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Translations and Poems

Written on Several Occasions [by Samuel Boyse]

Boyse, Samuel (1708-1749)

[epigraph]

POEMS.

II.

III.

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POEMS.

I. PART I.

—Smit with the Love of sacred Song
I feed on Thoughts that voluntary move
Harmonious Numbers, as the wakeful Bird
Sits darkling, and in shadiest Covert hid
Tunes her nocturnal Note.
Milton.

Me quoque Musarum studium sub Nocte silenti
Artibus assuetis solicitare solet.
Claudian.

NATURE: A POEM.

Occasion'd by seeing the Palace and Park of DALKEITH, Anno MDCCXXXII.

—Ego laudo ruris amœnæ
Rivos, et musco circumlita saxa, nemusque.
Virg.

To the Right Honourable The Earl of Dalkeith, Eldest Son to his Grace THE Duke of BUCCLEUGH

—Quo me Musa rapis tuæ
Plenum? quæ in nemora, aut quos agor in specus,
Velox mente nova? [OMITTED]
Ut mihi devio
Rupes, et vacuum nemus
—Mirari libet!
Hor.

I ask not Phoebus, nor the fabled Nine,
To rule the Verse, or favour my Design:
Of Nature's Beauties, ravish'd, while I sing;
Aid me, thou matchless Pow'r, from whom they spring!
By whose supreme Command, profuse they rise,
And in a thousand Forms attract our Eyes.

Shall Windsor's Groves, when all their Bloom is lost,
In sacred Verse unfading Verdure boast?
Shall Cooper's Hill, for ever dear to Fame,
Preserve its Honours lasting as its Name?
And shall Oblivion still a Scene conceal?
That yields to neither, were it known as well.

But how shall Words the varied Plan disclose,
Like native Life, what faint Resemblance glows!
Yet would the Muse, enamour'd of her Theme,
As pleas'd she roves on Esca's mazy Stream,
The blooming Wonders that surround her sing,
And touch once more the long unpractis'd String.

Nor thou, Illustrious Prince! whom Heav'n ordains
Lord of these Groves, and all the neighb'ring Swains
Disdain the Verse, —but mild the Muse receive,
And to her rural Notes Attention give,
That faithful would th' united Charms repeat,
Which Art and Nature lend thy Princely Seat.

Clasp'd in the Arms of two surrounding Floods,
Compass'd with gentle Hills and rising Woods,
On a green Bank the beauteous Fabric stands,
And the subjected Stream with Pride commands.
What tho' no lofty Domes project in Air,
Or lengthen'd Colonnades with Pomp appear;
Yet is the whole in simple State design'd,
Plain and majestic, like her mighty Mind;
From Gothic Ruin, and obscure Disgrace,
Who rais'd the slumb'ring Genius of the Place,
And fix'd the Mansion of her future Race.

Within collected, all the Beauties lie
That Art can form, or foreign Lands supply:
Here the fair Pillar rears its polish'd Height,
And with its Harmony detains the Sight;
There the great Works the Master Pencil drew
Start from the Walls, and swell to meet the View!
How just each Stroke! how soft each flowing Line
In every Piece, what strong Perfections shine!
I ask, whence Light and Shade such Pow'r derive,
And think the animated Figures live!
Thro' ev'ry Part, delighted, as I stray,
New Beauties catch me, and retard my Way.
Now India's rich Grotesques, with vivid Dyes,
In gay Confusion play before my Eyes;
And the bright Labours of the artful Loom,
With painted Grace, embellish every Room:
While shining Mirrors, with a silver Gleam,
Reflect the hanging Trees and winding Stream:
But all so rang'd, so elegantly plac'd,
As shews the Cost inferior to the Taste.

Proud of the Treasures it conceal'd within,
So have I, unadorn'd, a Casket seen,
Which, open'd, did surprizing Wealth unfold,
India's bright Gems, and bright Peruvian Gold.

Preserv'd by Time, here Beauty seems to breathe,
And mocks the Spite of Age, and Darts of Death;
Renew'd by Lely's, or by Kneller's Hand,
Angelic Forms! the British Charmers stand!
And such the Force of Life-resembling Art,
Still touch the Soul, and triumph o'er the Heart.

There plac'd on high the Royal Youth appears,
Whose early Fate demands the Muse's Tears;
Beneath the Chief the generous Courser rears,
And seems transported with the Weight he bears:
How sweet his Look, how gallant is his Air!
Warlike as Mars, and as Adonis fair!
But doom'd, alas, by Destiny to prove
Ambition's Victim, and the Slave of Love!
With all the Gifts adorn'd that Man could boast,
His opening Virtues just display'd, and lost.
Lost in eternal Night his rising Fame,
And not a Muse to vindicate his Name;
Heroic Monmouth! could my feeble Lay
Thy early Dawn of Excellence display;
With sacred Lawrels should thy Temples shine,
And yield a slender Wreath to shelter mine.

So does the Sun his Orient Beams display,
And gives the Promise of a smiling Day;
When e'er he reach his fair Meridian Height,
Opposing Clouds conceal him from our Sight;
Till lost in Darkness to his Fall he bends,
And veil'd in Night his mournful Progress ends.

But see what Beauties bless th' adjacent Ground,
What wild romantic Prospects rise around!
In Silence here, unrival'd Nature reigns,
Blooms in the Wood, and smiles along the Plains;
With all her native Charms allures the Heart,
And far disdains the mimic Force of Art.

Here when Aurora with her Crimson Dyes
Proclaims the Day, and stains the blushing Skies;
While the bright Dew bespangles all the Plain,
And soft the wakeful Lark renews her Strain;
On some fair Bank, where circling Waters play,
The placid Scene attentive I survey;
While round my Head the balmy Zephyres breathe,
And the clear Stream in Murmurs flow beneath:
From these my Passions gently learn to move,
And leave my Soul compos'd to Peace and Love.

'Tis hot—and Phoebus shines intensely bright;
The dark Recesses of the Wood invite:
Where ancient Oaks their sacred Branches spread,
And court the Wand'rer to the solemn Shade;
With conscious Awe I view the Gloom around,
And softly tread along the peaceful Ground.
There the steep Precipice, with craggy Brow,
Hangs o'er the Deep, and forms an Arch below!
Scarce the lost Eye perceives the winding Flood,
From Woods that rises,—and is lost in Wood.
With Noise unheard it rolls its Crystal Waves,
And faintly glitters thro the quiv'ring Leaves:
While distant Hills a varied Prospect yield,
And golden Harvests float along the Field.

The Deer now seek the Shelter of the Grove,
Or thro' the Forest unmolested rove:
Some lie repos'd, while others careless stray,
And their young sportive Fawns around them play.
How happy they, who here enjoy, at Ease,
Nature's first Blessings, Liberty and Peace!
While wretched Man, the Slave of Hopes and Fears,
Thro' Life sustains a Train of endless Cares.

Round the fair Park the Guardian Rivers glide,
Now seem to meet, and now their Arms divide:
Like some coy Nymph the southern Naiade plays,
And thro' the Meads and Groves forgetful strays;
With wanton Grace she bathes her flow'ry Shores,
And each new Object seems to change her Course:
But like some vigorous Lover, fond and young,
The northern Water swiftly rolls along;
Thro' Rocks and Woods precipitates his Pace,
And seizes unobserv'd the secret Place,
From whence he rushes to the Nymph's Embrace:
Swell'd with his Prize he proudly cuts the Plain,
And flows exulting to his Parent Main.

Close by the wid'ning River's verdant Side
See lovely Smeaton rise with rural Pride!
As waits some favourite Grace on Beauty's Queen,
At distance so the charming Bow'r is seen;
Pomona here her endless Treasures pours,
And Flora smiles along the flow'ry Shores!

Here Greatness, wearied with its Rooms of State,
Finds oft the secret Charms of a Retreat;
Within the soft Recess reclines its Head,
And feels the Calmness of the peaceful Shade.

The length'ning Shadows, and the cooler Air,
The soft Approach of Evening now declare.
In a fair Vale, that courts the Setting Sun,
I end the Pleasures that the Day begun.
Before my Eye a rising Grove appears;
The purling Waters sooth my ravish'd Ears;
The warbling Birds their tuneful Songs repeat,
And the sad Turtle murmurs for her Mate:
Touch'd with her plaintive Woe, to her alone
I listen, and conceive her Griefs my own.
From grateful Toil repos'd, I gently rest;
And all, unmix'd, the Sweets of Nature taste:
Sweets that for ever please, but never cloy,
And fill the virtuous Mind with constant Joy!

Nature, thou Pow'r divinely fair and young,
Like the Great Being from whose Word thou sprung!
Unwearied still, the Blessings I explore,
Which o'er the Earth thy Hands incessant pour:

And while I view thy Works with fond Delight,
Wealth and Ambition vanish from my Sight:
I lothe the giddy Pleasures of the Town;
I long to taste thy purer Joys alone;
I court the Gloom, and sigh to be unknown!
With envious Eyes behold the Shepherd's Lot,
In Shades who dwells contented, tho' forgot;
And wish the Bliss, from Noise and Business free,
To live in Silence—and Converse with thee!

Beneath the Shade of Windsor's lofty Grove,
On Silver Thames, as Eaton's Muses rove;
Nor do the Nine on Esca's Bank disdain
To choose a Shelter, and renew their Strain:
While these fair Scenes to learned Ease invite,
And heighten Contemplation to Delight!
Within this bless'd Retreat the British Youth
Are taught the Love of Virtue, and of Truth:
And from the Patterns of preceding Days,
Learn by just Merit to arrive at Praise:
From ancient Heroes catch the noble Fire,
Inflam'd, to practise what they first admire;
While healthful Exercise the Mind unbends,
And Health and Study serve each other's Ends:
I view the happy School,—and thence presage
The fair Succession of a rising Age.

And now descending from her short-liv'd Height,
Th' advent'rous Muse restrains her further Flight:
Reluctant, closes the unequal Strain,
And leaves with ling'ring Steps the lovely Plain;
Pleas'd, that the Beauties of a Place so fair
Have first, tho' faintly, been describ'd by Her.
Her humbler Numbers if the Critics blame,
Before they censure, let them view her Theme:
Where nothing nice or regular has Part,
But all is Nature, undisguis'd with Art.

The Park is surrounded by the two Rivers of North and South Esk, which meet at the lower End of it, and fall together into the Sea at Musselburgh.

A beautiful Retreat built at the extremity of the Park, below the Confluence of the two Rivers, and surrounded with fine Gardens; to which his Grace has lately added considerable Improvements.

Love and Majesty.

Verses written in the Year 1718.

Non bene conveniunt, nec in una sede morantur
Majestas et Amor—
Ovid.

Of Passions widely different and extreme,
Sing, Muse, regardless of the Critic's Blame,
Love and Ambition be the daring Theme,
In Lights distinct their jarring Natures show,
And how united fatally they glow.

How can Ambition fire the soften'd Soul,
Where Love enervating enjoys the whole?
How can the Pride of arbitrary Sway
Quit all its boasted Glories to obey?
Can Empire deign to stoop so meanly down,
And Beauty trample on the sov'reign Crown?

And yet will Love no Pow'r superior bear,
Robb'd of Distinction, all are Equals there!

There all agree to quit the Shows of State,
Princes are Slaves, and Kings no longer great;
And while unrivall'd Beauty bears the Sway,
Ev'n Tyrants stoop, and Conquerors obey!

How many by this fatal Strife have fell,
In every Age Historic Records tell,
How many Heroes here have met their Doom?
This lost great Antony the World of Rome.
'Twas this the memorable Union ty'd,
Between the Trojan Prince and Spartan Bride;
For which the God's tremendous Rage came down,
And laid in Ruins Troy's devoted Town:
This fatal shining Meteor led astray
The hapless Steps of long lamented Gray;
Who chose the Lot her Judgment disapprov'd,
And only reign'd, because too much she lov'd,
For her eternal, shall the Muses mourn,
And bathe with Tears the Royal Martyr's Urn.

'Twas this that fully'd gallant Mahomet's Name,
And robb'd the Sultan of his Peace and Fame;
Here let the Muse an awful Instance prove,
How ill Ambition shares the Throne with Love.
Of the illustrious Line of Osman born,
Long had he Royalty with Honour worn;

His growing Empire stretch'd from Shore to Shore,
Where ne'er the Silver Crescent shone before.
And now from War returning with Applause,
(The sure Attendant of a prosperous Cause!)
To fair Irene's Charms he falls a Prey,
And throws for Love his Majesty away!
New Passions now his alter'd Mind employ,
And fill his Bosom with tumultuous Joy!
Now with alluring Arts he sooths the Fair,
His Fame forgot, and all the Pomp of War;
Each Day consum'd in languishing Delight,
In pleasing Riot spent each happy Night!
While still new Joys in soft Succession move,
And lost in Ease, he gives a Loose to Love!

While thus entranc'd in the delusive Scene,
The fond enamour'd Prince forgets to reign;
His murm'ring Slaves against his Life conspire,
The loose Militia catch the factious Fire;
Loudly the hardy Janisars complain,
And tax his Pleasures in the boldest Strain:
Too late he sees the gath'ring Storm appear,
And trembling Love first bids the Hero fear!
Too late he finds himself involv'd in Woe,
He scorns to fly, yet dreads to meet the Blow;

Now calls to mind his former Triumphs won,
And blushing sees how first his Love begun;
Now weeping Beauty rises to his Sight,
And puts each stern Resolve at once to flight:
Which by a thousand struggling Passions tost,
He eyes the Port, and sighs for Safety lost!

Irene now in all her Charms appear'd,
And the bright Vision all his Bosom chear'd;
So breaks the Sun a Moment thro' the Cloud,
Whose gath'ring Shades again his Lustre shroud,
And darkly brooding o'er th' affrighted Skies,
The Thunder grumbles and the Light'ning flies;
Strait with wild Looks, and Eyes that fiercely roll,
Which well bespoke the Tempest of his Soul,
He seiz'd the trembling Fair—and by the Hand
He led her blushing to the great Divan,
Where every Eye her faultless Form ador'd,
And half absolv'd the Weakness of their Lord;
There while with deep Attention mix'd with Dread,
All waited the Event!—The Sultan said,
“Regard the Beauties of this matchless Dame,
“And cease, ye abject Slaves! your Lord to blame!
“If I have err'd, such Beauty is the Cause,
“And who so savage not to own its Laws?

“Yet still himself, your Lord, superior knows,
“Nor once forgets the Source from whence he rose;
“Since then Irene's Charms have caus'd your Hate
“She falls, by me, a Victim to the State.—
So said:—his shining Scymetar display'd,
Full on her snowy Neck discharg'd he laid;
Her trembling Lips yet murmur'd as they fell,
And seem'd to bid her cruel Lord—Farewell!

The dreadful Task perform'd:—again in Arms,
With wasting War the Nations he alarms;
There mourns his fatal Sacrifice in Gore,
Resolv'd to conquer,—but to love no more!

The Force of Love.

A Pastoral Essay.

Written in the Year 1722.

Multa putans, animoque sortem miseratus iniquam. Virg.

Where Kelvin's winding Streams in Murmurs play,
And thro' the Meads to join fair Glotta stray;
Beneath the Covert of a spreading Shade,
In pensive Mood a comely Youth was laid;
Fix'd on the Ground his down-cast Eyes were seen
The only Mourner on the flow'ry Green!
At random o'er the wide extended Mead,
His Flock regardless of their Master stray'd;
The chearful Birds thro' the surrounding Groves,
In gladsome Notes, proclaim'd their vernal Loves!
While the sad Swain no Joy, no Pleasure knew,
From what inspir'd their Songs, his Sorrows grew;
And Love that bid their tuneful Measures flow,
Love, cruel Love had caus'd the Shepherd's Woe;
'Twas thus extended on the flow'ry Ground,
His alter'd Friend the young Alexis found;

With kindly Greeting he accosts the Swain,
And thus enquires the Reason of his Pain.

Alexis.
If well known Friendship on my Side can plead,
Or strong Intreaty can thy Soul persuade;
To me be just, and to thyself be kind,
And tell the Trouble that distracts thy Mind;
Long has some secret Anguish hurt thy Rest,
And like a Canker fester'd in thy Breast;
Long hast thou left thy Pipe and blythsome Song,
Thy Fellow-Shepherds and the rural Throng;
Who mourn thy Change, and while they share thy Pain,
Enquire the Motives, but enquire in vain;
Tho' hid the Cause its sad Effects are seen,
In thy wan Face, and melancholy Mien;
In vain to lonely Wilds Menalcas goes,
And seeks in Silence to suppress his Woes!
His Flock neglected, once his fav'rite Care,
His silent Reed too well those Woes declare;
Then tell, my Friend, if I mistaken prove,
This wond'rous Change is all, The Force of Love.

Menalcas.
Beside me, dear Alexis! take a Seat,
And hear thy poor Menalcas' hapless Fate!
From thee, alas! what Sorrows can he hide?
Too well the fatal Passion has he try'd!—
Careless I once presum'd to flight its Pow'r,
Glad was each Morn, and joyful every Hour;
Free and unfetter'd as the wanton Air,
I pass'd my Time, nor knew a Thought of Care;
But oh! too well has Love reveng'd his Cause,
And taught my Heart to own his injur'd Laws;
Well has the cruel Boy perform'd his Part,
And pour'd out all his Venom thro' my Heart;
From fatal Beauty, oh my Friend, remove,
And learn by me to dread the Force of Love.

Alexis.
Proceed, my dear Menalcas! to relate,
The sad Occasion that brought on thy Fate;
And name the Fair, whose Coldness, or Disdain,
Thus fills thy Eyes with Tears, thy Breast with Pain?

Menalcas.
Hear then, Alexis, what I scarce can tell,
So much Reflection bids my Sorrows swell:
Well may'st thou mind the Day on Glasgow Green,
The fair Assembly of our Nymphs was seen;
The beauteous Throng indifferent I survey'd,
And thro' the Crowd, as Chance directed, stray'd;
Secure beheld Corinna's piercing Eye,
And pass'd Melissa's Air unheeded by;
Careless I wander'd—all devoid of Fear,
But oh, the fatal Rashness cost me dear!
For lovely Flora, on that luckless Day,
Soon made my Heart a weak unguarded Prey;
Such was her smiling Look, her easy Grace,
And all the Charms that revel in her Face!
Thoughtless I rush'd into the pleasing Snare,
Nor dreamt that Mischief could appear so fair;
Then first my Soul this new Emotion found,
And felt the Symptoms of its recent Wound;
I gaz'd in transport while the Maid was nigh,
But when she left me—what a Wretch grew I?
Soon as the beauteous Shepherdess was gone,
I felt, but all too late, I was undone!

In vain amidst the Silence of the Grove,
I thought in Solitude to vanquish Love;
In vain the strongest Aid of Reason try'd,
To overcome the Passion— or to hide;
Till urg'd at last by the distracting Grief,
I from the Nymph herself implor'd Relief;
More deaf than Rocks, or the tempestuous Main,
Unmov'd she heard my Passion and my Pain;
All I could urge, her cruel Heart to move,
She said she pity'd—but deny'd me Love.

Alexis.
I Mourn, my Friend, a Passion so sincere
Should meet Returns so distant, so severe;
Hard! that a Nymph, who can such Graces show,
Should thus refuse to mitigate thy Woe;
Then rise, my Friend, and break the servile Chain,
Assert thy Reason, and be free again!
For sooner may'st thou hope the Winds to move,
As fix inconstant Flora's Heart to Love.

Menalcas.
Ah! no—in vain I strive my Fate to fly,
By Flora's Rigour must Menalcas die!
Yet to the Fair, let no false Charge be laid,
Since dying I should wrong her, to upbraid;

What Fault can taint such sweetly blooming Youth?
All there is Innocence and native Truth!
What Crime in her she cannot ease my Pains,
Or smile on him whom Destiny disdains?
But oh, her Coldness hangs upon my Heart,
And strikes a fatal Damp thro' every Part!
The deadly Chilness seizes every Vein,
Ev'n Life itself gives way to her Disdain!
Adieu ye Lawns! and every neighb'ring Grove,
Each conscious Witness of despairing Love;
Ye Rocks! whose Eccho's did my Sighs repeat;
Ye Streams, so oft increas'd by my Regret;
Adieu ye Flocks! your Master's fond Delight,
His Charge by Day, his tender Care by Night;
Some happier Swain shall lead your o'er the Green,
When lost Menalcas shall no more be seen!
Stung with the Rage of unremitting Pains;
In vain to Woods or Waves the Wretch complains,
In vain around these Plains I hopeless rove,
No Cure can heal the cruel Force of Love.

Alexis.
Great is the Grief, Menalcas, I sustain,
To see thee thus, nor can relieve thy Pain!
O could my Prayers the scornful Virgin move,
Soon should she meet thy Vows with equal Love!

For well, my Friend, I know Love's pow'rful Dart,
And feel its Force—a Stranger to the Smart;
Nor long did I its worst of Pains endure,
The Hand that gave the Wound bestow'd the Cure:
Soon as I could my secret Grief impart,
Emilia, Stranger to her Sex's Art!
Serenely smiling bid my Anguish cease,
And yielding sooth'd my troubled Soul to Peace!
Long have we mutual felt the faithful Flame,
Our Minds united, and our Vows the same!
Yet Fate, whose Rage no Mortal can disarm,
Detains her still forbid my longing Arm;
Constrain'd in flatt'ring Hope the Time to pass,
Till Heav'n shall give her to my fond Embrace!
Thus of our Lot, impatient we complain
Of Fortune, I; and thou of cold Disdain
Belov'd and loving, yet debarr'd the Bliss
So much I prize, so ardently I wish,
I feel the strong Emotions of a Mind,
Engag'd by Fondness, and by Fate disjoin'd!
While from successless Love thy Torment flows,
And cruel Beauty causes all thy Woes!
O could I touch that too relentless Heart,
That thus refuses to relieve thy Smart?
But useless here my slender Skill would prove,
Since Verse itself is but the Slave of Love;

In vain would tuneful Numbers bar its Course,
Since tuneful Numbers but augment its Force;
Tis Reason only can restore thy Peace,
Can only bid the struggling Passions cease;
Alone, can all thy Griefs and Pains remove,
And triumph o'er the boasted Force of Love!

Menalcas.
In vain the wisest Arguments I use,
Still where I fly, my evil Fate pursues;
No more—these unavailing Tears forbear,
Menalcas' only Refuge is Despair!
In vain I strive to act a manly Part,
And drive the lurking Poison from my Heart;
Still with her Image is my Soul possess'd,
Still, still, she triumphs in my bleeding Breast,
There, there, with arbitrary Sway she reigns,
Beats in each Nerve, and burns thro' all my Veins!
With Force superior I no more contest,
No more I fondly hope for distant Rest;
I go—compell'd by Fate's uncommon Rage,
In savage Wilds my Passion to asswage;
To distant Lands by Flora's Scorn I fly,
By Flora's Scorn in distant Lands to die!

