The Poetical Works Of James Grainger :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Poetical Works Of James Grainger

... With Memoirs Of His Life And Writings, By Robert Anderson ... And An Index Of The Linnean Names Of Plants, &c. By William Wright

Granger, James (1723-1776)

II.

VOL. II.

LYRIC POEMS.

LOVE ELEGIES.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID.

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II. VOL. II.

LYRIC POEMS.

SOLITUDE,

AN ODE.

I.

O solitude, romantic maid,
Whether by nodding towers you tread,
Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,
Or climb the Andes' clifted side,
Or by the Nile's coy source abide,
Or, starting from your half-year's sleep,
From Hecla view the thawing deep,
Or, at the purple dawn of day,
Tadmor's marble wastes survey,

You, Recluse, again I woo,
And again your steps pursue.

II.

Plum'd Conceit himself surveying,
Folly with her shadow playing,
Purse-proud, elbowing Insolence,
Bloated empiric, puff'd Pretence,
Noise that through a trumpet speaks,
Laughter in loud peals that breaks,
Intrusion with a fopling's face,
(Ignorant of time and place)
Sparks of fire Dissension blowing,
Ductile, court-bred Flattery, bowing,
Restraint's stiff neck, Grimace's leer,
Squint-ey'd Censure's artful sneer,
Ambition's buskins, steep'd in blood,
Fly thy presence, Solitude.

III.

Sage Reflection bent with years,
Conscious Virtue void of fears,
Muffled Silence, wood-nymph shy,
Meditation's piercing eye,

Halcyon Peace on moss reclin'd,
Retrospect that scans the mind,
Rapt earth-gazing Resvery,
Blushing artless Modesty,
Health that snuffs the morning air,
Full-ey'd Truth with bosom bare,
Inspiration, Nature's child,
Seek the solitary wild.

IV.

You with the tragic Muse retir'd,
The wise Euripides inspir'd,
You taught the sadly-pleasing air
That Athens sav'd from ruins bare.
You gave the Cean's tears to flow,
And unlock'd the springs of woe;
You penn'd what exil'd Naso thought,
And pour'd the melancholy note.
With Petrarch o'er Valcluse you stray'd,
When death snatch'd his long-lov'd maid;

You taught the rocks her loss to mourn,
Ye strew'd with flowers her virgin urn.
And late in Hagley you were seen,
With blood-shed eyes, and sombre mien.
Hymen his yellow vestment tore,
And Dirge a wreath of cypress wore.
But chief your own the solemn lay
That wept Narcissa young and gay;
Darkness clapp'd her sable wing,
While you touch'd the mournful string.
Anguish left the pathless wild,
Grim-fac'd melancholy smil'd,
Drowsy midnight ceas'd to yawn,
The starry host put back the dawn,
Aside their harps ev'n seraphs flung
To hear thy sweet complaint, O Young .

In the island Salamis.

See Plutarch in the life of Lysander.

Simonides.

Laura, twenty years, and ten after her death.

Monody on the death of Mrs. Lyttleton.

Night Thoughts.

V.

When all Nature's hush'd asleep,
Nor Love nor Guilt their vigils keep,
Soft you leave your cavern'd den,
And wander o'er the works of men;

But when Phosphor brings the dawn,
By her dappled coursers drawn,
Again you to the wild retreat,
And the early huntsman meet,
Where, as you pensive pace along,
You catch the distant shepherd's song;
Or brush from herbs the pearly dew,
Or the rising primrose view.
Devotion lends her heaven-plum'd wings,
You mount, and Nature with you sings.
But when mid-day fervours glow,
To upland airy shades you go,
Where never sun-burnt woodman came,
Nor sportsman chas'd the timid game;
And there beneath an oak reclin'd,
With drowsy waterfalls behind,
You sink to rest.
Till the tuneful bird of night,
From the neighb'ring poplar's height,
Wake you with her solemn strain,
And teach pleas'd Echo to complain.

VI.

With you roses brighter bloom,
Sweeter every sweet perfume,

Purer every fountain flows,
Stronger every wilding grows.

VII.

Let those toil for gold who please,
Or for fame renounce their ease.
What is fame? an empty bubble;
Gold? a transient, shining trouble.
Let them for their country bleed,
What was Sidney's, Raleigh's meed?
Man's not worth a moment's pain,
Base, ungrateful, fickle, vain.
Then let me, sequester'd fair,
To your Sibyl grot repair;
On yon hanging cliff it stands,
Scoop'd by nature's salvage hands;
Bosom'd in the gloomy shade
Of cypress, not with age decay'd,
Where the owl still hooting sits,
Where the bat incessant flits,
There in loftier strains I'll sing,
Whence the changing seasons spring;
Tell how storms deform the skies,
Whence the waves subside and rise,

Trace the comet's blazing tail,
Weigh the planets in a scale;
Bend, great God, before thy shrine,
The bournless microcosm's thine.

VIII.

Save me! what's yon shrouded shade,
That wanders in the dark-brown glade
It beckons me!—vain fears adieu,
Mysterious ghost, I follow you.
Ah me! too well that gait I know,
My youth's first friend, my manhood's woe!
Its breast it bares! what! stain'd with blood?
Quick let me stanch the vital flood.
Oh spirit, whither art thou flown?
Why left me comfortless alone?
O Solitude, on me bestow
The heart-felt harmony of woe;
Such, such, as on th'Ausonian shore,
Sweet Dorian Moschus trill'd of yore:
No time should cancel thy desert,
More, more, than Bion was, thou wert.

See Idyll.

Alluding to the death of a friend.

IX.

O goddess of the tearful eye,
The never-ceasing stream supply.
Let us with Retirement go
To charnels, and the house of woe,
O'er Friendship's herse low-drooping mourn,
Where the sickly tapers burn,
Where Death and nun-clad Sorrow dwell,
And nightly ring the solemn knell.
The gloom dispels, the charnel smiles,
Light flashes through the vaulted isles;
Blow silky soft, thou western gale,
O goddess of the desert, hail!
She bursts from yon cliff-riven cave,
Insulted by the wintry wave;
Her brow an ivy garland binds,
Her tresses wanton with the winds,
A lion's spoils, without a zone,
Around her limbs are careless thrown;
Her right hand wields a knotted mace,
Her eyes roll wild, a stride her pace;
Her left a magic mirror holds,
In which she oft herself heholds.

O goddess of the desert, hail!
And softer blow, thou western gale!

Since in each scheme of life I've fail'd,
And disappointment seems entail'd;
Since all on earth I valued most,
My guide, my stay, my friend, is lost;
You, only you, can make me blest,
And hush the tempest in my breast.
Then gently deign to guide my feet
To your hermit-trodden seat,
Where I may live at last my own,
Where I at last may die unknown.

I spoke, she turn'd her magic ray,
And thus she said, or seem'd to say:

Youth, you're mistaken, if you think to find
In shades a med'cine for a troubled mind:
Wan Grief will haunt you wheresoe'er you go,
Sigh in the breeze, and in the streamlet flow;
There pale Inaction pines his life away,
And, satiate, curses the return of day:
There naked Frenzy, laughing wild with pain,
Or bares the blade, or plunges in the main:
There Superstition broods o'er all her fears,
And yells of demons in the zephyr hears.

But if a hermit you're resolv'd to dwell,
And bid to social life a last farewell;
'Tis impious.—
God never made an independent man,
'Twould jar the concord of his general plan:
See every part of that stupendous whole,
“Whose body nature is, and God the soul;”
To one great end, the general good conspire,
From matter, brute, to man, to seraph, fire.
Should man through Nature solitary roam,
His will his sovereign, every where his home,
What force would guard him from the lion's jaw?
What swiftness wing him from the panther's paw?
Or should Fate lead him to some safer shore,
Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar;
Where liberal Nature all her charms bestows,
Suns shine, birds sing, flowers bloom, and water flows,
Fool! dost thou think he'd revel on the store,
Absolve the care of Heaven, nor ask for more?
Though waters flow'd, flow'rs bloom'd and Phœbus shone,
He'd sigh, he'd murmur that he was alone.
For know, the Maker on the human breast,
A sense of kindred, country, man, impress'd;

And social life to better, aid, adorn,
With proper faculties each mortal's born.

Though Nature's works the ruling mind declare,
And well deserve inquiry's serious care,
The God (whate'er Misanthropy may say)
Shines, beams in man with most unclouded ray.
What boots it thee to fly from pole to pole,
Hang o'er the sun, and with the planets roll?
What boots through space's furthest bourns to roam?
If thou, O man, a stranger art at home?
Then know thyself, the human mind survey,
The use, the pleasure will the toil repay.
Hence Inspiration plans his manner'd lays,
Hence Homer's crown, and, Shakspeare, hence thy bays.
Hence he, the pride of Athens, and the shame,
The best and wisest of mankind became;
Nor study only, practise what you know,
Your life, your knowledge, to mankind you owe.
With Plato's olive wreath the bays entwine;
Those who in study, should in practice shine.
Say, does the learned Lord of Hagley's shade ,
Charm man so much, by mossy fountains laid,

As when arous'd, he stems Corruption's course,
And shakes the senate with a Tully's force?
When Freedom gasp'd beneath a Cæsar's feet,
Then public Virtue might to shades retreat;
But where she breathes, the least may useful be,
And freedom, Britain, still belongs to thee.
Though man's ungrateful, or though Fortune frown,
Is the reward of worth a song, or crown?
Not yet unrecompens'd are Virtue's pains,
Good Allen lives, and bounteous Brunswick reigns.
On each condition disappointments wait,
Enter the hut, and force the guarded gate.
Nor dare repine, though early Friendship bleed,
From love, the world, and all its cares he's freed.
But know, Adversity's the child of God;
Whom Heaven approves of most, most feel her rod.
When smooth old Ocean and each storm's asleep,
Then ignorance may plough the watery deep;
But when the demons of the tempest rave,
Skill must conduct the vessel through the wave.

