Poems on Several Occasions ... To which is added, the Plague of Wealth, Occasion'd By the Author's receiving fifty Pounds from his Excellency the Lord Carteret, for the foremention'd Ode. With several Poems not in the Dublin Edition. By Matthew Pilkington. Revised by the Reverend Dr. Swift |
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| XXXIV. |
 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
ix
To the Reverend Mr. Matthew Pilkington,
On the Progress of Musick, and his other POEMS.
Behold
, the Father of poetic Fire,
Once more awakes the consecrated Lyre,
Commands his Son to touch the solemn Chords,
And temper Wit with Art, and Sound with Words;
To tune Ierne's ancient Harp, and raise
Ausonian Music in Britannic Lays;
To melt the tender Fair, to rouse the Brave,
To glad the Gay, and entertain the Grave.
Once more awakes the consecrated Lyre,
Commands his Son to touch the solemn Chords,
And temper Wit with Art, and Sound with Words;
To tune Ierne's ancient Harp, and raise
Ausonian Music in Britannic Lays;
To melt the tender Fair, to rouse the Brave,
To glad the Gay, and entertain the Grave.
x
Victorious Rome, her tow'ring Eagles bore
Over Britannia to th' Atlantic Shore;
Her deathless Warriors in pursuit of Fame,
Fir'd with the Glory of the Latian Name,
Far as they shook their Spears, or wing'd their Darts,
What they destroy'd by Arms, repair'd by Arts:
Ierne then unciviliz'd and rude
Remain'd—Ierne was not then subdu'd:
But now by Britain, and by Time encreas'd,
Her Manners brighten where her Triumphs ceas'd;
The God of Numbers, and the God of Light
Rescues our Poets from the Shades of Night,
Thro' Northern Climes his Glance divine displays,
Ripens our Judgment, and sublimes our Lays.
Over Britannia to th' Atlantic Shore;
Her deathless Warriors in pursuit of Fame,
Fir'd with the Glory of the Latian Name,
Far as they shook their Spears, or wing'd their Darts,
What they destroy'd by Arms, repair'd by Arts:
Ierne then unciviliz'd and rude
Remain'd—Ierne was not then subdu'd:
But now by Britain, and by Time encreas'd,
Her Manners brighten where her Triumphs ceas'd;
The God of Numbers, and the God of Light
Rescues our Poets from the Shades of Night,
Thro' Northern Climes his Glance divine displays,
Ripens our Judgment, and sublimes our Lays.
xi
As in a finish'd Picture, something new
Is still presented to the second View,
Some Master-strokes of Art, which duly raise
Fresh Funds of Wonder, and Reserves of Praise;
So in thy Poems exquisitely wrought,
With all the Charms of Art, and Strength of Thought,
New Beauties still the ravish'd Fancy strike,
And still the more we read, the more we like.
Such are the various Beauties of thy Song,
Soft as Anacreon, and as Pindar strong:
Whether in lofty Notes you touch the Strings,
The Hill re-echoes, and the Valley rings;
Or tune in gentler Lays the breathing Lyre,
The Nymphs are ravish'd, and the Swains admire:
Apollo kindles the superior Flame,
And all the Sisters animate the Theme:
Pluck'd from the sacred Grove, the Laurel-Bough
Adorns thy Verse, nor withers on thy Brow;
The boasted Glories of the mighty Nine,
Blest Bard! are all epitomiz'd in thine.
Is still presented to the second View,
Some Master-strokes of Art, which duly raise
Fresh Funds of Wonder, and Reserves of Praise;
So in thy Poems exquisitely wrought,
With all the Charms of Art, and Strength of Thought,
New Beauties still the ravish'd Fancy strike,
And still the more we read, the more we like.
Such are the various Beauties of thy Song,
Soft as Anacreon, and as Pindar strong:
Whether in lofty Notes you touch the Strings,
The Hill re-echoes, and the Valley rings;
Or tune in gentler Lays the breathing Lyre,
The Nymphs are ravish'd, and the Swains admire:
xii
And all the Sisters animate the Theme:
Pluck'd from the sacred Grove, the Laurel-Bough
Adorns thy Verse, nor withers on thy Brow;
The boasted Glories of the mighty Nine,
Blest Bard! are all epitomiz'd in thine.
Thus from their Parent Orb, for ever bright,
The streaming Rays of first-created Light,
Diffusely scatter'd thro' our Hemisphere,
Descending sicken in the grosser Air;
But call'd by Newton's Glass, the various Seeds
Are still attracted, as the Focus feeds;
'Till all the Particles collected shine,
And, blazing, prove their Origin divine.
The streaming Rays of first-created Light,
Diffusely scatter'd thro' our Hemisphere,
Descending sicken in the grosser Air;
But call'd by Newton's Glass, the various Seeds
Are still attracted, as the Focus feeds;
'Till all the Particles collected shine,
And, blazing, prove their Origin divine.
xiii
But yet, undaunted Youth, tho' fond to raise,
By honourable Means, immortal Praise,
Yet, yet suspect from thy triumphal Car,
The Shocks of Envy, and the critic War:
Reflect upon the public Poet's Curse,
Of wedding Fame for better or for worse.
Be not transported with the sudden Blast
Of Praise, which flutters now, and now is past,
In Censure or Applause be still the same,
Nor sacrifice thy Quiet to thy Fame.
Whoever Bard or Patriot will commence,
Must serve the Public at his own Expence.
See Pope and Gay, (nor yet the World asham'd!)
This unrewarded, and the other blam'd!
Lo! sprightly Prior in the Dust prophan'd,
And the chast Urn by Hands polluted stain'd:
Great Milton, whose exalted Muse cou'd rise
Alone, to speak the Language of the Skies,
Cou'd scarce receive for all his Book of Fame,
What the disdainful Muse relents to name.
O! ever-injur'd Bard! ungrateful Age!
How great the Worth of his illumin'd Page!
May you, like him, enrich your native Isle
With Thought sublime, and Majesty of Stile,
In Art and Nature equally compleat,
Like him excel—but meet a nobler Fate.
By honourable Means, immortal Praise,
Yet, yet suspect from thy triumphal Car,
The Shocks of Envy, and the critic War:
Reflect upon the public Poet's Curse,
Of wedding Fame for better or for worse.
Be not transported with the sudden Blast
Of Praise, which flutters now, and now is past,
In Censure or Applause be still the same,
Nor sacrifice thy Quiet to thy Fame.
Whoever Bard or Patriot will commence,
Must serve the Public at his own Expence.
See Pope and Gay, (nor yet the World asham'd!)
This unrewarded, and the other blam'd!
Lo! sprightly Prior in the Dust prophan'd,
And the chast Urn by Hands polluted stain'd:
xiv
Alone, to speak the Language of the Skies,
Cou'd scarce receive for all his Book of Fame,
What the disdainful Muse relents to name.
O! ever-injur'd Bard! ungrateful Age!
How great the Worth of his illumin'd Page!
May you, like him, enrich your native Isle
With Thought sublime, and Majesty of Stile,
In Art and Nature equally compleat,
Like him excel—but meet a nobler Fate.
July 22, 1730. William Dunkin.
1
THE PROGRESS of MUSICK IN IRELAND.
TO MIRA.
------Μουσικην δ' αρα
Ερως διδασκει, καν αμουσος ην το πριν.
Eurip. Sthenobœa.
Ερως διδασκει, καν αμουσος ην το πριν.
Eurip. Sthenobœa.
By thee enjoyn'd th' obsequious Muse obeys,
Yet trembling, dreads the Danger she surveys,
But vain are Infant Fears, I plead in vain,
The Task too Noble, too Sublime the Strain,
The Fancy's wing'd, and springs to bolder Flights,
When Beauty bids, and Harmony invites;
For each, our Passions pleasingly controuls;
Love's but the purer Harmony of Souls:
Musick and Love the savage World refin'd,
Reform'd the Manners, while they rais'd the Mind,
Gave Man a Foretaste of the Joys above;
For what is Heav'n but Harmony and Love?
Yet trembling, dreads the Danger she surveys,
2
The Task too Noble, too Sublime the Strain,
The Fancy's wing'd, and springs to bolder Flights,
When Beauty bids, and Harmony invites;
For each, our Passions pleasingly controuls;
Love's but the purer Harmony of Souls:
Musick and Love the savage World refin'd,
Reform'd the Manners, while they rais'd the Mind,
Gave Man a Foretaste of the Joys above;
For what is Heav'n but Harmony and Love?
Hibernia long beheld, with Sorrow fill'd,
Her Poets and her Sons in Arts unskill'd:
Sons! dead to Fame, nor comely to the Sight,
Their Customs wild, their Manners unpolite;
Nor yet could Musick boast persuasive Charms,
To tempt one sprightly Genius to her Arms:
The Muse, in mournful Pomp, laments her Case,
Pale Grief and Anguish painted in her Face;
To lonely Woods retire the tuneful Throng,
Uncharm'd by Sound, and negligent of Song:
The silent Lark forgets to wake the Dawn
With early Song, suspended o'er the Lawn,
On Earth he pines, and droops his useless Wings
With dumb Concern, and neither Soars nor Sings.
Her Poets and her Sons in Arts unskill'd:
Sons! dead to Fame, nor comely to the Sight,
Their Customs wild, their Manners unpolite;
3
To tempt one sprightly Genius to her Arms:
The Muse, in mournful Pomp, laments her Case,
Pale Grief and Anguish painted in her Face;
To lonely Woods retire the tuneful Throng,
Uncharm'd by Sound, and negligent of Song:
The silent Lark forgets to wake the Dawn
With early Song, suspended o'er the Lawn,
On Earth he pines, and droops his useless Wings
With dumb Concern, and neither Soars nor Sings.
At length a Swain, long tortur'd with Despair,
The Scorn of some inexorable Fair,
Haunted each Grove, each dark Retreat of Grief,
Bereft of Ease, and hopeless of Relief;
Nightly he heard sad Philomel complain,
And wish'd to copy so divine a Strain,
So clear, so soft the plaintive Warbler sung,
The Groves, and Hills with plaintive Echoes rung.
Her Notes so mournfully melodious flow,
They calm his Soul, and mitigate his Woe,
Distressful Passion both alike bewail,
He sighs his Grief, she chants her piteous Tale.
The Scorn of some inexorable Fair,
Haunted each Grove, each dark Retreat of Grief,
Bereft of Ease, and hopeless of Relief;
4
And wish'd to copy so divine a Strain,
So clear, so soft the plaintive Warbler sung,
The Groves, and Hills with plaintive Echoes rung.
Her Notes so mournfully melodious flow,
They calm his Soul, and mitigate his Woe,
Distressful Passion both alike bewail,
He sighs his Grief, she chants her piteous Tale.
Fain would he Sing; his Voice was still supprest
By swelling Sighs, which struggled from his Breast.
Despair, whose Sting can haughtiest Minds controul,
Unstrings his Nerves, and quite unmans his Soul,
Breaths a wild Horror into ev'ry Part,
Restrains his Tongue, and preys upon his Heart.
By swelling Sighs, which struggled from his Breast.
Despair, whose Sting can haughtiest Minds controul,
Unstrings his Nerves, and quite unmans his Soul,
Breaths a wild Horror into ev'ry Part,
Restrains his Tongue, and preys upon his Heart.
5
But near the Grove, where comfortless he lies,
The spiky Reeds in waving Clusters rise,
He models one, and his Invention tires,
Varying its Form as Art or Chance inspires:
Then gives it Breath to sing: With gentle Mirth
It strikes the Ear, as conscious of its Birth.
With sharpen'd Steel he lanc'd its tender Skin,
In Order rang'd the op'ning Wounds are seen,
Wounds! less than he receiv'd, with piercing Smart,
In that soft Instrument of Love, the Heart:
To these his active Fingers he applies,
Which bid the changing Musick fall, and rise,
While in the Road of Harmony they guide
Each infant Sound, and o'er the Notes preside.
The spiky Reeds in waving Clusters rise,
He models one, and his Invention tires,
Varying its Form as Art or Chance inspires:
Then gives it Breath to sing: With gentle Mirth
It strikes the Ear, as conscious of its Birth.
With sharpen'd Steel he lanc'd its tender Skin,
In Order rang'd the op'ning Wounds are seen,
Wounds! less than he receiv'd, with piercing Smart,
In that soft Instrument of Love, the Heart:
To these his active Fingers he applies,
Which bid the changing Musick fall, and rise,
While in the Road of Harmony they guide
Each infant Sound, and o'er the Notes preside.
6
But o'er his Airs a gloomy Sorrow hung;
For still he lov'd, and Love distress'd he sung,
His Heart in ev'ry Accent seem'd to bleed,
And Grief harmonious trembled from the Reed.
For still he lov'd, and Love distress'd he sung,
His Heart in ev'ry Accent seem'd to bleed,
And Grief harmonious trembled from the Reed.
And still the Tenor of Hibernian Strains,
Those pleasing Labours of enamour'd Swains,
From his a melancholly Turn receive,
The Airs are moving, and the Numbers grieve.
Those pleasing Labours of enamour'd Swains,
From his a melancholly Turn receive,
The Airs are moving, and the Numbers grieve.
Musick thus wak'd to Life, fair Child of Love!
Time's rip'ning Touch, and growing Arts improve,
While to the feeble Voice of slender Reeds,
The manlier Musick of the Fife succeeds.
Alike in Form, but of a larger Mold,
More durable its Frame, its Tone more bold;
Now lively Numbers, born on willing Gales,
Flow to the Hills, and echo in the Vales;
The rural Throng now chearful croud around,
And catch, enamour'd, the inspiring Sound,
They walk and move with correspondent Mien,
And Dance exulting on the level Green:
No Secret now the raptur'd Heart conceals,
The conscious Maid her hidden Flames reveals,
In glowing Blushes on her Cheeks they rise,
Burst from her Tongue, and kindle in her Eyes.
Time's rip'ning Touch, and growing Arts improve,
While to the feeble Voice of slender Reeds,
The manlier Musick of the Fife succeeds.
Alike in Form, but of a larger Mold,
More durable its Frame, its Tone more bold;
7
Flow to the Hills, and echo in the Vales;
The rural Throng now chearful croud around,
And catch, enamour'd, the inspiring Sound,
They walk and move with correspondent Mien,
And Dance exulting on the level Green:
No Secret now the raptur'd Heart conceals,
The conscious Maid her hidden Flames reveals,
In glowing Blushes on her Cheeks they rise,
Burst from her Tongue, and kindle in her Eyes.
But secret Pleasures once disclos'd to Sight,
Give Birth to fresh Successions of Delight.
On Objects new the restless Fancy strays,
And wantons in the Search of nobler Lays.
Extended Strings at length Experience found,
Start at the Touch, and tremble into Sound;
Of which a Vocal Multitude conspire,
In shining Order plac'd to form the Lyre:
And thus the Strings, as in a Choir combin'd,
Have each their Parts of Harmony assign'd:
Some heavenly Sounds transportingly create,
Like Echo some the heav'nly Sounds repeat,
Those plac'd above, rejoice in sprightly Tones,
Below the rough, hoarse Base, responsive, groans.
Give Birth to fresh Successions of Delight.
On Objects new the restless Fancy strays,
And wantons in the Search of nobler Lays.
8
Start at the Touch, and tremble into Sound;
Of which a Vocal Multitude conspire,
In shining Order plac'd to form the Lyre:
And thus the Strings, as in a Choir combin'd,
Have each their Parts of Harmony assign'd:
Some heavenly Sounds transportingly create,
Like Echo some the heav'nly Sounds repeat,
Those plac'd above, rejoice in sprightly Tones,
Below the rough, hoarse Base, responsive, groans.
If the judicious Artist bids them play,
The dancing Chords in silver Sounds obey;
But struck with Hands unskill'd, they spring to War,
Hiss out their Rage, and in harsh Discords jar.
The dancing Chords in silver Sounds obey;
But struck with Hands unskill'd, they spring to War,
Hiss out their Rage, and in harsh Discords jar.
9
Music henceforward more Domestick grew,
Courts the throng'd Towns, and from the Plains withdrew:
The Vagrant Bard his circling Visits pays,
And charms the Villages with venal Lays.
The solemn Harp, beneath his Shoulder plac'd,
With both his Arms is earnestly embrac'd,
Sweetly irregular, now swift, now slow,
With soft Variety his Numbers flow,
The shrill, the deep, the gentle, and the strong,
With pleasing Dissonance adorn his Song;
While thro' the Chords his Hands unweary'd range,
The Music changing as his Fingers change.
Courts the throng'd Towns, and from the Plains withdrew:
The Vagrant Bard his circling Visits pays,
And charms the Villages with venal Lays.
The solemn Harp, beneath his Shoulder plac'd,
With both his Arms is earnestly embrac'd,
Sweetly irregular, now swift, now slow,
With soft Variety his Numbers flow,
The shrill, the deep, the gentle, and the strong,
With pleasing Dissonance adorn his Song;
While thro' the Chords his Hands unweary'd range,
The Music changing as his Fingers change.
10
The Crowd transported in Attention hung,
Their Breath in Silence sleeps upon the Tongue,
The Wheels forget to turn, the Labours cease,
And ev'ry Sound but Music sinks to Peace.
So when the Thracian charm'd the Shades below,
And brought down Raptures to the Realms of Woe,
Despairing Ghosts from Labour stand releas'd,
Each Wheel, each Instrument of Torture ceas'd;
The Furies drop their Whips, afflictive Pain
Suspends, with ghastly Smiles, her Iron Reign,
All Groans were still'd, all Sorrow lull'd to Rest,
And ev'ry Care was hush'd in ev'ry Breast.