Adieu, once more ye Meads, ye Groves, ye Plains,
Ye Streams, ye Birds, ye Flocks, ye friendly Swains!
And thou, Alexis, Shepherd most belov'd,
Whose Faith and Tenderness so oft Iv'e prov'd.
Receive the highest Wish I can bestow,
The Pains I suffer—may'st thou never know!
Still may thy Joys each circling Year increase,
With Beauty bless'd, and crown'd with lasting Peace!
Still in my grateful Mind thy Name shall live,
Possess'd of all the Love Iv'e left to give;
Nor yet this slender Pipe refuse to take,
Nor slight the Present for Menalcas' Sake!
For useless now the Science I decline,
Music has Charms for calmer Souls than mine!
Adieu! for Destiny forbids my Stay,
And loudly calls this lingring Wretch away;
O Love! thou tyrant God! in Desarts bred,
In savage Wastes by Wolves and Tygers fed,
By thee tormented, from Mankind I rove,
What can resist thy Rage, relentless Love!

Alexis.
Forbear, Menalcas, nor with this Excess,
Of Grief, yourself increase your own Distress;

Once more let Friendship, and let Reason move,
And aid you to subdue the Force of Love.

Menalcas.
If Chance shall guide you to the fatal Place,
Where Flora does the bright Assembly grace;
Oh tell the Maid!—her lost, adoring Swain
Menalcas begs her Pardon to obtain!
Tell her if Pity should her Bosom touch,
That Pity for his Fate is not—too much!
Tell her he bless'd her with his parting Breath,
In absence loves her, loves her ev'n in Death!
For only Death the rooted Flame can move,
And end the tyrannizing Force of Love.

He said—and strait the Swain confus'd arose,
For now declining Day began to close;
And as along the Path the Shepherds came,
Which gently winded with the winding Stream;
Alexis kindly sought, but sought in vain,
To find some Balm to sooth Menalcas' Pain;
But he no Comfort from his Counsels found,
Still were his Thoughts in sullen Silence drown'd;
And now with easy Steps approaching Home,
They to their rural Cottages were come;

When rising Grief did poor Menalcas swell,
Dissolv'd in Tears he bids his Friend—farewell!
Then turning cry'd,—No Art can Passion move,
These endless Pains must I for ever prove,
And yield a Victim to the Force of Love!

To the Author, with Cato and Tamerlane.

Since Cælia dear Octavio, proves unkind,
Accept this Present for the Fair design'd;
From my Misfortunes learn to value Ease,
Nor trust a Woman, tho' she now may please;
The fickle Thing with Airs will plague ye more,
Than e'er she charm'd you with her Smiles before.

Learn then to conquer Passion's Force in Time,
Devote thy Hours to Pleasures more sublime;
The soft Reflection on a Life well spent
Will now, and Years to come, yield true Content.

For Thyrsis' sake the little Volume prize,
And let his Follies teach thee to be wise;

Whene'er the Fair, a thousand pretty Ways,
Thy fond, believing, artless Soul betrays;
When with dissembled Vows she charms thy Ears,
And in her Bosom lulls asleep thy Cares;
Then think on one who could those Favours boast,
Yet found that all was Woman to his Cost;
And fly, Octavio, fly his hapless Fate,
Lest you like him repent,—alas, too late!

To Mr. Aikman, On a Piece of his Painting.

As Nature blushing and astonish'd ey'd
Young Aikman's Draught—surpriz'd the Goddess cry'd:
“Where did'st thou form, rash Youth! the bold Design
“To teach thy Labours to resemble mine?
“So soft thy Colours, yet so just thy Stroke,
“That undetermin'd on thy Work I look!
“To crown thy Art, could'st thou but Language join,
“The Form had spoke—and call'd the Conquest thine!

100

VERSES:

Occasioned by seeing the Picture of Mary Queen of Scots, in the Royal Gallery of the Palace of Holyrood-House, Edinburgh, 1732.

——Regnum poteras hoc ore mereri!
Quæ proprior Sceptris facies? quis dignior aulâ
Vultus? non Labra Rosæ non Colla pruinæ
Non Crines æquant violæ, non Lumina flammæ!
Claudian.

Behold, Spectator, here a Form design'd,
To charm all Hearts, and captivate Mankind!
See that majestic Mien, that matchless Face,
What awful Beauty mix'd with easy Grace!
Mark, from those Eyes what lambent Glories play,
Pierce thro' the Gloom, and form surrounding Day!

So look'd Maria, when, to gain her Love,
Contending Kings with fond Ambition strove;

101

When Factions strove to own her sov'reign Pow'r,
All the fond Contest, who should first adore!
When cloyster'd Zealots left the Temple waste,
And Crowds stood fix'd to see her as she past;
Thro' fair Lutetia's Streets with regal State,
While every Look dispens'd resistless Fate;
Nor Rank, nor Age was from the Danger free,
And only those were safe,—who could not see.

Majestic Shade!—forgive th' enamour'd Muse,
Who while thy Sufferings, and thy Form she views,
In Sorrow lost, deplores thy cruel Fate;
Wretched as fair, unfortunate as great!
How strong, mistaken Bigots, was that Rage
Which neither Charms, nor Virtues could asswage?
Which with unwearied Insolence pursu'd
Thy sacred Life, and thirsted for thy Blood!
First drove thee on the Rocks thou sought to shun,
Then blam'd thee for the Ills themselves had done;
With frequent Malice all thy Steps survey'd,
By turns deceiv'd, deserted, or betray'd;
To thee, fair Queen! the sacred Rights of Kings,
Ev'n Youth and Innocence were helpless Things:
By factious Hands expell'd thy lawful Throne,
Pursu'd, revil'd, imprison'd, and undone!

102

Till forc'd to screen thy persecuted Head,
Thou to thy greatest Foe for Safety fled;
By whom, all hospitable Ties forgot,
(Her celebrated Reign's eternal Blot!)
The kindred Bands of Majesty and Blood,
New Woes inflicted must increase thy Load;
Confin'd, for Years on Years, a heavy Train,
While Heav'n look'd down, and Princes su'd in vain;
Doom'd unremitting Griefs to undergo,
And shine a Pattern of imperial Woe.
Till to fulfil thy unexampled Fate,
Thy Life was lost to fix thy Rival's State,
And satisfy Eliza's endless Hate.

How shall the weeping Muse, with equal Lay,
Reveal the Horrors of that cursed Day,
When barefac'd Murder, open and display'd,
Aim'd all its Vengeance at thy sacred Head,
And, in thy Fate, thy great Successor bled!

Sad Muse, proceed, and view the lovely Queen,
With undiminish'd Charms, and Air serene!
Alone, unaided, with intrepid Heart,
And native Eloquence, her Rights assert;

103

At once her Wrongs and Innocence expose,
And silence all the Malice of her Foes;
With solid Reason every Charge confute,
And speak and look her barb'rous Judges mute!
Till half confounded they, with impious Breath,
Confirm'd their Sentence, and pronounc'd thy Death!

Oh yet forsake not, plaintive Muse, the Scene,
Attend the awful Moments yet remain!
While yet the Sentence sounds in every Ear,
While every Eye dissolves into a Tear,
See bright Maria undisturb'd appear!
Her Bosom swells with new untasted Joy,
To see the End of all her Woes so nigh!
Smiling she chides her faithful Servants Fears,
Pities their Weakness, and dispels their Tears;
Tells them their Grief for her is wrong and vain,
Why should they weep to see her free from Pain?
Restor'd to lasting Liberty again!
No longer Life's deceitful Turns to prove,
But gain eternal Rest and Peace above!

The Forms of Death with mild Composure past,
Self-recollected, equal to the last;
When the black Scene of Death disclos'd to view,
Her wond'rous Conduct prov'd her Goodness true!

104

No Fears, no Terrors shake her cloudless Brow,
Stripp'd of its Pomp she sees the deadly Show,
And stands prepar'd to meet the dreadful Blow!
Charm'd with the Prospect of a nobler Crown,
Pleas'd she looks forward—and forgets her own!
Comforts her Friends, and ev'n her Foes forgives,
Since this best Gift she from their Hate receives;
Surveys the destin'd Block, her Journey's End,
And Death her latest, but sincerest Friend!
And now her lovely Neck reclin'd with State,
To meet the Rigor of approaching Fate;
Patient the aggravated Wounds she bears,
And finds a joyful Period of her Cares!

Let others envious blast thy injur'd Name,
And with malicious Virulence defame;
Long prejudic'd thy Merit I survey'd,
And saw thy Character thro' Envy's Shade!
As Clouds a while the darken'd Sun may shield,
Which to superior Brightness soon must yield;
So does thy constant Death, Fair Queen, oppose
Th' invenom'd Censures of thy keenest Foes;
Does, more than endless Arguments can say,
Thy Character and Virtues to display;
Gilds thy past Life with its declining Rays,
And shoots new Glories into future Days!

King Charles I.

105

On the Retreat of King Stanislaus, and the Surrendry of Dantzick, 1734.

An noceat vis ulla Bono? Fortunaque perdat
Oppositâ virtute minas?—laudandaque velle
Sit satis? et nunquam successu crescat bonestum.
Lucan.

Retire, great Prince! since Heav'n will have it so,
For the World's Peace, thy second Claim forego!
Crowns would to you but wretched Splendor boast,
If your dear Subjects Happiness were lost;
More Glory gives it to your honest Name,
Than all the Wreaths Ambition e'er could claim,
That still the Friend of Men,—serenely good,
You scorn ev'n Empire!—when the Price is Blood!
Retire lamented, from thy native Soil,
Which venal Fraud, and lawless Force defile;
Which yields no Pattern of domestic Worth,
But the fond Honour that it gave Thee Birth!

106

Retire—and taste the Peace Retirement brings,
Look down with Pity on contesting Kings;
While the admiring Earth your Conduct owns,
Superior to the boasted Pride of Thrones!
While Heav'n around you forms a placid Smile,
And says—You were too great to wear the Style!

And thou fair Town! for antient Faith renown'd,
By Fame, ev'n in this last Misfortune crown'd;
Tho' now for Truth a Sacrifice thou falls,
And the rude Vandal lords it in thy Walls!
Restor'd—yet shalt thou raise thy trophy'd Head,
And wide thy Honours, with thy Commerce, spread!
Nations, that to thy crowded Marts resort,
And fill with Opulence thy ample Port,
Shall fond repeat it in thy Children's Ear,
How much thy Loyalty has made thee dear;
While foreign Lands, to thy Example just,
Extoll'd thy Worth, and mourn'd thee in the Dust!

107

On the Marriage of his Royal Highness the Prince of Orange, 1733.

When Heav'n Britannia's further Bliss deny'd,
And all of William, that was mortal, dy'd;
The Hero's Care for Albion's happy Land
Assur'd her Sceptre to Augustus' Hand:
And Phoenix-like, his Date of Glory run,
Sprung from his Ashes a superior Sun!
Whose Beams united on the World should shine,
And give Mankind a George and Caroline!

Safe in his Care, and happy in her Smile,
Fairest of Nations, Heav'n-defended Isle!
Britannia views unmov'd a World in Arms,
And sits herself secure from all Alarms.

Young Prince, whose early Rays of Merit shine,
With Lustre long familiar to thy Line;
Where more than Roman Virtue charms the Eyes,
And Chiefs and Patriots in Succession rise!

108

Heroes who smil'd to shed the noblest Blood,
The firm Assertors of the public Good!
And true to Liberty, with equal Pride,
Or triumph'd in its Cause, or greatly dy'd.

With grateful Joy, Oh favour'd Prince receive
The Prize, for which contending Kings might strive,
Which only Thou could'st hope, and Brunswick give.
Again, behold the kindred Branches twine,
Emblem propitious to thy future Line!
Thus Heav'n rewards thy Worth with equal Law,
So Britain pays the Debt she ow'd Nassau!

On the Birth of Princess Augusta,

August 1, 1737.

Auspicious Day! new Æra of our Joys,
Mark'd by such Omens still revolving rise!
To Britain dear, may thy returning Face
Augment her Glories, and secure her Peace!
For rolling Ages still our Thanks employ,
Till Brunswick's Name expire—and Nature die!

109

And thou, fair Princess, whose soft orient Ray,
With new-born Lustre, gilds thy natal Day;
Dress'd in maternal Charms, oh, placid Smile,
Propitious on thy Britain's favour'd Isle!
That Isle the Pride and Envy of the Earth,
Which 'midst its foremost Honours boast thy Birth,
Grasps thee with Transport to its glowing Breast,
New Pledge from Heaven of Happiness increas'd.

Nor thou, ador'd Augusta, mild disdain
The faithful Duty of this humble Strain;
That fond (perhaps too faint) the Joy reveals,
Which, for thy Sake, a grateful Nation feels;
May Heav'n, that form'd your Virtue and your Charms
A Gift, deserving Royal Frederick's Arms;
That saw, well-pleas'd, your Union from above,
And with this first fair Sanction crown'd your Love;
That Heav'n, that watchful o'er Britannia's Peace,
On this bright Day, distinguish'd Brunswick's Race;
Lengthen the lasting Honours of your Line,
Round Albion's Throne bid new-born Princes shine,
Till you behold a Race like Caroline!

110

To the Author of the Polite Philosopher.

—Velat materno tempora myrto.
Virg.

When Vice the Shelter of a Mask disdain'd,
When Folly triumph'd, and a Nero reign'd;
Petronius rose, satyric, yet polite,
And shew'd the glaring Monster full in Sight;
To public Mirth expos'd th' imperial Beast,
And made his wanton Court the common Jest.

In your correcter Page his Wit we see,
And all the Roman lives restor'd in thee!
So is the Piece proportion'd to our Times,
For every Age diversifies its Crimes;
And Proteus-like, Vice does in one conceal,
What in the next she boldly shall reveal;
In different Shapes pursues the lasting Trade,
And makes the World one changing Masquerade!

The griping Wretch, whose Av'rice robs the Town,
To gain his Point a holy Look puts on;
To Earth his Hands directs, to Heav'n his Eyes,
And with a Show of Grace defrauds and lies:

111

Th' ambitious Courtier, but for different Ends,
With seeming Zeal the public Good defends;
Disdains the low Concerns of worldly Pelf,
He serves his Country—to advance himself:
The Pettifogger still supports the Cause
Howe'er unjust, and wrests the injur'd Laws:
Th' Enthusiast thinks to him the Standard giv'n
Of Truth divine, the Master-Key of Heav'n!
To Courage, Bullies; Fops to Wit pretend;
And all can prostitute the Name of Friend;
The Jilt swears Honesty; the Bankrupt Faith;
And every Mountebank can save from Death:
Yet tho' Men want but Eyes to see the Cheat,
They chuse to wink, and help their own Deceit;
The Herd of Fools resign themselves a Prey,
Which every Knave pursues his private Way!

The Question, Forrester! is something hard,
How shall the Wise the motley Scene regard?
While Men ourselves can we unmov'd stand by?
Pain'd shall we smile?—or honest should we cry?
Humanity to Grief would give the Rule,
But stronger Reason sides with Ridicule!

Oh that thy Piece instructive yet refin'd,
The Image of thy philosophic Mind;

112

Which, like the Statues wrought by Phidian Art,
Is one fair whole, complete in every Part;
May cure the lighter Follies of the Age,
Cool Bigot Zeal, and banish Party Rage;
Expose Ill-nature, Pedantry o'ercome,
Strike Affectation dead, and Scandal dumb;
Restore fair Converse to its native Light,
And teach Mankind with Ease to grow polite!

Then round thy Brow the Myrtle Garland twine,
The grateful Recompence of Toils like thine!
Go on in all your fair Designs to please,
Join Wit to Sense, with Understanding Ease.
Already here your just Applauses rise,
And the Belles read you with impatient Eyes!
Some in the sweetest Notes repeat your Lays,
All join harmonious in the Author's Praise;
All to approve with equal Zeal conspire,
What more can Fortune give?—or you desire?

As Paris, lost in passionate Surprize,
To Love's resistless Queen assign'd the Prize;
So while you Beauty treat with such Regard,
Your Theme like Virtue shall itself reward;
Venus shall from the Shepherd's Debt be free,
And by the fav'rite Fair repay the Gift to thee!

113

To his Grace Cosmo Duke of Gordon,

On his Return to Scotland, 1734.

Homines ad Deos Immortales nulla Re propius accedunt quam salutem hominibus dando. Cicero.

Illustrious Prince, whose dawning Years display
The fairest Hopes of Virtue's lasting Day;
Return'd in Safety to your native Soil,
Disdain not on an exil'd Muse to smile;
And with mild Goodness condescending hear
The artless Numbers that approach your Ear.

Let other Pens by servile Flatt'ry please,
Heav'n keep your Ear unvex'd with that Disease!
Which rais'd by Vanity, by Folly nurs'd,
Spoils the best Tempers, and confirms the worst;
The faithful Muse shall act a juster Part,
Nor prostitute the Honours of her Art;
Shall chuse a Theme may suit your blameless Taste,
To noble Minds, Praise should be always chaste!

114

While Pleasure plays before your eager Eyes,
And Scenes of Joy, as yet untasted, rise;
While Groupes of entertaining Forms combin'd,
With artful Lustre, lure the yielding Mind;
Let Reason's cool reflective Voice be heard,
And weigh each Object with a just Regard:
Assign the Bounds of Virtue and of Vice,
Ask whence th' Enjoyment comes, and what the Price?
With fix'd Composure, and unbiass'd Sight,
Examine every Form of new Delight;
Know whence the Picture all its Worth receives,
If false the Rate, or such as Judgment gives?
So shall fair Truth establish Reason's Sway,
And each instructed Passion mild obey!

If Wealth allure thee, or the Charms of Pow'r,
Think Crassus bleeds—and Cæsar is no more!
Behold the Lydian Monarch mount the Pile,
Or Pompey's Trunk deform the faithless Nile!
If softer Scenes of Blandishment invite,
See Antony the Victim of Delight!
Mark Horace idoliz'd by old and young,
Mute are the tuneful Accents of his Tongue,
Deaf are the Objects of his deathless Song.

115

So all the fleeting Forms of Bliss decay;
And so the lovely Phantom dies away!

Must then Life pass neglected like a Dream,
Must human Conduct wear no certain Aim?
One lasting Joy the Muse directs to find
A Pleasure of the purest noblest Kind,
That spreads a Day diffusive o'er the Mind!
Benevolence! the godlike Skill to raise
From a consenting World unblemish'd Praise!
Gordon, be this thy Care, this happy Art,
To fix a Pow'r eternal in the Heart;
Well be this glorious Science understood,
The secret Charm of doing constant Good;
Hence rose rever'd the Greek and Roman Name,
Chiefs lov'd by Men, and deify'd by Fame;
So the great Fabii common Worth surpass'd,
So the first Brutus shone, and—so the last!
So Scipio's Deeds the Latian Records grace,
And Titus liv'd the Joy of human Race.

But tho' true Goodness fills the generous Heart,
Still to exert it claims some Care and Art;
Of all who lavish give, or wise bestow,
How few this useful mystic Lesson know?

116

Where different Shades of Grief demand Redress,
To chuse the greater Suffering from the less;
Where various Suitors seek alike for Grace,
To give to modest Worth the foremost Place;
The meanest of Mankind as Men to use,
Nobly to grant,—and nobly to refuse!
As in the Diamond's precious Dye is shown
The genuine Value of the brillant Stone;
So from the Manner, which you form to give,
Each Obligation will its Price receive;
This will the Benefit itself refine,
As the stamp'd Image dignifies the Coin!

Nor need you Models foreign to your Blood,
To gain the Knowledge of conferring Good;
In your maternal Form the Science trace,
A Virtue long familiar to her Race!
Survey her gen'rous Life with early Care,
And copy from the bright Example there!

So the young Eaglet, to confirm his Sight,
Waits his imperial Parent's lofty Flight;
Careless of Earth, exulting lifts his Eyes,
Spreads his firm Wing,—and gains upon the Skies!
By her instructed, meets the solar Ray,
And grows familiar with the Blaze of Day!

117

To the Right Honourable Susanna Countess of Eglinton, 1734.

When Eglinton forsakes the blooming Groves,
And quits the Solitude her Heart approves;
When for the noisy Courts and City Throng,
She leaves the silver Stream, and Shepherd's Song;
Well may the Muses follow in her Train,
Her lovely Presence consecrates the Scene!

Edina long, that did your Absence mourn,
Feels with unusual Joy your kind Return;
Here 'midst contending Pow'rs, and Party Arms,
Exert the peaceful Influence of your Charms;
Confess'd by all, our Guardian Pallas stand,
Bear the dread Shield, and wave the olive Wand!
Heav'n in your Looks, and Empire in your Eye,
On you, bright Arbitress, our Hopes rely;
Your sov'reign Sentence Concord shall restore,
And bid the Sounds of Strife be heard no more.

118

Round thee uniting Virtues softly shine,
Thy Breast the heav'nly Center, where they join!
In thee complete an Age's Task we find,
A radiant Phœnix of the fairest Kind:
Our Admiration in Suspence is lost,
Where it shall fix itself with Justice most:
Our Transport grows, the longer still we view,
Still something Charms inimitably true!
And Time and Envy stand subdu'd by you.

Whate'er exalted Heroines of old
In Fame's eternal Page have been enroll'd;
All the bright Plans which Time has yet brought forth,
Of Grecian Virtue, or of Roman Worth;
Unite in thee,—in thee consummate shine,
And all the Glories of the Sex are thine;
Lucretia's Firmness, Portia's godlike Mind,
With fair Susanna's Purity are join'd;
In Form confess'd great Egypt's matchless Queen,
But all Palmyra's Sovereign smiles within!
Or not beyond our native Soil to stray,
Maria's Beauty weds the Truth of Gray!

119

So tho' the Planets lend their feeble Light,
And Cynthia silvers o'er the Face of Night:
'Tis Darkness still—tho' in a soft Disguise.
No Colours charm, no painted Prospects rise!
But when the Morn dispels the doubtful Gleam,
And Sol with orient Lustre sheds his Beam;
Nature in all her Pomp attracts the View,
Such Joy they feel—who fix their Sight on You!

Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, one of the most amiable as well as noble female Characters of Antiquity.

To the Right Honourable The Lady Elizabeth Gordon,

At Edinburgh, in the Year 1735.

ODE.

I

Forgive, fair high-born Maid! an artless Bard,
Who daring ventures on so bright a Theme;
If real Merit claims the first Regard,
The noblest Numbers shou'd record your Name!

