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VOL. III.
HORACE. Book IV. Ode iv.
(Qualem ministrum fulminis alitem, &c.)
Written at Oxford, 1725.
I
As the wing'd minister of thundering Jove,To whom he gave his dreadful bolts to bear,
Faithful assistant of his master's love,
King of the wandering nations of the air,
II
When balmy breezes fann'd the vernal sky,On doubtful pinions left his parent nest,
In slight essays his growing force to try,
While inborn courage fir'd his generous breast;
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III
Then, darting with impetuous fury down,The flocks he slaughter'd, an unpractis'd foe;
Now his ripe valour to perfection grown
The scaly snake and crested dragon know:
IV
Or, as a lion's youthful progeny,Wean'd from his savage dam and milky food,
The grazing kid beholds with fearful eye,
Doom'd first to stain his tender fangs in blood:
V
Such Drusus, young in arms, his foes beheld,The Alpine Rhæti, long unmatch'd in fight:
So were their hearts with abject terror quell'd;
So sunk their haughty spirit at the sight.
VI
Tam'd by a boy, the fierce Barbarians findHow guardian Prudence guides the youthful flame,
And how great Cæsar's fond paternal mind
Each generous Nero forms to early fame;
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VII
A valiant son springs from a valiant sire:Their race by mettle sprightly coursers prove;
Nor can the warlike eagle's active fire
Degenerate to form the timorous dove.
VIII
But education can the genius raise,And wise instructions native virtue aid;
Nobility without them is disgrace,
And honour is by vice to shame betray'd.
IX
Let red Metaurus, stain'd with Punick blood,Let mighty Asdrubal subdued, confess
How much of empire and of fame is ow'd
By thee, O Rome, to the Neronian race.
X
Of this be witness that auspicious day,Which, after a long, black, tempestuous night,
First smil'd on Latium with a milder ray,
And chear'd our drooping hearts with dawning light.
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XI
Since the dire African with wasteful ireRode o'er the ravag'd towns of Italy;
As through the pine-trees flies the raging fire,
Or Eurus o'er the vext Sicilian sea.
XII
From this bright æra, from this prosperous field,The Roman glory dates her rising power;
From hence 'twas given her conquering sword to wield,
Raise her fall'n gods, and ruin'd shrines restore.
XIII
Thus Hannibal at length despairing spoke:“Like stags to ravenous wolves an easy prey,
“Our feeble arms a valiant foe provoke,
“Whom to elude and 'scape were victory;
XIV
“A dauntless nation, that from Trojan fires,“Hostile Ausonia, to thy destin'd shore
“Her gods, her infant sons, and aged sires,
“Through angry seas and adverse tempests bore:
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XV
“As on high Algidus the sturdy oak,“Whose spreading boughs the axe's sharpness feel,
“Improves by loss, and, thriving with the stroke,
“Draws health and vigour from the wounding steel.
XVI
“Not Hydra sprouting from her mangled head“So tir'd the baffled force of Hercules;
“Nor Thebes, nor Colchis, such a monster bred,
“Pregnant of ills, and fam'd for prodigies.
XVII
“Plunge her in ocean, like the morning sun,“Brighter she rises from the depths below:
“To earth with unavailing ruin thrown,
“Recruits her strength, and foils the wondering foe.
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XVIII
“No more of victory the joyful fame“Shall from my camp to haughty Carthage fly;
“Lost, lost, are all the glories of her name!
“With Asdrubal her hopes and fortune die!
XIX
“What shall the Claudian valour not perform,“Which Power Divine guards with propitious care,
“Which Wisdom steers through all the dangerous storm,
“Through all the rocks and shoals of doubtful war?”
166
VIRTUE AND FAME.
TO THE COUNTESS OF EGREMONT.
Virtue and Fame, the other day,
Happen'd to cross each other's way;
Said Virtue, “Hark ye! madam Fame,
“Your ladyship is much to blame;
“Jove bids you always wait on me,
“And yet your face I seldom see:
“The Paphian queen employs your trumpet,
“And bids it praise some handsome strumpet;
“Or, thundering through the ranks of war,
“Ambition ties you to her car.”
Saith Fame, “Dear madam, I protest,
“I never find myself so blest
“As when I humbly wait behind you!
“But 'tis so mighty hard to find you!
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“To seek you, is an endless work.”
“Well,” answer'd Virtue, “I allow
“Your plea. But hear, and mark me now.
“I know (without offence to others)
“I know the best of wives and mothers;
“Who never pass'd an useless day
“In scandal, gossiping, or play:
“Whose modest wit, chastis'd by sense,
“Is lively chearful innocence;
“Whose heart nor envy knows nor spite,
“Whose duty is her sole delight;
“Nor rul'd by whim, nor slave to fashion,
“Her parents' joy, her husband's passion.”
