Poems, moral and descriptive By the late Richard Jago ... (Prepared for the press, and improved by the author, before his death.) To which is added, some account of the life and writings of Mr. Jago |
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| LABOUR, AND GENIUS:
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 | Poems, moral and descriptive |  |
141
LABOUR, AND GENIUS:
OR, THE Mill-Stream, and the Cascade.
A FABLE. INSCRIBED TO WILLIAM SHENSTONE, Esq.
------ “discordia Semina rerum.”
Ovid.
Ovid.
143
Nature, with lib'ral hand, dispenses
Her apparatus of the senses,
In articles of gen'ral use,
Nerves, sinews, muscles, bones profuse.
Distinguishing her fav'rite race
With form erect, and featur'd face:
The flowing hair, the polish'd skin—
But, for the furniture within,
Whether it be of brains, or lead,
What matters it, so there's a head?
For wisest noddle seldom goes,
But as 'tis led by corp'ral nose.
Nor is it thinking much, but doing,
That keeps our tenements from ruin.
And hundreds eat, who spin, or knit,
For one that lives by dint of wit.
Her apparatus of the senses,
In articles of gen'ral use,
Nerves, sinews, muscles, bones profuse.
Distinguishing her fav'rite race
With form erect, and featur'd face:
The flowing hair, the polish'd skin—
But, for the furniture within,
144
What matters it, so there's a head?
For wisest noddle seldom goes,
But as 'tis led by corp'ral nose.
Nor is it thinking much, but doing,
That keeps our tenements from ruin.
And hundreds eat, who spin, or knit,
For one that lives by dint of wit.
The sturdy thresher plies his flail,
And what to this doth wit avail?
Who learns from wit to press the spade?
Or thinks 'twou'd mend the cobler's trade?
The pedlar, with his cumb'rous pack,
Carries his brains upon his back.
Some wear them in full-bottom'd wig,
Or hang them by with queue, or pig.
Reduc'd, till they return again,
In dishabille, to common men.
Then why, my friend, is wit so rare?
That sudden flash, that makes one stare!
A meteor's blaze, a dazzling shew!
Say what it is, for well you know.
Or, if you can with patience hear
A witless Fable, lend an ear.
And what to this doth wit avail?
Who learns from wit to press the spade?
Or thinks 'twou'd mend the cobler's trade?
The pedlar, with his cumb'rous pack,
Carries his brains upon his back.
Some wear them in full-bottom'd wig,
Or hang them by with queue, or pig.
Reduc'd, till they return again,
In dishabille, to common men.
Then why, my friend, is wit so rare?
That sudden flash, that makes one stare!
A meteor's blaze, a dazzling shew!
Say what it is, for well you know.
145
A witless Fable, lend an ear.
BETWIXT two sloping verdant hills,
A Current pour'd its careless rills,
Which unambitious crept along,
With weeds, and matted grass o'erhung.
Till rural Genius, on a day,
Chancing along its banks to stray,
Remark'd with penetrating look
The latent merits of the Brook,
Much griev'd to see such talents hid,
And thus the dull by-standers chid.
A Current pour'd its careless rills,
Which unambitious crept along,
With weeds, and matted grass o'erhung.
Till rural Genius, on a day,
Chancing along its banks to stray,
Remark'd with penetrating look
The latent merits of the Brook,
Much griev'd to see such talents hid,
And thus the dull by-standers chid.
How blind is man's incurious race,
The scope of Nature's plans to trace?
How do ye mangle half her charms,
And fright her hourly with alarms?
Disfigure now her swelling mounds,
And now contract her spacious bounds?
Fritter her fairest lawns to alleys,
Bare her green hills, and hide her valleys?
Confine her streams with rule and line,
And counteract her whole design?
Neglecting, where she points the way,
Her easy dictates to obey?
To bring her hidden worth to sight;
And place her charms in fairest light?
The scope of Nature's plans to trace?
How do ye mangle half her charms,
And fright her hourly with alarms?
Disfigure now her swelling mounds,
And now contract her spacious bounds?