120

II

To those whom Phoebus lends his sacred Lyre,
Belongs such matchless Virtues to rehearse;
What noble Measures might not these inspire?
How fit the Subject to embalm the Verse!

III

Weak is the Influence of external Charms
(Unaided Beauty's short enduring Tie!)
If Virtue lend not more prevailing Arms,
To the pall'd Sense, alas, how soon they die!

IV

But when the Mind's sublime Perfections join,
To animate a Form itself complete;
How must the fair distinguish'd Portrait shine!
How strong the Union,—and its Force how sweet?

V

If Truth and Goodness, in thy beauteous Breast,
Their blended Stores of happy Fragrance shed;
No Wonder, if they flourish still increas'd,
And rise eternal from so chaste a Bed!

121

VI

Others by Art may wise or beauteous seem,
And use vain Toils to captivate the View;
Gordon insensibly secures Esteem,
And then convinces us—it was her due.

VII

Fond Muse, forbear—what unavailing lays
Can point out Virtue's unexhausted Mine?
When master'-works inferior Painters trace
Trembling they sketch, and faintly they design!

VIII

From Farinelli when the Warblings flow,
What vulgar Notes can reach the flying Sound?
When Jervase bids the swelling Canvas glow,
Where can the imitating Hand be found?

IX

Propitious Heav'n our just Petition hear!
And still protect with ever-guardian Care
One who below resembles you so near,
Good as she's great,—and gentle as she's fair!

122

To the Right Honourable Charles, Lord Kinnaird.

An Epistle.

—Primoque a cæde Ferarum
Incaluisse putem maculatum sanguine Ferrum.
Ovid.

How soft the Bliss on Tay's sweet winding Stream,
To taste the Breeze that cools the sultry Gleam?
Where Woods embow'ring with projected Head,
Infold the subject River in their Shade!
Now pleas'd I wander by its flow'ry Side;
Now gently sail along its silver Tide;
Now hear the feather'd Concerts in the Wood;
Or mark the Natives of the happy Flood!
Along the Surface how they dart with Joy,
Or rise deluded to the fatal Fly!
With Pain I see the cruel Sport renew'd,
The silver Salmon's Scales deform'd with Blood;
I mourn the Arts the Fish to Fate beguil'd,
How much he suffer'd, and how well he toil'd!
See on the Grass the Captive pants for Breath,
Till some rude Hand bequeath the Stroke of Death!

123

Oh barbarous Pleasure! oh deceitful Skill,
That joys in Murder, and betrays to kill!
Here if we break—My Lord, I am sorry for't,
I love the Scene—but I detest the Sport.

If smaller Objects may with great compare,
So have I seen a Stripling eye the Fair!
Survey the Fly unconscious of his Fate,
And swallow down the Charms of a Coquette;
The Dart well struck, away the Novice runs,
And thinks, by Flight, Captivity he shuns;
Fix'd in his Heart the Barb destructive plays,
And holds him tho' he turns a thousand Ways;
His Struggles but perplex the artful Fold,
For if the Girl has Wit—the Line will hold.

Bless'd was the Time, oh had that Bliss remain'd!
When Nature's Fruits the lengthen'd Life sustain'd;
E're Hate was known, or in his Brother's Blood
His cursed Hands the wretched Cain embru'd;
But thro' the happy Grove, serene and mild,
Man walk'd with Man,—and all Creation smil'd!

But now that peaceful Scene is vanish'd far,
What wide Destruction? what domestic War!

124

We waste for Riot the devoted Ball,
And learned Luxury is blind to all!
New Arts of Slaughter daily must be known,
And Millions bleed for the Caprice of one!

Nor yet content—with what at Home remains,
We spoil the Groves, and fright the peaceful Plains;
Nor the weak Deer, nor unoffending Hares,
Nor yet the feather'd Tribes, our Fury spares;
All, all must perish by our cruel Hand,
And Nature mourn the Curse of our Command!

Such is the Passion, which inspires your Breast,
To make eternal War on Bird or Beast;
Each Day the Net, or Hook, or Gun prepare,
And thus unpeople Water, Earth, and Air!
Strange Contraste!—you, My Lord, whose tender Eye
Can see no human Pain without a Sigh!
Whose worthy Breast with generous Pity glows,
To ease the Anguish of inferior Woes;
Should see no Error in this wanton Taste,
To cherish which, you lay Creation waste.

Wou'd but the Kindness of relenting Fate
Crown my low Wishes, with some small Estate!

125

Nor Dogs, nor Guns should fright my peaceful Grove,
There free the Birds should sing, the Sylvans rove!
Should unmolested Nature's Gifts enjoy,
Enchant my Ear, or entertain my Eye;
And, in my small Inclosure, guarded find
A Shelter from the Malice of Mankind!

Oh then, My Lord, advis'd forbear in Time,
Nor stain your Goodness with this needless Crime!
Forgive the Muse, if fondly led astray,
By Zeal for Nature, she has lost her Way;
Her End was honest, tho' her Speech be free,
So far the just Similitude of Thee!

Let others drag the cumb'rous Loads of State,
Where the gay Trappings but augment the Weight!
Taste you, My Lord, in your paternal Field,
The native Sweets that Peace and Freedom yield;
Behold each Year your golden Harvests rise,
Or blooming Planting lengthen round your Eyes!
While Beauty, with her own celestial Smile,
Rewards each Care, and softens ev'ry Toil;
Bless'd in your little House, and little Grove,
Happy yourself,—and happy in your Love;
Defy all foreign Troubles would invade ye,
Receive your Rents well paid:—and kiss My Lady!

126

To SERENA.

An Epistle.

Dic mibi, Urania! tanto cur tempore differs
Pierio meritam serto redimire Serenam?
Claud.

Resume, Urania! the celestial Lyre,
Propitious Muse, the favour'd Numbers fire!
If real Worth thy guardian Care employs,
Let the full Notes in due proportion rise;
While bright Serena bends her gentle Ear,
And what the Goddess dictates deigns to hear:
To noblest Minds the Love of Verse belongs,
And Virtue is the Theme of lasting Songs!

The Ways of Heav'n are hid from human View:
A Proof of this was strongly giv'n in you!

127

Could Fortune's Gifts secure establish'd Rest,
You had the Lot of Happiness possess'd;
Could Truth maintain the Conquests Beauty won,
Your Triumphs wou'd have been eclips'd by none;
Could Love o'er subject Hearts his Sway retain,
Your Constancy had fix'd the lasting Chain;
Yet vain were all your Comfort to insure,
Below no Bliss, that Man can taste, is pure?

If Souls (as Eastern Sages say) above
Are pair'd in equal Bonds of Life and Love!
Yours in its downward Passage chanc'd to stray,
And miss'd its kind Associate by the way!

Yet of the kindred Partnership depriv'd,
The faithful Passion in your Breast surviv'd;
Your tender Mind the Semblance still explor'd,
The Phantom in Murenus' Shape ador'd;
Approv'd his Vows, and to your yielding Heart
Convey'd the fatal Seeds of future Smart!
For soon the dreadful Error you perceiv'd,
And what you felt unwillingly believ'd;
Fond Love, that from his Wings was wont to shed
Ambrosial Sweets around the nuptial Bed;

128

Flew off averse:—
While dark Suspicion, Child of Hell and Night,
Which all Things views in a distemper'd Light;
Succeeding, gave the Colour of your Life,
And bid you be a greatly suffering Wife!

Virtue's like Gold: — the Ore's allay'd by Earth,
Trouble, like Fire, refines the Mass to Birth;
Tortur'd the more, the Metal purer grows,
And seven Times try'd with new Refulgence glows!
Exults superior to the searching Flame,
And rises from Affliction into Fame!

Feeble o'er gen'rous Minds is Fortune's Pow'r,
She gives no Wounds, which Reason can't restore!
From hence your calmly recollective Sight
Drew future Wisdom, and unbought Delight;
Firm you beheld the visionary Scene,
And Courts bestow'd their splendid Charms in vain!
You, like the Bee, run each Inchantment o'er,
And drew Instruction from the noxious Flow'r;
But 'midst the Joys you most were pleas'd to prove,
In virtuous Friendship and parental Love;
One Trial was reserv'd—by Heav'n design'd,
To shew the Temper of your matchless Mind!

129

'Twas Night—when Mortals to Repose incline,
And none but Dæmons could intrude on thine;
When wild Desire durst thy soft Peace invade,
And stood insulting at thy spotless Bed;
Urg'd all that Rage, or Passion could inspire,
Death arm'd the Wretch's Hand, his Breast was Fire!
You, more than Roman, saw the dreadful Scene,
Nor lost the Guard, that always watch'd within!
Lucretia suffer'd;—and Obizzi bled,
Your Virtue triumph'd,—and the Villain fled!

130

What Doubt that Goodness is your native Choice!
We know your Country by your tuneful Voice!
Which list'ning Angels may descend to hear,
And learn their sacred Songs are copied here!
As the bright Sun thro' one unclouded Day
Drives o'er the Horizon his chearful Ray;
No Shadows interpose, no Mists appear,
Clear he arises, and he sets as clear;
So shall thy Life, Serena, charm Mankind,
And teach your Sex th' Importance of the Mind.

Long may you prove the Joys so well you know,
The calm Delights from Solitude that flow;
Where Reason can its genuine Pleasures taste,
Enjoy the present—and approve the past;
Bless'd is that Life, that thus declining wears;
Vice laughs an Hour,—but Virtue smiles for Years!

Oh! could the Muse th' ambitious Strain prolong,
Soft as the Accents of Myrtillo's Song;
Myrtillo, by Appolo's self inspir'd,
Mourn'd as belov'd, lamented as admir'd;

131

By ev'ry Muse adorn'd, and Virtue bless'd,
Of ev'ry Grace, of ev'ry Charm possess'd;
Near Virgil's sacred Tomb Myrtillo dy'd,
In Life how like! in Manners how ally'd!
In Fate resembling,—and almost in Fame,
So lik the Roman's was the Briton's Flame;
But too imperfect flow my feeble Lays,
To speak Myrtillo's Merit, or his Praise!
Far other Honours should adorn his Herse,
The Tribute of his own parental Verse;
Let pious Haddington, with equal Hands,
Raise the fair Monument his Loss demands;
For the lov'd Youth compose the lasting Crown,
A Patriot need not blush to praise his Son!

The Honourable the Lady Murray of Stenhope, Daughter to the Right Honourable George Bailie of Jerviswood, Esq; late one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury.

See this beautiful Sentiment enlarged upon in Dr. Watt's Horæ Lyricæ.

Lucretia Obizzi, Marchioness of Orciano, who was assassinated in her Bed, by a Russian who attempted her Chastity, to whose Memory the Senate of Padua erected a Monument, with the following honourable Inscription below her Bust.

VENERARE.PUDICITIÆ.SIMULACRUM ET.VICTIMAM LUCRETIAM.DE.DONDIS.AB.HOROLOGIO PYÆNEÆ.DE.OBIZZONIBUS ORCIANI.MARCIONIS.UXOREM HÆC.INTER.TENEBRAS.MARITALES.ASSERENS.TÆDAS FURIALES.RECENTIS.TARQUINII.FACES CASTO.CORDE.EXTINXIT SICQUE.ROMANAM.LUCRETIAM.INTEMERATA.GLORIA VICIT TANTÆ.SUÆ.HEROINÆ.GENEROSIS.MANIBUS HOC.DICAVIT.MONUMENTUM CIVITAS.PATAVINA.DECRETO DIE.310.DECEMBRIS A.D. 1661.

The Right Honourable the Lord Binning died at Naples, 1732, universally lamented; his Father, the Right Honourable the Earl of Haddington, surviv'd him but a short Time.

133

RETIREMENT: A POEM.

Occasion'd by seeing the Palace and Park OF YESTER.

Si canimus silvas, silvæ sunt Consule, dignæ.
Virg.

135

To the Most Honourable JOHN, Marquis and Earl of TWEEDDALE, Lord Hay of Yester, &c. One of the Extraordinary Lords of Session in Scotland.

137

An me ludit amabilis
Insania? audire videor et pios
Errare per lucos, amœnæ
Quos et aquæ subeunt et auræ.
Horat.

O Thou, who in eternal Light, unseen,
Survey'st, distinct, the universal Scene!
Whose Power, imparted, animates the whole
With Vegetation, Motion, Life, and Soul;
Deign to inform the Muse's solemn Thought,
To sing the Wonders thou alone hast wrought.
And, as thro' Nature's Walks she ravish'd strays,
Instruct her humble Reed to sound thy Praise!

Hail, rural Views! Life's pure unmingled Sweets;
Long-winding Walks, and ever-calm Retreats!
Where still succeeding Charms of various Kind
Infuse a balmy Temperance of Mind!

138

Where the mild Gale, that murmurs thro' the Trees,
The Soul from each corroding Passion frees;
And the smooth Stream, that gently glides along,
Inspires Delight, and aids the Muse's Song.

How bless'd are they by all-disposing Heav'n,
To whom this fav'rite Lot on Earth is giv'n!
Where Waters flow, or Woods their Umbrage spread,
To taste a Bliss, that Fortune can't invade;
Health firm from Exercise, with Labour Ease,
Unapprehensive Nights, and guiltless Days;
No Sounds of War their downy Peace molest,
No Pleas of Law disturb their anxious Breast,
No Dreams of Bliss, no false Pursuits of Gain,
No Fears of Tempests on the faithless Main,
No envious Frowns, no treach'rous Smiles of Court,
Can reach the Shelter of so safe a Port;
Where Innocence and Truth have fix'd their Home,
And Vice, and Fraud, and Malice dare not come!

O Strange Effect of Self-deceiving Art!
Surprizing Weakness of the cheated Heart!
All Ranks, all Nations, own this genuine Bliss,
Nay, all their Pains seem meant to purchase this,

139

The toilsome Dangers of destructive War,
The ceaseless Wranglings of the doubtful Bar,
The thin Refinements of the Courtier's Brain,
The Merchant's Venture for uncertain Gain,
To this great Object lead,—in this conspire,
That wearied Nature may at last retire:
But Life precarious Date perhaps is done,
'Ere half th' imaginary Course is run;
Or, by the Means, the very End is cross'd,
And, when th' Enjoyment courts, the Taste is lost.
The different Passions, which our Lives employ,
Outreach our Footsteps, and forbid the Joy:
Or some inveterate Habit's strong Disease
Infects our Age, and interrupts our Ease.
The feeble Veteran, in the silent Shades,
The sudden Tumult of the War invades;
There still the Lawyer trifles with the Laws,
And the Judge nods, as when he heard the Cause;
There, to the antiquated Courtier's Eyes,
Long Scenes of Pomp, and gay Processions rise;
And there, when Storms, with Breath outrageous rore,
Tho' safe beyond the Reach of Fortune's Power,
The Merchant shrinks, nor thinks his Wealth secure.

140

And yet, sequester'd from the public Voice,
This Lot has been of old the Heroes Choice.
Thus Scipio, foremost of the Godlike Name,
Despis'd the vaiu Applause of vulgar Fame;
More bless'd with Lelius, rang'd the Sylvan Scene,
Than when he shone the Lord of Zama's Plain:
Or, when at Carthage,

[_]

New Carthage in Spain, now Cartagena.

in his blooming Pride,
He gave th' Iberian Prince his Captive-Bride.
Nor did this Victor of himself disdain
To hear the Muse, and aid a Terence' Strain.

Nor need Examples of th' historic Kind,
To prove this native Biass of the Mind;
From Cincinnatus and Lucullus, down
To him who greatly left th' Imperial Crown,

[_]

The Emperor Charles V.

Of Chiefs, high-fam'd, the wisest and the best,
Have, full of Honour, sought this Point of Rest;
Have laid, well-pleas'd, the Weight of Glory down,
And wish'd to call this Span of Life their own.
Happy for him, had Cæsar done the same,
Nor lost his Life to gain a dubious Fame.

This future Ease, which all so fond pursue,
Is justly to heroic Virtue due.

141

For Cities modell'd, and for Nations freed,
Or Tyrants quell'd, be this the glorious Meed!
No sordid Passions wound the gen'rous Breast,
No Cankers lurk to taint their future Rest;
With Thoughts humane their kindly Bosom glows;
These lead them gently to their Life's Repose,
While Honour's Beams, with mild Reflexion sweet,
Play round their Steps, and gild their soft Retreat:
So, thro' the Course of one unclouded Day,
The Sun serenely marks his radiant Way,
By soft Degrees, to the Horizon bends,
And, rob'd in purple Majesty, descends.

Illustrious Peer, whose fair unblemish'd Youth,
Improv'd by Wisdom, and adorn'd with Truth,
Already has such noble Fruits brought forth,
And gives such Hopes of still succeeding Worth;
Oh deign thy condescending Ear to bend!
An exil'd Muse's humble Strains attend.
If Yester's Charms her Numbers can display,
To you belongs to judge her fond Essay;
If to her Theme her Lays Proportion bear,
Th' Attempt, she hopes, will not offend your Ear.

142

Safe in the Bosom of a Sylvan Scene,
Amidst projecting Shades of varied Green,
Like some fair Matron-form in Cypress veil'd,
In Solitude sweet Yester lies conceal'd;
Plain, but majestic, with proportion'd Height,
Equal it rises to the ravish'd Sight.
Judgment, with Taste, inspires the true Design,
And all the different Parts harmonious join
Without Confusion:—wond'rous Pow'r of Art!
That gives its proper Grace to every Part,
And, from the whole Arrangement well-combin'd,
Calls out a Master-Beauty of the Kind.

Nor only outward is this Order seen,
The same Simplicity obtains within;
No gaudy Ornaments the Eye betray,
No Affectation leads the Taste astray;
A modest Grandeur dignifies the whole,
Thy Palace, Tweeddale, represents thy Soul.
Its Disposition shews the Owner's State,
Where all is finish'd, chaste, correct, and great!

143

Full, in the Front, an ample Circle lies,
Where Trees on Trees in soft Succession rise!
A blooming Round!—where Verdure ever new
Spreads the fair Amphitheatre to view.
While, in the intermediate Space below,
The Brooks clear Waves in calm Procession flow,
High o'er the Banks, their lovely fragrant Shade
The native Rose and twining Woodbind spread;
With mingling Beauties bless the charming Bound,
And waft united Fragrance all around!

Behind, the fair-dispos'd Parterre is seen,
With Flow'rs adorn'd, and Slopes of lively Green;
A chrystal Fountain in the Center plays,
And mitigates the Sun's intemp'rate Rays.
Four Statues, equal, rise on every Hand,
Divide the Circuit, and the Space command;
Here dark'ning Shades exclude the Blaze of Light;
There, open Walks, when Day declines, invite;
Thick spreading Trees defend the Space around,
And shed a solemn Stillness o'er the Ground.
In these the feather'd Nations of the Grove
Enjoy their Freedom, and pursue their Love;

144

Amidst the friendly Boughs, in Choirs rejoice,
And pay for their Protection with their Voice.

A Neighb'ring Structure's well-intended Care
Invites those Plants that shun our Northern Air;
Protected, here the Myrtle-Buds may bloom,
Or the fair Orange shed its rich Perfume;
Secure from Cold, Hesperias Sweets may rise,
Charm the bless'd Sense, and strike the ravish'd Eyes!
In Winter's Rage, may Spring's mild Charms restore,
And please us when the Fields can please no more.

See, from the Depth of the surrounding Shade,
An ancient Chapel rears its spiry Head!
Close by the Margin of the winding Flood,
The Muse pursues that Object thro' the Wood;
With Awe surveys the Marks diffus'd around;
Hail, Mansions of the Dead! Instructive Ground!
Here Nature's Victor spreads his Trophies wide,
And mortal Dust confounds all human Pride.
Receive, my Heart, this Lesson from the Eye,
Hence learn to live, and hence prepare to die.
Here, Tweeddale, in a Vault's contracted Space,
Lie the Remains of thy distinguish'd Race!

145

Like thee, they once this happy Bow'r possess'd,
Were crown'd with Honours, and with Riches bless'd.
With these (late may that Loss thy Country mourn!)
One Day shall rest thy venerable Urn:
Let Virtue then the Span of Life employ,
Let Goodness minister the noblest Joy;
Indulge the soft Humanity of Mind,
And live the Guardian-Friend of Human-kind!

Turn, Muse, thy Steps, and quit the lovely Shade,
Explore yon rising Hill, and opening Glade;
Soon as the Summit of the Height I gain,
The grateful Prospect well rewards the Pain.
The Palace, there, embosom'd in the Leaves,
Like some rich Gem deep-set, the Eye perceives.
There Lothian's fertile Vale at Distance lies,
And the long Landskip mingles with the Skies.
Below, the Brook in Mazes wanders round,
And sports delightful thro' the flow'ry Ground.
Here the bleak Hills, irregular, and rough,
Appear, as Foils, to set those Beauties off.

146

Fair, to the left, a soft Ascent is seen,
With Thickets spread, and Rows of rising Green,
Where Nature claims supreme the Sov'reign Part,
Yet leaves some Touches to her Handmaid, Art.
The peaceful Deer, and little wanton Fawns,
Sport in the Shades, or range along the Lawns;
Some, basking, lie beneath the genial Gleam,
Some court the Coolness of the friendly Stream.
See yon large Stag!—his spreading Branches rear'd,
Stalks proudly forward, and commands the Herd!
Th' obedient Flock to all his Motions bend,
Move as he walks, and, as he stops, attend;
Beneath his watchful Eye directed tread,
Explore the Covert, or enjoy the Mead.
Fair harmless Creatures, whom no Fears annoy,
To whom kind Nature lends a Waste of Joy!
Who taste secure the utmost Bliss ye can,
Nor feel the Cares of Self-tormenting Man.

Ah! quit not, Muse, too soon, th' inchanted Scene,
Unnumber'd Beauties yet remain unseen!
As once, of old, by smooth Clitumnus' Side,
Sol's Milk-white Heifers rang'd the Pastures wide,

147

Whose spotless Forms, with rosy Garlands gay,
Were Victims worthy of the God of Day:
So here, preserv'd, the snowy Race remains,
And wanders, unconfin'd, these happy Plains.
The lordly Bull exulting roams alone,
And boasts the Sylvan Empire all his own.

Steep o'er the Brook, abandon'd and defac'd,
An ancient Castle stands deform'd and waste!
Of old, perhaps, within whose friendly Gate,
Repos'd from Toil, the weary Trav'ller sate;
Or the Night-wand'ring Pilgrim, led astray,
Here found a Shelter till the Dawn of Day;
The Stranger hospitable Rites receiv'd,
The Rich were honour'd, and the Poor reliev'd:
Now Trees o'ergrown the ruin'd Walls embrace,
While the Winds murmur thro' the hollow Space!
Along the wind-rock'd Tow'r the Ivy creeps,
And the brown Ruin trembles o'er the Deeps!
So Time, with ceaseless Rage, relentless preys
On all the Trophies human Art can raise.
In vain we Fame to faithless Marble trust,
In vain to Brass consign distinguish'd Dust,
He eats th' Inscription, and consumes the Bust!

