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 | The village curate and other poems |  |
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TO THE MEMORY OF THE AUTHOR OF THE VILLAGE CURATE, &c.
BY A FRIEND.
Sweet Bard, whose pencil could with Nature's vie,
To thee shall no kind friend one tribute pay?
And shall the ground, where thy cold relics lie,
Be still unhallow'd by the Muse's lay?
To thee shall no kind friend one tribute pay?
And shall the ground, where thy cold relics lie,
Be still unhallow'd by the Muse's lay?
Yet not inglorious in thy coffin sleeps
With thee that song, whose beauty charms the soul:
Still shall the virgin, as with thee she weeps,
O'er all her senses own thy soft control.
With thee that song, whose beauty charms the soul:
Still shall the virgin, as with thee she weeps,
O'er all her senses own thy soft control.
While Pity reads the tributary verse
Thy hand inscrib'd upon a sister's bier,
Fancy shall view the slow-proceeding hearse,
And with the mourner's mix her sacred tear:
Thy hand inscrib'd upon a sister's bier,
Fancy shall view the slow-proceeding hearse,
And with the mourner's mix her sacred tear:
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Shall feel, when dust on dust is thrown, the sound
Strike deep on each warm fibre of the heart,
And tell with solemn voice to all around,
‘That hour must come, when love from love must part.’
Strike deep on each warm fibre of the heart,
And tell with solemn voice to all around,
‘That hour must come, when love from love must part.’
Yet shall thy muse excite by turns to joy,
And to the mind her fairer views disclose:
For why should sorrow all our thoughts employ,
Why waste our years in unavailing woes?
And to the mind her fairer views disclose:
For why should sorrow all our thoughts employ,
Why waste our years in unavailing woes?
With thee, sweet Bard, we tread thy village lawn,
And taste each pleasure of thy rural scene;
Mark with thy raptur'd eye the flecker'd dawn,
When June's gay month has deck'd the world in green:
And taste each pleasure of thy rural scene;
Mark with thy raptur'd eye the flecker'd dawn,
When June's gay month has deck'd the world in green:
And then when Evening comes, a pilgrim sad,
Each livelier tint of Nature's face to shroud;
While rising slow, in silver mantle clad,
The moon hangs pillow'd on an eastern cloud;
Each livelier tint of Nature's face to shroud;
While rising slow, in silver mantle clad,
The moon hangs pillow'd on an eastern cloud;
We hear thy nightingale her anthem raise,
Amidst the stilness of thy quiet grove;
While thine own organ with accordant praise
Swells the loud notes of gratitude and love.
Amidst the stilness of thy quiet grove;
While thine own organ with accordant praise
Swells the loud notes of gratitude and love.
Or in thy study, fill'd with ancient lore,
Where learning smil'd upon thy peaceful hours,
We see thee seated midst a numerous store,
Culling fresh fragrance from the Muse's flowers:
Where learning smil'd upon thy peaceful hours,
We see thee seated midst a numerous store,
Culling fresh fragrance from the Muse's flowers:
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Or proudly marshalling thy classic bands,
Where all, well rang'd, in gilded livery shine;
As some great leader midst his army stands,
And darts his eye along the goodly line.
Where all, well rang'd, in gilded livery shine;
As some great leader midst his army stands,
And darts his eye along the goodly line.
Oh, blameless triumph! and oh, blest mankind,
Had the world's victors been content, like thee,
The wreath of science on their brows to bind,
And sought such laurels as with Peace agree!
Had the world's victors been content, like thee,
The wreath of science on their brows to bind,
And sought such laurels as with Peace agree!
Far happier thou! of nature's charms to sing,
Thine was the lot, from din of arms retir'd;
To rise from earth on Contemplation's wing,
By Faith, by Hope, by Charity inspir'd.
Thine was the lot, from din of arms retir'd;
To rise from earth on Contemplation's wing,
By Faith, by Hope, by Charity inspir'd.
'Twas thine with Peace the rural shades to rove,
To taste the bliss domestic life bestows;
To feel the fondness of thy sisters' love,
Their joys to heighten, and to sooth their woes.