Their Breath in Silence sleeps upon the Tongue,
The Wheels forget to turn, the Labours cease,
And ev'ry Sound but Music sinks to Peace.
So when the Thracian charm'd the Shades below,
And brought down Raptures to the Realms of Woe,
Despairing Ghosts from Labour stand releas'd,
Each Wheel, each Instrument of Torture ceas'd;
The Furies drop their Whips, afflictive Pain
Suspends, with ghastly Smiles, her Iron Reign,
All Groans were still'd, all Sorrow lull'd to Rest,
And ev'ry Care was hush'd in ev'ry Breast.
Joy spreads her Wings o'er all the raptur'd Isle,
And bids each Face be brighten'd to a Smile.
Now Nature, pleas'd, her Gifts profusely pours,
To paint the chearful Earth with od'rous Flow'rs,
So chang'd a Scene she wonders to survey,
And bids ev'n Things inanimate look gay.
And bids each Face be brighten'd to a Smile.
11
To paint the chearful Earth with od'rous Flow'rs,
So chang'd a Scene she wonders to survey,
And bids ev'n Things inanimate look gay.
The Muses now from Albion's Isle retreat,
And here with kind Indulgence fix their Seat:
Then Viner rose, with all their Warmth inspir'd,
A Bard caress'd by all, by all admir'd;
He choral Strings, in sleepy Silence bound,
Touch'd into Voice, and waken'd into Sound;
Then taught those Sounds to flow with easy Art,
To wooe the Soul, and glide into the Heart,
In Notes, untry'd before, his Fancy drest,
And bid new Transports rise in ev'ry Breast.
And here with kind Indulgence fix their Seat:
Then Viner rose, with all their Warmth inspir'd,
A Bard caress'd by all, by all admir'd;
He choral Strings, in sleepy Silence bound,
Touch'd into Voice, and waken'd into Sound;
Then taught those Sounds to flow with easy Art,
To wooe the Soul, and glide into the Heart,
In Notes, untry'd before, his Fancy drest,
And bid new Transports rise in ev'ry Breast.
12
While round in Crowds the fair Creation stand,
The polish'd Viol trembling in his Hand,
While swift as Thought, from Note to Note he springs,
Flies o'er th' unerring Tones, and sweeps the sounding Strings,
The Old, the Young, the Serious, and the Gay,
With ravish'd Ears devour the 'witching Lay;
The Lover's Eyes now languishingly roll,
And speak the Dictates of the raptur'd Soul;
Foes, in whose Breasts the wildest Passion strove,
Forget their Rage, and soften into Love:
The prideful Beauty, feels with new Surprize
Her Bosom swell, and wonders why she sighs,
Each Passion acts as he affects the Heart,
And Nature answers ev'ry stroke of Art.
The polish'd Viol trembling in his Hand,
While swift as Thought, from Note to Note he springs,
Flies o'er th' unerring Tones, and sweeps the sounding Strings,
The Old, the Young, the Serious, and the Gay,
With ravish'd Ears devour the 'witching Lay;
The Lover's Eyes now languishingly roll,
And speak the Dictates of the raptur'd Soul;
Foes, in whose Breasts the wildest Passion strove,
Forget their Rage, and soften into Love:
The prideful Beauty, feels with new Surprize
Her Bosom swell, and wonders why she sighs,
Each Passion acts as he affects the Heart,
And Nature answers ev'ry stroke of Art.
13
But now refin'd Hibernia's ravish'd Throng,
With Wonder dwell on Nicolini's Song,
Whose warbling Voice and tuneful Tongue dispense,
The blended Harmony of Sound and Sense:
With these he knew the list'ning Soul to charm,
And ev'ry Torment of its Sting disarm,
Cou'd calm the harsh disturber Care, to Ease,
With Fear delight us, and with Sorrow please;
Cou'd warm the kindling Soul with am'rous Fire,
And Raptures, which he never felt, inspire.
With Wonder dwell on Nicolini's Song,
Whose warbling Voice and tuneful Tongue dispense,
The blended Harmony of Sound and Sense:
With these he knew the list'ning Soul to charm,
And ev'ry Torment of its Sting disarm,
Cou'd calm the harsh disturber Care, to Ease,
With Fear delight us, and with Sorrow please;
Cou'd warm the kindling Soul with am'rous Fire,
And Raptures, which he never felt, inspire.
While Music thus its native Beauty shows,
And from its living Spring delightful flows,
How does it raise! how gladden ev'ry Heart!
How far transcend the mimic Voice of Art!
And from its living Spring delightful flows,
How does it raise! how gladden ev'ry Heart!
How far transcend the mimic Voice of Art!
14
So, when Belinda's heav'nly Beauties stand,
Wrought into Life by Kneller's magic Hand,
Her Face, her Shape, have all that Art can give,
Start from the animated Paint, and Live;
But, when the real Nymph, divinely bright,
Array'd in native Lustre, strikes our Sight,
Some nameless Transport in our Bosom plays,
That Shade and Colour want the Force to raise.
Wrought into Life by Kneller's magic Hand,
Her Face, her Shape, have all that Art can give,
Start from the animated Paint, and Live;
But, when the real Nymph, divinely bright,
Array'd in native Lustre, strikes our Sight,
Some nameless Transport in our Bosom plays,
That Shade and Colour want the Force to raise.
Dubourg next sways the Soul with nicest Art,
And binds in airy Chains the captive Heart,
While from the vocal Strings, and shifting Bow,
At his nice Touch th' obsequious Numbers flow.
With easy Toil he swells the Notes aloud,
Now on the Ear precipitant they croud,
Now, scarcely heard, they gradually decay,
And with melodious Cadence waste away,
While at his melting Falls, and dying Notes,
Around the Heart the liquid Rapture floats.
And binds in airy Chains the captive Heart,
While from the vocal Strings, and shifting Bow,
At his nice Touch th' obsequious Numbers flow.
With easy Toil he swells the Notes aloud,
Now on the Ear precipitant they croud,
15
And with melodious Cadence waste away,
While at his melting Falls, and dying Notes,
Around the Heart the liquid Rapture floats.
With martial Ardour if he boldly warms,
The animated Hero pants for Arms,
With guiltless Rage th' impetuous Spirit glows,
And prostrates Legions of imagin'd Foes.
The animated Hero pants for Arms,
With guiltless Rage th' impetuous Spirit glows,
And prostrates Legions of imagin'd Foes.
But if to Mirth a sprightly Strain inclines,
With Humour fraught his quick'ning Genius shines,
Then smiling Joys thro' ev'ry Aspect fly,
Glow in the Lips, and wanton in the Eye.
With Humour fraught his quick'ning Genius shines,
Then smiling Joys thro' ev'ry Aspect fly,
Glow in the Lips, and wanton in the Eye.
16
Next Bocchi reigns, whom Art and Nature grace
To smooth the Roughness of the sullen Base,
Directs his Notes distinct to rise or fall,
Tries ev'ry Tone to charm, and charms in all.
To smooth the Roughness of the sullen Base,
Directs his Notes distinct to rise or fall,
Tries ev'ry Tone to charm, and charms in all.
Th' awaken'd Muse thus rises, thus refines,
Improves with Time, and in Perfection shines;
The first rude Lays are now but meanly priz'd,
As rude, neglected, as untun'd, despis'd:
Dead—(in Esteem too dead) the Bards that sung,
The Fife neglected, and the Harp unstrung.
Improves with Time, and in Perfection shines;
The first rude Lays are now but meanly priz'd,
As rude, neglected, as untun'd, despis'd:
Dead—(in Esteem too dead) the Bards that sung,
The Fife neglected, and the Harp unstrung.
So when the Thrush exalts his chearful Throat,
To glad the Fields with many an artless Note,
With rude Delight the List'ner's Breast he warms,
Wild tho' he sings, his sylvan Wildness charms;
But if the warbling Nightingale prepares
Her softer Voice, that melts with thrilling Airs,
The Winds are hush'd, still Silence reigns around,
And list'ning Echo dwells upon the Sound;
Harsh seem the Strains which gave Delight before,
And far excell'd, those Strains delight no more.
To glad the Fields with many an artless Note,
17
Wild tho' he sings, his sylvan Wildness charms;
But if the warbling Nightingale prepares
Her softer Voice, that melts with thrilling Airs,
The Winds are hush'd, still Silence reigns around,
And list'ning Echo dwells upon the Sound;
Harsh seem the Strains which gave Delight before,
And far excell'd, those Strains delight no more.
The pausing Muse now shuts her vent'rous Wings,
And, anxious of Success, distrustful sings;
O! might her Lays to thy Esteem succeed,
For whom she tun'd her artless Voice and Reed,
Thy Smiles would swell her Heart with honest Pride,
Approv'd by thee she scorns the World beside.
And, anxious of Success, distrustful sings;
O! might her Lays to thy Esteem succeed,
For whom she tun'd her artless Voice and Reed,
Thy Smiles would swell her Heart with honest Pride,
Approv'd by thee she scorns the World beside.
18
AN HYMN to SLEEP.
I
God of Sleep, for whom I languish,God of Golden Dreams and Peace,
Gently sooth a Lover's Anguish,
Help to make his Tortures cease:
19
Lull the busy Soul to rest,
Then, bring her I love before me,
She that's painted in my Breast.
II
If kind as fair, my Prize I'll keep,And, great as Jove, the World forsake;
Let me, thus bless'd, for ever sleep,
And lye, and dream, and never wake;
But, shou'd the Fair, divinely bright,
Reject my Vows, and scorn my Flame,
Fly, fly, kind Sleep, restore the Light,
Let Strephon see 'twas all a Dream.
20
LUSUS PILÆ AMATORIUS Ex Nive coacta.
Epigramma Petronii Affranii.
The Same translated.
From
Julia's Hand a Snow-Ball came,
I thought it Ice, but felt it Flame:
See! as the harden'd Fleece she throws,
The Substance kindles as it goes,
Forgets its native Cold, when press't
By her soft Hand, and burns my Breast.
I thought it Ice, but felt it Flame:
See! as the harden'd Fleece she throws,
The Substance kindles as it goes,
21
By her soft Hand, and burns my Breast.
Where safe from Love shall I retire,
If Snow contains a latent Fire?
Julia, thy Love alone can ease
Our Pains, and quench the Fires you raise.
If Snow contains a latent Fire?
Julia, thy Love alone can ease
Our Pains, and quench the Fires you raise.
To MIRA.
A Pastoral Poem.
O
Mira, fair as early Day,
More chearing than the sunny Ray,
Not all the Beauties Nature yields,
To scent the Lawn, or grace the Fields,
Not gawdy Finch, with gilded Wing,
Nor warbling Larks that Soar and Sing,
Nor cooling Seat in vaulted Bow'rs,
Nor Fragrance breath'd from op'ning Flow'rs,
Nor Fall of Streams, nor lonely Walks,
Where unsubstantial Echo talks,
Nor bleating Flocks, nor grassy Downs,
Nor silken Maids retir'd from Towns,
Not these have Charms, whene'er we part,
To kindle Pleasure in my Heart.
More chearing than the sunny Ray,
Not all the Beauties Nature yields,
To scent the Lawn, or grace the Fields,
Not gawdy Finch, with gilded Wing,
Nor warbling Larks that Soar and Sing,
22
Nor Fragrance breath'd from op'ning Flow'rs,
Nor Fall of Streams, nor lonely Walks,
Where unsubstantial Echo talks,
Nor bleating Flocks, nor grassy Downs,
Nor silken Maids retir'd from Towns,
Not these have Charms, whene'er we part,
To kindle Pleasure in my Heart.
Thus, mourns the thrifty glist'ning Bee,
For absent Sun, and droops like me:
Nor prunes his gawdy Wings to fly,
Where Flow'rs, in gay Confusion, lye;
Nor Sweetness sips from Blossoms fair,
Nor sportive skims thro' Fields of Air;
Nature, too poor to sooth its Pain,
Spreads all her Store of Sweets in vain,
That single Blessing unpossess't
Of all their Relish robs the rest.
For absent Sun, and droops like me:
Nor prunes his gawdy Wings to fly,
Where Flow'rs, in gay Confusion, lye;
Nor Sweetness sips from Blossoms fair,
Nor sportive skims thro' Fields of Air;
23
Spreads all her Store of Sweets in vain,
That single Blessing unpossess't
Of all their Relish robs the rest.
MIRA and COLIN.
A Song.
I
The Morn was fair, the Sky serene,The Face of Nature smil'd,
Soft Dews impearl'd the tufted Plain,
And Daisy-painted Wild:
The Hills were gilded by the Sun,
Sweet breath'd the vernal Air,
Her early Hymn the Lark begun
To sooth the Shepherd's Care.
24
II
When Mira fair, and Colin gay,Both fam'd for faithful Love,
Delighted with the rising Day,
Together sought the Grove:
And near a smooth translucent Stream
That silent stole along,
Thus Colin to his matchless Dame
Address'd the tender Song.
III
Hark! Mira, how from yonder TreeThe feather'd Warblers sing,
They tune their artless Notes for thee,
For thee, more sweet than Spring:
How choice a Fragrance thro' the Air
Those Spring-born Blossoms shed,
25
Its purple-tinctur'd Head!
IV
Ah! Mira, had the tuneful RaceThy Heart-bewitching Tongue,
Who would not fondly haunt the Place,
Enamour'd while they sung?
Ye Flow'rs, on Mira's Bosom prest,
Ne'er held ye Place so fair,
Tho' oft ye breathe on Venus' Breast.
And scent the Graces Hair.
V
Shall I to Gems compare thine Eyes,Thy Skin to Virgin Snows,
Thy balmy Breath, to Gales that rise
From ev'ry new-blown Rose?
26
The fairest Forms we see,
We only guess at Things divine
By what appears in Thee.
VI
'Twas thus enamour'd Colin sung,His Love-excited Lays,
The Grove with tender Ecchoes rung,
Resounding Mira's Praise:
And thus cries Love, who sported near,
And wav'd his silken Wings,
What Wonder, since the Nymph's so fair,
So fond the Shepherd sings.
27
The BEE.
In tenui Labor.
Virg.
To yonder newly-open'd Rose,
Whose Leaves the Morning's Blush disclose,
How swift that prudent Insect flies,
Who oft in Beds of Fragrance lies;
And now the dewy Drop devours
That soft impearls the blowing Flow'rs!
He now on Wings of Zephyrs rides,
Then, smooth in airy Circles glides,
And tastes whatever Nature yields
In fragrant Gardens, Groves or Fields.
Whose Leaves the Morning's Blush disclose,
How swift that prudent Insect flies,
Who oft in Beds of Fragrance lies;
And now the dewy Drop devours
That soft impearls the blowing Flow'rs!
He now on Wings of Zephyrs rides,
Then, smooth in airy Circles glides,
And tastes whatever Nature yields
In fragrant Gardens, Groves or Fields.
28
That Vi'let Bank—,how sweet it smells!
How long on ev'ry Bloom he dwells—!
The Primrose now he makes his Prey,
And steals the Cowslip's Sweets away.
How long on ev'ry Bloom he dwells—!
The Primrose now he makes his Prey,
And steals the Cowslip's Sweets away.
Cease—, artful Plund'rer—, spoil no more
These Blossoms of their balmy Store,
Which Nature taught them to produce,
For nobler Man's Delight and Use:
Nay—, rather Plunder—since we find
No Traces of the Theft behind.
These Blossoms of their balmy Store,
Which Nature taught them to produce,
For nobler Man's Delight and Use:
Nay—, rather Plunder—since we find
No Traces of the Theft behind.
But now, why nimbly do'st thou rise,
And lightly skim before my Eyes?
And why thy tender Pinions spread,
To hum, and wanton round my Head?
What swells thy little Heart to Rage?
Rash Fool! what prompts thee to engage
With Man, so far surpassing thee?
Why do'st thou whet thy Sting at Me?
When thou in Woodbine Bow'rs did'st play,
Or in the Rose embosom'd lay,
Or thro' the scented Alleys flew
Where Vi'lets breath'd, or Lillies grew,
Did I thy harmless Joys molest?
Did I with Terror fill thy Breast?
Did e'er I chace thee round the Bow'r
For Sweets, the Spoils of many a Flow'r?
And wilt thou, vain, ungrateful Thing!
At me direct thy poyson'd Sting?
Fly hence—to lonely Desarts fly—,
And wilt thou still persist—, then die—.
And now, thy silken Wings I seize,
These silken Wings no more shall teize,
Nor shall they, smooth thy Body bear
Along the Bosom of the Air;
But thus—, torn off—, thro' Tempests go,
The Sport of all the Winds that blow:
And next, thy Head shall cease to cleave
To thee, so indiscreetly brave:
The Sting, that wont to give us Pain,
I thus—, for ever render vain,
And thou a nameless Carcase art,
Despoil'd of ev'ry harmful Part.
And lightly skim before my Eyes?
29
To hum, and wanton round my Head?
What swells thy little Heart to Rage?
Rash Fool! what prompts thee to engage
With Man, so far surpassing thee?
Why do'st thou whet thy Sting at Me?
When thou in Woodbine Bow'rs did'st play,
Or in the Rose embosom'd lay,
Or thro' the scented Alleys flew
Where Vi'lets breath'd, or Lillies grew,
Did I thy harmless Joys molest?
Did I with Terror fill thy Breast?
Did e'er I chace thee round the Bow'r
For Sweets, the Spoils of many a Flow'r?
And wilt thou, vain, ungrateful Thing!
At me direct thy poyson'd Sting?
30
And wilt thou still persist—, then die—.