148

His undermining Hands the Pile displace,
He heaves the Column from its solid Base!
By him triumphal Arches naked glare,
And ample Theatres are mix'd with Air;
Ev'n Pyramids, that claim Duration most,
Shrink from their Height, and hasten to be lost!
The Eyes, with Pain, deserted Athens see,
And what Palmyra is, —Versailles may be.

But, homeward, now returning to the right,
Thro' soft vicissitudes of Shade and Light,
Which to the setting Sun declining lie,
Fair Nature's rich Embroidery to the Eye!
A winding Path, with thickest Umbrage spread,
Does to the Center of the Forest lead:
Here num'rous Vistas crowd upon the Sight,
And every Termination gives Delight;
Some rural Object still presents to View,
A Grove, a Village, or the Mountain blue!
See from the Brake the lonely Pheasant fly,
Mark his rich Plumage, and his scarlet Eye!
Look how the Peacock, there, his Pride displays,
And spreads the Lustre of his varied Blaze.

149

Hark, what enliv'ning Sounds the Heart inspire?
How the Woods eccho to the tuneful Quire!
What mingling Harmony diffuses round?
What endless Measures of responsive Sound!
The jocund Tribes in gay Confusion play,
Dart cross the Walks, and shoot from Spray to Spray:
But most the Turtle, on yon top-most Bough,
Detains the Ear with her harmonious Coo;
Pensive she sits, without her Mate unblest,
And murmurs out the Anguish of her Breast;
Attention seems concern'd for her Relief;
Sure there's a secret Eloquence in Grief!
Transported could I lose my Footsteps here;
Here Meditation holds her proper Sphere.
I wonder not, of old the Wise and Good
Walk'd self-conversant in the sacred Wood;
And Truth's divine mysterious Sources sought,
Where ev'ry Object was a Help to Thought.

Nor want these happy Shades a Guardian Pow'r,
When great Honoria, at the Even-tide Hour,
A firmer Eve, amidst a safer Grove,
Tastes the soft Joy, sequester'd here to rove,

150

While some attending Seraph, Virtue—taught,
Guards her Retirement, and inspires her Thought;
Shares in the Pleasures of her pure Retreat,
And sees one Mortal here below compleat.

But now, descending from the pleasing Scene,
With easy Steps the Avenue I gain,
Where, to the left, the Brook its Passage steals,
And in its rocky Bed its Stream conceals;
Now gently purling forms a soft Cascade,
Now glides involv'd beneath the happy Shade;
While on the Bank, that guards the upper Side,
A Sylvan Wilderness displays its Pride.
Here the gay Foliage sheds a vivid Gleam,
Reflected brightly from the solar Beam;
There, alter'd, does a darker Face assume,
And strikes us with a deep majestic Gloom;
Yet, e're six Months their short-liv'd Course have run,
These Charms shall vanish, and this Bloom be gone!
These Trees, that now such lavish Verdure boast,
Shall naked stand, deform'd by Winter's Frost,
Till Spring returning dress the painted Plain,
And bid reviving Nature smile again.

151

O Thou, by Virtue more than Titles great,
Whom Heav'n has bless'd with such a calm Retreat,
Mild Tweeddale, deign to hear the faithful Muse,
Accept her Homage, and approve her Vows;
Long may you firm Britannia's Cause defend,
And be in all Extremes her steddy Friend!
Long Honour's Paths with Self-applause pursue,
And keep the Founders of your Line in View!
Who, like the great Dictator, left their Plough,
And taught in Arms the stubborn Dane to bow;
In the declining Battle Victors stood,
And bought their Country's Safety with their Blood.
Here, when the public Cares allow you Rest,
The Calm of Philosophic Leisure taste;
Belov'd, esteem'd, admir'd, unenvy'd live!
And boast a Joy that Fortune ne'er could give.

Now, lest the Labour, Muse, appear too long,
With Gifford end the long protracted Song;

152

Delightful Village! bless'd with Nature's Smile,
Where golden Plenty gilds the fruitful Soil!
What green Inclosures mark the flow'ry Ground?
See yon fair Hill, with Tufts of Planting crown'd,
Behind the Mountain's azure Top is seen,
And the Eye loses all the Vale between.
Close by the Town the winding River glides,
And in its hollow Channel sunk subsides;
Yet, when the Clouds descend in wint'ry Rain,
The Torrent overwhelms the subject Plain;
Impetuous, drives along with rapid Force,
And makes its Pow'r the Limits of its Course!

Thus has the Muse, but with too faint Essay,
Thro' Nature's Maze pursued her artless Way;
Like the laborious Bee, has urg'd her Flight,
Where Groves, where Gardens, or where Streams invite;
Has o'er Creation stretch'd her artless Wing,
And prais'd that Power, who gave her Voice to sing.
Where Godlike Goodness spreads the bounteous Feast,
Where each Spectator is a constant Guest;
Whose Blessings all without Distinction share,
Tread on his Earth, and breathe his vital Air;

153

Whose piercing Eye thro' Space immense extends,
On whose supporting Hand the whole depends!—
From the unweildy Whale's enormous Mass,
To the small Insect on the peopled Grass,
Whate'er in Air, and Earth, and Sea, I see,
All-comprehending Pow'r!—is full of Thee!
Thy Ways with ceaseless Rapture I explore,
And lost in Pleasure—gaze till I adore!

Yet, thus instructed, by thy Providence,
Tho' Nature, still profuse, her Charms dispense,
The Storehouse of divine Magnificence!
Tho' all her Works conspire our Thoughts to raise
To Thee, great Object of all Love and Praise!
How many, dead to this exalted Joy,
Cast o'er the whole an undelighted Eye?
Or, at the best, but cold Spectators stand
Unconscious of thy all-bestowing Hand;
Thy Works, that set Thee in the strongest Light,
Serve, like a Veil, to hide Thee from their Sight;
Like Earth-born Moles the Ray divine they see,
They taste not Nature,—for they know not Thee!

The Palace is situated deep in the midst of a Groupe of Planting near five Miles in Circumference.

The Garden.

The Greenhouse.

An old ruined Chapel, the Burial-place of the ancient Family of Yester.

The Park.

Wild White Cows.

The old Castle of Yester, the Seat of the Giffords, anciently Lords Yester.

For the Ruins of Palmyra, see the Philosophical Transactions, Vol. III.

The Wood.

The late Marchioness of Tweeddale who died at Edinburgh, 1736, universally lamented and esteem'd.

The first of the Family of Hay were a good Countryman and his two Sons, who, when the Scots were routed by the Danes at the Battle of Loncarty, came in with their Plough-Shares, and by stopping the Fugitives recover'd the Field, and defeated the Enemy; for which they were rewarded with Lands in Angus, ennobled by the King, and took the Sirname of Hay. In relation to this Accident, they bear for Arms Argent, three Escutcheons Gules. Of this Name are the Marquis of Tweeddale, and the Earls of Errol and Kinnoule.

155

Written in the ancient Palace of Falkland, Sept. 1735.

Quod jam compositum violat manus hospita bustum
Da Veniam!—si quid sensus post fata relictum est.
Lucan.

“Deserted Falkland! when thy Face I view,
“It gives me Grief—but gives me Wonder too;
“Wonder, the noble Hand, that has thy Trust,
“Leaves thee to fall a mould'ring Heap of Dust!
“To see the fine Effects of James's Taste
“A Mass of Ruin, beautifully waste!
“Grief, in thy ruin'd yet majestic State,
“To mark the Picture of thy Country's Fate!”

156

Thus as I mus'd intent—and gaz'd around,
Along the fractur'd Walls with Ivy bound!
Where the worn Bust display'd a dubious Face,
As if it mourn'd insulting Time's Disgrace;
Faint from beneath a hollow Murmur broke,
Resembling human Voice—and thus it spoke.

“Enquire not, Stranger, Time so fast devours
“These faithless Walls and sacrilegious Tow'rs?
“Oh rather wonder they so long have stood,
“Stain'd with black Parricide, and rais'd in Blood!
“Here regal Murder fix'd its deepest Dye,
“A Prince by Famine lost—that Shade am I!
“From a fond Father's tender Arms betray'd,
“To linger here unpity'd, unsurvey'd!
“Nor think a Stranger gave the deadly Blow,
“A barbarous Uncle bid me perish so!
“First to his Pow'r my heedless Steps allur'd,
“Then in a Dungeon's dismal Depth immur'd.
“Think I the Heir immediate to the Crown;
“Brought up in Elegance, and nurs'd in Down;

157

“Who by too fond a Parent's Kindness bless'd,
“Could form a Wish for nothing unpossess'd;
“While head-strong Passion, deaf to Reason's Law,
“Pursued intensely every Bliss it saw;
“Consum'd the short-liv'd Day in new Delight,
“In wasteful Riot lengthen'd out the Night;
“Think on the Change—the sad Reverse I found!
“Intomb'd alive, and shackled to the Ground;
“Where then was Minstrelsy? the Voice of Joy?
“The lavish Banquet, and the wanton Eye?
“The high Respect by menial Slaves bestow'd,
“The gay Attendance? and deceitful Crowd?
“All the wild Luxury, my Youth had known,
“Vanish'd at once—for ever, ever flown!
“Nine Days I struggled—think the cruel Strife!
“The Gnaw of Anguish, and the Waste of Life!
“No Cup of Water, and no Crust of Bread,
“And the cold Stone a Pillow for my Head!
“The Tenth—unable longer to sustain
“The cruel Smart, and Strength-consuming Pain,
“To my devoted Arm I turn'd for Food,
“And broke the vital Channels of my Blood!
“But Nature wasted now refus'd Supply,
“For Life's exhausted Fountains all were dry!
“In Clouds of Dizziness, involv'd my Sight,
“Dim grew all Objects, and confus'd the Light!

158

“In my dull Ears a distant Murmur rung,
“The trembling Accents falter'd on my Tongue!
“Wearied I sunk in Death's embracing Shade,
“And mingled with that Earth which now you tread.”

Froze with the Tale, I turn'd me quickly round,
And left with hasty Steps the fatal Ground.

It were to be wish'd those noble Persons to whom the Care of Royal Palaces, and other ancient Buildings, both sacred and profane, belongs either by Commission or Right, would take some more Care to preserve those venerable Remains of Antiquity, as entire as possible to Posterity.

James V. the politest and most elegant Prince of his Time, repaired and beautified this Palace, and built that of Linlithgow, which are both in a fine Taste for that Age, and both much superior to some celebrated Pieces of modern Architecture.

The Person introduc'd speaking here is Robert, Prince of Scotland, eldest Son to Robert III. and Brother to James I. who was betray'd to this Place, and most inhumanly starv'd to Death by his Uncle Murdoc, Duke of Albany, at the Age of nineteen Years; for which Story see Buchanan. It is remarkable this Prince had been very wild, which makes the Contraste remarkably strong.

To Mr. William Cumming going to France, in August 1735.

ODE.

—Finibus Gallicis
Reddes Incolumem, precor
Et serves Animæ dimidium meæ.
Horat.

I

O Blow serene, ye soft Etesian Gales,
Curl the blue Main, and fill the whit'ning Sails,
The guardian Vessel thro' the Deep attend!
Shine ev'ry favourable Planet bright!
To guide the prosperous Navigation right,
And bear to Gallia's Shore my happy Friend!

159

II

Thence to Lutetia's Walls, a pleasing Way!
Thro' Scenes by Nature dress'd profusely gay,
May Fate auspicious all his Passage guide:
Till safe arriv'd he views the stately Town,
Which all agree, unprejudic'd, to own,
At once fair Europe's Envy, and its Pride!

III

There while his Thought intent surveys the Plan
Of Pow'r divine; the Microcosm of Man!
From ev'ry Danger Heav'n preserve his Youth!
With manly Strength his growing Virtue arm,
To break the Force of ev'ry Syren Charm,
And keep unblemish'd all his native Truth.

IV

When Views of Pomp and bright Processions rise,
When Louvre or Versailles enchants his Eyes,
The grand Assembly, or imperial Train:
Oh Liberty, thy just Perspective lend,
To Britain's Isle his calm Reflection bend,
And say, that Slavery makes the Splendor mean!

160

V

When artful Beauty lays the fatal Snare,
Instruct him, friendly Goddess! to beware,
Defend him from each captivating Art!
For there fair Venus keeps her sov'reign Court,
There all her laughing Loves in Crowds resort,
And in a thousand Shapes surprize the Heart!

VI

Yet, Goddess! let him, as intent he sees
That airy Nation's native Skill to please,
Shun the Reflection of the mimic Glass!
Of all the Foreigners I yet have seen,
Who ap'd the Graces of the Gallic Mein,
Scarce one, but copying writ himself an Ass!

VII

But that Politeness of the genuine Kind,
Which both adorns and cultivates the Mind,
This let his careful Study borrow thence;
Manners from this new Ornament receive,
To Knowledge this can double Lustre give,
So Travel finishes the Man of Sense!

161

VIII

Sometime retir'd, if carelesly he strays,
Where Seine along th' Elysian Meadows strays,
Oh gentle Goddess! whisper in his Ear;
How many Vows for his Success are paid,
How many for his safe Return are made,
How many think his Absence tedious here!

IX

But ah! in vain—my Friend! these Numbers flow,
The specious Covering of intrinsic Woe!
While Fortune's partial Favour I accuse:
Who, when my Sorrows needed most a Friend,
Was pleas'd in thee the precious Gift to send,
Malicious Bounty! just bestow'd to lose!

X

Oh no forgive, the sacred Tye I wrong,
Where Virtue binds;—the lasting Union strong
Distance, Misfortune, Time, and Fate defies;
From Pole to Pole—from th' Ganges to the Thame,
Immortal spreads the unextinguish'd Flame,
For Ages still the same,—and never dies!

162

To Mr. Monro, Professor of Anatomy at Edinburgh.

[_]

Presented with his Comparative Anatomy, By a Gentleman who attended his Lectures.

Jam dudum ausculto et cupiens tibi dicere servus
Pauca reformido.
Hor.

Receive, thou Judge of Nature's mystic Maze!
The Gift, that faint restores its Master's Praise;
However copied—still thy Labours shine,
And all the Beauties of the Page are thine!
Where Judgment scorns the feeble Props of Art,
And Truth, with native Lustre, strikes the Heart.

Thy Sight the little World of Man can view,
Thro' complex Forms arising ever new,

163

Where Spirits imperceptible dispense
Thought to the Mind, and Motion to the Sense;
Thou Reason-taught can'st trace their mazy Course
Thro' each dark Muscle, to their wond'rous Source;
Shew in what secret Foldings they combine,
Unite to spread, and seperate to rejoin!
Beneath the Skin in clear Mæanders Play,
Or thro' disclosing Fibres dart away!
How with the Sister-Vein the Ar'tery blends,
And where the Nerve's conceal'd Insertion ends:
How thro' the Cloud the fair Lymphatics pour
Their milky Juice to feed the vital Store;
With fresh Supplies to chear th' exhausted Brain,
And bid the strengthen'd Heart dilate again!
Thou, great Eustathius of a wiser Age,
Can'st with new Knowledge stamp a fairer Page;
Can'st bid the Atheist but his Form explore,
And, Self-convicted, tremble and adore!
Physic should ill sustain the Sceptic Load,
Since all her Science vindicates the God.

Let the vain Greek his wanton Triumphs boast,
Or bold Columbus' Name a new-found Coast!
Unlike the Glories from thy Searches rise,
Where Knowledge learns us to approach the Skies!

164

Long may she boast your Truth-exploring Mind,
Whose happier Toils are Blessings to your Kind;
Others from War may savage Trophies plan,
Your mild Discoveries shew the Friend of Man!

The ingenious Gentleman, who wrote this Poem, is intreated to excuse the Author for adorning his Collection with it, not having the Opportunity of immediately asking his Consent for inserting it.

To the Author Of Universal Beauty.

A Poem.

Amicitia reddit Honores—

Say, Heav'n-Born Muse! for thence thy blameless Tongue,
And Melody divine, declare thee sprung!
What sacred Ardour taught thy Wing to try
A Flight unknown to our polluted Eye?
Learn't thee to scorn the glitt'ring Joys of Earth,
And kindle eonscious of a nobler Birth!
Whence catch'd thy glowing Breast the hallow'd Fire?
Or with such Raptures swell'd thy charming Lyre?
Sure Heav'n that saw thy Purpose sent the Aid,
Some Seraph to thy View the whole display'd;
With friendly Hand ordain'd thy happy Sights,
Thy Colours blended, and dispos'd thy Lights!

165

“From radiant Suns th' effulgent Gilding drew,
“White Moons the Silver gave, and Air the Blue!”
Celestial Groves the lovely Verdure shed,
And blushing Morning lent the rosy Red!
So gave, compleat, thy beauteous Works to shine,
And speak their great Original Divine!

Go on, chaste Bard! protract the spotless Page,
And shame the Scriblers of an idle Age!
Low restless Minds! whom vain Ambition fires,
Or Earth-born Love inflames, or Wine inspires!
Like Meteors creeping near their native Earth,
Whose faint Duration speaks their humble Birth!
Thy higher Theme a surer Praise secures,
“Fame be their Recompence—but Heav'n be yours!”

Nature's Attractions by thy Pencil trac'd,
Like Nature's Self, shall ever-blooming last;
The moral Beauties of the mystic Kind,
The stronger, fair Perfections of the Mind!
Next claim thy Song;—nor thou the Task refuse,
Worthy the Subject of thy purer Muse;
Enraptur'd on the Charms of Virtue dwell,
And paint those Joys you seem to know too well!

166

Thus, while with pleasing Admiration led,
Thy faultless Lays enamour'd I survey'd!
Prais'd, where I thought that real Praise was due,
Approv'd the Work, nor yet its Author knew;
Now known;—no more I gaze on the Design,
But wonder that I did not guess it thine!
I love thee so:—I dare not ev'n commend,
Ev'n slight Applause is Flatt'ry in a Friend;
More proud of this than all the Wreaths of Fame,
That you bestow'd—and I preserve the Name!

To MARCELLA.

—Tanto devinxit Amore
Nos Pudor, nos Probitas, castique Modestia vultus!
Lucan.

Thou spotless Fair! accept the faithful Lay,
The Thanks the fondly grateful Muse would pay;
Who void of Adulation tries her Wings,
And suits her Numbers to the Theme she sings;

167

Where all the Strength of Virtue gather'd lies,
And Goodness like your own attracts the Eyes!

Say, heav'nly Charm! whose magic Fetters bind
In soft Captivity the yielding Mind!
Thou Child of Peace! refin'd etherial Flame,
Thou bright Impression of th' eternal Name!
Benevolence!—thou Smile-creating Joy,
Life to the Heart, and Lustre to the Eye!
Oh say!—so little why thy Influence known?
So few, who claim thy Bounty as their own?
Say, why so much while Pow'r or Int'rest sway,
The Great are blind to thy superior Ray?
Why 'midst the Pomp of Courts thou shuns to dwell?
Yet com'st unsent for to the Shepherd's Cell!
Or why when Wealth neglected sets thee by,
Steals thou to fill my Bosom with a Sigh?
Who want the Pow'r thy Blessings to impart,
And grasp thy barren Image in my Heart;
From Fortune's Wants this sole Instruction gain,
That Virtue ev'n distress'd is happy Pain!

Go, gentle Guest! to fair Marcella go,
Whose Mind resenting feels ev'n distant Woe;

168

Calm tho' the happy Region lies within,
Her gentle Bosom swells to take thee in!
There shed thy Balm, from thence exert thy Pow'r!
Not Heav'n itself can love thy Presence more.

Yet, Pow'r propitious to Mankind, beware,
Bid Fortune wait thee to the noble Fair!
Ample her own, her Wishes think it small;
Her Soul's fair Sunshine would extend to all!
But such a fond Petition would be vain,
Earth would be Paradise were she to reign!
Else might'st thou wound the tender Seraph's Rest,
And, blessing others, leave herself unbless'd!

So the bright Lamp of Night the constant Moon,
Unwearied, does her circling Journey run;
Oft thro' the flecey Cloud irradiant bends,
And to benighted Lands her Influence lends;
Wide o'er the Globe her genial Lustre throws,
And all the Splendor she receives—bestows!

The Honourable Lady Mary Cunningham, Daughter to the late Earl of Eglinton.

169

On the Death of Mrs. Stuart of Cardiness,

At Edinburgh, August 29, 1732. aged 73.

Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus
Tam cari Capitis?
Hor.

Thou fair instructive Pattern to thy Kind,
That Beauty lies not in the Face but Mind!
Thou gentle Proof of Virtue's sov'reign Pow'r
Lovely in Age, and pleasing past threescore!
Farewel, since Death our further Wish denies,
And in kind Slumbers seals thy placid Eyes;
While Heav'n, assenting to thy own Delight,
Recalls thy Spirit to the Land of Light!

Like one unhappy, who in Slumber lay,
Thro' the fair Course of some unclouded Day;
Who, looking up surpriz'd, regrets to find,
How low the Sun's bright Journey is declin'd!
So with a doubtful Pleasure I survey'd
The chearful Saint in Life's increasing Shade;
And, from the Calmness of her Evening-Hour,
I guess'd the temperate Day had gone before:
So the wife Indian, from the ruddy Gloom,
Likes the Day pass'd—and hails the Morn to come!

170

To AMANDA.

Epistle I.

Extremus perit tam longi fructus amoris,
Præcipitantque suos luctus,—neuterque recedens
Sustinuit dixisse Vale! vitamque per omnem
Nulla fuit tam mæst a Dies.
Lucan.

Like some fair Turtle who, in Sorrow mild,
Sees by rude Hands her little Nest despoil'd;
And 'midst the Grove, abandon'd to Distress,
Bemoans a Wrong her Fondness can't redress!
So while with equal Justice you complain
(Alike the Injury,—alike the Pain!)
While sadly pensive to yourself you mourn
Your tenderest Blessings from your Bosom torn;
Permit the plantive Muse, illustrious Fair!
To grieve a Fate, which all must own severe!
For surely none, who boast a human Heart,
Can hear your Loss unconscious of a Smart.

Oh why ye Pow'rs, who grac'd Amanda's Youth
With smiling Innocence, and native Truth;

171

Such, as in spite of Malice, well might claim
The noblest Titles, and the brightest Fame;
You, who so tender form'd her lovely Breast,
That ev'ry Woe she saw, disturb'd her Rest!
Why so unequal did ye fix her Fate?
To crown her with the Wretchedness of State!
In shining Dignity her Peace destroy,
And raise her Fortune, to disturb her Joy!

