 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
13
MONODY ON THE Death of the Author's Mother.
1.
The flat Wave slept;The spent Breeze loiter'd on the Osier-Spray,
When young Menalcas took his pensive Way,
And near his native Eden wept.
2.
Ye Groves! he cried, ye poplar Shades:That in these Parent-Vallies play,
Ye Bowers where Fancy met the tuneful Maids:
Ye Mountains vocal with my doric Lay!
Ah! teach your Echoes to complain
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3.
For her I mourn,Now the cold Tenant of the silent Urn;
For Her bewail these Strains of Woe,
For Her these filial Sorrows flow,
Source of my Life, that led my tender Years,
With all a Parent's pious Fears;
That nurs'd my Infant-thought, and taught my Mind to grow.
4.
Careful, She mark'd each dang'rous WayWhere Youth's unwary footsteps stray;
She taught the struggling Passions to subside;
Where sacred Truth, and Reason guide,
In Virtue's glorious Path to seek the Realms of day.
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5.
Lamented Goodness! yet I seeThe fond Affections melting in her Eye:
She bends it's tearful Orb on me;
And, hark! She heaves the tender Sigh;
As thoughtful She the Toils surveys
That crowd in Life's perplexing Maze,
And for Her Children feels again,
All, all that Love can fear, and all that Fear can feign.
6.
O best of Parents! let me pourMy Sorrows o'er thy silent Bed;
There early strew the vernal Flow'r,
The parting tear at Evening Shed:
Alas! are these the only Meed
Of each kind Thought, each virtuous Deed?
These fruitless Offerings that embalm the dead.
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7.
Hope, paint no more thy Prospects fair,No more thy golden Visions spread:
Thy splendid Scenes dissolv'd in Air;
Thy fairy Prospects fled.
With Her they fled, on whose lamented Bier
Young Gratitude dropt many a Tear,
Nor longer hop'd her Pains t' asswage,
Or chear the Languors of declining Age.
21
ODE TO CONTENTMENT.
Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine musas
Ducit, & immemores non sinit esse sui.
Ducit, & immemores non sinit esse sui.
Divine Contentment! Cottage-born,
Do thou inspire my easy lay;
Let no vain wish, no thought forlorn,
Disturb the calm, the peaceful Day.
Forget'st thou when we wander'd o'er
The sylvan Bela's sedgy shore,
Or rang'd the woodland wilds along?
How oft on Herclay's mountains high,
We've met the morning's purple eye,
Delay'd by many a Song.
Do thou inspire my easy lay;
Let no vain wish, no thought forlorn,
Disturb the calm, the peaceful Day.
Forget'st thou when we wander'd o'er
The sylvan Bela's sedgy shore,
Or rang'd the woodland wilds along?
22
We've met the morning's purple eye,
Delay'd by many a Song.
From these delights by Fortune led,
To busy Life and Crowds confin'd;
At once each golden pleasure fled;
For Thou, lov'd Nymph, was left behind.
Yet cou'd these Eyes once more survey
Thy comely Form in mantle grey,
Thy polish'd brow, thy peaceful eye;
With Thee, where e'er Thou deign'st to dwell,
In Village-Cot, or Hermit's Cell,
With Thee I'd live and die.
To busy Life and Crowds confin'd;
At once each golden pleasure fled;
For Thou, lov'd Nymph, was left behind.
Yet cou'd these Eyes once more survey
Thy comely Form in mantle grey,
Thy polish'd brow, thy peaceful eye;
With Thee, where e'er Thou deign'st to dwell,
In Village-Cot, or Hermit's Cell,
With Thee I'd live and die.
Ah where is now each Image gay,
The Hand of Fairy Fancy wove,
Of painted Springs, Elysian day,
The sparkling Rill, the bloomy Grove?
Cease, cruel Mem'ry! think no more
Of Scenes, which lost I now deplore,
Abandon'd wild to care and woe;
With loss of Eden's peaceful side,
Eternal Grief and Pain betide
The vain Desire to know!
The Hand of Fairy Fancy wove,
Of painted Springs, Elysian day,
The sparkling Rill, the bloomy Grove?
23
Of Scenes, which lost I now deplore,
Abandon'd wild to care and woe;
With loss of Eden's peaceful side,
Eternal Grief and Pain betide
The vain Desire to know!
24
ODE ON BENEVOLENCE.
Delightless queen of gloomy Woe!
No more thy sadly solemn strain
Shall teach these tear-worn eyes to flow,
Tho' sweet Melpomene complain,
And Life's unumber'd Ills bewail,
Recounting many a mournful Tale.
Behold! gay-smiling as the youthful Spring,
Parent of Bliss, Benevolence divine
The chearful rays of gladdening Comfort bring,
And gild the gloom of Melancholy's shrine!
Dejected Care at her approach is gay,
And heavy Discontent turns sullenly away.
With her, what e'er delights the Heart,
The Joys of social Life among,
The Charms that Beauty's smiles impart,
The Graces' dance, the Muses' Song,
The sparkling Glass, the spicy Bowl,
Doubly pleasing, steal the Soul.
Tho' born of Heaven, she mourns no Realms above,
Nor sighs in absence of a happier Day;
Pleas'd the dull Scenes of human joy t'improve,
The Smiles and Graces round their Goddess play;
With Wreaths fresh-blooming her fair brows adorn,
Where in mild lust're beams the radiance of the Morn.
No more thy sadly solemn strain
Shall teach these tear-worn eyes to flow,
Tho' sweet Melpomene complain,
And Life's unumber'd Ills bewail,
Recounting many a mournful Tale.
Behold! gay-smiling as the youthful Spring,
Parent of Bliss, Benevolence divine
The chearful rays of gladdening Comfort bring,
And gild the gloom of Melancholy's shrine!
Dejected Care at her approach is gay,
And heavy Discontent turns sullenly away.
25
The Joys of social Life among,
The Charms that Beauty's smiles impart,
The Graces' dance, the Muses' Song,
The sparkling Glass, the spicy Bowl,
Doubly pleasing, steal the Soul.
Tho' born of Heaven, she mourns no Realms above,
Nor sighs in absence of a happier Day;
Pleas'd the dull Scenes of human joy t'improve,
The Smiles and Graces round their Goddess play;
With Wreaths fresh-blooming her fair brows adorn,
Where in mild lust're beams the radiance of the Morn.
Yet have I seen in Tears those Eyes,
Where Smiles of lively Pleasure dwell;
Yet have I seen, with bursting Sighs,
That joy-dilated Bosom swell;
When Pity taught the Tear to flow,
The Heart to melt with generous woe.
As the fond Parent that with eager arms,
In anguish, folds her dying Infant fair;
As guardian Angels, when some grief alarms,
Or some dread Ruin threats their thoughtless care;
Oft have I seen her o'er Distress complain,
Rear the low-drooping head, and sooth the Heart in pain.
Where Smiles of lively Pleasure dwell;
26
That joy-dilated Bosom swell;
When Pity taught the Tear to flow,
The Heart to melt with generous woe.
As the fond Parent that with eager arms,
In anguish, folds her dying Infant fair;
As guardian Angels, when some grief alarms,
Or some dread Ruin threats their thoughtless care;
Oft have I seen her o'er Distress complain,
Rear the low-drooping head, and sooth the Heart in pain.
In lonely wilds, and Desarts drear,
To Life's luxurious Joys unknown;
Where Sorrow sheds her silent Tear,
And want unpity'd pines alone;
In search of Grief she loves to stray,
Nor scorns the tenement of clay.
When pale-eye'd Famine leads her ghastly train,
Disease and Anguish, round the mourning land;
Where e'er she smiles, the Furies rage in vain,
By Her supprest in Savile's bounteous hand.
Hail, generous Youth! whom thus the fair inspires,
Whose glowing breast she fills with her celestial fires!
To Life's luxurious Joys unknown;
Where Sorrow sheds her silent Tear,
And want unpity'd pines alone;
In search of Grief she loves to stray,
Nor scorns the tenement of clay.
27
Disease and Anguish, round the mourning land;
Where e'er she smiles, the Furies rage in vain,
By Her supprest in Savile's bounteous hand.
Hail, generous Youth! whom thus the fair inspires,
Whose glowing breast she fills with her celestial fires!
O may the boundless Wish to bless,
By Time or Parties unconfin'd,
Inspire thee, as in fond Excess
It fills the first all-gracious Mind;
Whose Favours, far-diffusive, fall;
Whose Eye benignant smiles on all.
For thee while Seasons spread, profusely kind,
The carmine bed, or rosy-blooming Bower!
