Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Hail sacred morning, whose auspicious light
Unveil'd Clorinda to the ravish'd sight!
Sure at her birth the Gods conspir'd above
To form a rival to the Queen of love;
Then the fair charmer from the crystal skies
Was sent to make this lower world her prize.

When first I felt the rapture of the nine,
My verse was offer'd incense at your shrine;
Before the fickle world that homage paid,
Or you a Goddess by their worship made;
And now maturer reason must approve
The pleasing object of my former love.
Bless'd in enjoyment may you ever live
Of all that you can wish, or Heaven can give!
May each revolving season glide along
Replete with riches of the poet's song!
May no fierce passions in your bosom move,
And every gay desire refine to love:
But when your sandy glass of time is run,
And you must fall, like those you have undone;
May conscious virtue shine with equal pow'r
To brave the tyrant in your latest hour:

And after death (for fairest nymphs must die)
Waft the bright spirit to your kindred sky.

Wandring Thoughts on the State of Man.

Begin, my muse, and in a nobler strain
Try to unravel the decrees of fate;
And search into the real cause of things!
Unfetter'd from the chains of rhime now soar
(Vain boast) beyond the regions of the sky,
As far as tow'ring fancy's flight can reach.
How dark and intricate are all the ways
Of fate! yet proud ambitious man presumes
Assisted by his reason to explore
Things infinite, beyond the ken of thought.

Something there is within this strange machine,
Which elevates my mind, and makes me dive
Too deep in fate. How came I to exist?
Whence am I? Tell me, ye immortal pow'rs;
Why from the peaceful bosom of the earth
Rais'd into being in a world of ills,
To run the chance of an immortal state
In dark perdition, or the realms of bliss?
Except the great benevolence of God
Foresaw, that this exertion of his pow'r
Would terminate in good to all mankind.
How is that noble spirit of the soul
Infus'd into the body? whence proceeds
This satal curiosity in man?
And could this beauteous fabric of the world
From nothing be produced? or whence derives

That bright Existence, that eternal Pow'r,
Sole governor of all, his glorious being?
Stupendous truths! here human wisdom fails,
Lost in a labyrinth of endless thought.
Sure we existed in some other state
Before this world was form'd, and for our sins
Constrain'd to bear so great an ill as life.—

How vain the pleasing thought, that happiness
Should e'er be found by man! within whose breast
So many passions rage, such fierce desires
Which by enjoyment aggravate our woes.

Here bold ambition with a tyrant's pride
Lays waste whole kingdoms; and with lawless might

Usurps dominion over vanquish'd slaves;
And stains his sword with guiltless nations blood.

There fell revenge, that poison to our rest,
Exerts her baleful pow'r; and for a deed,
Or rash unthinking word, to death pursues
O'er distant realms the object of her hate.

Here fate in ambush lies in beauty's smiles:
Our eager eyes indulge in wanton gaze,
Warm wishes, tender hopes, and soft desires;
Till lust extinguishes bright reason's flame,
Unnerves the soul, and prompts us to enjoy,
In spite of consequence, the charming fair
Against the laws of honour, virtue, fame;
And, for a moment's bliss, entails an age of woe.

That bubble happiness deludes our hopes,
E'en when we seem to grasp the blessing sure,
And think our joys beyond the reach of fate:
Like a gay dream, where haughty beauty courts
Her lover long enamour'd of her charms,
But, when strong fancy winds the passion up
To thrilling raptures exquisite to sense,
He finds the fair one cheat his promis'd hopes,
And clasps a cloud within his fond embrace.
Man therefore of necessity is wretched:
And who that's wretched would desire to live?—
Avaunt such gloomy thoughts! — Shall blooming youth,
In melancholy mood, like drooping age
In contemplation pine of future ills?
No; — let the gay remembrance of delight

Inspire a grateful thought for pleasure past!
Recall the fleeting hours, when Lydia fair
With her enchanting converse rais'd the soul
To more than mortal bliss! when jovial friends
With wit and humour made the longest night
Seem shorter than a transitory dream.
Nor mourn my present lot, in Aukland grove,
Remote from all the gallant scenes of youth;
Which bless'd my better days: in calm retreat
Curs'd with no mean dependance, still above
The smiles or frowns of fortune: gay content
Can form a purer happiness within,
Than the vain pomp and pageantry of life.

A Copy of Verses sent to Clorinda,

with Lucan's Pharsalia translated by Mr. Row.

Observe, how Lucan in aspiring flights
Of ancient Rome, o'ercome by Romans, writes:
How Cæsar fond of popular applause
Courts the mean vulgar to support his cause;
Encompass'd round with conquer'd nations stood,
And stain'd his guilty sword with Roman blood.
What noble principles inspir'd their souls,
Whose fame successively thro' ages rolls!
True Patriots, and steady to the cause
Of Rome, who perish'd to preserve her laws!

But Cato's sentiments were truly great,
Who scorn'd to breathe in a corrupted state;

Who proffer'd life with just contempt deny'd,
And presevering in his virtue dy'd.

What conflicts, Brutus, in thy bosom rose,
To follow Cæsar's fortune, or oppose?
Who tender nature's strongest ties withstood,
And gave up friendship to the public good.
But sure the Gods immutable decree
For a brave just revenge had destin'd thee,
To stop the rapid victor in his course,
And save the vanquish'd world from Cæsar's force.

What passions in great Pompey's bosom move,
When fate resolv'd his utmost strength to prove?
To drag the hero from Cornelia's arms,
And urge him on to follow war's alarms:

With what a tender sense of love inspir'd
The warrior from the weeping fair retir'd!
In moving strains she mourn'd her wretched state,
As conscious of her lord's impending fate.

Degenerate Ptolemy! Egyptian guile
Shall brand with infamy the sons of Nile;
To late posterity their crimes be known,
Who made the guilt of civil war their own.

Then let us by these great examples taught
Improve our minds, and elevate each thought!
Pursue the shining path those heroes trod,
Nor bend like slaves before an earthly God!
That liberty long banish'd other climes
By sycophants, who flatter tyrants crimes,

Secure may flourish from unbounded pow'r,
And fix her empire on the British shore.

In Imitation of the Thirteenth Elegy of the IVth Book of Tibullus.

In early youth Clorinda's chains I wore,
And still unchang'd the lovely fair adore;
No other female charms have pow'r to please,
And make me languish in inglorious ease;
No other nymph in country, town, or court,
Where gentle belles, and gentler beaux resort,
Tho' practis'd in the soft inveigling art,
Can boast a conquest o'er my faithful heart.

May the bright lustre of her sparkling eyes
Have pow'r to make no other slave her prize!

May no conceited fop her favour boast,
But think she scarce deserves to be a toast!

Bless'd with the presence of this lovely maid,
I'd leave the world, and seek some lonely shade;
Her charms would cast a round refulgent light,
And gild the dusky horrors of the night.
In her sweet converse ages I could pass,
Nor wish old time to shake his sandy glass.
When false to this dear idol of my soul,
The needle shall not tremble to the pole.

Tho' Venus crown'd with her immortal charms
Should condescend to court me to her arms,
Her art divine would ineffectual prove,
Nor could her beauty make me change my love.

Fool that I am my passion to reveal,
And let Clorinda know the pangs I feel!
The haughty fair will triumph in my pain,
And with contempt her lover's vows disdain:
Yet will I love, nor cherish black despair,
But wait till nature make her kind as fair.

A Song to Clorinda.

Clorinda, why this coy restraint,
This force upon your nature?
That love is strong, and reason faint,
Appears in every feature.
No longer then hoard up your charms,
As misers do their gold!
But fly into your lover's arms,
Nor fear reproach till old.

If virtue is a friend to love,
As ancient sages taught,
We then by force of reason prove,
To love is not a fault.

The Patriot.

Curse on the sordid miser's lust of gold,
By whom his country's interest is sold,
Auletes cries! and with a patriot's voice
Declares, or liberty, or death's my choice.

But when a statesman whispers in his ear,
Your vote shall gain a thousand pound a year;
With an obsequious bow, he thanks his grace,
And wonders how he could mistake the case.

The Toast.

Let infidels be dumb! Fill high my glass!
Fair Dashwood proves an atheist is an ass:
None but a Deity such art could boast
To form so gay, so beautiful a toast.

From Catullus.

When Bellamira swears, that gentle love
Has fix'd her mind incapable to rove;
The fleeting passion of the fickle fair
Should be describ'd in sand, or writ in air.