Fritter her fairest lawns to alleys,
Bare her green hills, and hide her valleys?
146
And counteract her whole design?
Neglecting, where she points the way,
Her easy dictates to obey?
To bring her hidden worth to sight;
And place her charms in fairest light?
Alike to intellectuals blind,
'Tis thus you treat the youthful mind;
Mistaking gravity for sense,
For dawn of wit, impertinence.
'Tis thus you treat the youthful mind;
Mistaking gravity for sense,
For dawn of wit, impertinence.
The boy of genuine parts, and merit,
For some unlucky prank of spirit,
With frantic rage is scourg'd from school,
And branded with the name of fool,
Because his active blood flow'd faster
Than the dull puddle of his master.
While the slow plodder trots along,
Thro' thick and thin, thro' prose and song,
Insensible of all their graces,
But learn'd in words, and common phrases:
Till in due time he's mov'd to college,
To ripen these choice seeds of knowledge.
For some unlucky prank of spirit,
With frantic rage is scourg'd from school,
And branded with the name of fool,
Because his active blood flow'd faster
Than the dull puddle of his master.
While the slow plodder trots along,
Thro' thick and thin, thro' prose and song,
Insensible of all their graces,
But learn'd in words, and common phrases:
Till in due time he's mov'd to college,
To ripen these choice seeds of knowledge.
147
So some taste-pedant, wond'rous wise,
Exerts his genius in dirt-pies.
Delights the tonsile yew to raise,
But hates your laurels, and your bays,
Because too rambling, and luxuriant,
Like forward youths, of brains too prurient.
Makes puns, and anagrams in box,
And turns his trees to bears, and cocks.
Excels in quaint jette-d'eau, or fountain,
Or leads his stream across a mountain,
To shew its shallowness, and pride,
In a broad grin, on t'other side.
Perverting all the rules of sense,
Which never offers violence,
But gently leads where Nature tends,
Sure, with applause, to gain its ends.
Exerts his genius in dirt-pies.
Delights the tonsile yew to raise,
But hates your laurels, and your bays,
Because too rambling, and luxuriant,
Like forward youths, of brains too prurient.
Makes puns, and anagrams in box,
And turns his trees to bears, and cocks.
Excels in quaint jette-d'eau, or fountain,
Or leads his stream across a mountain,
To shew its shallowness, and pride,
In a broad grin, on t'other side.
Perverting all the rules of sense,
Which never offers violence,
But gently leads where Nature tends,
Sure, with applause, to gain its ends.
But one example may teach more,
Than precepts hackney'd o'er, and o'er.
Then mark this Rill, with weeds o'erhung,
Unnotic'd by the vulgar throng!
Ev'n this, conducted by my laws,
Shall rise to fame, attract applause;
Instruct in
fable, shine in song,
And be the theme of ev'ry tongue.
He said: and, to his fav'rite son,
Consign'd the task, and will'd it done.
Than precepts hackney'd o'er, and o'er.
Then mark this Rill, with weeds o'erhung,
Unnotic'd by the vulgar throng!
Ev'n this, conducted by my laws,
Shall rise to fame, attract applause;
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And be the theme of ev'ry tongue.
He said: and, to his fav'rite son,
Consign'd the task, and will'd it done.
Damon his counsel wisely weigh'd,
And carefully the scene survey'd.
And, tho' it seems he said but little,
He took his meaning to a tittle.
And first, his purpose to befriend,
A bank he rais'd at th'upper end:
Compact, and close its outward side,
To stay, and swell the gath'ring tide:
But, on its inner, rough and tall,
A ragged cliff, a rocky wall.
The channel next he op'd to view,
And, from its course, the rubbish drew.
Enlarg'd it now, and now, with line
Oblique, pursued his fair design.
Preparing here the mazy way,
And there the fall for sportive play.
The precipice abrupt, and steep,
The pebbled road, and cavern deep.
The rooty seat, where best to view
The fairy scene, at distance due.