To taste the bliss domestic life bestows;
To feel the fondness of thy sisters' love,
Their joys to heighten, and to sooth their woes.
'Twas thine with these to pass the studious day;
To blend with Hurdis, Cowper's honour'd name;
To charm his fancy with thy woodland lay,
To share his friendship, and partake his fame.
To blend with Hurdis, Cowper's honour'd name;
To charm his fancy with thy woodland lay,
To share his friendship, and partake his fame.
Nor didst thou wake thy heavenly harp in vain:
Though cold's the hand that strung th'immortal lyre,
Still soft Compassion listens to the strain,
And hangs enchanted o'er the trembling wire.
Though cold's the hand that strung th'immortal lyre,
Still soft Compassion listens to the strain,
And hangs enchanted o'er the trembling wire.
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E'en from the tomb such sweet vibrations ring,
As steal from Princesses the trickling tear;
So Love fraternal struck the sorrowing string,
That matron Majesty bows down to hear.
As steal from Princesses the trickling tear;
So Love fraternal struck the sorrowing string,
That matron Majesty bows down to hear.
And, oh! what jewel on a Prince's brow
Shines like the drop, which Pity's grief betrays?
'Tis this that pales the ruby's living glow,
And dims the brightness of the diamond's blaze.
Shines like the drop, which Pity's grief betrays?
'Tis this that pales the ruby's living glow,
And dims the brightness of the diamond's blaze.
P. H. Magd. Coll.
275
MISCELLANIES.
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TO A SISTER.
When kind Cecilia welcom'd to her breast
The finch the schoolboy pilfer'd from its nest;
And fed the nursling till its plumage grew,
And its firm pinions with full vigour flew,
She ope'd her chamber in the blaze of day,
And bade the feather'd foundling post away.
‘Go little bird, to range the field be thine,
To give thee liberty and life was mine;
No ransom ask I, recompens'd enow,
To hear thy song upon the distant bough.’
But he, by gratitude's sweet tie detain'd,
Felt to her hand his small affection chain'd.
He fled indeed, and with true transport burn'd,
But still to her and to his cage return'd.
Nor went she forth to saunter in the grove,
But still he came, and perch'd upon her glove,
Still on her shoulder sat to sing, or sip
The honey'd beverage of her dewy lip;
Nor suffer'd love (such passion finches feel)
His little bosom from her kiss to steal.
The finch the schoolboy pilfer'd from its nest;
And fed the nursling till its plumage grew,
And its firm pinions with full vigour flew,
She ope'd her chamber in the blaze of day,
And bade the feather'd foundling post away.
‘Go little bird, to range the field be thine,
To give thee liberty and life was mine;
No ransom ask I, recompens'd enow,
To hear thy song upon the distant bough.’
But he, by gratitude's sweet tie detain'd,
Felt to her hand his small affection chain'd.
He fled indeed, and with true transport burn'd,
But still to her and to his cage return'd.
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But still he came, and perch'd upon her glove,
Still on her shoulder sat to sing, or sip
The honey'd beverage of her dewy lip;
Nor suffer'd love (such passion finches feel)
His little bosom from her kiss to steal.
So, dear Eliza, tho' I make thee free,
Thy daughter-like affection clings to me;
And, tho' I bid thee a fond bride become,
Thy warmest wishes anchor still at home.
‘Go gentle maid, to range the fields be thine,
To give thee nurture, and sweet grace, was mine;
No ransom ask I, nor will inly moan,
So thou rejoice, to spend my days alone,
Silent to sit, and silent books explore,
Thy cage deserted and thy song no more.
Sweet bird thy mate invites thee to the wood;
Go, and be happy as thy heart is good.
Thy daughter-like affection clings to me;
And, tho' I bid thee a fond bride become,
Thy warmest wishes anchor still at home.
‘Go gentle maid, to range the fields be thine,
To give thee nurture, and sweet grace, was mine;
No ransom ask I, nor will inly moan,
So thou rejoice, to spend my days alone,
Silent to sit, and silent books explore,
Thy cage deserted and thy song no more.
