The Description Of Bath A Poem. Humbly Inscribed To Her Royal Highness the Princess Amelia. By Mrs. Mary Chandler. The Third Edition. To which are added, Several Poems by the same Author |
 | POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. |
 | The Description Of Bath |  |
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POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
A Description of Bath.
Humbly Inscribed to Her Royal Highness the Princess Amelia.
Amelia, beauteous Princess, deign to view
What the Muse sings: to You the Song is due;
To You, in whom with Joy we see combin'd
True Royal Greatness, and an humble Mind.
Deign You, bright Maid, to hear my artless Lays;
You'll awe the snarling Critics into Praise.
If Goodness can this bold Address forgive,
Nurs'd by your Smiles, my humble Rhymes shall live.
What the Muse sings: to You the Song is due;
To You, in whom with Joy we see combin'd
True Royal Greatness, and an humble Mind.
Deign You, bright Maid, to hear my artless Lays;
You'll awe the snarling Critics into Praise.
If Goodness can this bold Address forgive,
Nurs'd by your Smiles, my humble Rhymes shall live.
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To sing the Town, where balmy Waters flow,
To which Amelia's Health the Nations owe,
My Muse aspires; while conscious Blushes rise,
And her weak Pinions tremble, ere she flies;
Till, drawing Vigour from those living Springs,
She dares to raise her Voice, and stretch her Wings.
Not the fam'd Springs, which gave Poetic Fire,
Had nobler Virtues, or could more inspire.
Too weak my Voice; but Great Amelia's Name
Shall raise my Numbers, and defend my Fame.
To which Amelia's Health the Nations owe,
My Muse aspires; while conscious Blushes rise,
And her weak Pinions tremble, ere she flies;
Till, drawing Vigour from those living Springs,
She dares to raise her Voice, and stretch her Wings.
Not the fam'd Springs, which gave Poetic Fire,
Had nobler Virtues, or could more inspire.
Too weak my Voice; but Great Amelia's Name
Shall raise my Numbers, and defend my Fame.
Long ere the Roman Eagle hither flew,
Ere Albion's Sons their pow'rful Virtues knew;
Brute's great Descendant rais'd them first to Fame,
And, from their Use, assign'd the Town its Name.
Pallas he chose Protectress of the Streams,
Pallas the City her Protectress claims;
Thus He, who of Man's Fall divinely sings,
Tells from old Records, wrote of Gothic Kings.
The Romans well this ancient Story knew,
Minerva's Statues their Devotion drew;
Of curious Art her noble Bust appears,
Safe from the Ruin of a thousand Years.
These salutary Streams alone can boast
Their Virtues not in thrice five Ages lost.
The floating Waters, from their hidden Source,
Thro' the same Strata keep unerring Course;
The flowing Sulphur meets dissolving Steel,
And heat in Combat, till the Waters boil:
United then, enrich the healing Stream,
Health to the Sick they give, and to the Waters, Fame.
Ere Albion's Sons their pow'rful Virtues knew;
Brute's great Descendant rais'd them first to Fame,
And, from their Use, assign'd the Town its Name.
Pallas he chose Protectress of the Streams,
Pallas the City her Protectress claims;
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Tells from old Records, wrote of Gothic Kings.
The Romans well this ancient Story knew,
Minerva's Statues their Devotion drew;
Of curious Art her noble Bust appears,
Safe from the Ruin of a thousand Years.
These salutary Streams alone can boast
Their Virtues not in thrice five Ages lost.
The floating Waters, from their hidden Source,
Thro' the same Strata keep unerring Course;
The flowing Sulphur meets dissolving Steel,
And heat in Combat, till the Waters boil:
United then, enrich the healing Stream,
Health to the Sick they give, and to the Waters, Fame.
Thus oft contending Parties rage and hate,
Malignant both, and push each other's Fate;
At last, their Fury spent, and cloy'd with Blood,
They join in Friendship for the Public Good.
Malignant both, and push each other's Fate;
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They join in Friendship for the Public Good.
Hither foul Scurvy, odious to the Sight;
And Vapours, which, in ev'ry Form, affright;
Sharp Colic, groaning with a Jaundice Face;
White Leprosy, of old Egyptian Race;
The shaking Palsy; Rheumatism lame;
And meager Indigestion pining came;
With many dreadful Ails, without a Name.
And Vapours, which, in ev'ry Form, affright;
Sharp Colic, groaning with a Jaundice Face;
White Leprosy, of old Egyptian Race;
The shaking Palsy; Rheumatism lame;
And meager Indigestion pining came;
With many dreadful Ails, without a Name.
Fatal Effects of Luxury and Ease!
We drink our Poison, and we eat Disease;
Indulge our Senses at our Reason's Cost,
Till Sense is Pain, and Reason's hurt, or lost.
We drink our Poison, and we eat Disease;
Indulge our Senses at our Reason's Cost,
Till Sense is Pain, and Reason's hurt, or lost.
Not so, O Temp'rance bland! when rul'd by thee,
The Brute's obedient, and the Man is free:
Soft are his Slumbers, balmy is his Rest,
His Veins not boiling from the Midnight Feast;
Touch'd by Aurora's rosy Hand, he wakes,
Peaceful and calm; and with the World partakes
The joyful Dawnings of returning Day,
For which their grateful Thanks the whole Creation pay!
All but the human Brute; 'Tis he alone
Whose Deeds of Darkness fly the rising Sun.
The Brute's obedient, and the Man is free:
Soft are his Slumbers, balmy is his Rest,
His Veins not boiling from the Midnight Feast;
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Peaceful and calm; and with the World partakes
The joyful Dawnings of returning Day,
For which their grateful Thanks the whole Creation pay!
All but the human Brute; 'Tis he alone
Whose Deeds of Darkness fly the rising Sun.
'Tis to thy Rules, O Temperance! we owe
All Pleasures which from Health and Strength can flow:
Vigour of Body, Purity of Mind,
Unclouded Reason, Sentiments refin'd,
Unmix'd, untainted Joys, without Remorse,
Th'intemp'rate Sinner's never-failing Curse.
All Pleasures which from Health and Strength can flow:
Vigour of Body, Purity of Mind,
Unclouded Reason, Sentiments refin'd,
Unmix'd, untainted Joys, without Remorse,
Th'intemp'rate Sinner's never-failing Curse.
Our
Waters wash those num'rous Ills away,
And grant the trembling Wretch a longer Day.
O may returning Health more Wisdom give!
Let Death's Approaches teach us how to live.
And grant the trembling Wretch a longer Day.
O may returning Health more Wisdom give!
Let Death's Approaches teach us how to live.
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If but one
Leper cur'd, makes Jordan's Stream,
In Sacred Writ, a venerable Theme,
What Honour's to thy sov'reign Waters due,
Where Sick, by Thousands, do their Health renew?
In Sacred Writ, a venerable Theme,
What Honour's to thy sov'reign Waters due,
Where Sick, by Thousands, do their Health renew?
The
Min'ral Steams which from the Baths arise,
From noxious Vapours clear the neighb'ring Skies:
When Fevers bore an epidemic Sway,
Unpeopled Towns, swept Villages away;
While Death abroad dealt Terror, and Despair,
The Plague but gently touch'd within their Sphere.
From noxious Vapours clear the neighb'ring Skies:
When Fevers bore an epidemic Sway,
Unpeopled Towns, swept Villages away;
While Death abroad dealt Terror, and Despair,
The Plague but gently touch'd within their Sphere.
Blest
Source of Health, seated on rising Ground,
With friendly Hills by Nature guarded round;
From Eastern Blasts, and sultry South secure;
The Air's balsamic, and the Soil is pure.
With friendly Hills by Nature guarded round;
From Eastern Blasts, and sultry South secure;
The Air's balsamic, and the Soil is pure.
What
boundless Prospects from yon tow'ring Height
Of Hills, and Plains, and Vallies strike the Sight!
Towns, Rivers, Villas, Flocks and Herds appear,
And all the various Products of the Year.
Thence view the pendant Rock's majestic Shade,
That speaks the Ruins conqu'ring Time has made:
Whether the Egg was by the Deluge broke,
Or Nature since has felt some other Shock;
Ingenious Burnet, thine's a pleasing Scheme,
A gay Delusion, if it be a Dream.
The shatter'd Rocks and Strata seem to say,
Nature is old, and tends to her Decay:
Yet lovely in Decay, and green in Age,
Her Beauty lasts her, to her latest Stage.
Wisdom immense contriv'd the wond'rous Ball,
And Form sprung forth, obedient to his Call.
He fix'd her Date, and bid the Planet run
Her annual Race around the central Sun:
He bid the Seasons, Days, and Nights return,
Till the pent Fires which at the Center burn,
Shall the whole Globe to one huge Cinder turn.
Then, like a Phœnix, she again shall rise,
And the New World be peopled from the Skies;
Then Vice, and all her Train of Ills shall cease,
And Truth shall reign with Righteousness and Peace.
Of Hills, and Plains, and Vallies strike the Sight!
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And all the various Products of the Year.
Thence view the pendant Rock's majestic Shade,
That speaks the Ruins conqu'ring Time has made:
Whether the Egg was by the Deluge broke,
Or Nature since has felt some other Shock;
Ingenious Burnet, thine's a pleasing Scheme,
A gay Delusion, if it be a Dream.
The shatter'd Rocks and Strata seem to say,
Nature is old, and tends to her Decay:
Yet lovely in Decay, and green in Age,
Her Beauty lasts her, to her latest Stage.
Wisdom immense contriv'd the wond'rous Ball,
And Form sprung forth, obedient to his Call.
He fix'd her Date, and bid the Planet run
Her annual Race around the central Sun:
He bid the Seasons, Days, and Nights return,
Till the pent Fires which at the Center burn,
Shall the whole Globe to one huge Cinder turn.
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And the New World be peopled from the Skies;
Then Vice, and all her Train of Ills shall cease,
And Truth shall reign with Righteousness and Peace.
Surrounded by the Avon's winding Streams,
Beneath the Hills, a peopled Island seems;
An antient Abbey in its Center stands,
The labour'd Work of superstitious Hands.