That God of Seasons, for the lowly Hind,
Taught the wild furze to wear a golden flower;
Taught the poor Slave that reaps the genial grain,
With joy to see it bloom, and sweep the loaded Plain.
By Time or Parties unconfin'd,
Inspire thee, as in fond Excess
It fills the first all-gracious Mind;
Whose Favours, far-diffusive, fall;
Whose Eye benignant smiles on all.
28
The carmine bed, or rosy-blooming Bower!
That God of Seasons, for the lowly Hind,
Taught the wild furze to wear a golden flower;
Taught the poor Slave that reaps the genial grain,
With joy to see it bloom, and sweep the loaded Plain.
How blest with whom, tho' lowly born,
Divine Benevolence shall dwell!
His humble Virtues to adorn,
While Peace plays round his lonely Cell;
No fruitless Wish shall wound his Breast,
No tort'ring Envy banish Rest;
While HE whose Bounty fills the pregnant Field
With Spring's fair Herbage, and with Autumn's Gold,
Who bids the Rock refreshing Waters yield,
And the tall Blade her shining ear unfold,
Supplies the little, Nature's want requires,
And sweet Benevolence, and calm Content inspires.
Divine Benevolence shall dwell!
His humble Virtues to adorn,
While Peace plays round his lonely Cell;
No fruitless Wish shall wound his Breast,
No tort'ring Envy banish Rest;
While HE whose Bounty fills the pregnant Field
With Spring's fair Herbage, and with Autumn's Gold,
29
And the tall Blade her shining ear unfold,
Supplies the little, Nature's want requires,
And sweet Benevolence, and calm Content inspires.
30
ODE ON BEAUTY.
Far from the noise of Life retir'd,
Amyntas lov'd the rural Plain,
Fair Nature in her simple Charms admir'd,
And felt a Lover's bliss, without his Pain;
While Beauty's Parent gilt the rosy Morn,
Play'd on the Stream, or purple-beaming Flower;
And while refracted Rays adorn
The Bow that speaks th' approaching shower;
The purest pleasures fill'd the shepherd's heart;
The force of Beauty, undisguis'd by Art.
Thrice happy Youth! like him I strove
In Fields to find an easy breast,
Sought the clear Stream, the rosy-blossom'd Grove,
And view'd the paintings of Aurora's Vest.
Ah vain resource! the pleasing hope how vain!
Tho' seated in this sweetly-blooming shade;
The cruel Darts of forceful Pain
My lov'd Retirement still invade:
The truant Thought to distant Objects strays,
And leaves these Eyes in an unmeaning gaze.
Amyntas lov'd the rural Plain,
Fair Nature in her simple Charms admir'd,
And felt a Lover's bliss, without his Pain;
While Beauty's Parent gilt the rosy Morn,
Play'd on the Stream, or purple-beaming Flower;
And while refracted Rays adorn
The Bow that speaks th' approaching shower;
The purest pleasures fill'd the shepherd's heart;
The force of Beauty, undisguis'd by Art.
31
In Fields to find an easy breast,
Sought the clear Stream, the rosy-blossom'd Grove,
And view'd the paintings of Aurora's Vest.
Ah vain resource! the pleasing hope how vain!
Tho' seated in this sweetly-blooming shade;
The cruel Darts of forceful Pain
My lov'd Retirement still invade:
The truant Thought to distant Objects strays,
And leaves these Eyes in an unmeaning gaze.
'Tis not in Flora's rosy Smile,
Nor Phoebus! thine, tho' great thy charms,
The Lover's Pain a moment to beguile,
When Fancy leads to Delia's absent arms.
Ah where is now the Look divinely fair,
Those Eyes that speak a Language not unknown,
Where now the sweetly-winning air,
That Beauty's all-encircling zone?
The long-lov'd Image in my breast I bear,
For ever absent, yet for ever there!
Nor Phoebus! thine, tho' great thy charms,
The Lover's Pain a moment to beguile,
When Fancy leads to Delia's absent arms.
Ah where is now the Look divinely fair,
Those Eyes that speak a Language not unknown,
32
That Beauty's all-encircling zone?
The long-lov'd Image in my breast I bear,
For ever absent, yet for ever there!
Not in Lavinia's lofty mien,
Nor Floribella's blooming Face,
Not in the soft Dulcissa's look serene,
Nor, sweet Amanda! in thy easy Grace;
Not in the vermil Cheek, nor soften'd Air,
Nor Features just, my Delia's form I find;
In whom, with nicely judging Care,
Has Beauty all her Charms combin'd;
Form'd in Perfection's heav'n-wrought Robe to shine,
As Venus fair, as Hamilton Divine!
Nor Floribella's blooming Face,
Not in the soft Dulcissa's look serene,
Nor, sweet Amanda! in thy easy Grace;
Not in the vermil Cheek, nor soften'd Air,
Nor Features just, my Delia's form I find;
In whom, with nicely judging Care,
Has Beauty all her Charms combin'd;
Form'd in Perfection's heav'n-wrought Robe to shine,
As Venus fair, as Hamilton Divine!
What art thou, Beauty! whence thy Pow'r,
That thus persuasive charms the Heart,
When thy fair Hand adorns the roseate Bow'r,
Or blooming Virgin, pride of all thy art?
Oft as thy Lines in fair Proportion flow,
And mingled Beauties in one piece unite,
If Howard's hand the Grace bestow,
The Lifeless Picture gives Delight.
Oft have thy Charms with added Lustre shone
On Kneller's Canvas and Palladio's Stone.
That thus persuasive charms the Heart,
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Or blooming Virgin, pride of all thy art?
Oft as thy Lines in fair Proportion flow,
And mingled Beauties in one piece unite,
If Howard's hand the Grace bestow,
The Lifeless Picture gives Delight.
Oft have thy Charms with added Lustre shone
On Kneller's Canvas and Palladio's Stone.
Let him whose tow'ring Thought can trace
Creation's well conducted Plan,
Let Newton, Pupil of the Gods! confess
Thy hand in various Nature, as in Man.
Cou'd swift-ey'd fancy pierce yon ambient skies,
To him who dwells in perfect Beauty fair,
What Transports in the Soul would rise,
To view Thee thron'd in Glory there!
But humbler Scenes the human Eye requires,
In these enjoys Thee, and in those admires.
Creation's well conducted Plan,
Let Newton, Pupil of the Gods! confess
Thy hand in various Nature, as in Man.
Cou'd swift-ey'd fancy pierce yon ambient skies,
To him who dwells in perfect Beauty fair,
What Transports in the Soul would rise,
To view Thee thron'd in Glory there!
But humbler Scenes the human Eye requires,
In these enjoys Thee, and in those admires.
36
ELEGY From the Country to two Ladies in Town.
Joy crown your Hours, Ye gentle Ladies twain!
And Pleasance blithe your laughing Moments lead!
So might You not the humble Bard disdain,
That breathes his wild Notes from the lowly Reed.
And Pleasance blithe your laughing Moments lead!
So might You not the humble Bard disdain,
That breathes his wild Notes from the lowly Reed.
So might you now the weeping Muse forgive,
That pours her Plaint to Ladies' gentle Ear;
For other off'ring none has She to give,
Save the sad Accent, or the joyless Tear.
That pours her Plaint to Ladies' gentle Ear;
For other off'ring none has She to give,
Save the sad Accent, or the joyless Tear.
37
The jocund Reed that tun'd the lively Lay,
And with the wood-Lark wak'd the morning Song,
Now, all to waste the slowly-wending Day,
In dull Notes drives the leaden Hours along.
And with the wood-Lark wak'd the morning Song,
Now, all to waste the slowly-wending Day,
In dull Notes drives the leaden Hours along.
Since She, whose Genius o'er this Furze-wild Plain,
At Eve, or Morn, led forth the Graces fair,
Play'd round the Heart with Humour's pleasing Vein,
Or soar'd with Fancy thro' the Fields of Air.
At Eve, or Morn, led forth the Graces fair,
Play'd round the Heart with Humour's pleasing Vein,
Or soar'd with Fancy thro' the Fields of Air.
Since She no more, beneath the Moon's mild Ray,
With Sounds harmonious wakes the slumbering Vale;
Nor Black-bird, listening from his nightly Spray,
In rival Strains renews his amorous Tale.
With Sounds harmonious wakes the slumbering Vale;
Nor Black-bird, listening from his nightly Spray,
In rival Strains renews his amorous Tale.
