The Poetical Works of the Ingenious and Learned William Meston ... The Sixth edition |
 |
 |
| 1. |
| 2. |
To Allan Ramsay, on the Death of Mr. HILL.
|
|
|
 | The Poetical Works of the Ingenious and Learned William Meston |  |
188
To Allan Ramsay, on the Death of Mr. HILL.
Allow me, Allan, to address thy muse,
A favour greatest Kings will not refuse:
Thou who mak'st shepherds nat'rally to vent
Their grief, and with their doleful songs lament
The loss of friendly and beloved Swains,
And with their names and praises fill the plains,
Till some hard-hearted mountain feel their care,
And echo back their sorrow through the air;
Take up thy well-tun'd pipe, exert thy skill,
Great Bard, lament our neighbouring shepherd Hill.
A favour greatest Kings will not refuse:
Thou who mak'st shepherds nat'rally to vent
Their grief, and with their doleful songs lament
The loss of friendly and beloved Swains,
And with their names and praises fill the plains,
Till some hard-hearted mountain feel their care,
And echo back their sorrow through the air;
Take up thy well-tun'd pipe, exert thy skill,
Great Bard, lament our neighbouring shepherd Hill.
Tell how he was belov'd by all the swains,
Who priz'd his friendship, and admir'd his strains.
The list'ning croud stood silent in a ring,
Watching with greedy ears to hear him sing;
His charming and instructive notes admir'd,
For Hill by great Apollo was inspir'd;
So bright his thoughts, so nervous and so just,
And well express'd, they pleas'd the nicest gust;
His jolly muse ev'n torment could disdain,
Conjure the gout, and sport with racking pain.
Who priz'd his friendship, and admir'd his strains.
The list'ning croud stood silent in a ring,
Watching with greedy ears to hear him sing;
His charming and instructive notes admir'd,
For Hill by great Apollo was inspir'd;
So bright his thoughts, so nervous and so just,
And well express'd, they pleas'd the nicest gust;
His jolly muse ev'n torment could disdain,
Conjure the gout, and sport with racking pain.
Pregnant with nature's gifts, he could impart
Good sense, without the midwifery of art;
For what is art, with all her rigid rules,
But nature brush'd and furbish'd up in schools,
Whose works we value, and admire the more,
The nearer they approach to nature's shore?
How mean are all the faint essays of art,
When nature fails to act her proper part?
Good sense, without the midwifery of art;
For what is art, with all her rigid rules,
But nature brush'd and furbish'd up in schools,
Whose works we value, and admire the more,
The nearer they approach to nature's shore?
How mean are all the faint essays of art,
When nature fails to act her proper part?
189
Pull up the sluice of some long-gather'd dam,
Whose waters from much diff'ring fountains came,
The noisy torrent runs with force and haste,
Grating the ear and nauseous to the taste,
O'erflows the banks, and, where it is gainstood,
Cuts out new channels with its swelling flood;
But mark, you'll find the noisy thing decay,
Sink low right soon, then languish and run dry.
Whose waters from much diff'ring fountains came,
The noisy torrent runs with force and haste,
Grating the ear and nauseous to the taste,
O'erflows the banks, and, where it is gainstood,
Cuts out new channels with its swelling flood;
But mark, you'll find the noisy thing decay,
Sink low right soon, then languish and run dry.
When chrystal streams, with their own fountains fed,
With easy winding in their channels led,
Water the flow'rs which on their margins grow,
Drink in their sweets, and equally still flow,
In these the shepherds and the panting swains
Can quench their thrift, and bath to ease their pains:
Their murm'ring streams and colour bring delight
To list'ning ears, and gratify the sight.
With easy winding in their channels led,
Water the flow'rs which on their margins grow,
Drink in their sweets, and equally still flow,
In these the shepherds and the panting swains
Can quench their thrift, and bath to ease their pains:
Their murm'ring streams and colour bring delight
To list'ning ears, and gratify the sight.
Such are thy strains, great bard, and such were Hill's,
Thine flow in fuller streams, his ran in rills.
Thine flow in fuller streams, his ran in rills.
| The Poetical Works of the Ingenious and Learned William Meston | |