Fame smil'd, and answer'd, “On my life,
“This is some country parson's wife,
“Who never saw the court nor town,
“Whose face is homely as her gown;
“Who banquets upon eggs and bacon—”
“This is some country parson's wife,
“Who never saw the court nor town,
“Whose face is homely as her gown;
“Who banquets upon eggs and bacon—”
“No, madam, no—you're much mistaken—
“I beg you'll let me set you right—
“'Tis one with every beauty bright;
“Adorn'd with every polish'd art
“That rank or fortune can impart;
“'Tis the most celebrated toast
“That Britain's spacious isle can boast;
“'Tis princely Petworth's noble dame;
“'Tis Egremont—Go, tell it, Fame.”
“I beg you'll let me set you right—
“'Tis one with every beauty bright;
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“That rank or fortune can impart;
“'Tis the most celebrated toast
“That Britain's spacious isle can boast;
“'Tis princely Petworth's noble dame;
“'Tis Egremont—Go, tell it, Fame.”
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ADDITION,
EXTEMPORE, BY EARL HARDWICKE.
Fame heard with pleasure—strait replied,“First on my roll stands Wyndham's bride;
“My trumpet oft I've rais'd, to sound
“Her modest praise the world around;
“But notes were wanting—Canst thou find
“A Muse to sing her face, her mind?
“Believe me, I can name but one,
“A friend of yours—'tis Lyttelton.”
170
LETTER TO EARL HARDWICKE:
OCCASIONED BY THE FOREGOING VERSES.
My Lord,
A thousand thanks to your Lordship for your addition to my verses. If you can write such extempore, it is well for other poets, that you chose to be Lord Chancellor, rather than a Laureat. They explain to me a vision I had the night before.
Methought I saw before my feet,
With countenance serene and sweet,
The Muse, who, in my youthful days,
Had oft inspir'd my careless lays.
She smil'd, and said, “Once more I see
“My fugitive returns to me;
“Long had I lost you from my bower,
“You scorn'd to own my gentle power;
“With me no more your genius sported,
“The grave Historick Muse you courted;
“Or, rais'd from earth, with straining eyes,
“Pursued Urania through the skies;
“But now, to my forsaken track,
“Fair Egremont has brought you back:
“Nor blush, by her and Virtue led,
“That soft, that pleasing path, to tread;
“For there, beneath to-morrow's ray,
“E'en Wisdom's self shall deign to play.
“Lo! to my flowery groves and springs
“Her favourite son the goddess brings,
“The council's and the senate's guide,
“Law's oracle, the nation's pride:
“He comes, he joys with thee to join,
“In singing Wyndham's charms divine:
“To thine he adds his nobler lays;
“E'en thee, my friend, he deigns to praise.
“Enjoy that praise, nor envy Pitt
“His fame with burgess or with cit;
“For sure one line from such a bard,
“Virtue would think her best reward.”
With countenance serene and sweet,
The Muse, who, in my youthful days,
Had oft inspir'd my careless lays.
She smil'd, and said, “Once more I see
“My fugitive returns to me;
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“You scorn'd to own my gentle power;
“With me no more your genius sported,
“The grave Historick Muse you courted;
“Or, rais'd from earth, with straining eyes,
“Pursued Urania through the skies;
“But now, to my forsaken track,
“Fair Egremont has brought you back:
“Nor blush, by her and Virtue led,
“That soft, that pleasing path, to tread;
“For there, beneath to-morrow's ray,
“E'en Wisdom's self shall deign to play.
“Lo! to my flowery groves and springs
“Her favourite son the goddess brings,
“The council's and the senate's guide,
“Law's oracle, the nation's pride:
“He comes, he joys with thee to join,
“In singing Wyndham's charms divine:
“To thine he adds his nobler lays;
“E'en thee, my friend, he deigns to praise.
“Enjoy that praise, nor envy Pitt
“His fame with burgess or with cit;
“For sure one line from such a bard,
“Virtue would think her best reward.”
172
ON READING MISS CARTER's POEMS IN MANUSCRIPT.
Such were the notes that struck the wondering ear
Of silent Night, when, on the verdant banks
Of Siloë's hallow'd brook, celestial harps,
According to seraphick voices, sung
Glory to God on high, and on the earth
Peace and good-will to men!—Resume the lyre,
Chauntress divine, and every Briton call
Its melody to hear—so shall thy strains,
More powerful than the song of Orpheus, tame
The savage heart of brutal Vice, and bend
At pure Religion's shrine the stubborn knees
Of bold Impiety.—Greece shall no more
Of Lesbian Sappho boast, whose wanton Muse,
Like a false Syren, while she charm'd, seduc'd
To guilt and ruin. For the sacred head
Of Britain's poetess, the Virtues twine
A nobler wreath, by them from Eden's grove
Unfading gather'd, and direct the hand
Of---to fix it on her brows.