38
Ah! who shall now, from
Hawdon's melting Lays,
Swell the sweet Strain — the dying Cadence draw;
With Melody divine the rapt Soul raise,
Nor leave confin'd one ling'ring Thought below?
Swell the sweet Strain — the dying Cadence draw;
With Melody divine the rapt Soul raise,
Nor leave confin'd one ling'ring Thought below?
In vain new Life the genial Seasons bring,
The Green Groves bloom, the laughing Flow'rs arise;
Can all the Beauties of the breathing Spring
Smile thro' the Tears of these distressful Eyes?
The Green Groves bloom, the laughing Flow'rs arise;
Can all the Beauties of the breathing Spring
Smile thro' the Tears of these distressful Eyes?
The Stream slow-fretting o'er the Time-worn Stone;
The choral Song, the Garden's bloomy Boast,
Ah what avail! — Can these Delights atone
For sweeter Strains, for fairer Beauties lost?
The choral Song, the Garden's bloomy Boast,
39
For sweeter Strains, for fairer Beauties lost?
Yet, tho' Augusta boast her Latian Choirs,
Her warbling Train from Arno's silver Side;
Tho' glowing Art her Sons of Glory fires,
And golden Pleasure rolls her mazy Tide;
Her warbling Train from Arno's silver Side;
Tho' glowing Art her Sons of Glory fires,
And golden Pleasure rolls her mazy Tide;
Yet cannot Nature equal Pleasures yield,
Where flows the Wood-Lark's Music unconfin'd?
In the gay Vesture of yon painted Field,
Where beams the Beauty of the perfect mind?
Where flows the Wood-Lark's Music unconfin'd?
In the gay Vesture of yon painted Field,
Where beams the Beauty of the perfect mind?
With Love of him, with Love of Nature fir'd,
O haste from London's noisy Haunts away!
At Ease in ---'s humble Vale retir'd,
Reap the calm Blessings of the peaceful Day.
O haste from London's noisy Haunts away!
At Ease in ---'s humble Vale retir'd,
Reap the calm Blessings of the peaceful Day.
The Author owes this Compliment to Mr. Hawdon for the pleasure He has received from a particular Piece of Music of His.
45
A Midnight Scene:
An Apostrophe to the Memory of an unfortunate Young Lady.
An Elegy
'Tis solemn Darkness all, and Silence deep;
The Love-lorn Warbler ends her wailing Song,
And Wisdom's Bird awhile forgets in sleep
His Tale of sorrow, for the Night too long:
In downy Rest all active Beings lie,
Quick Fancy's tow'ring Wing, and Beauty's sun-clad Eye.
The Love-lorn Warbler ends her wailing Song,
And Wisdom's Bird awhile forgets in sleep
His Tale of sorrow, for the Night too long:
In downy Rest all active Beings lie,
Quick Fancy's tow'ring Wing, and Beauty's sun-clad Eye.
46
Not Fancy's wing has flatt'ring rest confin'd;
Her roving flight can heavy Sleep restrain?
Ev'n now the Goddess swift outstrips the wind,
Darts thro' the Skies, or skims the rolling Main.
At this lone hour, she foreign Worlds explores,
Basks in new-blazing Suns, and treads on golden Shores.
Her roving flight can heavy Sleep restrain?
Ev'n now the Goddess swift outstrips the wind,
Darts thro' the Skies, or skims the rolling Main.
At this lone hour, she foreign Worlds explores,
Basks in new-blazing Suns, and treads on golden Shores.
Still Silence reigns, save for the sullen Knell
Which round yon time-shrunk Abbey's Clock has spread,
While in the Ruins of her vaulted Cell
Night-wand'ring Echo lifts her languid Head:
Mean Time, with Midnight, from his Cavern drear
Bounds many a Spectre grim, begot by hoary fear.
Which round yon time-shrunk Abbey's Clock has spread,
While in the Ruins of her vaulted Cell
Night-wand'ring Echo lifts her languid Head:
Mean Time, with Midnight, from his Cavern drear
Bounds many a Spectre grim, begot by hoary fear.
47
Ill fares the Wretch, benighted and alone,
No friendly Lamp to guide his weary way,
Tho' doom'd to pass thro' horrid Deeps unknown,
O'er steepy Cliffs, or Desarts wild, to stray;
While busy Fancy forms new Scenes of Woe,
Fearful he steals along, with trembling steps, and slow.
No friendly Lamp to guide his weary way,
Tho' doom'd to pass thro' horrid Deeps unknown,
O'er steepy Cliffs, or Desarts wild, to stray;
While busy Fancy forms new Scenes of Woe,
Fearful he steals along, with trembling steps, and slow.
Yet some would these terrific Scenes despise,
Would Danger's frown, however dreadful, brave,
And while black Midnight veils the sable skies,
Tread the wild Heath, or tempt the faithless wave;
When slighted Love, or solitary Care,
Congenial horrors seek, the haunts of pale despair.
Would Danger's frown, however dreadful, brave,
And while black Midnight veils the sable skies,
Tread the wild Heath, or tempt the faithless wave;
When slighted Love, or solitary Care,
Congenial horrors seek, the haunts of pale despair.
48
Long, poor Lucinda! wilt thou wake my Woe,
Ill-fated Victim of disastrous Love!
Whose grief cou'd teach the savage tear to flow,
Whose Plaint could more than human Pity move:
Night darker gloom'd, unwilling to survey
Those lovely Eyes in Death, whose Beams abash'd the Day.
Ill-fated Victim of disastrous Love!
Whose grief cou'd teach the savage tear to flow,
Whose Plaint could more than human Pity move:
Night darker gloom'd, unwilling to survey
Those lovely Eyes in Death, whose Beams abash'd the Day.
Say, ye sad Gales! her dying sighs ye bore;
Ye Fountain-maids! that heard her plaintive strain,
All as she wander'd o'er the dreary Shore,
Say, did not thus the Mourning Fair complain?
When, long imprison'd, from her lab'ring breast
Burst the big-swelling Grief, in groans and tears exprest.
Ye Fountain-maids! that heard her plaintive strain,
All as she wander'd o'er the dreary Shore,
Say, did not thus the Mourning Fair complain?
When, long imprison'd, from her lab'ring breast
Burst the big-swelling Grief, in groans and tears exprest.
49
“Has she, whom late the raptur'd Youth ador'd,
“Late the gay Queen of beauty and of love,
“Has she compassion from her slave implor'd,
“And fail'd that Pity, which she gave, to move?
“She has!—for ever veil your conscious light,
“Ye Glowing Orbs, that gild the friendly gloom of Night!
“Late the gay Queen of beauty and of love,
“Has she compassion from her slave implor'd,
“And fail'd that Pity, which she gave, to move?
“She has!—for ever veil your conscious light,
“Ye Glowing Orbs, that gild the friendly gloom of Night!
“Yet woud'st thou once, ungrateful as thou art!—
“But why—why will distracted Fancy rave?
“Sooner shall Anguish tear this wounded Heart,
“Till Death conduct Me to the sleeping Grave.
“In friendly death these tears shall cease to slow,
“And this swoln Breast resign it's load of painful Woe.”
“But why—why will distracted Fancy rave?
“Sooner shall Anguish tear this wounded Heart,
“Till Death conduct Me to the sleeping Grave.
50
“And this swoln Breast resign it's load of painful Woe.”
She said; and silent sought this mournful shade,
In solemn Woe slow roll'd this ample Tide;
Each Breeze in sighs thro' trembling Oziers play'd,
And love-lorn Echo piteously reply'd.
Condolence vain! ah what avail'd to find
Than savage-hearted Man, the Winds and Waves more kind.
In solemn Woe slow roll'd this ample Tide;
Each Breeze in sighs thro' trembling Oziers play'd,
And love-lorn Echo piteously reply'd.
Condolence vain! ah what avail'd to find
Than savage-hearted Man, the Winds and Waves more kind.
51
Yet hadst thou then her awful Silence seen,
As wild and trembling o'er this Bank she stood,
Ungentle Youth! Lucinda still had been,
Nor perish'd, sunk beneath the whelming Flood:
Her mute Distress alone had pow'r to move
And touch th' insensate Soul, that never knew to Love.
As wild and trembling o'er this Bank she stood,
Ungentle Youth! Lucinda still had been,
Nor perish'd, sunk beneath the whelming Flood:
Her mute Distress alone had pow'r to move
And touch th' insensate Soul, that never knew to Love.
In this sad Shade here let me lonely mourn,
The duteous tear to her and friendship pay,
With one poor Verse inscribe her lowly Urn,
That many a Trav'ller passing thence may say,
“Whom thousands worship'd, Nature's; Beauty's Pride!