Sidney , what good man envies not thy blow?
Who would not wish Anytus for a foe?
Intrepid Virtue triumphs over fate,
The good can never be unfortunate.
And be this maxim graven in thy mind,
The height of virtue is, to serve mankind.

But when old age has silver'd o'er thy head,
When memory fails, and all thy vigour's fled,
Then may'st thou seek the stillness of retreat,
Then hear aloof the human tempest beat,
Then will I greet thee to my woodland cave,
Allay the pangs of age, and smooth thy grave.

Lord Lyttleton.

Ralph Allen, Esq. of Prior Park.

Algernon Sidney, beheaded on Tower-Hill, 7th December 1683.

One of the accusers of Socrates.

FANCY,

AN IRREGULAR ODE.

I.

What lunacy distracts my soul?
What sacred fury wings me through the sky?
Beneath my feet the rattling thunders roll;
I mount, I fly.
The moon's dim earth's already past,
Uriel, to thy sublimer orb I haste.
Fancy broods amid thy rays,
I see the Phœnix shooting from thy blaze!
Fair winged steeds, more bright
Than Alpine snows, or new-born light,
Whirl her chariot through the skies.
Before her Imitation flies,
Rob'd in a lucid veil
Of ever-changing shape and hue;
And with a piercing eye looks nature through.
The sister arts (her filial train) around
Catch her shape, her thought, her sound;

From each embolden'd dash, what wonders start?
Nature's improv'd by art!
The foremost steed
Fire-clad Inspiration rides,
Lashing with furious speed,
The airy vast procession guides.
The clouds their gayest liveries wear,
Myriads of spruce ideas crowd the rear,
And symphony ascends from every sphere.

II.

What though your pleasing steps no more
Fair Meles' sedgy banks detain;
Nor on th'Elean Alpheus shore
You shake with Pindar the gold-studded rein?
What though, while Heaven's vast cope is in a blaze,
And Cacodæmons, wing'd with fate,
Pluck hoary Nature from her base,
No more to aggrandize your state,
You snatch up Shakspeare in your car,
And stern enjoy the elemental war?
If you th'energic fiat nod,
Exert the God,

That lowly streamlet watering yonder dell,
Shall Meles, Alpheus, excel,
And Fame,
With pen of adamant, engrave,
Before great Shakspeare's, my unnotic'd name.

III.

In, Fancy, thee, I view th'Almighty Sire,
Ere the fair Creation rose,
To thee impart his first desire,
To thee his beauteous purpose deign disclose.
When formless Chaos started into shape,
And Rest coeval leapt to organ'd life,
Thou first, exulting, did'st descry
Light ope the modest morning's eye;
The negro-darkness in a stole of crape,
With frowning tardiness withdrew;
Then Colours first forsook their ancient thrall,
And, firm collected in a beamy band,
Down flew,
And pouring diverse o'er the new-made ball,
Painted the curling clouds, vast deep, and dry-broad land.
Thou saw'st yon Sun, like a rich bridegroom drest,
First bursting from the East;

Then infant Spring walk'd forth in cheerful green;
Red Summer's blush adorn'd the rosy scene;
Then laughing Autumn, plump and blithe,
Sprung with the dawn, and whet her scythe;
Last churlish Winter, wrapp'd in furs of bear,
Lash'd on his iron wane, and clos'd the varied year;
Earth, Ocean, Air, the Stars of Morning sung;
The wandering Planets stopp'd to hear,
And Heaven with acclamations rung.

IV.

From thee, Cupid stole his bow;
On Pan thou didst his oaten pipe bestow;
Thou plait'st with snakes the Furies' hair;
And gav'st Medusa the petrific air.
The shades of Pindus, and the sacred Nine,
And Aganippe's vocal fount are thine.
The Sylphs and Gnomes that on the fair attend,
Or round their robes in shining squadrons play,
Or in Neæra's ringlets stray,
For being on thy breath depend.
The love-creating zone thy fingers plac'd
Round Cytherea's taper waist.

Nor less thy bounty to the wond'rous pair,
Ierne's boast, and Britain's care ;
Thou to them gav'st thy choicest bloom,
Their shafts, and feather'd from thy plume.
The naked Graces three,
Link'd in comely harmony,
Derive their wond'rous charms alone from thee.

V.

With you, Milton rapt on high,
Trac'd all the wonders of the sky;
Enter'd, unbash'd, the blest abodes,
Where darkness shrouds the God of Gods.
But, hark!
Th'Archangel's trump sounds dire alarms,
All Heaven's in arms.
The rebel host the arch-apostate leads,
The hierarchy bleeds!
Portentous comets glare!
Vast torn-up mountains shade the air!
He comes, he comes!

The Son of God to war,
Whirlwinds draw his living car.
Heaven's stedfast deep foundations shake,
Lightnings flash and thunders break:
Havoc and wild uproar,
Th'apostate legions gore:
Th'arch-fiend and furious Moloch quake.
All drop their bolts, and diverse fly,
Like chaff before the gloomy North;
Heaven bursts hideous beneath their feet,
And the sweet Mercy check'd the Son's pursuit;
They plunge incontinent, and howling cry
To Hell to fling her brazen portals wide,
And in her boiling seas of flame their anguish hide.

VI.

At thy glance the desert blooms,
And Fragrance flings her rich perfumes.
Effulgent Fancy, at thy ray,
Zembla's age-frozen mountains melt away;
Her Naiads from their icy fetters freed,
Wondering, salute the new-enamell'd mead;
While on their banks thy own sweet Cygnets sing,
Her night becomes an endless day,
Her winter an eternal spring.

The stock-dove thrills her plaintive strain,
Ceres waves her golden grain.
Around the elm, with wanton twine,
Curls the cluster-blushing vine.
And while Pan his flocks among
Jocund pipes a sylvan song,
His flocks scatter'd o'er the mead,
List'ning, all forget to feed.
Jollity and sportive Spring,
To the lay respondent sing;
And with rosy chaplets bound,
Lightly trip the flowery ground.
Cupid haunts the myrtle shade,
And woos the unreluctant maid.
Each new-created object gives delight,
And more than Arcady pours on the sight.

VII.

Without thy smiles spruce Opulence gives pain;
Thou can'st knock off the wretch's chain;
Inspir'd by thee, brown Drudgery sings
Of ruddy Mopsa's charms,
Nor envies the proud state of scepter'd kings.

Plenty without thee pines amid his store;
Thou spread'st an ample banquet to the poor.
At courts thou can'st sequester'd peace supply,
And cottages are courts when thou art nigh.
Proteus' Spleen expands his sooty wings,
And sullen from thy presence flings.
Podagra, on a mattress bound,
Light traverses with thee this earthy round;
O'er Alpine ridges nimbly soars,
And visits, unfatigued, the polar shores.

VIII.

Come then, while I upon a bank reclin'd,
Where not a breath of wind,
Or shakes the trees, or whispers through the brake,
Or stirs yon sheety lake;
Ere Phosphor leave the sky,
Or morn, of rosy hue,
From old Tithonus' bosom fly,
To shower on earth the pearly dew:
O bid ten thousand shadowy forms arise,
And skim before my raptur'd eyes.
With buskin'd Emperors now I seem to strut,
Now saunter to the straw-thatch'd hut;

Now frown on thrones where Cæsar sat,
And then with simple shepherds chat;
Anon I ride sublime on Saturn's ring,
Now on the turf effus'd hear thrushes sing;
Through every solar system then I rove,
Or plunge me in the dusky grove;
Then on the verge exulting hing
Of Nature's furthest star, and hear its syren sing.

IX.

But, Fancy, stop thy bold career,
Nor traverse the empyrean space,
Where unveil'd seraphs scarce appear,
Before th'Almighty would'st thou show thy face?
The grove of Learning calls thy feet,
Seek Academus' olive seat,
There with thy son, and fair Apollo's meet .
See, see Ilyssus from his mossy cave,
With sedges crown'd, his awful figure rear,
And hush his rapid wave,
The heaven-sent lore of Socrates to hear!

But, hark! I see the Greek,
The foe of Macedon, in act to speak;
Silence, ye crest-fall'n venal throng,
Like whirlwinds swift, like thunder strong!
What soul-reviving energy divine
Bursts out in every line!
Their useless gold, the King , and bribery mourn.
Again they whet the falchion, grasp the shield,
Yoke the steed, rush to the field,
And death, and millions, for their country mourn.

X.