He last invok'd the Dryads aid,
And fring'd the borders round with shade.
Tap'stry, by Nature's fingers wove,
No mimic, but a real grove:
Part hiding, part admitting day,
The scene to grace the future play.
And carefully the scene survey'd.
And, tho' it seems he said but little,
He took his meaning to a tittle.
And first, his purpose to befriend,
A bank he rais'd at th'upper end:
Compact, and close its outward side,
To stay, and swell the gath'ring tide:
But, on its inner, rough and tall,
A ragged cliff, a rocky wall.
The channel next he op'd to view,
And, from its course, the rubbish drew.
Enlarg'd it now, and now, with line
Oblique, pursued his fair design.
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And there the fall for sportive play.
The precipice abrupt, and steep,
The pebbled road, and cavern deep.
The rooty seat, where best to view
The fairy scene, at distance due.
He last invok'd the Dryads aid,
And fring'd the borders round with shade.
Tap'stry, by Nature's fingers wove,
No mimic, but a real grove:
Part hiding, part admitting day,
The scene to grace the future play.
Damon perceives, with ravish'd eyes,
The beautiful enchantment rise.
Sees sweetly blended shade, and light,
Sees ev'ry part with each unite.
Sees each, as he directs, assume
A livelier dye, or deeper gloom:
So, fashion'd by the painter's skill,
New forms the glowing canvas fill.
So, to the summer's sun, the rose,
And jessamin their charms disclose.
The beautiful enchantment rise.
Sees sweetly blended shade, and light,
Sees ev'ry part with each unite.
Sees each, as he directs, assume
A livelier dye, or deeper gloom:
So, fashion'd by the painter's skill,
New forms the glowing canvas fill.
So, to the summer's sun, the rose,
And jessamin their charms disclose.
150
While, all intent on this retreat,
He saw his fav'rite work compleat,
Divine enthusiasm seiz'd his breast,
And thus his transport he express'd.
“Let others toil, for wealth, or pow'r,
I court the sweetly-vacant hour:
Down life's smooth current calmly glide,
Nor vex'd with cares, nor rack'd with pride.
Give me, O Nature! to explore
Thy lovely charms, I ask no more.
For thee I fly from vulgar eyes,
For thee I vulgar cares despise.
For thee Ambition's charms resign;
Accept a vot'ry, wholly thine.
He saw his fav'rite work compleat,
Divine enthusiasm seiz'd his breast,
And thus his transport he express'd.
“Let others toil, for wealth, or pow'r,
I court the sweetly-vacant hour:
Down life's smooth current calmly glide,
Nor vex'd with cares, nor rack'd with pride.
Give me, O Nature! to explore
Thy lovely charms, I ask no more.
For thee I fly from vulgar eyes,
For thee I vulgar cares despise.
For thee Ambition's charms resign;
Accept a vot'ry, wholly thine.
Yet still let Friendship's joys be near,
Still, on these plains, her train appear.
By Learning's sons my haunts be trod,
And Stamford's feet imprint my sod.
For Stamford oft hath deign'd to stray
Around my Leasow's flow'ry way.
And, where his honour'd steps have rov'd,
Oft have his gifts those scenes improv'd.
To him I'll dedicate my cell,
To him suspend the votive spell.
His name shall heighten ev'ry charm,
His name protect my groves from harm,
Protect my harmless sport from blame,
And turn obscurity to fame.”
Still, on these plains, her train appear.
By Learning's sons my haunts be trod,
And Stamford's feet imprint my sod.
For Stamford oft hath deign'd to stray
Around my Leasow's flow'ry way.
And, where his honour'd steps have rov'd,
Oft have his gifts those scenes improv'd.
151
To him suspend the votive spell.
His name shall heighten ev'ry charm,
His name protect my groves from harm,
Protect my harmless sport from blame,
And turn obscurity to fame.”
He spake. His hand the pencil guides,
And Stamford o'er the scene presides.
The proud device, with borrow'd grace,
Conferr'd new lustre on the place:
As books, by dint of dedication,
Enjoy their patron's reputation.
