed,
And leaves the rosy-tinctur'd dawn behind;
And see, our youthful Monarch like the morn
Advanc'd, in blooming majesty benign,
And aweful port, our guardian angel bright,
Like Milton's Raphael, meek array'd and mild,
Amongst the joyful trees resplendent move,
With godlike air, and high behest from heaven,
The friend of man, and Britain's pride ador'd;
Lo, near his side, close to his royal breast,
Behold the partner of his heart and throne,
His much-lov'd queen in Virtue's attribute
Array'd, with soft connubial grace adorn'd,
By merit lifted, and by aid divine,
To that exalted, that imperial height,
The fruitful mother of a race of kings,
That shall Britannia's lenient scepter wield
With righteous hand, in long hereditary
Most happy line, their people's fathers bless'd;
Lo, with what sanctity serene, what sweet
Vivacity, what penetrating mild
Attractive eye, what energy humane,
And meek deport, with winning grace benign;
She captivates Britannia's sanguine wish,
By virtue charm'd, and George's raptur'd soul!
Oh see th'illustrious, royal, happy pair,
With genuine dignity, and heart-felt joy,
With mutual bliss, and raptur'd step, draw near;
In either princely hand a blooming babe
Behold, in beauteous miniature express'd,
Of sweetest majesty and manly grace,
And florid vigour, beaming life and health,
And joy, the father's image, and the mother's bliss;
Their pledge of rapture, and Britannia's pride;
Before the new born fragrance yet unfelt,
And new-born blooms arise, the garden's gifts
To its royal Master, and its Mistress meek
Rich offered up the tribute of the morn,
The music of the grove with ten-fold force
And sweet extatic harmony ascends,
From bush, from brake, from thicket, branch and tree,
And wide-spread wilderness made vocal now,
Whilst Echo answers every artless note
From her responsive cell, and Nature hails
The King, with all her denizens of air,
In one irregular Pindaric voice,
Pour'd forth at once through twice ten thousand throats,
That raptur'd chaunt the miscellanenous hymn,
Congenial choristers, in British bands,
Unbounded prodigals of earth and sky,
Those libertin's of song, by Nature taught.

Now art and elegance by slow degrees
Abate with gradual step their gorgeous train,
Yet there proud Victory her temple rears
Upon a lofty hill conspicuous seen,
From whose high ridge, by pleasing toil attain'd,
An image of our conquest wide appears,
Our added empire, and our Indian world,
In letter'd taste, and joyful stile adorn'd;
The just, embellish'd, beauteous frame behold,
That speaks the finish'd master's manly thought,
In emblematic trophies that display
Britannia's glory, and the vanquish'd Gaul,
Whilst aweful ruin pleading in her view,
Draws forth the tear from her triumphant eye,
And shews the horrid marks of wasteful war;
Nature in russet robe magnificent
Appears devoid of art, and mark the path
Through which she leads, by wisdom pointed out
With moral finger to the learned eye,
Where virtue, taste, and truth, and art combine,
In one pathetic, and instructive theme,
Where Pride may sigh, and Socrates grow wise.
How apt this aweful monitor is fix'd,
At Fancy's fervid and luxuriant feast,
By firm philosophy's restraining hand,
To damp delight, and give reflection room!
What solemn, sacred, sad remains are these,
The skeleton of Greece and Rome confus'd,
The mournful relics of a world laid waste,
Where Vanity may wring her cheated hands,
And weeping Pomp her spurious pride regret!

Lo, there her high-rais'd idol long ador'd,
Where e'er the Roman eagles wing'd their flight,
Ambition's premium, a triumphal arch,
By Truth, by Time, struck down for ever; lo,
Thou lofty boaster, and thou prostrate lye,
Thy haughty forehead erst was deep engrav'd
With story'd insolence, and classic vaunt,
That rich related on thy proud expanse,
Thy arched arrogance, thy scornful crest,
Thy figur'd attributes, thy breathing forms,
This long rever'd, this false prophetic tale,
That Rome, imperial Rome, should never die;
Ah! where is now thy boasted evidence,
Thy proud report, that spread from pole to pole,
And made the world, the bleeding world subscribe?
Look there how contradicted in the dust,
Beneath the foot of trampling Time it lies,
In blank confusion, like some coward caught
Behind the mask of promis'd fortitude,
And daring soul,—how abject in thy fall!
Ambition, blush, behold thy trumpeter,
Thy haughty herald, once thy stately boast,
Retract in mouldering fragments on the ground
The long exulting lofty narrative,
And preaching meekness to the eye of kings.