Of silent Night, when, on the verdant banks
Of Siloë's hallow'd brook, celestial harps,
According to seraphick voices, sung
Glory to God on high, and on the earth
Peace and good-will to men!—Resume the lyre,
Chauntress divine, and every Briton call
Its melody to hear—so shall thy strains,
More powerful than the song of Orpheus, tame
The savage heart of brutal Vice, and bend
At pure Religion's shrine the stubborn knees
Of bold Impiety.—Greece shall no more
Of Lesbian Sappho boast, whose wanton Muse,
173
To guilt and ruin. For the sacred head
Of Britain's poetess, the Virtues twine
A nobler wreath, by them from Eden's grove
Unfading gather'd, and direct the hand
Of---to fix it on her brows.
174
MOUNT EDGECUMBE.
The Gods, on thrones celestial seated,
By Jove with bowls of nectar heated,
All on Mount Edgecumbe turn'd their eyes;
By Jove with bowls of nectar heated,
All on Mount Edgecumbe turn'd their eyes;
“That place is mine,” great Neptune cries:
“Behold! how proud o'er all the main
“Those stately turrets seem to reign!
“No views so grand on earth you see!
“The master too belongs to me:
“I grant him my domain to share,
“I bid his hand my trident bear.”
“Behold! how proud o'er all the main
“Those stately turrets seem to reign!
“No views so grand on earth you see!
“The master too belongs to me:
“I grant him my domain to share,
“I bid his hand my trident bear.”
“The sea is yours, but mine the land,”
Pallas replies; “by me were plann'd
“Those towers, that hospital, those docks,
“That fort, which crowns those island rocks:
“The lady too is of my choir,
“I taught her hand to touch the lyre;
“With every charm her mind I grac'd,
“I gave her prudence, knowledge, taste.”
Pallas replies; “by me were plann'd
“Those towers, that hospital, those docks,
“That fort, which crowns those island rocks:
“The lady too is of my choir,
“I taught her hand to touch the lyre;
“With every charm her mind I grac'd,
“I gave her prudence, knowledge, taste.”
“Hold, madam,” interrupted Venus,
“The lady must be shar'd between us:
“And surely mine is yonder grove,
“So fine, so dark, so fit for love;
“Trees, such as in th'Idalian glade,
“Or Cyprian lawn, my palace shade.”
“The lady must be shar'd between us:
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“So fine, so dark, so fit for love;
“Trees, such as in th'Idalian glade,
“Or Cyprian lawn, my palace shade.”
Then Oreads, Dryads, Naiads, came;
Each Nymph alledg'd her lawful claim.
Each Nymph alledg'd her lawful claim.
But Jove, to finish the debate,
Thus spoke, and what he speaks is fate:
“Nor god nor goddess, great or small,
“That dwelling his or hers may call;
“I made Mount Edgecumbe for you all.”
Thus spoke, and what he speaks is fate:
“Nor god nor goddess, great or small,
“That dwelling his or hers may call;
“I made Mount Edgecumbe for you all.”
176
INVITATION.
TO THE DOWAGER DUCHESS D'AIGUILLON.
When Peace shall, on her downy wing,
To France and England Friendship bring,
Come, Aiguillon, and here receive
That homage we delight to give
To foreign talents, foreign charms,
To worth which Envy's self disarms
Of jealous hatred: Come, and love
That nation which you now approve.
So shall by France amends be made
(If such a debt can e'er be paid)
For having with seducing art
From Britain stol'n her Harvey's heart.
To France and England Friendship bring,
Come, Aiguillon, and here receive
That homage we delight to give
To foreign talents, foreign charms,
To worth which Envy's self disarms
Of jealous hatred: Come, and love
That nation which you now approve.
So shall by France amends be made
(If such a debt can e'er be paid)
For having with seducing art
From Britain stol'n her Harvey's heart.
177
TO COLONEL DRUMGOLD.
Drumgold, whose ancestors from Albion's shore
Their conquering standards to Hibernia bore,
Though now thy valour, to thy country lost,
Shines in the foremost ranks of Gallia's host,
Think not that France shall borrow all thy fame—
From British sires deriv'd thy genius came:
Its force, its energy, to these it ow'd,
But the fair polish Gallia's clime bestow'd:
The Graces there each ruder thought refin'd,
And liveliest wit with soundest sense combin'd.
They taught in sportive Fancy's gay attire
To dress the gravest of th'Aonian choir,
And gave to sober Wisdom's wrinkled cheek
The smile that dwells in Hebe's dimple sleek.
Pay to each realm the debt that each may ask:
Be thine, and thine alone, the pleasing task,
In purest elegance of Gallic phrase
To cloath the spirit of the British lays.
Thus every flower which every Muse's hand
Has rais'd profuse in Britain's favourite land,
By thee transplanted to the banks of Seine,
Its sweetest native odours shall retain.
And when thy noble friend, with olive crown'd,
In Concord's golden chain has firmly bound
The rival nations, thou for both shalt raise
The grateful song to his immortal praise.
Albion shall think she hears her Prior sing;
And France, that Boileau strikes the tuneful string.
Then shalt thou tell what various talents join'd,
Adorn, embellish, and exalt his mind;
Learning and wit, with sweet politeness grac'd;
Wisdom by guile or cunning undebas'd;
By pride unsullied, genuine dignity;
A noble and sublime simplicity.
Such in thy verse shall Nivernois be shewn:
France shall with joy the fair resemblance own;
And Albion sighing bid her sons aspire
To imitate the merit they admire.
Their conquering standards to Hibernia bore,
Though now thy valour, to thy country lost,
Shines in the foremost ranks of Gallia's host,
Think not that France shall borrow all thy fame—
From British sires deriv'd thy genius came:
Its force, its energy, to these it ow'd,
But the fair polish Gallia's clime bestow'd:
The Graces there each ruder thought refin'd,
And liveliest wit with soundest sense combin'd.
They taught in sportive Fancy's gay attire
To dress the gravest of th'Aonian choir,
And gave to sober Wisdom's wrinkled cheek
The smile that dwells in Hebe's dimple sleek.
Pay to each realm the debt that each may ask:
Be thine, and thine alone, the pleasing task,
In purest elegance of Gallic phrase
To cloath the spirit of the British lays.
178
Has rais'd profuse in Britain's favourite land,
By thee transplanted to the banks of Seine,
Its sweetest native odours shall retain.
And when thy noble friend, with olive crown'd,
In Concord's golden chain has firmly bound
The rival nations, thou for both shalt raise
The grateful song to his immortal praise.
Albion shall think she hears her Prior sing;
And France, that Boileau strikes the tuneful string.
Then shalt thou tell what various talents join'd,
Adorn, embellish, and exalt his mind;
Learning and wit, with sweet politeness grac'd;
Wisdom by guile or cunning undebas'd;
By pride unsullied, genuine dignity;
A noble and sublime simplicity.
Such in thy verse shall Nivernois be shewn:
France shall with joy the fair resemblance own;
And Albion sighing bid her sons aspire
To imitate the merit they admire.
179
ON GOOD HUMOUR.
Written at Eaton School, 1729.
Tell me, ye sons of Phœbus, what is this
Which all admire, but few, too few, possess?
A virtue 'tis to ancient maids unknown,
And prudes, who spy all faults except their own.
Lov'd and defended by the brave and wise,
Though knaves abuse it, and like fools despise.
Say, Wyndham, if 'tis possible to tell,
What is the thing in which you most excel?
Hard is the question, for in all you please;
Yet sure good-nature is your noblest praise;
Secur'd by this, your parts no envy move,
For none can envy him whom all must love.
This magick power can make e'en folly please,
This to Pitt's genius adds a brighter grace,
And sweetens every charm in Cœlia's face.
Which all admire, but few, too few, possess?
A virtue 'tis to ancient maids unknown,
And prudes, who spy all faults except their own.
Lov'd and defended by the brave and wise,
Though knaves abuse it, and like fools despise.
Say, Wyndham, if 'tis possible to tell,
What is the thing in which you most excel?
Hard is the question, for in all you please;
Yet sure good-nature is your noblest praise;
Secur'd by this, your parts no envy move,
For none can envy him whom all must love.
This magick power can make e'en folly please,
This to Pitt's genius adds a brighter grace,
And sweetens every charm in Cœlia's face.
180
SOME ADDITIONAL STANZAS TO ASTOLFO's VOYAGE TO THE MOON, IN ARIOSTO.
I
When now Astolfo, stor'd within a vase,Orlando's wits had safely brought away;
He turn'd his eyes towards another place,
Where, closely cork'd, unnumber'd bottles lay.
II
Of finest crystal were those bottles made,Yet what was there inclos'd he could not see:
Wherefore in humble wise the Saint he pray'd,
To tell what treasure there conceal'd might be.
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III
“A wondrous thing it is,” the Saint replied,“Yet undefin'd by any mortal wight;
“An airy essence, not to be descried,
“Subtle and thin, that maidenhead is hight.
IV
“From earth each day in troops they hither come,“And fill each hole and corner of the Moon;
“For they are never easy while at home,
“Nor ever owner thought them gone too soon.
V
“When here arriv'd, they are in bottles pent,“For fear they should evaporate again;
“And hard it is a prison to invent,
“So volatile a spirit to retain.
VI
“Those that to young and wanton girls belong“Leap, bounce, and fly, as if they'd burst the glass:
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“Are spiritless, and quite decay'd, alas!”
VII
So spake the Saint, and wonder seiz'd the Knight,As of each vessel he th'inscription read;
For various secrets there were brought to light;
Of which Report on earth had nothing said.
VIII
Virginities, that close confin'd he thoughtIn t'other world, he found above the sky;
His sister's and his cousin's there were brought,
Which made him swear, though good St. John was by.
IX
But much his wrath encreas'd, when he espiedThat which was Chloe's once, his mistress dear:
“Ah, false and treacherous fugitive!” he cried,
“Little I deem'd that I should meet thee here.
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X
“Did not thy owner, when we parted last,“Promise to keep thee safe for me alone?
“Scarce of our absence three short months are past,
“And thou already from thy post art flown.
XI
“Be not enrag'd, replied th'Apostle kind—“Since that this Maidenhead is thine by right,
“Take it away; and, when thou hast a mind,
“Carry it thither whence it took its flight.”
XII
“Thanks, Holy Father!” quoth the joyous Knight,“The Moon shall be no loser by your grace:
“Let me but have the use on't for a night,
“And I'll restore it to its present place.”
184
TO A YOUNG LADY.
WITH THE TRAGEDY OF VENICE PRESERVED.
In tender Otway's moving scenes we find
What power the gods have to your sex assign'd:
Venice was lost, if on the brink of fate
A woman had not propt her sinking state:
In the dark danger of that dreadful hour,
Vain was her senate's wisdom, vain its power;
But, sav'd by Belvidera's charming tears,
Still o'er the subject main her towers she rears,
And stands a great example to mankind,
With what a boundless sway you rule the mind,
Skilful the worst or noblest ends to serve,
And strong alike to ruin or preserve.
What power the gods have to your sex assign'd:
Venice was lost, if on the brink of fate
A woman had not propt her sinking state:
In the dark danger of that dreadful hour,
Vain was her senate's wisdom, vain its power;
But, sav'd by Belvidera's charming tears,
Still o'er the subject main her towers she rears,
And stands a great example to mankind,
With what a boundless sway you rule the mind,
Skilful the worst or noblest ends to serve,
And strong alike to ruin or preserve.
In wretched Jaffier, we with pity view
A mind, to Honour false, to Virtue true,
In the wild storm of struggling passions tost,
Yet saving innocence, though fame was lost;
Greatly forgetting what he ow'd his friend—
His country, which had wrong'd him, to defend.
A mind, to Honour false, to Virtue true,
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Yet saving innocence, though fame was lost;
Greatly forgetting what he ow'd his friend—
His country, which had wrong'd him, to defend.
But she, who urg'd him to that pious deed,
Who knew so well the patriot's cause to plead,
Whose conquering love her country's safety won,
Was, by that fatal love, herself undone.
Who knew so well the patriot's cause to plead,
Whose conquering love her country's safety won,
Was, by that fatal love, herself undone.
“Hence may we learn, what passion fain would hide,
“That Hymen's bands by prudence should be tied.
“Venus in vain the wedded pair would crown,
“If angry Fortune on their union frown:
“Soon will the flattering dreams of joys be o'er,
“And cloy'd imagination cheat no more;
“Then, waking to the sense of lasting pain,
“With mutual tears the bridal couch they stain;
“And that fond love, which should afford relief,
“Does but augment the anguish of their grief:
“While both could easier their own sorrows bear,
“Than the sad knowledge of each other's care.”
“That Hymen's bands by prudence should be tied.
“Venus in vain the wedded pair would crown,
“If angry Fortune on their union frown:
“Soon will the flattering dreams of joys be o'er,
“And cloy'd imagination cheat no more;
“Then, waking to the sense of lasting pain,
“With mutual tears the bridal couch they stain;
“And that fond love, which should afford relief,
“Does but augment the anguish of their grief:
“While both could easier their own sorrows bear,
“Than the sad knowledge of each other's care.”
186
May all the joys in Love and Fortune's power
Kindly combine to grace your nuptial hour!
On each glad day may plenty shower delight,
And warmest rapture bless each welcome night!
May Heaven, that gave you Belvidera's charms,
Destine some happier Jaffier to your arms,
Whose bliss Misfortune never may allay,
Whose fondness never may through care decay;
Whose wealth may place you in the fairest light,
And force each modest beauty into sight!
So shall no anxious want your peace destroy,
No tempest crush the tender buds of joy;
But all your hours in one gay circle move,
Nor Reason ever disagree with Love!
Kindly combine to grace your nuptial hour!
On each glad day may plenty shower delight,
And warmest rapture bless each welcome night!
May Heaven, that gave you Belvidera's charms,
Destine some happier Jaffier to your arms,
Whose bliss Misfortune never may allay,
Whose fondness never may through care decay;
Whose wealth may place you in the fairest light,
And force each modest beauty into sight!
So shall no anxious want your peace destroy,
No tempest crush the tender buds of joy;
But all your hours in one gay circle move,
Nor Reason ever disagree with Love!
187
ELEGY.
Tell me, my heart, fond slave of hopeless love,
And doom'd its woes, without its joys, to prove,
Canst thou endure thus calmly to erase
The dear, dear image of thy Delia's face?
Canst thou exclude that habitant divine,
To place some meaner idol in her shrine?
O task, for feeble Reason too severe!
O lesson, nought could teach me but despair!
Must I forbid my eyes that heavenly sight,
They've view'd so oft with languishing delight?