And now, thy silken Wings I seize,
These silken Wings no more shall teize,
Nor shall they, smooth thy Body bear
Along the Bosom of the Air;
But thus—, torn off—, thro' Tempests go,
The Sport of all the Winds that blow:
And next, thy Head shall cease to cleave
To thee, so indiscreetly brave:
The Sting, that wont to give us Pain,
I thus—, for ever render vain,
And thou a nameless Carcase art,
Despoil'd of ev'ry harmful Part.
31
'Tis done—, and now methinks I find
Compassion working in my Mind;
A tender Pity swells my Breast,
Too late, alas! to thee exprest:
These Eyes which Death's cold Hand hath seal'd,
How dim they seem! with Darkness veil'd!
These Limbs, which knew to form so well,
With curious Art the waxen Cell,
And there reserve its Treasures rare,
That might with Hybla's Sweets compare,
Now stiff—, there piteous Object lie,
O Life! how swiftly dost thou fly!
Compassion working in my Mind;
A tender Pity swells my Breast,
Too late, alas! to thee exprest:
These Eyes which Death's cold Hand hath seal'd,
How dim they seem! with Darkness veil'd!
These Limbs, which knew to form so well,
With curious Art the waxen Cell,
And there reserve its Treasures rare,
That might with Hybla's Sweets compare,
Now stiff—, there piteous Object lie,
O Life! how swiftly dost thou fly!
A Moment since, and thou cou'dst rove
Thro' Orchard, Meadow, Lawn, or Grove,
Delighted in the Sunshine play,
And float along the lucid Ray;
Or skim the dimply Stream, and roam
Far distant from thy Straw-built Home;
Yet now thy little Spirit's fled,
And thou art number'd with the Dead;
Alas! how small a Space supplies
The Insect, and the King that dies!
Thro' Orchard, Meadow, Lawn, or Grove,
32
And float along the lucid Ray;
Or skim the dimply Stream, and roam
Far distant from thy Straw-built Home;
Yet now thy little Spirit's fled,
And thou art number'd with the Dead;
Alas! how small a Space supplies
The Insect, and the King that dies!
By so severe, so hard a Fate,
Was Pompey stripp'd of all his State,
Like thee a headless Corse was made,
No Sigh, no Tear, no Honour paid.
Was Pompey stripp'd of all his State,
Like thee a headless Corse was made,
No Sigh, no Tear, no Honour paid.
Forgive, ah gentle Shade, forgive
That Hand, by which you cease to live;
That Hand shall soon a Tomb prepare,
And place your injur'd Body there;
That Hand the sweetest Flow'rs shall bring,
The lov'liest Daughters of the Spring,
The Pancy gay, the Vi'let blue,
And Roses of celestial Hue,
Carnations sweet, of various dye,
And Tulips, form'd to please the Eye,
And ev'ry fragrant op'ning Bloom,
Shall breathe its Odours round thy Tomb:
And I, too conscious of my Crime,
Shall make thee live to future Time.
That Hand, by which you cease to live;
33
And place your injur'd Body there;
That Hand the sweetest Flow'rs shall bring,
The lov'liest Daughters of the Spring,
The Pancy gay, the Vi'let blue,
And Roses of celestial Hue,
Carnations sweet, of various dye,
And Tulips, form'd to please the Eye,
And ev'ry fragrant op'ning Bloom,
Shall breathe its Odours round thy Tomb:
And I, too conscious of my Crime,
Shall make thee live to future Time.
34
To Mr. --- on seeing a Friend's Picture of his Painting.
Say—, whence can Paint assume such Grace
To animate the mimick Face?
That Face, where all that's good and wise
Starts into Life, and strikes our Eyes;
And where, by thy creative Art,
Those Graces shine that deck his Heart.
To animate the mimick Face?
That Face, where all that's good and wise
Starts into Life, and strikes our Eyes;
And where, by thy creative Art,
Those Graces shine that deck his Heart.
Here Fortitude and Friendship shine
Confest, in ev'ry living Line,
Here breathes Philsophy—; and there
A calm, inspir'd, exalted Air,
Like Homer when his Lyre he strung,
And Ilion's Woes divinely sung;
Or Maro when in lofty Lays
He hymn'd his Pollio's golden Days.
Confest, in ev'ry living Line,
Here breathes Philsophy—; and there
A calm, inspir'd, exalted Air,
35
And Ilion's Woes divinely sung;
Or Maro when in lofty Lays
He hymn'd his Pollio's golden Days.
Let others boast the Skill, to trace
Some faint Resemblance of the Face,
But you the pow'rful Magic know
Distinct the secret Soul to show;
In thee that Excellence we find
At once to paint the Face and Mind.
Some faint Resemblance of the Face,
But you the pow'rful Magic know
Distinct the secret Soul to show;
In thee that Excellence we find
At once to paint the Face and Mind.
36
The Lost MUSE.
Clio, the sweetest Muse of nine
Who charm the Gods with Lays divine,
Private and unperceiv'd withdrew,
And swift from sacred Pindus flew,
On some exalted Project bent,
But told no Creature her Intent.
Who charm the Gods with Lays divine,
Private and unperceiv'd withdrew,
And swift from sacred Pindus flew,
On some exalted Project bent,
But told no Creature her Intent.
The God of Numbers heard it said,
His fav'rite, sweet-tongu'd Muse was fled,
And he had oft observ'd of late
That she was absent from her Seat,
When all her tuneful Sister-Train
Were forming some immortal Strain.
His fav'rite, sweet-tongu'd Muse was fled,
And he had oft observ'd of late
That she was absent from her Seat,
37
Were forming some immortal Strain.
He us'd to send her, now and then,
With Hints to some peculiar Men,
To Pope, Delany, Gay, or Swift,
But now he cou'd not guess her Drift,
And wonders much, that she wou'd venture
To visit Bards, except he sent her;
So half-provok'd away he flies,
Takes Hermes with him in Disguise,
Resolv'd to roam the World around,
'Till Clio's private Haunt is found.
With Hints to some peculiar Men,
To Pope, Delany, Gay, or Swift,
But now he cou'd not guess her Drift,
And wonders much, that she wou'd venture
To visit Bards, except he sent her;
So half-provok'd away he flies,
Takes Hermes with him in Disguise,
Resolv'd to roam the World around,
'Till Clio's private Haunt is found.
The Gods, impatient of Delay,
To fam'd Eblana wing their Way,
And prudent, first at Swift's descend,
Apollo's best regarded Friend,
And whom the God of Verse and Wit,
Inspir'd in ev'ry Line he writ;
There might they hope their Prize to gain
Where ev'ry Muse delights to reign;
But she, to execute her Scheme,
Had left him just before they came.
To fam'd Eblana wing their Way,
38
Apollo's best regarded Friend,
And whom the God of Verse and Wit,
Inspir'd in ev'ry Line he writ;
There might they hope their Prize to gain
Where ev'ry Muse delights to reign;
But she, to execute her Scheme,
Had left him just before they came.
Quick as descending Rays of Light,
To Delville next they take their Flight:
Delville, where all the Wise resort,
Where oft the Muses keep their Court;
And veil'd from ev'ry mortal Eye
Thro' all the Doctor's Rooms they pry,
They search his arbour'd Seats and Garden,
(Fit Place to find a Muse or Bard in:)
Then turn'd his Papers o'er with Care,
And plainly found she had been there,
Such Learning, Elegance and Ease,
Appear in all Delany's Lays,
Such Beauties in his Numbers shine,
As prove their Origin divine.
To Delville next they take their Flight:
Delville, where all the Wise resort,
Where oft the Muses keep their Court;
And veil'd from ev'ry mortal Eye
Thro' all the Doctor's Rooms they pry,
39
(Fit Place to find a Muse or Bard in:)
Then turn'd his Papers o'er with Care,
And plainly found she had been there,
Such Learning, Elegance and Ease,
Appear in all Delany's Lays,
Such Beauties in his Numbers shine,
As prove their Origin divine.
With these their Disappointments vext,
They fly to fair Saphira's next,
And found her forming into Rhime
A Thought exalted and sublime,
Perceiv'd such Excellence and Wit,
Such Charms in all she spoke and writ,
As soon convinc'd their wond'ring Eyes,
The Muse was with her in Disguise,
And fond the rising Age to bless,
Assum'd a mortal Form and Dress.
They fly to fair Saphira's next,
And found her forming into Rhime
A Thought exalted and sublime,
Perceiv'd such Excellence and Wit,
Such Charms in all she spoke and writ,
40
The Muse was with her in Disguise,
And fond the rising Age to bless,
Assum'd a mortal Form and Dress.
The God delighted, calms his Rage,
And cries, there live to charm the Age,
Be thou a gay inspiring Guest,
And fill with soft Delights her Breast,
That Breast with all that's good replete;
But, Clio, this will be thy Fate,
Thou shalt contrive the deathless Lays;
But see Saphira win the Praise.
And cries, there live to charm the Age,
Be thou a gay inspiring Guest,
And fill with soft Delights her Breast,
That Breast with all that's good replete;
But, Clio, this will be thy Fate,
Thou shalt contrive the deathless Lays;
But see Saphira win the Praise.
41
The INVITATION.
To Dr. Delany at Delville, MDCCXXIX.
Excepto quod non simul esses, cætera lætus.
While you, dear Friend, exempt from Care,
Delight to breathe the rural Air,
Where Nature pours her best Perfumes
From fragrant Flow'rs, and op'ning Blooms,
While you, with Gardens, Groves and Plains,
And various Eye-bewitching Scenes,
Contrive politely how to please,
And charm the Soul a thousand Ways,
I wish—, nor let my Wish be vain,
To tempt you back to Town again.
Delight to breathe the rural Air,
Where Nature pours her best Perfumes
From fragrant Flow'rs, and op'ning Blooms,
While you, with Gardens, Groves and Plains,
And various Eye-bewitching Scenes,
42
And charm the Soul a thousand Ways,
I wish—, nor let my Wish be vain,
To tempt you back to Town again.
'Twere Condescension great in thee
To quit such Joys to pleasure me,
For here no stately Dome have I,
No Scenes to charm the roving Eye,
No Gardens fair, no Fields to roam,
Nor half the Sweets you find at Home:
Yet if gay Ovid sings aright,
The Gods themselves wou'd oft delight,
Ev'n Hermes and Apollo too,
(Both rival'd in their Arts by you,
Whether in Lays sublime you shine,
Or act the Orator Divine:)
These Gods, I say, wou'd now and then
Descend, to visit humble Men.
To quit such Joys to pleasure me,
For here no stately Dome have I,
No Scenes to charm the roving Eye,
No Gardens fair, no Fields to roam,
Nor half the Sweets you find at Home:
Yet if gay Ovid sings aright,
The Gods themselves wou'd oft delight,
Ev'n Hermes and Apollo too,
(Both rival'd in their Arts by you,
43
Or act the Orator Divine:)
These Gods, I say, wou'd now and then
Descend, to visit humble Men.
Oft is it pleasing to the Great
To live forgetful of their State,
To leave Abundance, and unbend
Their Minds with some inferior Friend,
Where blest with Health, and homely Fare,
They quaff Delight, and smile at Care,
And find that in an humble Cell,
Mirth, Innocence, and Peace can dwell.
To live forgetful of their State,
To leave Abundance, and unbend
Their Minds with some inferior Friend,
Where blest with Health, and homely Fare,
They quaff Delight, and smile at Care,
And find that in an humble Cell,
Mirth, Innocence, and Peace can dwell.
Oft in a Toyshop have you seen
A gawdy-painted, small Machine,
Where Man and Wife are plac'd together,
To tell by turns the Change of Weather;
No Simile could half so well
Describe the House in which I dwell.
A gawdy-painted, small Machine,
44
To tell by turns the Change of Weather;
No Simile could half so well
Describe the House in which I dwell.
O! wou'd some Zephyr waft, with Care,
My House and Garden thro' the Air,
To Lands encircled by the Main,
Where Lilliputian Monarchs reign,
How wou'd it glad my Heart to see
Whole Nations—somewhat less than me?
My House wou'd then a Palace rise,
And Kings with Envy view my Size.
My House and Garden thro' the Air,
To Lands encircled by the Main,
Where Lilliputian Monarchs reign,
How wou'd it glad my Heart to see
Whole Nations—somewhat less than me?
My House wou'd then a Palace rise,
And Kings with Envy view my Size.
O thou, by ev'ry Muse inspir'd,
By ev'ry gen'rous Soul admir'd,
A while forsake the sylvan Scene,
And with the Graces in thy Train,
Descend to make my Joys compleat,
And with thy Presence bless my Seat:
For thy enliv'ning Converse lends
Abundant Rapture to thy Friends,
Thy Words, express'd with graceful Art,
Improve the Head, and mend the Heart.
By ev'ry gen'rous Soul admir'd,
45
And with the Graces in thy Train,
Descend to make my Joys compleat,
And with thy Presence bless my Seat:
For thy enliv'ning Converse lends
Abundant Rapture to thy Friends,
Thy Words, express'd with graceful Art,
Improve the Head, and mend the Heart.
The more we know thee, still we find
Some new Perfections in thy Mind,
A rich, inestimable Store
Of Virtues, unperceiv'd before,
Some new Perfections in thy Mind,
A rich, inestimable Store
Of Virtues, unperceiv'd before,
Thus o'er the Vault of Heav'n by Night,
We see a thousand Orbs of Light,
But when with nicer View we trace
That bright, interminable Space,
New Worlds of Glory there we spy,
That 'scap'd at first the wond'ring Eye.
We see a thousand Orbs of Light,
46
That bright, interminable Space,
New Worlds of Glory there we spy,
That 'scap'd at first the wond'ring Eye.
The GIRDLE.
I
In Slumber sweet as Venus layWithin a fragrant Myrtle Grove,
Where odour-breathing Zephyrs play,
There wily Cupid chanc'd to rove.
II
Surpriz'd, he sees the Goddess thereAlone, and calmly lull'd to Rest,
47
Soft-waving o'er her snowy Breast.
III
This Love-creating Zone, he cries,Shall now diviner Cart'ret grace,
Shall give new Lustre to her Eyes,
And spread new Beauty o'er her Face.
IV
The Girdle seiz'd, and Cupid flown,From Sleep arose the Queen of Love,
She miss'd her Beauty-giving Zone,
And sought it, anxious, thro' the Grove.
V
This Loss will all my Charms destroy,She cries, and O I fear—, my Son
48
Hath all his Parent's Pow'r undone.
VI
To search him out, she speeds awayFrom Place to Place, with eager Haste,
And spies him, full of Mirth and Play,
At beauteous Cart'ret's Toilet plac'd.
VII
The Fair, such Charms possess'd beforeAs ne'er in mortal Form were seen,
The Girdle adds a thousand more,
By which she rivals Beauty's Queen.
VIII
In Cart'ret's Face such Graces smil'd,The Goddess looks away her Rage,
49
To show Perfection to the Age.
To MIRA, with the Miscellaneous Works of Mr. POPE.
Mira
, to thee the fondest of thy Friends
With these soft Works his softest Wishes sends,
Works, form'd with Grandeur, Majesty, and Art,
To raise the Mind, and to delight the Heart,
Sublimely soft, and nervous tho' with Ease,
Inspir'd with ev'ry Excellence to please,
The Pow'r of Numbers governing the whole,
Enchants the Ear, and mixes with the Soul.
With these soft Works his softest Wishes sends,
Works, form'd with Grandeur, Majesty, and Art,
To raise the Mind, and to delight the Heart,
Sublimely soft, and nervous tho' with Ease,
Inspir'd with ev'ry Excellence to please,
The Pow'r of Numbers governing the whole,
Enchants the Ear, and mixes with the Soul.
50
If Windsor's sacred Forest be his Theme,
Windsor delights us as a golden Dream,
Sweet are its Lawns and Groves in Fancy seen,
With bloomy Sprays, and ever-living Green,
The Mind, transported with his Scenes, he leads
O'er Hills, or Vales, or Flow'r-embellish'd Meads,
From him new Charms inspiring Windsor gains,
And smiles with Bloom eternal in his Strains.
Windsor delights us as a golden Dream,
Sweet are its Lawns and Groves in Fancy seen,
With bloomy Sprays, and ever-living Green,
The Mind, transported with his Scenes, he leads
O'er Hills, or Vales, or Flow'r-embellish'd Meads,
From him new Charms inspiring Windsor gains,
And smiles with Bloom eternal in his Strains.
If Pope describes the Youth prepar'd to chace,
With wing'd Pursuit, the frighted sylvan Race,
To wind the vocal Horn, while Hills resound,
And urge the rapid Steed to skim the Ground,
Th' impatient Fancy, wing'd with equal Speed,
Flies o'er the Lawns, and stretches with the Steed.
With wing'd Pursuit, the frighted sylvan Race,
To wind the vocal Horn, while Hills resound,
And urge the rapid Steed to skim the Ground,
Th' impatient Fancy, wing'd with equal Speed,
Flies o'er the Lawns, and stretches with the Steed.
51
When whelm'd in Grief fond Eloisa lies,
With kind Concern we feel our Bosoms rise,
So just, so lively are her Woes exprest,
A strong Compassion throbs in ev'ry Breast,
In ev'ry Sigh, in ev'ry Pang we share,
Bleed at her Wounds, and number Tear for Tear.
With kind Concern we feel our Bosoms rise,
So just, so lively are her Woes exprest,
A strong Compassion throbs in ev'ry Breast,
In ev'ry Sigh, in ev'ry Pang we share,
Bleed at her Wounds, and number Tear for Tear.