“That One despis'd, she could not bear, and Dy'd!”
The duteous tear to her and friendship pay,
With one poor Verse inscribe her lowly Urn,
That many a Trav'ller passing thence may say,
“Whom thousands worship'd, Nature's; Beauty's Pride!
“That One despis'd, she could not bear, and Dy'd!”
56
SOLITUDE.
Folly, cease thy noisy Bell,
And shake no more thy nodding Plumes at me:
No Mirror may'st Thou see
On the rude Wall of this sequester'd Cell.
Hence! and thy worthless Toys display,
Where two-fac'd Flattery gilds the Bust of Pride,
Or where thy Meteors glide,
In countless Swarms, the giddy, and the gay.
In these still Shades the blustering Roar
Of Ignorance perverse, the vain man's Lye,
And fawning Treachery
No more deceive Me, and disgust no more.
And shake no more thy nodding Plumes at me:
No Mirror may'st Thou see
On the rude Wall of this sequester'd Cell.
Hence! and thy worthless Toys display,
Where two-fac'd Flattery gilds the Bust of Pride,
Or where thy Meteors glide,
In countless Swarms, the giddy, and the gay.
In these still Shades the blustering Roar
Of Ignorance perverse, the vain man's Lye,
And fawning Treachery
No more deceive Me, and disgust no more.
57
With Eye serene, and Bosoms bare,
And Brows uncharacter'd with Care,
Come gentle Peace, and Leisure free,
Daughters of Philosophy!
And lodge beneath this living Screen,
Of Olive mild, and Myrtle green;
Where a clear Stream now smoothly glides,
Now the struggling Pebbles chides.
On whose grassy-fringed Side
Blows the humble Daisy pied,
And the light Fays in mingled Dance
O'er the green Turf featly glance.
And Brows uncharacter'd with Care,
Come gentle Peace, and Leisure free,
Daughters of Philosophy!
And lodge beneath this living Screen,
Of Olive mild, and Myrtle green;
Where a clear Stream now smoothly glides,
Now the struggling Pebbles chides.
On whose grassy-fringed Side
Blows the humble Daisy pied,
And the light Fays in mingled Dance
O'er the green Turf featly glance.
Or if the still-air'd Evening leads
O'er the Cowslip-breathing Meads;
Let us, while fades in Twilight gray,
The Gleam that clos'd the parting Day,
Pursue fair Fancy, where She roves,
Thro' golden Vales, and spicy Groves.
O'er the Cowslip-breathing Meads;
Let us, while fades in Twilight gray,
The Gleam that clos'd the parting Day,
Pursue fair Fancy, where She roves,
Thro' golden Vales, and spicy Groves.
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Or does inspiring Autumn shed
The Glories of his yellow Head?
Pensively musing shall we stray
O'er the leafy-matted Way?
Oft list'ning, as we steal along,
The Music of the plaintive Song.
The Glories of his yellow Head?
Pensively musing shall we stray
O'er the leafy-matted Way?
Oft list'ning, as we steal along,
The Music of the plaintive Song.
Hence let Me the rude Paths explore,
That, winding, scale yon Mountain Hoar;
Nor might the Toil be counted vain,
If there the coy Muse yet remain;
The Muse that Fancy oft has seen,
With Head repos'd on Hillock Green,
“Wrapt in some Strain of pensive Gray,”
Or Shenstone's sweetly rural Lay.
That, winding, scale yon Mountain Hoar;
Nor might the Toil be counted vain,
If there the coy Muse yet remain;
The Muse that Fancy oft has seen,
With Head repos'd on Hillock Green,
“Wrapt in some Strain of pensive Gray,”
Or Shenstone's sweetly rural Lay.
If there, perchance, I found the Cell,
Where Wisdom's aweful Parents dwell;
Permitted free my Mind to store,
With their Heav'n-suggested Lore.
These, O Solitude divine!
Pleasures, such as these, are thine.
H*****! well thy Shades shall please,
Thine are Pleasures such as These.
Where Wisdom's aweful Parents dwell;
59
With their Heav'n-suggested Lore.
These, O Solitude divine!
Pleasures, such as these, are thine.
H*****! well thy Shades shall please,
Thine are Pleasures such as These.
60
SOCIETY.
Hence, gloomy Spleen, and sullen Care!
Of black-stol'd Night, and horrid Hydra born,
That lead the Feet forlorn
All thro' the rueful Regions of Despair.
Hence, to the dark and dire Abode!
Where Folly mourns in superstition's Chain;
And Priests, devoutly vain,
Forsake each Virtue to adore their God.
Nor yet, ye deep immured Cells!
Nor yet, ye dim Glooms! ought have ye to please;
Where oft, the Mind's Disease,
Beating her lorn Breast, Melancholy dwells.
Far from these, I fly to Thee,
Blithe-eyed Nymph, Society;
In whose Dwelling, free, and fair,
Converse smooths the brow of Care;
Who, when waggish Wit betray'd
To his Arms a Sylvan Maid,
All beneath a Myrtle Tree,
In some Vale of Arcady,
Sprung, I ween, from such Embrace,
The lovely Contrast in her Face.
Of black-stol'd Night, and horrid Hydra born,
That lead the Feet forlorn
All thro' the rueful Regions of Despair.
Hence, to the dark and dire Abode!
Where Folly mourns in superstition's Chain;
And Priests, devoutly vain,
Forsake each Virtue to adore their God.
Nor yet, ye deep immured Cells!
Nor yet, ye dim Glooms! ought have ye to please;
Where oft, the Mind's Disease,
Beating her lorn Breast, Melancholy dwells.
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Blithe-eyed Nymph, Society;
In whose Dwelling, free, and fair,
Converse smooths the brow of Care;
Who, when waggish Wit betray'd
To his Arms a Sylvan Maid,
All beneath a Myrtle Tree,
In some Vale of Arcady,
Sprung, I ween, from such Embrace,
The lovely Contrast in her Face.
Perchance, the Muses, as They stray'd,
Seeking other Spring or Shade,
On the sweet Child cast an Eye,
In some Vale of Arcady;
And, blithest of the Sisters Three,
Gave her to Euphrosyne.
Seeking other Spring or Shade,
On the sweet Child cast an Eye,
In some Vale of Arcady;
And, blithest of the Sisters Three,
Gave her to Euphrosyne.
62
The Grace, delighted, taught her Care
The Cordial Smile, the placid Air;
How to chase, and how restrain
All the fleet ideal Train;
How with apt Words well combin'd
To form each Image of the Mind—
Taught Her how They disagree,
Aukward Fear, and Modesty,
And Freedom, and Rusticity.
True Politeness how to know,
From the superficial Shew;
From the Coxcomb's shallow Grace,
And the many-modell'd Face:
That Nature's unaffected Ease
More than studied Forms wou'd please:
When to check the sportive Vein;
When to Fancy give the Rein.
On the Subject when to be
Grave or gay, reserv'd or free:
The speaking Air, th' impassion'd Eye,
The living Soul of Symmetry;
And that soft Sympathy that binds
In magic Chains congenial Minds.
The Cordial Smile, the placid Air;
How to chase, and how restrain
All the fleet ideal Train;
How with apt Words well combin'd
To form each Image of the Mind—
Taught Her how They disagree,
Aukward Fear, and Modesty,
And Freedom, and Rusticity.
True Politeness how to know,
From the superficial Shew;
From the Coxcomb's shallow Grace,
And the many-modell'd Face:
That Nature's unaffected Ease
More than studied Forms wou'd please:
When to check the sportive Vein;
When to Fancy give the Rein.
63
Grave or gay, reserv'd or free:
The speaking Air, th' impassion'd Eye,
The living Soul of Symmetry;
And that soft Sympathy that binds
In magic Chains congenial Minds.
Memory, Mother of the Nine,
Led her oft to Learning's Shrine;
And taught Her, from the treasur'd Page
To cull the Flowers of every Age.
Led her oft to Learning's Shrine;
And taught Her, from the treasur'd Page
To cull the Flowers of every Age.
Hail, gentle Herald of the Heart!
Fraught with every pleasing Art;
On H*****'s silent Shades, a while,
“Sweet Queen of Parley“ deign to smile;
For Thee, an Hour I well cou'd spare,
Stol'n from Solitude and Care.
Fraught with every pleasing Art;
On H*****'s silent Shades, a while,
“Sweet Queen of Parley“ deign to smile;
For Thee, an Hour I well cou'd spare,
Stol'n from Solitude and Care.
89
TO D.r DEALTREE.