Must my ears shun that voice, whose charming sound
Seem'd to relieve, while it encreas'd, my wound?
And doom'd its woes, without its joys, to prove,
Canst thou endure thus calmly to erase
The dear, dear image of thy Delia's face?
Canst thou exclude that habitant divine,
To place some meaner idol in her shrine?
O task, for feeble Reason too severe!
O lesson, nought could teach me but despair!
Must I forbid my eyes that heavenly sight,
They've view'd so oft with languishing delight?
Must my ears shun that voice, whose charming sound
Seem'd to relieve, while it encreas'd, my wound?
O Waller! Petrarch! you who tun'd the lyre
To the soft notes of elegant desire;
Though Sidney to a rival gave her charms,
Though Laura dying left her lover's arms,
Yet were your pains less exquisite than mine,
'Tis easier far to lose, than to resign!
To the soft notes of elegant desire;
Though Sidney to a rival gave her charms,
Though Laura dying left her lover's arms,
Yet were your pains less exquisite than mine,
'Tis easier far to lose, than to resign!
188
INSCRIPTION FOR A BUST OF LADY SUFFOLK;
Designed to be set up in a Wood at Stowe.
1732.
Her wit and beauty for a court were made:
But truth and goodness fit her for a shade.
But truth and goodness fit her for a shade.
189
SULPICIA TO CERINTHUS, IN HER SICKNESS.
FROM TIBULLUS. (Sent to a Friend, in a Lady's Name.)
Say, my Cerinthus, does thy tender breast
Feel the same feverish heats that mine molest?
Alas! I only wish for health again,
Because I think my lover shares my pain:
For what would health avail to wretched me,
If you could, unconcern'd, my illness see?
Feel the same feverish heats that mine molest?
Alas! I only wish for health again,
Because I think my lover shares my pain:
For what would health avail to wretched me,
If you could, unconcern'd, my illness see?
190
SULPICIA TO CERINTHUS.
I'm weary of this tedious dull deceit;
Myself I torture, while the world I cheat:
Though Prudence bids me strive to guard my fame,
Love sees the low hypocrisy with shame;
Love bids me all confess, and call thee mine,
Worthy my heart, as I am worthy thine:
Weakness for thee I will no longer hide;
Weakness for thee is woman's noblest pride.
Myself I torture, while the world I cheat:
Though Prudence bids me strive to guard my fame,
Love sees the low hypocrisy with shame;
Love bids me all confess, and call thee mine,
Worthy my heart, as I am worthy thine:
Weakness for thee I will no longer hide;
Weakness for thee is woman's noblest pride.
191
CATO's SPEECH TO LABIENUS.
In the Ninth Book of Lucan.
(Quid quæri, Labiene, jubes, &c.)
What, Labienus, would thy fond desire,
Of horned Jove's prophetick shrine enquire?
Whether to seek in arms a glorious doom,
Or basely live, and a king in Rome?
If life be nothing more than death's delay;
If impious force can honest minds dismay,
Or Probity may Fortune's frown disdain;
If well to mean is all that Virtue can;
And right, dependant on itself alone,
Gains no addition from success?—'Tis known:
Fix'd in my heart these constant truths I bear,
And Ammon cannot write them deeper there.
Of horned Jove's prophetick shrine enquire?
Whether to seek in arms a glorious doom,
Or basely live, and a king in Rome?
If life be nothing more than death's delay;
If impious force can honest minds dismay,
Or Probity may Fortune's frown disdain;
If well to mean is all that Virtue can;
And right, dependant on itself alone,
Gains no addition from success?—'Tis known:
192
And Ammon cannot write them deeper there.
Our souls, allied to God, within them feel
The secret dictates of th'Almighty will;
This is his voice, be this our oracle.
When first his braath the seeds of life instill'd,
All that we ought to know was then reveal'd.
Nor can we think the Omnipresent mind
Has truth to Libya's desart sands confin'd,
There, known to few, obscur'd, and lost, to lie—
Is there a temple of the Deity,
Except earth, sea, and air, you azure pole;
And chief, his holiest shrine, the virtuous soul?
Where-e'er the eye can pierce, the feet can move,
This wide, this boundless universe is Jove.
Let abject minds, that doubt because they fear,
With pious awe to juggling priests repair;
I credit not what lying prophets tell—
Death is the only certain oracle.
Cowards and brave must die one destin'd hour—
This Jove has told; he needs not tell us more.
The secret dictates of th'Almighty will;
This is his voice, be this our oracle.
When first his braath the seeds of life instill'd,
All that we ought to know was then reveal'd.
Nor can we think the Omnipresent mind
Has truth to Libya's desart sands confin'd,
There, known to few, obscur'd, and lost, to lie—
Is there a temple of the Deity,
Except earth, sea, and air, you azure pole;
And chief, his holiest shrine, the virtuous soul?
Where-e'er the eye can pierce, the feet can move,
This wide, this boundless universe is Jove.