To some lone Cell when mournful she retires,
To breathe those Sighs, which Solitude inspires,
Who on a Tomb can see the Mourner spread,
(The dreary Lodgment of the silent Dead,)
Where Damps unwholsome taint the purer Air,
With not one Friend to soften her Despair,
Who sees unmov'd the Soul-distressing Scene,
Who reads her Woes, and feels not all her Pain?
Her Grief enliven'd by the Poet's Art,
With ev'ry kind Emotion sways the Heart.
To breathe those Sighs, which Solitude inspires,
Who on a Tomb can see the Mourner spread,
(The dreary Lodgment of the silent Dead,)
Where Damps unwholsome taint the purer Air,
With not one Friend to soften her Despair,
Who sees unmov'd the Soul-distressing Scene,
Who reads her Woes, and feels not all her Pain?
52
With ev'ry kind Emotion sways the Heart.
When loftier Lines describe the peaceful Age,
And God Messiah swells the sacred Page,
How bold! how rais'd his Sentiments appear!
How justly temper'd with an hallow'd Fear!
How is the Bard with heav'nly Raptures fir'd!
How, praising God! by God himself inspir'd!
And God Messiah swells the sacred Page,
How bold! how rais'd his Sentiments appear!
How justly temper'd with an hallow'd Fear!
How is the Bard with heav'nly Raptures fir'd!
How, praising God! by God himself inspir'd!
Messiah born! O sing Messiah's Reign!
When teeming Plenty loads the fruitful Plain:
O smile ye Fields! ye Vallies laugh and sing!
Rejoyce thou Sion! Salem greet thy King!
Ye Clouds, your Fatness on the Earth distill!
Ye feather'd People hymn from ev'ry Hill!
To bless the Earth a God, a God descends,
Whose Wisdom guides, whose Providence defends.
When teeming Plenty loads the fruitful Plain:
O smile ye Fields! ye Vallies laugh and sing!
Rejoyce thou Sion! Salem greet thy King!
Ye Clouds, your Fatness on the Earth distill!
Ye feather'd People hymn from ev'ry Hill!
53
Whose Wisdom guides, whose Providence defends.
O, cou'd I flow in Cowley's easy Vein,
Or boast the gentle Granville's softer Strain,
Cou'd I aspire to Pope's sublimer Stile,
(The nobler Homer of the British Isle,)
Each lively Thought shou'd, like thy Beauties, warm,
And charm that Maid who lives the World to charm.
Or boast the gentle Granville's softer Strain,
Cou'd I aspire to Pope's sublimer Stile,
(The nobler Homer of the British Isle,)
Each lively Thought shou'd, like thy Beauties, warm,
And charm that Maid who lives the World to charm.
54
An Ode to LYCIDAS.
I
Why, Lycidas, shou'd Man be vainIf bounteous Heav'n hath made him great,
Why look with insolent Disdain,
On those undeck't with Wealth and State?
II
Can splendid Robes, or Beds of Down,Or costly Gems to deck the Hair,
Can all the Glories of a Crown
Give Health, or smooth the Brow of Care?
55
III
The scepter'd Prince, the burden'd Slave,The Humble and the Haughty die,
The Poor, the Rich, the Base, the Brave,
In Dust without Distinction lie.
IV
Go, search the Tombs where Monarchs rest,Who once the richest Glories wore,
Fled is that Grandeur they possest,
And all their Greatness is no more.
V
So glides the Meteor thro' the Sky,And sweeps along a gilded Train,
But when its short-liv'd Beauties die,
Dissolves to common Air again.
56
The CANDLE.
Hail! thou that chear'st the Face of Night,
Fair, artificial World of Light,
Whose Radiance bids the Gloom look gay,
And kindles Darkness into Day,
What Words thy Excellence can praise,
Or paint the Beauties of thy Blaze!
Fair, artificial World of Light,
Whose Radiance bids the Gloom look gay,
And kindles Darkness into Day,
What Words thy Excellence can praise,
Or paint the Beauties of thy Blaze!
The Stars that twinkle on the Eye
Thro' yon immeasurable Sky,
A less Degree of Lustre show,
And less assist this World below.
Thro' yon immeasurable Sky,
A less Degree of Lustre show,
And less assist this World below.
57
Prometheus, boldest Son of Earth,
Was sure the Author of thy Birth,
His Wisdom form'd thee, fit to bear
The lucid Theft thro' Fields of Air.
Was sure the Author of thy Birth,
His Wisdom form'd thee, fit to bear
The lucid Theft thro' Fields of Air.
When dark-ey'd Night enshrouds the Skies
With Shades, and Nature silent lies,
Pleas'd with thy gloom-dispelling Fire,
I soon from Care and Noise retire:
Then, fond of Wisdom's Charms, explore
The ancient Sages golden Store,
And grieve, to think those Sons of Fame
Were less Immortal—than their Name.
With Shades, and Nature silent lies,
Pleas'd with thy gloom-dispelling Fire,
I soon from Care and Noise retire:
Then, fond of Wisdom's Charms, explore
The ancient Sages golden Store,
And grieve, to think those Sons of Fame
Were less Immortal—than their Name.
58
I read old Homer's nervous Lines,
Where Heav'n-born Inspiration shines:
Great Bard! who knew to raise Delight
Ev'n from the Terrors of a Fight;
To fire the Soul with Martial Rage,
Or give engaging Charms to Age,
To sway the Heart with Hope or Fear,
And wake the Grief-created Tear.
Where Heav'n-born Inspiration shines:
Great Bard! who knew to raise Delight
Ev'n from the Terrors of a Fight;
To fire the Soul with Martial Rage,
Or give engaging Charms to Age,
To sway the Heart with Hope or Fear,
And wake the Grief-created Tear.
By thee, I read what Flaccus writ
With boundless Elegance and Wit;
Or what the gay Anacreon sung,
Or Sapho's Soul-subduing Tongue:
Or Swift's, or Pope's, or Maro's Lays,
All blest with universal Praise,
By thee, the pleasing Means I find,
To brighten and improve the Mind.
With boundless Elegance and Wit;
Or what the gay Anacreon sung,
Or Sapho's Soul-subduing Tongue:
Or Swift's, or Pope's, or Maro's Lays,
All blest with universal Praise,
59
To brighten and improve the Mind.
But while by Thirst of Wisdom led,
I thus hold converse with the Dead,
Thy Beauty swift consumes away;
Alas! that fairest Forms decay!
Tho' Helen heav'nly Charms possest
That spread Delight thro' ev'ry Breast,
Like thine, her Beauties cou'd not save
The fair Possessor from the Grave.
I thus hold converse with the Dead,
Thy Beauty swift consumes away;
Alas! that fairest Forms decay!
Tho' Helen heav'nly Charms possest
That spread Delight thro' ev'ry Breast,
Like thine, her Beauties cou'd not save
The fair Possessor from the Grave.
In thee, Lætitia, tho' we find
All Virtues that exalt the Mind;
Tho' Nature ev'ry Gift supplies,
To make thee, more than Woman, wise;
Tho' Seraphs hymn the Pow'r divine
In Strains that only equal thine;
Tho' now with all Perfections grac't,
As Helen fair, as Cynthia chaste,
Yet thou, and all that's good, or great,
Must bow to wasting Time and Fate,
Thy sprightly Wit, thy Eyes divine
Shall cease,—ev'n They shall cease to shine.
All Virtues that exalt the Mind;
Tho' Nature ev'ry Gift supplies,
To make thee, more than Woman, wise;
60
In Strains that only equal thine;
Tho' now with all Perfections grac't,
As Helen fair, as Cynthia chaste,
Yet thou, and all that's good, or great,
Must bow to wasting Time and Fate,
Thy sprightly Wit, thy Eyes divine
Shall cease,—ev'n They shall cease to shine.
CORVUS.
A very common Case.
I
If e'er I marry, Corvus cries,The tender Partner of my Bed
Must be both affable and wise,
Divinely form'd, and nicely bred.
61
II
Good-natur'd, witty, gay, polite,Of Manners gentle and refin'd,
Must like divine Saphira write,
And boast a Mira's perfect Mind.
III
'Twas well resolv'd, a Wife he chose:Sure Corvus is extremely blest!
Alas, a wedded Wretch he grows,
At Home perplex'd, Abroad a Jest.
IV
Either by Wealth, or Features caught,Those Charms that sway the senseless Crowd,
She's the Reverse of what he sought,
Grave, simple, sullen, testy, proud.
62
V
Like Faustus he expects to gain,A fair One deck'd with heav'nly Charms,
But finds with Horror, Grief, Disdain,
A Fury thrust into his Arms.
Alluding to a fabulous Passage in the Life of Faustus, who was deluded by the Devil's promising him the Enjoyment of a Helen, but was cheated with the Person of a Fury.
64
The FLEA.
Inscrib'd to N. P---, Esq;
Little Hind'rer of my Rest,
Thus I tear thee from my Breast,
Bosom Traytor! pinching Harm!
Wounding me who kept thee warm!
Thro' my Skin thou scatter'st Pains,
Crimson'd o'er with circling Stains.
Thus I tear thee from my Breast,
Bosom Traytor! pinching Harm!
Wounding me who kept thee warm!
Thro' my Skin thou scatter'st Pains,
Crimson'd o'er with circling Stains.
Skipping Mischief! swift as Thought!
Sanguine Insect!—art thou caught!
Nought avail thy nimble Springs,
Caus'd perhaps by viewless Wings;
Those thy Teeth that cheat our Sight
Cease their titillating Bite,
I, from all thy Vengeance freed,
Safe shall sleep, and cease to bleed.
Sanguine Insect!—art thou caught!
Nought avail thy nimble Springs,
Caus'd perhaps by viewless Wings;
65
Cease their titillating Bite,
I, from all thy Vengeance freed,
Safe shall sleep, and cease to bleed.
To FULVIA Singing.
I
Tho' Time on the Features of Fulvia hath fed,And mow'd down the Roses that bloom'd in her Face,
Tho' the Pale in her Cheeks hath supplanted the Red,
And her Beauties to Wrinkles and Horror give Place.
66
II
Yet Fulvia in spight of her Person and Age,Well-suited to chill the most amorous Breast,
While she tortures our Sight, she our Ears can engage,
With a Voice, too divine to be justly exprest.
III
So Fiddles, with Vermin and Time half-decay'd,Discolour'd, and rotten, and dusty, and foul,
If touch'd into Voice, are surprizingly made
To emit such a Sound, as may ravish the Soul.
67
The Constant Shepherd.
Felices ter & amplius
Quos irrupta tenet copula!
Hor.
Quos irrupta tenet copula!
Hor.
Come hither, Mira, while the Sun
Prepares his radiant Course to run,
Come sit, my fair one, always gay,
Inspirer of the tender Lay,
On yonder Bank with Vi'lets crown'd,
And Cowslips breathing Sweets around,
And listen, kind, while I impart
What Fondness dictates to my Heart.
Prepares his radiant Course to run,
Come sit, my fair one, always gay,
Inspirer of the tender Lay,
On yonder Bank with Vi'lets crown'd,
And Cowslips breathing Sweets around,
And listen, kind, while I impart
What Fondness dictates to my Heart.
68
To me how beautiful appear
All Nature's Works, when thou art near!
Sweet glides the mazy Stream along,
And sweetly sounds the Thrush's Song,
With added Charms the Flow'rs display
Their Beauties, op'ning to the Day;
But Mira gone—my Pleasures fly,
The Stream unheeded wanders by,
The Birds, methinks, discordant sing,
And cheerless breathe the Sweets of Spring:
'Tis she that charms, and makes with Ease
Each varying Scene, and Object please.
Be ever prais'd that Pow'r divine,
And blest the Hour that made thee mine.
All Nature's Works, when thou art near!
Sweet glides the mazy Stream along,
And sweetly sounds the Thrush's Song,
With added Charms the Flow'rs display
Their Beauties, op'ning to the Day;
But Mira gone—my Pleasures fly,
The Stream unheeded wanders by,
The Birds, methinks, discordant sing,
And cheerless breathe the Sweets of Spring:
'Tis she that charms, and makes with Ease
Each varying Scene, and Object please.
Be ever prais'd that Pow'r divine,
And blest the Hour that made thee mine.
69
When others I with thee compare,
Thou seem'st more virtuous, wise, and fair,
And pleas'd, I see thee far outshine
Thy Sex with Excellence divine.
Thou seem'st more virtuous, wise, and fair,
And pleas'd, I see thee far outshine
Thy Sex with Excellence divine.
Belinda boasts a beauteous Face,
She wants no Eye-engaging Grace,
Yet search Belinda's Mind with Care,
You'll find no Charms to strike you there.
She wants no Eye-engaging Grace,
Yet search Belinda's Mind with Care,
You'll find no Charms to strike you there.
In Laura Wit and Humour reign,
But Laura's peevish, proud and vain,
Devour'd with Spleen, perverse, and prone
To scorn all Judgments—but her own.
But Laura's peevish, proud and vain,
Devour'd with Spleen, perverse, and prone
To scorn all Judgments—but her own.
70
But, Mira! each superior Grace
Adorns thy Soul, and decks thy Face:
Both form'd so fair, not Envy's Eye
Can one Defect or Blemish spy,
Ev'n Virtue's self wou'd Mankind see,
Their wond'ring Eyes must fix on thee.
Adorns thy Soul, and decks thy Face:
Both form'd so fair, not Envy's Eye
Can one Defect or Blemish spy,
Ev'n Virtue's self wou'd Mankind see,
Their wond'ring Eyes must fix on thee.
May Heav'n, to crown my Life with Joy,
For thee its guardian Care employ,
And ev'ry swiftly-circling Hour
Abundant Blessings round thee pour:
Then Colin, blest in this Retreat,
Shall scorn the Glory of the Great,
And here with sweet Contentment reign,
A constant, kind, delighted Swain—.
Be ever prais'd that Pow'r divine,
And blest the Hour that made thee mine.
For thee its guardian Care employ,
And ev'ry swiftly-circling Hour
Abundant Blessings round thee pour:
Then Colin, blest in this Retreat,
Shall scorn the Glory of the Great,
And here with sweet Contentment reign,
A constant, kind, delighted Swain—.
71
And blest the Hour that made thee mine.
A Supportable Misfortune.
Ην δη μανεις γημη τις, εχει χαριν, ην κατορυξη
Ευθυς τον γαμετην, προικα λαβων μεγαλην
Auto.
Ευθυς τον γαμετην, προικα λαβων μεγαλην
Auto.
More sweet Erotion seem'd, and fair,
Than blooms that Scent the vernal Air,
Than Virgin Lilly's radiant hue,
Or softest Down, or pearly Dew;
And breath'd such Fragrance, such Perfume,
As Roses that in Pæstus bloom.
Than blooms that Scent the vernal Air,
Than Virgin Lilly's radiant hue,
Or softest Down, or pearly Dew;
72
As Roses that in Pæstus bloom.
O! snatch'd—, for ever snatch'd away!
To Fate a lovely tender Prey!
Entomb'd with thee my Pleasures lie,
My Mirth, my Love, my Raptures die!
To Fate a lovely tender Prey!
Entomb'd with thee my Pleasures lie,
My Mirth, my Love, my Raptures die!
Scarce cold within the sacred Urn,
Erotion sleeps, whom thus I mourn,
Yet Corvus in a Rage appears
To hear my Sighs, and see my Tears,
And cries, “Why this affected Show,
“ Of Grief, these Images of Woe?
“What means this Tearing of the Hair?
“This solemn Face of deep Despair?
“Can'st thou one Sign of Sorrow see,
“One Mark of real Grief in me?
“ Yet I've interr'd a beauteous Bride,
“Her Fortune ample—as her Pride;
“Of sober Sense, and anxious Thought
“To magnify the Wealth she brought:
“Yet I survive a Loss so great,
“And seem contented with my Fate.
Erotion sleeps, whom thus I mourn,
Yet Corvus in a Rage appears
To hear my Sighs, and see my Tears,
73
“ Of Grief, these Images of Woe?
“What means this Tearing of the Hair?
“This solemn Face of deep Despair?
“Can'st thou one Sign of Sorrow see,
“One Mark of real Grief in me?
“ Yet I've interr'd a beauteous Bride,
“Her Fortune ample—as her Pride;
“Of sober Sense, and anxious Thought
“To magnify the Wealth she brought:
“Yet I survive a Loss so great,
“And seem contented with my Fate.
74
Thrice happy Corvus! blissful Hour!
To lose a Wife, and gain a Dow'r:
What Patience Jove to Corvus gives!
He gets a thousand Pound—Yet lives!
To lose a Wife, and gain a Dow'r:
What Patience Jove to Corvus gives!
He gets a thousand Pound—Yet lives!
The GIFT.
Oppress'd
Hibernia, in Despair,
Complains to Jove in fervent Pray'r,
How fast her Liberties decay,
How fast her Honours fade away,
Her Sons to no Preferments rise,
Tho' Earth can boast of few so wise,
How Poor, how Desolate she grows,
And begs Redress of all her Woes.
Complains to Jove in fervent Pray'r,
How fast her Liberties decay,
How fast her Honours fade away,
75
Tho' Earth can boast of few so wise,
How Poor, how Desolate she grows,
And begs Redress of all her Woes.
Then Jove: “Hibernia sues too late,
“Her Sorrows are decreed by Fate,
“But Heav'n those Sorrows shall repay
“With Blessings, in a nobler Way.
“Let haughty Britain boast no more,
“With scornful Pride, her golden Store,
“That distant Worlds her Name revere,
“That Arts and Learning flourish there;
“To raise thy Glory, we design
“To bless thee with a Gift divine,
“A Gift, by which thy injur'd Name
“Shall fill th' immortal Voice of Fame,
“That Albion may with Envy see
“Her Glories far surpass'd by thee.