To peep where no immortal ever dar'd,
You led the Grecian bard,
Who saw the blushing Queen of Heaven improve
Her naked charms with all the wiles of love.
And though a golden cloud is spread around,
Clasp'd in each other's arms, I see
Th'imperial pair, on the flower-shooting ground,
Expire in amorous ecstacy.

The Heavens their choicest influence shed
On the spontaneous rosy bed.
Old Ida feels th'enamour'd God,
And all his tops and forests shake with joy.

XI.

With you through all the Signior's guards I pass;
In vain grim eunuchs bar my way, and doors of brass.
In the seraglio's innermost recess,
Each greedy raptur'd sense I feast
On all the flaming beauties of the East.
But, lovely Fancy, would you charm me more
Than song can tell, or poet ever knew,
Assume a fairer face than e'er you wore,
Fairer than pen or pencil drew,
And bring Neæra to my ravish'd view;
Soft emotion in her look,
Let her listen to my woes
In an arbour, by a brook
That invites to soft repose.
The vision works, I clasp the maid,
Trembling, sighing,
Half complying,
Struggling, wishing, fond, afraid.

Dear arbour, thicken to a closer shade;
Let none profane Love's mystic orgies spy;
I faint, I die;—
Far, far, each vulgar fascinating eye!

Miss Gunnings, afterwards Countess of Coventry and Duchess of Hamilton.

See Diog. Laert. in the Life of Plato.

Philip.

After the defeat of Chæronea.

HYMN TO CHEERFULNESS.

I

O Cheerfulness! celestial queen!
Of sparkling eye and rosy mien;
Whether in bower or hall,
Where coyly wanton Beauty wounds,
And Music breathes impassion'd sounds,
Thou smil'st, to thee I call!

II

Though Love my cup of pleasure sours,
And stops the too, too lagging hours;
If thou, heart-easing Fair!
Once deign to grace my lonely roof,
Pale-fac'd Dejection keeps aloof,
And Sorrow melts to air.

III

In vain the Bacchanalian crew,
Thee would with wine and roses woo,
To grace their orgies wild;
Where laughs Debauch, where Riot rings,
Thou fliest the rout on equal wings,
Thee, Health and Virtue's child.

IV

Let shy Suspicion seek the glade,
Of social intercourse afraid,
Enwrapt in double gloom;
Let Cacodæmons rule the skies,
At every step see terrors rise,
And yell his dismal doom.

V

Though sunny Afric own'd my sway,
And in my shores Potosi lay,
Each craving wish supply'd;
Unless thou com'st, Euphrosyne!
And bring'st thy nurse, Content, with thee,
'Twere irksome all beside.

VI

In vain I importune the Nine,
Around my brow their wreaths to twine,
To strike the Tean lyre:
My blood without thee dully flows,
Nor fit nor just my judgment knows,
My fancy feels no fire.

VII

Regret and mopish Bodings fly,
Enlivening Queen! when thou art by,
Chagrin nor dares to stay;
Rash Suicide lets fall the bowl,
Thou light'st the day-star in the soul,
With Hope's perennial ray.

VIII

In vain foul Vice assumes thy mien,
Alone fair Virtue smiles serene,

Serene, though kings disgrace;
The thorns that goad the villain's breast,
The secret dread that breaks his rest,
Belie the visor'd face.

IX

Let dire eccentric comets glare,
Let fire-ey'd plagues infest the air,
Let earthquakes rock the ground;
No sunk Despondency repines,
No Cavil taxes God's designs,
Where thou, Divine! art by!

X

Blithe Hope, in amice green array'd,
And meek-ey'd Peace that woos the glade,
Thy genuine offspring are:
Thou paint'st with ruddier streaks the dawn,
Thou tint'st with brighter bredes the lawn,
And fairer mak'st the fair.

XI

For, if not fabulous my lore,
Thou art the magic zone she wore,
She, Queen of wreathed smiles!
By thee she fix'd in every heart
The pleasurably-painful dart,
From thee she stole her wiles.

XII

If with thy sweetly-winning ray
Thou gild'st the close of life's decay,
Old age has power to charm;
Without thee, Goddess debonnaire!
Not youth, not breathing youth, is fair,
No gazer's breast can warm.

XIII

Wherever, Queen, thou deign'st to go,
Fruits hang, flowers bud, clear streamlets flow,
The echoing banks between:
Mild vernal airs around thee throng,
And all is sun, and all is song,
And all fair freshening green.

XIV

Staid Pleasures in thy presence wait,
Superior thou to frowns of Fate,
To fretful Hymen's chains;
Thou art Religion's genuine look,
Thou art Philanthropy's rebuke,
That wins while it restrains.

XV

Thou art the Patriot's heart-felt meed;
When Freedom lives and tyrants bleed,
Thy smiles his toils repay;
Where bloody Superstition reigns,
And dooms the Good to deathful pains,
Thou art the Martyr's stay.

XVI

O Cheerfulness! thy steady beam
By far outshines Mirth's transient gleam,
Mirth, Mourning's firm ally!
Rash apish Folly is his guide;
Wisdom is ever at thy side,
And chaste Hilarity.

XVII

Alas! I court thy smiles in vain,
Love throbs with keener, fonder pain,
While Memory paints the past:
Yet, Cheerfulness! I'd not forego
This pleasing anxious sense of woe,
For all the joys thou hast!

AN ADDRESS TO THE EVENING STAR.

Εσπερε τας ερατας χρυσεον φαος αφρογενειας χαιρε φιλος.
Mosch.

I

Now twilight from the low-brow'd rock descends,
Dusk and more dusk the deep'ning shadows fall;
And now the toil of swain and ploughman ends,
And now the milkmaid flies the ivy'd wall.

II

Far have I gone, and far have yet to go,
Nor at the lengthen'd way do I repine,
If you, fair-folding Star, your circlet show,
If you, to light my darkling footsteps, shine.

III

The glow-worm trails his spangles on the thorn,
The two-kind Bat now flits on plumeless wing,

Against my face the heedless Chafer's borne,
And, hark! I hear the distant curfew ring.

IV

Long, long, I mourn'd my too, too dismal fate,
Long watch'd the moment Care would me reprieve;
Fate smil'd at last, Care set me free, though late;
Then trim thy golden lamp, sweet eye of Eve!

V

Now at his homely mess the peasant smiles,
Smiling, his wife and children sit around;
And now with tale and song the night beguiles,
Now, yawning, sinks to sleep, now sleeps profound.

VI

In vain faint Hunger calls for new supplies,
I'll triumph o'er faint Hunger's irksome call;

And Sleep in vain attempts to seal my eyes,
If you, dear Orb, illume Night's sable pall.

VII

Now Nature seems as curtain'd from my sight,
Now Negro-darkness mounts her ebon wane,
The tomb now renders up the sheeted spright,
Around dread horror and sad silence reign.

VIII

Conscience my guard, each evil I defy,
For no bad act I crave thy beamy aid,
The Star of Love thou art, his slave am I,
Guide then a wandering lover to his maid.

TO THE NYMPH OF PITKEATHLY WATERS.

------ καλιστον υδωρ επι γαιαν ιησιν.
Hom.

I

O green-stol'd Nymph, whose fount restor'd my fair,
When Sickness cropp'd the beauties of her face;
Ne'er may the rainy South thy pow'rs impair,
May never reptile foul thy stream disgrace.

II

While on the Tay deep-harrowing Winter reigns,
Not the least wrinkle may thy surface know;
And while the North binds Earn in icy chains,
In lapse unfetter'd may thy waters flow.

III

May Spring's first cowslips on thy borders bloom;
Thy banks first echo to the Cuckoo's lay;
First round thee, Fragrance fling each rich perfume;
Thy thickets first exclude the noon-tide ray.

IV

What time blithe August on thy margin plays,
To thee, sweet-featur'd Nymph, (so Jove ordains)
Each year bland Health a solemn visit pays,
And, while thy groves are green, with thee remains.

V

O may no wayward Hags, of aspect foul,
Brew their dire potions near thy willow'd spring,
Nor melt the waxen semblance, as they howl
Dread orgies to their grimly-smiling King.

VI

But oft, when Night has hung with black the sky,
And only Hesper sheds his silent ray,
May dapper Fays around their revels ply,
Till Chanticleer awake the dawn of day.

VII

Oft may their music lonely travellers cheer,
And swains belated oft their lights perceive;
Thy rills shall stop their dimply course to hear,
And love-lorn Philomel forget to grieve.

VIII

May gay-dress'd Pleasure wanton on thy plains,
May vast increase thy ploughman's toil repay;
May never clarion fright thy peaceful swains,
Nor battle tear them from their wives away.

IX

Thy healing powers the Youth shall yearly sing,
And Age, recruited, wreaths on thee bestow;
For, trust the prescient Muse, O virtuous Spring!
While murmurs Helicon, thy fount shall flow.

X

Not mine, be told the truth, not mine the lays,
Unheard, the favour of the Nine I sue;
Love cull'd this chaplet of immortal praise,
And grateful sprinkled with Castalian dew.

Two rivers in the neighbourhood of the Waters.

TRIUMPH OF BEAUTY.

------ Amor
Totum hoc muneris tui est.
Horat.

I

Though on my birth Euterpe smil'd,
And Science fann'd the latent fire,
I heeded not, ungracious child!
To mingle with the Thespian choir.