When Holy Craft supreme did guide the Helm,
And Gothic Darkness overspread the Realm;
The artful Priest amaz'd the gaping Croud,
And sacred Truth was veil'd in mystic Cloud;
When living Saints for true Devotion bled;
And Rites prophane were offer'd to the Dead;
When Idol Images Devotion drew,
And Idol Gods were worshipp'd as the true;
Witness yon Front; how impiously design'd
In Stone to represent th'Eternal Mind!
Witness the Saints and Angels on the Wall!
Deaf to their Vot'ries Prayers, and silent to their Call.
Welcome, fair Liberty, and Light divine!
Yet wider spread your Wings, and brighter shine;
Dart livelier Beams on ev'ry British Soul,
And scatter slavish Darkness to the Pole.
Now for pure Worship is the Church design'd;
O that the Muse cou'd say to that confin'd!
Ev'n there, by meaning Looks, and cringing Bows,
The Female Idol her Adorer knows!
Fly hence, Prophane, nor taint this Sacred Place;
Mock not thy GOD, to flatter Cælia's Face.
This Sacred Pile incloses honour'd Dust,
And pompous Monuments secure the Trust:
There Montague, the Noble Prelate, lies,
With pious Hands up-lifted to the Skies:
A Virgin here enjoys eternal Fame,
Join'd on the Marble with Great Dryden's Name.
Beneath the Hills, a peopled Island seems;
An antient Abbey in its Center stands,
The labour'd Work of superstitious Hands.
When Holy Craft supreme did guide the Helm,
And Gothic Darkness overspread the Realm;
The artful Priest amaz'd the gaping Croud,
And sacred Truth was veil'd in mystic Cloud;
When living Saints for true Devotion bled;
And Rites prophane were offer'd to the Dead;
When Idol Images Devotion drew,
And Idol Gods were worshipp'd as the true;
Witness yon Front; how impiously design'd
In Stone to represent th'Eternal Mind!
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Deaf to their Vot'ries Prayers, and silent to their Call.
Welcome, fair Liberty, and Light divine!
Yet wider spread your Wings, and brighter shine;
Dart livelier Beams on ev'ry British Soul,
And scatter slavish Darkness to the Pole.
Now for pure Worship is the Church design'd;
O that the Muse cou'd say to that confin'd!
Ev'n there, by meaning Looks, and cringing Bows,
The Female Idol her Adorer knows!
Fly hence, Prophane, nor taint this Sacred Place;
Mock not thy GOD, to flatter Cælia's Face.
This Sacred Pile incloses honour'd Dust,
And pompous Monuments secure the Trust:
There Montague, the Noble Prelate, lies,
With pious Hands up-lifted to the Skies:
A Virgin here enjoys eternal Fame,
Join'd on the Marble with Great Dryden's Name.
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The spacious Portico demands my Song,
Where Beaux, and Belles appear, a shining Throng!
To take a cordial Draught, and chear the Soul,
Like Homer's Gods, when Nectar crown'd the Bowl.
Correct the Fabric, simple, neat, and plain,
Of Parian, nor Ægyptian Marble vain,
But innocently white, it's proud to show,
In neighb'ring Hills what beauteous Pillars grow.
Where Beaux, and Belles appear, a shining Throng!
To take a cordial Draught, and chear the Soul,
Like Homer's Gods, when Nectar crown'd the Bowl.
Correct the Fabric, simple, neat, and plain,
Of Parian, nor Ægyptian Marble vain,
But innocently white, it's proud to show,
In neighb'ring Hills what beauteous Pillars grow.
The Baths adjoining form two ample Squares,
Around the Walls the Roman Art appears;
Niches and Arches there the Bathers find,
A Shelter from the Rain, and blust'ring Wind.
Bladud himself sits Guardian of the Streams,
Whose noble Virtues give them Royal Names.
Around the Walls the Roman Art appears;
Niches and Arches there the Bathers find,
A Shelter from the Rain, and blust'ring Wind.
Bladud himself sits Guardian of the Streams,
Whose noble Virtues give them Royal Names.
Not far from hence, a Bath of gentler Heat,
The tender Virgin finds a safe Retreat
From Sights indecent, and from Speeches lewd,
Which dare not there, with Satyr-Face, intrude.
Just in the midst a Marble Cross there stands,
Which Popish Minds with pious Awe commands,
Devoid itself of Pow'r to heal our Woes,
Yet, deck'd with monumental Crutches, shows
What mighty Cures this wond'rous Pool has done,
And these the Trophies from Diseases won.
The Sailor thus, on foaming Billows tost,
His Ship, and Ship-Mates in the Tempest lost,
Did some kind God's assisting Pow'r implore,
And when, by Aid Divine, he reach'd the Shore,
Strait to the Temple of the God he flew,
His briny Coat he thought the Temple's Due:
And near the dropping Garment, on the Wall
He wrote, with grateful Praise, the moving Tale.
The tender Virgin finds a safe Retreat
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Which dare not there, with Satyr-Face, intrude.
Just in the midst a Marble Cross there stands,
Which Popish Minds with pious Awe commands,
Devoid itself of Pow'r to heal our Woes,
Yet, deck'd with monumental Crutches, shows
What mighty Cures this wond'rous Pool has done,
And these the Trophies from Diseases won.
The Sailor thus, on foaming Billows tost,
His Ship, and Ship-Mates in the Tempest lost,
Did some kind God's assisting Pow'r implore,
And when, by Aid Divine, he reach'd the Shore,
Strait to the Temple of the God he flew,
His briny Coat he thought the Temple's Due:
And near the dropping Garment, on the Wall
He wrote, with grateful Praise, the moving Tale.
Thro' yon high arched Gate on either Hand,
In comely Order, Rows of Buildings stand;
See Squares, and Hospitals, and Temples rise,
From whence let pure Devotion pierce the Skies.
A Fountain flows, which stately Walls surround,
And Palaces o'erspread the verdant Ground.
Where Herds were wont to drink the cooling Spring,
And Birds on bending Branches us'd to sing.
In comely Order, Rows of Buildings stand;
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From whence let pure Devotion pierce the Skies.
A Fountain flows, which stately Walls surround,
And Palaces o'erspread the verdant Ground.
Where Herds were wont to drink the cooling Spring,
And Birds on bending Branches us'd to sing.
Leaving the West, I guide my View around,
And mark the City's venerable Bound.
Where the Remains of many an hundred Year,
In rev'rend Ruins, on the Walls appear,
A Fury's Head with snaky Hair there stands;
Here Hercules th'attentive Eye demands;
And there a Shepherd and his youthful Dame;
These Monuments, and more, are known to Fame.
And mark the City's venerable Bound.
Where the Remains of many an hundred Year,
In rev'rend Ruins, on the Walls appear,
A Fury's Head with snaky Hair there stands;
Here Hercules th'attentive Eye demands;
And there a Shepherd and his youthful Dame;
These Monuments, and more, are known to Fame.
Hence view the Grove; it forms a verdant Square,
See the Trees wanton in the Eastern Air;
Aurora gilds them with a temp'rate Ray,
And lofty Buildings shade in Noon of Day.
An Obelisk doth now its Center grace,
The latest, proudest, Honour of the Place.
To future Times this Monument shall show,
How much all Britons, and all Belgians owe,
To Springs which sav'd from Death the Great Nassau.
From Him, and beauteous Anna, shall descend,
Heroes like William, ready to defend
Fair Liberty oppress'd, and trampled Laws,
Or die with Pleasure in the glorious Cause.
What less than this can Prophecy divine,
When William's Blood is mix'd with George's Line?
See the Trees wanton in the Eastern Air;
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And lofty Buildings shade in Noon of Day.
An Obelisk doth now its Center grace,
The latest, proudest, Honour of the Place.
To future Times this Monument shall show,
How much all Britons, and all Belgians owe,
To Springs which sav'd from Death the Great Nassau.
From Him, and beauteous Anna, shall descend,
Heroes like William, ready to defend
Fair Liberty oppress'd, and trampled Laws,
Or die with Pleasure in the glorious Cause.
What less than this can Prophecy divine,
When William's Blood is mix'd with George's Line?
Nor think, O Nash, the Muse forgets thy Praise,
Enough for thee this Monument to raise:
What greater Honour can thy Pride receive,
Than that Thy Name with great Nassau shall live?
Enough for thee this Monument to raise:
What greater Honour can thy Pride receive,
Than that Thy Name with great Nassau shall live?
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Where the smooth Bowl
was wont to skim the Green,
Now stately Rooms for Pleasure change the Scene;
Where Music warbles, and the Dancers bound,
While the high Roof re-echoes to the Sound.
There blooming Virgins kindle am'rous Fires;
And there the God of Wit with Verse inspires.
The rattling Dye enchants the Miser's Heir,
The hoarded Sums the sharking Gamesters share:
Th'important Bus'ness of the Fair, Quadrille,
Employs those Hours which Dancing cannot kill;
Or fav'rite Ombre, sweetly sung by Pope,
Appalls their Cheeks with Fear, or reddens them with Hope.
There Miss soon learns the Language of the Eyes,
The witless Beau looks soft, and swears he dies;
And who can think so fine a Lover lyes?
There Pagan, Turk, the Papist, and the Jew,
And all Mankind's Epitome you view.
But fly, my Muse, fly this enchanting Place,
Nor Man, thro' all his Pleasures, dare to trace.
Now stately Rooms for Pleasure change the Scene;
Where Music warbles, and the Dancers bound,
While the high Roof re-echoes to the Sound.
There blooming Virgins kindle am'rous Fires;
And there the God of Wit with Verse inspires.
The rattling Dye enchants the Miser's Heir,
The hoarded Sums the sharking Gamesters share:
Th'important Bus'ness of the Fair, Quadrille,
Employs those Hours which Dancing cannot kill;
Or fav'rite Ombre, sweetly sung by Pope,
Appalls their Cheeks with Fear, or reddens them with Hope.
There Miss soon learns the Language of the Eyes,
The witless Beau looks soft, and swears he dies;
And who can think so fine a Lover lyes?
There Pagan, Turk, the Papist, and the Jew,
And all Mankind's Epitome you view.
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Nor Man, thro' all his Pleasures, dare to trace.