Dealtree, a Muse that knows Thee but by Fame,Adores thy Virtues, and wou'd save thy Name.
Thy Name! oh, Blindness of Poetic Rage!
Thy Name shall live beyond her latest Page.
Yes, while one Ray of Science lights the Mind,
While one Breast glows, and opens for Mankind;
Who e'er on Time's remotest Verge shall rise,
Humanely generous, and politely wise;
To Him if Heav'n it's choicest Gifts impart,
The Head sagacious, and the feeling Heart;
90
With Love of Man, with Love of Virtue fir'd.
Then shall thy Name by nobler Bards be Sung,
And Dealtree dwell once more on every Tongue.
98
To MISS. ---
In return for a Set of Reading-Ribbands.
The pleasing Gift that Anna made,
With gentle Hand, for Mem'ry's Aid,
The Mother of the Muses took,
And, smiling, plac'd it in Her Book.
“My Daughters now, said She, prepare
“Some meet Reward for Anna fair;
“Some grateful Present quickly find
“For Anna fair, for Anna kind,
“Polymnia, what can You afford?—
“Mamma, I'll tune her Harpsichord:
“For Her these fav'rite Airs I'll pack,
“And send Them on a Zephyr's Back.
With gentle Hand, for Mem'ry's Aid,
The Mother of the Muses took,
And, smiling, plac'd it in Her Book.
“My Daughters now, said She, prepare
“Some meet Reward for Anna fair;
“Some grateful Present quickly find
“For Anna fair, for Anna kind,
“Polymnia, what can You afford?—
“Mamma, I'll tune her Harpsichord:
99
“And send Them on a Zephyr's Back.
“No: let the pleasing Task be mine;
Said Clio, Queen of Verse divine.
“From Me the Fair shall learn the lofty Strain,
“Of Gods imbattled, and of Heroes slain.
“Recount the mighty Toils of War or Love,
“And launch the Bolts of Cupid, or of Jove.
Said Clio, Queen of Verse divine.
“From Me the Fair shall learn the lofty Strain,
“Of Gods imbattled, and of Heroes slain.
“Recount the mighty Toils of War or Love,
“And launch the Bolts of Cupid, or of Jove.
Urania rose, with Aspect mild;
She spoke; attentive Science smil'd.
“By me be Anna taught the Store
“Of Nature's philosophic Lore:
“Creation's various Works to scan,
“And trace her systematic Plan.
“What gives the refluent Ocean Law,
“And whence their Stores the Fountains draw:
“Why Planets still one Orbit hold,
“And start not from their Spheres of Gold.
She spoke; attentive Science smil'd.
“By me be Anna taught the Store
“Of Nature's philosophic Lore:
“Creation's various Works to scan,
“And trace her systematic Plan.
100
“And whence their Stores the Fountains draw:
“Why Planets still one Orbit hold,
“And start not from their Spheres of Gold.
Melpomene, the Muse of Woe,
Sighing, spoke in Accents slow.
“Can Music's sweet assuasive Charm,
“Can Song preserve the tuneful Breath?
“Can fair Philosophy disarm,
“Or sooth inexorable Death?
“Genius, and Wit, and Beauty wait
“The Mansions of the silent Urn:
“One tender Tear shall sooth her Fate;
“One tender Line for Anna mourn.
Arch Euterpe, smart and sly,
All this while was listening by.
“These pious Girls, to please their Mother,
Have made, said She, a mighty Pother.
“And now, for good King Phæbus' sake,
“What Offering shall Uterpe make?
“Polymnia, lavish of her Favours,
“Wou'd send a Zephyr-Load of Quavers.
“Sweet Sister Clio, still more stupid,
“Would tell some Tale of Captain Cupid.
“And thus They'd recompence the Fair—
“With what? — a Fiddle and a Bear.
“Urania, more polite than Cly,
“Wou'd introduce her to the Sky:
“But there are, whom I need not name,
“Some Persons of indifferent Fame;
“And no disreputable Planet
“Is proper Company for Nanette.
“The Sister of the tearful Eye,
“It seems, wou'd write her Elegy.
“'Tis kind; but, by my Pipe and Tabor,
“I'll save her Ladyship the Labour.
“For, from this Moment, Anna's Name
“I consecrate to deathless Fame.
Sighing, spoke in Accents slow.
“Can Music's sweet assuasive Charm,
“Can Song preserve the tuneful Breath?
“Can fair Philosophy disarm,
“Or sooth inexorable Death?
“Genius, and Wit, and Beauty wait
“The Mansions of the silent Urn:
“One tender Tear shall sooth her Fate;
“One tender Line for Anna mourn.
101
All this while was listening by.
“These pious Girls, to please their Mother,
Have made, said She, a mighty Pother.
“And now, for good King Phæbus' sake,
“What Offering shall Uterpe make?
“Polymnia, lavish of her Favours,
“Wou'd send a Zephyr-Load of Quavers.
“Sweet Sister Clio, still more stupid,
“Would tell some Tale of Captain Cupid.
“And thus They'd recompence the Fair—
“With what? — a Fiddle and a Bear.
“Urania, more polite than Cly,
“Wou'd introduce her to the Sky:
“But there are, whom I need not name,
“Some Persons of indifferent Fame;
102
“Is proper Company for Nanette.
“The Sister of the tearful Eye,
“It seems, wou'd write her Elegy.
“'Tis kind; but, by my Pipe and Tabor,
“I'll save her Ladyship the Labour.
“For, from this Moment, Anna's Name
“I consecrate to deathless Fame.
She spoke: the smiling Chorus rose:
Resounding Echos waft Applause:
“Io Pœan! dear to Fame,
“Ever dear be Anna's Name.
Resounding Echos waft Applause:
“Io Pœan! dear to Fame,
“Ever dear be Anna's Name.
103
To the same,
with DUNCOMBE's Feminead.
Apollo fairly tir'd one Day,
With making Verse, and making Hay,
(His Head reclin'd on Thetis' Breast)
Repos'd the World's great Eye in Rest;
When, with ill-tim'd Ambition fir'd,
Came Duncombe's Muse to be inspir'd.
Now, if the Books of Heaven be right,
'Squire Hermes kept the Doors that Night.
The God that loves a little Fun,
Conundrum quaint, or two-fac'd Pun,
Thus whisper'd in his Master's Ear;
“An't please your Grace, a Dun comes here:
“I'm sorry, Sir, but, 'faith, 'tis vain:
“The Rogue will certainly distrain.
“Poor Mrs. The will lose her Parrot,
“And you, my Lord! your Steeds and Chariot.
“Alas the Day! for want of Light,
“Poor Folks below are ruin'd quite.
“While Keil and Gargrave vainly hope
“To catch your Face in Telescope.
“Your Pardon, Sir! but I must tell ye,
“You'd better creep to some Whale's Belly.
“Here's many a one in these same Seas
“Wou'd take your Worship, when you please.
With making Verse, and making Hay,
(His Head reclin'd on Thetis' Breast)
Repos'd the World's great Eye in Rest;
When, with ill-tim'd Ambition fir'd,
Came Duncombe's Muse to be inspir'd.
Now, if the Books of Heaven be right,
'Squire Hermes kept the Doors that Night.
The God that loves a little Fun,
Conundrum quaint, or two-fac'd Pun,
Thus whisper'd in his Master's Ear;
“An't please your Grace, a Dun comes here:
104
“The Rogue will certainly distrain.
“Poor Mrs. The will lose her Parrot,
“And you, my Lord! your Steeds and Chariot.
“Alas the Day! for want of Light,
“Poor Folks below are ruin'd quite.
“While Keil and Gargrave vainly hope
“To catch your Face in Telescope.
“Your Pardon, Sir! but I must tell ye,
“You'd better creep to some Whale's Belly.
“Here's many a one in these same Seas
“Wou'd take your Worship, when you please.
The God, who now no longer slept,
Thus spoke, inrag'd; poor Thetis wept.
“That Bully, Mars, more rude than wise,
“The very Scandal of the Skies,
Is now come here to swear and hector,
Because He won five Bowls of Nectar.
Picquette, my Dear — nay never frown—
You know the whole is but a Crown.
By one poor Terce He chanc'd to win:
You, Porter, let the Rascal in.
Thus spoke, inrag'd; poor Thetis wept.
“That Bully, Mars, more rude than wise,
“The very Scandal of the Skies,
105
Because He won five Bowls of Nectar.
Picquette, my Dear — nay never frown—
You know the whole is but a Crown.
By one poor Terce He chanc'd to win:
You, Porter, let the Rascal in.