II

For, oh! with Sloth, enfeebling fair,
I loiter'd in the magic bower,
Where, all devoid of virtuous care,
I, listless, doz'd the vernal hour.

III

Though younger Bion snatch'd the bays,
And all the Muses hymn'd his name,
Sloth stifled Emulation's blaze,
Sloth bad me smile at deathless Fame.

IV

Yet oft when Homer's work was read,
I started from my trance supine,
Fierce broke the spells around me spread,
Swift mounted to the sacred Nine.

V

But soon, too soon, her arts prevail'd,
A magic languor on me hung:
Though seeming strong, my pinions fail'd,
The transports falter'd on my tongue.

VI

Grey Morn unbarr'd the gates of light,
With cloudless lustre Titan shone,
The silver Moon adorn'd the night,
Sweet Philomela trill'd her moan.

VII

In vain grey Morn unbarr'd the light,
And Titan shone with cloudless ray,
The Moon and Music cheer'd the night,
On Inattention's lap I lay.

VIII

At last a Form came tripping by,
More fair than Fancy's tropes can tell;
I sprang alert, my pulse beat high,
On fire, I swept th'Æolian shell.

IX

My sweep th'Æolian shell obey'd,
The numbers Inspiration rais'd,
A fond Attention hush'd the glade,
While I Neæra's beauty prais'd.

IX

Smiling, she listen'd to the song;
Then whisper'd, if her heart I'd gain,
That I must soar above the throng
By deeds, and Honour's palm obtain.

X

As when a Snake, benumb'd with cold,
Is plac'd before Compassion's fire,
Heat circles through each thawing fold,
New vigour swells each bright'ning spire:

XI

I burnish'd up the warrior-shield,
Impatient shook the warrior-spear,
Fierce rush'd into the bloody field,
Stern bad adieu to Sloth and Fear.

TO NEÆRA.

FROM LOCHABER, Sept. 1752.

I

Nine months are past, my Fair! and three,
(In love a long eternity!)
Since last I took my leave of you,
Since first wild Abria met my frighted view:

II

Yet here not endless Winter reigns,
Though Love my bosom ever pains;
But cold as Abria, rob'd in snow,
Is fire-clad Fancy, when 'twould paint my woe!

III

To sooth my cares, I court the Nine,
I court the Sports, and God of Wine;
Nor Bacchus, nor the Thespian Fair,
Nor jocund Sports, allay my constant care.

IV

When Winter frown'd, I long'd to see
Rich vernal buds adorn the tree;
Now, vernal buds the trees adorn,
I wish impatient for the ripen'd corn.

V

Lo! Harvest comes with laughing eye,
Age, Want, rejoice; yet, yet, I sigh;
Or Time precipitate the year,
Or kindly waft the lov'd Neæra here!

VI

Could I ev'n here those eyes behold,
Ev'n here my arms that waist infold;
I'd envy not those eastern plains
Where cheerful Spring, with Dalliance ever reigns!

VII

The savage tribes beneath the Bear,
Who pine in darkness half the year,
Less wish the rising sun to view,
Than I, my lovely Fair, to gaze on you!

VIII

To sooth the stormy pensive hour,
Oft Recollection twines the bower;
The conscious bower, where first, my Fair!
You heard, without a frown, my am'rous pray'r!

IX

Then, then, I'm bless'd, the Rocks recede!
The Landscape smiles! I'm past the Tweed!
Till comes Suspicion, with his train,
Wild Abria doubly frowns, I'm curs'd again!

X

Swift as yon torrent from the hill,
I snatch a sword my blood to spill!
What! leave to rivals the fair maid?
Arch Cupid smiles, I drop the shining blade!

XI

In sleep, when midnight rocks the ball,
And “All is well,” the sentries call;
Me, Morpheus, oft by magic ways,
To your dear woodland hermitage conveys.

XII

I clasp you in my longing arms!
I kiss and gaze on all your charms!
But soon the vision disappears!
I start, the drum at dawn astounds my ears!

XIII

As late on Nevis' banks I stray'd,
Of you, of rivals, all afraid,
The God rose slowly to my view,
Heath crown'd his horns, his cinctur'd robe was new.

XIV

Fond youth! he said, lament no more,
Soon, soon, you'll leave my hateful shore;
The maid is constant, cease to weep!
He spoke, and headlong sought the rocky deep!

XV

What pleasing music strikes my ear!
The soldiers shout, the march I hear!
Transcendent Fair! I fly to you!
Rocks, Nevis, Fort, adieu, adieu!

Lochaber, a bleak, mountainous, and barren district of Inverness-shire. Fort-William, where the regiment to which the Author belonged, was stationed, stands on the river Nevis in this district.

LOVE ELEGIES.

THREE ELEGIES WRITTEN FROM ITALY.

ELEGY I.TO ROSALIND.

Non mihi Mæonidem—non cura Maronem,
Vincere, si fiam notus amore sat est.
Sannazar.

I

Bear me, some God, to Scotia's distant plains,
Her fir-crown'd mountains let me once more view,
Though there in savage pomp, wild Winter reigns,
I long to bid Italian Springs adieu!

II

I thought to glide adown life's gentle stream,
Secure from Fortune's ever-veering gales,
With you and Solitude in bowers to dream,
With you and Echo talk in fairy vales.

III

What though no trees upon thy banks, O Tay,
Breathe rich perfumes, or with the citron glow?
There I and Rosalind were wont to stray;
There now my Charmer sinks oppress'd with woe.

IV

Not far B** his shaggy summit rears,
Where Pan oft touches his melodious quill;
What time the hind unyokes his droughty steers,
The thrush nor chants, nor flows the list'ning rill:

V

One morning here I haply met my fair,
And, faltering, told with what excess I lov'd;
She blushing smil'd, and bade me not despair—
And here my passion she at last approv'd.

VI

The Medicean Venus I have seen,
Ausonia's noblest boast, the pride of art;
Ye Loves! how far more winning was her mien,
When she approv'd the offering of my heart!

VII

Enamour'd then we trod the woodland scene,
How pleasing, Nature, was thy savage dress!
Thy Groves of orange, thy Valdarnos green,
Thy Baias, Italy, delight me less.

VIII

On all her steps attendant Beauty smil'd,
'Twas more than Tempe wheresoe'er she went;
It seem'd an Enna what was erst a wild,
And Eurus from his wings Sabæa sent.

IX

When Noon in Leo rode and hush'd the wind,
And the tir'd mower of refreshment lack'd,
We read love-tales the bloomy broom behind,
We kiss'd the lovely fictions into fact.

X

Nor yet did dalliance all our hours consume,
We talk'd whence rivers draw their humid store,
Whence winter-storms, and whence the purple bloom,
When July wanders all our uplands o'er.

XI

I taught my lovely mistress all I knew.—
Then, then I liv'd.—Ah me, how chang'd my fate!
Why, Rosalind, so nobly born were you?
Oh why, my parents, of so mean a state?

XII

Without my love, what boots it me to know,
Where Maro wrote, or patriot Tully fell,

Where Delia's lover met the muse of woe,
Or drink with Fancy at Blandusia's well.

XIII

Though Art and Nature strive to cheat my care,
Nature and Art employ their charms in vain;
Though Music's power essays each soothing air,
Not Music's soothing airs subdue my pain.

XIV

As late at Naso's Urn in tears I stood,
And scatter'd myrtles on the hallow'd ground,
An instantaneous horror chill'd my blood,
As burst these accents from the tomb profound:

XV

“Thanks, amorous Briton, whose religious hand
“This grateful offering on my shade bestows:
“Though Fortune force thee from thy native land,
“Fortune shall cease your union to oppose.”

At Formia in Campania. It is now called Mola. His tomb is shown in a garden.

Tibullus.

Horace.

Near Rome.

ELEGY II.TO THE SAME.

------ Mutat via longa puellas
Quantus in exiguo tempore perit amor.
Proper.

I

'Tis done!—at last the mighty struggle's o'er,
I tear thee, perjur'd trait'ress, from my heart;
Between us rise new Alps, new Oceans roar,
I feel not now the slightest pang to part.

II

The nuptial bed ten thousand fiends prepare,
The nuptial torch ten thousand furies light;
Your every day be rack'd with heart-felt care,
My shade, my injur'd shade, your dreams affright.

III

Was it for this, when Chloe sought my hand,
Chloe the wealthy, virtuous, and the fair,
That I refus'd to tie the nuptial band,
That I denied my friends' united pray'r?

IV

When sickness dimm'd your radiant eyes of late,
And wept your parents,—wept your friends around,
My skill (Love gave it virtue) baffled fate;
Vain shriek'd the owl, and vain the house-dog howl'd.

V

Did you not clasp me to your panting heart,
When the rough Boatswain bade me haste away?
And must, (you cried with tears) and must we part?
My first, sole lov'd, my Damon! stop one day!

VI

What most we wish, how easy we believe!
I long had known, esteem'd, ador'd the maid:
Fool!—did not Delia thus her love deceive,
Though for his safety to the Gods she pray'd.

VII

Yet simple Truth her manners seem'd to guide,
Yet Constancy was still her favourite theme;
Gold's slavish martyrs, Gods, how she'd deride!
How choose with me a cottage and a stream!