But see thro' yonder
Door a safe Retreat;
There rest secure, amidst the Wise, and Great:
Heroes of antient, and of modern Song,
The bending Shelves in comely Order throng,
Hither, ye Nymphs, attend the leading Muse,
With her the Labours of the Wise peruse;
Their Maxims learn, their Precepts be your Guide.
Think Virtuous Knowledge Woman's truest Pride:
One Hour thus spent, more solid Joys shall give,
Than the gay Idler knows, or Fools conceive:
There rest secure, amidst the Wise, and Great:
Heroes of antient, and of modern Song,
The bending Shelves in comely Order throng,
Hither, ye Nymphs, attend the leading Muse,
With her the Labours of the Wise peruse;
Their Maxims learn, their Precepts be your Guide.
Think Virtuous Knowledge Woman's truest Pride:
One Hour thus spent, more solid Joys shall give,
Than the gay Idler knows, or Fools conceive:
Now leave the Terrace, and th'extended Scene
Of Hills inclos'd, and Meadows ever green,
Descend to Walks, 'twixt Limes in adverse Rows,
And view the gay Parterre that ever blows.
This fair
Pavilion view, around its Base
Observe the Sportings of the scaly Race.
A cool Recess, the Muses chosen Seat,
From Crouds, and empty Noise, a blest Retreat!
The lovely Landscape, and the silent Stream,
Inspire the Poet, and present the Theme.
Round the green Walk the River glides away,
Where 'midst Espaliers balmy Zephyrs play,
And fan the Leaves, and cool the scorching Ray:
View the brown Shadows of yon pathless Wood;
And craggy Hills, irregular and rude!
Where Nature sports romantic: Hence is seen
The new made Road, and wonderful Machine,
Self-moving downward from the Mountain's Height,
A Rock its Burden of a Mountain's Weight.
Of Hills inclos'd, and Meadows ever green,
Descend to Walks, 'twixt Limes in adverse Rows,
And view the gay Parterre that ever blows.
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Observe the Sportings of the scaly Race.
A cool Recess, the Muses chosen Seat,
From Crouds, and empty Noise, a blest Retreat!
The lovely Landscape, and the silent Stream,
Inspire the Poet, and present the Theme.
Round the green Walk the River glides away,
Where 'midst Espaliers balmy Zephyrs play,
And fan the Leaves, and cool the scorching Ray:
View the brown Shadows of yon pathless Wood;
And craggy Hills, irregular and rude!
Where Nature sports romantic: Hence is seen
The new made Road, and wonderful Machine,
Self-moving downward from the Mountain's Height,
A Rock its Burden of a Mountain's Weight.
Hail, mighty Genius! born for Great Designs,
T'adorn your Country, and to mend the Times;
Virtue's Exemplar in degen'rate Days,
All who love Virtue, love to speak your Praise:
You chide the Muse that dares your Virtues own,
And, veil'd with Modesty, would live unknown;
An honest Muse, no Prostitute for Gain,
Int'rest may court her, but shall court in vain:
But ever pleas'd to set true Worth in View,
Yours shall be seen, and will, by All but You.
T'adorn your Country, and to mend the Times;
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All who love Virtue, love to speak your Praise:
You chide the Muse that dares your Virtues own,
And, veil'd with Modesty, would live unknown;
An honest Muse, no Prostitute for Gain,
Int'rest may court her, but shall court in vain:
But ever pleas'd to set true Worth in View,
Yours shall be seen, and will, by All but You.
Prophetic here, the Muse shall build thy Seat,
Great like thy Soul, in ev'ry Part complete:
On this fair Eminence the Fabric stands,
The finish'd Labour of a thousand Hands;
The Hill, the Dale, the River, Groves and Fields,
Vary the Landscape, which thy Prospect yields;
Whole Vales of Fruit-trees give our Eyes Delight,
Yet scorn alone to gratify the Sight;
Beneath the Load the tender Branch shall bend,
And the rich Juice regale its Master's Friend.
Thy Taste refin'd appears in yonder Wood,
Not Nature tortur'd, but by Art improv'd:
Where cover'd Walks with open Vista's meet,
An Area here, and there a shady Seat.
A thousand Sweets in mingled Odours flow
From blooming Flow'rs, which on the Borders grow.
In num'rous Streams the murm'ring Waters thrill,
Uniting all, obedient to thy Will;
Till by thy Art, in one Canal combin'd,
They thro' the Wood in various Mazes wind;
From thence the foaming Waves fall rapid down,
In bold Cascades, and lash the rugged Stone.
But here their Fury lost, the calmer Scene
Delights the softer Muse, and Soul serene;
An ample Bason, Center of the Place,
In Lymph transparent holds the scaly Race;
Its glassy Face, from ev'ry Ruffle free,
Reflects the Image of each neighb'ring Tree;
On which the feather'd Choir, melodious, throng,
By Love inspir'd, unite in tuneful Song;
Their tuneful Song the echoing Woods resound,
And falling Waters add a solemn Sound,
Sure this the Muses haunt; 'tis hallow'd Ground!
Here could the Muse for ever spend her Days,
And chant, in humble Rhymes, the Owner's Praise,
How by his Art, young Myra shall no more
Her Strephon's Letter lost, with Sighs deplore,
Unjustly jealous of her faithful Swain,
Whilst he expects the kind Return in vain.
How from the Mountain's rocky Sides he drew
A thousand shining Palaces to view:
Temples, and Hospitals in ev'ry Land,
From Age to Age, his Monuments shall stand.
Envy itself shall die, and fickle Fame,
When he is dead, do Justice to his Name.
Had I or Pindar's Wing, or Homer's Fire;
Virgil's true Greatness, or soft Horace' Lyre;
Could I, like tuneful Pope, command the Nine;
Did my Verse flow, and as it flows, refine;
Thus would I sing; but O, with Grief I find
My feeble Pen but faintly paints my Mind!
Myself unequal to the great Design,
The Task to abler Poets I resign.
Great like thy Soul, in ev'ry Part complete:
On this fair Eminence the Fabric stands,
The finish'd Labour of a thousand Hands;
The Hill, the Dale, the River, Groves and Fields,
Vary the Landscape, which thy Prospect yields;
Whole Vales of Fruit-trees give our Eyes Delight,
Yet scorn alone to gratify the Sight;
Beneath the Load the tender Branch shall bend,
And the rich Juice regale its Master's Friend.
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Not Nature tortur'd, but by Art improv'd:
Where cover'd Walks with open Vista's meet,
An Area here, and there a shady Seat.
A thousand Sweets in mingled Odours flow
From blooming Flow'rs, which on the Borders grow.
In num'rous Streams the murm'ring Waters thrill,
Uniting all, obedient to thy Will;
Till by thy Art, in one Canal combin'd,
They thro' the Wood in various Mazes wind;
From thence the foaming Waves fall rapid down,
In bold Cascades, and lash the rugged Stone.
But here their Fury lost, the calmer Scene
Delights the softer Muse, and Soul serene;
An ample Bason, Center of the Place,
In Lymph transparent holds the scaly Race;
Its glassy Face, from ev'ry Ruffle free,
Reflects the Image of each neighb'ring Tree;
On which the feather'd Choir, melodious, throng,
By Love inspir'd, unite in tuneful Song;
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And falling Waters add a solemn Sound,
Sure this the Muses haunt; 'tis hallow'd Ground!
Here could the Muse for ever spend her Days,
And chant, in humble Rhymes, the Owner's Praise,
How by his Art, young Myra shall no more
Her Strephon's Letter lost, with Sighs deplore,
Unjustly jealous of her faithful Swain,
Whilst he expects the kind Return in vain.
How from the Mountain's rocky Sides he drew
A thousand shining Palaces to view:
Temples, and Hospitals in ev'ry Land,
From Age to Age, his Monuments shall stand.
Envy itself shall die, and fickle Fame,
When he is dead, do Justice to his Name.
Had I or Pindar's Wing, or Homer's Fire;
Virgil's true Greatness, or soft Horace' Lyre;
20
Did my Verse flow, and as it flows, refine;
Thus would I sing; but O, with Grief I find
My feeble Pen but faintly paints my Mind!
Myself unequal to the great Design,
The Task to abler Poets I resign.
There is now an antique Bust in the Town-hall of Bath, suppos'd to belong to a Roman Statue of Pallas.
Mr. Allen contriv'd and settled the Cross-Post, by which means Letters are now convey'd to a great many Towns safely, which used formerly to miscarry oftener than they were received.
21
To Dr. Oliver, Who corrected my Bath Poem.
While rash, unknowing of Parnassus' Height,My Virgin Muse attempts th'unequal Flight;
The Croud ill-judging, and her partial Friends
Or veil her Faults, or blindly Each commends:
While the just Critics silent Censure shew;
Blame this dull Thought, that Diction much too low:
Cautious and trembling now she fears to fly,
You plume her Wings, and bid her boldly try.
Yet blindly wand'ring, when she aims to rise,
You clear the Mist of Error from her Eyes;
You smooth her Verse, and blot th'unmeaning Line,
Improve the Thought, and aid the lame Design.
22
Extract the Spirit, bid the Phlegm subside;
Correct, new range, precipitate, confine;
Yours is the Skill, the mean Materials mine
You, her Apollo, gave the Muse her Fire,
Whene'er she pleases, 'tis when you inspire;
Ev'n Pope approv'd, when you had tun'd her Lyre.
The Debt of Honour bid me not conceal;
I'll dare your Friendship, and the Truth reveal.
No base Ingratitude shall taint my Name;
I'll keep my Virtue, tho'I lose my Fame.
My honest Pride disdains to steal the Bays,
Or, like the Moon, to shine with borrow'd Rays.
The greatest Merit that my Muse can shew,
Is that she stands correct and fair by you.
Not only Fame, but Health to you I owe:
When my Joints trembled, and my Pulse beat low,
When all my Friends had took a parting Sigh,
And Tears dropt silent from a Parent's Eye;
23
Nor Gold nor Fame could tempt, yet you attend.
While soft Compassion languish'd in your Eyes,
And gently breath'd in sympathetic Sighs,
Pure Goodness wing'd your Feet, inspir'd your Tongue;
Soft were your Accents, but your Reas'ning strong.
Heav'n bid me live, and you prescribe the Way;
To you, next Heav'n, my grateful Thanks I pay.
And now I breathe, and live, and sing anew;
And owe my Breath, and Life, and Song to You
24
A Letter to the Right Honourable the Lady Russel.