And Stamford o'er the scene presides.
The proud device, with borrow'd grace,
Conferr'd new lustre on the place:
As books, by dint of dedication,
Enjoy their patron's reputation.
Now, launching from its lofty shore,
The loosen'd stream began to roar:
As headlong, from the rocky mound,
It rush'd into the vast profound.
There checkt awhile, again it flow'd
Glitt'ring along the channel'd road:
From steep to steep, a frequent fall,
Each diff'rent, and each natural.
Obstructing roots and rocks between,
Diversify th'enchanted scene;
While winding now, and intricate,
Now more develop'd, and in state,
Th'united Stream, with rapid force,
Pursues amain its downward course,
Till at your feet absorb'd, it hides
Beneath the ground its bustling tides.
The loosen'd stream began to roar:
As headlong, from the rocky mound,
It rush'd into the vast profound.
There checkt awhile, again it flow'd
Glitt'ring along the channel'd road:
152
Each diff'rent, and each natural.
Obstructing roots and rocks between,
Diversify th'enchanted scene;
While winding now, and intricate,
Now more develop'd, and in state,
Th'united Stream, with rapid force,
Pursues amain its downward course,
Till at your feet absorb'd, it hides
Beneath the ground its bustling tides.
With prancing steeds, and liv'ried trains,
Soon daily shone the bord'ring plains.
And distant sounds foretold th'approach
Of frequent chaise, and crowded coach.
For sons of Taste, and daughters fair,
Hasted the sweet surprize to share:
While Hagley wonder'd at their stay,
And hardly brook'd the long delay.
Soon daily shone the bord'ring plains.
And distant sounds foretold th'approach
Of frequent chaise, and crowded coach.
For sons of Taste, and daughters fair,
Hasted the sweet surprize to share:
While Hagley wonder'd at their stay,
And hardly brook'd the long delay.
Not distant far below, a Mill
Was built upon a neighb'ring Rill:
Whose pent-up stream, whene'er let loose,
Impell'd a wheel, close at its sluice,
So strongly, that, by friction's pow'r,
'Twou'd grind the firmest grain to flow'r.
Or, by a correspondence new,
With hammers, and their clatt'ring crew,
Wou'd so bestir her active stumps,
On iron-blocks, tho' arrant lumps,
That, in a trice, she'd manage matters,
To make 'em all as smooth as platters.
Or slit a bar to rods quite taper,
With as much ease, as you'd cut paper.
For, tho' the lever gave the blow,
Yet it was lifted from below;
And wou'd for ever have lain still,
But for the bustling of the Rill;
Who, from her stately pool, or ocean,
Put all the weels, and logs in motion;
Things in their nature very quiet,
Tho' making all this noise, and riot.
Was built upon a neighb'ring Rill:
153
Impell'd a wheel, close at its sluice,
So strongly, that, by friction's pow'r,
'Twou'd grind the firmest grain to flow'r.
Or, by a correspondence new,
With hammers, and their clatt'ring crew,
Wou'd so bestir her active stumps,
On iron-blocks, tho' arrant lumps,
That, in a trice, she'd manage matters,
To make 'em all as smooth as platters.
Or slit a bar to rods quite taper,
With as much ease, as you'd cut paper.
For, tho' the lever gave the blow,
Yet it was lifted from below;
And wou'd for ever have lain still,
But for the bustling of the Rill;
Who, from her stately pool, or ocean,
Put all the weels, and logs in motion;
Things in their nature very quiet,
Tho' making all this noise, and riot.
This Stream, that cou'd in toil excel,
Began with foolish pride to swell:
Piqu'd at her neighbour's reputation,
And thus express'd her indignation.
Began with foolish pride to swell:
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And thus express'd her indignation.
“Madam! methinks you're vastly proud,
You was'nt us'd to talk so loud.
Nor cut such capers in your pace,
Marry! what anticks, what grimace!
For shame! don't give yourself such airs,
In flaunting down those hideous stairs.