VIII

And yet to leave me for illiberal gain,
Ere on your cheeks my parting kiss was dry!
Ere thrice the Moon had swell'd her subject main!
Ere I beheld your myrtles, Italy!

IX

The wretch's name, eternal curses blast,
Who first disclos'd to man the bright decoy;
And, O accurs'd be he, who first amass'd
The gold that robs the lover of his joy.

X

Yet since in vain the Wealthy never sigh,
Since Love and Beauty are the prize of Gain,
To hoard up wealth, all ways, all means, I'll try,
All means are sacred, if I gold obtain.

XI

Ah me, since Rosalind's another's prize,
Since she has basely left unwealthy me,
Her heart or treasure I alike despise,
From both alike with just abhorrence flee.

XII

And can I coolly thus my love resign?
Impassive see her in another's arms?
If vows can bind her heart, her all is mine,
That, that, ye Gods, my frigid bosom warms.

XIII

Come, Expedition, hoist the loosen'd sail;
And come, Red Vengeance, bare the fatal steel;
Ye Gods she injur'd, give a prosperous gale;
The least remorse my bosom cannot feel.

XIV

What! could I see her breathless corse, unmov'd?
See deathful darkness veil her beauteous eyes?
Eyes that beyond my soul so late I lov'd,
And in my heart no soft compunctions rise?

XV

All-powerful Gods, the bloody deed avert!
Where late Love triumph'd, Vengeance cannot dwell!
The deed was foreign to my soften'd heart!
Still, still, I feel, poor Damon loves too well.

XVI

Beneath yon myrtle's soft entwining shade,
Behold two lovers, exquisitely blest!
Each swain, but me, enjoys his plighted maid!
Each brow, but mine, in cheerful smiles is dress'd!

XVII

Yet, yet, may endless blessings crown her head!
May Fortune still on all her actions smile!
A numerous offspring grace her genial bed,
As Rosalinda fair, without her guile!

XVIII

While I outcast, an exile and forlorn,
In some more distant clime shall pour my sighs,
My fate, too merciless, for ever mourn,
Till welcome Death seal up my wearied eyes.

ELEGY III. TO THE SAME.

[With myrtle-wreaths my joyous temples bind!]

Ite triumphales circum mea tempora lauri
Vicimus.
Ovid.

I

With myrtle-wreaths my joyous temples bind!
I'm more than recompens'd for all my pain!
Hence, cares and doubts, I give you to the wind!
Love's still a God, and guards the constant swain!

II

She's mine, she's mine, yet Rosalind is mine;
In vain her father pray'd, and chid, and swore;
In vain her mercenary friends combine,
And Gripus proffer'd all his unsun'd ore.

III

Can you forgive the strains my passion drew?
Tear, doom them victims to the sea or flame.
By female manners, fool! to judge of you!
The curs'd remembrance clouds my face with shame.

IV

Yet, trust me, Fair one, when I thought you lost,
When Fancy drew you in another's arms,
The slave of Av'rice; when I menac'd most,
I could have died with joy to save your charms.

V

Though poor, and forc'd from home, from you to fly,
Friendless, in foreign climes, though doom'd to moan,
With grateful homage I absolve the Sky,
I should not else your matchless faith have known.

VI

But though no longer I at fate repine,
Sure what Love whispers, I to Love may pray,
From Force and Fraud keep Rosalinda mine,
And from the Tiber waft me to the Tay.

ELEGY.

[Hence, Love! I'll be no more Melinda's slave!]

[_]

Having quarrelled with Melinda , the following Elegy, which was sent to a common Friend, happily effected a reconciliation.

Hei mihi quod nullis amor est medicabilis herbis.

I

Hence, Love! I'll be no more Melinda's slave!
Her eyes (false stars) shall pilot me no more!
'Tis time my weather-beaten bark to save,
My sails full time to furl, and make the shore.

II

I sued, sued humbly; was deny'd access;—
I wrote; my letters back unop'd she sent;
Each word, each action, show'd intense distress;
Nor word nor action taught her to relent.

III

Is this my recompence, ungrateful fair?
Thy bloom, by me, the youth of Albion know!
A bloom, nor Time nor Sickness can impair;
The rose ne'er withers that the Muses blow.

IV

It now, my Friend, contents my inmost heart,
That thy skill triumph'd o'er my late disease;
Though then I curs'd (blame Love) thy friendly art,
Spurn'd Reason's dictates, and rejected Ease.

V

Her every caprice should I fond adore?
Her follies deify? her faults commend?
When she talk'd idly, must I hymn her lore?
Or false arraign'd me, should I not defend?

VI

Henceforth to books I'll dedicate my time;
A serious student, fly the giddy gay;
Peruse the sages of each scienc'd clime;
Cull out the graces of each ethic lay.

VII

Yes, I will read the bards, who lash the fair;
Who, foes to Love, the genuine woman shew;
The bard who sung Belinda's ravish'd hair,
The sage who wanton Messalina drew.

VIII

What joy, when morning dawns, to mount my steed,
And with sagacious hounds the hare pursue?
On L---'s banks entrap the finny breed?
Or, dress'd an archer, twang the fatal yew?

IX

What joy, with Friendship in my bower reclin'd,
Where Tay and Earn their mingled waters roll,
With rosy wreaths my careless brow to bind,
And drown Remembrance in the jocund bowl?

X

But most thy volume, Nature! I'll explore;
And Newton, thy sole secretary, read;
By Nature's works, to Nature's Parent soar,
The heart improving, while the mind I feed.

XI

These, these secur'd, must ascertain my rest;
Must fence my heart from Love's tyrannic sway:
Who seek abroad for Joy, can ne'er be blest,
The slave of Female whim can ne'er be gay.

XII

Yet, yet I find, that something's wanting still;
In spite of friends, and hounds, I'm unemploy'd,
The brook's less pleasing, and less green the hill,
And O! how soon with Satire am I cloy'd!

XIII

Ah! 'twas Melinda gave the hills their green!
Thou, L--- , stol'st thy clearness from her eyes!
Her look taught Friendship its enticing mien!
Her voice lent music to the hounds' full cries!

XIV

The torrent Softness pours upon my mind!
I'm your's, incens'd Melinda! your's again!
Once more my loosen'd canvas courts the Wind!
Your slave, once more I stem Love's adverse main!

Rivers near which this Elegy was written.

See Note on former page.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

AN EPISTLE TO LORD L--- IN LONDON,

WRITTEN AT FORT-WILLIAM IN LOCHABER, Feb. 1752.

------ Jacet extra sidera tellus
Extra anni, solisque vias.
Virg.

Was e'er, my Lord, so strange a thing?
What! at the Bear to bid me sing!
D'ye think Euterpe such a fool,
To leave her Pind' for furthest Thule?
Or that Dan Phœbus such an ass is,
To climb Ben Nevis for Parnassus?
Here, here, alas! no streamlets play,
To sooth enraptur'd Fancy's lay!

Here the mild airs no alcoves twine,
Retirement for the sacred Nine!
Here no soft Philomela pours
Her plaints, to charm the midnight hours!
But Alps on Alps, pil'd rudely high,
Heave their shagg'd summits to the sky;
Round their shagg'd summits lightnings flash,
Adown their sides wild torrents dash;
Fogs, from torpid lakes that rise,
Veil their basis from your eyes;
While cliffs, from whose o'er-beetling brinks,
Dizzy Consternation shrinks,
Oft thunder down, when tempests plough,
And crash whole villages below!
The mountains groan, the caverns roar,
By ten thousand Echoes tore!
The crash the distant savage hears,
Snatches his babes, and, wing'd with fears,
Flies to some glen's Cimmerian gloom,
And, shuddering, dreads the final doom!

Yet here, when Friendship bids me sing,
And sweep the shell, of various string,
I snatch the long-neglected lyre,
And thus to Erato the lays aspire:

“Daughter of Jove! assistance deign;
“Your Memmius commands the strain:
“Send your genius, Fiction, here!
“Fire my brain, and loose the year!
“If the mimic Goddess come,
“Winter is no longer dumb:
“Each vast Abrupt his voice shall raise,
“Each barbarous Echo babble lays!
“Storm a placid mien shall wear!
“And huddling Torrents stop to hear!
“Fiction send, my song shall be,
“Worthy Friendship, worthy thee.”
She nodded. Fancy left the Sun,
And thus the mimic Queen begun:

“If I stand confess'd to view,
“'Tis for Memmius, not for you;
“Him the sacred Sisters love,
“Thou a stranger art above.

“But no more, expect my aid,
“Jove will'd, and Jove must be obey'd:
“The cause I tell, prepare to hear,
“'Twas never told in mortal ear.