Written at her Ladyship's Desire, on the Conversation at Breakfast.
At my low Cottage, on a chearful Morn,
When slanting Beams did ev'ry Scene adorn;
By Goodness prompted, native of their Breasts,
Sir Harry and my Lady were my Guests.
My Treat was homely, and my Table small,
My Cloth and Dishes clean, and that was all:
For thus it suited to my low Estate,
'Twere insolent to imitate the Great.
Hum'rous our Talk, and innocently gay;
Our Subjects various; Manners, Men, and Play,
And Love, and Wedlock; This our fav'rite Theme,
And each to their own Fancy form'd the Scheme:
“Maid! said Sir Harry, come, it's Time to wed;
“By Sympathy chuse C--- to be your Head.
“Two Bodies so exactly pair'd! 'tis plain
“Heav'n made the Match, and destin'd him the Man.”
My Lady offer'd me her Farmer's Son.
Sir Harry positive for C--- alone.
Soon I accepted, either was my Choice;
“Most Votes shall carry't.—Mine's a neutral Voice.
“So I may wed, I'm not exceeding nice;
“My humble Wishes, Sir, no higher rise,
“Than that the Man be honest, free from Vice;
“Improv'd by Learning both of Books and Men;
“His Genius witness'd by his well-known Pen;
“True to his Country, and fair Virtue's Cause;
“Unaw'd, unbrib'd, by Pow'r or by Applause;
“From Superstition and Prophaneness free;
“His Fortune equal to himself and me.
“This Praise to C--- his Friends allow is due;
“And Part, dear Farmer, I believe of you.”
When slanting Beams did ev'ry Scene adorn;
By Goodness prompted, native of their Breasts,
Sir Harry and my Lady were my Guests.
My Treat was homely, and my Table small,
My Cloth and Dishes clean, and that was all:
For thus it suited to my low Estate,
'Twere insolent to imitate the Great.
Hum'rous our Talk, and innocently gay;
Our Subjects various; Manners, Men, and Play,
25
And each to their own Fancy form'd the Scheme:
“Maid! said Sir Harry, come, it's Time to wed;
“By Sympathy chuse C--- to be your Head.
“Two Bodies so exactly pair'd! 'tis plain
“Heav'n made the Match, and destin'd him the Man.”
My Lady offer'd me her Farmer's Son.
Sir Harry positive for C--- alone.
Soon I accepted, either was my Choice;
“Most Votes shall carry't.—Mine's a neutral Voice.
“So I may wed, I'm not exceeding nice;
“My humble Wishes, Sir, no higher rise,
“Than that the Man be honest, free from Vice;
“Improv'd by Learning both of Books and Men;
“His Genius witness'd by his well-known Pen;
“True to his Country, and fair Virtue's Cause;
“Unaw'd, unbrib'd, by Pow'r or by Applause;
“From Superstition and Prophaneness free;
“His Fortune equal to himself and me.
26
“And Part, dear Farmer, I believe of you.”
The P---, absent, could not speak his Mind;
But the young Farmer, complaisant and kind,
Bow'd, smil'd, and drank my Health. An Omen fair!
But, ah! a young and fairer Maid was there;
I fear my Rival's Charms, I fear her Art,
Each serve to move, and both to win his Heart.
But the young Farmer, complaisant and kind,
Bow'd, smil'd, and drank my Health. An Omen fair!
But, ah! a young and fairer Maid was there;
I fear my Rival's Charms, I fear her Art,
Each serve to move, and both to win his Heart.
Thus far in Mirth.—But now for steady Truth;
I'm climb'd above the Scale of fickle Youth.
From Pain of Love I'm perfectly at Ease,
My Person Nature never form'd to please.
Friendship's the sweetest Joy in human Life,
'Tis that I wish—and not to be a Wife.
I'm climb'd above the Scale of fickle Youth.
From Pain of Love I'm perfectly at Ease,
My Person Nature never form'd to please.
Friendship's the sweetest Joy in human Life,
'Tis that I wish—and not to be a Wife.
Thus, Madam, your Command I have obey'd
In artless Lines: Of Censure not afraid:
Your Goodness will accept my humble Lays;
Content with this, I seek no better Praise.
Rough as the Road on which I gave them Birth,
Dull as the clouded Morn, or barren Heath.
Vainly I wish, oh could I tune my Song
Sweet as your Name, and as your Virtue strong!
With Pleasure I'd the grateful Theme pursue,
But, I despair—And humbly bid, Adieu.
In artless Lines: Of Censure not afraid:
27
Content with this, I seek no better Praise.
Rough as the Road on which I gave them Birth,
Dull as the clouded Morn, or barren Heath.
Vainly I wish, oh could I tune my Song
Sweet as your Name, and as your Virtue strong!
With Pleasure I'd the grateful Theme pursue,
But, I despair—And humbly bid, Adieu.
28
To Mrs. Boteler.
A Description of her Garden.
How charming is this little Spot
Dispos'd with Art and Taste.
A thousand Beauties intermix'd,
Prepare the Eyes a Feast.
Dispos'd with Art and Taste.
A thousand Beauties intermix'd,
Prepare the Eyes a Feast.
The lovely Limes in ample Rows,
With Woodbines climbing round,
A shining Gravel Walk inclose.
Where not a Weed is found.
With Woodbines climbing round,
A shining Gravel Walk inclose.
Where not a Weed is found.
The Crocus, Primrose, Daffodil,
And Cowslip sweet, I sing;
And fragrant purple Violet,
All Harbingers of Spring.
And Cowslip sweet, I sing;
And fragrant purple Violet,
All Harbingers of Spring.
29
The musky lovely blushing Pink,
Jonquil with rich Perfume;
Tulips that vie with Iris' Bow,
And Balsoms annual Bloom.
Jonquil with rich Perfume;
Tulips that vie with Iris' Bow,
And Balsoms annual Bloom.
Th'immortal Pea, fair 'Emone,
And beamy Marigold,
And Polyanthus (lovely Tribe!)
Their various Blooms unfold.
And beamy Marigold,
And Polyanthus (lovely Tribe!)
Their various Blooms unfold.
The Gard'ner's Pride Ranunculus,
Bell-flow'r ethereal blue,
The Rose Campion, and golden Lupe,
And Wonder of Peru.
Bell-flow'r ethereal blue,
The Rose Campion, and golden Lupe,
And Wonder of Peru.
The Amarynths, as Poets sing,
That Juno deign'd to wear,
That in Hesperian Gardens spring,
Bloom fair and fragrant here.
That Juno deign'd to wear,
That in Hesperian Gardens spring,
Bloom fair and fragrant here.
30
The Lily fair as new fall'n Snow;
All these the Borders grace.
And Myrtles, Roses, Jessamins,
With Fragrance fill the Place.
All these the Borders grace.
And Myrtles, Roses, Jessamins,
With Fragrance fill the Place.
A Groop of dwarfish Apple Trees
Appear, a fairy Scene,
Loaden with Fruit, such Paris gave
To Venus, Beauty's Queen.
Appear, a fairy Scene,
Loaden with Fruit, such Paris gave
To Venus, Beauty's Queen.
Stately the rising Mount appears,
With tow'ring Elms o'erspread;
Whose gently waving Branches form,
At Noon, a cooling Shade.
With tow'ring Elms o'erspread;
Whose gently waving Branches form,
At Noon, a cooling Shade.
The Laurel Plant the Victors crown,
And Bays by Poets worn;
The party-colour'd Philaroy,
And May perfuming Thorn.
And Bays by Poets worn;
The party-colour'd Philaroy,
And May perfuming Thorn.
31
These line the Walks, and make the Bounds
All verdant young, and fair:
All speak the Owner's Judgment good,
And praise the Gard'ner's Care.
All verdant young, and fair:
All speak the Owner's Judgment good,
And praise the Gard'ner's Care.
Faint Emblem of a fairer Mind,
That over all presides:
For ev'ry Virtue's planted there,
And ev'ry Action guides.
That over all presides:
For ev'ry Virtue's planted there,
And ev'ry Action guides.
32
A POEM on the Princess Amelia.
In Answer to Damon, who invited the Nymphs of Bath, to sing her Praise.
Hark! Damon calls, I lead the Way;
Ye Nymphs of Bath, come, aid my Lay,
Come, strike the trembling String:
Amelia's Name so sweetly flows,
Her Face such wond'rous Goodness shows,
Who can refuse to sing?
Ye Nymphs of Bath, come, aid my Lay,
Come, strike the trembling String:
Amelia's Name so sweetly flows,
Her Face such wond'rous Goodness shows,
Who can refuse to sing?
Her Presence, like the Sun benign,
Sheds Blessings where she deigns to shine;
And brightens all the Place.
But when the Goddess disappears,
Our drooping Heads and Eyes in Tears
Will witness our Distress.
Sheds Blessings where she deigns to shine;
And brightens all the Place.
But when the Goddess disappears,
Our drooping Heads and Eyes in Tears
Will witness our Distress.
33
Oh! wou'd the Muses aid my Wing,
Apollo tune my Voice to sing!
I'd take the lovely Theme.
Amelia's Name the Vale shou'd fill,
And echo back from Hill to Hill;
Sweet as her rising Fame.
Apollo tune my Voice to sing!
I'd take the lovely Theme.
Amelia's Name the Vale shou'd fill,
And echo back from Hill to Hill;
Sweet as her rising Fame.
While envious Foes in vain repine,
May Britain, blest in Brunswic's Line,
Still Europe's Balance sway!
Till Plenty, Liberty and Peace
Shall fill the World—till Faction cease,
And Earth resound the Joy.
May Britain, blest in Brunswic's Line,
Still Europe's Balance sway!
Till Plenty, Liberty and Peace
Shall fill the World—till Faction cease,
And Earth resound the Joy.
34
To the Reverend Doctor S---.
An Invitation to a Morning-Walk in the Spring.
The piercing Cold, the stormy Winds,
And drooping Rains of Winter gone;
The genial Sun new warms the Earth,
And brings the fertile Season on.
And drooping Rains of Winter gone;
The genial Sun new warms the Earth,
And brings the fertile Season on.