So fondly wept the Muse Amanda's Care,
So mourn'd, concern'd the visionary Fair;
Pictur'd her languid Look, and thoughtful Mien,
That spoke the struggling Passions held within!
When quick the Change—as Fancy could sustain,
Appear'd a Native of the heavenly Plain!
And while the Rapture thro' my Senses ran,
The Cherub rosy-smil'd—and thus began.

“Cease, anxious Mortal! long inur'd to Care,
“'Tis Heav'n disposes, and 'tis Man's to bear!
“'Tis thine the salutary Smart to know,
“The secret Value of instructive Woe!
“But if long prov'd thou yet Remain untaught,
“Perplex'd with Scruples, and confus'd by Thought;

172

“If dubious thou beholds Amanda's Fate,
“Or why such Virtues such Distress should wait?
“From me submissive all the Reason know,
“And own that sov'reign Justice rules below!

“As Pictures plac'd too distant, or too near,
“Or wildly glaring, or confus'd appear;
“But, justly seated in their proper Day,
“Immediate Sense and present Life convey!
“So fix'd in peaceful State, or private Ease,
“Amanda had but gain'd a vulgar Praise;
“Life's cloudless Scene had seen her Smiles alone,
“And half her Virtues had remain'd unknown!
“But Virtues, as Amanda's firm, require,
“Like Gold, the Standard of afflictive Fire!
“'Tis then they struggle from the Torture forth,
“With native Lustre, and acknowledg'd Worth;
“In Blessings on delighted Nations fall,
“Their Influence felt, their Value own'd by all!

“Tho' harsh to thee appear Amanda's Pain,
“Forbid by Duty—Honour—to complain!
“Yet from her Suffering shall her Glory rise,
“And gain Applause from all impartial Eyes;
“The Hand, that triumphs in her present Smart,
“Shall wish it ne'er had wing'd the hostile Dart;

173

“Her lovely Offspring, hurry'd from her Sight,
“Shall in Captivity assert her Right!
“As late their Infant-Hands the Mourner saw
“Clasp her fond Side—and half arraign the Law;
“So shall Heav'n right her injur'd Excellence,
“And arm her Troubles in her just Defence!

“And he the beauteous Youth, who yet remains,
“Source of her Hope, and Solace of her Pains!
“Who with officious Tenderness would please,
“Whose Bosom swells to give Amanda Ease;
“Shall by his future Merit boast a Name,
“From Censure free, and unobscur'd by Fame;
“Shall all his lovely Mother's Griefs atone,
“And bless her with the Honour of a Son.”

So ceas'd the Angel!—thro' the Void of Day,
Surpriz'd I saw his glitt'ring Pinions play;
While recollective, as my Slumber broke,
I mark'd the pleasing Presage he had spoke;
Bless'd, could the Muse but make her Wishes good,
Accept her Vows—she cannot what she wou'd!

This was occasioned by the Misfortune of a Lady of Quality, who had her Children forc'd from her in a very unhappy Manner.

174

To AMANDA.

Epistle II.

—Prodesse voluptas.

Obscur'd by Fortune, — and by Anguish pain'd,
Long, fair Amanda! had the Bard complain'd;
And blam'd those Muses, whose too fond Address
Had meant him Genius, but deny'd Success!
Long had he pin'd beneath neglected Grief,
And, only not despairing, hop'd Relief!
When Heav'n which better than its Creatures knows
Our real Sufferings, or imagin'd Woes;
That Heav'n that never yet receiv'd, unheard,
The Prayer in Bitterness of Soul preferr'd!
Was pleas'd to touch your sympathizing Ear,
And make a Stranger's Grief your gen'rous Care!

To vulgar Minds let Wealth its Charms unfold,
For vulgar Minds alone are touch'd with Gold!

175

To mine your soft inchanting Lines convey

[_]

A letter wrote to the Author in answer to the first Epistle.

A nobler Sense, and strike a stronger Way!
Like placid Light, a gentle Beam reveal,
Chear as they warm, and strengthen as they heal!
Such Words from kind descending Angels flow,
When from their native Skies they stoop below
Commission'd to repair some fatal Woe!
So kind they fly to stop the deadly Hour,
And bring Relief—when Earth can do no more!

Thus with uncommon Goodness you receive
A Tribute—which I scarce presum'd to give!
Soften an Anguish to the World unknown,
And make Heav'n's fairest Attribute your own!

Oh had the Muse the dear celestial Art,
With tuneful Sounds to sooth internal Smart!
Oh were she favour'd by the sacred Nine,
To ease the Sighing of a Heart like thine!
Soon should thy Bosom, chearful as thy Eyes,
From ev'ry secret Weight deliver'd rise:
Amanda should the grateful Debt receive,
And find it was not her's alone to give!

176

To the Honourable The Lady Susanna Montgomery.

—Raro est adeo Concordia Formæ
Atque Pudicitiæ.
Juven.

Vain are the weak Allurements of the Form,
Unless the mental Part its Task perform;
External Beauty Time and Chance invade,
The Soul's superior Graces never fade!
But while, in your accomplish'd Person join'd,
We see with Virtue ev'ry Charm combin'd;
By Merit won the subject Heart obeys,
And by hereditary Right you please!
Well with your matchless Mother may you share
Her lasting Pow'r, whose spotless Name you bear,
As chaste your Breast—your Face almost as fair!

177

To Mr. Henry Tonge, Student in the University of Edinburgh.

Erat enim in seriis jocisque amicus omnium Horarum. Cicero.

Accept the Verse no Strains of Flatt'ry swell;
That only artless aim thy Worth to tell;
Pleasing the Task, where Friendship lends its Flame,
To make thy Merit the selected Theme;
As difficult, too fondly to commend,
And yet preserve the sacred Name of Friend!
Yet, by Affection taught, forgive the Muse,
If she, intent, the fair Design pursues;
Speaks prepossess'd the Language of her Heart,
And tells what thou shalt be—from what thou art.

With Love of Learning while thy Bosom glows,
Refulgent Youth its roseate Charms bestows;
And in thy chearful Look appear design'd
United Health of Body and of Mind!

178

Virtue and Wit their mutual Force employ,
One fills thy Heart, one sparkles from thy Eye!
One governs thy Discourse, one gems thy Thought,
And marks thy Converse dear, without a Fault;
Politeness waits on Reason for its Guide,
And sov'reign Sense disdains the Aid of Pride;
For Science oft its weaker Sons betrays,
And Knowledge stiffens over-starch'd with Praise!

Well have you chosen the Life-restoring Art,
Which suits the native Purpose of your Heart!
Where soft Humanity its Pow'r extends,
And makes Distress and Misery its Friends;
Where boundless Fortune must defraud your Wish,
Nor give your Goodness—half the Means of Bliss!

Not madly airy, nor morosely grave,
The Fools Surtout, and Refuge of the Knave;
Wife with the Serious, chearful with the Gay,
You dress your Mind congenial to the Day;
Place every Action in its softest Light,
And speak, as if you still were in the Right;
So Painters still exert their strongest Care,
To place the Master-Figure strong and fair;
The rest with fainter Colours are display'd,
And ev'ry Foible sinks behind the Shade!

179

Most happy he! to whom the Fates shall give,
The bless'd Associate of thy Joys to live!
To whom you shall the Leisure-moment lend,
With whom the Cares of busy Life unbend!
With lively Thought, exalted Truth refine,
And give new Lustre to the genial Wine;
May Fortune, yielding to your Science kind,
Bestow her Bounty equal to your Mind.
Shall groveling Souls their useless Treasures boast?
In whom the Sense of Human-kind is lost!
Shall titled Slaves Heaven's rich Elixir waste,
To gratify a mean luxuriant Taste?
And shall just Heav'n deny the Means to thee,
To make its Blessings like its Bounty free!
But if in vain the fond Petitions aim,
Still may your lovely Temper last the same!
Belov'd, unenvy'd, pass your happy Days!
Stamp ev'ry Joy with bright intrinsic Ease;
Till Fate turn out the destin'd Hour assign'd,
Till Heav'n reclaims you, and you leave behind
A Memory dear, and useful to Mankind!

180

To the Honourable Sir John Clerk, Baronet,

One of the Barons of his Majesty's Exchequer in Scotland.

Epistle I.

Auream quisquis mediocritatem
Diligit tutus, caret obsoleti
Sordibus tecti, caret invidendâ
Sobrius Aulâ.
Hor:

While you with Atticus enjoy the Praise,
By all distinguish'd, ev'ry Side to please;
While Parties join your Merit to commend,
And ev'ry honest Man must be your Friend:
Forgive the Muse who would her Homage pay,
And to your View submit the faithful Lay;
Who, conscious of the Joys you most approve,
Seeks you, retir'd, within your fav'rite Grove:

181

On Esca's Bank, where, with melodious Sound,
The Thrush responsive charms the Shades around:
Where free from public Cares, and City-Noise,
Your Mind the Sweets of Solitude enjoys!
Where pure and undisturb'd your Blessings flow,
As Heav'n seem'd pleas'd its Favours to bestow;
Blessings! in which so few can claim a Part,
A plenteous Fortune with a temperate Heart.

Long pass delighted here your Leisure-Day,
And let Life's Evening shed its placid Ray;
Lov'd by your Friends, and to your Country dear,
Spend the fair Remnant of the lengthen'd Year;
Health unimpair'd, and Passions ever ev'n,
On Earth the Foretaste of approaching Heav'n!
While Nature's Beauties still before you rise,
Charm ev'ry Sense, and feast your ravish'd Eyes!
Till by a Change insensible you gain
Th' immortal Joys that worthy Deeds remain;
And with Applause receive the radiant Crown
That waits on public Virtue,—like your own.

182

So far, My Lord, the Muse had gone astray,
Nor thought to whom she sung her artless Lay?
To thee, a Master of the tuneful Pen!
And equal Judge of Manners and of Men;
In whom the Sister-Arts complete unite,
To form a Taste accomplish'd and polite.

Accept the Verse—that scorns the venal Part,
Nor yet has known to prostitute the Art;
Who ne'er to Vice could slavish Altars raise,
Or learn'd to flatter, where she blush'd to praise;
Whose Numbers careless, like herself, and free
Express her Thoughts, and with her Heart agree;
Her Strength unequal to the Task she knows,
Ill suits her Voice to sing, oppress'd with Woes;
Let others touch the Lyre from Trouble free,
(That happy Lot was once allow'd to me!)
But when the Breast is torn with varied Pain,
Wild must the Measures be, and rude the Strain;
Your Candor only can her Faults excuse,
Your Guardian Smile alone protect the Muse;
For Worth like your's, with native Lustre bright,
Can gild obscurest Objects with its Light!

Mevis-Bank, a beautiful Villa belonging to that Gentleman, situated by the Side of the River North-Esk, where the Disposition of the House and Gardens is in the most elegant and finish'd Taste, answerable to the fine Genius of the Owner.

183

To the Same, With Nature, a Poem.

Epistle II.

Principibus placuisse viris non ultima laus est.

Patron of Learning! and the Muse's Friend!
To thee, accomplish'd Clerk, these Lines I send,
Which by thy much lov'd Esca's flow'ry Side,
With faint Essay, the rural Muse has try'd;
And, ravish'd with the various Charms she saw,
Has sketch'd a Landskip abler Hands shou'd draw.

Let others, Strangers to all foreign Worth,
Curse the cold Climate, and the frozen North!
Say, that the barren Land no Prospect yields,
But naked Mountains, and unshelter'd Fields;
Nature is blameless,—she has done her Part,
And only wants the Sister-Aids of Art;
Bless'd with such all-improving Hands as thine,
Soon would her Face with new Advantage shine!

184

Ev'n Rocks should bloom beneath the studious Arm,
And every Blemish soften to a Charm!

Would'st thou indulge the Muse's fond Request,
Thy Country Seat in all its Beauties drest;
Fair as its Model, just as its Design,
To future Ages should distinguish'd shine;
Rais'd by thy Pen, shou'd Northern Wansteads rife,
Or future Chatsworths strike the ravish'd Eyes!
Till Scotia should as lovely Villa's boast,
As grace fair Thames's Shore, or bless Hesperia's Coast!

As once of old, at great Amphion's Call,
To magic Numbers rose the Theban Wall!
The same Effect thy noble Strains should yield,
And Verse again resume the Pow'r to build.

An ingenious Poem of that Gentleman's, intitled, the Country Seat, never publish'd.

185

THE Tears of the Muses:

A POEM, Sacred to the MEMORY OF The Right Honourable ANNE, Viscountess of Stormont.

Anno MDCCXXXV.

Sublatam ex oculis—quærimus Invidi.

187

To the Right Honourable DAVID, Lord Viscount of STORMONT, Lord Murray of Balvaird, Lochmaben, and Comlongon

189

— O when meet now
Such Pairs? in mutual Love and Honour Join'd!
Milt.

As late the thoughtful Muse, in pensive Mood,
Explor'd the Silence of an ancient Wood,
Where, unobserv'd, she might herself disclose,
And brood at Leisure o'er her lengthen'd Woes;
Pursued by Fortune, and by Love distress'd,
Fond to enjoy an Interval of Rest,
Sudden,—a Train of Radiance fill'd the Air,
And told, Urania, heav'nly Maid, was near;
Confess'd as soon appear'd the friendly Pow'r,
But ah, her Face a different Aspect wore;
Those Eyes, whose piercing Rays could once inspire
A chearful Warmth, and shed celestial Fire!
Now veil'd in pearly Grief, diminish'd, glow'd,
Like the Sun struggling thro' a wintry Cloud:
Her Air was negligent, her Step was slow,
And all her alter'd Manner seem'd to show
Such Grief, as Angels may be thought to know.

190

A while she paus'd,—then, in my list'ning Ear,
She pour'd those Accents, yet I seem to hear.

“In vain, lost Youth! in Shades you seek Relief,
“And waste in Solitude unheeded Grief;
“What Aid can Nature to your Suff'rings give?
“Can Forests pity, or will Rocks relieve?
“Wounded by Man, if Human-kind you fly,
“You only dig your Grave before you die;
“No:—if you seek a Theme to vent your Woe,
“For Arria's Loss bid every Measure flow.
“Your noblest Strains beneath her Worth will fall,
“Great as your Anguish is—she asks it all.

Submiss, I answer'd,—“Goddess, deign to say,
“This peerless Fair whose Loss your Looks display,
“A Stranger here—in Characters unread,
“Oblig'd to live obscur'd by Fortune's Shade!
“Inform the Muse, who this distinguish'd Name,
“Urania's Grief, would consecrate to Fame;
“Oh speak!—alarm'd, my pressing Fears forgive,
“Is Arria, Eglinton?—does Arria live?”

With a faint Smile the Goddess thus reply'd,—
“Long Eglinton shall live her Country's Pride!

191

“But now beneath a mutual Loss we bend,
“I mourn a Daughter, and she mourns a Friend;
“If she can suffer, and if I complain,
“Think what must be the Husband-Lover's Pain;
“Think how disconsolate her Stormont mourns,
“While every tender Passion wounds by Turns!
“Then raise thy Voice, the trembling Lyre awake,
“Attentive hear, and dictate as I speak.”

Come, ye Pierian Sisters, join to mourn,
And bathe with Tears lamented Arria's Urn.

What blending Virtues crown'd her spotless Youth?
What artless Innocence, what native Truth!
How did in Life the early Charmer rise,
And with uncommon Beauties strike the Eyes?
So does, in Spring, the gently opening Rose,
Profuse of Fragrance, all its Sweets disclose;
Or, so unblemish'd, from its Parent Bed
The tender Lilly rears its snowy Head!
But oh, her Cheeks a fairer Bloom confess'd,
And Lillies languish'd on her purer Breast!

Mourn, weeping Sisters, join with me to mourn,
And strow with Flowers lamented Arria's Urn.

192

How many Lovers with desiring Eyes,
And fond Contention, sought the Virgin Prize?
But Wealth, to Souls like her's, was poor and mean,
And Titles shed their borrow'd Blaze in vain.
Courts might have boasted of a Form so fair,
Nay, even her Virtue might have triumph'd there,
But Heav'n reserv'd her for a happier Sphere.
Design'd (too short) the noblest Joys to prove,
The Charms of Friendship, and the Sweets of Love.

Mourn, weeping Sisters, join with me to mourn,
And bathe with Tears lamented Arria's Urn.

Her Choice, where Judgment held the better Part,
To Stormont gave the Treasure of her Heart,
For him reserv'd this whitest Lot of Life,
The chaste Endearments of a Roman Wife.
Not Brutus could his Portia more admire,
Nor she esteem him with a nobler Fire,
Than faithful Arria for her Stormont own'd,
While fair connubial Love their Union crown'd.

Mourn, weeping Sisters, join with me to mourn,
And deck with Flowers lamented Arria's Urn.

193

Enraptur'd, oft beneath the Sylvan Scene,
Far from the restless Ways of giddy Men,
Have this bless'd Pair in kind responsive Talk,
Enjoy'd the Morning-Breeze, or Evening-Walk!
While each to vye in fond Affection strove,
And all the purple Hours flew wing'd with Love!
So guiltless yet, in Eden's Garden bless'd,
The Sire of Men his charming Spouse caress'd:
But here no Serpent e'er presum'd to glide,
This Eve ne'er wander'd from her Consort's Side.

Mourn, weeping Sisters, join with me to mourn,
And bathe with Tears lamented Arria's Urn.

How did her Lord, exulting, smile to see
Her Angel-Race contending round her Knee,
With prattling Zeal for Preference debate;
Or eager for some Mark of Favour wait;
Watch all the Motions of her smiling Eye,
For this or that important Trifle fly,
A Call or Message was a Fund of Joy!
How did her Bosom give Reflection Room,
And form gay Images of Joy to come!
But now dispers'd, behold the little Train
Demand their Parent,—but demand in vain!

194

Mourn, weeping Sisters, join with me to mourn,
And deck with Flowers lamented Arria's Urn.

Scarce had the fair excelling Matron-Wife
Attain'd the bright Meridian Point of Life;
When Heav'n, whose Ways are hid from human Sight,
Recall'd this Seraph to the Land of Light;
And, in a Fever's unrelenting Rage,
Involv'd the Vigour of her blooming Age.
No more the temperate Pulses kept their Course,
The sanguine Torrent roll'd with lawless Force;
Her sprightly Eyes no more their Lustre shed,
And from her Face the roseate Colour fled!
One heavy Slumber, with consuming Heat,
Proclaim'd quick Ruin, and impending Fate.
In vain the Scene her tortur'd Lord survey'd,
Call'd every Art and Pow'r in vain to aid;
In vain to Heav'n preferr'd the secret Sigh,
'Twas fix'd—and Arria was ordain'd to die!

Mourn, weeping Sisters, join with me to mourn,
And bathe with Tears lamented Arria's Urn.

195

So, in these cold inclement Northern Skies,
A while the tender Myrtle charms the Eyes;
Warm with the genial Sun's enlivening Rays,
The od'rous Plant its lively Bloom displays;
But, struck with one transpiercing Evening's Frost,
Its Face soon alters, and its Charms are lost;
Its Head reclines, its verdant Leaves decay,
And all the Sylvan Charmer dies away.

Mourn, weeping Sisters, join with me to mourn,
And deck with Flowers lamented Arria's Urn.

See where, yet scarce recover'd from the Blow,
Her thoughtful Lord sustains his Load of Woe!
While Death severe has triumph'd at his Cost,
And half the Treasure of his Soul is lost.
See, how enamour'd of the conscious Gloom,
He walks disconsolate from Room to Room!
Where every Object all his Loss recalls,
And fancied Whispers eccho from the Walls!
Not all the Influence of his Muse-like Art
Can mitigate the Anguish of his Heart!
So, lost in Grief, was hopeless Orpheus found,
When Rhodope return'd the plaintive Sound.

196

Mourn, weeping Sisters, join with me to mourn,
And bathe with Tears lamented Arria's Urn.

Go Heav'n-instructed Muse, dispatchful go,
And in Urania's Name let Stormont know,
She bids him dissipate his fruitless Woe:
From the dear Remnants of distinguish'd Clay,
Recall his fond mistaken Sight away,
To trace his Arria to the Fields of Day!
Where, brightly dress'd, in more than mortal Charms,
'Midst a glad Train of fair-resembling Forms;
She sees the boundless Prospect round her rise,
And learns the Wonders of her native Skies:
With conscious Joy attends the Throne supreme,
Receives her Crown,—and registers her Name.

Change, smiling Muses, change the plantive Sound,
Sing Arria with unfading Honours crown'd!

Nor is she, tho' the lovely Form she wore
Is spotless Dust, and can be his no more,
To Stormont lost!—tho' lost perhaps in Name,
But Friendship after Death preserves its Flame,
Its Source unalter'd, and its Force the fame!

197

Just to that Tye, amidst the heav'nly Throng,
To her the fav'rite Charge may still belong;
Thro' Life a Guardian-Seraph may she wait,
And temper all the various Turns of Fate;
In every sudden Crisis still be near,
Avert the Danger, or allay the Care;
Thro' Life's rude Pilgrimage her Lord attend,
Unheard direct him, and unseen befriend;
And when weak Nature to its Fate gives Way,
She first shall greet him to the Fields of Day!
To his pleas'd Eyes th' Etherial Gardens show,
And make him smile at all he left below.

Change, smiling Muses, change the plaintive Sound,
Sing Arria with immortal Splendors crrwn'd.

Mean Time in those superior Regions bless'd,
Where Joys unblemish'd court her purer Taste!
Less bright the Groves of Paradise appear,
Till she behold her kindred Essence there!
Here, Souls by feeble Ties are faintly join'd,
Tis there, they meet and mingle unconfin'd!

198

Like Beams of friendly Light consenting shine,
And kindle in the Flames of Love divine!
Immortal Union!—undiminish'd Ray!
Fed from the Fountain of Eternal Day!

Change, smiling Muses! change the plaintive Sound,
Sing Arria with unfading Glories crown'd!

Go, helpless Youth! record the sacred Verse,
The Muses form to grace fair Arria's Herse;
And, as the unexampled Scene appears,
Of Worth superior to her Span of Years,
Bid all her Sex the bright Example trace,
And fill with Dignity Life's narrow Space.
Bid them, like her, the outward Form resign'd,
Tho' fair as e'er adorn'd the fairest Kind,
Improve the nobler Beauties of the Mind.

End, smiling Muses, end the plaintive Sound,
Bright Arria lives with lasting Honours crown'd!