“When Time was young, and lusty Jove
“Had Saturn from his empire drove,
“Him to dethrone Rebellion rose,
“Gods and Titans were his foes;
“These soon his mightier arm o'ercame,
“And doom'd to Ætna's ceaseless flame;
“And, oh! too giddy with his might,
“The Nectar stopp'd till late at night;
“When mad with the enticing drink,
“(Not Jove! when drunk, has power to think)
“In whim, though otherwise 'twas fated,
“The Rocks around you he created!
“Next day, before he op'd his eyes,
“The Sun was driving down the Skies,
“But when he saw his midnight blunder,
“He shook his curls, and grasp'd his thunder,
“And as an object which we hate,
“If present, pain will aye create;

“He bade a dusky fog to spring,
“And cloak the cliffs with curling wing:
“The dusky Fog obedient sprung,
“And o'er them ever since has hung!
“Around the Gods affrighted wait;
“He spoke, and what he spoke was fate:”

“I see, my brethren of the skies,
“That oft success misleads the wise!
“To rage no sooner Faction ceas'd,
“And I proclaim'd the royal feast,
“Than I —but since 'tis past, 'twere better
“Not recapitulate the matter:
“And though, ye Gods! each act of mine
“Th'eternal Fates must countersign;
“I swear by Styx! oath firm and holy,
“Ne'er to forgive myself this folly:
“My eyes, whene'er I look below,
“With tears of penitence shall flow.
“Now to my mandates, Gods! giver ear,
“And practise duly what you hear!

“I'm King of Kings, and Lord of Lords!
“And Destiny awaits my words!
“Let none of you presumptuous dare
“To watch yon rocks with guardian care;
“Fly, fly, the rage-devoted coast;
“But, Ceres, you and Phœbus most!
“There Winter, with his first-born cold,
“In savage pomp his throne shall hold;
“Snow and Hail be pil'd around,
“Frost eternal jag the ground;
“At distance Hurricanes shall wait,
“And awful guard his gloomy state;
“While roseate Spring's prolific smile,
“Purples the rest of Britain's isle.
“And while bland Peace, with olive-wand,
“Peoples, ploughs, and reaps that land;
“There Broil his bloody flag shall wield,
“And heap with kindred-slain the field.
“There Sloth shall quell their lust for gain,
“And give them up to Beggary's train.
“While fruitful Albion's sea-taught race,
“With fleets the wat'ry world embrace;
“With every wind commercial roam,
“And thrifty waft both Indies home:

“And while just laws, which Britain's sons ordain,
“Confine the Monarch, and protect the Swain;
“To selfish petty tyrants they shall bend,
“And feel the fiend Oppression's leaden hand!”

“He spoke; and gave th'almighty nod,
“The stamp of Fate, and of the God!
“The Muses harp'd, Apollo sung,
“From earth, O Gods! the Titans sprung!
“They, with rebel purpose, strove
“To wrest his scepter'd might from Jove.
“These his thundering arm o'erthrew!
“Let their Mother suffer too!
“If her sons are pierc'd with thunder,
“These rocks will keep her as much under!
“And make her hourly curse the morn,
“When the rebel crew was born.

“The Gods approv'd the mother's doom;
“And Jove, in better humour, left the room.”

She said; and from my sight withdrew.
And what she said, my Lord, I send to you.

A neighbouring mountain, fourteen hundred and fifty-six perpendicular yards high.

Contremuit nemus, et sylvæ intonuere profundæ
Audiit et Triviæ longe lacus, audiit aninis
Et trepidæ matres preffere ad ubera natos.

Virg.

Hence the perpetual fogs.

Quos ego—sed motos præstat componere fluctus.

Virg.

Hence the perpetual rains

A DIALOGUE.

COLIN.
Parent of blooms, Love's herald, Spring!
Fair primal season of the year!
Where Delia treads, your flow'rets fling;
Or turns, your gayest livery wear:
But would you charm with more than vernal grace,
Smile like my Fair one, and assume her face!

DELIA.
Ye birds of sweetest, wildest throats!
That now renew your spousal lays,
Thrill, thrill, your most melodious notes,
And soothe my Colin where he strays:
By while ye chant his woodbine-bow'rs among,
His flute will more than recompense your song.

COLIN.
Favonius, fragrant child of May!
Mild friend of Coolness, grant my prayer;
The Dog-star's burning beam allay,
O guard from each rude blast my Fair!
You need not grudge the East his scented sky!
Far sweeter scents from Delia's bosom fly!

DELIA.
O Stream! that now with silent flow,
The green marge kissing, dimply steal;
Now bursting o'er rude rocks, each mound o'erthrow,
And loud as June-thunder, pale terror deal,
You silent flow, and roughen'd roll in vain,
My Colin boasts of a more various strain.

COLIN.
Let Pan his usual aid deny;
Sylvanus break my oaten reed;
My midnight steps the Muses fly;
Nymphs tear the garland from my head;
Their frowns or favour little I regard;
Your praise, my Fair one! stamps the genuine Bard.

SONNET, ON LEAVING NEÆRA.

TO A FRIEND.

[_]

IN THE MANNER OF MILTON.

Oft have I parted from the beauteous Maid,
Whose eyes, in willing thraldom, hold my heart;
Oft have I parted, yet did never part,
But I with her much rather would have staid.
I felt a real, not unpleasant smart,
Which yet time, friends, or books, or Nine, allay'd:
But since from **** last I went,
Since last I saw her lovely face in tears,
A more severe aspect my fortune wears.
His total quiver Love on me has spent,
Lessen'd my hopes, redoubled all my fears;
Time, books, friends, Nine, increase my dreariment.
You ask from whence this change, I'll tell you whence,
Time spares her beauties, and improves her sense.

EPIGRAM.

You wonder that I still deny,
Though oft you beg, my works to see:
The reason's not that I am shy,
I fear you'd send your own to me.

BRYAN AND PEREENE.

A WEST INDIAN BALLAD.

I

The north-east wind did briskly blow,
The ship was safely moor'd,
Young Bryan thought the boat's crew slow,
And so leap'd over board.

II

Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,
His heart did long enthral;
And whoso his impatience blames,
I wot ne'er lov'd at all.

III

A long, long year, one month and day,
He dwelt on English land,
Nor once in thought would ever stray,
Though ladies sought his hand.

IV

For Bryan he was tall and strong,
Right blithesome roll'd his een,
Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung,
He scant had twenty seen.

V

But who the countless charms can draw,
That grac'd his mistress true?
Such charms the old world never saw,
Nor oft I ween the new.

VI

Her raven hair plays round her neck,
Like tondrels of the vine;
Her cheeks red dewy rose-buds deck,
Her eyes like diamonds shine.

VII

Soon as his well-known ship she spied,
She cast her weeds away,
And to the palmy shore she hied,
All in her best array.

VIII

In sea-green silk so neatly clad,
She there impatient stood;
The crew with wonder saw the lad,
Repel the foaming flood.

IX

Her hands a handkerchief display'd,
Which he at parting gave;
Well pleas'd, the token he survey'd,
And manlier beat the wave.

X

Her fair companions one and all,
Rejoicing crowd the strand;
For now her lover swam in call,
And almost touch'd the land.

XI

Then through the white surf did she haste,
To clasp her lovely swain;
When, ah! a shark bit through his waist:
His heart's blood dy'd the main!

XII

He shriek'd! his half sprung from the wave,
Streaming with purple gore,
And soon it found a living grave,
And, ah! was seen no more.

XIII

Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,
Fetch water from the spring:
She falls, she falls, she dies away,
And soon her knell they ring.

XIV

Now each May morning round her tomb,
Ye Fair, fresh flow'rets strew,
So may your lovers 'scape his doom,
Her hapless fate 'scape you.

TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID.

LEANDER TO HERO.

Health sends Leander to his Sestian Love,
Which, would the storm allow, he'd rather bear;
For if the Gods to me propitious prove,
These lines must fill your eyes with many a tear.

Ah me! the Gods my fond petition slight,
Or wherefore rise the winds, or swells the main?
Wrapp'd is the pole, you see, in pitchy night,
The strongest bark can ill the storm sustain.

But Love is bold, sets tempests all at naught:
I hir'd a sturdy bark to bring me o'er;
On board I went, with fond Impatience fraught,
Abydos saw, and forc'd me, loath, ashore.

Discretion check'd the daring of my breast;
For had I, vent'rous, risk'd the stormy sea,
Full to my sire our flame had stood confest;
That bark must therefore bear these lines to thee.

“Haste, envy'd letter, to my fair one's hands,
“(I must not touch them!) pass the billowy main;
“And while her teeth shall burst your silken bands,
“A kiss from Hero haply you may gain.”

In rapt'rous murmurs thus I fondly rave,
What more I think, my hand must now declare;
Yet would that hand much rather stem the wave,
Much rather waft me to the Sestian Fair!

For though my passion it can aptly tell,
Tell aptly all the movements of my heart:
Fitter it is the billow to repel,
Fitter the stream of Hellespont to part.

Yet seven long nights have muffled up the pole,
(The time seems longer than a year to me)
Since first the mountain-waves began to roll,
Since first (hard fate!) I've been divorc'd from thee.

Yet all this while the God of soft repose,
Ne'er calm'd my lab'ring breast, nor shut my eyes:
'Tis true, my Fair, or may the storm that blows
Still chain me here, still louder rend the skies.

From some wild cliff I lonely view thy tower,
And oft, in fancy, mount the bridal bed;
The flambeau lighted at th'appointed hour,
Or sheds its guiding light, or seems to shed!

Thrice though I strip me, shiv'ring on the strand,
And boldly thrice to make thy shore essay;
The adverse surge thrice bore me back to land,
Severely bruis'd, and chok'd with oozy spray.

Fierce Boreas, fiercest of the rapid winds,
Why with a lover warfare dost thou wage?
Leander, not the sea, thy fury finds,
Of love unconscious, what would be your rage?