The Morning Breezes softly blow,
Aurora gilds the Meadows fair;
Gentle and smooth the Rivers flow,
And balmy Sweets perfume the Air.
Aurora gilds the Meadows fair;
Gentle and smooth the Rivers flow,
And balmy Sweets perfume the Air.
The tow'ring Lark expands her Wing,
The Birds in Concert all combine;
And, as they glide through Air, and sing,
They call your sweeter Voice to join.
The Birds in Concert all combine;
And, as they glide through Air, and sing,
They call your sweeter Voice to join.
35
Come, bring the Muses in your Train,
Let grave Philosophy attend;
And true Religion, kind and plain:
They'll all accompany my Friend.
Let grave Philosophy attend;
And true Religion, kind and plain:
They'll all accompany my Friend.
All Nature smiling, seems to say:
“Come, taste the Pleasures of the Spring;
“Come, come, Amyntor, come away;
“Remember Time is on the Wing.”
“Come, taste the Pleasures of the Spring;
“Come, come, Amyntor, come away;
“Remember Time is on the Wing.”
36
To the Reverend Mr. Sam. Chandler. On WISDOM.
Farewel a while to mortal Things—
To Wisdom now I strike my Strings,
And tune the warbling Lyre.
Oh for thy Influence from above,
Fountain of Light, and God of Love;
Do thou my Breast inspire!
To Wisdom now I strike my Strings,
And tune the warbling Lyre.
Oh for thy Influence from above,
Fountain of Light, and God of Love;
Do thou my Breast inspire!
'Tis not the Politician's Art,
Who makes his injur'd Country smart,
To fill his Chests with Gold;
Nor all his cunning Craft, to gain
Pleasures and Honours false and vain,
For which his Peace is sold.
Who makes his injur'd Country smart,
To fill his Chests with Gold;
Nor all his cunning Craft, to gain
Pleasures and Honours false and vain,
For which his Peace is sold.
37
No, I would sing a nobler Theme:
His Wisdom is an idle Dream,
That flies him when awake.
The guilty Soul with keen Remorse
Finds all his Gains repaid with Loss,
And curses his Mistake.
His Wisdom is an idle Dream,
That flies him when awake.
The guilty Soul with keen Remorse
Finds all his Gains repaid with Loss,
And curses his Mistake.
WISDOM is Truth without Disguise:
Clear as the Sun in cloudless Skies,
The wise Man's Actions shine.
No Scrutiny can hurt his Name,
Or base Discovery give him Shame
Of Fraud, or mean Design.
Clear as the Sun in cloudless Skies,
The wise Man's Actions shine.
No Scrutiny can hurt his Name,
Or base Discovery give him Shame
Of Fraud, or mean Design.
WISDOM is pure as Gold refin'd;
No sensual Stain deforms the Mind,
Or damps the rising Joys.
No raging Appetite on Fire,
Or Torment from impure Desire,
Or Health, or Peace destroys.
No sensual Stain deforms the Mind,
Or damps the rising Joys.
No raging Appetite on Fire,
Or Torment from impure Desire,
Or Health, or Peace destroys.
38
The wise Man gives to all their Due;
Just to himself, and Neighbour too.
And takes an honest Care,
To pay his Sov'reign's rightful Claim;
Consults his Fortune and his Fame,
His Family and Heir.
Just to himself, and Neighbour too.
And takes an honest Care,
To pay his Sov'reign's rightful Claim;
Consults his Fortune and his Fame,
His Family and Heir.
No Terror from the Law he feels;
No threat'ning Want pursues his Heels,
Nor frightful Dun he fears.
Secure he walks where-e'er he goes,
No Want of Friend or Credit knows,
No keen Reproach he hears.
No threat'ning Want pursues his Heels,
Nor frightful Dun he fears.
Secure he walks where-e'er he goes,
No Want of Friend or Credit knows,
No keen Reproach he hears.
WISDOM's diffusive as the Light;
Fertile with Blessings heav'nly bright,
Kind Source of Peace and Joy.
Relieves the Wretch oppress'd with Pain,
And chears like the refreshing Rain,
When scorching Griefs annoy.
Fertile with Blessings heav'nly bright,
Kind Source of Peace and Joy.
Relieves the Wretch oppress'd with Pain,
And chears like the refreshing Rain,
When scorching Griefs annoy.
39
This bore the Name in Ages past,
And will be Wisdom at the last,
When Time itself shall cease.
When the curst sensual Fool shall find
Nothing to fill his hungry Mind,
And wish, in vain, for Peace.
And will be Wisdom at the last,
When Time itself shall cease.
When the curst sensual Fool shall find
Nothing to fill his hungry Mind,
And wish, in vain, for Peace.
This from the Source of Glory came,
And gives true Grandeur, endless Fame,
Still blooming young and fair.
Not lost by envious tainted Breath,
But springs yet fresher after Death
In the celestial Air.
And gives true Grandeur, endless Fame,
Still blooming young and fair.
Not lost by envious tainted Breath,
But springs yet fresher after Death
In the celestial Air.
May all our Lives this Wisdom guide!
May Love to God and Man divide
The Hours that swiftly fly!
While sweet Reflection on the past,
And chearful Prospect of the last,
Shall ev'ry Grief defy.
May Love to God and Man divide
The Hours that swiftly fly!
While sweet Reflection on the past,
And chearful Prospect of the last,
Shall ev'ry Grief defy.
40
My Own EPITAPH.
Here lies a true Maid, deformed and old;Who, that she never was handsome, ne'er needed be told.
Tho' she ne'er had a Lover, much Friendship had met;
And thought all Mankind quite out of her Debt.
She ne'er could forgive, for she ne'er had resented;
As she ne'er had deny'd, so she never repented.
She lov'd the whole Species, but some had distinguish'd;
But Time and much Thought had all Passion extinguish'd.
Tho' not fond of her Station, content with her Lot;
A Favour receiv'd she had never forgot.
She rejoic'd in the Good that her Neighbour possess'd,
And Piety, Purity, Truth she profess'd.
41
Her Book and her Pen had her Moments of Leisure.
Pleas'd with Life, fond of Health, yet fearless of Death;
Believing she lost not her Soul with her Breath.
42
A LETTER to Lady F---.
From the Other World.
From the Elysian Fields I sing,
Where ever blooms the balmy Spring:
From Roseat Groves and Myrtle Shades,
That not a sultry Beam invades.
Each Grove with heav'nly Music rings,
And Odours rise on Zephyrs Wings.
Mild Glory lightens all the Bow'rs,
And purest Pleasure wings the Hours.
While crystal Streams, incircling, flow
Through all the flow'ry Vales below;
That in the softest Murmurs thrill,
Adown each slow-descending Hill.
Where grows immortalizing Fruit,
For ever giving fresh Recruit.
No drowsy Slumbers close the Eyes
In these gay Regions of the Skies.
Nor Dream a frightful Form assumes,
Impress'd by indigested Fumes.
Nor aking Head from heated Brain,
Disease, nor, its Attendant, Pain.
Here, no despairing Lover dies;
No base Deluder cheats with Lyes,
Nor come or jealous Cares or Sighs.
Nor Eye e'er drops a briny Tear;
For Truth and Love are native here.
Each Spirit has his Task assign'd
As pleases best, or suits his Mind.
Some to the central Sun descend;
Some to the neighb'ring Planets tend;
Nor some so small a Space can bound,
As does old Saturn's annual Round;
But through the vast unbounded Space,
Their Maker's Works with Rapture trace.
Of this small Surface losing Sight,
Amidst Ten Thousand Worlds of Light,
Some tune their golden Harps, and sing
The boundless Glories of their King.
Or how from Chaos Nature rose,
How central Fires these Scenes shall close.
How at the last important Day,
All shall the Trumpet's Voice obey,
With Horror some, and some with Joy.
Where ever blooms the balmy Spring:
From Roseat Groves and Myrtle Shades,
That not a sultry Beam invades.
Each Grove with heav'nly Music rings,
And Odours rise on Zephyrs Wings.
Mild Glory lightens all the Bow'rs,
And purest Pleasure wings the Hours.
While crystal Streams, incircling, flow
Through all the flow'ry Vales below;
That in the softest Murmurs thrill,
Adown each slow-descending Hill.
43
For ever giving fresh Recruit.
No drowsy Slumbers close the Eyes
In these gay Regions of the Skies.
Nor Dream a frightful Form assumes,
Impress'd by indigested Fumes.
Nor aking Head from heated Brain,
Disease, nor, its Attendant, Pain.
Here, no despairing Lover dies;
No base Deluder cheats with Lyes,
Nor come or jealous Cares or Sighs.
Nor Eye e'er drops a briny Tear;
For Truth and Love are native here.
Each Spirit has his Task assign'd
As pleases best, or suits his Mind.
Some to the central Sun descend;
Some to the neighb'ring Planets tend;
Nor some so small a Space can bound,
As does old Saturn's annual Round;
44
Their Maker's Works with Rapture trace.
Of this small Surface losing Sight,
Amidst Ten Thousand Worlds of Light,
Some tune their golden Harps, and sing
The boundless Glories of their King.
Or how from Chaos Nature rose,
How central Fires these Scenes shall close.
How at the last important Day,
All shall the Trumpet's Voice obey,
With Horror some, and some with Joy.
Some on the kindest Errands fly,
Adown the azure hilly Sky;
And whisper Celia in the Ear,
“Of yon deluding Fop beware.”
To Strephon, when the sparkling Wine
Does to Excess his Soul incline;
“Exert the Man, and fly the Bait;
“See Poison on the Pleasure wait.”
And, pointing to the tempting Fair,
“Disease, ill Fame, and Guilt are there.”
Bids Reason guide his erring Feet,
And ev'ry Virtue grow complete.
Bids Wit, within due Bounds confin'd,
Adorn, and not debauch, his Mind.
If Strephon's deaf, away they fly,
And, griev'd, they mount their native Sky.
They leave him 'midst a lighter Band,
Of airy Beings still at hand;
Who left the World with tainted Breast,
With their own Follies still impress'd,
Envious, deceitful, and unblest.
Who hover round with downward Flight,
Visit in Dreams at Dead of Night;
Fill Myra's Head with Dukes and Earls,
And Equipage, and costly Pearls.