Sir Duncombe kneel'd and told his Suit:
Loud Hermes laugh'd—the God was mute.
But, willing to improve the Jest,
Dan Cupid like Himself He drest,
And lodg'd Him in the Poet's Breast.
Loud Hermes laugh'd—the God was mute.
But, willing to improve the Jest,
Dan Cupid like Himself He drest,
And lodg'd Him in the Poet's Breast.
'Twas thus the God of Love inspir'd
What Duncombe wrote, and You admir'd.
The Bard, at his all-mighty Call,
To please one Woman, prais'd Them all.
What Duncombe wrote, and You admir'd.
The Bard, at his all-mighty Call,
To please one Woman, prais'd Them all.
106
THE VAPOUR'D INDIAN.
A patriot Indian, fam'd of old;
By some strange Boding was foretold,
That, shou'd He let his Urine go,
The Plains of Bisnagar wou'd flow.
What! drown my Country! cries the Sage;
May Heav'n avert such impious Rage!
Once, shou'd I let this Engine play,
Swains, Flocks, and Folds were swept away,
The Tow'rs of Bisnagar wou'd fall,
And one wide Ruin swallow all.
No Doctors, let me burst, He cries—
Then sigh'd, and closer squeez'd his Thighs.
By some strange Boding was foretold,
That, shou'd He let his Urine go,
The Plains of Bisnagar wou'd flow.
What! drown my Country! cries the Sage;
May Heav'n avert such impious Rage!
Once, shou'd I let this Engine play,
Swains, Flocks, and Folds were swept away,
The Tow'rs of Bisnagar wou'd fall,
And one wide Ruin swallow all.
No Doctors, let me burst, He cries—
Then sigh'd, and closer squeez'd his Thighs.
107
A long-wig'd Wight, who smok'd th' Affair,
Some honest Garth of Bisnagar,
By Night, half-naked, out of Breath,
Flew to his Chamber, pale as Death.
“Thou Patriot Spirit! truly brave!
“Now, now, thy falling Country save.
“Wide-wasting Flames, impetuous, roll,
“And spread their Rage from Pole to Pole.
“Behold 'em there — now, now let fly,
“And Play thy Fountain thro' the Sky.
“O great Ton Kan! my Country's Father,
“Reply'd the Man who strain'd his Bladder,
Turn'd up to Heav'n his Eyes devout;
Then p*****, and put the Candle out.
Now who, good Reader, knows but you
May be a vapour'd Indian too?
Some Sage, that weigh the Brittle Lots
Of Kingdoms, and of Coffee-Pots.
Who, while You state the mighty Matter,
Scratch your wise Pate, and hold your Water.
Some Bard, perhaps, in lonely Garret,
Whose whole Day's Mess is half a Carrot.
Who still tag on th' eternal Chime,
As if to live were but to rhyme;
And swell the Bladder of your Brain;
Like the poor Indian, plagu'd in vain.
Some honest Garth of Bisnagar,
By Night, half-naked, out of Breath,
Flew to his Chamber, pale as Death.
“Thou Patriot Spirit! truly brave!
“Now, now, thy falling Country save.
“Wide-wasting Flames, impetuous, roll,
“And spread their Rage from Pole to Pole.
“Behold 'em there — now, now let fly,
“And Play thy Fountain thro' the Sky.
“O great Ton Kan! my Country's Father,
“Reply'd the Man who strain'd his Bladder,
Turn'd up to Heav'n his Eyes devout;
Then p*****, and put the Candle out.
Now who, good Reader, knows but you
May be a vapour'd Indian too?
108
Of Kingdoms, and of Coffee-Pots.
Who, while You state the mighty Matter,
Scratch your wise Pate, and hold your Water.
Some Bard, perhaps, in lonely Garret,
Whose whole Day's Mess is half a Carrot.
Who still tag on th' eternal Chime,
As if to live were but to rhyme;
And swell the Bladder of your Brain;
Like the poor Indian, plagu'd in vain.
109
THE ANTIQUARY.
Ho, all ye Antiquaries! learn
A curious Tale of Thomas Hearn.
In Oxford, Town of classic Knowledge,
Is many a Hall, and many a College.
Besides those lesser Domes, that wait,
As Servitors, upon the Great:
Where Science oft an Evening passes,
And smokes her Pipe, and drinks her Glasses.
Of these not least renown'd is that,
Where Whittington still strokes his Cat
A Symbol rare to rouse the Wish up;
A black-Shoe-Boy may be a Bishop.
To this same Hall, respected Name,
Sage Thomas Hearn one Evening came:
Sage Thomas was no modern Sot;
He smok'd one Pipe, and drank one Pot.
When, lo! a Wight of just discerning,
Averse to part with so much Learning,
Profoundly sigh'd; and, Hearn, He said,
This sacred Floor, on which we tread;
This Floor, profan'd by modern Potters,
And call'd a Pavement of Sheep's Trotters,
Is, oh, th' abuse of Things ill-fated!
A roman Pavement tessellated.
“Ha! what, quoth Thomas, let me see:
And down He fell with Extasy.
Fixt to the Ground in Transport lay,
And kiss'd some half an Hour away.
Behold Him, Reader, as He lies;
Immortal Rome before his Eyes!
Coins, Busts He views — a glorious Train—
And thinks his writings o'er again.
Of these not least was Stunsfield rated;
Stunsfield to Bacchus dedicated.
To Bacchus? 'faith! a lucky Thought:
“Bring Thomas Hearn another Pot.
A curious Tale of Thomas Hearn.
In Oxford, Town of classic Knowledge,
Is many a Hall, and many a College.
Besides those lesser Domes, that wait,
As Servitors, upon the Great:
Where Science oft an Evening passes,
And smokes her Pipe, and drinks her Glasses.
Of these not least renown'd is that,
Where Whittington still strokes his Cat
110
A black-Shoe-Boy may be a Bishop.
To this same Hall, respected Name,
Sage Thomas Hearn one Evening came:
Sage Thomas was no modern Sot;
He smok'd one Pipe, and drank one Pot.
When, lo! a Wight of just discerning,
Averse to part with so much Learning,
Profoundly sigh'd; and, Hearn, He said,
This sacred Floor, on which we tread;
This Floor, profan'd by modern Potters,
And call'd a Pavement of Sheep's Trotters,
Is, oh, th' abuse of Things ill-fated!
A roman Pavement tessellated.
“Ha! what, quoth Thomas, let me see:
And down He fell with Extasy.
111
And kiss'd some half an Hour away.
Behold Him, Reader, as He lies;
Immortal Rome before his Eyes!
Coins, Busts He views — a glorious Train—
And thinks his writings o'er again.
Of these not least was Stunsfield rated;
Stunsfield to Bacchus dedicated.
To Bacchus? 'faith! a lucky Thought:
“Bring Thomas Hearn another Pot.
The Rites went round; when, lo! the Sage
Seiz'd by the God's imperious Rage,
Or drawn by some attractive Power,
Sunk on the tessellated Floor.
Dan Phæbus then who always good is
To Man that writes, or Man that studies,
Saw Thomas thus disabled laid,
And sent two Printers to his Aid.
Who, spite of Bacchus, free from Harm,
Led off our Hero, Arm by Arm.
Seiz'd by the God's imperious Rage,
Or drawn by some attractive Power,
Sunk on the tessellated Floor.
112
To Man that writes, or Man that studies,
Saw Thomas thus disabled laid,
And sent two Printers to his Aid.
Who, spite of Bacchus, free from Harm,
Led off our Hero, Arm by Arm.
113
EPIGRAM.
My Chloe's as fickle, and light as a Feather,Yet I love her to Death; prithee, Dick, shou'd I wed Her?
That a Feather shou'd teaze you, quoth Dick, is not strange;
T'other Day, as I happen'd to pass thro' the Grange,
I saw Master Cupid from Doves and from Sparrows,
A-pilfering Feathers to stick in his Arrows.
The Urchin thus shoots You, then plucks out his Dart,
And leaves You the Feather to tickle your Heart.
114
On a Lady coquetting at Church.
Yes, Cælia, you're divinely fair,May laugh at Sermon, Praise and Prayer:
But, Cælia, is no Reverence due
To Him, whose Skill created You?
115
An EPITAPH on William Spencer Esq. and his Lady.
Interr'd beneath this Monumental Stone,
Fast by the gentle Partner of his Breast,
No more unhappy, as no more alone,
In sacred Silence, Spencer's Ashes rest.
Fast by the gentle Partner of his Breast,
No more unhappy, as no more alone,
In sacred Silence, Spencer's Ashes rest.