Though cold you are, you cannot well deny,
But Love's hot fires have thaw'd your icy heart;
What wrath would seize you, did a stronger try
You from the object of your love to part?

Then spare me, Boreas, send a softer gale,
So ever gentle be thy master's sway.—
The ruffian hears not, my petitions fail;
Hark! louder tempests rock the murm'ring bay.

Would Crete's fam'd artist wings on me bestow,
I'd dauntless mount me in the troubled sky;
Who swam the Hellespont no fear can know,
Although th'Icarian, hapless main, be nigh.

But wings I boast not, and the tempest swells,
The hours of absence how may I deceive?
On our first stol'n delights fond Fancy dwells,
And faithful Mem'ry grants a soft reprieve.

Night was beginning, I remember well,
When from my father's house I stole away;
And throwing off my clothes, and fear, repel,
With pliant arm, the gently-waving sea.

The Moon, companion of my bold design,
A trembling radiance on the water cast;
I pray'd—“Unclouded, silver Goddess shine,
(Remember Latmos) till the seas I'm past.

“O shine unclouded, to stol'n love a friend,
Let fair Endymion warm your icy breast;
You for a mortal did from Heaven descend,
I through these waters to a Goddess haste.

“For sure her manners, may I truth declare,
Her form bespeak her of celestial race;
Next thee, next Venus, Hero claims to bear
The palm of beauty, elegance, and grace.

“Nor trust Leander, but look down and see,
For as thy beams surpass the starry train
In argent lustre, so you'll own, that she,
Or blind you are, surpasses all the plain.”

Thus pray'd I, while I wan my liquid way;
The Moon propitious heard my tender prayer;
She heard, and pour'd a radiance like the day;
No sound, save of my strokes, stole on the air.

Save of the Halcyon's sweetly-plaintive strain,
For sweetly-plaintive seem'd the gentle song;
Officious Tritons smooth'd their watery reign,
And sea-nymphs ey'd me as I shot along.

At last Fatigue each lab'ring nerve unbrac'd,
Supine I float—but when thy torch I spy'd,
With strength renew'd, I cut the watery waste,
“Swift make the shore, my flame is there,” I cry'd.

Now softer at each stroke the water seem'd;
No cold I feel, what lover can be chill?
My every labour past I nothing deem'd;
As I approach'd, I grew the stronger still,

But on the tower when I could thee descry,
The sight new vigour on each nerve bestow'd;
By bolder strokes I strove to catch thine eye,
And, all I could, the dex'trous swimmer show'd.

Scarce could your nurse your eager steps restrain
From plunging in the deep, your Love to meet;
I saw her strive—her efforts all were vain,
The foremost billows kiss'd your snowy feet.

Around my neck you threw your willing arms,
Imprinting kisses on my dripping face;
Who would not swim the sea for Hero's charms?
My toil was all o'erpaid by that embrace.

A modest mantle, which your shoulders wore,
You flung around me; and with hasty care,
Expressing from my locks the briny store,
You bade me fly th'unwholesome midnight air.

What joys we tasted! those the conscious night,
Those we, the friendly tower that held us, know;
Yet I no more their number can recite
Than count the weeds that in yon waters grow.

The less the time assign'd to secret bliss,
The more each precious moment we employ;
But when the morning sprung, we rapt'rous kiss,
And chide the envious night, too short for joy.

Too soon the Nurse forbade my longer stay;
To the cold beach in tears I slow repair;
Your tower now glisten'd with Morn's dewy ray,
Yet oft I stop, and eye the weeping Fair.

On the cold beach arriv'd, (believe thy Swain)
I seem'd one wreck'd, who came a swimmer here;
The way to thee is pleasant, short, and plain,
Back to Abydos, long, and rough, and drear.

I stem unwilling back my native tide;
My native towers unwilling me detain;
Since join'd in heart, ah, why do seas divide!
Since one in love, why not one land contain!

In Sestos or Abydos I could stay,
Either with thee would charm my love-sick soul;
Why then do winds our happiness delay?
Or why's my bosom rack'd when tempests roll?

The sportive dolphins now my passion know,
I'm not unnotic'd by the scaly fry;
The track I swim, the waters seem to show,
As worn by use, like that where chariots ply.

How oft, my Fair, did I complain of Fate,
That us dividing, made me swim the sea?
Yet now I wish the tempest would abate,
That I may swim again, and gaze on thee.

The length of waters I no longer chide,
The wonted passage now I fondly court;
But, see! enormous heaves the foaming tide,
Scarce are the trembling vessels safe in port.

Such was the storm which harrow'd up the main,
When Helle in its fatal waves was drown'd;
Whence it the name of Hellespont did gain,
A name the sea, a grave the virgin found.

Yet safe the ram her princely brother bore,
Boldly the youth bestrode its golden fleece.
Ye Gods, to me the Colchian ram restore,
Or rather hush the Hellespont to peace.

Once more, O let me cut its glassy waves!
Once more the dolphins sporting round me see!
Nor ram, nor ship, the fond Leander craves,
Myself will steersman, sail, and sailor be.

No stars I court that gild the vivid pole,
Those let the Tyrian mariner behold;
Vainly to me in solemn pomp they roll,
And vainly fill their urns with beamy gold.

What though the loves of Perseus, Bacchus, Jove,
Fix'd in the starry firmament appear!
By other fires, superior fires, I move,
Thy torch is more than Helyx or the Bear.

100

Directed by its never-erring beam,
My vent'rous passage, darkling, ne'er can stray;
By it I'd stem old Ocean's farthest stream,
Wherever ship can sail, make good my way.

The young Palæmon cannot swim so well,
Though him their god sea-faring people name;
The very nimble Glaucus I excel,
Who, chang'd by wond'rous herbs, a god became.

But Ino's son, and Glaucus, feel no toil,
Whilst length of waters does my strength impair;
“Arms, let no length, I cry, your vigour foil,
“Soon shall ye clasp ('twill pay your pains) my Fair.”

New strength inspires them, such is Beauty's force;
O'er every billow they superior rise;
Not swifter beats the steed th'Olympic course,
Than they the Deep, impatient for the prize.

Let others fondly court a heavenly Fair,
The Sestian Hero only I adore:
The bliss of Gods, 'tis true, you ought to share,
Yet, oh, content thee on this nether shore!

101

But if thou rather dost affect the sky,
Show me how also I may Heaven attain;
Then freed from every sublunary tie,
Though tempests vex'd the seas, I'd feel no pain.

What though such narrow seas our hopes divide!
Though narrow, still they interrupt our love;
Did'st thou on Ocean's farthest verge abide,
'Twere better,—Distance would my hopes remove.

The nearer now you are, I burn the more;
Though you are absent, still in hope you're here;
And though I almost touch the Sestian shore,
That fatal almost causes many a tear.

The cruel fate of Tantalus is mine,
Still, still to grasp you, yet my grasp you fly:
'Mid fruits, how hard, of hunger still to pine!
How hard, of thirst, 'mid waters still to die!

Must I ne'er see thee, but when seasons will?
Ne'er clasp thee, but when waters condescend?
And though both waves and seasons vary still,
Upon their faithfulness must I depend?

102

Yet Summer still appears in youthful pride,
Gay verdure still bedecks the blooming trees;
What shall I do when wint'ry stars preside,
And pour out all their fury on the seas!

Trust me, I'll plunge amid the wint'ry wave,
I know myself, and bold the tempest dare;
Firm proof of what I write you soon shall have;
Who loves, adores like me, no perils scare!

For, if the tempest does not soon decline,
To stem th'unwilling sea thy lover tries;
Success shall either crown my bold design,
Or Disappointment close Leander's eyes.

Then may my corpse be wafted to thy shore;
My corpse thou'lt touch, and heave the grateful sigh;
With genuine grief my hapless fate deplore,
And, “Oh, I caus'd his death,” incessant cry.

But stop, my hand—the omen must offend,
For here my letter must the Fair displease;
Yet, weep not; rather to dread Neptune bend,
Join vows to mine, and bid him calm the seas.

103

A little calm is all thy lover craves,
Till he can, swimming, reach thy friendly shore;
When there, let tempests burst their rocky caves,
And with redoubled rage the billows roar.

No other quay my vessel suits so well;
In naval pomp I ride at anchor there:
Then, Boreas blow! ye restless billows, swell!
No more I'll weigh; the slightest breeze I fear.

No more th'unhearing billows I'll upbraid,
Nor sad complain that I must swim the sea;
By Hero, by the winds, Leander staid,
A captive glad, will bless the winds and thee.

Soon as the storm abates, I'll try the Deep;
Let still your torch propitious blaze on high;
Meanwhile with you may this epistle sleep,
Soon at your feet its writer hopes to sigh.

104

HERO TO LEANDER.

The health you send, that I may truly know,
O haste, Leander, cut the briny tide;
Each hour of absence is an age of woe:
I'm all impatience, can Leander chide ?

Alike we burn, but how unlike our force?
Patience and Strength the soul of man supply;
Our frame is weaker, so our mind of course
Is feebler too; then haste thee, or I die!

With sports and business men the time deceive,
Now track the game, or in the forum plead;
As wrestlers shine, the stubborn fallows cleave
With patient plough, or curb the flying steed:

105

Or birds ye snare, or hook the scaly fry;
Or should your sorrows still superior prove,
One cure remains, the friendly bowl ye ply,
While all our business, all our sport, is love.

Beyond belief I doat, my sole Delight!
And oft in anxious whispers pour my soul:
“Sweet Nurse! what now detains him from my sight!
“Hush, odious Storm! ah me, what billows roll!”

Or if its fury it a while forego,
“Leander might, but will not come,” I cry:
From my fond love-sick eyes my sorrows flow,
Which she, with trembling hand, essays to dry.

Oft for your feet I trace the sandy shore,
As if the sand th'impression could retain;
Oft ask my nurse, “What Lesbian ships unmoor?
“I long to write Leander all my pain.

“Are any vessels from Abydos here?
“I long to learn the cause of his delay.”
Then kissing oft, bedew with many a tear,
The vest you leave, when forc'd from me away.

106

Thus pass my days—when evening shadows fall,
And friendly star-shine casts a tim'rous gleam,
The wakeful torch soon blazes on my wall,
To guide my lover through the well-known stream.

To cheat the minutes as they tardy roll,
The distaff sometimes does my hand employ;
Meanwhile to Nurse I pour out all my soul,
For all my converse is of you, of joy.

“Nurse, do you think my love has stol'n away?
“Or wakes his sire? perhaps some spy he dreads!
“Ah, no! Leander strips him on the bay,
“And suppling fragrance on his body sheds.”

O'ercome with age, and careless of my pain,
She nods assent, with Sleep's soft pow'r oppress'd.
“Sure now, I cry, he cuts the billowy main!
“When shall I press him to my faithful breast?”

Scarce has the whirling thread the spindle bound,
When I, “Now half Leander's toil is o'er,
“Let's to the tow'r.” In vain I gaze around,
Then pray, “Soft Breezes, waft him to the shore.”

107

Each distant noise we catch; my flutt'ring breast
Thinks every distant noise proceeds from thee!
When thus I've robb'd the weary hours of rest,
Haply bland Sleep his influence sheds on me.

In dreams I see you to the beach draw nigh,
Around my neck your dripping arms you throw!
“O fling these vestments round your limbs,” I cry;
“Let's to the dome! ah, wherefore staid you so?”

Perhaps you loath me, yet I hold you fast,
And in fond vision banquet on your charms:—
Stop Hand, nor loosely tell of pleasure past;
Though lov'd, the tale a modest ear alarms.

Wretch that I am! with Sleep Leander flies!
The vision yields but insincere delight!
In Love's soft folds, in unideal ties,
Still, still, let lovers such as we unite.

How many widow'd nights must Hero lie!
And yet last night was calm, ah, wherefore stay?
For now again the winds blend seas and sky,
And not ev'n you must tempt th'uncertain way.

108

Last night, indeed, you might have made the land,
Calm were the winds, and I was sure you came;
You Dastard, loiter on your native strand;
When first you lov'd me, you through tempests swam.

“I'll snatch the first fair gleam,” perhaps you said;
The first, as best, Leander should have chose;
You add, perhaps, “Ere I the strand had made,
“I must have sunk by squalls, the tempest blows.”

And yet erewhile, few minutes would suffice
To waft you to me; then your love was new!
What plaints, excuses, can you now devise?
Clasp'd in my arms, past dangers could you rue?

The storm I'd laugh at, lock'd in your fond arms,
I'd pray, “No calm might still the wat'ry roar.”
Once you were bold—ah, whence these new alarms?
Why dread the passage you contemn'd before?

Yet I remember, when with vent'rous art,
You swam across—scarce milder rag'd the sea;
Yet then I cried, “Oh, ease my frighted heart,
“Gods! should he sink, what would become of me?”

109

Whence this new dread? and where's thy courage flown;
The swimmer where, that did the winds deride?
Yet I applaud, you now are cautious grown;
O still be cautious, till the waves subside.

If, as of old, your love burn strongly bright,
(And strongly bright it burns, your letters say;)
Though winds detain you, me they less affright,
Than if its flame should, like their blasts, decay.

To fix your passion, would I matchless were!
I fear the peril now the worth o'erpays;
I dread, lest you, an Abydenian heir,
Against my country nuptial scruples raise.

Did that detain you, it would grieve me less,
Than if a harlot should your hours employ;
To your dear bosom, none but Hero press,
Nor waste on others what you owe me,—joy.

Before your passion thus unfaithful end,
Your perfidy thus fling the fatal dart;
Me to the shades may Jove in pity send;
Death will release me from a broken heart.

110

Nor fear I this, as if or Fame proclaim'd,
Or your lines menac'd many a future sigh;
And yet I fear, (can jealous Love be blam'd?)
Oh, frantic fear—I know not whom, or why.

More happy they, who see the woes they fear,
Th'ideal dread not; every fancied pain
Tears my rack'd soul with sorrow as sincere,
As if it rankled in Affliction's train.

Then come, Leander, to my love-sick soul;
The Sestian beach I long to see you tread;
And may your sire, the winds, your steps controul,
But let no mistress keep you from my bed.

Say One detains you, frantic Hero dies;
If true my terrors, you have err'd too lon
But you are constant—these inclement skies,
That envious tempest, causes all my wrong.

Ah, wretched me! how loud the billows roar!
What horrid darkness clouds the face of day!

111

Does Nephele her daughter's death implore?
Or frantic Ino vex this hated bay?

Here Helle sunk; and here my peace is drown'd;
No friend to gentle maids this ocean flows!
“O thou, dread monarch of the vast profound,
“Thy loves remember, and the sea compose .”

For many favourites, (or the poets feign)
Their maiden-charms have yielded up to thee!
Then hush the winds, and smooth thy wat'ry reign;
My lovely swimmer keep no more from me.

You, who so oft have known the force of love,
With storms why interrupt Leander's way?
Your mighty power on mighty waters prove,
Let powerful navies feel your powerful sway.

Should Ocean's God affright a swimming boy?
A narrow frith feel dreadful Neptune's rage?
For some mean Nereid scarce a fit employ!
Unmeet for thee!—the tempest then assuage.

112

Noble he is, and of an ancient race,
Yet not descended from Laertes' heir;
O save two lovers, smooth the billowy space,
Leander swims, yet I the peril share.

Meanwhile the taper ('tis the midnight hour
At which I write) affords a prosp'rous sign;
And as my Nurse the gift of wine did pour
On flames, and drank, she spoke this happy line:

“Ere the next sun declines, we'll number more.”
Increase our numbers! haste, the billows part!
Increase Leander! make the Sestian shore!
Surmount the tempest, Sovereign of my heart!

From Love's soft banners you too long have fled;
Return;—ah wherefore do I lie alone?
Venus the seas will calm, no danger dread;
From seas she sprung, and you her empire own.

By Venus led, I could the billows ride!
Yet suits the manly breast that action more:
Why else was Helle whelmed in the tide,
While Phryxus landed on the nether shore?

113

Perhaps you fear your strength will not suffice
To bear you to your native dome again;
Half way I'll meet you, the vast surge despise,
And mingle kisses on the wond'ring main!

There each will safe regain our native land;
Better than none is this odd interview!
Now check'd by Shame, now fir'd by Love, I stand,
Would Heaven that one the other would subdue!

Fond Love, and timid Shame, but ill agree!
Sweet, Love invites, Shame does respect command?
Yet know I not whose slave I'd wish to be,
Or of the tender, or the decent band.

Scarce had bold Jason touch'd the Colchian shore,
When with the fair he spread his flying sails;
In Sparta, scarce his ship did Paris moor,
Ere he, with Helen, woo'd returning gales!

Yet what you fondly seek, you oft desert,
Swim back, when vessels scarce dare put to sea;
Yet though the ridgy surge you boldly part,
Though bold, ah shun, my Love! temerity.

114

The tightest barks oft founder in the main:
Can one who swims contend with one that rows?
From what you court, all mariners abstain,
Nor swim, unless the ship asunder goes.

Prudence and passion combat in my soul;
For you I languish, yet your swimming dread;
Yet come, Leander, though the billows roll,
On my fond bosom lean your dripping head.

Oft as my eyes behold yon stormy Deep,
A boding coldness shivers through each vein;
And ah, last night, sad visions broke my sleep,
And, though I sacrific'd, still give me pain!

For just at dawn, what time the taper dies,
Sleep slack'd my nerves, down dropp'd the woolly thread;
(At dawn, 'tis said, true dreams are wont to rise)
And on my pillow sunk my nodding head.

I seem'd to see (what vision can do more?)
A youthful dolphin on the surges ride;
But soon a billow dash'd him on the shore,
Back flew the sea, the gasping dolphin died.

115

Whate'er it means, I fear, nor you deride,
Nor swim, Leander, if not calm the sea;
If not yourself, ah spare, ah spare your bride!
I in your safety only safe can be!

For yet, I hope, the skies will shortly smile,
With every nerve then cut th'unruffled main:
Your long, long absence, to deceive the while,
I send this answer; may it soothe your pain.

More literally,

Give me leave to chide.
Da veniam fassæ.

She was mother of Helle and Phryxus.

Six verses of the original, containing a list of Neptune's mistresses, omitted.