Bid Strephon dance, and drink, and play,
Turn Day to Night, and Night to Day;
Till Health, and Fame, and Fortune flies,
Strephon repents, despairs, and dies.
Adown the azure hilly Sky;
And whisper Celia in the Ear,
“Of yon deluding Fop beware.”
To Strephon, when the sparkling Wine
Does to Excess his Soul incline;
“Exert the Man, and fly the Bait;
“See Poison on the Pleasure wait.”
45
“Disease, ill Fame, and Guilt are there.”
Bids Reason guide his erring Feet,
And ev'ry Virtue grow complete.
Bids Wit, within due Bounds confin'd,
Adorn, and not debauch, his Mind.
If Strephon's deaf, away they fly,
And, griev'd, they mount their native Sky.
They leave him 'midst a lighter Band,
Of airy Beings still at hand;
Who left the World with tainted Breast,
With their own Follies still impress'd,
Envious, deceitful, and unblest.
Who hover round with downward Flight,
Visit in Dreams at Dead of Night;
Fill Myra's Head with Dukes and Earls,
And Equipage, and costly Pearls.
Bid Strephon dance, and drink, and play,
Turn Day to Night, and Night to Day;
46
Strephon repents, despairs, and dies.
These tuneful Pope calls Nomes and Sylphs;
These Britons took for fairy Elves;
The Genius was the Pagan Name;
They gave their Bards and Sages Fame.
And Milton, Pope, and Dryden fir'd;
And Clarke and Newton these inspir'd.
Nor Strephon, nor does Celia know
But from themselves their Reas'nings flow.
By Sounds so gently we pervade,
So unperceiv'd the Trace is made,
And Picture to the Mind convey'd.
These Britons took for fairy Elves;
The Genius was the Pagan Name;
They gave their Bards and Sages Fame.
And Milton, Pope, and Dryden fir'd;
And Clarke and Newton these inspir'd.
Nor Strephon, nor does Celia know
But from themselves their Reas'nings flow.
By Sounds so gently we pervade,
So unperceiv'd the Trace is made,
And Picture to the Mind convey'd.
This Message, F---, to you I bear;
You was my Friend, are now my Care.
Your sprightly Wit, that all admire,
Is an unlicens'd lawless Fire.
Restrain its wild impetuous Course;
And give your Reason all its Force.
And let that Reason be your Rule:
Things sacred bear no Ridicule.
Be to your better Self but true,
Then ev'ry Grace will shine in You.
You was my Friend, are now my Care.
Your sprightly Wit, that all admire,
Is an unlicens'd lawless Fire.
47
And give your Reason all its Force.
And let that Reason be your Rule:
Things sacred bear no Ridicule.
Be to your better Self but true,
Then ev'ry Grace will shine in You.
48
To Mrs. Shales.
I'll not fatigue Belinda's Ear
With telling her, “She's fair;”
Those Sounds so often she must hear
Of Shape, and Face, and Air.
With telling her, “She's fair;”
Those Sounds so often she must hear
Of Shape, and Face, and Air.
Of Neck as white as falling Snow,
And Eyes that Love inspire;
What her Glass tells her, she must know,
And Repetitions tire.
And Eyes that Love inspire;
What her Glass tells her, she must know,
And Repetitions tire.
Besides, the Nymph has too much Sense,
To pride in Good so frail;
Sees Beauty round beset with Harms,
And fears lest some prevail.
To pride in Good so frail;
Sees Beauty round beset with Harms,
And fears lest some prevail.
49
Lest flatt'ring Tongues in fair Disguise
Should Vanity instil;
Observes herself with watchful Eyes,
And shuns the baleful Ill:
Should Vanity instil;
Observes herself with watchful Eyes,
And shuns the baleful Ill:
Bids Caution wait on Innocence,
Lest Malice dare to blame;
Or Envy, with envenom'd Breath,
Should taint her lovely Name.
Lest Malice dare to blame;
Or Envy, with envenom'd Breath,
Should taint her lovely Name.
She knows, that ev'ry Hour that flies,
Brings Age upon its Wing:
And that ungrateful Word, She was!
Has Venom in its Sting.
Brings Age upon its Wing:
And that ungrateful Word, She was!
Has Venom in its Sting.
She thanks kind Heav'n, that made her fair;
And knows that Heav'n design'd,
That lovely Form she wears, to grace
The Beauties of her Mind.
And knows that Heav'n design'd,
That lovely Form she wears, to grace
The Beauties of her Mind.
50
So when the sparkling Brilliant's set
In Silver, shining Oar;
It adds small Value to the Stone,
But makes it please the more.
In Silver, shining Oar;
It adds small Value to the Stone,
But makes it please the more.
51
To Mrs. Stephens.
Thou, Sodbury House, my lov'd, my sweet Retreat,
And all the Beauties that surround the Seat;
Where Nature smiles in all her fertile Pride;
Demand'st my Song, and Truth shall be my Guide.
Scarce Eden's Garden more divinely fair;
Alike in Fragrance is thy balmy Air.
When bow'd by Sickness nigh the gloomy Grave,
Thy Air reviv'd, and Heav'n vouchsaf'd to save.
And all the Beauties that surround the Seat;
Where Nature smiles in all her fertile Pride;
Demand'st my Song, and Truth shall be my Guide.
Scarce Eden's Garden more divinely fair;
Alike in Fragrance is thy balmy Air.
When bow'd by Sickness nigh the gloomy Grave,
Thy Air reviv'd, and Heav'n vouchsaf'd to save.
Rev'rend by hoary Age, and old in Fame,
Unknown its Founder's Family and Name.
The Fabric stands a venerable Seat;
Just in the Centre of a fair Estate:
That wide its hospitable Door extends,
Capacious to receive a thousand Friends.
The Owner's Soul, like Goodness, unconfin'd,
Diffuses wide her Favours on her Kind.
Her gen'rous Breast scarce other Pleasure knows,
Than what reflects from those that she bestows.
She knows with strictest Prudence how to spend;
Still frugal to herself, and noble to her Friend.
Fair verdant Avenues the House adorn;
And double Courts the bold Intruder warn.
For great Beneficence is oft oppress'd;
And those that can't deny, can seldom rest.
Wide arched Portals grace the solemn Hall;
Where wait the Poor, as their Distresses call:
Nor call in vain; but of Assistance sure;
If hungry, fed; if sick, they find a Cure.
But view the Parlour; here Description's faint:
Its Beauties languish in my lifeless Paint.
Its wide Dimension, well-proportion'd Height,
With pleasing Awe command and charm the Sight.
Here Oliver, in Britain's Annals fam'd,
Frowns awful, yet intrepid and untam'd.
This Piece a Son of Spain could scarce survive;
The Canvas speaks, 'tis Oliver alive.
From the broad Windows see the Scenes extend;
Till on the distant Hills the Skies descend.
Within, around exotic Flow'rets bloom;
Fair India's Spices shed a rich Perfume.
Nor less, ye lovely Natives of our Isle,
Your Scenes delight me, or your Blossoms smile.
The fragrant Jessamin, and blushing Rose,
The various Woodbine, Pink, and Lily shows
Yet liuelier Beauty in their native Soil;
Shed sweeter Fragrance, and require less Toil.
Unknown its Founder's Family and Name.
The Fabric stands a venerable Seat;
Just in the Centre of a fair Estate:
52
Capacious to receive a thousand Friends.
The Owner's Soul, like Goodness, unconfin'd,
Diffuses wide her Favours on her Kind.
Her gen'rous Breast scarce other Pleasure knows,
Than what reflects from those that she bestows.
She knows with strictest Prudence how to spend;
Still frugal to herself, and noble to her Friend.
Fair verdant Avenues the House adorn;
And double Courts the bold Intruder warn.
For great Beneficence is oft oppress'd;
And those that can't deny, can seldom rest.
Wide arched Portals grace the solemn Hall;
Where wait the Poor, as their Distresses call:
Nor call in vain; but of Assistance sure;
If hungry, fed; if sick, they find a Cure.
But view the Parlour; here Description's faint:
Its Beauties languish in my lifeless Paint.
Its wide Dimension, well-proportion'd Height,
With pleasing Awe command and charm the Sight.
53
Frowns awful, yet intrepid and untam'd.
This Piece a Son of Spain could scarce survive;
The Canvas speaks, 'tis Oliver alive.
From the broad Windows see the Scenes extend;
Till on the distant Hills the Skies descend.
Within, around exotic Flow'rets bloom;
Fair India's Spices shed a rich Perfume.
Nor less, ye lovely Natives of our Isle,
Your Scenes delight me, or your Blossoms smile.
The fragrant Jessamin, and blushing Rose,
The various Woodbine, Pink, and Lily shows
Yet liuelier Beauty in their native Soil;
Shed sweeter Fragrance, and require less Toil.
Here hanging Gardens rich with Fruit appear;
The golden Apple, and the mellow Pear,
And nicer Plants, their spreading Arms extend;
To tempt the gath'ring Hand of ev'ry Friend.
On the smooth Terras, set with Ever-greens,
I walk'd, delighted with the lovely Scenes:
Where Groops of Trees around are artful spread,
And meet in verdant Arches o'er the Head.
Amidst the awful Shades, from Grove to Grove,
In Noon-day's Heat secure and cool, I rove.
Whence Clouds of Birds pursue their airy Way,
When dawning Beams proclaim the rising Day;
Rous'd from their leafy Beds they hail the Light.
I gaze, delighted with the Sound and Sight!
And wait their wish'd Return with rising Night.
Here rises on the Plain a spreading Town;
Part the Sun gilds, and Part the Shades imbrown.
See gently gradual yonder Hills arise;
Till blue the last, and hid among the Skies.
Along the Side an ancient City spreads,
Churches and Gothic Spires erect their Heads.
Here Seats unnumber'd interspers'd appear;
With vocal Woods, and Corn with golden Ear.
Gay Plenty, with her ever smiling Face,
And graceful Beauty, dresses all the Space.
The loaded Vessel there securely rides
On Severn, proudly rolling back her Tides;
Carrying our Plenty to each distant Shore,
Exchang'd for foreign Wine, and golden Oar.
The distant River courts the wand'ring Eyes,
Till the wide View in ancient Cambria dies.