Unfeeling Death! too soon he snatch'd the Fair;
Unmov'd tho' every Excellence of Life,
Tho' every Grace solicited to spare
The tender Parent, and the duteous Wife.
Unmov'd tho' every Excellence of Life,
Tho' every Grace solicited to spare
The tender Parent, and the duteous Wife.
Depriv'd of Her, whose gentle Smiles endear'd,
Whose Love embrighten'd Life's declining Ray,
Sweet Hope no more the mourning Husband chear'd,
'Till sunk in Death the slow-departing Day.
Whose Love embrighten'd Life's declining Ray,
116
'Till sunk in Death the slow-departing Day.
In Friendship generous, in Devotion warm,
Exhorting others to the Paths He trod,
He taught each Virtue in Himself to charm,
And sav'd his Brother, while He serv'd his God.
Exhorting others to the Paths He trod,
He taught each Virtue in Himself to charm,
And sav'd his Brother, while He serv'd his God.
Lamented Pair! within this hallow'd Shrine,
Near as your Loves, your mingled Dust shall lie:
'Till rous'd together by the Voice Divine;
The same on Earth, united in the Sky.
Near as your Loves, your mingled Dust shall lie:
'Till rous'd together by the Voice Divine;
The same on Earth, united in the Sky.
124
Written after being wak'd at Midnight by the Ringing of the Parish-Bells.
Peace then ye loud-tongu'd Nuncios of the Grave!Whose brazen Breasts, cold as the Hand of Death,
Can feel no Sympathy, save from the Touch
Of surly Sexton—why, at this dead Hour,
Drive ye soft Slumbers from your Master's Eyes?
Peace with that Iron-Peal that rends mine Ear,
Tumultuosly sonorous—what! ring round
To the rude Roar of rustic Revelry—!
While I in vain am courting close-ey'd Sleep
To spread his dark Veil o'er my pensive Heart,
To chain each Passion, and, with magic Power,
Let loose Oblivion on the Dogs of Care.
125
Thro' these still Shades, your heavy sounding Knell
Shall send the Tidings of Menalcas' Death.
Yet not in vain, if, chance, at Evening-Hour,
Some Villager, returning from his Toil,
Lean on his Spade, and think one moral Thought.
If, 'chance, Aurelia shed one tender Tear,
Or breathe one kind Wish—not so much in vain.
But, ah, shou'd She—which yet may Heav'n avert—
Shou'd She, the Victim of unfeeling Fate,
First fall—be dumb—one Sound wou'd rend my Heart.
126
Dialogue between Richard and Henry, Two Shepherds in Swaledale,
on the Death of his Late Majesty.
Richard came knitting o'er the Green,With pensive Step, and thoughtful Mien:
'Twas Noon; and Neighbour Hal He spied,
A-dozing on the Dunghill Side.
Hal saw a Wonder in his Face—
“Prithee, Friend Richard, speak thy Case.
“Hal, prick thy Ears; here's News anon;
“The King, the King is dead and gone.
“The King! quoth Hal—that's News apace—
“And, prithee, who shall have his Place?
127
“Either Sir George, or else the Stewart.
“Pray God, that neither raise my Rent!
“Richard, quoth Hal, and I'm content.
128
COWLEY mouse-eaten:
In his own Style.
Now, Curses on Ye all, Ye nibbling Train,
Whom neither Fame, nor Wit cou'd move;
Nor, that best Marksman, Love,
Drive with his strong Bow from his fav'rite Swain.
Whom neither Fame, nor Wit cou'd move;
Nor, that best Marksman, Love,
Drive with his strong Bow from his fav'rite Swain.
Ah! why did ye not wreak your hungry Rage
On some dark Schoolman's lumber Head,
Or Commentator dead?
Methinks, They might have spar'd You many a Page.
On some dark Schoolman's lumber Head,
Or Commentator dead?
Methinks, They might have spar'd You many a Page.
129
But ye, no doubt, had in some Court been bred,
Like that Cit-Mouse, as Horace sings,
That liv'd on better Things,
Than oaten Ears, or Scraps of mouldy Bread.
Like that Cit-Mouse, as Horace sings,
That liv'd on better Things,
Than oaten Ears, or Scraps of mouldy Bread.
Be what Ye may—but shou'd Ye dare to gnaw
My Cowley's Leaves, You'll find, I trow,
Some harder Cheese to chew,
Within a Trap of Wire, or grey Grimalkin's Paw.
My Cowley's Leaves, You'll find, I trow,
Some harder Cheese to chew,
Within a Trap of Wire, or grey Grimalkin's Paw.
131
ODE On MEDIOCRITY
Queen of my Heart! whose happy Reign
The early Sons of Nature lov'd;
Shalt Thou, dear Liberty, complain,
Thy sacred Laws no more approv'd?
In this dark Age, these wretched Days,
No more thy social Altars blaze?
The early Sons of Nature lov'd;
Shalt Thou, dear Liberty, complain,
Thy sacred Laws no more approv'd?
In this dark Age, these wretched Days,
No more thy social Altars blaze?
133
Thro' Error's endless Maze we stray,
Slaves, willing Slaves, thy Sweets forego;
And cast thy native Joys away,
For specious Hopes, and spendid Woe.
In vain We gild the servile Pain,
And cloath with Gold an Iron Chain.
Slaves, willing Slaves, thy Sweets forego;
And cast thy native Joys away,
For specious Hopes, and spendid Woe.
In vain We gild the servile Pain,
And cloath with Gold an Iron Chain.
Lives there a Sage whose peaceful Mind
Has still one equal Tenor known;
Lord of Himself, that, unconfin'd,
Can call the passing Hour his own?
To Him, to Him I'll Homage pay;
His sacred Laws my Heart shall sway.
Has still one equal Tenor known;
Lord of Himself, that, unconfin'd,
Can call the passing Hour his own?
To Him, to Him I'll Homage pay;
His sacred Laws my Heart shall sway.
She comes, She comes—ingenuous Fair!
Aloft on Wings of Fire I soar;
Hail peaceful Realms of purer Air!
Hail Regions unperceiv'd before!
O Goddess, wake the vocal Lay;
The Scenes, thy Hand has form'd, display.
Aloft on Wings of Fire I soar;
Hail peaceful Realms of purer Air!
135
O Goddess, wake the vocal Lay;
The Scenes, thy Hand has form'd, display.
Embosom'd in the friendly Shore,
Beneath whose Banks the wild Sea raves,
While Fortune thro' the madd'ning Roar,
Drives the proud Vessels of her Slaves,
Here the safe Bark a Refuge finds,
No more the Sport of Waves, and Winds.
Beneath whose Banks the wild Sea raves,
While Fortune thro' the madd'ning Roar,
Drives the proud Vessels of her Slaves,
Here the safe Bark a Refuge finds,
No more the Sport of Waves, and Winds.
On the tall Beach's lonely Side,
Whence, as the wand'ring Eye surveys
The torn Wreck on the distant Tide,
We feel our Safety while We gaze;
Behold a rustic Temple stand!
The Work of Nature's antient Hand.
Whence, as the wand'ring Eye surveys
The torn Wreck on the distant Tide,
We feel our Safety while We gaze;
Behold a rustic Temple stand!
The Work of Nature's antient Hand.
137
Here, by immortal Wisdom led,
Dwells Mediocrity serene;
Where never Plutus dar'd to tread,
Or revel in the peaceful Scene.
Here flourish by her forming Care,
The Pleasures pure, the Virtues fair.
Dwells Mediocrity serene;
Where never Plutus dar'd to tread,
Or revel in the peaceful Scene.
Here flourish by her forming Care,
The Pleasures pure, the Virtues fair.
O Goddess! Thee the thoughtless Crowd,
Seduc'd by each false Idol, flies;
The vain, the Empty, and the Proud—
Thy only Subjects are the Wise.
These seek thy Paths with nobler Aim,
By Wisdom lead to deathless Fame.
Seduc'd by each false Idol, flies;
The vain, the Empty, and the Proud—
Thy only Subjects are the Wise.
These seek thy Paths with nobler Aim,
By Wisdom lead to deathless Fame.
To thy Retreat, fair Nymph! We owe
Each tender Bard of Verse divine,
Whom Fortune never taught to bow,
A Suppliant at her painted Shrine;
Nor freezing Penury confin'd,
Whose cold Hand chills the genial Mind.
Each tender Bard of Verse divine,
Whom Fortune never taught to bow,
139
Nor freezing Penury confin'd,
Whose cold Hand chills the genial Mind.