Let abject minds, that doubt because they fear,
With pious awe to juggling priests repair;
I credit not what lying prophets tell—
Death is the only certain oracle.
Cowards and brave must die one destin'd hour—
This Jove has told; he needs not tell us more.
193
TO MR. GLOVER; ON HIS POEM OF LEONIDAS.
Written in the Year 1734.
Go on, my friend, the noble task pursue,
And think thy genius is thy country's due;
To vulgar wits inferior themes belong,
But Liberty and Virtue claim thy song.
Yet cease to hope, tho' grac'd with every charm,
The patriot verse will cold Britannia warm;
Vainly thou striv'st our languid hearts to raise,
By great examples, drawn from better days:
No longer we to Sparta's fame aspire,
What Sparta scorn'd, instructed to admire;
Nurs'd in the love of wealth, and form'd to bend
Our narrow thoughts to that inglorious end:
No generous purpose can enlarge the mind,
No social care, no labour for mankind,
Where mean self-interest every action guides,
In camps commands, in cabinets presides;
Where luxury consumes the guilty store,
And bids the villain be a slave for more.
And think thy genius is thy country's due;
To vulgar wits inferior themes belong,
But Liberty and Virtue claim thy song.
Yet cease to hope, tho' grac'd with every charm,
The patriot verse will cold Britannia warm;
Vainly thou striv'st our languid hearts to raise,
By great examples, drawn from better days:
No longer we to Sparta's fame aspire,
What Sparta scorn'd, instructed to admire;
194
Our narrow thoughts to that inglorious end:
No generous purpose can enlarge the mind,
No social care, no labour for mankind,
Where mean self-interest every action guides,
In camps commands, in cabinets presides;
Where luxury consumes the guilty store,
And bids the villain be a slave for more.
Hence, wretched nation, all thy woes arise,
Avow'd corruption, licens'd perjuries,
Eternal taxes, treaties for a day,
Servants that rule, and senates that obey.
Avow'd corruption, licens'd perjuries,
Eternal taxes, treaties for a day,
Servants that rule, and senates that obey.
O people far unlike the Grecian race,
That deems a virtuous poverty disgrace,
That suffers publick wrongs, and publick shame,
In council insolent, in action tame!
Say, what is now th'ambition of the great?
Is it to raise their country's sinking state;
Her load of debt to ease by frugal care,
Her trade to guard, her harrass'd poor to spare?
Is it, like honest Somers, to inspire
The love of laws, and freedom's sacred fire?
Is it, like wise Godolphin, to sustain
The balanc'd world, and boundless power restrain?
Or is the mighty aim of all their toil,
Only to aid the wreck, and share the spoil?
On each relation, friend, dependant, pour,
With partial wantonness, the golden shower,
And, fenc'd by strong corruption, to despise
An injur'd nation's unavailing cries?
Rouze, Britons, rouze! if sense of shame be weak,
Let the loud voice of threatening danger speak.
Lo! France, as Persia once, o'er every land
Prepares to stretch her all-oppressing hand.
Shall England sit regardless and sedate,
A calm spectatress of the general fate;
Or call forth all her virtue, and oppose,
Like valiant Greece, her own and Europe's foes?
O let us seize the moment in our power,
Our follies now have retch'd the fatal hour;
No later term the angry gods ordain;
This crisis lost, we shall be wise in vain.
That deems a virtuous poverty disgrace,
That suffers publick wrongs, and publick shame,
In council insolent, in action tame!
Say, what is now th'ambition of the great?
Is it to raise their country's sinking state;
Her load of debt to ease by frugal care,
Her trade to guard, her harrass'd poor to spare?
Is it, like honest Somers, to inspire
The love of laws, and freedom's sacred fire?
195
The balanc'd world, and boundless power restrain?
Or is the mighty aim of all their toil,
Only to aid the wreck, and share the spoil?
On each relation, friend, dependant, pour,
With partial wantonness, the golden shower,
And, fenc'd by strong corruption, to despise
An injur'd nation's unavailing cries?
Rouze, Britons, rouze! if sense of shame be weak,
Let the loud voice of threatening danger speak.
Lo! France, as Persia once, o'er every land
Prepares to stretch her all-oppressing hand.
Shall England sit regardless and sedate,
A calm spectatress of the general fate;
Or call forth all her virtue, and oppose,
Like valiant Greece, her own and Europe's foes?
O let us seize the moment in our power,
Our follies now have retch'd the fatal hour;
No later term the angry gods ordain;
This crisis lost, we shall be wise in vain.
And thou, great poet, in whose nervous lines
The native majesty of freedom shines,
Accept this friendly praise; and let me prove
My heart not wholly void of publick love;
Though not like thee I strike the sounding string
To notes which Sparta might have deign'd to sing,
But, idly sporting in the secret shade,
With tender trifles sooth some artless maid.