Cambria; whose hardy Sons were true and bold,
Scorn'd to be Slaves, their Freedom never sold;
But chose to live on barren Cliffs their own,
Disdain'd more fertile Fields for Roman Masters sown.
Here view the wide extended Concave bound
The haughty Hills, that guard the Vallies round.
What grateful Thoughts those awful Camps inspire!
Once a dread Scene of War, and Blood, and Fire:
When conqu'ring Romans sat in Triumph there,
And Death flew hissing thro' the frighted Air.
The slaughter'd Natives spread the Vallies wide,
And drench'd the Meadows with a Crimson Tide.
Now Peace her downy Wing spreads o'er the Scene,
The Camps lie harmless on the level Green,
The Noise of War is hush'd, and all a sweet Serene.
Not Cowper's Hill a more delightful Theme,
That smiles in Denham's Song for ever green;
Nor Windsor Forest ever fair and gay,
Immortaliz'd by Pope's harmonious Lay;
Nor fancied Scenes in Fable Stories told,
By modern Bards, or the inchanting old,
Have greater Charms than Sodbury, dear Retreat!
Serenely blest, here could I fix my Seat.
But I must wander with unwilling Feet.
Thus Adam took his last, his farewel Round,
And mourning left fair Eden's happy Ground.
Happy and long may here the Owner live,
To taste those Pleasures which she loves to give!
Long by her wise and fair Example show,
How Peace and Joy from silent Order flow!
With chearful Health and Friendship ever crown'd,
And deal out Blessings to the Country round!
The golden Apple, and the mellow Pear,
And nicer Plants, their spreading Arms extend;
To tempt the gath'ring Hand of ev'ry Friend.
54
I walk'd, delighted with the lovely Scenes:
Where Groops of Trees around are artful spread,
And meet in verdant Arches o'er the Head.
Amidst the awful Shades, from Grove to Grove,
In Noon-day's Heat secure and cool, I rove.
Whence Clouds of Birds pursue their airy Way,
When dawning Beams proclaim the rising Day;
Rous'd from their leafy Beds they hail the Light.
I gaze, delighted with the Sound and Sight!
And wait their wish'd Return with rising Night.
Here rises on the Plain a spreading Town;
Part the Sun gilds, and Part the Shades imbrown.
See gently gradual yonder Hills arise;
Till blue the last, and hid among the Skies.
Along the Side an ancient City spreads,
Churches and Gothic Spires erect their Heads.
Here Seats unnumber'd interspers'd appear;
With vocal Woods, and Corn with golden Ear.
55
And graceful Beauty, dresses all the Space.
The loaded Vessel there securely rides
On Severn, proudly rolling back her Tides;
Carrying our Plenty to each distant Shore,
Exchang'd for foreign Wine, and golden Oar.
The distant River courts the wand'ring Eyes,
Till the wide View in ancient Cambria dies.
Cambria; whose hardy Sons were true and bold,
Scorn'd to be Slaves, their Freedom never sold;
But chose to live on barren Cliffs their own,
Disdain'd more fertile Fields for Roman Masters sown.
Here view the wide extended Concave bound
The haughty Hills, that guard the Vallies round.
What grateful Thoughts those awful Camps inspire!
Once a dread Scene of War, and Blood, and Fire:
When conqu'ring Romans sat in Triumph there,
And Death flew hissing thro' the frighted Air.
The slaughter'd Natives spread the Vallies wide,
And drench'd the Meadows with a Crimson Tide.
56
The Camps lie harmless on the level Green,
The Noise of War is hush'd, and all a sweet Serene.
Not Cowper's Hill a more delightful Theme,
That smiles in Denham's Song for ever green;
Nor Windsor Forest ever fair and gay,
Immortaliz'd by Pope's harmonious Lay;
Nor fancied Scenes in Fable Stories told,
By modern Bards, or the inchanting old,
Have greater Charms than Sodbury, dear Retreat!
Serenely blest, here could I fix my Seat.
But I must wander with unwilling Feet.
Thus Adam took his last, his farewel Round,
And mourning left fair Eden's happy Ground.
Happy and long may here the Owner live,
To taste those Pleasures which she loves to give!
Long by her wise and fair Example show,
How Peace and Joy from silent Order flow!
With chearful Health and Friendship ever crown'd,
And deal out Blessings to the Country round!
57
A SONG.
Young Celia was sprightly and gay;
Had the Bloom of Fifteen on her Cheek:
Her Lovers came flocking each Day,
And a thousand fond Things they wou'd speak.
She, giddy and thoughtless, gave Ear
To the Tale of each flattering Tongue;
And thought she was blest, to appear
In a Circle of Lovers so young.
Had the Bloom of Fifteen on her Cheek:
Her Lovers came flocking each Day,
And a thousand fond Things they wou'd speak.
She, giddy and thoughtless, gave Ear
To the Tale of each flattering Tongue;
And thought she was blest, to appear
In a Circle of Lovers so young.
Thus elate with the Conquests she gain'd,
She neglected to act with a Grace;
And thought that her Triumph for Life,
Was secure by the Charms of her Face.
While Cynthia, more modest and coy,
Not a Lover yet boasts in her Train;
Which Celia with Pleasure observ'd,
And delighted to give the Nymph Pain.
She neglected to act with a Grace;
And thought that her Triumph for Life,
Was secure by the Charms of her Face.
58
Not a Lover yet boasts in her Train;
Which Celia with Pleasure observ'd,
And delighted to give the Nymph Pain.
Her Lovers grew cold and dropp'd off,
As her Folly increas'd with her Years;
When Time had her Beauty defac'd,
They left her to Wrinkles and Tears.
While Cynthia took Care to supply
With each Grace the swift Conquest of Time;
And was much more belov'd in Decay,
Than Celia was e'er in her Prime.
As her Folly increas'd with her Years;
When Time had her Beauty defac'd,
They left her to Wrinkles and Tears.
While Cynthia took Care to supply
With each Grace the swift Conquest of Time;
And was much more belov'd in Decay,
Than Celia was e'er in her Prime.
Her Mind, with each Virtue replete,
Had enamour'd a right-judging Swain;
Who sought her to make them both blest:
And still is unrivall'd her Reign.
All ye fair, that attend to my Song,
Be ye warned by Celia's ill Fate;
Think the Graces to Beauty belong;
Lest forsaken, you court them too late.
Had enamour'd a right-judging Swain;
Who sought her to make them both blest:
And still is unrivall'd her Reign.
59
Be ye warned by Celia's ill Fate;
Think the Graces to Beauty belong;
Lest forsaken, you court them too late.
60
To Mrs. Moor,
A Poem on Friendship. Written in 1729.
Friendship! the heav'nly Theme I sing;
Source of the truest Joy;
From Sense such Pleasures never spring,
Still new, that never cloy.
Source of the truest Joy;
From Sense such Pleasures never spring,
Still new, that never cloy.
'Tis sacred Friendship gilds our Days,
And smooths Life's ruffled Stream:
Uniting Joys will Joys increase,
And sharing lessen Pain.
And smooths Life's ruffled Stream:
Uniting Joys will Joys increase,
And sharing lessen Pain.
'Tis pure as the etherial Flame,
That lights the Lamps above;
Pure, as the Infant's Thought, from Blame;
Or, as his Mother's Love.
That lights the Lamps above;
Pure, as the Infant's Thought, from Blame;
Or, as his Mother's Love.
61
From kind Benevolence it flows,
And rises on Esteem.
'Tis false Pretence, that Int'rest shews,
And fleeting as a Dream.
And rises on Esteem.
'Tis false Pretence, that Int'rest shews,
And fleeting as a Dream.
The Wretch, to Sense and Self confin'd,
Knows not the dear Delight;
For gen'rous Friendship wings the Mind,
To reach an Angel's Height.
Knows not the dear Delight;
For gen'rous Friendship wings the Mind,
To reach an Angel's Height.
Amidst the Crowd each Kindred Mind,
True Worth superior spies:
Tho' hid, the modest Veil behind,
From less discerning Eyes.
True Worth superior spies:
Tho' hid, the modest Veil behind,
From less discerning Eyes.
From whose Discourse Instruction flows,
But Satire dares not wound.
Their guiltless Voice no Flatt'ry knows,
But scorns delusive Sound.
But Satire dares not wound.
Their guiltless Voice no Flatt'ry knows,
But scorns delusive Sound.
62
While Truth divine inspires each Tongue,
The Soul bright Knowledge gains.
Such Adam ask'd, and Gabriel sung,
In heav'nly Milton's Strains.
The Soul bright Knowledge gains.
Such Adam ask'd, and Gabriel sung,
In heav'nly Milton's Strains.
Such the Companions of your Hours,
And such your lov'd Employ;
Who would indulge your noblest Pow'rs,
But know no guilty Joy.
And such your lov'd Employ;
Who would indulge your noblest Pow'rs,
But know no guilty Joy.
And thus as swift-wing'd Time brings on
Death, nearer to our View;
Tun'd to sweet Harmony our Souls,
We take a short Adieu.
Death, nearer to our View;
Tun'd to sweet Harmony our Souls,
We take a short Adieu.
Till the last Trump's delightful Sound
Shall wake our sleeping Clay;
Then swift, to find our Fellow-souls,
As Light, we haste away.
Shall wake our sleeping Clay;
Then swift, to find our Fellow-souls,
As Light, we haste away.
63
On my Recovery.
God of my Life and lengthen'd Days!
To Thee my Breath I owe.
Teach me my grateful Voice to raise,
In Sounds that sweetly flow.
To Thee my Breath I owe.
Teach me my grateful Voice to raise,
In Sounds that sweetly flow.
When sinking to the silent Grave,
My Spirits dy'd away;
Thy quick'ning Word new Vigour gave,
Thy Voice commands my Stay.
My Spirits dy'd away;
Thy quick'ning Word new Vigour gave,
Thy Voice commands my Stay.
In my Distress to Thee I cry'd,
When tossing in my Bed;
Thou sent'st thy Mercy to my Aid,
And eas'd my aking Head.
When tossing in my Bed;
Thou sent'st thy Mercy to my Aid,
And eas'd my aking Head.
64
Thou bidd'st the vital Current flow
In a less rapid Tide;
My dancing Pulse beat calm and low,
And fev'rish Heats subside.