In vain Thou slights't the flow'ry Crown
That Fame wreathes round thy favour'd Head,
Whilst laurel'd Victory and Renown
Seek their lov'd Heroes in thy Shade;
There form'd, from courtly Softness free,
By rigid Virtue and by Thee.
That Fame wreathes round thy favour'd Head,
Whilst laurel'd Victory and Renown
Seek their lov'd Heroes in thy Shade;
There form'd, from courtly Softness free,
By rigid Virtue and by Thee.
By Thee were form'd, from Cities far,
Fabricius just, Camillus wise,
Those philosophic Sons of War,
That, from Imperial Dignities
Returning, plough'd their native Plain,
And plac'd their Laurels in thy Fane.
Fabricius just, Camillus wise,
Those philosophic Sons of War,
That, from Imperial Dignities
Returning, plough'd their native Plain,
And plac'd their Laurels in thy Fane.
141
Thrice happy He thro' whose calm Breast
The Smiles of peaceful Wisdom play;
With all thy sober Charms possest,
Whose Wishes never learn'd to stray.
Wrapt in the Joys of Truth alone,
Who laughs at Follies not his own.
The Smiles of peaceful Wisdom play;
With all thy sober Charms possest,
Whose Wishes never learn'd to stray.
Wrapt in the Joys of Truth alone,
Who laughs at Follies not his own.
Far from the Crowd's low-thoughted Strife,
From all that bounds fair Freedom's Aim;
He envies not the Pomp of Life,
A Length of Rent-Roll, or of Name.
Thus safe He views the Vale-grown Elm,
While Thunder-sounding storms the Mountain-Pine o'erwhelm.
From all that bounds fair Freedom's Aim;
He envies not the Pomp of Life,
A Length of Rent-Roll, or of Name.
Thus safe He views the Vale-grown Elm,
While Thunder-sounding storms the Mountain-Pine o'erwhelm.
143
To Him black Censure brings no Dread;
No Frown He fears from vulgar Eyes,
Whose Thought by nobler Prospects led,
Far, far o'er their Horizon flies:
With Reason's Suffrage at his Side,
Whose firm Heart rests self-satisfied.
No Frown He fears from vulgar Eyes,
Whose Thought by nobler Prospects led,
Far, far o'er their Horizon flies:
With Reason's Suffrage at his Side,
Whose firm Heart rests self-satisfied.
And while alternate Conquest sways
The northern or the southern Shore,
He smiles at Fortune's giddy Maze,
And calmly hears the rude Storms roar:
Nay shou'd They Nature's Vitals tear,
Her parting Groan He'd calmly hear.
The northern or the southern Shore,
He smiles at Fortune's giddy Maze,
And calmly hears the rude Storms roar:
Nay shou'd They Nature's Vitals tear,
Her parting Groan He'd calmly hear.
Such are the faithful Hearts you love,
O Friendship fair! immortal Maid!
The few Caprice cou'd never move;
The few whom Interest never sway'd,
Nor shed, unseen, with Hate refin'd,
Envy's fell Poisons o'er the Mind.
O Friendship fair! immortal Maid!
The few Caprice cou'd never move;
145
Nor shed, unseen, with Hate refin'd,
Envy's fell Poisons o'er the Mind.
Soft Sleep that lov'st the peaceful Cell!
On these descends thy balmy Power,
While no terrific Dreams dispel
The Slumbers of the sober Hour;
Which oft array'd in Darkness drear,
Wake the wild Eye of Pride to Fear.
On these descends thy balmy Power,
While no terrific Dreams dispel
The Slumbers of the sober Hour;
Which oft array'd in Darkness drear,
Wake the wild Eye of Pride to Fear.
In Joys like these—all Life can yield—
Once Sidon's Monarch liv'd unknown;
And sigh'd to leave his little Field,
For the long Splendors of a Throne.
There once more happy, and more free,
Than rank'd with Dido's Ancestry.
Once Sidon's Monarch liv'd unknown;
And sigh'd to leave his little Field,
For the long Splendors of a Throne.
There once more happy, and more free,
Than rank'd with Dido's Ancestry.
147
With these pacific Virtues blest,
These Charms of Philosophic Ease,
Wrapt in your sweet Trivolis Rest,
You pass, dear R****, your useful Days.
Where Cher your silent Vallies laves,
And pays the Loir her tributary Waves.
These Charms of Philosophic Ease,
Wrapt in your sweet Trivolis Rest,
You pass, dear R****, your useful Days.
Where Cher your silent Vallies laves,
And pays the Loir her tributary Waves.
Shou'd Life's more publick Scenes engage
Your Time that thus consistent flows,
And, following still these Maxims sage,
For ever brings the same Repose,
Your Worth may greater Fame procure;
But hope not Happiness so pure.
Your Time that thus consistent flows,
And, following still these Maxims sage,
For ever brings the same Repose,
Your Worth may greater Fame procure;
But hope not Happiness so pure.
149
Description of the Egyptian Darkness
from the Book of Wisdom.
Once more th' Oppressor o'er the Sons of HeavenLifts the stern Eye-brow, and the scourging Arm.
When, lo! Amazement! the black Veil of Night
Fell instant o'er the World, and one dread Gloom
Imprison'd Nature. Ah! where then the Hope
To hide the conscious Crime! Guilt sunk appall'd,
By the blue Torch of griesly Horror led,
When the pale Spectre and the vengeful Fiend
Thro' tenfold Darkness frown'd—In vain they sought
151
By conscious Fear pursued—Now the long Noise
Of sounding Cataracts shook the Ear; and now
At the dire vision starts the trembling Eye.
No Light emitted from the kindled Flame
Pierc'd the thick-woven Gloom; the golden Stars,
As frighted at the strange opaque, retir'd,
Nor shed one twinkling Ray. Yet Fancy saw,
Or thought She saw, thro' Fear's illusive Eye
Strange Fires of unknown Blaze, glow terrible,
Self-kindled where the Mock-Magician now
Boastful to charm the troubled Brain, and lay
The Spectres of the Mind—sick, sick he lies,
153
Shrinks at the Sound of passing Savages,
Or hears the Hiss of Serpents—thinking now
The passive Air remov'd, and in it's stead
Material Darkness—Darkness to be felt.
'Tis Vice—'tis Guilt that, self-convicted feels
The Scourge of Fear—of Fear that renders vain
The Aid of Reason. When depriv'd of Hope,
Painful Uncertainty suspends the Mind,
And adds new Horrors to approaching Evils.
155
As issued from the inmost Caves of Hell,
Pale Apparitions in his ghastly Train,
And Fiends, and Dæmons dire. Then the Heart fail'd,
And Reason, Fortitude and Manhood fled.
Still Darkness reign'd, in whose firm fetters bound
A Nation groan'd—strange Prison without Bar!
The black Night gloom'd: the Peasant stopt his Plough
In the half-finish'd Furrow—from his Lip
The Shepherd's Pipe fell tuneless, and, dismay'd,
The Traveller stood still—'Twas Terror all:
Each whispering Breeze, the Voice of Beast or Bird,
The murmuring Water-fall & waving Tree
157
Some Tower with thundering Ruin to the Ground,
If heard the rapid Steps of Beasts unseen,
The Roar of Savages, or Echo's Voice
Rebounding from the Mountain's hollow Side,
'Twas Death, or mute Amazement—Yet o'er these,
O'er Egypt's Sons alone had Darkness spread
Her sable Wing—all else had shining Day.
Dread Darkness! Image of that dismal Night,
Reserv'd for Guilt; and of it's own dire hue.
162
Description of HEAVEN
No vital Bread, no cordial Wine
Shall store the Board or Bowl:
Th' essential Power of Life divine
Exists in every Soul.
Shall store the Board or Bowl:
Th' essential Power of Life divine
Exists in every Soul.
No Pomp of Wealth, no art-wrought Vest,
The Sons of Heaven demand,
In uncreated Glory drest
By God's almighty Hand.
The Sons of Heaven demand,
In uncreated Glory drest
By God's almighty Hand.
163
In vain with Him it's feeble Blaze
Would human Pomp display,
Whose Aspect dims the solar Rays,
Whose Smile is endless Day.
Would human Pomp display,
Whose Aspect dims the solar Rays,
Whose Smile is endless Day.
There dwells Repose that knows no Pain,
And Joy's eternal Tide:
Oh! haste that Heaven of Bliss to gain,
'Tis Folly all beside.
And Joy's eternal Tide:
Oh! haste that Heaven of Bliss to gain,
'Tis Folly all beside.
180
FINIS.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |