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 |
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 | The Poetical Works Of James Grainger |  |
1
LYRIC POEMS.
3
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,
4
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,
5
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;
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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 .
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;
7
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,
8
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,
9
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.
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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!
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.
11
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.
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:
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.
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.
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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;
13
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.
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,
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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.
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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.
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.
16
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;
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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 moreFair 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,
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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;
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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.
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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!
21
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.
22
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.
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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;
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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!
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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.
26
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.
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Let none profane Love's mystic orgies spy;
I faint, I die;—
Far, far, each vulgar fascinating eye!
28
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.
29
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.
30
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,
31
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.
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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 rayThou 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.
33
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.
34
XVI
O Cheerfulness! thy steady beamBy 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!
35
AN ADDRESS TO THE EVENING STAR.
Εσπερε τας ερατας χρυσεον φαος αφρογενειας χαιρε φιλος.
Mosch.
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,
36
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;
37
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.
38
TO THE NYMPH OF PITKEATHLY WATERS.
------ καλιστον υδωρ επι γαιαν ιησιν.
Hom.
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.
39
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.
40
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.
41
TRIUMPH OF BEAUTY.
------ Amor
Totum hoc muneris tui est.
Horat.
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.
42
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.
43
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:
44
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.
45
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!
46
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 seeRich 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!
47
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!
48
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!
49
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!
| The Poetical Works Of James Grainger | |