199

The Goddess ceas'd:—and in a radiant Shrowd,
Which gold-encircled Clouds of blue bestow'd
Involv'd,—she gently from my Eyes withdrew,
Which yet the pleasing Vision seem'd to view;
But, as she went, she said,—poor Mourner, cease
“Thy Griefs, for Fortune yet shall give thee Peace.
“To Stormont let these Numbers be address'd,
“He best must judge, who knows the Subject best;
“To make his Arria's full Perfection known,
“No Muse should do her Justice—but his own.

One cannot without Pleasure read the following Passage in Mr. Ramsay's Cyrus; (a Work that abounds with the noblest and justest Sentiments.) “I comfort myself (says that Prince of the Eastern Philosophers) with the Hopes of seeing Selima again in the Sphere of Fire, the pure Element of Love! Souls only make Acquaintance here below, it is above their Union is consummated! O Selima! Selima! our Flame will be eternal! I know that in these superior Regions your Happiness will not be complete till I share it with you! Those who have lov'd each other purely, will love for ever. True Love is Immortal!;” Those, who had the Honour and Happiness of knowing this noble Pair, will see with Pleasure the Justice of this Application.

203

THE OLIVE: AN Heroic ODE.

Occasioned by the auspicious Success of his Majesty's Counsels, and his Majesty's most happy Return, 1736–7.

[_]

In the Stanza of Spenser.

—Tua, Cæsar! ætas
Fruges, et agros rettulit uberes,
[OMITTED]et vacuum duellis
Janum Quirini clausit, et ordinem
Rectum evaganti fræna Licentiæ
Injecit, amovitque culpas,
Et veteres Revocavit artes!
Hor.

204

To the Right Honourable Sir Robert Walpole, Chancellor of His Majesty's Exchequer, First Lord Commissioner of the Treasury, One of His Majesty's Most Honourable Privy-Council, and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter

207

The Argument.

The Muse, from the late Pacification of the Troubles in Europe, and his Majesty' s safe and happy Return, takes Occasion to deduce the History of Britain from its earliest Time, and concludes with shewing our present Happiness under his Majesty' s gracious and mild Administration.

I

Long had Bellona rais'd her furious Hand,
Dispersing Terror to th' affrighted World;
Long had she shook on high her flaming Brand,
And wide promiscuous Devastation hurl'd!
From rapid Rhine to silver-streaming Po,
Opposing Camps deform'd the hostile Plain;
Sarmatia, laid by prædal Rapine low,
Mourn'd the hard Yoke, and sought Relief in vain!
While, proudly mounted on her Iron Car,
The Goddess spread the Marks of desolating War.

208

II

Engag'd in Arms, the Austrian Cæsar burn'd
The adverse Force too potent to restrain;
To Britain oft, and oft to Belgia turn'd,
And Churchill wish'd, and Auverquerk again!
His languid Eagle droop'd her feeble Wing,
His Hopes scarce found a Shelter from Despair!
Nor knew intent Britannia's watchful King
Held the depending Scale, and weigh'd the War:
And like deciding Heav'n, whose Place he held,
Knew when to hush the Storm, and bid the Tempest yield!

III

At length commission'd came the Angel down,
The smiling Messenger of heav'nly Peace!
A while he stopp'd at Britain's Guardian-Throne,
Thence to the World display'd his chearful Face:
His beamy Presence new-born Life restor'd
To Lands too long forbid his healing Ray:
War's grizly Pow'r the Seraph's Flight explor'd,
And sick'ning shrunk in guilty Shades away!
Quiet return'd with all her Halcyon Train,
And Plenty bless'd once more the cultivated Plain.

209

IV

While thus from Havock Europe breathes releas'd,
Whose Hand too long had laid her Bosom bare;
While the shrill Sounds of Discord sink appeas'd,
And the glad Nations feel a milder Air;
Walpole! wilt thou, to whose experienc'd Thought
Our Great Augustus trusts the World's Repose?
Whose Prudence has this Change pacific wrought,
And triumph'd over thine and Britain's Foes:
Wilt thou, Mæcenas-like, beneath thy Wings
The wand'ring Dove receive, this Olive-Garland brings?

V

Let Heroes false in Deeds of Prowess shine,
And bold Adventures boast, with Shame atchiev'd:
To bless Mankind, Superior George be thine!
Tyrants to curb, and smile on States reliev'd:
These are the Toils become Britannia's King,
By these Posterity shall mark thy Name;
These are the noblest Fruits thy Pow'r can bring,
To found on Goodness an unblemish'd Fame;
And to succeeding Times distinguish'd stand
The Greatest Prince that rul'd fair Albion's happy Land!

210

VI

But whither would the daring Muse aspire,
That aims so high a Pitch her vent'rous Flight?
Misled perhaps by fond Icarian Fire,
She seeks her Ruin in the arduous Height!
While she directs her Eyes to Britain's Throne,
And sees such dazzling Rays of Virtue join'd;
Wisdom and Mercy fairer Looks put on;
In one Imperial Band of Pow'r combin'd!
With Rev'rence aw'd she makes a sudden Stand,
Dubious to quit the Lyre:—and stops her trembling Hand!

VII

Yet when bold Spenser stretch'd the shadowy Wing,
Eliza could the Poet's Flight regard;
When tuneful Waller touch'd the softer String,
Maria's Audience crown'd the happy Bard:
When deathless Addison and Prior sung
Of prostrate Gaul beneath the British Spear!
As Marlbro's mighty Deeds inspir'd their Tongue,
All-condescending Anna deign'd to hear
The Triumphs of her Reign their Page relate,
Above Description high,—beyond Expression great!

211

VIII

Tho' all too mean for such a Task I deem
My artless Hand, and yet unpractis'd Voice;
Yet, if to thee th' Attempt shall duteous seem,
If thou, consummate Judge! approve her Choice
The gen'rous Flame, that glows in Walpole's Breast,
Shall swell with Vigour the recording Lyre;
His Love of Britain, on the Muse imprest,
Shall aid Imagination's boundless Fire:
In lasting Colours ardent to display
Her present blissful State, her calm Meridian Day!

IX

Down thro' the deep'ning Gloom of distant Time
The Muse looks back with retrospective Eyes;
Curious to mark her much-lov'd Albion's Prime,
When from her ambient Sea she seem'd to rise:
When the Phænician sought her sunny Shore,
Her harmless Natives ignorantly good,
Her rev'rend Druids kept her mystic Lore,
Their Rites observing thro' the hallow'd Wood:
Peace then her Joy, and Liberty her Flame,
Nature's and Britain's Laws were equally the fame!

212

X

At length, when Rome's imperious Eagles flew
O'er the subjected Earth to fix her Sway;
As now near Gaul's remotest Coast they drew,
Across the wat'ry Bound they ey'd this Prey!
Her Julius, then unequall'd Chief in Fight,
In Fancy saw his vast Ambition crown'd;
But to Retreat compell'd—if not to Flight,
Then first his Arms Reverse of Fortune found:
Oblig'd to own, that Foes so nobly brave
Deserv'd to keep the Land indulgent Nature gave.

XI

Unable to retain her Hold by Force
(Such Spirit Freedom gives to valiant Minds)
Rome had to ancient Artifice Recourse,
And from Division surer Footing finds:
The Seeds of Jealousy her Agents spread
Fomenting thro' the brave Allies Debate;
Encroaching thus an easy Conquest made,
And fix'd in Albion first her sov'reign Seat;
The People learnt her gentle Sway to bear,
The Roman Manners caught, and gain'd their milder Air!

213

XII

Tho' Albion thus beneath the Yoke resign'd,
She found the Victor no inclement Foe;
Arts she was taught, the Love of Human-kind,
And civil Rights, and social Ties to know!
Then Cities peopled grew, and Temples rose,
Her polish'd Face a fairer Form put on;
And to describe her early Change, she chose
Recording Brass, and monumental Stone!
Then first to distant Lands her dawning Ray
Of Glory rising beam'd o'er her surrounding Sea!

XIII

Like some rapacious Wolf inur'd to Blood,
Who long had rang'd the Terror of the Fold,
By Age enfeebled, by the Swains pursu'd,
Betakes for Refuge to his strongest Hold:
So now the Roman Empire over-run,
By Northern Swarms beneath its Weight declin'd,
Britain beheld recall'd her Legions gone,
New Lords to prove of a severer Kind:
By long succeeding Trials doom'd to get
Strength from her Falls, and rise more prevalently Great!

214

XIV

Scots now and Picts, a rude and lawless Band,
With rapid Course her boasted Fence destroy'd;
Thence wide Mis-rule, and Rapine o'er the Land,
The wasteful Spoilers spread on ev'ry Side:
Britain! that once a Cæsar's Arms repell'd,
Enervated too long with servile Ease,
Inglorious now was forc'd to quit the Field,
And cast her Eyes for Help across the Seas;
Where Eastward dwelt a Race in Arms renown'd,
For Legislature fam'd, with Conquest ever crown'd!

XV

To these the pensive Suppliant, press'd with Grief,
At large her Suff'rings, and her Wrongs display'd;
Implor'd the gen'rous Saxon's kind Relief,
Who, fir'd by Glory, hast'ned to her Aid:
By two illustrious Warrior-Brothers led,
On Britain's Coast arriv'd their hardy Bands;
The vanquish'd Foe before their Presence fled,
Their Succour paid with Thanet's fruitful Lands:
Where ravish'd with a Soil so richly sweet,
They reap'd their Toils, and fix'd their strongly rooted Seat.

215

XVI

But seldom Cause to wild Ambition fails,
The secret Seeds of Discord quickly grow;
New Strength arrives—the Saxon Sword prevails,
The Britons yield beneath the potent Foe!
Seven different Chiefs the parcell'd Land obey'd,
Who each by Conquest fix'd a regal Throne:
Till, as the stronger on the weaker prey'd,
They, by Degrees, were swallow'd up in one:
When mighty Egbert, with auspicious Reign,
Rul'd the obedient Land, and pacify'd the Main.

XVII

Yet, thus beneath the Saxon Pow'r subdu'd,
Her first of Blessings hence Britannia drew;
Worth all the Purchase of her noblest Blood,
Eternal Object of her faithful View!
Freedom! the genial Sun, whose heav'nly Beams
With double Lustre gild her happy Isle!
Freedom! the Spring, whose clear refreshing Streams
Make her glad Vales with endless Plenty smile!
The Privilege with Life her Children claim,
Characteristic dear! each Briton's fav'rite Name.

216

XVIII

Hence the mild Sweets of temperated Sway,
Princes by just Prerogative confin'd;
The People hence with willing Heart obey
Laws, which to dictate, they themselves have join'd:
Our Constitution hence its Birth receiv'd,
The latent Principles of lasting Life;
Which all Diseases, all Attacks has brav'd,
And secret Wounds defied, and civil Strife:
By Brunswic's Race secur'd, shall keep its Pow'r,
As Mountains lift their Heads, when Storms can blow no more!

XIX

Like some fair Virgin cloath'd in Nature's Dress,
The simple Majesty of artless Charms;
Contending Suitors for her Favour press,
Her Beauty draws new Dangers to her Arms:
So England next the lustful Dane survey'd,
Allur'd, the prædal Raven took his Flight,
Her Coasts at first attempting to invade,
And violate her Sweets with rude Delight:
Each Taste renew'd, but fir'd the Robber's Soul,
Nor ceas'd his wild Pursuit, till he enjoy'd the Whole!

217

XX

Nor long the Ravisher his Prize detain'd,
(Compulsion seldom wins a gentle Heart)
The Saxon soon his plighted Bride regain'd,
The bold Intruder was constrain'd to part:
Short were their Joys—from the Armoric Shore
New Clouds arising threat'ned short Repose;
The Norman came with well-appointed Pow'r,
And cut his Passage to the Throne, he rose;
Acknowledg'd King, the Conqu'ror left his Place,
Inheritance devolv'd—his lasting Line to grace!

XXI

Yet not of new Advantages devoid,
Britain beheld the Stranger seize her Throne;
New Sanctions hence her former Rights enjoy'd,
The fix'd Estate more safe was handed down:
The Law with higher Rev'rence arm'd her Hand,
To curb wild Riot, and oppressive Sway;
Justice enlarg'd her Course, and thro' the Land
Progressive, shed her more immediate Ray:
And Property and Freedom still ally'd,
In more enduring Bands, their friendly Union ty'd!

218

XXII

Power oft to Mortals spreads bewitching Charms,
Alluring to extend its Bounds too wide;
This to restrain, the Barons oft in Arms,
Embattled strong, the regal Sword defy'd:
With diff'rent Aspect long the Contest held,
Was often pacify'd, and oft renew'd;
Till on fair Running's celebrated Field,
Britain her Charter got, unstain'd with Blood:
In which acknowledg'd all her Rights were shewn
Th' eternal Rule, by which her Monarchs held their Crown.

XXIII

From hence to warlike Edward's glorious Reign,
Britannia rose thro' various Turns of Fate;
Then foreign Princes first endur'd her Chain,
And vanquish'd Nations own'd her Fame compleat!
On Crecy's Plain, and Poitier's well-fought Field,
In Air her Sanguine Cross victorious flew!
By Arms transplanted to her ampled Shield,
The Gallic Lillies took a fairer Hue:
And, like her matchless King's establish'd Star,
Her Morning Lustre beam'd, and spread its Glory far!

219

XXIV

A darker Period next displays its Pow'r,
Scenes, the sad Muse in Silence would conceal!
When social Discord, in ill-omen'd Hour,
Bade Desolation o'er the Land prevail:
When York's and Lancaster's contesting Line,
Aspiring to the Sweets of envied Reign,
In Arms for rolling Years were seen to shine,
And many a bloody Field with Slaughter stain:
Then faintly dim appear'd Britannia's Beam,
As April Suns thro' Clouds disclose their sickly Gleam!

XXV

Then Britain mourn'd for many a noble Life,
In the contending Houses Quarrel lost;
For 'tis the genuine Curse of Civil-Strife,
Still to last longest, and to rage the most!
Heav'n smil'd at last:—and bade the Tempest cease,
Returning Industry along the Plain
Shed from her Hands the healing Balm of Peace,
The Wounds of War relenting clos'd again;
And gently twin'd round Henry's prosp'rous Head,
The Rival-Roses twin'd, increasing Fragrance shed!

220

XXVI

Ascending, now the Prospect fairer grows,
As from the Height of some Advantage Ground,
The weary Pilgrim pauses as he goes,
And forward looks on different Beauties round!
So hence from blameless Edward's placid Ray,
(The short-liv'd Cloud of Mary's Rigour past)
To the bright Splendor of Eliza's Day,
Britain began her new-gain'd Ease to taste;
And conscious felt beneath her equal Reign,
For forty rolling Years, Tranquillity serene!

XXVII

Britannia fav'd from Rome's tyrannic Yoke,
Hibernia civiliz'd, and Belgia freed;
Iberia's mighty Pow'r for Ages broke,
Shall shine to future Days Eliza's Deed!
Between contending Kings her steady Hand,
And prudent Eye sustain'd the dubious Scale;
And undisturb'd preserv'd this happy Land,
When War did o'er the Continent prevail:
In her expir'd Plantagenet's high Race,
As sets in liquid Gold the Sun's augmented Face!

221

XXVIII

Now to the widow'd Rose, as next ally'd,
Its Branch the Northern Thistle nearer drew;
In closer Bands their kindred Union ty'd,
Engrafted thus more flourishing they grew:
Around the blushing Flow'r its pointed Arms
The hardy Plant defensive fondly spread;
The blushing Flow'r, with ornamental Charms,
And fruitful Sweets, enrich'd its Consort's Bed!
Britain, till then, by diff'ring Int'rests sway'd,
Divided now no more, one rightful Rule obey'd!

XXIX

Whether too rough to suit so rich a Soil,
Or grown luxuriant from too wild a Shoot:
Not long the Thistle felt the Southern Smile,
Soon Sickness seiz'd, and Storms destroy'd the Root.
Then bled great Charles!—o'er Britain's darken'd Eyes,
Black Usurpation spred its dreadful Night;
Till Monarchy reviving clear'd the Skies,
As Chaos fled of old the Face of Light:
The Law its ancient Channels re-assum'd,
And with redoubled Grace returning Freedom bloom'd!

222

XXX

Sadly intentive as the Muse surveys
These recent Marks of beauteous Britain's Scars,
With honest Warmth inspir'd she ardent prays,
Heav'n long may shield her from intestine Jars!
Blasted by Fate, detested by the Skies,
By Earth deserted be th' accursed Hand!
That open Force or secret Faction tries,
To plunge in Civil Wars his native Land:
Let Walpole's Care this worst of Ills repell,
And guard that Liberty, he knows and loves so well!

XXXI

Wisely would Men improve the Ills of Fate,
The Frowns of Heav'n were not bestow'd in vain:
Kings then would learn, the Secret to be Great
Was in their Subjects Hearts to fix their Reign!
Had but the Royal Pair this Wisdom known,
Charles had not sacrific'd his darling Ease;
His Brother then had fill'd a peaceful Throne,
Nor in a second Exile clos'd his Days:
Doom'd an eternal Monument to prove,
A Prince's best Defence lies in his People's Love!

223

XXXII

As when the Shore intrusive jetts too far,
Encroaching on the Empire of the Deep;
Th' assembled Waves begin the wint'ry War,
And o'er the weak Barrier impetuous sweep!
So when alarm'd Britannia saw the Crown
Attempt th' establish'd Bars which Freedom laid :
Eager to keep that Blessing still her own,
To Nassau's Virtue she apply'd for Aid:
Timely the Hero interpos'd to save,
And nobly gain'd the Style, the rescued Nation gave!

XXXIII

Then Britain seiz'd the favourable Hour,
To fix the Basis of her future Rest;
To mark the Limits of asserted Pow'r,
The Prince still blessing, and the People bless'd!
Then safe from all the Malice of its Foes,
Time's iron Hand, and War's repeated Rage!
Explain'd, confirm'd, her ancient Charter rose,
And, clear'd from Dust, display'd its sacred Page:
The Guardian Star! whose future Influence bright
Might guide her happy Sons, with ever friendly Light!

224

XXXIV

Belgia, in Fate's dark Hour, the Hero's Care,
Britain defended, and Hibernia sav'd!
Europe protected from the Gallic Spear,
Shall stand on William's Monument engrav'd!
The studious Eye, that runs his Labours o'er,
Shall print his Image on the grateful Mind;
Shall own, how mean the Pride of lawless Pow'r,
Compar'd with his who fights to save Mankind!
And every Briton shall be just to own,
Virtues like his deserv'd their Abdicated Throne.

XXXV

Nor was to William's Life his Worth confin'd,
To her Deliv'rer Britain still was dear!
That Passion grew, when all the rest declin'd,
In Death her Welfare was his latest Care:
'Twas then his calmly comprehensive Thought,
Intent to future Ages to secure
The Blessings, his distinguish'd Arm had wrought;
By one Bequest establish'd Freedom sure:
And, in illustrious Brunswic's godlike Race,
Left us the settled Hopes of long-enduring Peace!

225

XXXVI

From the departing Monarch's dying Hand,
Anna the delegated Sword receiv'd;
And Marlbro', mighty Chief! at her Command,
High Deeds perform'd, and matchless Toils atchiev'd!
By Land she triumph'd, triumph'd on the Main,
Period to Britain's Glory ever dear!
Were not the Honours of a ten Years Reign
Dash'd by the Peace of one inglorious Year;
And veil'd in Darkness set her Ev'ning Hour,
As shooting Stars that fall, — to rise again no more!

XXXVII

The Muse now meditates a nobler Strain,
New plumes her Wings, and fondly seeks to rise!
Attentive views great Brunswic cross the Main,
While Britain's Joys exulting reach the Skies;
Soon as the Monarch reach'd her happy Shore,
Upwards to Heav'n her grateful Eye she cast;
Her Fears, her Doubts, her Dangers now no more!
In present Bliss dissolv'd each Trouble pass'd:
As Men delighted view the solar Ray
Burst from the dark Eclipse,—and kindle into Day!

226

XXXVIII

O could the Muse in equal Lay recite
The Scene attentive Europe once beheld,
When from Vienna's Towers, auspicious Sight!
Fled the fierce Ottoman in Arms repell'd:
Then Brunswic's maiden Sword in Conquest dy'd,
Gave signal Proofs of his illustrious Birth;
Nassau well pleas'd the rising Hero spy'd,
And by Adoption own'd his kindred Worth:
And now his Brow those regal Honours grace,
His Virtues more than claim'd—familiar to his Race!

XXXIX

Hence a glad Æra takes its fairer Date,
Whose rolling Years in Smiles of Glory dress'd,
Britain with Pleasure sees revolv'd by Fate,
And treasures up her Hopes of lasting Rest;
In George the Founder of her brightest Line,
Whose royal Veins her ancient Blood retain'd;
This happy Period first was taught to shine,
And in its Course increasing Lustre gain'd!
Till the bless'd Joys the Godlike Sire begun,
Establish'd stood fulfill'd, in his imperial Son!

227

XL

Great Prince! whose early Age in Arms excell'd,
Valour confess'd by Britain's constant Foe!
When on fair Oudenarde's distinguish'd Field,
Thy Arm victorious dealt the deadly Blow:
To the high Laurels which thy Youth acquir'd,
Oh be the peaceful Olive gently join'd!
Let Britain's Hand, by faithful Duty fir'd,
Around thy Head the grateful Honours bind!
Whose Goodness drew from Conquest and from War
The nobler Principle to bless Mankind and spare!

XLI

While Mercy forms our Monarch's dear Delight,
And gains new Beauties from his royal Smile;
While Truth and Justice in his Rule unite,
And Freedom warms, and Plenty gilds our Isle:
While Peace with guardian Wings protects the Throne,
And o'er the quiet Land, and subject Sea,
Sheds the eternal Sweets of Safety down,
Warm as the Sun! and constant as the Day!
What Heart so savage, not the Joy to prove?
What honest Breast but glows with Loyalty and Love!

228

XLII

Thus while Britannia, of her Wish possess'd,
Enamour'd gazes on her Sov'reign's Face;
While in each potent Charm of Beauty dress'd,
She looks and moves with still improving Grace:
While from her ambient Main, where'er she turns,
She sees her Form reflected strongly bright;
With grateful Transport as her Bosom burns,
Intent she presses to the Royal Sight:
To thank him for the Peace his Presence brings,
And welcome to her Arms—the noblest, best of Kings.

XLIII

Oh let, great King! her Pray'rs assume the Pow'r,
With humble Zeal, to reach thy gracious Ear!
Let thy Britannia mourn thy Loss no more,
Nor for her Prince's Safety feel a Fear:
Since by thy Influence from her Doubts reliev'd,
Europe to thee directs her grateful Eyes!
Here let her Vows, by ours increas'd, receiv'd
Before thy Throne in glad Memorial rise;
And let conspiring Gratulations bless
Thy peaceful Labours crown'd, with ever just Success!