Sweet bird thy mate invites thee to the wood;
Go, and be happy as thy heart is good.
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TO CECILIA.
Why, O Spring, so in vain are display'd
Thy sweet blossoms that us'd to delight?
And thy branches in beauty array'd,
Why attract they so little my sight?
Why so little regard I the grove,
Or the garden, the mead, and the rill?
Why so dull is the village I love,
And so stupid the vale and the hill?
Thy sweet blossoms that us'd to delight?
And thy branches in beauty array'd,
Why attract they so little my sight?
Why so little regard I the grove,
Or the garden, the mead, and the rill?
Why so dull is the village I love,
And so stupid the vale and the hill?
Ah me! 'tis because a sweet maid
The sad village enlivens no more,
'Tis because from these mountains is stray'd
The dear Girl whom I almost adore!
'Tis because I contemplate alone
The once beautiful charms of the year;
'Tis because sweet Cecilia is gone,
And no more shall be listen'd to here.
The sad village enlivens no more,
'Tis because from these mountains is stray'd
The dear Girl whom I almost adore!
'Tis because I contemplate alone
The once beautiful charms of the year;
'Tis because sweet Cecilia is gone,
And no more shall be listen'd to here.
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Why, alas! not contented to stay,
So abruptly departed the fair?
Why so secretly vanish'd away
Ere my soul of its loss was aware?
Why so suddenly strove she to fly,
And unbless'd from my presence withdrew?
Why retreated, and dropt not a sigh,
Nor imparted a friendly adieu?
So abruptly departed the fair?
Why so secretly vanish'd away
Ere my soul of its loss was aware?
Why so suddenly strove she to fly,
And unbless'd from my presence withdrew?
Why retreated, and dropt not a sigh,
Nor imparted a friendly adieu?
She perhaps would but little regard
Were Alcander to linger and die;
She perhaps may disdain to reward
One so little exalted as I.
She despises my state, nor approves
Of possessions where nothing is fine;
She has elsewhere another she loves,
Whose endowment is ampler than mine.
Were Alcander to linger and die;
She perhaps may disdain to reward
One so little exalted as I.
She despises my state, nor approves
Of possessions where nothing is fine;
She has elsewhere another she loves,
Whose endowment is ampler than mine.
Or her merits, perhaps, deeming few,
And herself at all arts inexpert,
(For she fear'd me, and trembled to shew
What she deem'd her inferior desert,)
She may think 'twere in vain to expect
Admiration or friendship of me;
She may think that I cannot respect
One so little accomplish'd as she.
And herself at all arts inexpert,
(For she fear'd me, and trembled to shew
What she deem'd her inferior desert,)
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Admiration or friendship of me;
She may think that I cannot respect
One so little accomplish'd as she.
Turn again, lovely maid—let the muse
Better hopes to thy bosom impart;
Be assur'd, that the bard who pursues
Can approve with the tenderest heart.
What if fortune a step-mother seem,
And his superflux now may be none;
She ere long may avow her esteem,
And proclaim him her favourite son.
Better hopes to thy bosom impart;
Be assur'd, that the bard who pursues
Can approve with the tenderest heart.
What if fortune a step-mother seem,
And his superflux now may be none;
She ere long may avow her esteem,
And proclaim him her favourite son.
O return, and let mutual desire
In thy look, in thy accent be found—
Let Amelia again touch the lyre,
And refresh the sad vale with its sound.
Let thine own rapid finger mine ear
To sweet music for ever incline;
For thy bosom has nothing to fear;
And I would that as little had mine.
In thy look, in thy accent be found—
Let Amelia again touch the lyre,
And refresh the sad vale with its sound.
Let thine own rapid finger mine ear
To sweet music for ever incline;
For thy bosom has nothing to fear;
And I would that as little had mine.
282
THE FALL OF HEBE.
When Hebe the Charming was banish'd from Heav'n,
Notwithstanding her beauty and birth,
And her office by Jove to another was given,
She came down, to be vain upon earth.
