University of Virginia Library

MISCELLANEOUS VERSES.

THE ROSE-TREE, THE GARDENER, AND THE SHRUBS.

UPON THE CONNEXION OF THE AUTHOR

WITH TWO FRIENDS OF GREAT EMINENCE IN LITERATURE.

While ye, the planets of sublimer size,
Form your bright empire in fair Friendship's skies;
While to each others orb approaching near,
Co-heirs of light, ye rule the glowing sphere;
While darkling mortals scarce endure the rays,
And feed their famish'd tapers at your blaze,
May my faint star—just travell'd into sight—
Reflect soft lustre from your guardian light;
Full in the front of Heav'n, while ye shall shine,
Some part, less honour'd, yet in view be mine.
Remote and trembling, tho' my star must gleam,
Your Friendship lends a glory to the beam.

TO DOCTOR LETTSOM,

WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF THE AUTHOR'S WORKS.

To thee my best Physician and my friend,
This varied garland of the Muse I send;
Her different powers to thee by right belong,
Thou “master of the poet and the song:”
Oft as I droop'd beneath the toil of thought,
Thy skilful hand the balm restoring brought;
And while thy converse sooth'd my sinking heart,
That skilful hand reliev'd the mortal part;
O take the wreathe then which thy patient wove,
O take the tribute of the Muse you love!

TO Mrs. SIDDONS's CHILDREN,

SUGGESTED BY SEEING THEM DRAWN IN THE SAME PICTURE.

THE OPENING OF THE NINTH BOOK OF THE HENRIADE TRANSLATED .

On the fair confines of Idalia's shore.
Where Europe ends, and Asia opes her store,
Love's ancient palace rears its rev'rend head,
Whose rich foundations were by Nature laid;
Whose beauteous structure, Art, her rival, grac'd
With finest touches of peculiar taste.
There, all the charming neighbourhood around,
Perpetual summer paints the smiling ground.
To wave the myrtle, and to woo the rose,
The tender South is all the gale that blows;
Sun, without cloud, exerts a fostering power,
The clime to suckle in eternal flower.
Pomona triumphs o'er her burnish'd bough,
And Terra asks no profits from the plough;
Superior Nature smiles at Mortal aid,
And spurns alike the sickle and the spade.
Spontaneous harvests glad the roving sight,
And peace and plenty urge to soft delight.
Here, once again, the times of gold appear,
And every charm, but—Innocence is here;
No jarring jargon of a world at strife
Pervades the am'rous languishments of life,
But touching airs, which harmony inspires,
Trill to the softness of a thousand lyres;
A thousand lovers tune the tender voice,
And, amiably weak, defend their choice;
The blest enthusiasts drown the sense of wrong
In the sweet chorus of th' impassion'd song.
Fresh wreaths of rose their fragrant fronts adorn,
From Flora's bosom pillag'd every morn;
Half-naked Graces near the Temple stand,
To add new converts to Love's happy land;
Or else repos'd on beds of rising flowers,
In touching silence try their various powers—
The care that melts, the tender breathing sigh,
The whisp'ring wish, the pleasure-moving eye,
The anxious hope, the tear that tells desire.
The smile of frolic, and the blush of fire.

THE CASKET. TO A FRIEND UNDER PAIN FROM A FEW POINTED OBSERVATIONS.

The Casket of Friendship is fair to behold,
With spangles of silver and studdings like gold,
The surface is fillagree'd o'er with such care,
The Graces themselves were the artists you'd swear;
So bright to the eye, and so smooth to the feel,
It glows like a mirror of well polish'd steel;
Yet nothing so brittle in nature or art,
Unless it within holds the gem of the heart;
Unless the fair jewel of truth is there hid,
And the hand of sincerity opens the lid.
Thou and I, my dear Mary, this diamond have seen,
Allow'd it is splendid, confess'd it is keen,
Its wonderful double properties often have found,
Severely to cut, and then shine on the wound;
Yet deep tho' the puncture, and potent the smart,
Too pure is the temper to fester the heart,
The balm of affection soon softens the pain,
And we wish the kind weapon to wound us again;
Yet thou, my lov'd Mary, hast little to fear,
For seldom the brilliant shall cost thee a tear!
'Twill oft on thy virtues transcendently shine,
And reflect from their brightness a ray more divine,
And if at thy foibles it strike now and then,
Where THOU suffer'st for one,—I shall suffer for ten!