229

XLIV

Ambitious Gaul shall Nature now confine,
Her boundless Pride shall vex the World no more;
Defended by his old Barrier the Rhine,
The German safe shall dare the hostile Pow'r:
Fair Lusitania, by Britannia freed,
Shall open all her hospitable Shores;
Her grateful Prince shall pay his Thanks decreed,
And pour his golden Urn to swell her Stores!
Proud to confess the Friendship of that Reign,
That calms the Continent, and guards the distant Main.

XLV

Transplanted now, the fair Austrasian Line,
To Arno's Banks along th' Etrurian Plain,
Shall feel the friendly Warmth, nor more decline
Beneath encroaching Gallia's fatal Chain;
Her eldest Hope, with regal Honours grac'd,
Shall rise adopted to th' imperial Throne;
Shall reap the high Reward of Sufferings past,
And guard those Rights for which he lost his own:
For which his Ancestors of old have stood
So oft in Arms renown'd,—and shed the noblest Blood.

230

XLVI

Mean while Britannia from her Cliffs surveys
The distant World its various Offerings bring;
Receives th' accumulated Wealth, and pays,
From thence, her willing Homage to the King.
In ev'ry Port her anchor'd Vessels ride,
Her canvass'd Navies whiten all the Main;
Wealth to her Bosom flows from ev'ry Tide,
And golden Plenty waves along her Plain!
What Nation can such countless Blessings boast,
From Afric's burning Sands, to Zembla's icy Coast?

XLVII

Nor is she in her Sovereign bless'd alone,
Tho' that alone might speak her Glory great!
While godlike Carolina shares the Throne,
Her heav'nly Goodness makes the Bliss complete!
When she revolves, with calm attentive Mind
The greatest Queens, her sacred Purple wore;
No Princess on Record her Search can find,
Whose Virtues more deserv'd imperial Pow'r!
Whose Conduct heightens all the Pride of Blood,
Whose truly Royal Heart still flows in Streams of Good!

231

XLVIII

Angelic Queen! whose unexampled Worth,
Whose spotless Piety, and sponsal Love,
Shine out a Pattern to th' admiring Earth,
And Saints regard with Wonder from above!
Whose royal Wisdom, and maternal Care,
So oft experienc'd, and so lately found!
Has justly made thy Name to Britain dear,
Has all her highest Expectations crown'd:
Still may thy Brow that semblant Circle boast,
Which for Heaven's holy Truth, Bohemia' s Princess lost!

XLIX

Illustrious Pair! could Virtue Force impart,
O'er a degen'rate Age to shed its Pow'r!
Yours would convey a Beam to ev'ry Heart,
And Peace harmonious here below restore:
Your Britons, while they saw such Union bright,
Would feel of Goodness the prevailing Charms;
Such as the Royal Meeting gave the Sight,
When the King rested in his Consort's Arms:
Oh! when did Love, or sacred Honour shine
In such bright Forms confess'd, as George and Caroline?

232

L

Nor thou, dear Prince, whom Britain fondly views,
Dress'd in Benevolence! the softest Light!
Whose gentle Aspect, like descending Dews,
Chears a whole World!—the Joy of every Sight!
Whether thy future Beam the Nations warms,
With heav'nly Virtues fair Meridian Course;
Or shines reflected from victorious Arms,
With stronger Lustre, and augmented Force:
Still may the faithful Muse select thy Name
To grace the fairest Page, in all the Rolls of Fame!

LI

Close by her much lov'd Frederick's royal Side
With native Beauty and imperial Air!
Augusta shines our Ornament and Pride,
Who view enamour'd the distinguish'd Pair;
While we revolve his princely humane Mind,
His Love of Learning, Liberty, and Truth!
With her unblemish'd Faith and Candor join'd,
Her matchless Sweetness, and unspotted Youth!
How does the happy Contraste charm our Eyes?
From Union so complete, what future Bliss shall rise?

233

LII

Already are Britannia's Vows repaid,
So smiles the Bounty of indulgent Heav'n;
Charm'd she beholds an infant Princely-Maid,
A new Augusta to her Arms is giv'n!
As when the Orient Sun restores the Day,
Fair Nature blooms to the delighted Eye;
So from this new-born Star's propitious Ray,
We feel young Hope, and unabated Joy!
And in this happy Gift prophetic find
A long heroic Line, to bless and save Mankind.

LIII

Nor does at Home Britannia's Glory shine,
Confin'd the mighty Blessings to her Breast:
Her Sea-born Sister she invites to join,
And with her Share of Happiness be bless'd:
Her eldest Princess, fix'd on Belgia's Shore,
A free-born People's duteous Love shall claim;
Destin'd a Line of Heroes to restore,
And spread new Honour o'er the lasting Name!
For when her godlike Sire her Hand bestow'd,
He amply paid the Debt to Nassau Britain ow'd!

234

LIV

Young William's princely Form she pleas'd surveys
With manly Air and Grace peculiar shine;
If early Worth insures a lasting Praise,
Fame's noblest Wreaths shall one great Day be thine.
As Pallas once in Mentor's Shape confess'd,
The Grecian Prince the Love of Virtue taught:
With Fortitude and Patience steel'd his Breast,
And by Degrees the finish'd Hero wrought:
So, in thy Cares, the Picture, Poyntz, we see,
And Britain safe confides her second Hopes to Thee!

LV

Ravish'd she views Amelia's Angel-Truth,
Mildness divine! that ev'ry Bosom warms!
With Carolina's bright accomplish'd Youth,
Where Virtue lends to Beauty stronger Charms:
Maria rises next in blooming Pride,
A Name belov'd! the Owner's Charms endears!
And fair Louisa by her Sister's Side,
In soft maternal Majesty appears!
Happy the Prince such Consorts shall obtain,
Happier the favour'd Land, where Heaven shall fix their Reign!

235

LVI

Around their Sov'reign, an illustrious Band
With chearful Smile, and glad Attendance wait!
And Britain pours the Beauty of the Land,
To swell the Honour of her Monarch's State:
But oh! to speak each loyal Patriot's Fame,
To paint the Charms of each distinguish'd Fair,
Might Pindar's Fire with Sappho's Softness claim,
The lofty Note, and Heart-dissolving Air!
One Blaze of Light the Galaxy appears,
'Tis Knowledge only tells, the whole is made of Stars.

LVII

But here the Muse suspends her hardy Flight,
Returning Reason bids the Rover pause!
Dazzled with Beams of unfrequented Light,
Back to the Earth receding now she draws:
Yet if th' Excursion pleasing seem to thee,
Walpole, whose studious Thought the Nation sees,
From Force and Faction guard her Safety free;
And in surrounding Storms preserve her Ease:
At least, she has not aim'd to sing in vain,
Her Labour so receiv'd, the noblest Thanks shall gain!

236

LVIII

Now War with all her ghastly Train withdrawn
From beauteous Europe's happy Field is fled;
And screen'd behind the marshy Banks of Don,
Or Neyster's noisy Falls, reclines her Head:
O Patriot-Counsellor! the Praise receive,
Return'd with every grateful Briton's Voice;
Thy Country only greater Thanks can give
To George, to him, who made thy Worth his Choice,
With royal Confidence thy Virtues grac'd,
And on thy faithful Breast his social Honours plac'd.

LIX

What tho' dark Envy studious to defame,
Which taints all Objects with a jaundic'd Sight,
Wings close its pointless Arrows at thy Name,
For Merit still envenoms Envy's Spite:
As when the Cloud obscures the radiant Sun
Thro' the weak Shroud he marks his golden Way,
So shall its destin'd Course thy Honour run,
And shed to future Times its blameless Ray!
For Virtue with prevailing Lustre glows,
Too bright for all Attempts, its Passage would oppose!

237

LX

While thus beneath our greater Cæsar's Sway
Domestic Jars, and foreign Broils suppress'd
Britain beholds to gentler Toils give way,
And cultivates the nobler Arts of Rest:
While he, Augustus-like, with godlike Hand,
Bids the refolding Gates of Janus close!
And makes the Glory of his wide Command,
To give his People and the World Repose:
The Muse, that sees with Joy the Storm subside,
Hangs up her Lyre to Peace, with grateful honest Pride!

—Pax optima Rerum—
Quas Homini novisse datum est, Pax una Triumphis
Innumeris melior! Pax custodire salutem
Et Cives æquare potens.

Sil. Ital.

238

II. Part II.

Dimissis humilem pennis inopemque materni
Et Laris et Fundi, Paupertas impulit audax
Ut versus facerem.

—— Quod petis hic est—hic est—
Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit æquus.
Horat.

241

BAVIUS.

—Nihil est quod credere de se
Non possit.—

By Nature Madman, and by Study Fool,
Bavius turns Doctor, and destroys by Rule;
With heavy Face our dubious Health presides,
Speaks without Judgment, and by Guess prescribes;
Aukwardly gay, and stupidly alert!
In every Conversation tops his Part:
Talks much of Travel, Books, and State-Affairs,
And takes a thousand fashionable Airs!
He rattles, plays Quadrille, sometimes can drink,
Make Love en bête—do any thing but think:
Yet to convince this leaden Lump can wound,
He weds a Fortune of six thousand Pound:
And such the Influence of Corinthian Brass,
As Wit unquestion'd all his Blunders pass:
For which a poorer or less noisy Fool
Would stand the Butt of public Ridicule!
You'll ask why Bavius meets a different Fate,
The Secret is—he has a good Estate.

242

Apollo and Daphne.

Cease, thou bright God of Poetry and Light,
To urge relentless Daphne's rapid Flight!
Think on th' inconstant Source from whence she came,
Well might she run, whose Parent was a Stream!

Poetical Love.

As Daphne did from tuneful Phoebus fly,
Still must his Sons expect an equal Fate!
For cruel Beauty doom'd in vain to sigh,
And find their Tenderness repaid with Hate.

Phoebus mistaken.

When Apollo pursu'd his coy Mistress of old,
If his Harp, as they tell us, was made of right Gold;
He should not have plagued her with Verses and Sighs,
But set the fair Gift in the Reach of her Eyes!

243

Had she seen but the Work, and been told what it weigh'd,
He need not have run,—for the Nymph would have stay'd;
Comply'd with his Flame, granted all his Desire,
And surrender'd her Charms in exchange for the Lyre.

Susanna and Lucretia.

Susanna, take Lucretia's boasted Place,
Superior Virtue claims superior Pow'r!
The Roman could not live with her Disgrace,
But Thou more nobly chose to die before!

[_]

Part of this Thought is taken from two Lines plac'd under the Statue of Susanna, in the Electoral Hall of the Palace at Munich in Bavaria.

Casta Susanna placet, Lucretia cede Susannæ
Tu post, illa mori maluit ante Scelus.
Homer.

Yet to reward her gen'rous high Design,
Her bleeding Bosom set her Country free;
While Heav'n, in juster Recompence to thine,
Restor'd both Life and Fame entire to Thee!

244

Homer.

He for whose Birth seven States could zealous strive,
Why did he wander round from Door to Door?
Rever'd when dead, neglected while alive,
With all his Genius—still the Bard was poor!

The Wish.

—Hoc erat in votis.

The various Ills below content I'll bear,
Grant me, indulgent Heav'n! this sole Request;
Nor Life to overprize, nor Death to fear,
Let Fortune shuffle as she please the rest!

245

On the following Motto of An eminent fraudulent Bankrupt at Edinburgh.

Cave.Deus.Videt.

Good Master C---his Majesty's Engraver
Chose out a Motto odd for his Behaviour;
Well might he bake (he thought) as well as brew,
God sees (says the Professor) all we do:
Who could suspect the End of such a Song?
Was the Man right, or was the Motto wrong?
To tell the Truth, and make the Matter plain,
C---thought to turn Religion into Gain;
But finding Men began to doubt his Play,
The Knave, like Jonas, fairly run away.

246

The Golden Rule.

Honest Friend! say all you can,
In Life still holds the Golden Rule:
That Riches make a Fool a Man,
And Poverty a Man—a Fool!

Justice, why Blind?

Says Will to Matt — what Cause can be assign'd,
Why sacred Themis still is pictur'd blind?
Because, says Will, when tow'ring Vice prevails,
She may excuse the Error of her Scales;
For most who know this present Age agree,
Whate'er she thinks,—she does not care to see!

Written in Lord Dorset's Poems.

He, whose accomplish'd Hand this Volume writ,
Possess'd in full Perfection genuine Wit;
In which this Property is always found,
'Tis doubly arm'd both to defend and wound.

247

Stanzas occasioned by Mr. Pope 's Translation of Horace, Book IV. Ode I.

Address'd to the Honourable Mr. M---y.

I

While Pope to Friendship consecrates the Lyre,
The Loves to hear the Notes assembled throng!
And, with the Softness of renew'd Desire,
Inspire the dear re-animated Song!
Unrival'd Bard, the kindly Task forbear!
The Youth before had Worth too much to boast;
You, Orpheus-like, but raise the Syren Air
The British Nymphs approach!—your Friend is lost!
Hard Fate! a Praise so wish'd as yours to shun,
Or by the soft Encomiums risque to be undone.

248

II

But oh I err—and M---y must forgive
A Praise that brings such unexampled Bliss;
To love is sure the noblest Way to live,
Wealth, Pride, and Fame are faint compar'd to this:
Descend, dear Youth, the shining Guest await,
For Beauty's Queen the roseate Bow'r prepare!
Let her bright Presence mark thy rising State,
And soften all the Pomp of future Care:
And boast distinguish'd the delightful Pow'r,
To charm the Wise and Fair—when Pope must charm no more!

To a young Lady,

With a Translation from Voiture.

Such were the tender Lines a Voiture writ,
That first-rate Star of Gallantry and Wit!
To matchless Rambouillet he thus address'd,
The grateful Passion that inflam'd his Breast;
Tho' cruel Fate has stop'd the Poet's Breath,
And all her Beauties lie conceal'd in Death!
To equal Merit, equal Praise is due,
He wrote to her—what I translate for you!

249

To a Lady on a single Patch.

ODE.

—Urit grata Protervitas
Et vultus nimium lubricus aspici,
Hor.

I

Chloe, in vain with study'd Arts,
You strive a Charm to hide;
The Sufferings of a thousand Hearts
Those vain Efforts deride.

II

No matter tho' one Spot appear
On such a perfect Face?
The Sun with many more is clear,
Yet warms us ne'er the less!

250

INSCRIPTION

Designed for the Pedestal of a white Marble Statue of Diana, to be fix'd at the Entry of a Solitary Wilderness in the Gardens at Eglinton Castle.

Stranger! left rash Actæon's fate you prove,
With Caution enter this distinguish'd Grove,
To Meditation sacred—not to Love!
Hence Venus and her Boy are banish'd far,
Their sportive Sparrows, and their shining Car!
But if thy Heart in all its Wishes be
Unsully'd,—as the marble Form you see,
Approv'd of by the Goddess freely pass,
And view the native Beauties of the Place!
Where, oft descending with her lovely Maids,
Confess'd they wander thro' these happy Shades;
Shine in the deep Recesses of the Wood,
Or trace the flow'ry Margin of the Flood!
With lively Looks appear, and chearful Hearts
Secure from Love, and all its poison'd Darts.

251

Written in Mr. Thomson' s Essays on Liberty.

Nibil est fœdius servituti, ad Decus et Libertatem nati sumus—Non potest parvo constare Libertas, banc si juste æstimas, omnia alia parvo æstimanda sunt. Cicero.

When Liberty celestial Goddess saw
Thomson's bold Hand her matchless Beauties draw;
Pleas'd, as the Work intently she survey'd,
How bright the Colours! and how strong the Shade!
Fondly she cry'd—“In this immortal Page,
“My Charms shall bloom untouch'd to latest Age;
“Tho Britain should like Rome of old divide,
“And sink the Prey of Luxury and Pride!
“Tho' every Heart the Love of me should lose,
“Here shall they learn the Blessings they refuse!
“Tho' from this fav'rite Isle, my last Retreat!
“Constrain'd I should be forc'd—and with Regret:
“Tho' Servitude should overwhelm the Ball,
“Here I shall live!—and sigh to see the Fall!”

252

To SEMANTHE.

ODE.

I

Forgive, fair Nymph, an unsuccessful Lyre,
That would so bright a Character essay;
If tuneful Numbers Merit could inspire,
Yours should be sung the most distinguish'd Way.

II

Oft had I heard indeed the Voice of Fame
Repeat the Wonders of Semanthe's Youth;
Till prepossess'd like Sheba' s Queen I came,
And found, like her, that Fame fell short of Truth.

III

But different widely was our Fate in this,
With Solomon conversing long she stay'd;
I only snatch'd an accidental Bliss,
Nor could I know the Treasure I survey'd.

253

IV

Yet as the smallest Diamond's Lustre shows
The genuine Splendor of its Parent Mine;
So did her every charming Thought disclose
Her Soul, and with reflected Value shine.

V

So soft the Accents dwelt around her Tongue,
Such Reason sparkled in her lively Thought;
Not sweeter Notes divine Cecilia sung,
Not juster Sentiments a Prior wrote!

VI

Go on, accomplish'd Fair! secure to charm,
Vain is Resistance, and as vain were Flight;
Submission only can our Fate disarm,
Where Sense and Beauty, perfect thus, unite!

VII

While intermingling Virtues grace thy Breast,
No Wonder if so well they flourish there!
The Soil so richly is by Nature blest,
The Climate is so like their native Air.

254

VIII

So rich Sabæa's aromatic Land
Does without Toil its spicy Products yield;
Odors profusely rise on every Hand!
And native Sweets embalm the happy Field!

The Parallel:

ODE.

I

Almeria with an Angel-Face
Her Form with Pride surveys!
And, as she moves with matchless Grace,
The conquer'd World obeys!

II

Her Eyes dispense resistless Darts,
To set Mankind on Fire;
To Youth she Exstacy imparts,
And to old Age Desire!

III

As the bright Sun, in Afric's Clime,
His burning Beams displays;
Alike her torrid Beauties shine
So fierce,—'tis Fate to gaze!

255

IV

Cecilia bless'd with milder Charms
Takes gentler Ways to please;
Insensibly the Heart she warms,
And gains by soft Degrees!

V

So Cynthia Heav'ns enliv'ning Queen
Serenely sheds her Ray!
Glides o'er the Skies with placid Mien,
And half restores the Day.

VI

Such is Cecilia!—sweetly bright,
Still easy—still the same!
She guides us with a pleasing Light,
And chears without a Flame!

VII

Happy, so near ally'd is found
The Safety to the Woe!
One Sister's Smiles relieve the Wound,
The other's Charms bestow.

256

To CLARISSA, With a Rose-Bud.

ODE.

Quam long a una dies, ætas est tam longa Rosarum. Anon.

I

Clarissa, view this newly-nascent Rose,
How sweet its Fragrance? but how short the Date!
And think distinct the lovely Emblem shows
Thy equal Beauty's Bloom, its equal Fate.

II

Like that in fair Perfections opening Dawn,
Your roscate Charms the ravish'd Sense delight;
Pass but a few short Years, and then withdrawn,
They all must fade, conceal'd in endless Night!

257

III

Yet from the Parent-Plants exhausted Side,
See yon fair Shoot its lively Odors spread!
Rising in early Beauty's native Pride,
And softly blushing with maternal Red!

IV

Then haste, thou beauteous Charmer! to employ
The Treasures which indulgent Nature gave;
Nor longer shun to taste the genial Joy,
Which Youth alone can give—alone receive!

V

So when dark Fate, irrevocably cross,
Shall snatch you hence to grace the radiant Skies;
A Self-born Beauty may repair your Loss,
A new Clarissa charm succeeding Eyes!

VI

The Phenix so, amidst the spicy Blaze
Consuming, does the Fate of Mortals shun;
The infant Bird its radiant Crest displays,
And Men enjoy the Rival of the Sun!

258

To HILARIA.

ODE.

I

Hilaria is scarcely arriv'd at thirteen,
Her Face is still infant, and childish her Mien;
Yet in spite of her Pains her good Sense to conceal,
We know she has more than she cares to reveal.

II

As they say the first Brutus, suspected of Treason,
With Madness disguis'd the bright Lustre of Reason;
So she, with the frolicksome Shows she puts on,
Would cover the Wisdom must one Day be shown.

III

She behaves, without ceasing from Morning to Night,
So gaily good-natur'd, so pleasantly light;
No Soul could imagine, with all these mad Airs,
She bore the whole Burthen of Family Cares!

259

IV

Oh say, thou dear Trifler! delightfully wild,
In Manners, in Heart so resembling a Child!
If thus your first Dawn so engaging appears,
What Joys must we hope from a Dozen of Years?

V

But your Wit you well know does your Age so excell,
You keep it so private for Fear we should tell;
But in spite of your Caution the Secret gets Way,
For no Clouds can exinguish the Light of the Day!

To ETHELINDA.

Dubious of what repeating Fame had told,
The wond'rous Power of Ethelinda's Face!
Too vainly curious, and too rashly bold,
I self-conducted sought the fatal Place.

There sudden by th'nchanting Flame inspir'd,
Reason no more her feeble Sway could boast;
So Phaeton, by wild Ambition fir'd,
Possess'd his Wish, and by his Wish was lost.

260

To Marinda singing.

ODE.

Quæ voces avium—quantæ per Inane volatus? Claud.

I

When first Marinda's tuneful Voice I heard,
With Exstacy unknown my Breast was fir'd;
Each Passion stood dissolv'd in soft Regard,
I only gaz'd,—and listen'd,—and admir'd!
Sense hung suspended on her warbling Breath,
And what I felt was neither Life nor Death!

II

Since that dear Moment in my thrilling Ear
Th' inimitable Accents ever rung!
No artful Instrument my Taste could bear,
My Ear was deaf to every other Song:
So those, who leave their native Groves behind,
Still keep the favourite Symphony in Mind.

261

III

Again she sings!—my fond reviving Ear
Drinks in the Notes with unabated Joy;
New Beauties, unobserv'd before, appear,
Or Graces, Transport pass'd too slightly by!
So Raphael's Draughts, tho' all they may delight,
Yet ask repeated Views to judge them right.

IV

Oh say, Marinda! by what matchless Art
Nature in you has such Perfections bound?
Has given your Form Dominion o'er the Heart,
And added all the Eloquence of Sound!
The Fugitive that from your Charms would fly,
Stopp'd by your Voice—returns to hear and die!

V

So Orpheus once with more than mortal Song,
Recall'd his Treasure from the Realms of Night!
So bright Cæcilia's swelling Measures strong
Rais'd the fair Seraph to the Fields of Light!
Such Pow'r have sacred Numbers when combin'd,
To soften or exalt the human Mind!

262

VI

Nor blame if prepossess'd I give my Voice,
And Music's Force to Beauty's Charms compare;
Angels themselves will vindicate the Choice,
And own I justly fix the Preference there!
Since all we know of those bless'd Forms above,
Is that they're made of Harmony and Love.

The ADVICE.

Sic visum Veneri, cui placet impares
Formas atque animos sub jugâ ahenea
Sævo mittere cum Joco.
Hor.

I

Aurelia, once the fairest Maid
That grac'd the flow'ry Plain;
By Love, deceitful Love, betray'd,
Has match'd a faithless Swain!

263

II

By Duty press'd, her struggling Heart
Long made a secret Stand;
Till Love sustain'd the weaker Part,
And Damon seiz'd her Hand.

III

Deep in the Grove—deserted Youth!
The lost Mirandor mourns
That Waste of Tenderness and Truth,
Which met such harsh Returns!

IV

“But late, he cries, was fix'd the Hour
“My eager Hopes to crown;
“My busy Hands had dress'd the Bow'r,
“And grasp'd the Joy my own!

V

“But oh, she's gone! my bleeding Heart
“Yet feels the recent Wound:”—
He spoke—when, from a neighb'ring Part,
He heard a hollow Sound!

264

VI

The guardian Pow'r, that watch'd the Place,
Had heard the Youth complain!
And, touch'd with Pity for his Case,
Thus sooth'd the Shepherd's Pain.

VII

“Mirandor! cease with vain Despair
“To vex thy tortur'd Breast;
“See young Lucinda! heav'nly Fair!
“With Truth and Beauty bless'd.

VIII

“To her engaging Presence haste,
“She waits but to be kind;
“There lose the Thought of Sorrows pass'd,
“And lasting Comfort find.

IX

“The Joys, the lovely Nymph bestows,
“Shall constant Peace secure,
“And Love himself, that caus'd thy Woes,
“Himself shall give the Cure!”

265

On the military Procession of The Royal Company
[_]

The Uniformity of Habit in the Members of this Society, which is composed entirely of Gentlemen of Rank and Fashion, the Beauty of the Habit itself, and the rich Dresses of the Officers, who are some of them of the first Quality, conspire to render the March of this Company one of the most elegant Processions imaginable, both for its Regularity, and Beauty, The Dress is a la Romaine, composed of fine Plaid, adorned with deep green silk Fringes, and lined with white Silk; white Stockings, and white Gloves, blue Bonnets a l'Ecossois, with the Image of St. Andrew enamelled, placed in a Cockade of white and green Ribband. Their Belts are compos'd of the two last Colours. In their right Hand they bear their Bow, in their Belts are fastened two Darts. The Officers for Distinction have their Habits trim'd with deep silver Fringes, and their Bonnets of blue Velvet, adorned with Jewels. The Counsellors who are six in Number have Bonnets of crimson Velvet. Their Drums, Music, and other Attendants are in the Company's Livery of green and white. Their two Standards are most richly embroidered. His Grace the Duke of Hamilton is at present Captain General, and his Grace the Duke of Queensberry, the Right Honourable the Earls of Crawford, Cassils, Wemyss, and Wigton, with the Right Honourable the Lords Kinnaird and Rollo, General Officers.

of ARCHERS,

At Edinburgh, July 8. 1734.

ODE.

Tum validis flexos incurvant viribus Arcus,
Pro se quisque viri, et depromunt tela Pharetris.
Virg.

I

Ye martial Breasts! the Pride of Scotia's Plain!
On this your fair revolving annual Day;
Candid receive the Muse's faithful Strain,
Who thus her Tribute to your Worth would pay:
Far tho' her Numbers fall below her Theme,
Accept her Wishes, and approve her Flame!

266

II

But too presumptive,—with unequal Wing,
How shall she raise her emulative Eye?
How in Proportion to her Rapture sing,
And to her fair Idea ardent fly!
How paint the Beauties of the warlike Throng?
And mark the bright Procession in her Song!

III

Alas! assisted by no friendly Pow'r,
How shall she dare to strike the sacred, Lyre?
Or shall she give the fav'rite Project o'er,
And chuse with silent Safety to retire?
Fix'd be the Task!—she feels unwonted Aid,
Thy Influence beams confess'd, celestial Maid!

267

IV

Oh chaste Urania! dearest of the Nine,
With conscious Joy I view thy matchless Air!
Approach, array'd in every Charm divine,
The Subject well deserves thy guardian Care.
Propitious on the rising Labour shine,
And with thy Warmth inspire the just Design.

V

And thou great Author of the tuneful Art,
Illustrious God of Day! and Pow'r of Verse!
Who, with thy own inevitable Dart,
Did'st once th' invenom'd Pythian Monster pierce:
Assist the Muse, in equal Strains, to show
The lasting Honours of thy heav'nly Bow!

VI

Favour'd by thee, could matchless Pindar rise,
To vast Imagination loose the Reins!
Could, free, expatiate thro' the boundless Skies,
And eternize the great Olympic Scenes:
Generous Contention!—not unlike your own,
Where Virtue only won, and wore the Crown.

268

VII

The Skill of Archery, from oldest Date,
Has been the Glory of heroic Hearts!
By this Alcides gain'd the Name of Great,
And freed the World with his resistless Darts:
From which, their Doom imperial Tyrants found,
And Troy's proud Walls were levell'd with the Ground.

VIII

Such were the Arms repell'd the Roman Force,
When Crassus by the Parthian Arrow dy'd!
These stopp'd the Eagle in her rapid Course,
And check'd the Flight of her assuming Pride!
When bold Orodes scorn'd her lawless Chain,
And led to Fight his valiant Archer-Train!

IX

When Britain felt the same usurping Yoke,
These Arms preserv'd the Caledonian Race;
Defy'd Rome's boasted Pow'r, her Legions broke,
And kept invincible their native Place:
So Galgacus maintain'd his Country free,
For Archers still were Friends to Liberty!

269

X

By these, when Edward, with usurping Aim,
Sought to enslave an independent Land;
Immortal Wallace scorn'd th' unrighteous Claim,
And made for Freedom an illustrious Stand:
For that oft triumph'd, and for that expir'd,
And left a Name to latest Times admir'd!

XI

But hark! what lively Sounds invade the Ear!
What warlike Symphony approaches nigh?
Behold in Sight, the Royal Train appear!
Their radiant Ensigns waving in the Sky!
On high the crimson'd Lion seems to glow,
And threaten Death to each opposing Foe!

XII

Oh tell, Urania! who that godlike Youth,
Who shines distinguish'd Captain at their Head?
Whose Soul with noble Honour fir'd, and Truth,
Exults the fair Procession thus to lead!
What Dignity aroun'd his Person plays,
'Tis Hamilton!—he needs no borrow'd Rays.

270

XIII

But see, the chearful Band a-pace advance!
What mingling Lights surprize the ravish'd Eyes?
The silver Beams at distance softly glance,
And the rich Plaid displays its vivid Dyes!
While in the beauteous Ranks that intervene,
The spotless white is mix'd with lively green.

XIV

Well suited Colours! happily combin'd!
The fairest Emblems of the social Train;
White as th' unsully'd Temper of their Mind,
And gaily verdant as their native Plain!
From such fair Order higher Beauty springs,
Than all the glittering Pride of Eastern Kings!

XV

Nor yet unmeaning is the lovely Show,
Proceeding on to the appointed Field;
Each in his Hand uprears the social Bow,
Two Darts may well supply the Place of Shield:
For what are Shield, or Bow, or Sword, or Darts,
To the firm Vigour of undaunted Hearts!

271

XVI

But oh! to speak each honour'd Leader's Worth,
To paint the Virtues of the Royal Band!
Might raise Alceus to a second Birth,
Or ask aspiring Pindar's lofty Hand:
The Milky-way, to uninstructed Sight,
Tho' form'd of Stars, appears one Train of Light!

To a Gentleman,

Who in a Poem, describing a Lady's Person omitted her Hand, which was remarkably beautiful.

How could the Muse Amelia's Charms repeat
Enamour'd?—yet the Master-Charm forget;
The matchless Beauty of that taper Hand,
To which fond Love has giv'n such wide Command;
There plac'd his Quiver stor'd with deadly Darts,
And all the Equipage of Queen of Hearts!
Pow'r to reward or punish, save or kill,
And scatter Fate, obedient to her Will!

Perhaps too conscious of a Theme so fair,
The Bard resign'd the Subject in Despair;

272

To such a Hand no common Strains were due,
Lillies were pale, and Snow inclin'd to blue.
Those Hands where Streams of living Saphyre run,
And Parian Marble seem'd itself outdone;
All vulgar Similes were here too faint,
And so the Piece was lost—for want of Paint.

Or else bewilder'd in the Maze of Light,
Like those who sail by Zembla's icy Coast;
His Muse was dazzled with too great a Light,
And miss'd the Part deserv'd his Notice most.

Or was hid Malice all the Poet's Aim?
He knew the Hand from whence the Mischief came;
(The fatal Hand that threw the deadly Dart
Transmissive, thro' the hapless Shepherd's Heart!)
And, not content to bear his Fate alone,
Left others, like himself, to be undone.

So in the curious Chart is oft laid down
The dangerous Shole, that Ships are taught to shun;
But faithless Guides!—some Rock unmark'd remains,
That mocks the Merchant's Hope, and Pilot's Pains!
Who guided by Description tempt their Fate,
As those, who trust to thine, will find too late.

273

The best Cosmetic for the Ladies.

—Of outward Form
Elaborate, of inward less exact.
Milton.

I

The first all charming Mother of Mankind,
Heav'n with an Angel-Face and Form array'd;
Yet left, alas! her nobler Part, the Mind,
Defenceless, easily to be betray'd!

II

How widely has the dire Distemper spread
Amongst the lovely Daughters of her Race!
How few the Soul their better Care have made!
How fondly studious to improve the Face?

III

Vain Toil! were Virtue the supremest Choice,
And Beauty left to Nature's friendly Care,
Earth would once more resemble Paradise,
And every Female would be doubly fair.

274

III. Part III.

Nihil infelicius eo, cui nihil unquam evenit adversi, non enim licuit tali sese experire. Seneca.

Exilium terribile est iis quibus quasi conscriptus est habitandi locus, non iis qui omnem Terrarum Orbem unam esse urbem ducunt. Cicero.

277

The Anniversary Mourner.

A POEM.

—Dies (ni fallor) adest, quem semper acerbum
Semper honoratum, sic Dî voluistis! habebo.
Virg.

Nine Years were past, and now the Tenth arose,
Mark'd with Misfortunes, and replete with Woes!
When, sad reclin'd on Thames' delightful Shore,
The Muse began her Sorrows to deplore.

“Oh Night! whose Mantle o'er the World is spread,
“Receive me in thy hospitable Shade!
“Do thou inspire me!—let thy friendly Gloom
“Assist my Grief! and give Reflection Room,
“To view the Horrors of that fatal Day,
“That snatch'd the Father, and the Friend away!
“Fill'd my poor Heart with Anguish and Despair,
“And left me naked to a World of Care!

278

“How shalt thou tell, what Words can never paint,
“The shining Virtues of the mortal Saint?
“For such his equal Life compos'd and ev'n
“As seem'd a Pattern of descending Heav'n;
“Some Guardian-Angel taught his rising Youth
“The chearful Love of Piety and Truth!
“So early was his Soul by these inspir'd,
“They seem'd in him as native, not acquir'd;
“But 'midst the Graces that adorn'd his Breast,
“Soft smiling Charity, celestial Guest!
“With Rays distinguish'd shone above the rest.
“And all his Actions in one Point combin'd,
“The Love of God and Welfare of Mankind!
“His fervent Zeal descended from above,
“Sill calmly mild, and temper'd still with Love,
“Taught him to pity such as went astray,
“And led him not to persecute, but pray.
“In him Religion, pure and unarray'd,
“Her irresistless native Charms display'd;
“At once enliv'ning, chearful, and serene,
“Void of all Arts, and free from every Stain!

“Nor need the Muse, to make his Merit known,
“Tell how in public Life it brightly shone,
“While Parties join'd his real Worth to own;
“Ev'n those his Conscience led him to oppose
“In private Conduct were no more his Foes;

279

“With unconstrain'd Applause his Life approv'd,
“His Character esteem'd, his Person lov'd;
“Would for his Converse eagerly contend,
“And thought it Honour to be call'd his Friend!

“How did his wond'rous Conversation shine?
“At one instructive, pleasing, and divine!
“Such heav'nly Candour dwelt upon his Tongue,
“As comforted old Age, and charm'd the Young!
“Still so endearing, that where he appear'd,
“Each Eye grew livelier, every Heart was chear'd;
“Pain stood suspended, Sorrow fled away,
“And every Face was innocently gay!

“How just the Sentiments? how strong the Strain,
“In which he did the Scripture-Truths explain,
“And shew Religion beautifully plain!
“How did he ardent all her Joys reveal,
“And on her Sacred Charms enraptur'd dwell!
“That Love Divine, which did his Breast inflame,
“Inspir'd his Tongue, and was his constant Theme!
“By Love he sought the harden'd Wretch to charm,
“To raise the fearful, and the cold to warm!
“But when to Heav'n he rais'd sublime his Prayer,
“How did his Accents strike the listening Ear?

280

“Fix'd were all Hearts, engag'd was every Thought,
“And Earth's inferior Cares were all forgot!

“Proceed, sad Muse, in private Life behold
“Contracted, all the Wonders thou hast told;
“But oh! what equal Numbers shall commend,
“The Husband, Father, Master, and the Friend?
“For those who daily saw can fullest tell,
“How just he fill'd each Character, how well?
“How can I think on all his Goodness past,
“And not indulge a Grief must ever last?
“When not a Day past unimproving by,
“But bore some Mark of endless Charity!
“Bless'd Hands! that could to Want his Wealth dispense,
“And leave his Heirs the Care of Providence!
“Whose Bounty still, with never-ceasing Eye,
“Has seen their Case, and given a kind Supply!”
Here rising Grief forbid the Lay to flow,
And left a silent Interval of Woe:
Till, venting out in Sighs his heavy Pain,
The melancholy Youth resum'd the Strain!

“Thus wise for Heav'n, by conscious Heav'n approv'd,
“Thus meekly good, by all good Men belov'd!

281

“How shall the Muse pursue the mournful Tale,
“And thy Misfortunes, and her own reveal?
“Who could believe thy Life's unequal End,
“That thy calm Sun should veil'd in Shades descend!
“That Worth like thine should meet Returns so hard,
“And cold Neglect become the last Reward
“For all thy painful Nights and weary Days,
—“Yet such are ruling Heaven's mysterious Ways!

“Yet treated thus, unalter'd to the last,
“This Scene of aggravated Death he past:
“All the insulting Agony of Pain,
“And Griefs to him yet harder to sustain!
“Till (soon resolv'd the feeble Bands of Clay)
“His Soul, unfetter'd, joyful soar'd away,
“While Guardian-Seraphs led the trackless Flight,
“And taught him to explore the Realms of Light!
“And now before the Throne supreme appear'd,
“With what Delight the gladsome Sounds he heard?
“Approach from Life, thou faithful Steward, well done!
“Faithful to Death, receive thy destin'd Crown;
“From all the Toils of mortal Life releast,
“Serenely enter on thy Master's Rest!

“There, free from Life's low Cares, and numerous Pains,
“In endless Bliss repos'd he now remains,

282

“While I (in Life, his first, his tenderest Care)
“Still doom'd, successive, blended Griefs to bear;
“By rude Afflictions restless Billows tost,
“A wretched Exile on a foreign Coast!
“Must learn the Lesson, patient to endure,
“And wait for Death, the last effectual Cure.

“Thou Guardian-Power, from whom this Being came,
“In whom I know I live, and move, and am!
“Whose kind conducting providential Hand
“Has led my Foot-steps in a stranger Land,
“Has from a thousand Dangers screen'd my Head,
“Whose Care has watch'd me, and whose Bounty fed!
“Continue gracious still my Ways to guide,
“And let thy Mercy o'er my Life preside!
“From Ill restrain me! and from Passion save!
“Aid me in Pain! and arm me for the Grave:
“Thro' Death's dark Vale, conduct me by thy Grace,
“And bring me safe to view the Seats of Peace!

November 22, 1737.

283

The Only Wish.

Fiat Voluntas Tua!

Vain restless Man! who, with presumptuous Eye,
Would'st into Heaven's eternal Counsels pry;
Would'st measure Wisdom with the Line of Sense,
And Reason arm against Omnipotence!
Inquiring Worm! pursue the pathless Road,
And try by searching to arrive at God:
For Ages on, bewilder'd may'st thou run,
Nor leave the Point, where first thy Quest begun:
As well the Clay might, in the Potter's Hand,
The Reason of its various Form demand;
As thou presume to cavil his Decree,
Who gave thee first to move, and think, and see!

He still the same, exalted and sublime,
Nor bound by Space, nor limited by Time
O'er all commands:—With Life informs the Whole;
Gives different Suns to shine, and Worlds to roll!

284

Obedient still, and mindful of their Place,
Thro' the Immense, their shining Rings they trace,
And with united Voice proclaim the Force,
That spoke their Birth, and mark'd their steady Course!

Thee great omniscient omnispective Power!
Thee first and last,—thee only I adore!
Let others, vainly curious in the Schools,
Judge of their Maker;—by their narrow Rules
Thy Essence and thy Attributes define,
To love, to serve, to worship thee be mine!
Thy Laws to follow, and thy Voice to hear,
And with submissive Awe thy Ways revere!
Dispose then, Lord, of this devoted Frame,
The Creature from thy forming Fiat came!
Pleas'd I obey!—since best thou only knows
How to proportion what thy Hand bestows;
And let my Wishes all conspire in one,
“In Earth, as Heaven, thy Will supreme be done!

285

The Complaint.

Quid facies illi! jubeas miserum esse libenter.
Hor.

Where'er my solitary Steps I bend,
In vain the Orphan seeks to find a Friend!
By Dangers compass'd round, I trembling go,
Mankind my Hunters, and the World my Foe!
All fly the Infection of a Heart distrest,
As the blown Deer's deserted by the rest;
By Fortune weary'd, and by Grief dismay'd,
To thee almighty King! I fly for Aid!
All gracious Power! attend my suppliant Prayer!
Or ease my Woes, or teach me how to bear;
Support my Sufferings, vindicate my Wrongs!
And save me from the aspic Gall of Tongues!
To thee my panting Heart for Shelter flies,
And waits that Mercy which Mankind denies!
Oh let thy Light my fainting Soul inform,
Thy Goodness guide me thro' the threat'ning Storm!
Oh let thy heavenly Beam my Darkness chear!
Thy-Guardian-Hand my dubious Passage steer!
Then let the Tempest rage?—and round my Head
Affliction all its angry Billows spread!

286

Thy Presence, Lord, shall calm my anxious Breast,
And lead me safe to everlasting Rest!

So fares it with the Vessel Tempest-tost
Her Masts all shatter'd, and her Anchor lost,
Abandon'd on some wild uncertain Coast!
While the loud Surges mark the fatal Shore,
And o'er their Heads the awful Thunders roar;
Sudden the Lightning gilds the gloomy Sky,
And shews some friendly Creek or Harbour nigh,
Bold with the kind embracing Coast they steer,
And find their Safety where they plac'd their Fear.

Stanzas to a CANDLE.

I

Thou glimm'ring Taper! by whose feeble Ray
In thoughtful Solitude the Night I waste!
How do'st thou warn me by thy swift Decay,
That equal to Oblivion both we haste?
The vital Oyl, that should our Strength supply,
Consuming wastes, and bids us learn to die.

287

II

Touch'd by my Hand, thy swift reviving Light
With new gain'd Force again is taught to glow!
So, rising from surrounding Troubles bright,
My conscious Soul begins herself to know:
And, from the Ills of Life emerging forth,
Learns the just Standard of her native Worth.

III

But see in Mists thy fading Lustre veil'd,
Around thy Head the dusky Vapours play;
So by opposing Fortune's Clouds conceal'd,
In vain to force a Passage I essay:
While round me, gathering thick, they daily spread,
And living, I am number'd with the Dead!

IV

But now thy Flame diminish'd quick subsides,
Too sure a Presage that thy Date is run;
Alike I feel my Life's decreasing Tides,
Soon will like thine my transient Blaze be gone!
Instructive Emblem!—how our Fates agree?
I haste to Darkness, and resemble thee.

288

The Farewell to Friendship!

Illud Amicitiæ quondam venerabile Nomen
Prostat, et in quæstu pro meretrice sedet.
Ovid.

Friendship! adieu, thou vain deceitful Good,
So much profess'd,—so little understood!
How often to thy sacred injur'd Name
A thousand vain Pretenders make their Claim?
Like Flies attend the Summer of our Day,
And in the Sunbeams of our Fortunes play;
But when Life's evening wintry Shades come on,
Soon we behold the treach'rous Insects gone,
And find ourselves deserted, and undone!

Nulla fides unquam miseros elegit amicos!

Lucan.

289

The Author's Epitaph.

In Juventute cura ut benè vivas, in Senectute ut benè moriaris. Seneca.

Here, Stranger! view a Stone without a Name,
The Name tho' plac'd, obscure to thee and Fame;
The real Merits of the mortal Clay
Must wait the Judgment of the final Day.

Like thee I've seen both Fortune frown and smile,
Felt all the Hopes deluded Man beguile;
As thou art now, have I with Life been blest,
As I do now, so shortly thou must rest!
Must every Joy, and every Prospect leave
Contracted, in the Limits of the Grave:

290

See how the Spoils of Death around are spread,
Think as you walk, what treacherous Ground you tread!
The Mother Earth, that mixes now with me,
Next Moment may reclaim it's Share in thee!
A Smoke! a Flower! a Shadow! and a Breath!
Are real Things compar'd with Life and Death:
Like Bubbles on the Stream of Time we pass,
Swell, burst, and mingle with the common Mass!
Then, oh reflect! e're Fate unheeded come,
And snatch this Lesson from the vocal Tomb!
Known in thy Conduct, fix'd upon thy Mind,
“The Love of God, and Welfare of Mankind.”

Then when old Nature shall to Ruin turn,
Heav'n melt with Heat, and Earth dissolving burn!
Amidst the Flame inscrib'd, this Truth shall shine,
Its Force immortal, and its Work divine!

VIVIS. UT. VIXI.MORIERIS. UT. SUM. MORTUUS. VALE. VIATOR.TEQUE.MEMENTO.MORITURUM.

INGENIUM.NATURA.DEDIT.FORTUNA.POETÆDEFUIT.ATQUE.INOPEM.VIVERE.FECIT.AMOR.