Notwithstanding her beauty and birth,
And her office by Jove to another was given,
She came down, to be vain upon earth.
She travell'd all Europe an equal to meet;
But no features with her's could compare,
Not a virgin was found who was half so complete,
She was fairest of all that are fair.
But no features with her's could compare,
Not a virgin was found who was half so complete,
She was fairest of all that are fair.
But it happen'd at length; as she heedlessly stray'd
By a brook that ran down to the sea,
She was met by a good-humour'd, innocent maid,
Who, they said, was more charming than she.
By a brook that ran down to the sea,
She was met by a good-humour'd, innocent maid,
Who, they said, was more charming than she.
She appeal'd to the Shepherds, and, favour to gain,
Brought the cup of the Gods in her hand;
She insisted on homage, but sought it in vain,
Not a Shepherd would heed her command.
Brought the cup of the Gods in her hand;
She insisted on homage, but sought it in vain,
Not a Shepherd would heed her command.
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They agreed ‘of the many fair maids they had seen,
She was fairest of all except one:
She was beauteous and lovely as Beauty's own queen;
But that Kitty was equall'd by none.’
She was fairest of all except one:
She was beauteous and lovely as Beauty's own queen;
But that Kitty was equall'd by none.’
Enrag'd that a maid not immortal should charm,
Her nectar she threw in her face;
From her cheek, it down trickled her neck and her arm,
Till her beauties were all in disgrace.
Her nectar she threw in her face;
From her cheek, it down trickled her neck and her arm,
Till her beauties were all in disgrace.
Mighty Jove saw the wrong from his chamber in Heav'n,
And sent his fleet messenger down,
To examine the cause, and make matters all even
As soon as the grievance was known.
And sent his fleet messenger down,
To examine the cause, and make matters all even
As soon as the grievance was known.
He came, and decreed, ‘that since Hebe was vain,
And had injur'd her betters below,
Envy never should flee from her forehead again;
But should live among frowns on her brow.
And had injur'd her betters below,
Envy never should flee from her forehead again;
But should live among frowns on her brow.
‘Ill-nature and anger should scowl in her eye,
Pride and insolence dwell on its lid,
More than half of her thousand attractions should die,
Not a feature should charm as it did.
Pride and insolence dwell on its lid,
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Not a feature should charm as it did.
‘But for Kitty, since she had not given offence,
But was innocent, humble, and meek,
On her forehead should flourish good humour and sense
To atone for the blot on her cheek.
But was innocent, humble, and meek,
On her forehead should flourish good humour and sense
To atone for the blot on her cheek.
‘The Muses and Graces should in her delight,
And, to pay for the charms she had lost,
Should contend with each other, from morning to night,
To see which could adorn her the most.’
And, to pay for the charms she had lost,
Should contend with each other, from morning to night,
To see which could adorn her the most.’
So was Hebe disgrac'd with a leer and a frown,
While Kitty had beauties enow—
A lovelier charmer was never sent down
To be courted by mortals below.
While Kitty had beauties enow—
A lovelier charmer was never sent down
To be courted by mortals below.
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A QUESTION PROPOSED AND EXPLAINED TO KITTY.
Whence came the blemish on thy face?
Did Hebe cause the stain,
Did Nature's self her work disgrace
Lest Kitty should be vain?
Did Hebe cause the stain,
Did Nature's self her work disgrace
Lest Kitty should be vain?
No, 'twas the Priest, who, seldom wont.
To sprinkle smiles like thine,
Mistook the chalice for the font,
And christen'd thee with wine:
To sprinkle smiles like thine,
Mistook the chalice for the font,
And christen'd thee with wine:
Or the pure element, distress'd
At Angel-looks so meek,
Thought thee another Saviour-guest,
And blush'd upon thy cheek.
At Angel-looks so meek,
Thought thee another Saviour-guest,
And blush'd upon thy cheek.
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So Heaven forbade with timely spot
That beauty to aspire,
Which, had it blaz'd without a blot,
Had set the world on fire.