WRITTEN EXTEMPORE

ON RECEIVING A LOCKET.

Precious gift! O may'st thou rest,
Dear associate of my breast!
Happy shall I, Clara, be,
Thus possessing part of thee!
While affection fond as fair,
Forms a chain of every hair,
A chain, which round the willing mind,
Sensibility shall bind.

TO MISS SAWBRIDGE.

PRESENTED WITH EMMA CORBETT, FROM THE AUTHOR.

Sweet Anna! In these mournful pages see,
All that the Muse can wish may meet in thee;
Be thou, like Emma, fam'd for tender truth,
Like Henry constant be thy favour'd youth;
Yet may thy Henry in thy Fathers cause,
Stand forth the champion of insulted laws;
Like patriot Edwards' be thy Hero's heart,
And should he fall, be thine Louisa's part;
Like Raymond, should'st thou e'er a lover find,
To hapless passion be like Emma kind;
Pity the fondness sighs alone reveal,
And gently soothe the wounds thou can'st not heal,
Obey, like Emma, all that faith requires,
And dare, like her, avow what Heav'n inspires;
But, ah may here the wish'd resemblance end,
And on thy fortunes happier fates attend,
Never sweet Anna, never mayst thou prove,
Her bleeding trials of unshaken love!

MRS. SHERIDAN ON HER BROTHER'S LYRE.

HER BROTHER's LYRE

TO MRS. SHERIDAN.

LINES,

BY A LADY, ON SEEING SOME WHITE HAIRS ON HER LOVER'S HEAD.

TIME's ANSWER.

TO MISS C. BRACKENBURY, OF COPT-FOLD-HALL, IN ESSEX.

Invoking Fortune yet losing the Raffle.

As Fortune from her birth was blind,
We should not call the dame unkind,
When worth and beauty she forsakes,
We ought to pity her mistakes;
That ladies lose what coxcombs win,
Is more her sorrow than her sin;
And tho' she show'rs her favours down
On blockheads, who deserve her frown;
On Pride bestows a coach and six,
And plays a thousand silly tricks;
To Folly gives the prosp'ring gale,
Neglecting Wisdom in the vale;
Mounts Vice upon her golden throne,
While cottag'd Virtue weeps alone,
At random lends a title here,
Refusing ev'ry honor there.
Now gives the knave a lucky hit,
Plumps the dull rogue and starves the wit,
Tho' 'tis confess'd she ev'ry hour
Discovers some abuse of power;
And tho' she blunder'd yester night,
What doth it prove, but want of sight?
Poor Goddess! could she but have seen,
Her Brackenbury's ardent mein,
Th' impassion'd glow, the anxious air,
That guard the hope illumin'd fair;
O had she but the gift of eyes
None else had born away the prize!
Perhaps, in wisdom, 'tis design'd
The Goddess should continue blind;
Fortune and Love restor'd to sight,
What mischief had been done last night,
Both had resign'd their wheels and darts,
And gain'd their eyes—to lose their hearts.

TO THE SAME,

WITH THE FEMALE FABLES.

Fit gift for widow, maid, and wife,
Accept these rules of female life,
Where Fiction lends new charms to Truth,
Combining both, as friends to youth;
The duty of your sex behold,
By birds, and beasts, and flow'rets told,
Here insects preach like sound divines,
Each tree a tree of knowledge shines.
A lesson for the coxcomb's heart,
The flirting sparrow shall impart;
The tender turtle and the bee,
Shall murmur love and industry;
In the lamb's bleat you'll precepts find
To shun the wolves of human kind;
The generous horse will nobly show,
What with your flatterers you should do;
The glow worms of your sex how vain,
You learn from Philomela's strain;
The serious owl, and simple goose,
Harangue in verse for female use;
And the young lion bids you 'scape
All friendship with the human ape,
And every leaf and every bower
Unfolds a salutary power,
While all with one loud voice declare,
What women should be—what you are.

A SILFPHID's GREETING,

CARRIED BY ZEPHIR TO DR. DELACOUR, On Miss Fanny Gould's Recovery from a dangerous Illness.

THE TWO LEECHES

TO MRS. CLUTTERBUCK.

On Chlora's temples, agoniz'd with pain,
The Doctors tried their art, but tried in vain;
Long they disputed about cold and heat,
The pang increasing whilst they fix its seat;
Some said 'twas from the teeth, some from the head,
Some counsell'd air, and some advis'd a bed:
This man of medicene shew'd a Sovereign Bill,
That gave a drop which conquer'd every ill;
Cold water one, another brandy hot,
Ten swore 'twas rheumatism, ten swore not;
Nostrums infalliable by loads she swallow'd,
But not one drop of promis'd comfort follow'd;
Drug, blister, bolus, lotion, potion, draught,
All things but ease the learned sages brought.
At length, unsluice rare beauties crimson tide,
Lovers of blood, two Leeches were applied;
The happy creatures, conscious of the place,
Sport round the regions of her charming face:
Now press the roses bleeding on her cheek,
Now in the lillies of her beauteous neck;
Their jelly lips luxuriously they steep,
And to the confines of her bosom creep,
There, where the whole Sorbonne might wish to rest,
They spot with blood the snow drop on her breast:
Thence to the fiery elements they rise
And madly dare the sun-beams of her eyes,
Presumptuous grown, hear those they fix at last,
But soon repent them of the rich repast.
From Chlora's cheek the fatal nectar came,
From Chlora's eyes shot forth the fatal flame;
Lovesick and blind at last they yield their breath,
Drank deep, look'd long, and tasted certain death;
Such streams, such fires unable to endure,
They fell by Chlora, yet were Chlora's cure;
Lovers beware, nor rashly come too nigh,
Nor hope to live where sanguine leeches die.

THE PASSION FLOWER

TO MIRA.

ACREONTIC BURLESQUE.

TO MR. MURRAY.

A PORTRAIT.

In the manner of Swift.

A vacant visage, bursting red;
A paralitic shake of head:
A paunch, brimful of various meats;
Impregnate with intestine heats,
Of bak'd and boil'd, all helter skelter,
Sore driv'n by stress of wind and weather.
A double range of yellow bone,
Where fat of oxen chew'd, goes down,
Even till it swims in that red sea
Y'Clpt the gulp of gluttony;
A hoarse, harsh voice, whose lightest sounds,
Seems from some cavern under ground,
A capon's gill, a collop'd chin,
With flesh that swells the tighten'd skin;
Bowels, which look a rood about,
As ripe to split and wamble out;
An atlas back of human brawn;
A mouth into a swines-snout drawn;
An eye that fixes in its socket
Faster than binding bars could lock it;
A squabby neck, a roomy chest;
A more than mountains monstrous breast;
Sinews—oh Herculus like thine!
God keep them from this frame of mine!
A thigh, of column'd dome the type,
A fist—save, save me from its gripe!
A wig that veils the shaven scull!
A wig of one vast Nothing full;
A bottom—Heav'n our chairs befriend!
Be ours, unlike—his latter end.

A LOVER'S QUARREL.

IN THE MANNER OF PRIOR.

At length the angry Chloe swore,
With Strephon she would talk no more;
At this the swain, as stout as she,
No more would angry Chloe see;
Both rose to part, then sat them down,
While now they smile, and now they frown;
On Jove they call'd to bind the oath,
While Cupid slily laught at both.
Jove ask'd the reason of the 'fray?
“Only two simpletoms at play,
“Cries Cupid, with my bow and arrows;
“Anon they'll bill like doves and sparrows,
“Your Godship knows, when lovers swear
“Th' unmeaning vows disperse in air,
“Nay, more my Lord, well you and I know,
“You break them off with Madam Juno;”
Jove shook his sides, and mildly said,
“Child, put the silly things to bed,
“And if they there must make a rout,
“Do you stand by—and see it out.”