In a less rapid Tide;
My dancing Pulse beat calm and low,
And fev'rish Heats subside.
Thou lend'st to my Physician Skill,
Right Med'cines to apply;
And my Disease obey'd thy Will,
The painful Symptoms die.
Right Med'cines to apply;
And my Disease obey'd thy Will,
The painful Symptoms die.
That Life, which thou hast longer spar'd,
I would devote to Thee.
O let thy Spirit be my Guard,
Till I thy Face shall see!
I would devote to Thee.
O let thy Spirit be my Guard,
Till I thy Face shall see!
65
My WISH.
Wou'd Heav'n indulgent grant my WishFor future Life, it shou'd be this;
Health, Peace, and Friendship I wou'd share
A Mind from Bus'ness free, and Care;
A Soil that's dry in temp'rate Air;
A Fortune from Incumbrance clear,
About a Hundred Pounds a Year;
A House not small, built warm and neat,
Above a Hut, below a Seat;
With Groops of Trees beset around,
In Prospect of the lower Ground,
Beneath the Summit of a Hill,
From whence the gushing Waters trill,
66
To aid a River just below;
At a small Distance from a Wood,
And near some Neighbours wise and good;
There would I spend my remnant Days,
Review my Life, and mend my Ways.
I'd be some honest Farmer's Guest,
That with a cleanly Wife is blest;
A friendly Cleric shou'd be near,
Whose Flock and Office were his Care;
My Thoughts my own, my Time I'd spend
In writing to some faithful Friend:
Or on a Bank, by purling Brook,
Delight me with some useful Book;
Some Sage, or Bard, as Fancy led;
Then ruminate on what I'd read.
Some moral Thoughts shou'd be my Theme,
Or verdant Field, or gliding Stream;
Or Flocks, or Herds, that Shepherds love;
The Shepherds wou'd my Song approve.
67
Nor one loose Thought my Muse shou'd write;
Nor vainly try unequal Flight.
Great George's Name let Poets sing,
That rise on a sublimer Wing:
I'd keep my Passions quite serene;
My Person and Apartment clean;
My Dress not slovenly, but mean.
Some Money still I'd keep in Store,
That I might have to give the Poor;
To help a Neighbour in Distress,
I'd save from Pleasure, Food, and Dress.
I'd feed on Herbs, the limpid Spring
Shou'd be my Helicon.—I'd sing;
And be much happier than a King.
Thus calmly see my Sun decline;
My Life and Manners thus refine.
And acting in my narrow Sphere,
In chearful Hope, without one Care,
I'd quit the World, nor wish a Tear.
68
To Miss Moor,
On her FIRE-SCREEN.
When gloomy Winter's clad in Snow,
Without one chearful Shade of Green;
When one blank View is all the Shew,
And not a Leaf or Flower seen;
Without one chearful Shade of Green;
When one blank View is all the Shew,
And not a Leaf or Flower seen;
When now the shiv'ring feather'd Throng
To distant warmer Regions fly,
Or wanting Food, or chill'd with Frost,
Or by the fatal Powder die:
To distant warmer Regions fly,
Or wanting Food, or chill'd with Frost,
Or by the fatal Powder die:
You, my young fair one, of your own
A new Creation can provide:
Your Flow'rs gay blooming as in May,
Your Trees the sharpest Frost abide.
A new Creation can provide:
Your Flow'rs gay blooming as in May,
Your Trees the sharpest Frost abide.
69
The Flow'rs ne'er fade, nor drop the Fruits,
Nor fades the Verdure of the Fields;
All the gay Seasons in one Scene,
The ever-pleasing Prospect yields.
Nor fades the Verdure of the Fields;
All the gay Seasons in one Scene,
The ever-pleasing Prospect yields.
'Tis true, the Music of the Birds,
Escapes your Art, nor strikes your Ear.
But see them pearching on the Trees,
As if delighted to be here.
Escapes your Art, nor strikes your Ear.
But see them pearching on the Trees,
As if delighted to be here.
Your tender Mind's a fertile Soil;
May all the Graces flourish there!
May Modesty protect the Whole,
And, as your Face, your Name be fair!
May all the Graces flourish there!
May Modesty protect the Whole,
And, as your Face, your Name be fair!
70
On Mr. B---'s Garden. To Mrs. S---.
Madam,
To your Commands I own Obedience due,And fain wou'd paint this fair inchanting View;
A Palace, Centre of the Garden, stands,
No common Structure rear'd by vulgar Hands;
But shews a Master's Skill, a Work complete,
And speaks the Founder's Name, and Fortune great.
The stately Front commands th'admiring View;
Grand its Design, and its Proportion true.
No costly Folly, no expensive Waste;
Strong, but not heavy; noble, but not vast;
Finish'd with Judgment, furnish'd with a Taste.
Vain my Attempt to paint the charming Scenes,
The Park, the Grove, the Terras, and the Greens;
71
The grand Variety confound my Hopes:
Here Art o'er Nature shews a noble Pride,
With Beauty clothes the barren Mountain's Side.
The Planter's Skill the nodding Forests show,
Where scarce a Shrub was ever known to grow.
From Summer's Heat the Hills provide a Shade,
In Winter Shelter, when cold Winds invade.
Yet what were these but empty, all in vain
To ease an aking Heart, or Head in Pain;
Did Envy or Ambition rack the Breast,
The Day wou'd yield no Joy, the Night no Rest;
One Vice indulg'd wou'd cast a Gloom around,
Cloud all the Prospect, poison all the Ground.
But here true Happiness is understood,
The noble manly Joy of doing Good;
Here sterling Truth, calm Temperance, and Love
Lead from these pleasing Scenes to those above,
To nobler Structures built by Hands divine,
Where Suns unclouded o'er the Prospect shine;
72
No Rains can rot, nor eating Worms destroy.
Within these Walls such Happiness resides;
Thus Fame reports.—What can they wish besides?
The Poor shall bless them, all the Wise shall hail,
And Heav'n approve; their Joys can never fail.
Late may they peaceful to their Graves descend,
And Heav'n to all their Offspring prove a Friend!
73
To Mrs. Jacob,
On her Seat called, The Rocks, in Gloucestershire.
At easy Distance from the Town,
An hospitable Seat
From Crowd and Noise there stands retir'd,
A sweet and cool Retreat;
An hospitable Seat
From Crowd and Noise there stands retir'd,
A sweet and cool Retreat;
Securely seated on a Rock,
Whence silver Streams descend,
From Cliffs the Ruins of old Time,
And murmur as they bend.
Whence silver Streams descend,
From Cliffs the Ruins of old Time,
And murmur as they bend.
The antient Honours of the Wood
Adorn and guard the Pile;
At humble Distance down it sees
The fruitful Vallies smile.
Adorn and guard the Pile;
At humble Distance down it sees
The fruitful Vallies smile.
74
Here Woods and Shades, and Grots and Glades,
Feel sultry Summer mild;
Diversify'd a thousand Ways,
And beautifully wild.
Feel sultry Summer mild;
Diversify'd a thousand Ways,
And beautifully wild.
When we, amidst the Shades below,
From the steep Hill descend,
Where crystal Streams in Mazes flow,
That tow'ring Elms defend;
From the steep Hill descend,
Where crystal Streams in Mazes flow,
That tow'ring Elms defend;
Like Pluto's Regions wrapt in Gloom
We think the darksome Way,
That ends in the Elysian Plains,
Fair, flow'ry, calm, and gay.
We think the darksome Way,
That ends in the Elysian Plains,
Fair, flow'ry, calm, and gay.
Romantic Views these Prospects yield,
That feed poetic Fire;
Each broken Rock, and Cave, and Field,
And Hill, and Vale, inspire.
That feed poetic Fire;
Each broken Rock, and Cave, and Field,
And Hill, and Vale, inspire.
75
These various, gay, delightful Scenes,
Like Paradise appear;
Serene as ev'ning Sky my Soul,
And hush'd is ev'ry Care.
Like Paradise appear;
Serene as ev'ning Sky my Soul,
And hush'd is ev'ry Care.
A thousand Birds soft warbling join
The Music of the Trees;
Whose waving Boughs and whisp'ring Leaves,
Play wanton in the Breeze.
The Music of the Trees;
Whose waving Boughs and whisp'ring Leaves,
Play wanton in the Breeze.
The happy Genius of the Place,
Inspire with softest Joys;
And Contemplation pure as Light,
My rap'tur'd Soul employs.
Inspire with softest Joys;
And Contemplation pure as Light,
My rap'tur'd Soul employs.
Within the Gates new Scenes arise,
Which equal Joys disclose;
There Beauty, Goodness, Friendship smiles,
And gen'rous Plenty flows.
Which equal Joys disclose;
There Beauty, Goodness, Friendship smiles,
And gen'rous Plenty flows.
76
To Mrs. Ward.
Sapphira's Lines with Wit and Humour fraught,Pure as her Morals, sprightly as her Thought;
Fill'd with Compassion for the poor distress'd,
And flowing from a grateful gen'rous Breast,
My Muse wou'd sing.—But Swift approves her Lays,
Apollo's Swift anticipates my Praise.
Will Delia pardon, if I dare rehearse
Her Strephon's Praise in my unpolish'd Verse?
Where Souls replete with Learning, Sense, and Truth;
Himself alone unknowing of his Worth:
Graceful amidst Sapphira's Works he stands
Pre-eminent, and ev'ry Eye commands;
Who sings with Genius, Elegance, and Art,
To warm the Passions, and enlarge the Heart.
77
His shall the Critic's keenest Pen endure;
And stand the Rage of conqu'ring Time secure.
A Fop let others chuse, or Wretch they hate;
To ev'ry Joy prefer a large Estate;
With Toys and Equipage, while Truth and Mind
Is Delia's Taste, and shews her Soul refin'd.
The Wise must Delia and her Choice approve,
Who wou'd great Merit recompense with Love;
Good Sense must Honour, Friendship, Faith secure,
While the rich Fool grows fickle, false, impure.
With such a Friend what Woman wou'd not dare
To stake some Fortune, and the rest to share?
To hear Truth flow melodious from his Tongue,
And have her Name immortaliz'd in Song.
Such Force of Merit must successful prove,
Bays crown his Head, while Beauty crowns his Love.
FINIS.
| The Description Of Bath | |