The native majesty of freedom shines,
196
My heart not wholly void of publick love;
Though not like thee I strike the sounding string
To notes which Sparta might have deign'd to sing,
But, idly sporting in the secret shade,
With tender trifles sooth some artless maid.
197
TO WILLIAM PITT, ESQ. ON HIS LOSING HIS COMMISSION,
In the Year 1736.
Long had thy virtues mark'd thee out for fame,
Far, far superior to a Cornet's name;
This generous Walpole saw, and griev'd to find
So mean a post disgrace that noble mind.
The servile standard from thy freeborn hand
He took, and bad thee lead the patriot band.
Far, far superior to a Cornet's name;
This generous Walpole saw, and griev'd to find
So mean a post disgrace that noble mind.
The servile standard from thy freeborn hand
He took, and bad thee lead the patriot band.
198
PROLOGUE TO THOMSON's CORIOLANUS.
SPOKEN BY MR. QUIN.
I come not here your candour to implore
For scenes, whose author is, alas! no more;
He wants no advocate his cause to plead;
You will yourselves be patrons of the dead.
No party his benevolence confin'd,
No sect—alike it flow'd to all mankind.
He lov'd his friends (forgive this gushing tear:
Alas! I feel, I am no actor here)
He lov'd his friends with such a warmth of heart,
So clear of interest, so devoid of art,
Such generous friendship, such unshaken zeal,
No words can speak it; but our tears may tell.—
O candid truth, O faith without a stain,
O manners gently firm, and nobly plain,
O sympathizing love of others' bliss,
Where will you find another breast like his?
Such was the man—the poet well you know:
Oft has he touch'd your hearts with tender woe:
Oft, in this crouded house, with just applause,
You heard him teach fair Virtue's purest laws;
For his chaste Muse employ'd her heaven-taught lyre
None but the noblest passions to inspire,
Not one immoral, one corrupted thought,
One line, which dying he could wish to blot.
For scenes, whose author is, alas! no more;
He wants no advocate his cause to plead;
You will yourselves be patrons of the dead.
No party his benevolence confin'd,
No sect—alike it flow'd to all mankind.
He lov'd his friends (forgive this gushing tear:
Alas! I feel, I am no actor here)
199
So clear of interest, so devoid of art,
Such generous friendship, such unshaken zeal,
No words can speak it; but our tears may tell.—
O candid truth, O faith without a stain,
O manners gently firm, and nobly plain,
O sympathizing love of others' bliss,
Where will you find another breast like his?
Such was the man—the poet well you know:
Oft has he touch'd your hearts with tender woe:
Oft, in this crouded house, with just applause,
You heard him teach fair Virtue's purest laws;
For his chaste Muse employ'd her heaven-taught lyre
None but the noblest passions to inspire,
Not one immoral, one corrupted thought,
One line, which dying he could wish to blot.
Oh! may to-night your favourable doom
Another laurel add, to grace his tomb:
Whilst he, superior now to praise or blame,
Hears not the feeble voice of human fame.
Yet, if to those whom most on earth he lov'd,
From whom his pious care is now remov'd,
With whom his liberal hand, and bounteous heart,
Shar'd all his little fortune could impart;
If to those friends your kind regard shall give
What they no longer can from his receive;
That, that, even now, above yon starry pole,
May touch with pleasure his immortal soul.
Another laurel add, to grace his tomb:
Whilst he, superior now to praise or blame,
Hears not the feeble voice of human fame.
Yet, if to those whom most on earth he lov'd,
From whom his pious care is now remov'd,
200
Shar'd all his little fortune could impart;
If to those friends your kind regard shall give
What they no longer can from his receive;
That, that, even now, above yon starry pole,
May touch with pleasure his immortal soul.
201
EPILOGUE TO LILLO's ELMERICK.
You, who, supreme o'er every work of wit,
In judgement here, unaw'd, unbiass'd, sit,
The palatines and guardians of the pit;
If to your minds this merely modern play
No useful sense, no generous warmth convey;
If fustian here, through each unnatural scene,
In strain'd conceits sound high, and nothing mean;
If lofty dullness for your vengeance call;
Like Elmerick judge, and let the guilty fall.
But if simplicity, with force and fire,
Unlabour'd thoughts and artless words inspire;
If, like the action which these scenes relate,
The whole appear irregularly great;
If master-strokes the nobler passions move:
Then, like the king, acquit us, and approve.
In judgement here, unaw'd, unbiass'd, sit,
The palatines and guardians of the pit;
If to your minds this merely modern play
No useful sense, no generous warmth convey;
If fustian here, through each unnatural scene,
In strain'd conceits sound high, and nothing mean;
If lofty dullness for your vengeance call;
Like Elmerick judge, and let the guilty fall.
But if simplicity, with force and fire,
Unlabour'd thoughts and artless words inspire;
If, like the action which these scenes relate,
The whole appear irregularly great;
If master-strokes the nobler passions move:
Then, like the king, acquit us, and approve.
| Works (1776) | |