“Her Sorrows are decreed by Fate,
“But Heav'n those Sorrows shall repay
“With Blessings, in a nobler Way.
“Let haughty Britain boast no more,
“With scornful Pride, her golden Store,
“That distant Worlds her Name revere,
“That Arts and Learning flourish there;
“To raise thy Glory, we design
“To bless thee with a Gift divine,
76
“Shall fill th' immortal Voice of Fame,
“That Albion may with Envy see
“Her Glories far surpass'd by thee.
Hibernia thanks him for the Gift,
And owns she's overpaid in Swift.
And owns she's overpaid in Swift.
MIRA's Picture.
As
Mira the Lovely, whom Nature with Care,
Created surpassingly Virtuous and Fair,
Convers'd with Clarissa, in Words that reveal,
That Learning and Wit which she strives to conceal,
A Poet was near, who perceiv'd with Surprize,
The Charms of her Mind equal those of her Eyes;
So perfect a Form, so harmonious a Tongue,
No Pencil e'er painted, no Poet e'er sung:
And whilst her Perfections with Wonder he views,
Thus, to Cupid, her constant Attendant, he sues.
Created surpassingly Virtuous and Fair,
Convers'd with Clarissa, in Words that reveal,
That Learning and Wit which she strives to conceal,
77
The Charms of her Mind equal those of her Eyes;
So perfect a Form, so harmonious a Tongue,
No Pencil e'er painted, no Poet e'er sung:
And whilst her Perfections with Wonder he views,
Thus, to Cupid, her constant Attendant, he sues.
What Language, O Cupid, what Words shall I find,
To speak the Perfections that polish her Mind?
O! tell me what Colours can paint ev'ry Grace,
That lives in her Language, and blooms in her Face!
To speak the Perfections that polish her Mind?
O! tell me what Colours can paint ev'ry Grace,
That lives in her Language, and blooms in her Face!
Ne'er hope it, cries Love, not Apollo's own Lays
Such various Perfections cou'd worthily praise;
Her Wisdom the Envy of Pallas might move,
Her Beauty give Pain to the Goddess of Love.
Such various Perfections cou'd worthily praise;
78
Her Beauty give Pain to the Goddess of Love.
But wou'd you describe her both wise and sincere,
Than Sweet-breathing Blossoms more fragrant and fair,
Of more Graces divine, more Virtues possest,
Than ever resided in one Woman's Breast,
Call her Chloe's Reverse, and Mankind will know,
That Mira's the perfectest Being below.
Than Sweet-breathing Blossoms more fragrant and fair,
Of more Graces divine, more Virtues possest,
Than ever resided in one Woman's Breast,
Call her Chloe's Reverse, and Mankind will know,
That Mira's the perfectest Being below.
79
CUPID's Reply.
I
Come tell me Cupid, Venus cries,And speak, if possible, sincere,
What mortal Beauty boasts such Eyes
As these? The God reply'd, Kildare.
II
But see, my Child, this Form of mine,What Charms, what Graces wanton there,
Who equals now this Bloom divine?
Persisting Cupid cries, Kildare.
80
III
This Skin excells the Virgin Snow,These Lips, these Cheeks the Soul ensnare,
Can fairest Forms such Beauties show?
Cries Cupid, go—, observe Kildare.
IV
Her Innocence let Cynthia boast,And Wisdom's Queen her Virtues rare,
Yet their united Charms, at most,
Will prove faint Copies of Kildare.
81
The ADVICE.
To MIRA.
Two Females fair, for Beauty fam'd,
This Flavia, t'other Mira nam'd,
Were form'd with ev'ry perfect Grace,
Each Excellence of Mind and Face.
This Flavia, t'other Mira nam'd,
Were form'd with ev'ry perfect Grace,
Each Excellence of Mind and Face.
Tho' many a Heart for Flavia bleeds,
In Wedlock Mira first succeeds:
But soon the Blush that painted o'er
Her Virgin Cheek, appears no more,
Her Bloom in weak'ning Child-birth flies,
And ev'ry rosy Beauty dies.
In Wedlock Mira first succeeds:
But soon the Blush that painted o'er
Her Virgin Cheek, appears no more,
Her Bloom in weak'ning Child-birth flies,
And ev'ry rosy Beauty dies.
82
From Flavia's Cheeks the Roses fade,
And fast her Maiden Charms decay'd,
In Dairies, Fields, or lonely Bow'rs
She wastes her solitary Hours,
For Plays—, she sees a Sylvan Scene,
And sighs for Town—, but sighs in vain.
And fast her Maiden Charms decay'd,
In Dairies, Fields, or lonely Bow'rs
She wastes her solitary Hours,
For Plays—, she sees a Sylvan Scene,
And sighs for Town—, but sighs in vain.
How Beauty fades! perplexing Thought!
Thus both are on a Level brought,
By diff'rent Causes both survey
Their Pride-inspiring Charms decay.
Thus both are on a Level brought,
By diff'rent Causes both survey
Their Pride-inspiring Charms decay.
Then thus, ye Fair, I both advise,
Since Beauty ev'ry Moment flies,
Since ev'ry Hour those Charms decrease
Which deck the most alluring Face:
Improve, what Time can ne'er impair,
What only renders Woman fair,
What keeps a Husband always kind,
Improve, the Beauties of the Mind.
Since Beauty ev'ry Moment flies,
83
Which deck the most alluring Face:
Improve, what Time can ne'er impair,
What only renders Woman fair,
What keeps a Husband always kind,
Improve, the Beauties of the Mind.
To LYCIDAS in the Countrey.
Dear absent Friend, with Wisdom bless'd,
Of all that's Good and Great possess'd,
What gay Contrivance shall I find
To cheer thy Spleen-distemper'd Mind,
To chase the pensive Hours away,
And bid thy Solitude be gay?
Of all that's Good and Great possess'd,
What gay Contrivance shall I find
To cheer thy Spleen-distemper'd Mind,
To chase the pensive Hours away,
And bid thy Solitude be gay?
84
You bid me write—: for Verse you cry
Can raise the Soul to soar on high,
Can ev'ry rapt'rous Joy impart,
And pleasingly improve the Heart.
Can raise the Soul to soar on high,
Can ev'ry rapt'rous Joy impart,
And pleasingly improve the Heart.
All this, dear Friend, I freely grant,
But Ease and Solitude I want,
I want those calm Delights that raise
The raptur'd Soul to lofty Lays.
But Ease and Solitude I want,
I want those calm Delights that raise
The raptur'd Soul to lofty Lays.
From me can tuneful Numbers flow,
Whose harrass'd Thoughts no Respite know?
From me whom anxious Cares perplex,
And never-ending Labours vex,
Confin'd to Town, tormenting Pain!
Where Hurry, Noise, and Nonsense reign?
Whose harrass'd Thoughts no Respite know?
From me whom anxious Cares perplex,
And never-ending Labours vex,
85
Where Hurry, Noise, and Nonsense reign?
Now call'd, perhaps, away in haste,
To tend a Matrimonial Feast,
And join some venal-hearted Pair,
Who make not Love, but Wealth their Care,
Slight the pure Union's nobler Ends,
And Marry—, just to please their Friends.
To tend a Matrimonial Feast,
And join some venal-hearted Pair,
Who make not Love, but Wealth their Care,
Slight the pure Union's nobler Ends,
And Marry—, just to please their Friends.
From thence with hasty Steps I go,
To Scenes of Poverty and Woe,
And taught, by what I there survey,
I moralize the Hours away.
To Scenes of Poverty and Woe,
And taught, by what I there survey,
I moralize the Hours away.
86
Can these excite that heav'nly Fire,
Which must the Poet's Song inspire?
Which must the Poet's Song inspire?
No—! the gay Sons of Phæbus love
The silent, thick-embow'ring Grove,
To lye beside the limpid Spring,
And hear the wood-born Warblers sing,
To wander o'er sequestred Scenes,
Or tread the Flow'r-enammel'd Plains,
Or near a Cowslip'd Bank reclin'd
To catch the Fragrance from the Wind,
Of Noise and Crowds, and Cares afraid,
High rapt in Solitude and Shade.
The silent, thick-embow'ring Grove,
To lye beside the limpid Spring,
And hear the wood-born Warblers sing,
To wander o'er sequestred Scenes,
Or tread the Flow'r-enammel'd Plains,
Or near a Cowslip'd Bank reclin'd
To catch the Fragrance from the Wind,
Of Noise and Crowds, and Cares afraid,
High rapt in Solitude and Shade.
87
Ad CÆDITIANUM. De Imagine M. Antonii Primi.
V. Martialis, Epig.
The Same Imitated.
On the Picture of William Caulfield, late Lord Viscount Charlemont.
Whose Picture's this, you ask, replete,
With all that's Gen'rous, Good and Great,
Where Art hath crowded ev'ry Grace
Which constitutes a noble Face?
With all that's Gen'rous, Good and Great,
88
Which constitutes a noble Face?
Such Caulfield was, such Charms he wore
When Youth his Cheeks vermillion'd o'er,
Tho' Time, that ev'ry Form impairs,
Had crown'd his Head with silver Hairs,
In this, we see his Bloom survive,
And ev'ry Charm preserv'd alive.
When Youth his Cheeks vermillion'd o'er,
Tho' Time, that ev'ry Form impairs,
Had crown'd his Head with silver Hairs,
In this, we see his Bloom survive,
And ev'ry Charm preserv'd alive.
Cou'd Art some nice Contrivance find
To paint the Beauties of his Mind,
Those Godlike Virtues which we trace
Thro' all his heav'nly-temper'd Race,
A lov'lier Piece the World wou'd own,
Cou'd ne'er to mortal Eyes be shown.
To paint the Beauties of his Mind,
Those Godlike Virtues which we trace
Thro' all his heav'nly-temper'd Race,
A lov'lier Piece the World wou'd own,
Cou'd ne'er to mortal Eyes be shown.
89
A Pastoral ELEGY, on the Death of a Lady's Canary-Bird.
Passer mortuus est meæ Puellæ,
Passer deliciæ meæ Puellæ,
Quem plus illa oculis suis amabat.
Catul.
Passer deliciæ meæ Puellæ,
Quem plus illa oculis suis amabat.
Catul.
Now the grey Dawn had scarce o'ercome the Night,
And o'er the Welkin cast a doubtful Light,
The paler Stars proclaim'd the Morn's Advance,
And faintly glimmer'd thro' the smooth Expanse;
When Thenot, simple Swain! with Grief opprest,
For Vireo dead, neglects his balmy Rest,
Flies to the Beach, unmindful of his Flock,
There lies complaining on the chilling Rock,
His Tears the Swellings of the Waves encrease,
While Grief, with pale Concern, imprints his Face.
And o'er the Welkin cast a doubtful Light,
The paler Stars proclaim'd the Morn's Advance,
And faintly glimmer'd thro' the smooth Expanse;
When Thenot, simple Swain! with Grief opprest,
For Vireo dead, neglects his balmy Rest,
90
There lies complaining on the chilling Rock,
His Tears the Swellings of the Waves encrease,
While Grief, with pale Concern, imprints his Face.
Be hush'd my Sighs—, ye Tears, more softly flow,
Be still ye Waves—, ye Winds forget to blow;
Let Echo slumber in the dreary Vale,
And Nature, silent, hear the sad'ning Tale—:
Ah—! no! my Sighs, my fiercest Griefs arise—,
Let ceaseless Sorrows overflow my Eyes,
Ye Winds, the Air with hollow Murmurs fill,
Let Echo spread my Woes from Hill to Hill,
With greater Ease our Load of Grief we bear,
When other Part'ners in our Sorrow share.
Be still ye Waves—, ye Winds forget to blow;
Let Echo slumber in the dreary Vale,
And Nature, silent, hear the sad'ning Tale—:
Ah—! no! my Sighs, my fiercest Griefs arise—,
Let ceaseless Sorrows overflow my Eyes,
Ye Winds, the Air with hollow Murmurs fill,
Let Echo spread my Woes from Hill to Hill,
With greater Ease our Load of Grief we bear,
When other Part'ners in our Sorrow share.
91
Oft, to my Eyes his airy Form appears,
And oft his Voice soft warbles in my Ears;
His quiv'ring Pinions, and his swelling Throat
Now swim before my Sight—: Hark! that's his Note!
'Tis Fancy all—, and now that Fancy dies,
Nor Joy, nor Vireo glads my tearful Eyes.
And oft his Voice soft warbles in my Ears;
His quiv'ring Pinions, and his swelling Throat
Now swim before my Sight—: Hark! that's his Note!
'Tis Fancy all—, and now that Fancy dies,
Nor Joy, nor Vireo glads my tearful Eyes.
His Plumes the Beauties of the King-cup show,
Mix'd with the Whiteness of descending Snow,
His glossy Wings delightfully unfold,
Like Ev'ning Clouds bestreak'd with liquid Gold;
Smooth on his Breast the downy Feathers lay,
No Down so smooth, no Fleece so soft as they:
But what avails that Eye-enchanting Store?
His Plumes, his Voice, his Beauties are no more.
Mix'd with the Whiteness of descending Snow,
His glossy Wings delightfully unfold,
Like Ev'ning Clouds bestreak'd with liquid Gold;
Smooth on his Breast the downy Feathers lay,
No Down so smooth, no Fleece so soft as they:
92
His Plumes, his Voice, his Beauties are no more.
More sweet, more various were his pleasing Strains,
Than rising Flow'rs that deck untrodden Plains:
More cheering he than Breath of infant Spring,
He'd sing so sweet—, how sweetly wou'd he sing!
But now, ah see! the fav'rite Warbler dead!
See! down his Breast now drops the speckled Head;
All stiff he lies the dampy Earth along,
His little Bosom swells no more with Song,
No more to melting Airs attunes his Voice,
To charm the Vales, or bid the Groves rejoice,
Fled are the Joys we felt whene'er he sung,
And ev'ry Sweet that dwelt upon his Tongue.
Than rising Flow'rs that deck untrodden Plains:
More cheering he than Breath of infant Spring,
He'd sing so sweet—, how sweetly wou'd he sing!
But now, ah see! the fav'rite Warbler dead!
See! down his Breast now drops the speckled Head;
All stiff he lies the dampy Earth along,
His little Bosom swells no more with Song,
No more to melting Airs attunes his Voice,
To charm the Vales, or bid the Groves rejoice,
Fled are the Joys we felt whene'er he sung,
And ev'ry Sweet that dwelt upon his Tongue.
93
Ye blithsome Elves, (if Elves regard our Pain,)
Who tread the Circles of the grassy Plain,
Who print the Slatt'ren's Arm with Pinches blue,
And Silver drop in cleanly Damsel's Shoe:
Who ride the whirling Winds by Swains unseen,
And Gambol mirthful on the daisy'd Green:
Where was your boasted Care, when Vireo lay
Devoid of Strength, and panting Life away?
Oh! had ye sav'd that Life which now is flown,
No Sighs this Breast, no Tears these Eyes had known.
Who tread the Circles of the grassy Plain,
Who print the Slatt'ren's Arm with Pinches blue,
And Silver drop in cleanly Damsel's Shoe:
Who ride the whirling Winds by Swains unseen,
And Gambol mirthful on the daisy'd Green:
Where was your boasted Care, when Vireo lay
Devoid of Strength, and panting Life away?
Oh! had ye sav'd that Life which now is flown,
No Sighs this Breast, no Tears these Eyes had known.
It chanc'd, while Thenot plain'd his piteous Case,
And many a trickling Tear bedew'd his Face,
Stretch'd out at length within a Cowslip, lay
Fatigu'd with Moon-light Dance, and wanton Play,
A Fairy small: He turns his list'ning Ears
To hear the Tale, and pities while he hears:
Himself unseen, his slender Voice he rais'd,
And thus, with Story meet, the Shepherd eas'd.
And many a trickling Tear bedew'd his Face,
Stretch'd out at length within a Cowslip, lay
Fatigu'd with Moon-light Dance, and wanton Play,
94
To hear the Tale, and pities while he hears:
Himself unseen, his slender Voice he rais'd,
And thus, with Story meet, the Shepherd eas'd.
In vain your Sighs, your Tears in vain are shed,
Nor Tears, nor Sighs recal the breathless Dead:
Ah! witless Lad! thou causeless art a-griev'd,
Had Vireo Life deserv'd, he still had liv'd:
The fatal Cause by which the Warbler dy'd,
Wrong dost thou ween, that Doubt must I decide.
Nor Tears, nor Sighs recal the breathless Dead:
Ah! witless Lad! thou causeless art a-griev'd,
Had Vireo Life deserv'd, he still had liv'd:
The fatal Cause by which the Warbler dy'd,
Wrong dost thou ween, that Doubt must I decide.
One Ev'ning mild as fair Lætitia sung,
And pour'd melodious Sweetness from her Tongue,
Silent the wild Creation stood around,
Intent to hear, and gladden'd with the Sound:
There Vireo came, and while his Ear he turn'd
To catch her Notes, his Heart with Envy burn'd,
With jealous Rage his tender Bosom swell'd,
To hear his Song surpass'd, his Voice excell'd,
No more he cheerful chirps, no more he sings,
But droops his languid Head, and hangs his Wings,
In secret pin'd with unsuspected Woes,
And breath'd out Life before the Morn arose.
And pour'd melodious Sweetness from her Tongue,
Silent the wild Creation stood around,
Intent to hear, and gladden'd with the Sound:
95
To catch her Notes, his Heart with Envy burn'd,
With jealous Rage his tender Bosom swell'd,
To hear his Song surpass'd, his Voice excell'd,
No more he cheerful chirps, no more he sings,
But droops his languid Head, and hangs his Wings,
In secret pin'd with unsuspected Woes,
And breath'd out Life before the Morn arose.
