Poems on Various Subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

Soon as my eyes had trac'd each line,
And found what jaunt you did design,
It rais'd a smile upon my face,
To think what a vain wild-goose chase
You'd undertake, Sir Knight, shou'd you
My giddy run-away pursue.

133

As luckless travellers o'nights
Are led astray by wand'ring lights,
And plung'd in ponds, or hung in briers
By these delusive dancing fires.
So if upon this bold adventure,
Like errant-knight of old you enter,
My roving Muse astray may lead you,
Tho' sometimes grave, she's often giddy.
The sportive Ignis Fatuus may
Thro' countless dangers make you stray.
Her wanton wiles therefore beware,
With warning voice, I cry, forbear.
Hearken to my prophetic pen,
She may bemire you in some fen;
Or mount in air aloft from sight,
And leave you in the gloom of night;
Then perch some airy heighth upon,
To draw th' unwary traveller on.
And when you've climb'd the rocky steep,
She down the craggy cliffs might creep,
And plunge you in the boundless deep.

Or shou'd you think to fly, she'd rise,
And chearful dance before your eyes;
'Till by her wand'ring light beguil'd
You're buried in some forest wild,
A dark impenetrable shade,
For fairies, ghosts, and goblins made;

134

Ne'er blest with Phœbus' chearful ray,
But like a Lapland's sunless day;
Then might she soar in yielding air,
And leave you in the mazy snare;
'Till tired with her sportive jaunt,
Once more she sought my rural haunt,
Here, while you pensive stray alone,
Laugh at the mischief she had done.

But shou'd you meet a milder fate,
And in the chace be fortunate.
If you my fugitive shou'd find,
Take her, and leave your own behind,
Your judgment each one wou'd arraign;
Apollo and his tuneful train
Wou'd never more to own you deign.
All must condemn you, shou'd you chuse
To drop a swan, and take a goose.

But shou'd the following dream prove true,
In vain you'd seek, in vain pursue.
Your dang'rous jaunt ran thro' my head,
When ten smart strokes warn'd me to bed;
There soon I sunk in Somnus' arms,
A victim to his downy charms;
Then forth by busy Morpheus drawn,
Methought I trac'd a velvet lawn,

135

Fierce Syrius reign'd, my strength declin'd,
And for some cool recess I pin'd;
When just before my longing eyes,
I saw a dusky grove arise,
'Twas form'd of Cypress, Box, and Yew,
Round which entwining Ivy grew;
I press'd into the wish'd-for shade,
And wand'ring down a lonely glade,
I at a gloomy grot' arriv'd,
Which seem'd for endless rest contriv'd,
Then to the mossy entrance went,
And found it was of vast extent;
Within one feeble, sickly light,
Was all I found t'assist my sight,
Just in the midst, close veil'd from day,
Dulness and Ease supinely lay;
These lazy powers do here preside,
While round in downy fetters ty'd,
Where countless willing captives laid,
Who, drawn by Ease, had hither stray'd.

But O! what Muse shall Sylvia bribe,
This sleepy grotto to describe?
Shou'd I attempt the tedious theme,
Too long, I'm sure, you'd think my dream;
The magic scepters, crowns, and taper,
Wou'd take too much of B*dd*ly's paper.

136

Here on a mossy bank reclin'd,
My vagrant Muse I chanc'd to find,
Upon a wither'd cowslip bed
She laid her drowsy senseless head.
The verdant crown which late she wore,
Adorn'd her stupid brows no more.
High on her head a nodding plume
Of sleepy night-shade, in its room;
Her brow a wreath of poppies bound,
And shed their drowsy influence round.
With eager joy I call'd aloud,
And strove to drag her from the croud.

Three times she yawn'd, then half awoke,
And thus with peevish accent spoke:
Away, forbear, nor longer tease,
Here I resolve to dwell in ease;
No more I'll seek the public sight,
But veil me here in peaceful night.
Have I not won sufficient fame,
Since B****n's Muse has sung my name;
Deign'd to approve my rural lays,
And crown'd me with a wreath of bays.
In youth I met a glorious fate,
Nor slept too soon, nor sung too late.
Then prithee, Sylvia, tease no more,
Let me lie quiet, as before.

137

Here magic slumbers seiz'd her brain,
And down she sunk to sleep again.

With grief oppress'd I sigh'd so deep,
It broke the silken chains of sleep;
Gay morning rush'd upon my eyes,
And bade the drowsy dreamer rise.

These friendly cautions, Sir, I send you,
To shew what dangers may attend you;
Shou'd you pursue my rambling Muse,
And if you my advice refuse,
None but yourself you can accuse.
Thus timely warn'd, be timely wise,
Nor tempt your fate with open eyes.

Sept. 15, 1739.