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Poetics

Or, a series of poems, and disquisitions on poetry. By George Dyer
Dyer, George (1755-1841)

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VOL. I.
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ODES.
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BOOK THE FIRST.
 I. 
ODE I. VISIONS.
 III. 
ODE III. ON REVISITING THE SCENES OF EARLIER LIFE.
 IV. 
ODE IV. ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.
 V. 
ODE V. INDEPENDENCE.
 VI. 
ODE VI. TO JOHN HAMMOND, A. M. OF FENSTANTON, HUNTINGDONSHIRE.
 VII. 
ODE VII. THE RECONCILIATION.
 VIII. 
ODE VIII. INVOCATION TO MAY.
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BOOK THE SECOND.
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ODE I. THE RACE OF HEROES.
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
 III. 
III.
 II. 
ODE II. PEACE AND FREEDOM.
 III. 
ODE III. TO MRS. OPIE, WHEN MISS ALDERSON,
 IV. 
ODE IV. TO AN INFANT,
 VI. 
ODE VI. ON CONTEMPLATING THE WEALTH AND AGGRANDIZEMENT FLOWING FROM CERTAIN TRANSACTIONS IN INDIA.
 X. 
ODE X. ON THE EVENING.
 XI. 
ODE XI. CUPID'S ADDRESS;
 XII. 
ODE XII. ON SEEING A LADY'S PORTRAIT.
 XIII. 
ODE XIII. LOVE OF PLEASURE.
 XIV. 
ODE XIV. THE MUSIC OF THE GROVES.
 XV. 
ODE XV. GAIA, OR MY OWN HONEST LANDLADY IN A COUNTRY VILLAGE.
 XVI. 
ODE XVI. THE PHILOSOPHY OF EVIL.
 XVII. 
ODE XVII. ADDRESS TO THE CAM.
 XVIII. 
ODE XVIII. TO A LADY, WHO HAD RALLIED THE AUTHOR IN THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE, FOR HIS REJECTION OF TITLES.
 XXI. 
ODE XXI. TO NARCISSA.
 XXII. 
ODE XXII. TO MELANCHOLY.
 XXIII. 
ODE XXIII. MEDITATED IN THE CLOISTERS OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL.
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BOOK THE THIRD.
 II. 
ODE II. ON THE CLOSE OF AUTUMN, AFTER AN EXCURSION THROUGH HERTFORDSHIRE AND ESSEX.
 III. 
ODE III. THE RANSOM.
 IV. 
ODE IV. ON SCIENCE.
 VI. 
ODE VI. TO AN ENTHUSIAST.
 VIII. 
ODE VIII. ON PEACE.
 IX. 
ODE IX. ON CONSIDERING THE UNSETTLED STATE OF EUROPE, AND THE OPPOSITION WHICH HAD BEEN MADE TO ATTEMPTS FOR THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE-TRADE.
 XII. 
ODE XII. WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF JOHN HOWARD, AT HIS VILLA AT CARDINGTON, IN BEDFORDSHIRE.
 XIII. 
ODE XIII. TO THE NIGHTINGALE.
 XV. 
ODE XV. TO A MINIATURE PAINTER,
 XXI. 
ODE XXI. AN EPITAPH FOR A HUMAN BEING.
 XXII. 
ODE XXII. TO A HUMBLE FRIEND.
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BOOK THE FOURTH.
 II. 
ODE II. AN ENGLISH SAPPHIC, IN PRAISE OF SNUFF AND TOBACCO.
 III. 
ODE III. TO MUSIC.
 IV. 
ODE IV. ON WINE.
 V. 
ODE V. AFTER VISITING DRYBURGH ABBEY, IN BERWICKSHIRE.
 VI. 
ODE VI. THE CHARM OF MUSIC.
 VII. 
ODE VII. HYMN TO CHARITY.
 VIII. 
ODE VIII. THE SAILOR.
 IX. 
ODE IX. THE TRIUMPH OF POETRY.
 X. 
ODE X. A SONG.
 XI. 
ODE XI. ON THE DEATH OF FRIENDS, AND THE HAVOC OF WAR.
 XII. 
ODE XII. HYMN TO HEALTH.
 XIII. 
ODE XIII.
 XIV. 
ODE XIV.

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ODE VI. TO JOHN HAMMOND, A. M. OF FENSTANTON, HUNTINGDONSHIRE.

[_]

Written in a garden where many improvements had been made, and designed to censure some moderns, in their extravagant imitations of the Greek and Roman Poets, who, however, themselves, cannot be too much admired.

Tho' still I love th'Æolian lyre,
Whose varying sounds beguil'd my youthful day;
And still, as fancy leads, I love to stray,
In fabled groves among th'Aonian choir;
Yet more 'mid native scenes, thro' milder skies,
Nature's mysterious harmonies delight;
There rests my heart; for let the sun but rise,
What is the moon's pale orb, that cheer'd the lonesome night?
34

I cannot quite leave classic ground,
Nor bid their labyrinths of song adieu;
Yet scenes to me more dear unfold to view,
And my ear drinks-in notes of clearer sound.
No lyre of Phœbus in my Hammond's bower,
No purple Venus song and love diffuse;
The king of gods here rains no golden shower;
Nor have these lips e'er sipt Castalian dews.
Yet oh! bright rose, fair child of May,
Tho' Bacchus ne'er with thee his brow may wreathe;
Ye fragrant myrtles, tho' ye ne'er shall breathe
On the soft couch that wak'd to am'rous play;
Yet will I steal from you the richest sweet;
Yet shall your beauties wake no vulgar strain:
Each wild note shall some kindred feeling greet,
And not a gale that sighs, shall sigh to me in vain.
Say, polish'd friend, each motley flower
That fable streaks, to daze our youthful sight,
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Say, can they breathe so soft, or shine so bright,
As those which nature paints in sober hour?
And if, thy books exchang'd for rural ease,
You teach the garden in new grace to shine,
Ah! what may please, if this hath nought to please,
What, if beguiles not this, the studious hour beguile?
Why should I envy Pindar's lyre,
Deep-ton'd and various? why the melting flow
Of Sappho, and Anacreon's feverish glow?
Or why the warrior-poet's nobler fire?
Or, should Albunea's sacred grove resound,
While headlong Anio roll'd his tide along,
Why Horace envy, tho' gods listen'd round,
To hear him strike the lyre, and wake the soul of song?
Or why, where suns more fervid glow,
Where flowers like gems, and springs as crystal bright,
Where fruits like opals fire the ravish'd sight,
And silver streams o'er beds of amber flow,
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Where to the rose the nightingale complains,
In love-notes tuneful from her myrtle grove,
Why envy Abi'lolas' loftier strains,
Or Cassem's splendid notes, or Hafez' song of love.
Place me beneath the arctic skies,
Still verse and friendship shall inspire!
Still shall this bosom glow with genial fire!
Still nature's simple forms delight these eyes!
Nor shall my soul, tho' fate has fix'd my lot,
To temperate climes, not feel the rapt'rous muse;
Nor shall my verse, tho' humble, be forgot,
Breath'd in my Hammond's bower, beside the banks of Ouse.
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