Here ceas'd the Elve; and now the rising Day
Along the Mountain shot a slanting Ray,
Now Marian stretch'd her Linen o'er the Line,
And Susan trudg'd to milk the lowing Kine,
The Swain, reliev'd, forsook the lonely Rock,
And hied to seek his long-neglected Flock.
Along the Mountain shot a slanting Ray,
Now Marian stretch'd her Linen o'er the Line,
And Susan trudg'd to milk the lowing Kine,
The Swain, reliev'd, forsook the lonely Rock,
And hied to seek his long-neglected Flock.
96
PHOIBO-BATHOS:
OR THE POET's WELL.
Apparent Rari nantes.
Virg.
Virg.
I wander'd out the other Day,
And stole from Care, and Town away,
No Cloud o'er all the Sky was seen,
The Fields were cloath'd with lively Green,
The Sun shone out exceeding fair,
And Hay new mown perfum'd the Air:
But forc'd to fly the Noon-day Heat,
I chose a silent shaded Seat,
From whence, where'er I turn'd my Eyes,
I saw inspiring Prospects rise,
Groves, Rivers, Hills with Verdure crown'd,
And Nature smiling all around,
And still to charm my Thoughts the more,
I read Saphira's Numbers o'er,
Where Wit and sacred Friendship shine,
And Virtue blooms in ev'ry Line.
And stole from Care, and Town away,
No Cloud o'er all the Sky was seen,
The Fields were cloath'd with lively Green,
The Sun shone out exceeding fair,
And Hay new mown perfum'd the Air:
97
I chose a silent shaded Seat,
From whence, where'er I turn'd my Eyes,
I saw inspiring Prospects rise,
Groves, Rivers, Hills with Verdure crown'd,
And Nature smiling all around,
And still to charm my Thoughts the more,
I read Saphira's Numbers o'er,
Where Wit and sacred Friendship shine,
And Virtue blooms in ev'ry Line.
But while, thus raptur'd, I attend
To each Perfection of my Friend,
I grieve, the World so ill repays
The noblest Bards of modern Days;
For Years, perhaps, unbid to rise,
Neglected, modest Merit lies;
See! Learning, that angelic Guest,
By pompous Ignorance deprest!
See, by the wealthy witless Herd,
The Wise contemn'd, the Fool prefer'd.
To each Perfection of my Friend,
I grieve, the World so ill repays
The noblest Bards of modern Days;
98
Neglected, modest Merit lies;
See! Learning, that angelic Guest,
By pompous Ignorance deprest!
See, by the wealthy witless Herd,
The Wise contemn'd, the Fool prefer'd.
Reflecting thus, the drowsy God,
Thrice with his Sleep-creating Rod
My Eyelids touch'd; soft Slumbers came,
And thus I dreamt—or seem'd to dream.
Thrice with his Sleep-creating Rod
My Eyelids touch'd; soft Slumbers came,
And thus I dreamt—or seem'd to dream.
Some wond'rous Pow'r, methought, with Care
Convey'd me swiftly thro' the Air,
And plac'd me near the sacred Spring
At which the tuneful Sisters sing,
Where God Apollo joins the Quire,
And strikes the Silver-sounding Lyre.
Convey'd me swiftly thro' the Air,
And plac'd me near the sacred Spring
At which the tuneful Sisters sing,
99
And strikes the Silver-sounding Lyre.
While rapt I stood, such Sounds to hear
As charm the Soul into the Ear,
Here cease the Song, Apollo cries,
Arise, ye Virgin-Train arise,
This Day, this ever-sacred Day
Shall ev'ry Author's Worth display,
Each British, each Hibernian Bard
Shall now acquire a just Reward,
I'll show the World what Poet's Lays
Shall bloom Immortal, blest with Praise,
And whose dull stupid Works shall lie
Unnotic'd, and obscurely die.
As charm the Soul into the Ear,
Here cease the Song, Apollo cries,
Arise, ye Virgin-Train arise,
This Day, this ever-sacred Day
Shall ev'ry Author's Worth display,
Each British, each Hibernian Bard
Shall now acquire a just Reward,
I'll show the World what Poet's Lays
Shall bloom Immortal, blest with Praise,
And whose dull stupid Works shall lie
Unnotic'd, and obscurely die.
100
This said, before their wond'ring Eyes
He bids a spacious Temple rise,
A Temple, form'd with so much Art,
So beautiful in ev'ry Part,
It seem'd, (tho' rais'd in so much haste,)
The Labour of an Age at least.
He bids a spacious Temple rise,
A Temple, form'd with so much Art,
So beautiful in ev'ry Part,
It seem'd, (tho' rais'd in so much haste,)
The Labour of an Age at least.
Within the Dome, enthron'd in State
The Ancients sat, sublimely Great:
Homer, the Prince of Bards was there,
And Maro with majestic Air;
There Flaccus, who the Soul can sway
With Lays polite, instructive, gay;
The Teian too, whose Songs impart
A thousand Raptures to the Heart,
And ev'ry Bard whose tuneful Tongue,
In sacred Strains divinely sung.
The Ancients sat, sublimely Great:
Homer, the Prince of Bards was there,
And Maro with majestic Air;
There Flaccus, who the Soul can sway
With Lays polite, instructive, gay;
The Teian too, whose Songs impart
A thousand Raptures to the Heart,
101
In sacred Strains divinely sung.
There Albion's ancient Sons appear'd,
Great Souls! as Deities rever'd:
Old Chaucer, who the Mind regales
With witty, mirth-creating Tales:
Sweet laurel'd Spencer next was seen,
Immortal in his Fairy-Queen;
Milton, who boundless Worlds explor'd,
Where never Poet's Fancy soar'd.
And durst so great a Subject chuse
As ask'd an Angel for a Muse:
Soft Waller, who with silver Tongue,
The Pains of hopeless Passion sung:
Shakespear, with whom the Muses dwell,
Whom few can copy, none excell:
With Cowley, of o'erflowing Wit;
And Dorset keen in all he writ.
Great Souls! as Deities rever'd:
Old Chaucer, who the Mind regales
With witty, mirth-creating Tales:
Sweet laurel'd Spencer next was seen,
Immortal in his Fairy-Queen;
Milton, who boundless Worlds explor'd,
Where never Poet's Fancy soar'd.
And durst so great a Subject chuse
As ask'd an Angel for a Muse:
Soft Waller, who with silver Tongue,
The Pains of hopeless Passion sung:
102
Whom few can copy, none excell:
With Cowley, of o'erflowing Wit;
And Dorset keen in all he writ.
The God next bids the Earth subside,
To form a Well immensely wide,
And instant at his Word, the Ground
Discloses deep a vast Profound,
To fill the mighty Void, he sees
The Waters rise, by just Degrees,
And smiles with conscious Joy, to find
The Well adapted to his Mind.
To form a Well immensely wide,
And instant at his Word, the Ground
Discloses deep a vast Profound,
To fill the mighty Void, he sees
The Waters rise, by just Degrees,
And smiles with conscious Joy, to find
The Well adapted to his Mind.
Now haste, he cries, ye sacred Nine,
Sweet Modellers of Lays divine,
On Wings of Zephyrs thro' the Sky
To Albion and Ierne fly,
Let each collect with nicest Care
The Works of Bards that flourish there,
Then into This shall all be thrown,
To make their various Merits known.
Sweet Modellers of Lays divine,
103
To Albion and Ierne fly,
Let each collect with nicest Care
The Works of Bards that flourish there,
Then into This shall all be thrown,
To make their various Merits known.
The Strains by our Instruction writ,
With Spirit, Learning, Judgment, Wit,
Which Ages yet unborn shall praise,
And crown with never-fading Bays,
Shall float along the limpid Wave;
Those consecrating Time shall save,
The rest shall sink, and swiftly go
To dwell in Ebon Shades below.
With Spirit, Learning, Judgment, Wit,
Which Ages yet unborn shall praise,
And crown with never-fading Bays,
Shall float along the limpid Wave;
Those consecrating Time shall save,
The rest shall sink, and swiftly go
To dwell in Ebon Shades below.
104
Here shall the Graces stand to seize
Each Work that on the Surface plays,
And Time shall in his Temple place
The Writings sav'd by ev'ry Grace.
Each Work that on the Surface plays,
And Time shall in his Temple place
The Writings sav'd by ev'ry Grace.
He spoke; away the Muses fly
More swift than Eagles thro' the Sky,
Discharg'd their Errand, quick as Thought,
And each a Load of Authors brought,
On Themes sublime, and trifling Matters,
Odes, Epics, Epigrams, and Satires,
Labours of ev'ry Size and Kind,
Yet left amazing Heaps behind,
Assur'd, convinc'd before they try'd,
Those Works must in the Well subside.
More swift than Eagles thro' the Sky,
Discharg'd their Errand, quick as Thought,
And each a Load of Authors brought,
On Themes sublime, and trifling Matters,
Odes, Epics, Epigrams, and Satires,
Labours of ev'ry Size and Kind,
Yet left amazing Heaps behind,
Assur'd, convinc'd before they try'd,
Those Works must in the Well subside.
105
And, now the mystic Rites begin,
What Heaps, ye Gods! are tumbled in!
What Crowds of Volumes downwards tend!
How few have Worth to re-ascend!
What Heaps, ye Gods! are tumbled in!
What Crowds of Volumes downwards tend!
How few have Worth to re-ascend!
First of the Time-surviving Train,
Appears th' inimitable Dean,
Whose Works so exquisite are writ,
With such uncommon Strokes of Wit,
Such Purity of Thought and Style,
They float uninjur'd all the while:
And these immortal matchless Lays
The smiling Graces fondly seize,
And place on Time's high-honour'd Throne,
Aloft, distinguish'd, and alone.
Appears th' inimitable Dean,
Whose Works so exquisite are writ,
With such uncommon Strokes of Wit,
Such Purity of Thought and Style,
They float uninjur'd all the while:
And these immortal matchless Lays
The smiling Graces fondly seize,
And place on Time's high-honour'd Throne,
Aloft, distinguish'd, and alone.
106
Then Pope, and wise Arbuthnot gain
Exalted Honours with the Dean;
And soon the Graces snatch'd away
The Strains of Addison, and Gay:
And Congreve, Dryden, Parnel, Prior,
Whose Writings boast Apollo's Fire;
With thine, O Pollio, next they raise
Saphira's, Garth's, and Harvey's Lays,
The tender Granville's Syren Strain,
Too matchless to be sung in vain;
Sweet Philips, who like Milton sung,
With Thompson, Lycidas, and Young:
And
others whom immortal Fame,
Hath honour'd with a Poet's Name.
Exalted Honours with the Dean;
And soon the Graces snatch'd away
The Strains of Addison, and Gay:
And Congreve, Dryden, Parnel, Prior,
Whose Writings boast Apollo's Fire;
With thine, O Pollio, next they raise
Saphira's, Garth's, and Harvey's Lays,
The tender Granville's Syren Strain,
Too matchless to be sung in vain;
Sweet Philips, who like Milton sung,
With Thompson, Lycidas, and Young:
107
Hath honour'd with a Poet's Name.
They ceas'd; and now, Apollo cries,
Be this a Lesson to the Wise,
To those who gloriously excell
In judging clear, and writing well,
That ev'ry Work sublimely writ,
With Learning, Elegance, and Wit,
Shall reign admir'd from Age to Age,
And mock the snarling Critic's Rage,
O'er Envy's Offspring soar sublime,
Unhurt by Calumny or Time,
While all the dull, detracting Fry,
Without Expence of Satire die.
Be this a Lesson to the Wise,
To those who gloriously excell
In judging clear, and writing well,
That ev'ry Work sublimely writ,
With Learning, Elegance, and Wit,
Shall reign admir'd from Age to Age,
And mock the snarling Critic's Rage,
O'er Envy's Offspring soar sublime,
Unhurt by Calumny or Time,
108
Without Expence of Satire die.
He spoke: I start with hallow'd Dread,
And all the sacred Vision fled.
And all the sacred Vision fled.
109
A PARAPHRASE Of some of the ODES OF ANACREON:
BEING An ESSAY towards a Translation of that POET.
Te sequor, O Graiæ gentis decus,—propter amorem,
Quod te imitari aveo.
Quod te imitari aveo.
111
ODE I.
Fain wou'd I, in lofty Verse,
Hero's godlike Acts rehearse,
Fain wou'd I a Subject chuse
Worthy of the noblest Muse,
Grecian Chiefs, or Theban Woes
Which from civil Discord 'rose,
But the Strings and Lyre approve
Nought but Softness, nought but Love.
Hero's godlike Acts rehearse,
Fain wou'd I a Subject chuse
Worthy of the noblest Muse,
Grecian Chiefs, or Theban Woes
Which from civil Discord 'rose,
112
Nought but Softness, nought but Love.
Once, I chang'd the Strings and Lyre,
Which wou'd nought but Love inspire,
Strove to sing in loftier Lays,
Many a matchless Hero's Praise,
Toils Herculean, far-renown'd,
With immortal Honours crown'd;
Vain Attempt! for ev'ry String
Echoes Love to all I sing.
Which wou'd nought but Love inspire,
Strove to sing in loftier Lays,
Many a matchless Hero's Praise,
Toils Herculean, far-renown'd,
With immortal Honours crown'd;
Vain Attempt! for ev'ry String
Echoes Love to all I sing.
Farewel Heroes,—ne'er shall I
Such exalted Subjects try,
Ever tender be my Lay,
Ever soft, and ever gay,
Since the Strings alone approve
Soothing Sounds, and Sounds of Love.
Such exalted Subjects try,
Ever tender be my Lay,
Ever soft, and ever gay,
113
Soothing Sounds, and Sounds of Love.
ODE II.
Nature, bounteously array'd
Ev'ry Animal she made
With such Arms, as best conduce
To its Safety, or its Use.
Ev'ry Animal she made
With such Arms, as best conduce
To its Safety, or its Use.
Nature horny Terrors spread
O'er the Bull's majestic Head:
Hoofs she gave the gen'rous Steed,
And to Hares the Light'ning's Speed:
To the scaly Kind she gave
Finns, to cut the chrystal Wave:
To the Birds, exempt from Care,
Wings to sport in Fields of Air;
But, to nobler Man assign'd
An intrepid martial Mind.
O'er the Bull's majestic Head:
Hoofs she gave the gen'rous Steed,
And to Hares the Light'ning's Speed:
To the scaly Kind she gave
Finns, to cut the chrystal Wave:
114
Wings to sport in Fields of Air;
But, to nobler Man assign'd
An intrepid martial Mind.
What had Nature left, to grace
The diviner Female Race?
Beauty: whose prevailing Charms
Prove the most resistless Arms:
Beauty Shield and Sword supplies,
Beauty vanquishes the Wise;
Beauty, made to be ador'd,
Safe defies the threat'ning Sword,
Can devouring Flames asswage,
And repel their desp'rate Rage;
Beauty, makes the Hero fall,
Conquers those who conquer all.
The diviner Female Race?
Beauty: whose prevailing Charms
Prove the most resistless Arms:
Beauty Shield and Sword supplies,
Beauty vanquishes the Wise;
Beauty, made to be ador'd,
Safe defies the threat'ning Sword,
Can devouring Flames asswage,
And repel their desp'rate Rage;
115
Conquers those who conquer all.
ODE III.
The Stars, those glitt'ring Worlds of Light,
That gild the dusky Face of Night,
And deck the boundless airy Plain,
Had finish'd half their nightly Reign,
And Men by weak'ning Toil subdu'd,
Dissolv'd in Sleep, their Strength renew'd,
When Cupid, God of sweet Deceit,
Impatient thunder'd at my Gate.
That gild the dusky Face of Night,
And deck the boundless airy Plain,
Had finish'd half their nightly Reign,
And Men by weak'ning Toil subdu'd,
Dissolv'd in Sleep, their Strength renew'd,
When Cupid, God of sweet Deceit,
Impatient thunder'd at my Gate.
“Who is't so rudely knocks, and tries
“To banish Slumber from my Eyes,
“To tear the blissful Dreams away
“With which the Soul delights to play?
“To banish Slumber from my Eyes,
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“With which the Soul delights to play?
Then Love: Ah! be not Friend, afraid,
To lend your hospitable Aid,
For I'm a Boy, unfit to bear
The dreary Night's inclement Air;
The Moon o'ercast, her Light denies
To guide my Steps, and bless my Eyes,
I've wander'd, chill'd with Cold and Rain,
And sought some Place of Rest, in vain.
To lend your hospitable Aid,
For I'm a Boy, unfit to bear
The dreary Night's inclement Air;
The Moon o'ercast, her Light denies
To guide my Steps, and bless my Eyes,
I've wander'd, chill'd with Cold and Rain,
And sought some Place of Rest, in vain.
I pitied, while I heard his Woes,
And quick to his Assistance rose,
I soon reviv'd the faded Light
To ease his Fears, and cheer his Sight;
And op'ning, saw an Infant stand,
A Bow smooth-polish'd in his Hand,
Two Wings, to wanton with the Wind,
Their silver Plumage spread behind,
And o'er his snowy Shoulder slung,
The shaftful Quiver id'ly hung.
And quick to his Assistance rose,
I soon reviv'd the faded Light
To ease his Fears, and cheer his Sight;
117
A Bow smooth-polish'd in his Hand,
Two Wings, to wanton with the Wind,
Their silver Plumage spread behind,
And o'er his snowy Shoulder slung,
The shaftful Quiver id'ly hung.