How happy here hath taste and sense struck out
The melting topic from the sad extreme,
Where fancy decorates the mournful scene,
And chance to genius lends her moral mask!
How greedy Time destroys the Attic grace,
And makes, alas! the Roman grandeur dust!
Is this the image of the world's great queen?
Did Scipio fight, did Julius bleed for this?
Th'ingrafted weed, the kindred nettle now,
With friendly growth, would fain conceal its plight
From satire's eye, and hide it from the world;
And lo, the inmate owl and twilight bat
Are all the tenants of this moral pile.

Ah! see yon weeping muse in marble stand
Amidst a heap of rude distorted things,
An aggregate of discord wild and waste,
Where sacred relics of old Greece and Rome,
Which Gothic arrogance could never brook
Before her keen discriminating eye,
Were swallow'd quick within th'abortive gulph,
Where life ingorg'd the desecrated grave,
And breathing grace 'midst horrid lumber lay;
That charnel house of elegance long lost,
Where mutilated forms were frequent trod,
Like human limbs that once express'd a soul,
With buried genius destin'd yet to rise.
Lo! nettles, briars through rough fragments spread,
That choak the laurel with their Vandal growth;
For still the kindred laurel would be near
The muse immortal, tho' by time o'erlaid,
Where beauty beams through lineaments divine,
And Phidias emulates the gods in skill,
Tho' there condemn'd with jarring forms to mix,
Like heavenly music by a storm o'erwhelm'd,
Or virtue by the savage world oppress'd;
Let greatness pause, and cast one look behind;
In this must all that retrospect be lost.
Could Pompey see his theatre like this,
Could Athens view Minerva's temple now,
How much abash'd must human pride appear!
How mortify'd at what she vainly wooes!

What accidental scars in playful mood
The tyrant Time, with slow fantastic hand,
Inflicts!—What gashes here his casual scythe
Hath made, when mowing down some greater world
Than Rome, amongst the stars, perhaps, and states
Unknown, whose influence reaches here! And lo!
Yon bending pillar, mouldering arch half dropp'd,
Yon venerable broken limbs above,
These awful fragments on the ground below,
Where mimic choice, chaotic chance excels,
In hoary rude wreck-scatt'ring anarch skill,
That copies Time's o'er-turning stroke so well,
And mocks the majesty of falling worlds!
Where Taste on ruin builds her shapeless throne,
With uncreating hand, with artless art,
Curtain'd by wisdom-teaching random weeds,
That wildly grow with reverential gloom,
These robes of state that moral Fancy wears;
All these with mournful voice aloud declare,
That Virtue only shall outshine the stars;
How well hath Art at once display'd in this,
Her own deceitful glory and disgrace!

The muse from grave reflection's level path
Excursive soars on vent'rous wing sublime,
Where Fancy plumes, and Pleasure prompts her flight,
Amidst a maze of many winding forms,
That seem a labyrinth like that of life,
Laid down imprompt by semblant chance with vague
Contingent hand, where perfect plan, and wise
Design at every turn still meets the eye,
And manifest the mystic thread that runs
In regular disguise throughout the whole.

Lo there Augusta's theatre exalted stands,
With out-stretch'd arms in rich Corinthian robe
Array'd, in soft attractive attitude,
That seems to welcome and embrace with fond
Parental joy, the royal happy pair,
Where seated now, with mild indulgence crown'd,
They feast the filial heart, and glad the soul;
In elegance serene, and finish'd stile,
This aweful edifice the fancy strikes,
Expressive emblem of the royal dame,
For whose repose and rational delight
The perfect pile in comely grace arose,
That pours the garden on the raptur'd eye,
And every charming incident displays.

In opposition rude, and contrast strong,
The temple of the winds, and boisterous god,
Behold, whom fiction form'd to curb their rage,
Or let them loose against the frighted world
To tear up Nature from her center'd grasp,
And lift old Chaos to his throne once more;
See there obedient to the gentlest hand,
The proud Eolian temple turns around,
Persuaded by one powerful spring unseen,
Like reason piloting the excursive will,
When passion yields, and prudence sways the helm;
This headstrong deity will facile prove,
Whose breath gives glory to Britannia's flag,
By George's hand invincible display'd.

An Eastern king the tall pagoda stands,
In China's striking symbols, strong express'd,
Whose gaudy grandeur seems to reach the skies,
And overlooks with stately growth the whole;
So stands the cedar tall, or lofty oak,
Above the wide extended various wood,
That when compar'd to them, a coppice seems;
The aweful base projects an hospitable shade
Against the torrid ray at summer's noon
Shot down direct, and friendly shelter from
The fierce Atlantic blast, when winter shakes
The world, and mingles majesty with use;
In hostile symbols see this monarch mark'd,
Where gilded dragons guard his lofty pride,
And beauty blends with terror ev'ry grace,
Which looks at best but like a tyrant's smile,
When fear divides the doubtful palm with joy,
And Nature shudders at the shining pest,
Or weeps her own sad attributes laid waste.

But oh! how different is the prospect here,
When winding gradual through th'interior orb,
At ev'ry breathing pause new wonders rise,
That wider still at every joyful step,
And wider grow, like science to the soul,
Expanding all the climax of her charms,
In just degrees by pleasing toil attain'd
And slow, to bless th'ambitious sage's eye,
With reason's rich horizon vast display'd,
And manifest the works of God to man.
Now to the hard-gain'd glorious top arriv'd,
With toil-forgetting step, and throbbing heart,
Let gratitude, and joy, and fancy fill
With elegant excess the feasted soul,
Where Freedom all the lavish banquet spreads,
Beneath the smile of monarchy well poiz'd,
Where mankind thrive, and kings resemble heaven.

Descending thence o'er gradual hill and vale,
In easy undulating surface bold,
That sink and rise in sweet alternate forms,
Like ocean's face in friendly tumult mix'd
By lively breezes in a summer's morn,
Or music floating on the skilful ear,
Serene enjoy'd, or beauty's bending line,
That charms the clear illucidated eye,
When elegance attracts th'enamour'd soul,
By Fancy in her Protean scene display'd.

This intermediate paradise o'erpast,
The mooned mosque with sharp exotic air,
And mingled character severe upstands,
Where heterogeneous stiles grotesque combine
To frame this temple of discordant shapes,
That like the worship in its walls contain'd,
Is fill'd with rhapsody, and wild extreme;
What novelty the striking pile affords,
Amidst the aggregates of Greece and Rome!

In serpentine revolves that gently draw
With sweet inticing slopes th'inchanted step,
By unperceiv'd degrees, from bliss to bliss,
Secreted from the plain and simple path,
In deep digression, lo, a Gothic pile,
In solemn levity obscure involv'd,
And proud implicit shape assails the eye,
And yet with more of chearful taste display'd,
And open candid symmetry express'd,
Than oft that grove-like gloomy pile affords,
Whose dusky, close-contracted, pillar'd isles,
Like ranged trees with interwoven tops,
In vegetating vaults compact appear,
That shut out day, and darken every thought,
Whose very essence seems at first contriv'd
To thicken terror, and embody fear.

And lo, what miracles of art o'erspread
The mystic walls within! what quaint illusion
Mocks the believing eye! whose fairy shade
A rounded substance seems, when cheated touch
With disappointed wonder backward starts,
And thinks perspective's power a magic spell,
As erst Æneas in th'Elisian grove
A fleeting phantom for his father clasp'd,
Delusion grateful to the master's eye,
That yields new trophies to his wizard art,
Where fallacy a moral sanction claims,
Who flings o'er falshood's form the robe of truth,
And Error's hoary head respectful makes.

Oh where shall beauty stop her bright career,
Or elegance the panting heart absolve,
Still stretching forward in a fairy maze,
And progress sweet, delightful to the eye!
I see her pure attractive graces grow
In quick succession, changing still their form.

With pensive aspect and pathetic mien,
The weeping willow 'midst the joyful tribes,
With drooping tresses, near the water's brink,
Still seems to shed the philosophic tear,
Like Persia's king, that o'er his millions mourn'd,
When grave reflection dimm'd his dazzled pride,
And temper'd glory with a thoughtful cast.

Inchanting goddess, rich Variety,
How beautiful thy finish'd forms appear!
When Nature's mirror, polish'd by the hand
Of Taste, reflects thy finest attitudes
Upon the eye of art, whose happy hand
A picture makes that's fit to please in heaven,
Where genius, sense, and taste, and Bute are seen,
To chear Britannia's heart, and George's princely soul.

Go forth, great King, from charm to charm regale,
From ev'ry incident extracting still,
With deep sagacious ken, and raptur'd taste,
The soul's best booty, and the sweets of sense;
But see a prospect stretching to your view,
That fills the exulting eye with health and joy,
Success, felicity, and princely rule,
And public love, and virtue crowning all.

Go forth, illustrious Prince, with every virtue fraught,
Thy people's pride, and fill the copious scene,
Go forth, applauded by thy own good heart,
With conscious rapture by the world admir'd;
The world's too little for a soul like thine,
Its purest plaudits fade upon thine ear,
And all its triumphs vanish from thy sight,
An empty echo, viewless atom, lost
Amidst th'unbounded prospect virtue gives;
Yet still enjoy, adorn the transient scene,
Since wishing millions stand or fall with thee;
Let marble piles, let longer-living verse,
Record thy deeds, till Time himself is tir'd;
But thy ambition grapples with eternity;
When all the chequer'd scene of life is past
In pleasing dreams, when Virtue has her fill,
When many, many years have glided by
In downy circles sweet, with olive palms,
When all the destin'd happy space is past,
With all the thanks a grateful world can give,
A higher throne ascend, by angels wafted up,
When smiling Nature bids, and mingle with the stars.