Nor put yourself in such a flutter,
Whate'er you do, you dirty gutter!
I'd have you know, you upstart minx!
Ere you were form'd, with all your sinks,
A Lake I was, compar'd with which,
Your Stream is but a paltry Ditch:
And still, on honest Labour bent,
I ne'er a single flash mispent.
And yet no folks of high degree,
Wou'd e'er vouchsafe to visit me,
As, in their coaches, by they rattle,
Forsooth! to hear your idle prattle.
Tho' half the business of my flooding
Is to provide them cakes, and pudding:
Or furnish stuff for many a trinket,
Which, tho' so fine, you scarce wou'd think it,
When Boulton's skill has fix'd their beauty,
To my rough toil first ow'd their duty.
But I'm plain Goody of the Mill;
And you are—Madam Cascadille!”
You was'nt us'd to talk so loud.
Nor cut such capers in your pace,
Marry! what anticks, what grimace!
For shame! don't give yourself such airs,
In flaunting down those hideous stairs.
Nor put yourself in such a flutter,
Whate'er you do, you dirty gutter!
I'd have you know, you upstart minx!
Ere you were form'd, with all your sinks,
A Lake I was, compar'd with which,
Your Stream is but a paltry Ditch:
And still, on honest Labour bent,
I ne'er a single flash mispent.
And yet no folks of high degree,
Wou'd e'er vouchsafe to visit me,
As, in their coaches, by they rattle,
Forsooth! to hear your idle prattle.
Tho' half the business of my flooding
Is to provide them cakes, and pudding:
155
Which, tho' so fine, you scarce wou'd think it,
When Boulton's skill has fix'd their beauty,
To my rough toil first ow'd their duty.
But I'm plain Goody of the Mill;
And you are—Madam Cascadille!”
“Dear Coz, reply'd the beauteous Torrent,
Pray do not discompose your current.
That we all from one fountain flow,
Hath been agreed on long ago.
Varying our talents, and our tides,
As chance, or education guides.
That I have either note, or name,
I owe to Him who gives me fame.
Who teaches all our kind to flow,
Or gaily swift, or gravely slow.
Now in the lake, with glassy face,
Now moving light, with dimpled grace.
Now gleaming from the rocky height,
Now, in rough eddies, foaming white.
Nor envy me the gay, or great,
That visit my obscure retreat.
None wonders that a clown can dig,
But 'tis some art to dance a jig.
Your talents are employ'd for use,
Mine to give pleasure, and amuse.
And tho', dear Coz, no folks of taste
Their idle hours with you will waste,
Yet many a grist comes to your mill,
Which helps your master's bags to fill.
While I, with all my notes, and trilling,
For Damon never got a shilling.
Then, gentle Coz, forbear your clamours,
Enjoy your hoppers, and your hammers:
We gain our ends by diff'rent ways,
And you get Bread, and I get—Praise.
Pray do not discompose your current.
That we all from one fountain flow,
Hath been agreed on long ago.
Varying our talents, and our tides,
As chance, or education guides.
That I have either note, or name,
I owe to Him who gives me fame.
Who teaches all our kind to flow,
Or gaily swift, or gravely slow.
Now in the lake, with glassy face,
Now moving light, with dimpled grace.
Now gleaming from the rocky height,
Now, in rough eddies, foaming white.
156
That visit my obscure retreat.
None wonders that a clown can dig,
But 'tis some art to dance a jig.
Your talents are employ'd for use,
Mine to give pleasure, and amuse.
And tho', dear Coz, no folks of taste
Their idle hours with you will waste,
Yet many a grist comes to your mill,
Which helps your master's bags to fill.
While I, with all my notes, and trilling,
For Damon never got a shilling.
Then, gentle Coz, forbear your clamours,
Enjoy your hoppers, and your hammers:
We gain our ends by diff'rent ways,
And you get Bread, and I get—Praise.
See Fable XLI. and LI. in Dodsley's new-invented Fables, and many little pieces printed in the public papers.
| Poems, moral and descriptive | |