To swell his Heart with vig'rous Heat
Before th' enliv'ning Fire I sate,
His little Hands with mine I warm,
From which I ne'er suspected Harm,
His Limbs I chaf'd, and press'd with Care
The chilling Moisture from his Hair.
Before th' enliv'ning Fire I sate,
His little Hands with mine I warm,
From which I ne'er suspected Harm,
His Limbs I chaf'd, and press'd with Care
The chilling Moisture from his Hair.
New Life the vital Warmth supplies,
And come, “Let's try this Bow, he cries,
“If yet the moisten'd Nerve can throw
“The Dart, or bend the circling Bow.
And come, “Let's try this Bow, he cries,
118
“The Dart, or bend the circling Bow.
He strains the flexile Horn, and drew
The Shaft, which too unerring flew,
Like Light'ning it transfix'd my Heart,
And scatter'd Pains thro' ev'ry Part.
The Shaft, which too unerring flew,
Like Light'ning it transfix'd my Heart,
And scatter'd Pains thro' ev'ry Part.
Away the Wanton lightly springs,
And, laughing, waves his downy Wings,
And cries, with me rejoice my Friend,
My Fears were vain, my Sorrows end,
My Bow's uninjur'd, but thy Breast
With pale, enfeebling Grief possest,
Shall swell with Woes unfelt before,
And find it's wonted Peace no more.
And, laughing, waves his downy Wings,
And cries, with me rejoice my Friend,
My Fears were vain, my Sorrows end,
My Bow's uninjur'd, but thy Breast
With pale, enfeebling Grief possest,
Shall swell with Woes unfelt before,
And find it's wonted Peace no more.
119
ODE IV.
On Myrtles laid, with Roses crown'd,
And Flow'rs that breathe Delight around,
I'll drink, and all my Soul incline
To Mirth, the Child of gen'rous Wine.
And Flow'rs that breathe Delight around,
I'll drink, and all my Soul incline
To Mirth, the Child of gen'rous Wine.
Then Love shall like my Slave, prepare
The genial Bowl that poisons Care;
For, swiftly as the Chariot flies,
To win the hard-contested Prize,
Our Life as swiftly rolls away
With all that's pleasing, all that's gay.
This Frame must soon to Ashes turn,
And fill the cold Sepulchral Urn,
And Silence chain the tuneful Tongue,
Each Bone dissolv'd, each Nerve unstrung.
The genial Bowl that poisons Care;
For, swiftly as the Chariot flies,
To win the hard-contested Prize,
Our Life as swiftly rolls away
With all that's pleasing, all that's gay.
120
And fill the cold Sepulchral Urn,
And Silence chain the tuneful Tongue,
Each Bone dissolv'd, each Nerve unstrung.
Why on our Tombs are Unguents spread,
Superfluous Care! to grace the Dead?
And why the vain Libation paid,
To honour an inconscious Shade?
Rather to me, while yet I live,
The costly fragrant Blessings give:
My Head with roseate Crowns adorn,
Whose Sweets surpass the Breath of Morn,
And call the Fair, whose Charms impart
Soft Ecstasies that sway the Heart.
Superfluous Care! to grace the Dead?
And why the vain Libation paid,
To honour an inconscious Shade?
Rather to me, while yet I live,
The costly fragrant Blessings give:
My Head with roseate Crowns adorn,
Whose Sweets surpass the Breath of Morn,
And call the Fair, whose Charms impart
Soft Ecstasies that sway the Heart.
121
O Love, e'er I'm compell'd to go
To Crowds of joyless Shades below,
My Soul shall ev'ry Pleasure share,
And court Delight, and banish Care.
To Crowds of joyless Shades below,
My Soul shall ev'ry Pleasure share,
And court Delight, and banish Care.
ODE V.
With Wine, that blissful Joys bestows,
Let's mix the sweetly-breathing Rose,
Love's fav'rite Flow'r; and while we spread
It's blushing Beauties round the Head,
Let's drink, and laughing Cares away,
With Wine-begotten Smiles look gay.
Let's mix the sweetly-breathing Rose,
Love's fav'rite Flow'r; and while we spread
It's blushing Beauties round the Head,
Let's drink, and laughing Cares away,
With Wine-begotten Smiles look gay.
Thou fairest, all-surpassing Rose,
What Charms thy op'ning Leaves disclose!
O thou, the Spring's peculiar Care,
Whose Sweets enrich the vernal Air!
Belov'd, and courted here on Earth,
And pleasing those of heav'nly Birth!
When Love, the Child of Venus, leads
The Graces, ever-blooming Maids
In sportive Dance, thy Blossoms fair
In fragrant Wreaths adorn his Hair.
What Charms thy op'ning Leaves disclose!
122
Whose Sweets enrich the vernal Air!
Belov'd, and courted here on Earth,
And pleasing those of heav'nly Birth!
When Love, the Child of Venus, leads
The Graces, ever-blooming Maids
In sportive Dance, thy Blossoms fair
In fragrant Wreaths adorn his Hair.
Then crown me while I strike the Lyre,
And wake the Notes that Mirth inspire:
O Bacchus, near thy sacred Shrine,
With blooming Virgins half-divine,
While rosy Wreaths my Temples bind,
I'll Dance, with ever-chearful Mind.
And wake the Notes that Mirth inspire:
O Bacchus, near thy sacred Shrine,
With blooming Virgins half-divine,
While rosy Wreaths my Temples bind,
I'll Dance, with ever-chearful Mind.
123
ODE VII.
'Twas
Love's Command, fair Beauty's Son,
That I shou'd nimbly with him run,
And when, by cautious Fear delay'd,
I slowly with Regret obey'd,
He urg'd me with a purple Wand,
That grac'd his all-subduing Hand.
That I shou'd nimbly with him run,
And when, by cautious Fear delay'd,
I slowly with Regret obey'd,
He urg'd me with a purple Wand,
That grac'd his all-subduing Hand.
Thro' rushing Torrents swift we go,
And Streams that roughly rapid flow,
Thro' Woods that wave with passing Gales,
Embow'ring Groves, and low-sunk Vales:
But whilst the Infant Pow'r, and I
Thro' Vales, and Groves, and Torrents fly,
A Serpent's Sting, thro' ev'ry Vein,
Diffus'd a Heart-enfeebling Pain,
Thro' all my Limbs a Faintness spread,
My Strength decay'd, my Vigour fled,
The Soul seem'd hast'ning to depart,
And Life scarce warm'd my languid Heart.
And Streams that roughly rapid flow,
Thro' Woods that wave with passing Gales,
Embow'ring Groves, and low-sunk Vales:
But whilst the Infant Pow'r, and I
Thro' Vales, and Groves, and Torrents fly,
124
Diffus'd a Heart-enfeebling Pain,
Thro' all my Limbs a Faintness spread,
My Strength decay'd, my Vigour fled,
The Soul seem'd hast'ning to depart,
And Life scarce warm'd my languid Heart.
But Love immediate Comfort brings,
He fans me with his downy Wings,
“And know, from thy Contempt (he cries,)
“Of Cupid's Laws, thy Woes arise,
“Now, taught by Pain, his Pow'r adore,
“And tempt his just Revenge no more.
He fans me with his downy Wings,
“And know, from thy Contempt (he cries,)
“Of Cupid's Laws, thy Woes arise,
“Now, taught by Pain, his Pow'r adore,
“And tempt his just Revenge no more.
125
ODE VIII.
'Twas when the mirth-exciting Bowl
Had sooth'd my Cares, and rais'd the Soul,
That I on purple Carpets spread
My Limbs at Ease, and lean'd my Head,
'Till Sleep, the soft-wing'd Child of Night,
With Shades enveil'd my swimming Sight.
Had sooth'd my Cares, and rais'd the Soul,
That I on purple Carpets spread
My Limbs at Ease, and lean'd my Head,
'Till Sleep, the soft-wing'd Child of Night,
With Shades enveil'd my swimming Sight.
Then seem'd I swift in am'rous Play,
To run with Virgins, fair as Day,
While Youths, more delicately fram'd
Than that soft God Lyœus nam'd,
Reproach'd my too advent'rous Age,
That dare such Bloom and Youth engage,
—For Love—was a prepost'rous Crime,
In one so silver'd o'er by Time.
To run with Virgins, fair as Day,
While Youths, more delicately fram'd
Than that soft God Lyœus nam'd,
Reproach'd my too advent'rous Age,
That dare such Bloom and Youth engage,
126
In one so silver'd o'er by Time.
But while, to perfect all my Bliss,
I wish'd to snatch a fragrant Kiss,
From these my Sleep-forsaken Eyes,
The Fancy's fair Creation flies,
The sweet Illusions flit away,
And all the pleasing Forms decay.
I wish'd to snatch a fragrant Kiss,
From these my Sleep-forsaken Eyes,
The Fancy's fair Creation flies,
The sweet Illusions flit away,
And all the pleasing Forms decay.
Abandon'd, wretched, griev'd, alone,
I sigh'd, the lov'ly Phantoms flown,
I wish'd, I strove, but strove in vain,
To dream the Rapture o'er again.
I sigh'd, the lov'ly Phantoms flown,
I wish'd, I strove, but strove in vain,
To dream the Rapture o'er again.
127
ODE IX.
Lov'ly, Snow-surpassing Dove,
Sacred to the Queen of Love,
Downy Wand'rer! whence, and where
Dost thou wanton thro' the Air?
How can'st thou thro' all the Sky
Breathe such Odours as you fly?
Where did'st thou the Fragrance steal,
Thus to scent the passing Gale?
How, from all thy glossy Plumes
Drop such ever-sweet Perfumes;
Stay—, and let thy Tongue impart
Whither hast'ning, whose thou art.
Sacred to the Queen of Love,
Downy Wand'rer! whence, and where
Dost thou wanton thro' the Air?
How can'st thou thro' all the Sky
Breathe such Odours as you fly?
Where did'st thou the Fragrance steal,
Thus to scent the passing Gale?
How, from all thy glossy Plumes
Drop such ever-sweet Perfumes;
Stay—, and let thy Tongue impart
Whither hast'ning, whose thou art.
128
Thro' the wide-expanded Air,
I Anacreon's Message bear,
Tender Love, and smiling Joy,
To the sweetly-featur'd Boy,
Who, of Charms divine possest,
Reigns ador'd in ev'ry Breast.
I Anacreon's Message bear,
Tender Love, and smiling Joy,
To the sweetly-featur'd Boy,
Who, of Charms divine possest,
Reigns ador'd in ev'ry Breast.
For an Hymn, the Queen of Love
Sold me, tho' her fav'rite Dove:
Now Anacreon I obey,
Tender Poet! ever gay!
These are now my pleasing Care,
These his soft Epistles are,
Who, still bountiful to me,
Promis'd soon to set me free.
Sold me, tho' her fav'rite Dove:
Now Anacreon I obey,
Tender Poet! ever gay!
These are now my pleasing Care,
These his soft Epistles are,
129
Promis'd soon to set me free.
Yet, cou'd I my Freedom gain,
I wou'd still a Slave remain:
Servitude will blissful prove,
If enslav'd to those we love.
I wou'd still a Slave remain:
Servitude will blissful prove,
If enslav'd to those we love.
Why need I, with anxious Care,
Wish to wander thro' the Air,
Or to haunt sequestred Scenes,
Groves, where lonely Silence reigns;
O'er the rocky Hills to fly,
Barren Scenes that tire the Eye;
Or from Field to Field to stray,
All the slow-consuming Day;
Or on Sprays to sit and moan,
Pensive, comfortless, alone,
Eating what thro' all the Fields,
Nature's wild Profusion yields?
Since my kind Possessor grants
Sweet Supply for all my Wants,
Since from his unsparing Hand
Where I fondly-cooing stand,
I can now, in wanton play,
Snatch delicious Food away.
Wish to wander thro' the Air,
Or to haunt sequestred Scenes,
Groves, where lonely Silence reigns;
O'er the rocky Hills to fly,
Barren Scenes that tire the Eye;
Or from Field to Field to stray,
All the slow-consuming Day;
130
Pensive, comfortless, alone,
Eating what thro' all the Fields,
Nature's wild Profusion yields?
Since my kind Possessor grants
Sweet Supply for all my Wants,
Since from his unsparing Hand
Where I fondly-cooing stand,
I can now, in wanton play,
Snatch delicious Food away.
From Anacreon's nectar'd Bowl
Wine I sip that cheers the Soul,
Wine, that makes his Numbers gay,
Parent of the sprightly Lay:
Raptur'd then my Wings I spread,
Gently-waving, o'er his Head,
While my fondling Motions tell
What Delights my Bosom swell.
Wine I sip that cheers the Soul,
Wine, that makes his Numbers gay,
Parent of the sprightly Lay:
131
Gently-waving, o'er his Head,
While my fondling Motions tell
What Delights my Bosom swell.
These are Pleasures which employ
All my Moments, wing'd with Joy,
And when these Amusements tire,
On his Soul-enchanting Lyre
Resting, Sleep with sweet Surprize,
Soft-descending Seals my Eyes.
All my Moments, wing'd with Joy,
And when these Amusements tire,
On his Soul-enchanting Lyre
Resting, Sleep with sweet Surprize,
Soft-descending Seals my Eyes.
Hence, inquiring Stranger, go,
You have all you wish'd to know;
I shall prattle while I stay
More incessant than a Jay.
You have all you wish'd to know;
I shall prattle while I stay
More incessant than a Jay.
132
ODE XXXIV.
Nay—fly me not, alluring Fair,
Nor scorn these Locks of silver Hair,
Tho' Youth now lends thee ev'ry Grace,
And Beauty blooming paints thy Face,
Tho' Nature o'er thy Cheeks hath spread
The smiling Morning's purest Red,
Tho' all that's lov'ly dwells in thee,
Yet fly not thus from Love, and Me.
Nor scorn these Locks of silver Hair,
Tho' Youth now lends thee ev'ry Grace,
And Beauty blooming paints thy Face,
Tho' Nature o'er thy Cheeks hath spread
The smiling Morning's purest Red,
Tho' all that's lov'ly dwells in thee,
Yet fly not thus from Love, and Me.
How do those Wreaths delight the Eye,
Compos'd of Blooms of various Dye!
See, Nymph, how fair the Lilly shows,
Entwin'd around the blushing Rose!
Compos'd of Blooms of various Dye!
See, Nymph, how fair the Lilly shows,
Entwin'd around the blushing Rose!
133
On the Corporations riding the Franchises. 1725.
How shall the Muse debase her Song,
To paint a rude unpolish'd Throng,
Dull, aukward Mimics of the Great,
Snatch'd from the Counter into State?
To paint a rude unpolish'd Throng,
Dull, aukward Mimics of the Great,
Snatch'd from the Counter into State?
See—! to the Crowd the Pageant shown,
Adorn'd with Beauties not his own,
And while in borrow'd Pomp array'd,
Forgetful of himself, and Trade!
But all his Trappings laid aside,
Those gay Inflamers of his Pride,
His fancy'd Honours are no more;
He grows—as worthless as before.
Adorn'd with Beauties not his own,
And while in borrow'd Pomp array'd,
Forgetful of himself, and Trade!
But all his Trappings laid aside,
Those gay Inflamers of his Pride,
134
He grows—as worthless as before.
Thus, when the Sun his Glory pours
To gild a Cloud, that teems with Show'rs,
Deckt in a beautiful Disguise,
The show'ry Cloud attracts our Eyes;
But, when the Sun withdraws the Rays,
That taught admiring Crouds to gaze,
Those Beauties fly that made it priz'd,
The Cloud remains,—remains despis'd.
To gild a Cloud, that teems with Show'rs,
Deckt in a beautiful Disguise,
The show'ry Cloud attracts our Eyes;
But, when the Sun withdraws the Rays,
That taught admiring Crouds to gaze,
Those Beauties fly that made it priz'd,
The Cloud remains,—remains despis'd.
135
To Valgius, refusing to sup with me.
Valgius
, the gen'rous, and the wise,
If ask'd to sup with me, denies;
“He can't in Conscience sup, or dine,
“With one, whose Income's small as mine.
If ask'd to sup with me, denies;
“He can't in Conscience sup, or dine,
“With one, whose Income's small as mine.
Ye Pow'rs! believe me when I vow,
I never wish'd for Wealth till now;
'Tis Death to want the Means to spend,
But O!—'tis more to want a Friend.
I never wish'd for Wealth till now;
'Tis Death to want the Means to spend,
But O!—'tis more to want a Friend.
136
To Varus.
In the Country.
Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus Amico.
Tho' here confin'd to Noise and Care,
To thick, impure, Bœotian Air,
Tho' here no Scenes delight the Eye,
Or give the Fancy Wings to fly;
Yet, when I read thy perfect Lines,
Where all Poetic Beauty shines,
Where Thought sublime, and Taste polite,
And Wit and Elegance unite,
The raptur'd Muse attempts to sing,
And tunes for thee the trembling String.
To thick, impure, Bœotian Air,
Tho' here no Scenes delight the Eye,
Or give the Fancy Wings to fly;
Yet, when I read thy perfect Lines,
Where all Poetic Beauty shines,
Where Thought sublime, and Taste polite,
And Wit and Elegance unite,
The raptur'd Muse attempts to sing,
And tunes for thee the trembling String.
137
You, Varus, in so sweet a Strain,
Describe the blissful rural Scene,
That while I read, with ravish'd Eyes
I see a new Creation rise,
Of Hills, or Lawns, or verdant Vales,
Or Groves, soft-waving with the Gales,
I seem to tread enchanted Ground,
And see all Nature smile around.