That beauty to aspire,
Which, had it blaz'd without a blot,
Had set the world on fire.
The author here alludes to a well-known beautiful line, said to have been written by Dryden, upon the Miracle of Cana:
Lympha pudica Deum vidit et erubuit—
When God appear'd, the conscious water blush'd.
When God appear'd, the conscious water blush'd.
290
THE MIDNIGHT INVOCATION.
Ye fairies who float on the breeze,
And in blossoms delight to repose,
Or regale with convenience and ease
In the moss-cover'd bud of the rose;
And in blossoms delight to repose,
Or regale with convenience and ease
In the moss-cover'd bud of the rose;
Ye elves who in acorn-cups dwell,
Sleeping fast through the fervours of noon,
And rejoice round the hyacinth's bell
To dance down the pale day of the moon;
Sleeping fast through the fervours of noon,
And rejoice round the hyacinth's bell
To dance down the pale day of the moon;
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Lay aside ev'ry sport ye pursue
On the mountain or dew-besprent green,
And your gay summer habits renew,
To come hither and wait on your Queen.
On the mountain or dew-besprent green,
And your gay summer habits renew,
To come hither and wait on your Queen.
Make ye haste at the dead of the night
From her chamber to steal her away,
Oh make haste, and again to my sight
My divine little charmer convey.
From her chamber to steal her away,
Oh make haste, and again to my sight
My divine little charmer convey.
Your most easy of chariots prepare,
One whose wheels are on thistledown borne,
And conduct her asleep thro' the air
Softly smiling as rosy-cheek'd morn.
One whose wheels are on thistledown borne,
And conduct her asleep thro' the air
Softly smiling as rosy-cheek'd morn.
Deck her couch with the blossoms of spring,
Round about her sweet essences shed,
And suspend the grey butterfly's wing
For a canopy over her head.
Round about her sweet essences shed,
And suspend the grey butterfly's wing
For a canopy over her head.
In the lap of sweet slumber and ease
On the plumes of the moth let her lie,
And her cheek curtain close from the breeze
With the web of the foe to the fly.
On the plumes of the moth let her lie,
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With the web of the foe to the fly.
And, since slumber and music agree,
Gentle harmonies round her be heard,
The soft flutes of the gnat and the bee,
And the hum of the dew-sipping bird.
Gentle harmonies round her be heard,
The soft flutes of the gnat and the bee,
And the hum of the dew-sipping bird.
At my door when your myriads alight,
Let no footstep disquiet her peace;
Come ye down like the snow in the night,
Soft and still as the dew on the fleece.
Let no footstep disquiet her peace;
Come ye down like the snow in the night,
Soft and still as the dew on the fleece.
And if, wak'd, from yon intricate thorn
The sweet linnet should warble his lay,
Bid him hush, for it is not the morn,
He has long to repose before day.
The sweet linnet should warble his lay,
Bid him hush, for it is not the morn,
He has long to repose before day.
Airy charmer, who thus to my sight,
Cloth'd in fancy's bewitching attire,
Comest ever by day and by night,
While I gaze and too fondly admire;
Cloth'd in fancy's bewitching attire,
Comest ever by day and by night,
While I gaze and too fondly admire;
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Lift thine eye, and my passion approve,
For I own, and conceal it no more,
Thou alone art the fairy I love,
Thou alone art the sylph I adore.
For I own, and conceal it no more,
Thou alone art the fairy I love,
Thou alone art the sylph I adore.
Yet, alas! since to these longing arms
Thy attractions thou wilt not resign,
Slumber on while I dote on thy charms,
And applaud what must never be mine.
Thy attractions thou wilt not resign,
Slumber on while I dote on thy charms,
And applaud what must never be mine.
Ah! the Fates, gentle Waller, design'd
That our lots should in one thing agree;
Thou wast won by a maiden unkind,
And a maiden unkind has won me.
That our lots should in one thing agree;
Thou wast won by a maiden unkind,
And a maiden unkind has won me.
Thou didst love, and still she could refuse,
Sweet encouragement never was thine,
Saccharissa could laugh at thy muse,
Annabella is heedless of mine.
Sweet encouragement never was thine,
Saccharissa could laugh at thy muse,
Annabella is heedless of mine.
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EVENING WALK.
'Tis awful, as the shades of ev'ning fall,To walk among that family of oaks
Which nature seems, in her luxuriant mood,
To have pour'd along the bottom of the vale.
Under their mingled boughs reigns double night,
Cloth'd in profoundest horror. 'Tis a path
Dull at noonday; but at the twilight close,
Dark as the blind abyss or gloomy cave
Of sightless death and never-ending night.
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A LANDSCAPE.
Behold that vale, whose sides are cloth'd with wood;And here and there a pleasurable spot
Of intersected pasture, with its stack,
Cottage and lodge, few sheep, and grazing cow:
Mark how it mellows as it steals away,
And mingles fainter shadows, softer woods.
How gracefully it parts, and winds along,
To leave that rising ground, on whose fresh top
Above the green enclosures stands a Church,
Which smiles with glory in the ev'ning sun,
And seems to love the prospect it adorns.
Behold behind it, as the vale recedes
And falls into a flat the eye scarce sees,
A family of hills, some near, some far,
Withdrawing till their faint expiring tops
Are almost lost, and melted into air.
Is it not lovely? Is it not divine?
And yet, my heart, within thy silent cell
Dwells a fair image which is lovelier still.
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ANOTHER LANDSCAPE.
'Tis pleasant to look out upon that valeAfter a day of rain. A plenteous shower
Gives freshness to its verdure, makes the oaks
Dispers'd along its bottom and its sides
Look young and vigorous; and ev'ry field,
Hedge-row, and coppice, seems as new as they.
Perhaps, the setting sun a moment shines,
And over-head, ting'd by his fiery ray,
Floats the departing cloud, and seems a waste
Or vapoury wilderness of hills and rocks,
And sunny mountains upon mountains pil'd.
Perhaps, too, as the dewy eve has clos'd;
Slowly ascending, the September moon
Has, with her ample copper-colour'd face,
Above the cloud or highland wood appear'd,
And, silently improving as she rose,
Hung o'er the faded landscape full of light;
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Floating across the living roof of Heav'n,
Suspended upon nothing. Lend me, Wright,
Thy happy pencil, and the scene is mine.
BLANK LINES TO KITTY.
Elegant Fairy, whose engaging waysHave rais'd thee to a throne in my esteem
High above all thy sex!—Unrivall'd maid,
Who, ever to my mind a welcome guest,
Com'st with such sweet intrusion, whether night
Muffle the world in darkness, and I sleep,
Or muse in vigilance to-morrow's song;
Or whether day be kindled in the east,
And find me poring on my Shakspeare's line;
Thou, whose sweet image at the ev'ning dance,
Or mid the flow'ry tribes, describing all,
And all surpassing (loveliest flow'r that blows);
Or by domestic hearth, or at the desk
Rapidly fingering authentic proof
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Say, by what magic pow'r, what heav'nly art,
Hast thou my soul subdued, and bound it fast
In chains of strong attachment? Why returns
Thy ev'ry action to my musing eye?
Why feeds remembrance still upon thy smile,
And deems it sweet repast? Have not I look'd
On many an angel, ere I look'd on thee?
Have I not witness'd the commanding grace
Which affability and smiles bestow
On heav'nly features? Have I not beheld
Beauty allied to fortune and to rank,
And plum'd with all the dignity can spring
From virtue and a due regard to heav'n,
Join'd to the feebler ornaments of art,
Dress and accomplishments? Why then art thou
Not to be banish'd from my longing heart?
Why does thy lovely image haunt my soul?
Ah me! I must adore thee, and my chains
Lothe not: captivity is passing sweet,
Cheer'd by the sweet persuasion that thy heart
Is one with mine. Hope, be thy ray sincere,
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Into the peaceful haven of success!
And then, indulgent heav'n, if my fate
Be sad discomfiture, still favour her,
And give her, to compensate my defeat,
The sweetest portion of thy sweetest cup.
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