Describe the blissful rural Scene,
That while I read, with ravish'd Eyes
I see a new Creation rise,
Of Hills, or Lawns, or verdant Vales,
Or Groves, soft-waving with the Gales,
I seem to tread enchanted Ground,
And see all Nature smile around.
Charm'd with the Song—, methinks with thee
The mazy-running Stream I see,
Or haunt the Woods or Groves to hear
The wing'd Creation charm the Ear,
Or laid on primros'd Banks along
Enamour'd, hear thy sweeter Song,
And thro' th' Exalted numbers trace
All Milton's Strength, and Maro's grace.
The mazy-running Stream I see,
Or haunt the Woods or Groves to hear
The wing'd Creation charm the Ear,
Or laid on primros'd Banks along
Enamour'd, hear thy sweeter Song,
138
All Milton's Strength, and Maro's grace.
What Joy, O Friendship! do we find
In thee, to raise the human Mind!
Friendship's the noblest Bliss we know
That virtuous Souls can taste below,
The sacred, social, tender Tye
Of Souls immortaliz'd on high:
It makes our Pleasures more sincere,
Divides, and lessens ev'ry Care,
Forbids the burden'd Heart to sigh,
And wipes the Tear from Sorrow's Eye,
Makes Solitudes and Desarts please,
And sooths the Soul a thousand Ways.
In thee, to raise the human Mind!
Friendship's the noblest Bliss we know
That virtuous Souls can taste below,
The sacred, social, tender Tye
Of Souls immortaliz'd on high:
It makes our Pleasures more sincere,
Divides, and lessens ev'ry Care,
Forbids the burden'd Heart to sigh,
And wipes the Tear from Sorrow's Eye,
Makes Solitudes and Desarts please,
And sooths the Soul a thousand Ways.
139
Judicious Varus! form'd to shine
In Arts refin'd, and Lays divine!
You imitate those Bards so well,
In whose blest Strains the Muses dwell,
Whom Fame hath hymn'd in ev'ry Clime,
Whose Works deride the Teeth of Time,
That whatsoe'er in them we praise,
Transplanted, blossoms in thy Lays.
In Arts refin'd, and Lays divine!
You imitate those Bards so well,
In whose blest Strains the Muses dwell,
Whom Fame hath hymn'd in ev'ry Clime,
Whose Works deride the Teeth of Time,
That whatsoe'er in them we praise,
Transplanted, blossoms in thy Lays.
Thus while the Bee, with chymic Pow'r,
Extracts the Sweets of ev'ry Flow'r,
Refining ev'ry purest Part,
And blending all with nicest Art,
Those various Sweets in him we find
Improv'd, collected, and combin'd.
Extracts the Sweets of ev'ry Flow'r,
Refining ev'ry purest Part,
And blending all with nicest Art,
Those various Sweets in him we find
Improv'd, collected, and combin'd.
140
HAPPINESS.
Plagu'd with Dependence on the Great
To raise me from my humble State;
With paying Court to faithless Friends,
Who disappointed all my Ends;
With wasting all my blooming Years
In endless Toils, and Hopes, and Fears;
How fondly longs my Soul to gain
The calm, uncrowded, rural Scene!
To fly the Man whose treach'rous Art
Deludes the undesigning Heart!
No Calumny, no pale-cheek'd Care,
No Envy shall attend me there.
There seated near a gliding Stream,
Intent on some inspiring Theme,
Or wand'ring o'er the flow'ry Vale,
Imbibing Joy from ev'ry Gale,
I strive that blissful State to gain
So fondly sought, so sought in vain.
To raise me from my humble State;
With paying Court to faithless Friends,
Who disappointed all my Ends;
With wasting all my blooming Years
In endless Toils, and Hopes, and Fears;
How fondly longs my Soul to gain
The calm, uncrowded, rural Scene!
To fly the Man whose treach'rous Art
Deludes the undesigning Heart!
No Calumny, no pale-cheek'd Care,
No Envy shall attend me there.
141
Intent on some inspiring Theme,
Or wand'ring o'er the flow'ry Vale,
Imbibing Joy from ev'ry Gale,
I strive that blissful State to gain
So fondly sought, so sought in vain.
Vain are our fondest Hopes of Bliss
From such a faithless World as this,
Where Vice in ev'ry Form appears,
In wanton Youth, and palsy'd Years;
Where Villany exalted shines,
And Merit unregarded pines;
Angelic Probity's unpriz'd,
And Heav'n-descended Truth despis'd;
Where Friendship's Name conceals a Knave
Subtle, and studious to deceive,
(A Corvus, who with great Success,
At once can murder and caress;)
Where triumphs self-adoring Pride,
Where Virtue's scorn'd, and God defy'd.
From such a faithless World as this,
Where Vice in ev'ry Form appears,
In wanton Youth, and palsy'd Years;
Where Villany exalted shines,
And Merit unregarded pines;
Angelic Probity's unpriz'd,
And Heav'n-descended Truth despis'd;
142
Subtle, and studious to deceive,
(A Corvus, who with great Success,
At once can murder and caress;)
Where triumphs self-adoring Pride,
Where Virtue's scorn'd, and God defy'd.
Too long deceiv'd I strove to know
Felicity in Things below.
But now, O Pow'r supreme! I see
True Happiness resides with thee,
With thee, whose Wisdom guides on high
The Worlds of Light that gild the Sky,
And made this Earth a Place of Pain,
A mix'd unsatisfying Scene.
Felicity in Things below.
But now, O Pow'r supreme! I see
True Happiness resides with thee,
With thee, whose Wisdom guides on high
The Worlds of Light that gild the Sky,
And made this Earth a Place of Pain,
A mix'd unsatisfying Scene.
143
Let Wealth have Wings, and Friends profest
Stab the sincere unguarded Breast:
Preferment's golden Show'r be shed
On Clodio's undeserving Head:
Or Calumny's envenom'd Dart
Transfix me in the tend'rest Part:
Since no Distress in Time or Place,
Can make eternal Goodness cease,
In God alone my raptur'd Mind
Unmix'd Felicity shall find.
Stab the sincere unguarded Breast:
Preferment's golden Show'r be shed
On Clodio's undeserving Head:
Or Calumny's envenom'd Dart
Transfix me in the tend'rest Part:
Since no Distress in Time or Place,
Can make eternal Goodness cease,
In God alone my raptur'd Mind
Unmix'd Felicity shall find.
144
To POLLIO.
A DIALOGUE between the Author and his Friend, in the Manner of Horace's Ist Sat. 2d Book.
Author.Since modern Bards, in these degen'rate Days
Are neither paid in Profit, nor in Praise;
Since ev'ry Fool can censure what is writ,
And Fools have strong Antipathies to Wit;
Since all who public Authors will commence
Severely suffer for the Claim to Sense;
Since none escape from Defamation free
From Swift and Pope, to Mævius and to Me;
145
To guide my Conduct in a Point so nice:
I'm but a youthful Candidate for Fame,
Nor dare to hope a Poet's sacred Name,
Unknown, unnumber'd with the tuneful Throng.
High-honour'd Names! Immortaliz'd by Song;
Scarce have I touch'd the fam'd inspiring Hill,
And dread eternal Shame for writing ill;
What shall I do?
Friend.
Desist.
Author.
What, quite give o'er
Th' amusing Sweets of Verse—and write no more?
146
So I advise; for Authors vainly strive
For Favour, Wealth, or Happiness, alive:
Ev'n Hope, the Poet's fancy-raising Pow'r,
His sole Recourse at each distressful Hour,
That bounteous Goddess who alone sustains
Dejected Authors, and rewards their Pains,
Far hence is fled:—the low-soul'd Great refuse
To smile on Merit, or caress the Muse.
For Favour, Wealth, or Happiness, alive:
Ev'n Hope, the Poet's fancy-raising Pow'r,
His sole Recourse at each distressful Hour,
That bounteous Goddess who alone sustains
Dejected Authors, and rewards their Pains,
Far hence is fled:—the low-soul'd Great refuse
To smile on Merit, or caress the Muse.
Yet if, to Prudence and Discretion blind
The Love of Verse is rooted in your Mind,
If undeterr'd by Turpio's dismal Fate,
Too early rash, and penitent too late;
If Critic-proof you patiently can bear
The various Plagues of Doubt, and Hope, and Fear;
If thus resolv'd, chuse some exalted Theme,
To raise at once your Fortune, and your Fame:
Your sweetest Songs to Dorset's Glory raise
A Dorset's Name will dignify the Lays;
In him the Muse, unflatt'ring may commend
The Friend of Virtue, and the Muse's Friend;
A Soul enrich'd with ev'ry social Grace
That gives Perfection to the human Race.
The Love of Verse is rooted in your Mind,
If undeterr'd by Turpio's dismal Fate,
Too early rash, and penitent too late;
147
The various Plagues of Doubt, and Hope, and Fear;
If thus resolv'd, chuse some exalted Theme,
To raise at once your Fortune, and your Fame:
Your sweetest Songs to Dorset's Glory raise
A Dorset's Name will dignify the Lays;
In him the Muse, unflatt'ring may commend
The Friend of Virtue, and the Muse's Friend;
A Soul enrich'd with ev'ry social Grace
That gives Perfection to the human Race.
Author.
O Pollio, fondly wou'd thy Friend pursue
That Path to Glory pointed out by you,
But I'm deny'd by all-disposing Fate,
A Genius equal to a Task so great:
Such Love to Merit, such Delight to bless,
Such Joy to raise the Wretched from Distress,
So rich a Mind, with ev'ry Virtue fraught,
Such Worth as his transcends the Poet's Thought,
To nobler Bards such godlike Themes belong,
And ask a Maro's, or a Pollio's Song,
That Path to Glory pointed out by you,
148
A Genius equal to a Task so great:
Such Love to Merit, such Delight to bless,
Such Joy to raise the Wretched from Distress,
So rich a Mind, with ev'ry Virtue fraught,
Such Worth as his transcends the Poet's Thought,
To nobler Bards such godlike Themes belong,
And ask a Maro's, or a Pollio's Song,
But say, my Friend, in this ill-judging Age,
When Verse and Learning mourn the Critic's Rage,
Why shall the Vain, the Dull, and Thousands more,
Uncensur'd act their Follies o'er and o'er?
Is there no Pride, no Villany, no Crime,
No Fools to ridicule, but Fools in Rime?
When Verse and Learning mourn the Critic's Rage,
Why shall the Vain, the Dull, and Thousands more,
Uncensur'd act their Follies o'er and o'er?
Is there no Pride, no Villany, no Crime,
No Fools to ridicule, but Fools in Rime?
149
The soft Crinitus with surprizing Care
Affects the Lisp, and Languish of the Fair,
In Dress and Nonsense trifles out the Day,
Or sits facetious at a mournful Play;
This delicate Disgrace to human kind
In ev'ry Part is polish'd—but his Mind.
Affects the Lisp, and Languish of the Fair,
In Dress and Nonsense trifles out the Day,
Or sits facetious at a mournful Play;
This delicate Disgrace to human kind
In ev'ry Part is polish'd—but his Mind.
Corvus the Dolt, with undiscerning Head,
In Euclid-Learning is profoundly read,
Whence with amazing Toil a Fund he gains
To rack at once his Hearers and his Brains,
To make him rail eternally at Wit,
And read unmov'd what Swift or Flaccus writ:
Whence he extracts the Wisdom and Grimace
To talk of Trifles with important Face,
To act a stupid, Sense-detesting Part,
And dull by Nature, grows more dull by Art.
In Euclid-Learning is profoundly read,
Whence with amazing Toil a Fund he gains
To rack at once his Hearers and his Brains,
To make him rail eternally at Wit,
And read unmov'd what Swift or Flaccus writ:
Whence he extracts the Wisdom and Grimace
To talk of Trifles with important Face,
150
And dull by Nature, grows more dull by Art.
Paulo is blest with an immense Estate,
In all Things—but a Soul—and Virtue—Great:
Stiff in Brocade, in Vanity profuse,
What can he spare for any godlike Use?
Paulo forgets that Providence intends
His Gifts for better, more exalted Ends;
With Joy unhop'd to swell the Soul distrest,
And bless himself by making others blest,
To heal the wounded Heart, true Worth to raise,
Diffusing Happiness a thousand Ways.
In all Things—but a Soul—and Virtue—Great:
Stiff in Brocade, in Vanity profuse,
What can he spare for any godlike Use?
Paulo forgets that Providence intends
His Gifts for better, more exalted Ends;
With Joy unhop'd to swell the Soul distrest,
And bless himself by making others blest,
To heal the wounded Heart, true Worth to raise,
Diffusing Happiness a thousand Ways.
Friend.
Great is the Task, and glorious is the Rage
To lash the darling Follies of the Age,
151
And scourge the base, the vain, the study'd Fool:
Yet Bards may write, Philosophers declaim,
And brand with Infamy the Villain's Name;
But what avail those Lessons of the Wise?
Few look at Virtue with untainted Eyes:
Few can believe that Satire is design'd
To mend, to polish, to improve the Mind;
Deaf are the Vicious to instructive Rhimes,
And blast the Poet, to assert their Crimes.
153
AN ODE, Perform'd at the Castle of DUBLIN,
October 30.
BEING THE BIRTH-DAY Of His Sacred Majesty KING GEORGE II.
Conamur, tenues, grandia,
Laudes egregii Cæsaris—
Hic dies veré mihi festus, atras
Eximet Curas: Ego, nec tumultum,
Nec mori per vim metuam, tenente
Cæsare terras.
Hor.
Laudes egregii Cæsaris—
Hic dies veré mihi festus, atras
Eximet Curas: Ego, nec tumultum,
Nec mori per vim metuam, tenente
Cæsare terras.
Hor.
155
RECITATIVE.
Great, inexhausted Source of Day,Bright Parent of the genial Ray,
Unfold thy purest Beams of Light,
And bring with thee, enliv'ning Pow'r!
Each silver-wing'd, each blissful Hour,
Joy-creating, rob'd in white.
AIR.
Like thee Augustus reigns below,
From Him diffusive Blessings flow,
And cloath'd with Grandeur, Glory, Love,
He emulates thy Reign above.
From Him diffusive Blessings flow,
156
He emulates thy Reign above.
Da Capo.
AIR.
Wake the Soul-enchanting Lute,The warbling Lyre, the breathing Flute,
And touch the Viol into Sound:
With Joy let ev'ry Voice proclaim
A George, the fav'rite Son of Fame,
With all exalted Virtues crown'd.
AIR.
Sacred Wisdom, heav'nly Guest!And Justice, Attribute divine!
Fix their Empire in his Breast,
And bid the finish'd Hero shine:
157
And makes his People's Joy his own.
Da Capo.
RECITATIVE.
This Day be sacred o'er the Earth,The Day that gave Augustus Birth;
For he abundant Wealth supplies,
And bids neglected Merit rise.
AIR.
That Learning, Virtue, Wisdom gainDistinguish'd Honours in his Reign,
Let Cart'ret's Worth high-rais'd proclaim.
If Wisdom yet may higher soar,
If Merit be rewarded more,
Yet greater Glories shalt exalt his Name.
Da Capo.
158
AIR.
Plenty, drest in Smiles appears,And Learning, beauteous Child of Peace,
Her heav'nly Form, delighted, rears,
And Pleasure sports in ev'ry Face:
Those Blessings, which unceasing flow
From his indulgent bounteous Hand.
Let proud oppressing Tyrants know
To bless, is nobler than command.
Da Capo.
RECITATIVE.
What Muse can in a glorious Light,His early Excellence display;
When, cloath'd with Terrors, thro' the Fight
He spread Confusion and Dismay?
159
AIR.
See! fir'd with Ardor to engage,The British Ammon pours along
With an impetuous Torrent's Rage,
And pierces thro' the thickest Throng!
Slaughter wastes at his Command,
And Thousands sink beneath his Hand;
The Combat bleeds where-e'er he goes,
And wide the purple Deluge flows,
RECITATIVE.
While thro' the vanquish'd Host,By his intrepid Valour lost,
Amazement, Terror, Discord fly,
And Fear, with oft-reverted Eye.
160
AIR.
Goddess Glory, haste, prepareThe golden Wreath for George's Brow,
George, more worthy of thy Care,
Than all that Nature form'd 'till now,
Tho' Brunswick's, and a Nassau's Name,
Have fill'd the loudest Voice of Fame.
Da Capo.
AIR.
Ye ever-watchful Guardian Pow'rs,Propitious round Augustus wait,
Bid the smiling, circling Hours,
Waft new Glories to his State;
On him let ev'ry Blessing flow,
That Man can hope, or Heav'n bestow.
Da Capo.
161
RECITATIVE.
Heav'n, to grace his Throne inclin'd,Created, with exactest Care,
Caroline, surpassing fair,
And stamp'd Perfection on her Mind,
AIR.
Worthy over Hearts to reign,Beauty's Hand thy Person drest,
The Graces too, a blooming Train,
In ev'ry Feature smile confest;
Ev'ry Charm, and Gift divine
Lives in gracious Caroline.
Da Capo.
AIR.
O Fate! to crown the glorious Scene,Preserve the blooming Race with Care,
162
And all our golden Hopes are there:
Let them thro' rising Ages shine,
And bless like George and Caroline.
Da Capo.
CHORUS.
We ask no more, propitious Fate!Peculiar Blessings for our State,
That Plenty, Wealth, and Peace may smile
And pour Abundance o'er our Isle:
But hear, O! hear HIBERNIA's Pray'r,
Preserve and guard the Royal Pair;
In that kind Heav'n will give us more
Of Glory, Grandeur, Wealth, and Fame
Than e'er adorn'd Britannia's Name,
Or ever blest the World before.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |