The minstrel : or, The progress of genius: with other poems,many of which, including the translations, are now reprinted from the scarce copies, and are not to be found in any other edition

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Gift of

liflsf The Alameda Free Library

STANFORD

UNIVERSITY

LIBRARIES

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THE MINSTREL,

AND

OTHER POEMS.

' t„,„://,iMr. J' /'[:/'.

A I

THE / , ^ -v^^.

MINSTRELW %:

r.

OB. ^^^fj '

THE PROGRESS OF GENIU '

WITH

OTHER POEMS,

liAirr OF WHICH, INCLUDING THE TRANSLATIGNS,

ARK HOW

REPRINTED FROM THE SCARCE COPIES,

AND ARE NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANT OTHER EDITION.

BT

JAMES BEATTIE, LL.D.

TO WHICH ARM PREFIXED,

MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,
BY ALEXANDER CHALMERS, F. S. A.

SLoittron:

PRINTED FOR F. C. AND J. RIVINGTON ; T. PATNl ; J. WALKER i
CADELL AND DAVIB8 ; 8CATCHBRD 4ND URTTERMAN ; LACK*
INGTON, ALLBNy AMD CO. ; JOHN RICHARDSON j B. CROSBY
AND CO. ; J. BOOKER ; J. MAWMAN ; P. AND W. WYNNE;
SHERWOOD, NEBLY, AND JONES y AND J. JOHNSON AND CO. :
AND WILSON AND SON, YORK.

liTi.

**-

1'?!!

J. M*Creery, Printer,
9Iack-Hone-Cotirty London.

s--'

MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE

OF

DR. JAMES BEATTIE.

JDr. Beattie was born at Lanrencekirk, in the comity of Kin-
cardine, Scotland, on the 25th day of October, 1735. Hi«
father, who was a farmer of no considerable rank, is said to
have had a turn for reading and for yersiiyiDg : but, as he died
in 1742, when his son James was only seven years of age^ could
have had no great share in forming his mind.

James was sent early to the only school his birth*place af-
forded, where he passed his time under the histructions of a
tutor named Milne, whom he used to represent <* as a good
grammarian, and tolerably skilled in the Latin language, but
destitute of taste, as well as of some other qualifications essential
to a good teacher." He is said to have preferred Ovid as a
school-author, whom Mr. Beattie afterwards gladly exchanged
for Virgil. Virgil he had been accustomed to read with great
delight in Dryden's translation, as he did Homer in that of Pope;
and these, with Thomson's Seasons and Milton's Paradise Lost,
of all which he was very early fond, probably gave him that
taste for poetry which he afterwards cultivated with so mucli
success.

At this school he made great proficiency by unremitting diU^

b

iv . MEMOIRS OF

tion. He obtained in this place, however, a few friends, parti-
cularly Lord Gardenstown and Lord Monboddo, who honoured
him with encouraging notice -, and he employed his leisure hours
in some poetical attempts, which, as they were published in the
''Scots Magazine," with his initials, and sometimes with. his
place of abode, must have contributed to make him yet better
known and respected. There are few introductions into life
more successful than a pleasing or popular poem ; and, indeed,
any literary production from an obscure part of the country is
generally considered as a phenomenon. These poems attracted
the more attention that they happened to be dated from a Tillage
little known, and written by a man never heard of.

The church of Scotland was at this time the usual resource of
well educated young men, and with their academical stores in
fnll memory, there were few difficulties to be surmounted be-
fore their entrance on the sacred office. Although this church
presents no temptations to ambition, Mr.Beattie appears to
have regarded it as the only means by which he could obtain an
independent, however humble, rank in life ; and, with his dili-
gence, was confident that the transition from the studies of phi-
losophy and ethics to that of divinity would be easy. He re-
turned, therefore, during the winter, to Marischal College, and
attended tlie divinity lectures of Dr. Robert Pollock, of that
college, and of Professor John Lumsden, of King's, and per-
formed the exercises required by the rules of both.

While the church seemed his only prospect, and one which, I
have been told, he never contemplated with satisfaction, al-
though few young meil lived a more pious and regular life, ther^
occurred in 1757 a vacancy for one of the masters of the gram-
mar-school of Aberdeen, a situation of considerable importance
in all respects. This school, which is a public foundation, is
conducted by a rector, or head master, and three subordinate
masters ; the whole is in the patronage of the magistrates of the

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. v

city, who are, however, goyemed in Iheir choice by the issue of
a very severe trial of the candidate's ability, carried on by the
professors of the university. On tliis occasion, Mr. Beattie was
advised to become a candidate ; but he was diffident of his qua-
lifications, and did not think himself so retentive of the granuna-
tical niceties of the Latin language as to be able to answer rea-
dily any question that might be put to him by older and more
experienced judges. In every part of life, it may be here ob-
served, Mr. Beattie appears to have formed an exact estimate
of his own talents ; and in the present instance he failed just
where he expected to fail, rather in the circumstantial than the
essential requisites for the situation to which he aspired. The
other candidate was accordingly preferred. But Mr. Beattie's
attempt was attended with so little loss of reputation, that a
second vacancy occurring a few months after, and two candi-
dates appearing, both unqualified for the office, it was presented
to him by the magistrates in the most handsome manner, with-
out the form of a trial, and he immediately entered upon it,
June 1758. He was now in the midst of literary society, and
had easy access to books, and his conversation-talents, it is yet
remembered, daily increased the number of his friends. His
emoluments were not great, but his situation had a consequence
in the opinion of the public, which to so young a man was not a
little tiattering.

He had not been long an usher at this school before he pub-
lisbed a volume of poems. An author's first appearance is al-
ways an important aera. Mr. Beattie's was certainly attended
with circumstances that are not now common. This volume was
announced to the public in a more humble manner than the pre-
sent state of literature is thought to demand in similar cases.
On the 18th of March 1760, not the volume itself, but " Pro-
posals for printing original Poems and Translations," were
israed. The poems appeared accordingly on Feb. 16, 1761^

▼i MEMOIRS OF

and were published both in London and Edinburgh. They con*
siBted partly of originals, and partly of the pieces formerly
printed in the Scots Magazine, but altered and corrected, a
practice which Mr. Beattie carried almost to excess iu all his
poetical works.*

The praise bestowed on this volume was very flattering. The
English critics, who then bestowed the rewards of literature,
considered it as an acquisition to the republic of letters, and
pronounced that since Mr. Gray (whom in their opinion Mr.
Beattie had chosen for his model) they had not met with a poet
of more harmonious numbers, more pleasing imagination, or
more spirited expression.! This verdict they endeavoured to
confirm by extracts from the " Ode to Peace,'* and " the
Triumph of Melancholy.'' But notwithstanding praises which
so evidently tended to give a cun'ency to the poems, and which
were probably repeated with eagerness by the friends who had
encouraged the publication, the author, upon more serious con-
sideration, was so dissatisfied with this volume as to destroy
every copy he could procure, and I have been assured by many
of his oldest friends, that they have in vain endeavoured to ob-
tain a sight of it.t Nor was this a sudden or splenetic humour
in our author. Some years after, when his taste and judgment
became fully matured, he refused to acknowledge above ibur
of them, nor would he permit even these to be published with-
out much solicitation.

But notwithstanding the lowly opinion of the author, these
poems during their first circulation, which was chiefly in manu-

• The translations were from Virgil*s Pastorals, the twenty-second Ode of
Anacreon, Invocation to Venus from Lucretiiis, and two Odes of Horace.
These he afterwards totally discarded, but they are now added to his other
pieces.

t Monthly Review, vol. zziv. I76I.

t He never spoke of it to his son, and seems to think he had never sera it.

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. vU

scrips contribated so mach to the general reputation he had
acquired, that he was considered as an honour to his country,
and deserving of a higher rank among her favoured sons. Ac-
cordingly, a vacancy happening in Marischal College, his friends
made such earnest applications in his behalf, that in September
1760 he was appointed by his late Majesty's patent Professor of
PJiilosophy in that College. His department in this honourable
office extended to moral philosophy and logic ; and it added, in
his mind, a very affecting importance to it, that his ytbs the last
course of instruction previous to the students leaving college,
and dispersing themselves in the world.

This promotion was sudden and unexpected ; and it may be
supposed that a youth of twenty-five must be ill prepared to
give a course of lectures, and a train of instruction on subjects
which have been but imperfectly treated by veteran philoso-
phers. Yet it is evident from his printed works, that most of
the subjects which belong to his province, had been familiarized
to him by a long course of reading and thinking, and that he
had very early accustomed himself to composition; and it is
liighly probable that he brought iuto the professor's chair such a
mass of materials as might with very little trouble be moulded
into shape for his immediate purpose. It is certain, however,
that such was his diligence, and such his love of these studies,
that within a few years he was not only enabled to deliver an
admirable course of lectures on moral philosophy and logic, but
also to prepare for the press those works on which his fiune
rests ^ all of which, there is some reason to think, were written,
or nearly written, before he gave the world the result of his
philosophical studies in the celebrated ** Essay on Truth." It
may be added likewise, that the rank he had now attained in
the university entitled him to associate more upon a level with
Reid and vrith Campbell, with Gerard and with Gregory, men
whose opinions were in many pomts congenial, and who have all

fiii MEMOIRS OP

been hailed by the sister cotiDtry among the revivers of Scotch
literature. Yet their names, it is gratifying to recollect, are bat
a small part of that catalogne which has, in less than half a cen-
tary» dispelled national prejudice, and has left none of the
effects of comparison except a generous and beneficial emula-
tion.

In 1765 Mr. Beattie published <* The Judgment of Paris," a
poem, in 4to. Its design was to prove that virtue alone is ca-
pable of affording a gratification adequate to our whole nature,
the pursuits of ambition or sensuality promising only partial
happiness, as being adapted not to our whole constitution, but
only to a part of it. So simple a position seems to require the
graces of poetry to set it off. The reception of this poem, how-
ever, was unfavourable ; and although he added it to a new edi-
tion of his poems in 1766, he declined afterwards to reprint it.
To this edition of 1766 he added a poem << On the talk of erect-
ing a Monument to Churchill in Westminster Abbey," which.
Sir William Forbes says, was first published separately and
without a name. That it was printed separately, I am informed
on undoubted authority ; but I question if it ever was published
for sale, unless in the above-mentioned edition of his poems.
The asperity with which these lines are marked, induced Sir
'IFilliani Forbes, contrary to his first intention, to omit them,
but they are now added to his other poems.

Although Mr. Beattie had now acquired a station in which his
talents were displayed vrith great advantage, and commanded a
very high degree of respect, the publication of the <* Essay on
Truth'^' was the great lera of his life; for this work carried his
fiime fiir beyond all local bounds and local partialities. It is
not, however, necessary to enter minutely into the history of a
work so well known. Its professed intention was to trace the
several kinds of evidence and reasoning up to their first princi-
ples, with a view to ascertam the standard of truth> and

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. ix

explain its immutability. He endeavonn to show that his
sentiments, however inconsistent with the genins of scepticism,
and with the practice and principles of s^ptical writers, were
yet perfectly consistent with the genins of true philosophy, and
with the practice and principles of those whom all acknowledge
to have been the most snccessfhl in the investigation of tmth ;
and he concludes with some inferences or rnles, by which the
most important fallacies of the sceptical philosophy may be de-
tected by every person of common sense, even though he
should not possess acuteness of metaphysical knowledge suffi-
cient to qualify him for a logical confutation of them.

The first edition of this Essay was published in an octavo
volume in 1770, and bought up with such avidity, that a second
was called for, and published in the following year. The inter-
val was short, but as the work had excited the public attention
in an extraordinary degree, the result of public opinion had
reached the author's ear, and to this second edition he added a
postscript, in vindication of a certain degree of warmth of which
he had been accused. It is not easy to recollect by whom this
accusation was made, or to discover why the author thought it
necessary to repel it. It certaiuly does not appear, either in
with4iolding justice from his adversaries, or in treating them
with a language unbecoming the importance of the subject.
He engaged in no personal controversy, and except for Hume,
could not be supposed to entertain any personal regard for the
writers whose sophistry he endeavoured to expose. This post-
script, however, is highly valuable on many accounts. It may
be read detached iVom the work, and read with advantage. It
is not only one of Ihe most elegant specimens of writing in our
language, bnt a more faithful summary of the general conduct
and artifices of modem sceptics than we have any where seen ;
and it contains a prediction of the consequences of scepticism
•n the happiness of mankind, which all who have lived to wit-

X MEMOIRS OF

ness infidelity let loose upon an infatoated nation, without limi-
tation and without pumshment, must acknowledge to be trae in
every respect.

The mode of treating the writings of infidels, like every other
species of controversy, mnst partake of the varieties of human
temper, and temper is frequently observed to take a freer range
in the closet than in society. I am willing to allow, therefore,
that the author of the " Essay on Truth" is warm when com-
pared to some who have written against Hume and the sceptical
philosophers. Dr. Campbell has been praised for his urbanity
to Hume, and for canying on a respectful correspondence with
a man whose pernicious opinions he thought it his duty to expose
and confute. Dr. Campbell was beyond all doubt sincere, but
he was not indignant. The question, therefore, may to some
appear of difficult solution, in what manner the professed enemy
of Christianity is to be treated? This has been frequently pro-
posed, but it has not been satisfactorily answered. All will ac-
knowledge that there are certain rules of good manners, the
breach of which no controversy can justify ; but the mere ad-
mission of this will probably be thought insufficient. Tliere are
men likewise who think that we ought to argue -for the evi-
dences of religion and the foundations of human happiness, with
as much coolness as if the contest related to the niceties of
grammar, or the dates of history ; but neither will this be ad-
mitted as a consistent principle. In all disputes, the warmth,
the zeal, the exertions, must rise in proportion to the value of
the object contended for; and if the exuberance of the affec-
tions be ever pardonable, it must surely be in the case of a man
who endeavours to rescue from sophistry and perversion doc*
trines of eternal importance ; and who sees, or thinks he sees,
the religion, morals, and happiness of mankind, at stake. iSuch
was certainly the case of our author, and such was his opinion.
He says in the above-mentioned postscript, ''when doctrine^
are published subversive of morality and religioUi doctrines of

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. xl

'Which I perceive and have it in my power to expose the ab-
surdity , my duty to the public forbids me to be silent; espe.
cially when I see that, by the influence of fashion, folly, or
more criminal causes, these doctrines spread wider and wider
every day, diffusing ignorance, misery, and licentiousness,
wherever they prevail." — In this view of his duty, a writer
who betrays no warmth, no animated sympatliy with his subject,
who is courtly in expressing indignation, and shy in exposing
danger, must have either been dragged into the contest against
his will, or mnst be indifferent to the issue. The truth is, Mr.
Seattle had many opportunities of observing the mischief occa-
sioned by Hume's writings among his countrymen. Hume's
fame as a historian contributed not a little to the popularity of
his philosophical works. He was among the first of the eminent
class of Scotch Uteratiy and a very pardonable bias in favour of
one who reflected honour upon the nation, induced many to read
and fancy themselves convinced by his Essays and Treatises,
who would have had no such pleasure or pride in perusing the
works of the most celebrated English or foreign sceptics.

The '< Essay on Truth," whatever objections were made to it,
dud it met with very few public opponents,* had a more exten-
sive circulation than probably any work of the kind ever pub-
lished. This may be partly attributed to the charms of that
popular style in which the author conveyed his sentiments on
subjects which his adversaries had artfully disguised in a meta-
physical jargon, the meaning of which they could vary at plea-
sure; but the eagerness with which it was bought up and read,
arose chiefly from the just praise bestowed upon it by the most
distinguished friends of religion and learning in Great Britain.

* The principal publication was Dr. Priestley's " Examination of Dr.Reid
on the Human Mind; Dr. Beattie on the Nature and Immutabilitj of Truth;
and Dr. Oswald's Appeal to Common Sense," Oct. 1775. Dr. Priestley prefers
the system of Dr. Hartley, which he was then endeavouring to introduce;
but tiie flippant and sarcastic style he assumed on this occasion was disap^
proved even by bis own friends.

aiii MEMOIRS OF

With many of these, of high rank both in church and state, the
author had the pleasing satisfaction of dating his acquaintance
from the publication of this work. There appeared, indeed, in
the public in general an honourable wish to grace the triumph
of sound reasoning over pernicious sophistry. Hence in less
fhan four years five large editions of the Essay were sold, and
it was translated into several foreign languages, and attracted
the notice of many eminent persons in France, Germany, Hol-
land, Italy, and other parts of the continent.

Among other marks of respect, the University of Oxford con-
ferred the degree of Doctor of Laws* on the author, and en his
second arrival in London he was most graciously received by his
Majesty, who not only bestowed a pension on him, but admitted
him to the honour of a private conference. Many years after,
when Dr. Beattie went to pay his respects to his Mtyesty, he
was still received vidth every mark of royal condescension and
kindness. In the last, or nearly the last conversation I enjoyed
with him, he observed how much he was always surprised with
the intelligent remarks and intimate knowledge which his Ma-
jesty displayed, not only on general topics of national literature,
but even the minute history of what vras going on at the Scotch
universities.

It was in July 1771 that Dr. Beattie first visited London, and
commenced a personal acquaintance vnth men of the first emi-
nence, vdth Lord Mansfield and Lord Lyttelton, Drs.Hnrd,
Porteus, Johnson, Mr. Burke, and, indeed, the whole of the lite-
rary society whose conversations have been so pleasantly de-
tailed by Mr. Boswell; and returned to ScotUnd with a mind

* I believe he had received this honour tome time before from King's Ck>l.
lege, Aberdeen. He was afterwards chosen Member of the Zealand Society of
Arts and Sciences, and of the literary and Hulosophical Society of Manches-
ter, and was a Fellow of the Boyal Society of Edinburgh ; bat with the dates
of these I am unacquainted.

DR. JAMES BEATHE. ziU

elevated and cheered by the praise, the kindness, and the pa-
tronage of the good and great. It was, however, on his second
visit to London, in 1773, that he received hb degree from Ox-
ford, and those honours from his Majesty, which we anticipated
as a direct, though not an immediate consequence of the ser«
vices he rendered to his country by the publication of the
*^ Essay on Truth.*' His conversation with his Majesty is de«
tailed at some length by himself, in a Diary published by Sir
William Forbes.

Although Mr. Beattie had apparently withdravm his claims as
a poet, by cancelling as many copies of his juvenile attempts as
he could procure, he was not so inconscious of his admirable
talents, as to relinquish what was an early and fevourite pursuit,
and in which be had probably passed some of his most delightful
hours. A few months after the appearance of the '< Essay on
Truth," he published the <^ First Book of the Minstrel," in ^
4t09 but without his name. By this omission, the poem vras ex«
amined with all that rigour of criticism which may be expected
in the case of a work, for which the author's name can neither
afford protection or apology. He was accordingly praised for
having adopted the measure of Spenser, because he had the
happy enthusiasm of that writer to support and render it agree-
able; but objections were made to the limitation of his plan to
the.jirq^ewion of the Minstrel, when so much superior interest
might be excited by carrying him on through the practice of it
It vrstB objected also, that the sentiment of the first stanza ap^
peared too dose a copy from a passage in Gray's celebrated
Elegy ; and several lines were pointed out as unequal, and in-
consistent vnth the general measure, or with the dignity of the
snbject*

These objections appear to have coincided with the author's
re-consideration; and he not only adopted various alterations
recommended by his friends^ but introduced others, which mada

xiy MEMOIRS OF

tlie subsequent editions of this poem far more perfect than the
first. Of the original preface he retained so little, that an ex^ct
copy of it may not be unacceptable to our readers, as the old
editions of the Minstrel are become very rare.

'< The first hint of this performance was suggested by Dr.
Percey's ingenious Essay on the English Minstrels, prefixed to
his first volume of Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.

*^ My design was to trace the progress of a poetical geniuff,
bom in a rude and illiterate age, from the first dawnings of fancy
and reason, till that period in which he may be supposed capa-
ble of supporting tlie character of a Minstrel, that is, of an
■. itinerant poet and musician : — a character which, according to
the notions of our forefiithers, was not only respectable but
tacred. A poetical illustration of such a subject seemed to pro-
mise variety of amusement, and even some topics of iustmction
both moral and philosophical. Perhaps I mistook it, as well as
my own abilities: however, in making a trial there could not be
much harm. Bfy friends are pleased with what I have done;
but, as they cannot entirely acquit themselves of partiality, ad>
vise me to lay a specimen before the public.

*' The pursuits and amusements of the Minstrel's childhood
and early youth are described in this First Book; which, if the
title were altered, and a few phrases struck out that refer to a
sequel, might perhaps be considered as a sort of whole by itself.
The incidents that qualify him for his profession, and determine
him to enter upon it, will furnish materials for the books that
are to follow. If this be honoured with the public approbation,
I shall think it has merit sufficient to justify my bestowing some
time in finishing what remains, which is already in great for-
wardness. Should it be unsuccessful, I will, with no great con-
cern, relinquish a scheme which cannot be completed without
such expence of time and thouglit as a person in my way of life
cannot easily spare. If, as the critics tell us, the chief end of

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. xt

poetry is to please, snrely the man who writes verses with some
inconvenience to liimself, and without any pleasnre to the pub-
lic, spends his time to very little purpose.

'< I have endeavoured to imitate Spenser, not in his allegory
or antiquated dialect, which, though graceful ui him, appear
sometimes awkward in modem writers, but in the measure and
harmony of his verse, and in the simplicity and variety of his
composition. All antiquated expressions I have studiously
avoided; admitting, however, some old words, where they
seemed peculiarly suitable to the subject: but I hope none will
be found that are now obsolete, or in any degree unintelligible
to a reader of English poetr}\

^* To those who may be disposed to ask, what could induce
me to write in so difficult a measure, I can only answer, that it
pleases my ear, and seems from its gothic structure and original
to bear some relation to the subject and spirit of the poem. It
admits both simplicity and magnificence of sound and language,
beyond a!ny other stanza that I am acquainted with. It allows
the sententiousuess of the couplet, and something too of the
diversified cadence and complicated modulation of blank verse;
What some of our critics have remarked of its uniformity grow*
ing at last tiresome to the ear, will be found to hold true, only
when the poetry is faulty in other respects.**

The Minstrel, however, in its first form, contained so many
passages of genuine poetry, the poetry of nature and of feeling,
and was so eagerly applauded by those whose right of opinion
was incontestible, that it soon ran through four editions ; and in
1774 the author produced the << Second Book." This, although
of a more philosophical cast, and less luxurious in those descrip*
tions which appeal to every heart, yet contained such noble
imagery, and so many proo& of the <* lively, plastic imagination,"
as to place the author in the first rank of modem poets. As the
success, of the Second Book was not inferior to t^at pf the finit

xvi MEMOIRS OF

it was the geoeral wi^ that the aathor woald fiilfil his promise
by complethig the interesting subject. I believe he fully in*
tended this ; but the increasing business of education^ the cares
of a family, and the state of his health, originally delicate, and
never robust, deprived him of the time and thought which he
considered as requisite. In 1777, however, he was induced to
publish the two parts of the Minstrel together, and to add a
few of hb juvenile poems. In his advertisement he informs as,
that *< they are all of which he is willing to be considered as
the author.** Some poems about this time had been ascribed
to him which he never wrote; and those pieces which he wished
to consign to oblivion, had been published by persons who hoped
to profit by the now established fame of the author.*

During the preceding year, 1776, he prepared for the press •
new edition of the ^* Essay on Truth,'* in a more splendid form
than it had hitherto appeared in, and attended with circum-
stances of public esteem which were very flattering. These will
be best understood in his own modest advertisement.

*^ About three years ago some persons of disthiction in Eng*
land, who had honoured me with then* friendship, were pleased
to express a desire that the Essay on Truth should be printed
in a more splendid form than that in which it had hitherto ap-
peared; and so as to ensure profit, as well as honour, to the
aathor. And the proprietors of the copyright, bemg at the
same time applied to, declared their willmgness to permit an
edition to be printed for his advantage, on his agreeing to cer-
tain terms, which were thought reasonable.

'' It was then proposed that a new edition of the Essay should
be printed in quarto, by subscription. To this the author had
some objections ; he was apprehensive that the size of that work

* In 1780 a spurious editioa appeared of his Juvenile Poems, with some
which tao never wrote, from Bodsle/s Collection. This volume he disowned
ia a pobUc advertisement. Even Uie publiahen^ naokes were spurious.

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. xvii

might be madequate to such a purpose. Besides, to publish in
this manner a book which had already gone through two or tlirce
editions, seemed hazardous, because unprecedented ; and might,
to those who were uninformed of the afiair, give ground to sus-
pect the author of an infirmity, which no person who knows
him will ever lay to his charge, an excessive love of money.

'< It was answered, that the volume might be extended to a
sufficiency of size, by printing, along with that on Truth,
some other Essays, which, though not originally designed for .
the press, his friends, who had seen them, were pleased to think
not unworthy of it ; and that the proposed subscription, being
of a peculiar kind, should be conducted in a peculiar manner.
*' It shall never,' said the promoters of the undertaking, < be
committed to booksiellers, nor made public by advertisements ;
nobody shall be solicited to join in it ; we, by ourselves and, our
ii'iends, shall carry it on, without giving you any further trouble,
than just to signify your consent, and prepare your materials ; —
and if there be, as we have reason to think there are, many per-
sons of worth and fortune who wish for such an opportunity as
^8 vnll afford them, to testify their approbation of you and
your writings, it would seem capricious in you to deprive them
of that satisfaction, and yourself of so great an honour.'

'< To a proposal so uncommonly generous the author could not
refuse his consent, vdthont giving himself airs which would not
have become him. He therefore thankfully acquiesced," &c.

The subscription-money was a guinea, but I am not certain
that subscribers were limited to that sum. The list of subscrib-
ers amounted to four hundred and seventy-six names of men and
women of the~ first rank in life, and of all the distinguished lite-
rary characters of the time. The copies subscribed for amount-
ed to seven hundred and thirty-two, so that no inconsiderable
sum must have accrued in this delicate manner to the author.
Dr. Seattle . was by no means rich -, his pension was only two

c

xvia MEMOIRS OF

hundred pounds, and the annual amount of his professorship, I
haVe reason to think, never reached that sum.

The Essays added to this volume, and which he afterwards
printed separately in octavo, were " On Poetry and Music ;" on
** Laughter and ludicrous Composition f and ** on the Utility
of Classical Learning.'* They were written many years before
publication, and besides being read in a private literary society,,
had been submitted to the judgment of his learned friends in
England, who recommended them to the press. In ordinary
cases this advice has no value, because it is a matter of course ;
but Dr. Beattie could have discerned flattery had it been of-
fered him, and was' too good a critic to be deceived by thm
common-place returns to such applications. His friends, bow-
ever, in this instance, only anticipated the praises of a more
numerous class, to whom his Essays appeared to discover a taste
and style formed and improved on the chastest models, and to
be remarkable for elegance, correctness, and sound judgment.
The first, which was vmtten in 1762, when the author had only
reached his twenty-seventh year, evinces a great fund of read-
ing, and such acquaintance with ancient and modem learning,
and such discrimmation in objects of criticism, as are rarely
found in persons of that age. . He is particularly happy in his
illustrations; and as he had no new theories to advance, and no
paradoxes to catch applause at the expence of establbhed
truths, pertiaps there are few books that may with more safety
be placed in the hands of a young man to regulate his taste, and
direct him in the study of polite literature. This opinion,
which belongs more particularly to the first two of these Essays,
may yet be applied to the third, where we have an important
question in education discussed with logical precision, and with
a force of argument which it will be difficult to answer. It is,
however, still more pleasing to remark, that in these as well as
in his next work, h^ never Mi to introduce into questions of

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. xix

taste aUusions to those subjects of piety and morals^ of which,
as a teacher of youth, he never lost sight, and was eager to in-
cnlcate.

For tile frequent introduction of practical and serious obser-
vations, he offers a sati^ctory reason in the preface to '' Dis-
sertations Moral and Critical, on Memory and Imagination; on
Dreaming; the Theory of Language; on Fable and Romance ;
on the Attachments of Kindred; and Slnstralions on Subli-
mity," 4to, 1783. These, he informs us, were at first composed
in a different form, being part of a course of prelections read
to those young gentlemen whom it was his business to initiate
in the elements of moral science ; and he disclaims any nice
metaphysical theories, or other matters of doubtful dii^utation,
as not suiting his ideas of moral teaching. Nor was this the
disgust of a metaphysician *' retired from business." He had
ever been of the same opinion. In a letter to his friend Gray,
dated March 30, 1767, he sayi, << It is a fault common to ahnost
all our Scotch authors, that they are too metaphysical. I wish
they would learn to speak more to the heart and less to the un-
derstaniding ; but alas ! this is a talent which heaven only can
bestow : whereas a philosophical spirit (as we call it) is merely
artificialy.and level with the capacity of every man who has
much patience, a little learning, and no taste." Dr. Beattie's
aim was, indeed, in all his lectures, <' to inure young minds to
habits of attentive observation; to guard them against the in*
flnence of bad principles ; and to set before them such views of
nature, and such plain and practical truths, as may at once im-
prove the heart and the understanding, and amuse and elevate
the fimcy."* .

* Cowper's pruse of this volume is too valuable to be omitted.— ''Beattie,
tiie most agreeable and amiable writer I* ever met with; the only author I
have seen whose critical and philosophical researches are diversified and em-

C 2 belUshccl

itt MEMOIRS OF

Of these Essays, the preference has been generally given to
those on '< Memory and Imagination/' and on << Fable and
Romance,'' and to "^ The Theory of lAngnage." In re-pnblish-
ing the latter separatjely for the nse of seminaries of educations
be complied with Ihe wish of many readers and critics. In all
these Essays,, his elegant and pertinent remarks, forcible illns-
trations, and occasional anecdotes and digressions, afford a ya-
riety and pleasure in the perusal which are rarely to be expected
from the discussion of such' subjects, when the writer's object is
to surprise by paradoxical assertions, and at whatever expence
of truth and sense, to obtain the praise due to original theory.
It is by this affectation of new discoveries that so many late
writers have become either unintelligible or pernicious.

During a visit to the metropolis in 1784, Dr. Beattie submit-
ted to the late Dr. Porteus, Bishop of London, vrith whose
friendship he had long been honoured, a part of a work which
at that excellent prelate's desire he published in 1786, entitled,
** Evidences of the Christian Religion briefly and phiinly stated,"
9 vols. ISmo. This likewise formed part of his concluding lec-
tures to his class, and he generally dictated an abstract of it to
them in the course of the session. From a work of this kind,
and on a subject which had employed the pens of the greatest

bellished by a poetical imagination, that makes even the driest subject* and
the leanest, a feast for an epicure in books. He is so much at hu ease too,
that hb own character appears in every page, and, which is very rare, we see
not only the writer, but the man; and the inan so gentle, so well tempered,
so happy in his religion, and so humane in his philosophy, that it is necessary
to love him if one has any sense of what is lovely.** Hayley*a lAft qf Cooper,
vol. iii. p.S4T.— In a letter I received firom Dr. Beattie, a few weeks before
the appearance of the Dissertations, he says, "I am very doubtful of tiieir
success, very doubtful, indeed ; however it is now too late to perplex myself
on that head— a great deal is added, and a very great deal corrected since I
■ to have yott in my Uttie auditory."

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. xxi

and best English writers, macb novelty was not to be expected,
nor in its original form was any novelty intended.- It most be
allowed, however, that he has placed many of the arguments
for the evidences of Christianity in a very striking and persua-
sive light, and it is not too much to suppose that if he could
have devoted more time and study to a complete review and
arrangement of what had, or might be advanced on these evi-
dences, he would have produced a work worthy of his genius,
and worthy of the grandeur and importance of the subject.*
It is highly honourable to the present age, that so many at-
tempts were made to supply this defect, when the contemptu-
ous and contemptible sophistry and perversions of infidelity
threatened to introduce among us the miseries they had too suc-
cessfully brought on the continent of Europe.
In the preface to Dr. Seattle's '< Dissertations," he intiinated
,a design of publishing the whole of his Lectiu-es on Moral
Science, but from this he was diverted by the cogent reasons
there assigned. He was encouraged, however, to present to the
public, in a correct and somewhat enlarged form, the abstract
which he used to dictate to his scholars. Accordingly, in 1790,
he published '' Elements of Moral Science,** vol. i. 8vo, in-
cludnig psychology, or perceptive Acuities and active powers ;
and natural theology; with two appendixes on the incorporeal
nature and on the Immortality of tiie Soul. The second volume
was published in 1793 ; containing ethics, economics, politics,
and logic. All these subjects are necessarily treated in a sum-
mary manner ; but it will be found sufficiently comprehensive,
not only for a text-book, or book of elements, which was the
professed intenti6n of the author, but also as an excellent aid

* In a letter which I received from Dr. Beattie, dated March S6, 1786, he
sajs of his " Evidences**—'' In closeness of matter and style I should not
icniple to prefier (this work) to any of my other things.**

xxii MEMOIRS OF

to the general reader who may not have an opportunity 0/ at-
tending regular lectures,, and yet wishes to reap some of the ad-
vantages of regular education. To the religious, moral, or lite-
rary opinions occasionally interspersed, it will not be easy to
find an objection ; and in this, as in his former works, bis pecu-
liar excellence lies in exposing the sophistries of modem philo-
sophy, sometimes by the argumentative process, and sometimes
by shewing how incapable and unworthy they are of any serious
refutation.

In vol. ii. there occurs a dissertation against the Slave Trade,
which the author informs us he wrote in 1778, with a view to a
separate publication, and of this it is still worthy. He has ex-
posed the weak defences set up for that abominable traffic with
wonderful acntencss, and upon the whole appears to me to b^
unanswerable in his main positions.

These ^' Elements'' have not had the success of some of his •
other works, yet I should be inclined to prefer them to all in
point of utility. It were to be wished, however, that the work
had been accompanied by an index, and by that pathetic lecture
with which he was accustomed to conclude his course. He has
also omitted the list of books on subjects treated in his lectures,
which he dictated to his scholars, lliis list, indeed, would now
perhaps appear very imperfect, although his criticisms on books
were always valuable; but he had so much more pleasure in
praise than in censure, that in his essays and dissertations, and in
his lectures, he expatiated chiefly on those authors of whom he
could speak with delight, and whom he could recommend as
models of elegant taste and pure morals. It was one of his
parting exhortations to' his scholars to '* read no bad books, as
the world afforded more good ones than they could ever have
leisure to read with the attention they deserved."

To the second volume of the Transactions of the Royal

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. xxiii

Society of Edinburgh, published m 1790,* he contributed << Re-
marks on some Passages of the Sixth Book of the ^Bneid." This
^as, in fact, a dissertation on the mythology of the Romans, as
poetically described by Virgil, in the episode of the descent of
iEneas into hell ; and the author's object was to vindicate his
favourite poet from the charges of impiety, &c. brought against
him by Warburton and others. In the same year he is said to
have superintended an edition of <^ Addison's periodical Papers,**
published at Edinburgh in 4 vols. 8vo. To this, however, he
contributed only a few notes to TickelFs life of Addison, and to
Dr. Johnson's remarks. It were to be wished he had done
more. Addison never had a wanner admirer, nor a more suc-
cessful imitator. He always recommended Addison's style to
his pupils^ and it is evident from the whole of his works that it
was his own model. No naan in our times has imitated the
chaste simplicity and perspicuity for which Addison is distin-
guished with such palpable success. I know that he ** gave his.
days and ni^ts to Addison," and it was by this that he attained
an English style ** familiar but not coarse, and elegant but not
ostentaticus."

In his remarks on the chai'acter of Sir Roger de Coverley, he
has fallen into the same mistake with Johnson, in supposing that
that character was sketched or begun by Addison. This has
long been a popular error, or, in Drs. Johnson and Seattle, att
oversight, which might have been avoided by consulting Tickell's
edition of Addison's works. Addison certainly wrote some of

* About the year 1778 he printed a Letter to Dr. Blair *' On the Improve*
ment of Psalmody in Scotland.*' This was only prlvjately circulated. It con-
tained, if I remember right, a few specimens of translations of the Psalms.
He printed also some years after a list of Scotticisms, for the use of his stu>
dents. These he used to make them transcribe; but in this list are some ex-
pressions whidi in my MS. copy of his Lectures when he borrowed it of me in
177B, he altered to English barbarisnu.

xxiv MEMOIRS OF

the best papers Id which the knighfs adveotares are related;
bat tlie original outline belongs incontestibly to Steele.

In 1794 appeared the last work our author composed, and its
history requires some notice of his &mily. In 1767 he married
Miss Mary Dun, daughter of Dr. James Dun, rector or head
master of the grammar school of Aberdeen, a man of great per-
sonal worth, and an excellent classical scholar. He had been
cither a teacher or rector of that school above half a century,
and will be long remembered by his numerous pupils, as one
who united the dignity of the master to the suavity of the

■

patent.

With this lady Dr. Beattie enjoyed for many years as much
felicity as the married state can add; and when she visited
London with him, she shared amply in the respect paid to him,
and in the esteem of his illustrious friends. By her he had two
sons, James Hay, so named from the Earl of Errol, one of his
old and steady friends ; and Montagu, from the celebrated Mrs.
Montagu, in whose house Dr. Beattie frequently resided when
in London. While these children were very young, Mrs. Beattie
was seized with an indisposition, which, in spite of all care and
skill, terminated in the painful necessity of separation from her
husband. The care of the children now entirely devolved on
the father, whose sensibility received such a shock from the me-
lancholy circumstance alluded to, as could only be aggravated
by an apprehension that the consequences of Mrs. Beattie^s dis-
order might not be confined to herself. This alarm, which often
preyed on his spirits, proved happily without foundation. His
children grew up without the smallest appearance of the heredi-
tary evil ; but when they had just begun to repay his care by a
display of early genius, sweetness of temper, and filial affection,
he was compellexl to resign them both to an untimely grave.
His eldest son died November 19, 1790, in his twenty-second
year; and his youngest on March 14, 1796; in his eighteenth

A ^•-. *

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. xm

year. : The death of the latter was pccaaioned by a rapid fever.
The suddenness of the shock made it more deeply felt by the
father, as he had not yet recovered from the loss of the eldest^
Vfho was taken from him by the slow process of consumption. .

Soon after the death of James Hay, his father drew up an ac-
count of his ^' Life and Character -f' to which were added,
*^ Essays and Fragments," written by this extraordinary yonth.
Of thb volume a few copies only were printed, and were given
as '' presents to those friends with whom the author was parti-
cularly acquainted or connected." Dr. Beattie was afterwards
induced to permit the Life and some of the Essays and Frag*
ments to be printed for publication, and being mostly poetical,
they now form a companion-volume to his own poems. The life
is perhaps one of the most interesting and affecting narratives
in onr language. It is written with great simplicity of style,
and with so much^impartiality in those passages where praise or
censure can have admittance, that there is probably no reader
of whatever judgment, who would not rather subscribe to his
opinion than exert the privilege of criticism. It is impossible,
indeed, to contemplate without emotion the exquisite tenderness
of an affectionate and mourning parent, soothing himself by the
remembrance of filial piety and departed excellence ; and hum-
bly, yet fondly, endeavouring to engage the sympathies of the
world in behalf of a genius that might have proved one of its
brightest ornaments.

After the loss of this amiable youth, who in 1787 had been
appointed successor to his father, and had occasionally lectured
in the professor's chair. Dr. Beattie resumed that employment
himself, and continued it, although with intervals of sickness
and depression, until the unexpected death of his second and
last child, in 17^^. His hopes of a successor, of his name and
family, had probably been revived in tliis youth, who exhibited

xxvi MEMOIRS OF

many proofs of early genius, and for some time before his death
had prosecuted his studies with great assiduity. But here too
he was compelled again to subscribe to the uncertainty of ftU
human prospects. Great, however, as the affliction was, It
wonld be pleasing to be able to add, that he acquiesced with
pious resignation, and laid hold on the hopes he knew so well
how to recommend, and which yet might have cheered, if not
gladdened his declining life. But from this period he began to
withdraw from society, and brooded over the sorrows of his
family, until they overpowered his feelings, and abstracted him
from all the comforts of friendship and all power of consolation.
The last three years of his life were passed in hopeless solitude,
and he even dropt his correspondence with those remote fViends
with whom he had long enjoyed the soothing interchange of ele-
gant sentiment and friendly attachment. His health, in this vo-
luntary con6nement, gradually decayed, and extreme and pre.
mature debility, without any acute disorder, terminated his
good and useful life, on the 18th day of August, 1803. His re-
putation was so well founded and so extensive, that he was nnL
▼ersally lamented as a loss to the republic of letters, and parti-
cularly to the university to which he had been so long a public
benefactor and an honour.

Of his general character a fair estimate may be formed fnm
his works, and it is no small praise that his life and writings were
in strict conformity. No man ever felt more strong impressions
of the value of the virtues he recommended than Dr. Beattie.
Although he disdained the affectation of feeling, and the osten-
tation of extraordinary purity, he yet more abhorred the cha-
racter of those writers whose professions and practice are at
Tariance. His zeal for religious and moral truth, however cen-
sured by those to vdiom religion and truth are adverse, origi-
nated in a mind fully convinced of the importance of what he

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. xxvii

prescribed to others, and anxious to display^ where snch at dk-
play Was neither obtrusive nor boastful, that his conviction was
sincere, and his practice resolute.

It may not be amiss in this place to take some notice of a
slander which the fiieuds, at least the injudicious ones, of Home
have been industrious to propagate, because^ if true, it would
have proved a littleness of mind of which none who knew Dr.
Beattie could accuse him. It has been said that he submitted
his juvenile poems to Mr. Hume, at that time considered as the
arbiter of taste, who either returned them with severe censure,
or spoke of them vdth contempt, and that this was the real
motive which prompted Dr. Beattie to write the '^ Essay on
Truth." Such is the story ; and whoever compares the provo-
cation with the revenge, will not think it very probable.* It is
the part of malignity itself to search painfully for one bad mo-
tive where so many good ones are at hand. Nothing surely can
be more false or absurd than this piece of slander. If Mr.
Hume criticised Dr. Beattie's poetry with severity, which may
be admitted, he certainly could not have been a more rigid
censor than the author himself. Dr. Beattie, almost as soon as
his volume of early poems vi^as published, and while the praises
of every friend and of many strangers were yet Sounding in his
ears, suppressed the farther pubtication, and endeavoured to
recover the copies that had been circulated ; and for many years
refused all applications to reprint the flew articles in our present
volume, and that vritb tiie utmost pertinacity. The presump-
tion therefore must be, either that he originally thought as
slightingly of those poems as Mr. Hume, or that Mr. Hume had
bron^t him over to his opinion. In either case there could be
no snch breach of friendship, and surely no such indignant re-
collection as to provoke the " Essay on Truth." The fact wifl
be acknowledged by all who had personal intimacy with Dr.

• See a Letter on tliis •ttbjeet in Sir W. Fort>et*8 life, vol. i. p. 3S0.

zxvui MEMOIRS OF

Beattie, and they only can be the proper judges of his
that it was not the severity of criticism that he at any
dreaded or avoided. In Gray, who was his intimate friend
correspondent, he foond a critic whose opinions might have
mortified the vanity of the most conceited of youthlbl poelB.
On one occasion, indeed. Gray placed the dangers of poetiy
before his eyes in soch a striking light, that he appeared willing
to renounce the muses altogether.* Such was our author^ dilK-
dence in all his productions, that he ventured nothing without
consulting his friends, and received very few proposals of cor-
rection in which he did not acquiesce. If vrith this humble and
respectful disposition Mr. Hume insulted his feelings, or wished
to discourage the early attempts of genius, although his coodact
might not provoke the *^ Essay on Truth,** it forms a part of his
character on which his friends ought to be silent, unless they
can explain it in a more satisfactory manner.

As a poet, it most be confessed, that Dr. Beattie came slowly
into the world ; he did not astonish in his days of childhood and
ignorance, by those wonderful efforts which speak the extraor-
dinary teachings of nature. That he had a talent for poetry
will not be denied, but it was a talent to be cultivated, and in
this respect he has not differed from the most eminent names on
the list of English poets. ^* To touch and re-touch," says Cow-
per, " although some writers boast of negligence, and others
would be ashamed to show their foul copies, is the secret of al-
auMt all good writing, especially in verse." Dr. Beattie was a
poet without self-love and without conceit, and his £une might
be safely trosted in his own hands. What he wrote, and at
whatever period of his life, he was able to criticise vrith impar-
tiality and widi taste. He had an eye rather to future than to
reputation, and so far vras he from soliciting the com-
opinioos of firiends, that I suspect he did not rata

• Xasoa'a Lifo of Gimy. p. 319, edit. 4to, in5.

DR. JAM£S BEATTIE. jolix

Tery highly the judgmeDt of those who had praised the early
prodactioDs of his ihuse. It is certain that he suppressed those
poems, in defiance of their snflfrages; and, until he was encou-
raged to publish ''The Minstrel,"* never, in his own opinion,
had laid a fair claim to the reputation of a poet. The many
*^ t'ouchings and retouchings" he made in this excellent poem
are no inconsiderable proofs of his judgment and his diffidence,
for he frequently corrected that which all who then distributed
the rewards of fame considered as perfect.

As a philosopher, it is no deduction from his merit that his
celebrated Essay is now little read. It rose to higher reputation
in its day than any work of the kind ever publisbed ; and the
little opposition made to it is a proof that it answered the full
purpose of the author. His expectations, indeed, were mode-
rate ; he knew that in controversy it is more easy to gain the
victory than to impose terms on the vanquished. Hume, we are
told,* remained silent, in consequence of a resolution he had
formed, not to answer any opponent ; and after declining all no-
tice of Dr. Campbell, whose superiority, in his '< Essay on
Miracles," has never been disputed, it was not to be supposed
he would break his engagement in favour of Dr. Beattie. But
that he felt the attack is generally acknowledged, for this was
the first time that the sophistry of his general system had been
detected in a popular manner, and the absurdity as well as the
mischief accruing from his principles fiurly laid open. As to
the French philosophers, whom our author incidentally noticed,
it was' not their object at ' that time to provoke a public contro*
versy. They were efiecting their purpose by surer means, and
Dr. Beattie lived to see their principles triumphant in the de-
ftraction of religion, humanity, and social order. '
' Infidel writmgs have been obtruded on the world at different
periods, and after having been set to rest for a time,' have again
lieen revived to serve new purposes. Bat on these revivals, it

XXX MEMOIRS OF

does not always happen that the controversial works of one pe«
riod will supply the wants of the next New means of attack
require new means of defence. The infidel publications which
appeared about the conclusion of the last century, were, in sab*
stanee, mere titascripts of those which appeared at the begin-
ning of it. But style was altered, and cunning assumed new
shapes; a new class of 'men were to be influenced, and what
once was confined to the speculations of the learned, was now
to be adapted to a certain weak and feverish state of mind
among the vulgar; until at length the controversy seemed to be
taken entirely out of the hands of men of literature, and placed
in those of mechanics and paupers. The blasphemies of Paine
might have sunk into contempt, had they not been circulated,
witli liberal industry, among those who could read, but could
not think, and who wanted a palliative to their conscience, or a
screen to their profligacy. To debauch the minds of the lower
classes was the last effort of the last race of infidels, and the
suppression of them necessarily devolved oit the civil magia-
trate.

But whatever reputation Dr. Beattie enjoyed from his philo-
sophical and critical works, his praise was yet higher in all the
personal relations of public and private life. His excellence aa
an instructor may be gathered from his printed works ; but it
remains to be added, that few men have exceeded him in
anxious and kind attentions to his pupils. It was his practice,
while under his care, to invite them by small parties to hia
housie, and unbend his mind in gay conversation, encouraging
them to speak y/ith familiarity on common topics, and to ex-
press their doubts with fireedom on any subjects connected wiUi
their studies. Those whom he observed particularly regular,
and attentive in the class, and who by their answers or remarks
discovered the improvements of private assiduity, he honoare4
with his Kind^t patronage, and corresponded on easy an4

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. xxxi

friendly terms with many of them, long after they quitted the
niuTersity. By these means he was so endeared to his scholars,
that I am not able to mention him at all as a disciplinarian. I
can recollect no instance in which he found it necessary to com-
mand attention by any influence more strong than the reverence
which his character and manners procured without any effort,
and continued without any abatement.

As a husband and fiither, if he had any fault, it was that ot
extreme tenderness and sensibility. He was indeed << trem-
blingly alive" to every circumstance that affected the objects of
his love. Yet who will arraign these feelings, or set bounds to
parental care ? The danger, let it be remembered^ was all his
own: his children betrayed none of the wayward consequences
of indulgence ; they amply repaid his anxious fondness, and he
denved a pleasure from their advancement, which was vefy re-
mote from thd unsteady caprice of parental weakness. The
talents of liis eldest son, as they were cultivated chiefly in re-
tirement, were not generally known ; but those with whom he
associated knew him for a youth of wonderful innocence, purity,
and simplicity of mind and manner. Nor was his brother, of
whom however I knew less from personal acquaintance, inferior
in the valuable qualities of tlie heart. On them, therefore, the
fatiier^ fondness produced none of the consequences of an a^
fection which in many is rather a weakness than a virtue. He
was himself the only sufierer by his excess of sensibility; and
we must e^er lament that it embittered those years which good
men usually pass in cheerful remembrances, and exemplary re-
signation.

None were more affected by his melancholy retreat from so-
ciety, than those who could recollect him in his happier days of
health and hope. As a companion, few men exhibited more
captivations. From his assiduous application to study, and the
liune he found it necessary to devote to his published works and

xzxii MEMOIRS OF

to his academical daties, it may easily be supposed he could not
spare maoy hours to company. Yet he had a keeu relish for so-
cial intercourse, and was remarkably cheerful and communica-
tive. It has not yet beeii mentioned, but it may be observed
from various parts of his vrritings, that he had a turn for humomr,
and a quick sense of the ridiculous. This, however, was so
chastened by the elegance of his taste, and the benevolence of
his disposition, that whatever fell from him of that kind was
devoid of coarseness or asperity. In conversation he never en-
deavoured to gain superiority, or to compel attention, but con-
trived to take his just share, without seeming to intermpt the
loquacity of otliers. He had, however, what most men have
who are jealous of their reputation, a degree of reserve in pro^
miscuous company, which he entirely discarded among those
whom he loved, and in whom he confided. Among strangers,
too, there was a studied correctness in his expression, which was
either unnecessary, or appeared more easy and natural, in his
familiar hours.

Of his talent for humour, he gave some specimens in a periodi-
cal journal published at Aberdeen, which seem not unworthy of
being added to his miscellaneous works, if they could be ascer-
tamed ; but he did not seek the reputation of a wit, and I am
not sure that be permitted his name to transpire. In London,
it is yet remembered that his conversation-talents were much
admired, and no doubt procured him a long continuance of
those friendships with men of rank, which are rarely to be pre-
served vrithout sometliing more than the mere possession of ge-
nius. His modest and engaging manners rendered him equally
acceptable to the courtly and elegant Mansfield, and to the
rough and unbending Jolmson. To Mrs. Montagu's literary par-
ties he was ever a most acceptable addition ; and he lived with
the late Bishop of London, with Sir Joshua Reynolds, and with
Mr. Burke, on terms of the easiest intimacy. If flattery cowld

DR. JAMES BEATTIE. xnui

have gpoiled him, he had enoo^, as in England, for wfaate««r
reason^ his character always stood higher than in his own cooa-

Dr. Beattie's person was rather above the middle size. His
coontenance was very mUd, and his smile uncommonly placid
and 1>enign. His eyes were remarkably piercing and expres-
sive, and there wfis a geperal composure in his features which
Sir Joshua Reynolds has given so admirably in his picture, that
I recommended the head to be copied for the present edition,
IB preference to those which represent him in more advanced
life.

His person was apparently stout and even robust, but this
certainly was not the case. Its original conformation may have
been that of strength and vigour; but he had frequent ioterrop*
lions from sickness at a very early period of life. As he ad-
vanced, he discovered all the delicate and valetudinary tempe*
lament of genius. At the age of forty-five he had the walk and
manner and precautions that are usually observable at sixty, and
was much aflOicted with head-achs and other symptoms that are
commonly called nervous. When I saw him on his last visit to
London, he seemed painfully affected by sudden noises of any
kind, and was particularly averse to the bustle of the London
streets. There was evidently a great portion of irritability in
his habit. That this was precipitated by the loss of bis domestic
endearments, cannot be doubted; but tlie primary cause must
be sought in his application to study, which at all times of his
life, but particularly in his youth, was too close, and absolutely
inconsistent with a healthy habit of body. Of this he was so
seasible, that it appears to have been his constant object to pre-
vent his son from felling into the sanie error ; and I received
some letters from him many years ago on the subject, in which
he strongly deprecates an unremitting attention to books.
The Life of Dr. Seattle, publbhed since the fint edition of

d

i

joadv MEMOIRS OF DR. JAMES &EATTIE.

the present sketch, appeared in 1803, exhibits him in the charac-
ter of an epistolary writer. His letters embrace a very large
portion of the literary history of his time, but it may be doubted
whether they have always the ease and vivacity which are ex
f>ected in this species of composition. They are valuable, how-
■ever, as exhibiting many lesser traits of character, and as dis-
closing its lesser iniirmities.

I have thns given the facts of Dr. Beattie's literary life, and
public services, and have attempted to sketch his personid cha-
racter, the latter, perhaps, some may observe, with a friendly
hand. I know not, however,^ in what other manner to execute
what has been intrusted to me. I revere him as an ornament to
his country ; I remember him vnth the tenderest affection as my
tutor and my fHend. The press is open to those who would
expose his failings^ I have endeavoured to recollect them, but
ouuiot

A.C.

TO

MRS. MONTAGU,

THESE

LITTLE POEMS,

HOV BETIS£D AKD CORKECTED, lOB THE LASI TDCE,

9

AKE,

WITH EVEBT SEFTIMENT OF ESTEEM ASTD
ORATHUDE,

MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED,

BY THE AUTHOR.

ADVERTISEMENT.

Jamvajbly im*

JtIaving lately seen in print some poems ascribed to me^
which I never wrote, and some of my own inaccnrately copied^
I thought it would not be improper to publish, in this little vo-
lume, all the verses of- which I am willing to be considered as
the author. Many others I did indeed write in the early part
of my life -, but they were in general so incorrect, that I wonld
not rescue them from oblivion, even if a wish could do it*

Some of the few now offered to the Pnblic would peihapa
have been suppressed, if in making this collection I had impli*
citly followed my own judgment. But in so small a matter, who
would refuse to submit his opinion to that of a friend?

It is of no consequence to the reader to know the date of any
of these little poems. But some private reasons determined
the Author to add, that most of them were written many yean
ago, and that the greater part of the Minstrel, which is his
latest attempt in this way, was composed in the year one thou*
sand seven hundred and sixty-eight

i-

PREFACE

TO

THE MINSTREL.

1 HE desigD was, to trace the progress of a Poetical Genius^
bora in a rade age, from the first dawning of fancy and reason,
till that period at which he may be supposed capable of appear*
ing in the world as a Minstrel, that is, as an itinerant Poet
and Mnsidan ; — a character which, according to the notions of
onr forefiithers, was not only respectable, but sacred.

I have endeavoured to imitate Spenser in the measure of his
verse, and in the harmony, simplicity, and variety of his compo-
sition. Antique expressions I have avoided ; admitting, how-
ever, some old words, where they seemed to suit the subject :
but I hope none will be found that are now obsolete, or m any
degree not intelligible to a reader of English poetry.

To those, who may be disposed .to ask, what could induce
me to write in so difficult a measure, I can only answer, that it
pleases my ear, and seems, from its Gothic structure and ori-
ginal, to bear some relation to the subject and spirit of the
Poem. It admits both simplicity and magnificence of sound
and of language, beyond any other stanza that I am acquainted
with. It allows the sententiousness of the couplet, as weU a»
the more complex modulation of blank verse. What some
critics have remarked, of its uniformity growing at last tiresome
to the ear, will be found to hold true, only when the Poetry is
faulty in other respects.

"\

CONTENTS.

PAGE

lifeof Dr.B^attie ........*.... i

Ode to Peace . ^ . . t

The Triumph of Melancholy .......... 8

Epitaph OD ♦••^ ''*♦••♦• . ir

E^taph, Nov. 1, 1757 Iff

Elegy 19

Song, in imitation of Shakspeare's Blow, hlow thou wmter^s

wind, &c 21

Retirement . , i 23

Elegy 2$

Ode to Hope 30

Pygmaeo-gerano-machia: The Battle of the Pygmies and

Cranes 36

The Hares: A Fable 44

Epitaph — being part of an Inscription for a Monoment, to

be erected by a Gentleman to the Memory of his Lady . 53

Ode on Lord H**'s Birth-day .54

To the Right Hon. Lady Charlotte Gordon, dressed in a

Tartan Scotch Bonnet, with Plumes, &c 58

The Hermit • 59

On the report of a Monument to be erected in Westminster

Abbey, to the Memory of a late Author (Churchill) . . 61

The Judgment of Paris 69

The Wolf and Shepherds: A Fable 93

TRANSLATIONS.

AnacreoB. Ode XXII. , • • •• 97

The beginning of the First Book of Locretiiis . • . 98

CONTENTS.

PAGE

Horace, Book II. Ode X. 101

Book III. Ode XIII lOS

Pastorals of Virgil.

I. .

n. ,
III. .

IV. .

V. .

VI. .
VII.
VIII.

IX. .

X. .

..... 104

Ill

116

1S6

151

138

. 144

150

157

163

The Minstrel. Book I 169

Book IL 193

POEMS,

OF

JAMES BEAT TIE, D.D.

ODE TO PEACE.
K 1.

Peace^ heaven-descended maid ! whose powerful voice

From ancient darkness call'd the morn>

Of jarring elements composM the noise ;

When Chaos from his old dominion torn.

With an his bellowing throng.

Far, far was hurl'd the void abyss a]ong<»;

And all the bright angelic choir

To loftiest raptures tuned the heavenly lyre,

Pour'd in loud symphony th' impetuous strain ;

And every fiery orb and planet sung.

And wide through night's dark desdate domain

Beboanding long and deep the lays triumphant rung.

r

2 ODE TO PEACE.

I. 2.

Oh whither art thou fled^ Satumian reign !
Roll round again> majestic years !
To break fell Tyranny's corroding chain.
From Woe's wan cheek to wipe the bitter tears.
Ye years, again roll round !
Hark from afar what loud tumultuous sound.
While echoes sweep the winding vales.
Swells full along the plains, and loads the gales !
Murder deep-rous'd, with the wild whirlwind's haste
And roar of tempest, from her cavern springs.
Her tangled serpents girds around her waist.
Smiles ghastly-stern, and shakes her gore-distilling
wings.

I. 3.

Fierce up the jrielding skies
The shouts redoubling rise :
Earth shudders at the dreadful sound.
And all is listening trembling round.
Torrents, that from yon promontory's head
Dash'd furious down in desperate cascade.
Heard from afar amid the lonely night
That oft have led the wanderer right.
Are silent at the noise.
The mighty ocean's more msgestic voice
Drown'd in superior din is heard no more ;
The surge in silence sweeps along the foamy shore.

ODE TO PEACK 3

IL 1.

The bloody banner streaming in the air
Seen on yon sky-mixM mountain's brow>
The mingling multitudes, the madding car
Pouring impetuous on the plain below>
War's dreadful lord proclaim.
Bursts out by frequent fits th' expansive flame.
WhirlM in tempestuous eddies flies
The surging smoke o'er all the darkened skies.
The cheerful face of Heaven no more is seen.
Fades the mom's vivid blush to deadly pale.
The bat flits transient o'er the dusky green>
Night's shrieking birds along the sullen twihgbt sail.

IL 2.

Involv'd in fire-streak'd gloom the car comes on.
The mangled steeds grim Terrour guides.
His forehead writh'd to a relentless frown.
Aloft the angry power of battles rides :
Grasp'd in his mighty hand
A mace tremendous desolates the land ;
Thunders the turret down the steep.
The mountain shrinks before its wasteful sweep : ,
Chill horrour the dissolving limbs invades;
Smit by the blasting lightning of his eyes>
A bloated paleness beauty's bloom o'etspreads.
Fades every flowery field, and every verdure dies.

b2

r

4 ODE TO PEACE.

11. 3.

How startled Phrenzy stares^
Bristling her ragged hairs !
Revenge the gory fragment gnaws ;
See, with her griping vulture-claws
Imprinted deep, she rends the opening wound !
Hatred her torch hlue-streaming tosses round ;
The shrieks of agony, and clang of arms
Re-echo to the fierce alarms
Her trump terrific blows.
Disparting from behind, the clouds disclose
Of kingly gesture a gigantic form.
That with his scourge subhme directs the whirUng storm.

HI. 1.

Ambition, outside fair ! within more foul
Than fellest fiend from Tartarus sprung.
In caverns hatchM, where the fierce torrents roll
Of Phlegethon, the burning banks along.
Yon naked waste survey :
Where late was heard the flute's mellifluous lay ;
Where late the rosy-bosom'd Hours
In loose array danced lightly o'er the flowers ;
Where late the shepherd told his tender tale ;
And wakM by the soft-murmuring breeze of mcftn
The voice of cheerful labour fill'd the dale ;
And dove-eyed Plenty smil'd, and wav'dher liberal horn.

ODE TO PEACE. 5

III. 2.

Yon ruins sable from the wasting flame
But mark the once resplendent dome ;
The frequent corse obstructs the sullen stream^
And ghosts glare horrid from the sylvan gloom.
How sadly-silent all !

Save where outstretch^ beneath yon hanging wall
Pale Famine moans with feeble breathy
And Torture yelb, and grinds her bloody teeth —
Though vain the Muse^ and every melting lay^
To touch thy hearty unconscious of remorse !
Know, monster, know, thy hour is on the way,
I see, I see the years begin their mighty course.

III. 3,

What scenes of glory rise
Before my dazzled eyes !
Young Zephyrs wave their wanton wings.
And melody celestial rings :
Along the lilied lawn the nymphs advance
FlushM with love's bloom, and range the sprightly dance:
The gladsome shepherds on the mountain-side
Arrayed in all their rural pride
Exalt the festive note.
Inviting Echo from her inmost grot —
But ah ! ' the landscape glows with fainter lights
It daikens, swims, and flies for ever from my sight.

6 ODE TO PEACK

IV. 1.

Illusions vain ! Can sacred Peace reside.
Where sordid gold the breast alarms.
Where cruelty inflames the eye of Pride,
And Grandeur wantons in sofl Measure's arms !
Ambition ! these are thine :
These from the soul erase the form divine ;
These quench the animating fire.
That warms the bosom with sublime desire.
Thence the relentless heart forgets to feel.
Hate rides tremendous on tb' overwhelming brow.
And midnight-Rancour grasps the cruel steel.
Blaze the funereal flames, and sound the shrieks of Woe.

IV. ?.

From Albion fled, thy once-belov*d retreat.
What region brightens in thy smile.
Creative Peace, and underneath thy feet
Sees sudden flowers adorn the rugged soil ?
In bleak Siberia blows

WakM by thy genial breath the balmy rose ?
Wav^d over by thy magic wand
Does life inform fell Lybia's burning sand ?
Or does some isle thy parting flight detain.
Where roves the Indian through primeval shades :
Haunts the pure pleasures of the woodland reign.
And led by reason's ray the path of Nature treads ?

ODE TO PEACE. 7

IV. 3.

On Cuba's utmost steep*
Far leaning o'er the deep
The goddess' pensive form was seen.
Her robe of Nature's varied green

Wav'd on the gale ; grief dim'd her radiant eyes, /

Her swelling bosom heav'd with boding sighs : '

She eyed the main ; where^ gaining on the view^
Emerging from di' ethereal blue^
Midst the dread pomp of war
Gleam'd the Iberian streamer from afar.
She saw ; and on refulgent pinions born
Slow wing'd her way sublime, and mingled with the
mom.

* This alludes to the discovery of America by tiie Spaniards
mider ColmnbuB. These ravagers are said to have made their
first descent on the islands in thegnlph of Jloiida^ of which
Cuba Is one.

THE

\

TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY.

Memory, be still ! why throng upon the thought
These scenes deep-stainM with Sorrow's sable dye ?
Hast thou in store no joy-illuminM draughty
To cheer bewilder'd Fancy's tearful eye ?

Yes — ^from afar a landscape seems to rise>
Deckt gorgeous by the lavish hand of Spring ;
Thin gilded clouds float light along the skies.
And laughing Loves disport on fluttering wing.

How blest the youth in yonder valley laid !
Soft smiles in every conscious feature play.
While to the gale low-murmuring through the glade
He tempers sweet his sprightly-warbling lay.

Hail Innocence ! whose bosom all serene.
Feels not fierce passion's raving tempest roll !
Oh ne'er may Care distract that placid mien !
Oh ne'er may Doubt's dark shades o'erwhelm thy soul !

Vain wish ! for lo> in gay attire conceal'd
Yonder she comes ! the heart-inflaming fiend !
(Will no kind power the helpless stripling shield !)
Swift to her destin'd prey see Passion bend !

THE TRroMPH OF MELANCHOLY. 9

Oh smile accurst to hide the worst designs !
Now with hlithe eye she wooes him to be hlest.
While round her arm unseen a serpent twines —
And lo, she hurls it hissing at his breast !

And^ instant, lo« his dizzy eye-ball swims
Ghastly, and reddening darts a threatful glare ;
Pain with strong grasp distorts his writhing limbs.
And Fear's cold hand erects his bristling hair !

Is this, O life, is this thy boasted prime !
And does thy spring no happier prospect yield *
Why gilds the vernal sun thy gaudy clime.
When nipping mildews waste the flowery field !

How memory pains ! Let some gay theme beguile
The musing mind, and sooth to soft delight
Ye images of woe, no more recoil ;
Be hfe's past scenes wrapt in oblivious night.

Now when fierce Winter, arm'd with wasteful power.
Heaves the wild deep that thunders from afar.
How sweet to sit in this sequester'd bower.
To hear, and but to hear, the mingling war !

Ambition here displays no gilded toy
That tempts on desperate wing the soul to rise, .
Kor Pleasore'i flower-embroider'd pi^hs decoy.
Nor Anguish lurks in Grandeur's gay disguise.

10 THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY.

Oft has Coatentment dieer'd this kme abode
With the mikl languish of her smiling ej^i
Here Health has oft in blushing beauty gknr'df
While loo6e*robed Quiet stood enamoured by.

E'en the stonn luUs to more profound repose :
The storm these humble walb assaik in Tain ;
Screened is the lily when the whirlwind blows.
While the oak's statdy ruin strows the plain.

Blow otky ye winds ! Thine, Winter, be the skies.
Roll the old ocean, and the vales lay waste :
Nature thy momentary rage defies ;
To her relief the gentler seasons baste.

Throned in her emerald-car see Spring appear !
(As Fancy wiUs the landscape starts to view)
Her emerald-car the youthful Zephyrs bear.
Fanning her bosom with their pinions blue.

Around the jocund Hours are fluttering seen ;
And lo, her rod the rose-lip'd power extends !
And lo, the lawns are deckt in living green.
And Beauty's bright-eyed train from Heaven descends !

Haste, happy days, and make all nature glad —
But will all nature joy at your return ?
Say, can ye cheer pale Sickness' glo<miy bed.
Or dry the tears that bathe th' untimely urn ?

^

THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY. H

Will ye one transient ray of gladness dart
Cross the dark cell where hopeless skvery lies ?
To ease tir'd Disappointment's bleeding hearty
Will all your stores of softening balm suffice ?

When fell Oppression in his harpy-fangs
From Want's weak grasp the last sad morsel bears.
Can ye allay the heart-wrung parent's pangs.
Whose famish'd child craves help with fruitless tears f

?

For ah ! thy reign. Oppression, is not past.
Who from the shivering limbs the vestment rends ?
Who lays the oilce-rejoicing viU^e waste.
Bursting the ties of lovers and of friends ?

O ye, to Pleasure who resign the day.
As loose in Luxury's clasping arms you lie,
O yet let pity in your breast bear sway.
And learn to melt at Misery's moving cry.

But hopest thou. Muse, va^inglorious as thou art.
With the weak impulse of thy humble strain,
Hopest thou to soften Pride's obdurate heart.
When ErroPs bright example shines in vain ?

Then cease the theme. Turn, Fancy, turn thine eye.
Thy weeping eye, nor further urge thy flight ;
Thy haunU, alas ! no gleams of joy supply.
Or transient gleams, that flash, and sink in night.

13 THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY,

Yet fain the mind its anguish would f(Hreg<
Spread then^ historic Muse^ thy pictured scroll ;
Bid thy great scenes in all their splendour j^ow.
And swell to thought suhlime tV exalted soul.

What mingting pomps rush houndless on the gaze !
What gallant navies ride the heaving deep !
What glittering towns their cloud- wrapt turrets raise!
What bulwarks frown horrific o'er the steep !

Bristling with spears, and bright with bumish'd
shields,
Th' embattled legions stretch their long -array ;
Discord's red torch, as fierce she scours the fields^
With bloody tincture stains the face of day.

And now the hosts in silence wait the sign.
How keen their looks whom Liberty inspires !
Quick as the goddess darts along the line.
Each breast impatient burns with noble fires.

Her form how graceful ! In her lofty mien
The smiles of Love stem Wisdom's frown Controul ;
> "-Her fearless eye, determined though serene.
Speaks the great purpose, and th' unconquer'd soul.

Mark, where Ambition leads the adverse band.
Each feature fierce and haggard, as with pain !
With menace loud he cries, while from his hand
He vainly strives to wipe the crimson stain.

THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY. 13

Lo^ at his call^ impetuous as the stonns^
Headlong to deeds of death the hosts are driven ;
Hatred to madness wrought^ each face deforms.
Mounts the black whirlwind, and involves the heaven.

Now, Virtue, now thy powerful succour lend.
Shield them for Liberty who dare to die —
Ah Liberty ! will none thy cause befriend !
Are these thy sons, thy generous sons that fly !

Not virtue's self, when heaven its aid denies.
Can brace the loosenM nerves, or warm the heart ;
Not Virtue's self can still the burst of sighs.
When festers in the soul Misfortune's dart.

J

See, where by heaven-bred terror all dismay'd
The scattering legions pour along the plain.
Ambition's car with bloody spoils array'd
Hews its broad way, as Vengeance guides the rein.

But who is he, that, by yon lonely brook
With woods o'erhung and precipices rude,*
Abandon'd lies, and with undaunted look
Sees streaming from his breast the purple flood ?

Ah Brutus ! ever thine be Virtue's tear !
Lo, his dim eyes to Liberty he turns.
As scarce-supported on her broken spear
O'er her expiring son the goddess mourns.

* Sacli| accordtng to the description given by Platarcb^ was
the scene of Bmtos^s death.

14 THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY.

Loose to the wind her azure mantle flies.
From her disheverd locks she rends the plume ;
No lustre lightens in her weeping eyes.
And on her tear-stain'd cheek no roses bloom.

Meanwhile the world. Ambition, owns thy sway.
Fame's loudest trumpet labours in thy praise.
For thee the Muse awakes her sweetest lay.
And Flattery bids for thee her altars blaze.

Nor in life's lofty bustling sphere alone.
The sphere where monarchs and where heroes toil.
Sink Virtue's sons beneath Misfortune's frown.
While Guilt's thrill'd bosom leaps at Pleasure's smile ;

Full oft, where Solitude and Silence dwell
Far, far remote amid the lowly plain.
Resounds the voice of Woe from Virtue's cell.
Such is man's doom, and Pity weeps in vain.

Still gprief recoils — How vainly have I strove
Thy power, O Melancholy, to withstand !
Tir'd I submit ; but yet, O yet remove.
Or ease the pressure of thy heavy hand.

Yet for a while let the bewilder'd soul
Find in society reUef from woe ;
O yield a while to Friendship's soft controul ;
Some respite. Friendship, wilt thou not bestow !

THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY. 15

Cpme« then. Philander! for thy lofty mind
Looks down from far on all that charms the great;
For thou canst bear, unshaken and resignM,
The brightest smiles, the blackest frowns of Fate :

Come thou, whose love unlimited, sincere.
Nor faction cools, nor injury destroys ;
Who lend'st to Misery's moans a pitying ear.
And feePst with ecstacy another's joys :

Who know'st man's frailty ; with a favouring eye.
And melting heart, behold'st a brother's fall ;
Who, unenslay'd by custom's narrow tye.
With manly freedom foHow'st reason's call.

And bring thy Delia, sofUy-smiling fair.
Whose spotless soul no sordid thoughts deform ;
Her accents mild would still each throbbing care.
And harmonize the thunder of the storm :

Though blest with wisdom and with wit refm'd.
She courts not homage, nor desires to shine ;
In her each sentiment sublime is join'd
To female sweetness, and a form divine;

Come, and dispel the deep-surrounding shade :
Let chasten'd mirth the social hours employ;
O catch the swift-wing'd hour before 'tis fled.
On swiftest pinion flies the hour of joy.

•

16 THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY.

Even while the careless disencumbered soul
Dissolving sinks to jo3r'8 oblivious dream^
Even then to time's tremendous verge we roil
With haste impetuous down life's surgy stream.

Can Gaiety the vanished years restore^
Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed^
Or sooth the sad inevitable hour«
Or cheer the dark dark mansions of the dead ?

Still sounds the solemn knell in fancy's ear^
That call'd Cleora to the silent tomb ;
To her how jocund roll'd the sprightly year !
How shone the nymph in beauty's brightest bloom !

Ah ! Beauty's bloom avails not in the grave.
Youth's lofty mien> nor age's awful grace ;
Moulder unknown the monarch and the slave,
Whelm'd in th' enormous wreck of human race.

The thought-fixed portraiture, the breathing bust.
The arch with proud memorials arra/d.
The long-lived pyramid shall sink in dust
To dumb oblivion's ever-desart shade.

Fancy from comfort wanders still astray.
Ah, Melancholy ! how I feel thy power !
Long have I laboured to elude thy sway !
But 'tis enough, for I resist no more.

EPITAPH. 17

The traveller thus, that o'er the midnight- waste
Through many a lonesome path is doomed to roam,
Wilder*d and weary sitR him down at last ;
For long the night, and distant far his home.

EPITAPH

Escaped the gloom of mortal life, a soul
Here leaves its mouldering tenement of clay.
Safe, where no cares their whelming billows roll.
No doubts bewilder, and no hopes betray.

Like thee, I once have stemm'd the sea of life ;
Like thee, have languished after empty joys ;
Like thee, have laboured in the stormy strife ;
Been grievM for trifles, and amus'd with toys.

Yet for a whik 'gainst Passion's threatful blast
Let steady Reason urge the struggling oar ;
Shot through the dreary gloom the mom at last
Gives to thy longing eye the blissful shore.

Forget my frailties, thou art also frail ;
Foi^ive my lapses, for thyself may'st fall ;
Nor read umnov'd my artless tender tale,
I was a friend, O man, to thee, to all.

t James Beattie^ this Epitaph was ioteaded for himielf. C.

c

^v.

IS

EPITAPH.*

Nov. 1, 1757.

To this g^ave is committed

All thai the grave can claim

Of two brothers ***** and ***♦♦***«[■

Who on the vii of October, mdcclvii.

Both unfortunately perished in the * * * water :

The one in his xxii, the other in his xviii year.

Their disconsolate father ***********

£rects this monument to the memory of

These amiable youths ;

Whose early virtues promised

Uncommon comfort to his declining yearv.

And singular emolument to society.

O thou ! whose steps in sacred reverence tread
These lone dominions of the silent dead;

* This Epitaph is engmven on a tomb-stone in the cfanreh*
yard of Lethuety in the ihlre of Angus.

t Two young men of the name of Leiteh, who were drowned
in crossing the river Sonthesk. It is not very obvious why tlMlr
names should be concealed in the fint edition of these poems.

C.

ELEGY. 19

On this sad stone a pious look bestow^

Nor un instructed read this tale of woe ;

And while the sigh of sorrow heaves thy breast.

Let each rebellious murmur be supprest ;

Heaven's hidden ways to trace, for us, how vain !

Heaven's wise decrees, how impious, to arraign !

Pure from the stains of a polluted age.

In early bloom of life, they left the stage :

Not doomM in lingering woe to waste their breath.

One moment snatchM them from the power of Death :

They liv'd united, and united died ;

Happy the friends, whom Death cannot divide !

ELEGY.

\

1 ir'd with the busy crowds, that all the day
Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame.
My languid powers dissolve with quick decay,
.Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame.

Hail, kind reviver ! that canst lull the cares.
And every weary sense compose to rest.
Lighten th' oppressive load which anguish bears.
And warm with hope the cold desponding, breast.

c2

20 ELEGY.

TouchM by thy rod, from Power's majestic brow
Drops the gay plume ; he pines a lowly clown ;
And on the cold earth stretchM the son of Woe
Quaffs Pleasure's draughty and wears a fancied crown.

When rousM by thee, on boundless pinions bom
Fancy to fairy scenes exults to rove.
Now scales the cliff gay-gleaming on the morn«
Now sad and silent treads the deepening grove ;

Or skims the main, and listens to the storms,
Marks the long waves roll far remote away ;
Or mingling with ten thousand glittering forms.
Floats on the gale, and basks in purest day.

Haply, ere long, pierc'd by the howling blast
Through dark and pathless deserts I shall roam.
Plunge down th' unfathomM deep, or shrink aghast
Where bursts the shrieking spectre from the tomb :

Perhaps loose Luxury's enchanting smile

Shall lure my steps to some romantic dale»

Where Mirth's light freaks tb' unheeded hours beguile^

And airs of rapture warble in the gale.

Instructive emblem of this mortal state !
Where scenes as various every hour arise
In swift succession, which the hand of Fate
Presents, then snatches from our wondering eyes.

SONG. 21

Be taught^ vain man> how fleeting all thy joys.
Thy boasted grandeur^ and thy gUttering store ;
Death comes, and all thy fancied bliss destroys,
Quick as a dream it fades, and is no more.

And, sons of Sorrow ! though the threatening storm
Of angry Fortune overhang a while.
Let not her frowns your inward peace deform ;
Soon happier days in happier climes shall smile.

Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss forlorn,
'Tis tumult all, and rage, and restless strife ;
But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn.
When Death awakes us to immortal life.

SONG,

IN IMITATION OF SHAKESPEAR'i^^t;. * 7 »-

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, ifc.

Slow, blow, thou vernal gale !
Thy balm will not avail
To ease my aching breast;
Though thou the billows smooth.
Thy murmurs cannot sooth
My weary soul to rest.

22 SONG.

Flow, flow, thou tuneful stream!
.Infuse the easy dream
Into the peaceful soul ;
But thou canst not compose
The tumult of my woes.
Though soil thy waters roll.

Blush, blush, ye fairest flowers !
Beauties surpassing youi^s
My Rosalind adorn ;
Nor is the Winter's blast.
That lays your glories waste.
So killing as her scorn.

Breathe, breathe, ye tender lays,
^hat; linger down the maze
Of. ydnder winding grove ;
O let your soft controul
Bend her relenting soul
To pity and to love.

Fade, fade, ye flowrets fair !
Gales, fan no more the air!
Ye streams forget to glide !
Be hush'd, each vernal strain ;
Since nought can sooth my pain»
Nor mitigate her pride.

2S

RETIREMENT.

1758.

'iVhen in the crimson cloud of even

The^lingering light decays.

And Hesper on the front of Heaven

His glittering gem displays ;

Deep in the silent vale, unseen^

Beside a lulling stream,

A pensive youth, of placid mien^

Indulged this tender theme.

" Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piFd

High o'er the glimmering dale ;

Ye woods, along virhose windings wild

Murmurs the solemn gale :

Where Melancholy strays forlorn.

And Woe retires to weep.

What time the wan Moon's yellow horn

Gleams on the western deep :

''To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms
Ne'er drew ambition's eye,
Scap'd a tumultuous world's alarms.
To your retreats I fly.

24 RETIREMENT.

Deep in your most sequestered bower
Let me at last recline^
Where Solitude^ mild, modest poiwer.
Leans on her ivy'd shrine.

" How shall I woo thee, matchless fair !

Thy heavenly smile how win !

Thy smile that smooths the brow of Care,

And stills the storm within.

O wilt thou to thy favourite grove

Thine ardent votary bring.

And bless his hours, and bid them move

Serene, on silent wing !

*' Oft let Remembrance sooth his mind
With dreams of former days.
When in the lap of Peace reclinM
He framM his infant lays ;
When Fancy rov'd at large, nor Care
Nor cold Distrust alarm'd.
Nor Envy with malignant glare
His simple youth had harmM.*

"Twasthen, O Solitude! to thee

His early vows were paid.

From heart sincere, and warm, and free.

Devoted to the shade.

Ah why did Fate his steps decoy

In stormy paths to roam.

RETIEEMENT. 25

Remote from all coDgenial joy ! —
O take the wanderer home.

*' Thy shades^ thy silence now he mine»
Thy charms my only theme ;
My haunt the hollow cUff, whose pine
Waves o'er the gloomy stream.
Whence the scared owl on pinions gray
Breaks from the rustling houghs.
And down the lone vale sails away
To more profound repose.

" O, while to thee the woodland pours

Its wildly warhling song.

And balmy from the bank of flowers

The Zephyr breathes along ;

Let no rude sound invade from far.

No vagrant foot be nigh.

No ray from Grandeur's gilded car.

Flash on the startled eye.

'' But if some pilgrim through the glade

Thy hallow'd bowers explore,

O guard from harm his hoary head^

And listen to his lore ;

For he of joys divine shall tell.

That wean from earthly wo.

And triumph o'er the mighty spell

That chains his heart below.

M ELEGY.

'' For me^ no more the path invites

Amhition lovei to tread ;

No more I climh those toilsome heigfata

By guileful Hope misled ;

Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more

To Mirth's enlive nin»j strain ;

For present pleasure soon is o'er.

And all the past is vain.''

ELEGY,

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR

1758.

Still shall unthinking man substantial deem
The forms that fleet thro' life's deceitful dream ?
Till at some stroke of Fate the vision flies.
And sad realities in prospect rise ;
And, from elysian slumbers rudely torn, .
The startled soul awakes, to think, and mourn.
O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance.
Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance.
Who flowery plains in endless pomp survey.
Glittering in beams of visionary day ;

ELEGY. 27

O, yet while Fate delays th* impending wo.
Be rous'd to thought, anticipate the blow ;
Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden iU
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill ;
Lest, thus encompassM with funereal gloom.
Like me, ye bend o'er some untimely tomb.
Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear.
And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe.

Wise, beauteous, good ! O every grace combin'd.
That charms the eye, or captivates the mind !
Fresh, as the floweret opening on the mom.
Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn !
Sweet, as the downy-pin ion'd gale, that roves
To gather fragprance in Arabian groves !
Mild, as the melodies at close of day.
That heard remote along the vale decay !
Yet, why with these compar'd ? What tints so fine.
What sweetness, mildness, can be match'd with thine ?
Why roam abroad, since recollection true
Restores the lovely form to fancy's view ?
Still let me gaze, and every care beguile.
Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces smile ;
That soul-expressing eye, benignLy bright,
Where Meekness beams ineffable delight ;
That brow, where Wisdom sitsenthron'd serene^
Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien :
Still let me listen, while her words impart
The sweet effusions of the blameless hearty

28 ELEGY.

Till all my soul> each tumult charmM away.
Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy -away.

By thee inspired, O Virtue, age is young.
And music warbles from the faultering tongue :
Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow.
And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow.
Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies
Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes :
But when youth's living bloom reflects thy beams.
Resistless on the view the glory streams.
Love, wonder, joy, alternately alarm.
And beauty dazzles with angelic charm.

Ah, whither fled ! ye dear illusions, stay 1
Lo, pale and silent lies the lovely clay.
How are the roses on that cheek decayed.
Which late the purple light of youth displayed !
Health on her form each sprightly grace bestow'd :
With life and thought each speaking feature glow'd.
Fair was the blossom, soft the vernal sky ;
Mate with hope we deemM no tempest nigh :
When lo, a whirlwind's instantaneous gust
Left all its beauties withering in the dust

Cold the soft hand, that sooth'd Wo's weary head!
And quench'd the eye, the pitying tear that shed !
And mute the voice, whose pleasing accents stole.
Infusing balm, into the rankled soul !
O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power.
And spare the idle weed, yet lop the flower !

ELEGY. 29

Why fly thy shafts in lawless errour driven !

Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven !

But peace^ bold thought ! be stilly my bursting heart !

We^ not Eliza, felt the fatal dart.

Escaped the dungeon, does the slave complain.
Nor bless the friendly hand that broke the chain ?
Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering mom.
On this dark wild condemn^ to roam forlorn !
Where Reason's meteor-rays, with sickly glow.
O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw ;
Disclosing dubious to th' afirighted eye
O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high«
Black billowy deeps in storms perpetual tossed.
And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost.
O happy stroke, that burst the bonds of clay.
Darts through the rending gloom the blaze of day.
And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar.
Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more.

Transporting thought ! here let me wipe away
The tear of Grief and wake a bolder lay.
But ah ! the swimming eye overflows anew ;
Nor check the sacred drops to Pity due ;
Lo, where in speechless, hopeless anguish, bend
O'er her lov'd dust, the parent, brother, friend !
How vain the hope of man ! but cease thy strain.
Nor sorrow's dread solemnity profane ;
Mix'd with yon drooping mourners, on her bier
In silenc^' thed the sympathetic tear.

• /

90

ODE TO HOPE.

I. 1.

O THOU, who glad'st the pensive soul.

More than Aurora's smile the swain forlorn.

Left all night long to mourn

Where desolation frowns, and tempests howl ;

And shrieks of woe, as intermits the storm.

Far o'er the monstrous wilderness resound.

And cross the gloom darts many a shapeless form>

And many a fire-eyed visage glares around.

O come, and be once more my guest :

Come, for thou oft thy suppliant's vow hast heard.

And oft with smiles indulgent cheer'd

And sooth'd him into rest

I. 2.

Smit by thy rapture-beaming eye

Beep flashing thro' the midnight of their mind.

The sable bands combined.

Where Fear's black banner bloats the troubled sky.

ODE TO HOPE. 31

AppalFd retire. Suspicion hides her head>
Nor dares th' obliquely gleamiug eyeball raise ;
Despair, with gorgon-figured veil overspread.
Speeds to dark Phlegethon's detested maze.
Lo, startled at the heavenly ray.
With speed un\i^onted Indolence upsprings.
And, heaving, lifls her leaden wings.
And sullen glides away :

I. 3.

Ten thousand forms, by pining Fancy viewM,

Dissolve. — Above the sparkling flood

When Phoebus rears his awfnl brow.

From lengthening lawn and valley low

The troops of fen-bom mists retire.

Along the plain

The joyous swain

Eyes the gay villages again.

And gold-iUumin'd spire ;

While on the billowy ether borne

Roats the loose lay's jovial measure ;

And light along the fairy Pleasure,

Her green robes glittering to the morn.

Wantons on silken wing. And goblins all

To the damp dungeon shrink, or hoary hall.

Or westward, with impetuous flight.

Shoot to the desert realms of their congenial night

3S ODE TO HOPE.

II. 1.

When first on childhood's eager gaze

Life's varied landscape^ stretch'd immense around,

Starts out of night profound.

Thy voice incites to tempt th' untrodden maze.

Fond he surveys thy mild, maternal face.

His bashful eye still kiudhng as he views.

And, while thy lenient arm supports his pace.

With beating heart the upland path pursues :

The path that leads, where, hung subUme,

And seen afar, youth's gallant trophies, bright

In Fancy's rainbow ray, invite

His wingy nerves to cUmb.

IL 2.

Pursue thy pleasurable way.

Safe in the guidance of thy heavenly guard.

While melting airs are heard

And sofl-eyed cherub-forms around thee play :

Simplicity, in careless flowers array'd.

Prattling amusive in his accent meek ;

And Modesty, half turning as afraid,

The smile just dimpling on his glowing cheek !

Content and Leisure, hand in hand

With Innocence and Peace, advance, and sing ;

And Mirth, in many a mazy ring,

Friskji o'er the flowery land.

ODE TO HOPE. SB

II. 3.

Frail man, how various is thy lot below! '

To day tho* gales propitious blow.

And Peace soft gliding down the sky

Lead Love along, and Harmony,

To-morrow the gay scene deforms ;

Then all around

The thunder^a sound

Rolls rattling on through Heaven's profound.

And down rush all the storms.

Ye tkys, 'that balmy influence shed.

When sweet childhood, ever sprightly, .

In paths of pleasure sported lightly.

Whither, ah whither are ye fled?

Ye cherub train, that brought him on his way,

O leave him not midst tumult and dismay ;

For ndur youth's eminence he gains :

But what a weary length of lingering toil remains \

m. 1.

They shrink, they vanish into air.

Now Slander taints with pestUence the gale ; '

And mingling cries assail.

The wail of Woe, and groan of grim despair. *^

Lo, wizard Envy from hi6 serpent eye

Darts quick destruction in each baleful glance ;

34 ODE TO HOP&

Pride smiling stem, and yeUow Jealousy,

Frowning Disdain, and haggard Hate advance ;

Behold, amidst the dire array.

Pale withered Care, his giant-stature rears.

And lo, his iron hand prepares

To grasp its feehle prey.

m. 2.

Who now will guard bewildered youth

Safe from the fierce assault of hostile rage ?

Such war can Virtue wage.

Virtue, that bears the sacred shield of Truth ? .

Alas ! fuU oft on Guilt's victorious car.

The spoils of Virtue are in triumph borne ;

While the fair captive, mark'd with many a acac^

In long obscurity, oppressed, forlorn.

Resigns to tears her angel form.

Ill-fated youth, then whither wilt thou fly ? .

No friend, no shelter now is nigh.

And onward rolls the storm.

UL 3.

But whence the sudden beam that shoots along ?
Why shrink aghast the hostile throng }
Lo, from amidst affliction's night,
Hope bursts all radiant on the sight :

ODE TO. HOPE, 35

Her words the troubled bosom sooth.

" Why thus dismayed ?

Though foes inirade,

Hope ne'er is wanting to their aid.

Who tread the path of truth.

'Tis I, who smooth the rugged way,

I, who close the eyes of Sorrow^

And with glad visions of to-morrow

Repair the weary souFs decay.

When Death's cold touch thrills to the freezing

heart.
Dreams of Heaven's opening glories I impart.
Till the freed spirit springs on high
In rapture too severe for weak mortality."

B 2

36

PYGMiEO-GERANO-MACHIA t

TBB

BATTLE OF THE PYGMIES AND CRANE?.

FROM THB LATIH OF ADDISON.
1763.

The pigmy-people, and tbe feathered train,
Mingling in mortal combat on the plain, j

I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs, '

Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines;
The flashing swords and fluttering wings display.
And long bills nibbling in the bloody fray ;
Cranes dartii^ with disdain on tiny foes.
Conflicting birds and men, and war's unnumber'd
woes.
The wars and woes of heroes six feet long
Have oft resounded in Pierian song.
Who has not heard of Colchos' golden fleece.
And Argo mann'd with all the flower of Greece ?
Of Thebes' fell brethren, Theseus stem of face.
And Peleus' son unrivall'd in the race,

PY6MJB0-6ERAN0-MACIUA. 37

iSxktnB, founder of the Roman line»
And William, f^ioiis on the banks of Boyne ?
Who han.not karn'd to weep at Pompe/s woes.
And oster Blackmore's epic page to doze?
^is I, who dare attempt unusual strains^
Of hosts unsupgx and unfrequented plains ;
The small shrill tnimp« and chie6 of little size.
And armies rushing down the darkened skies*

Wh^e India reddens to the early dawn«
Winds a deep vale from vulgar eye withdrawn :
Bosom'd in groves the lowly region Kes,
And rocky mountains round the border rise.
Here^ till the doom of fate its fall decreed.
The empire flourish'd of the pygmy-breed ;
Here Industry performed, and Genius plannM>
And busy multitudes overspread the land.
But now to these lone bounds if pUgrim stray>
Tempting through craggy chfis the desperate way.
He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth.
Its godlings mouldering on th' abandoned hearth ;
And starts, where small white bones are spread around,
" Or little footsteps lightly print the ground ;"
While the proud crane her nest securely builds.
Chattering amid the desolated fields.

But difierent &tes befel her hostile rage.
While reignM, invincible thro' many an age.
The dreaded pygmy : rous'd by war's alarma
Foifth rush'd the madding mannikm to arms*

38 PVCMiEO-GEItANO-MACmA.

Fierce to the field of deaUi the hero fliet ; '

The faint crane fluttering flaps the ground, and dies;

And by the victor borne (overwhelming load!)

With bloody bill loose-dangling marks the toad.

And oft the wily dwarf in ambosh lay*

And often made the callow young his prey ;

With slaughtered victims heaped his board* and amiPd* *

T* avenge the parent's trespass on the child.

Oft* where his feathered foe had rear'd her neat^

And laid her eggs and household gods to rest*

Burning for blood* in terrible array*

The eighleen«indi militia burst their way ;

All went to wreck ; the infant foeman fell*

Whence scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell.

Loud uproar hence* and rage of arms arose*
And the fell rancour of encountering foes ;
Hence dwarfs and cranes one general havoc wbehn^
And Death's grim visage scares the pigmy-realms.
Not half so furious blazed the warlike fire
Of mice* high theme of the Meonian lyre ;
When bold to battle march'd th' accouter^d firogs*
And the deep tumult thundered through the bogs*
Pierc'd by the javelin bidrush on the shore
Here agonizing rolPd the mouse in gore ; '

And there the firog (a scene full sad to see !)
Shorn of one leg* slow sprawled along on three :
He vaults no more with vig^orous hops on high.
But mourns in hoarsest croaks his destiny.

PTGMJEO-GERANO-MACHIA. 89

And BOW the day of woe drew on apace,
A day of woe to all the pygmy-race.
When dwarfs were doom'd (but penitence was vain)
To rue each broken egf^, and chicken slain.
For, rous'd to vengeance by repeated wrong.
From distant climes the long-billM legions throng :
From Strymon's lake, Cayster's plashy meads, .
And fens of Scythia, green with rustling reeds.
From where the Danube winds thnf many a land.
And Mareotis. laves th' F^ptian strand.
To rendezvous they waft on eager wing.
And wait assembled the returning spring.
Meanwhile they trim their plumes for length of flight.
Whet their keen beaks, and twisting claws, for fight ;
Each crane the pygmy power in thought overturns.
And every bosom for the battle bums.

When genial gales the frozen air unbind.
The screaming legions wheel, and mount the wind ;
Far in the sky they form their long array.
And land and ocean stretch'd immense survey
Deep deep, beneath ; and, triumphing in pride.
With clouds and winds commix'd, innumerous ride :
'Tis wild obstreperous clangour all, and heaven
Whirls, in tempestuous undulation driven.

Nor less th' alarm that shook the world below.
Where marched in pomp of war th' embattled foe :
Where mannikins with haughty step advance.
And grasp the shield, and couch the quivering lance :

40 FY6]ViJEO.G£RANO-MACHI/r.

To right and left the lengthening linet they form.
And rankM in deep array await the atorm.

High in the midst the chieftain-dwarf was aeen.
Of giant stature, and imperial mien :
Full twenty inches tall, he strode along.
And view'd with lofty eye the wondering throng ;
And while with many a scar his visage frowned.
Bared his broad bosom, rough with many a wound
Of beaks and claws, disclosing to their sight
The glorious meed of high heroic might.
For with insatiate vengeance, he pursued.
And never-ending hate, the feathery brood.
Unhappy they, confiding in the length
Of homy beak, or talon's crooked strength.
Who durst abide his rage ; the blade descends.
And from the panting trunk the pinion rends :
Laid low in dust the pinion waves no more.
The trunk disfigured stiffens in its gore.
What hosts of heroes fell beneath his force !
What heaps of chicken carnage markM his course !
How oft, O Strymon, thy lone banks along.
Did wailing Echo waft the funeral song !

And now from far the mingling clamours rise.
Loud and more loud rebounding through the skies*
From skirt to skirt of Heaven, with stormy sway,
A doud rolls on, and darkens aJl the day.
Near and more near descends the dreadful shades .
And now in battailous array display-d.

PYGMLE0-GERAN0:MACHIA. 41

On sounding wings, and screaming in their ire.
The cranes rush onward, and the fight require.

The pygmy warriors eye with fearless glare
The host thick swarming o'er the burthen'd air ;
Thick swarming now, but to their native land
Doomed to return a scantjt 'haggling band. —
Whe^p sudden, darting down the depth of Heaven,
Fierce on th' expecting foe the cranes are driven.
The kindling phrensy every bosom warms.
The region echoes to the crash of arms :
Loose feathers from th' encountering armies fly.
And in careering whirlwinds mount the sky.
To breathe from toil upspring^ the panting crane.
Then with fresh vigour downward darts again^
Success jn equal balance hovering hangs.
Here, on the sharp spear, mad with mortal pangs»
The bird transfixed in bloody vortex whirls.
Yet fierce in death the threatening talon curls ;
There, while the life-blood bubbles from his wound^-
With little feet the pygmy beats the ground ;
Beep from his breast the short short sob he draw8»
And dying curses the keen -pointed claws.
TremUes.the thundering field, thick covered o'er
With falchions, mangled wings, and streaming gore» .
And pygmy arms, and beaks of ample size^
And here a claw, and there a finger lies.

Encompassed round with heaps of slaughtered fo^*.\
All grim ip blood t^ie pygmy champion ;glows, ^ '

48 PYGMiEO-GERANO-BiACHIA.

And on th' assailing bost impetnous springs.
Careless of nibbling biUs, and flapping wings ;
And midst tbe tumult wberesoe'er he tunu^
The battle with redoubled fury bums ;
From ev'ry side th' avenging cranes amain
Throng, to o^erwhefan this terrour of the plain.
When suddenly (for such the will of Jove)
A fowl enormous, sousing from above.
The gallant chieftain clutch'd, and, soaring high,
(Sad chance of battle !) bore him up the sky.
The cranes pursue, and clustering in a ring.
Chatter triumphant round the captive king.
But ah ! what pangs each pygmy bosom wrung.
When, now to cranes a prey, on talons hung.
High in the clouds they saw their helpless lord»
His wriggling form still lessening as he soared.

Lo ! yet again, with unabated rage.
In mortal strife the mingling hosts engage.
Thecrane with darted bill assaults the foe.
Hovering ; then wheels aloft to scape the blow :
The dwarf in anguish aims the vengefill wound ;
But whirls in empty air the falchion round.

Such was the scene, when midst the loud alarms
Sublime th' -eternal Thunderer rose in arms.
When Briareus, by mad ambition driven,
fieav'd Pelion huge, and hiirFd it high at Heaven.
Jove rolled redoubling thunders from on high.
Mountains and InAtM encountered in the sky ;

PYGMiEO-GERANO-MACHIA. 43

Till one dtupendouA ruin whelinM the crew.
Their vast limfot- weltering wide in brimstone Mae.

But now at length the pygmy legions yield.
And winged with terrour fly the &tal field.
They raise a weak and melancholy wail.
All in distraction scattering o^er the vale.
Prone on their routed rear the cranes descend ;
Their bills bite furious, and their talons rend :
With unrelenting ire they urge the chace.
Sworn to exterminate the hated race.
'Twas thus the pygmy name, once great in war.
For spoils of conquered cranes renownM afar,
Perish'd. For, by the dread decree of Heaven,
Short is the date to earthly grandeur given.
And vain are all attempts to roam beyond
Where fate has ftx'd the everlasting bound.
Fallen are the trophies of Assyrian power.
And Persia's proud dominion is no more ;
Yea, though to both superior far in fame.
Thine empire, Latium^^is an empty name.

And now with lofty chiefs of ancient time.
The pygmy heroes roam th' elysian dime.
Or, if belief to matron-tales be due.
Full ojfl, in the belated? shepherd's view.
Their frisking forms, in gentle green arrajr'^*
Gambol secure amid the moonlight glade.
Secure, for no- alarming cranes molest.
And all their woes in long oblivion rest :

U ••• THE HARES.

Down the deep vale, and narrow winding way.
They foot it featly, ranged in ringlets gay :
Tis joy and frolioall, where'er they rove>
And Fairy-people is the natne they love*

• . ■

THE HARES.

■ i

A FABLE.

Yes^ yes^ I grant the sons of Earth
Are doomM to trouble from their birth.
We all of sorrow have our share ;
But s^y, is yours without compare ?
Look round the world ; perhaps you'U find
Each individual of our kind
Pr^d with an equal load of ilU
Equal at least. Look further stiU>
And own your lamentable case
Is little short of happiness.
In^yonder hut that stands alone
Attend to Famine's feeble moan ;
Or view the couch where Sickness \ie$r
Mark his pale cheek, |3fnd languid eyes^

.A

THE HARES. 45

I ...

His frame by strong convulsion torn.
His struggting sighs, and looks forlorn.
Or see, transfixed with keener pangs.
Where o'er his hoard the miser hangs ;
Whistles the wind ; he starts, he stares.
Nor Slumber's balmy blessing shares ;
Despair, Remorse, and Terror roll
Their tempests on his harassed soul.

But here perhaps it may avail
T* enforce our reasoning with a tale.

Mild was the mom, the sky serene.
The jolly hunting band convene.

The beagle's breast with ardour bums.
The bounding steed the champaign spurns.

And Fancy oft the game descries

Thro' the hound's nose, and huntsman's eyes.
Just then, a council of the hares

Had met, on national affairs.

The chiefs were set ; while o'er their head

The furze its frizzled covering spread.

Long lists of grievances were heard.

And general discontent appeared.

** Our harmless race shall every savage

Both quadmped and biped ravage ?

Shall horses, hounds, and hunters still

Unite their wits to work us ill ^

Ihe youth, his parent's sole delight.

Whose tooth the 4ewy lawns^ ii

46 THE HARES.

Whose pulie in every vein beats strongs

Whose limbs leap tight the vales along.

May yet ere noontide meet his death.

And lie dismember'd on the heath.

For youth, alas, nor cautious age.

Nor strength, nor speed, eludes their rage.

In every field we meet the foe.

Each gale comes fraught with sounds of woe ;

The morning, but awakes our fears.

The evening sees us bath'd in tears.

But must we ever idly grieve.

Nor strive our fortunes to relieve ?

Small is each individual's force :

To stratagem be our recourse ;

And then, from all our tribes combined.

The murderer to his cost may find

No foes are weak, whom Justice arms.

Whom Concord leads, and Hatred warms.

Be rous'd ; or liberty acquire.

Or in the great attempt expire.''

He said no more, for in his breast

Conflicting thoughts the voice suppress'd :

The fire of vengeance seem'd to stream

From his swoln eyeball's yellow gleam.

And now the tumults of the war.
Mingling confusedly from afar.
Swell in the wind. Now louder tmes .
Distinct />f bounds and>men arise.

k- ^

■ t

THB HARES. 47

Forth from the brake^ wilh beaUng hearty
Th' asBembled hares tumukuoua itart»
Aad, every straining nerve <hi wing.
Away precipitately ^ring.
The hunting band> a signal given.
Thick thundering o'er the plain art driven ;
O'er cliff abrupt, and shrubby mound.
And river broad, impetuouS' bound ;
Now plunge amid the forest shades^
Glance through the openings of the glades ; .
Now o'er the level valley sweep.
Now with short steps strain up the steep ;.
While iftM^kward from the hunter's eyes
The landscape like a torrent flies.
At last an ancient wood they g^n'd.
By pruner's ax yet unprofan'd.
High o'er the rest, by Nature rear'd.
The oak's majestic boughs appear'd ;
Beneath, a copse of various- hue
In barbarous luxuriamce grew.
No knife had curb'd the rambling i^pray^b
No hand had wove th' implicit maze»
The flowering thorn, self-taught to wind*
The hazle's stubborn stem intwin'd„
And bramble twigs were wreath'd around.
And rough furze crept along the ground.
Here sheltering, from the sons of murther.
The hares drag their tired limbs, no farther.

4d TH£ aaixes:

But \6, the mrestent wind ere loiig
Was loud, and roar'd the woods among $
From rustling leaves, and crashing boughs-
The sound of woe and war arose.
The hares distracted scour the grove.
As terrour and amazement drove ;
But danger, wheresoever they fled.
Still seemM impending o'er their head.
Now crowded in a grotto's gloom^
All hope extinqt, they wait their doom*
Dire was the silence, till, at length.
Even from despair deriving strength.
With bloody eye and furious look,
A daring youth arose and spoke.

'' O wretched race, the scorn of Fat^
Whom ills of every sort await !
O, curs'd with keenest sense to feel
Tlie sharpest sting of every ill !
Say ye, who, fraught with mighty scheme.
Of liberty and vengeance dream.
What now remains ? To what recess
Shall we our weary steps address.
Since Fate is evermore pursuing
All ways, and means to work our ruin ?
Are we alone, of all beneath.
Condemned to misery worse than death ?
Must we, with fruitless labour, strive
In misery worse than death to live ?

THE HAKES, ^9

No. Be the smaller ill our choice : ,
So dictates Nature's powerful voice.
Death's pang will in a moment cease ;
And then, AU hail, eternal peace V*
Thus while he spoke, his words impart
The dire resolve to every heart

A distant lake in prospect lay.
That, glittering in the solar ray,
Gleam'd thro' the dusky trees, and shot
A tremhling light along the grot.
Thither with one consent they hend.
Their sorrows with their Hves to end.
While each, in thought, already hears
The water hissing in his ears.
Fast hy the margin of the lake,
Conceal'd within a thorny hrake,
A linnet sate, whose careless lay
Amus-d the solitary day.
.Careless he sung, for on his hreast
Sorrow no lasting trace impress'd;
When suddenly he heard a sound
Of swift feet traversing the ground.
Quick to the neighhouring tree he flies.
Thence trembling casts around his eyes^;
No foe appeared, his fears were vain ;
Pleas'd he renews the sprightly strain.

The hares, whose noise had caused his fright,
Saw witih surprise the linnet's flight

E

50 THE HAHES.

^ Is there on Earth a wretch/' they said,

^' Whom our approach can strike with dread?''

An instantaneous change of thought

To tumult every hosom wrought.

So fares the system-huilding sage^

Who^ plodding on from youth to age.

At last on some foundation-dream

Has rear'd aloft his goodly scheme.

And prov'd his predecessors fools.

And bound all nature by his rules ;

So fares he in that dreadful hour.

When injured Truth exerts her power.

Some new phenomenon to raise.

Which, bursting on his frighted gaze.

From its proud summit to the ground

Proves the whole edifice unsound.

" Children," thus spoke a hare sedate.
Who oft had known th' extremes of fate,
" In slight events the docile mind
May hints of good instruction find.
That our condition is the worst.
And we with such misfortunes curst
As all comparison defy.
Was late the universal cry ;
When lo^ an accident so slight
As yonder little linnet's flight.
Has made your stubborn heart confess
(So your amazement bids me guess)

THE HARES. 51

That all our load of woes and fears
Is but a part of what he bears.
Where can he rest secure from harms.
Whom even a helpless hare alarms ?
Yet he repines not at his lot.
When past, the danger is forgot :
On yonder bough he trims his wings.
And with unusual rapture sings :
While we, less wretched, sink beneath
Our lighter ills, and rush to death.
No more of this unmeaning rage.
But hear, my friends, the words of age.

'* When by the winds of autumn driven
The scattered clouds fly cross the Heaven,
Oft have we, from some mountain's head.
Beheld th' alternate light and shade
Sweep the long vale. Here, hovering lowers.
The shadowy cloud ; there downwards pours.
Streaming direct, a flood of day.
Which from the view flies swift away ;
It flies, while other shades advance.
And other streaks of sunshine glance.
Thus chequered is the life below
With gleams of joy and clouds of woe.
Then hope not, while we journey on.
Still to be basking in the sun :
Nor fear, tho' now in shades ye mourn.
That sunshine will no more return.

e2

5« THE HARES.

If, by your terrours overcome.
Ye fly before th^ approaching gloom.
The rapid clouds your flight pursue.
And darkness still overcasts your view.
Who longs to reach the radiant plain
Must onward urge his course amain ;
For doubly swift the shadow flies.
When 'gainst the gale the pilgrim plies.
At least be firm, and undismayed
Maintain your ground t the fleeting shade
Ere long spontaneous glides away.
And gives you back th' enlivening ray.
Lo, while I speak, our danger past !
No more the shrill horn's angry blast
Howls in our ear ; the savage roar
Of war and murder is no more.
Then snatch the moment fate allows.
Nor think of past or future woes."
He spoke ; and hope revives ; the lake
That instant one and all forsake.
In sweet amusement to employ
The present sprightly hour of joy.

Now from the western mountain's brow.
Compassed with clouds of various glow>
The Sun a broader orb displays.
And shoots aslope his ruddy rays.
The lawn assumes a fresher green.
And dew-drops spangle all the scene.

EPITAPH. 53

The balmy zephyr breathes along.
The shepherd sings his tender song.
With all their lays the groves resound.
And falling waters murmur round.
Discord and care were put to flight.
And all was peace, and calm delight.

EPITAPH:

BEING PART OF AN INSCRIPTION FOR A MOI^UMENT

TO BE ERECTED BT A GENTLEMAN TO THE

MEMOR? Of H|S J^AOy.

Farewel, my best-helov'd ; whose heavenly mind
Genius with virtue, strength with softness joined;
Devotion, undebas'd by pride or art.
With meek sioaplicity, and joy of heart ;
Though sprightly, gentle ; though polite, sincere ;
And only of thyself a judge severe ;
UnblamM, unequaUM io each sphere of Ufa,
The tenderest daughter, sister, parent, wife.
In thee their patrpoess th' afflicted lost ;
Thy friends, their pattern, ornament^ and boast ;

54 ODE.

And I — ^but ah, can words my loss declare.
Or paint th' extremes of transport and despair !
O thou, beyond what verse or speech can tell.
My guide, my friend, my beat-belov'd, farewel !

ODE

ON LORD H**'8 BIRTH-DAY.

A MUSE, unskilled in venal praise,
UnstainM with flattery's art :
Who loves simplicity of lays
Breath'd ardent from the heart :
While gratitude and joy inspire.
Resumes the long-unpractis*d lyre.
To hail, O, H * *, thy natal morn :
No gaudy wreath of flowers she weaves.
But twines with oak the laurel leaves.
Thy cradle to adorn.

For not on beds of gaudy flowers
Thine ancestors reclin'd.
Where sloth dissolves, and spleen devours
All energy of mind.

.ODE. 55

To hurl the dart, to ride the car.
To stem the deluges of war.
And snatch from fate a sinking land ;
Trample th* invader's lofty crest.
And from his grasp the dagger wrest.
And desolating brand :

^Twas this, that raisM th' illustrious line

To match the first in fame !

A thousand years have seen it shine

With unabated flame.

Have seen thy mighty sires appear

Foremost in glory's high career.

The pride and pattern of the brave.

Yet, pure from lust of blood their fire.

And firom ambition's wild desire.

They triumphed but to save.

The Muse with joy attends their way
The vale of peace along ;
There to its lord the village gay
Renews the gprateful song.
Yon castle's glittering towers contain
No pit of woe, nor clanking chain.
Nor to the suppliant's wail resound ;
The open doors the needy bless,
Th' unfriended hail their calm recess.
And gladness smiles around.

56 ODR

There to the sympathetic heart
Life's best delights belong.
To mitigate the mourner's smart.
To guard the weak from wrong.
Ye sons of luxury, be wise :
Know, happiness for ever flies
The cold and solitary breast ;
Then let the social instinct glow.
And learn to feel another's woe»
And in his joy be blest

O yet, ere Pleasure plant her snare

For unsuspecting youth ;

Ere Flattery her song prepare

To check the voice of Truth ;

O may his country's guardian power

Attend the slumbering infant's bower«

And bright, inspiring dreams impart ;

To rouse th' hereditary fire.

To kindle each sublime desire.

Exalt, and warm the heart.

Swift to reward a parent's fears,

A parent's hopes to crown.

Roll on in peace, ye blooming years.

That rear him to renown ;

When in his finish'd form and face

Admiring multitudes shall trace

ODE. 67

Each patrimonial charm combined.
The courteous yet majestic mien.
The liberal smile, the look serene.
The great and gentle mind.

Yet, though thou draw a nation's eyes.

And win a nation's love.

Let not thy towering mind despise.

The vills^e and the grove.

No slander there shall wound thy fame.

No ruffian take his deadly aim.

No rival weave the secret snare :

For Innocence with angel smile.

Simplicity that knows no guile.

And Love and Peace are there.

When winds the mountain oak assail.
And lay its glories waste.
Content may slumber in the vale.
Unconscious of the blast.
Thro' scenes of tumuli while we roam.
The heart, alas ! is ne'er at home.
It hopes in time to roam no more ;
The mariner, not vainly brave.
Combats the storm, and rides the wave.
To rest at last on shore.

Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe.
How vain your mask of state ! .

5a LADY CHARLOTTE GORDON.

The good alone have joy sincere.
The good alone are great :
Great, when, amid the vale of peace,
lliey bid the plaint of sorrow cease.
And hear the voice of artless praise ;
As when along the trophy'd plain
Sublime they lead the victor train.
While shouting nations gaze.

TO THB RIGHT HON.

LADY CHARLOTTE GORDON,

DRESSED tN A TARTAN SCOTCH BONNET, WITH PLUMES,

Why, lady, wilt thou bind thy lovely brow
With the dread semblance of that warlike helm.
That nodding plume, and wreath of various glow.
That gracM the chiefs of Scotia's ancient realm ?

Thou knowest that Virtue is of power the source.
And all her magic to thy eyes is given ;
We own their empire, while we feel their force.
Beaming with the benignity of heaven.

THE HERMIT. 59

The plumy helmet, and the martial mien.
Might dignify Minerva's awfiil charms ;
But more resistless far th' Idalian queen —
Smiles^ gracep^ gentleness, her only arms.

THE HERMIT.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still.
And mortals the sweets of forgetfiilness prove.
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill>
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove :
'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar.
While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit beg^ ;
No more with himself or with nature at war^
He thought as a szge, though he felt as a man.

»
*' Ah ! why, all abandoned to darkness and woe.
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall ?
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow.
And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral.
But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay.
Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn;
O soothe him, whose pleasures tike thine pass away :
Full quickly they pa88«-«but they never return.

60 THE HERMIT.

'' Now gliding remote, on the verge of the akjj
The Moon half extinguish^ her crescent displajt :
But lately I mark'd, when msyestic on high
She shone, and the planets were lost in her bliaze*
Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendour again.
But man's faded glory what change shall renew !
Ah fool ! to exult in a glory so vain !

'' 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more ;
I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you ;
For mom is approaching, your charms to restore,
PerfumM with fresh fragrance, and glittering with

dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ;
Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save.
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn !
O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave!''

* 'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd.

That leiaids, to bewilder ; and dazzles, to bUnd :

My thoughts wont to roam> from shade onwarjd to-

shade.
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
' O pity, great Father of light,' then I cry'd,
' Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee \
Lo, .humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride :
From doubt and from ^kness thou only canst free/.

ON CHURCHILL. 61

*

** And darkne8§ and doubt are now flying away«
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn.
So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray.
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending.
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom !
On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blend-
ing*
And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb/'

eN THE REPORT OF A MONUMENT TO BE ERECTED IN
WESTMINSTER ABBEY, TO THE MEMORY OF A
LATE AUTHOR. (CHURCHILL).

(WrUtm Ui I7d5 J

[Part of a Letter to a person of quality.]
Lest your lordship, who are so well acquainted

with every thing that relates to true honour, should
think hardly of me for attacking the memory of the
dead, I beg leave to offer a few words in my own vin-
dication.

If I had composed the following verses, with a view
to gratify private resentment, to promote the interest
of any faction, or to recommend myself to the patron-

62 ON CHURCHILL.

age of any person whatsoever, I should have been al-
together inexcusable. To attack the memory of the
dead from seKish considerations, or from mere wanton*
ness of malice, is an enormity which none can hold
in greater detestation than I. But L composed them
from very different motives ; as every intelligent reader,
who peruses them with attention, and who is willing
to believe me upon my own testimony, will undoubt-
edly perceive. My motives proceeded from a sincere
desire to do some small service to my country, and to
the cause of truth and virtue. The promoters of fac-
tion I ever did, and ever will consider as the enemies
of mankind : to the memory of such I owe no vene-
ration : to the writings of such I owe no indulgence.

Your lordship knows that (Churchill) owed the great-
est share of hb renown to the most incompetent <^ all
judges, the mob : actuated by the most unworthy of
all principles, a spirit of insolence, and inflamed by
the vilest of all human passions, hatred to their fellow
citizens. Those who joined the cry in his favour
seemed to me to be swayed rather by fashion than by
real sentiment : he therefore might have lived and died
unmolested by me, confident' as I am, that posterity,
when the present unhappy dissensions are forgotten,
will do ample justice to his real character. But when
I saw the extravagant honours that were paid to his
memory, and heard that a monument in Westminster
Abbey was intended for one whom even his admirers

ON CHURCHILL. 63

acknowledge to have been an incendiary^ and a de-
bauchee ; I could not help wishing that my country-
men would reflect a little on what they were doings
before they consecrated, by what posterity would think
the public voice, a character, which no friend to vir-
tue or true taste can approve. It was this sentiment,
enforced by the earnest request of a friend, which pro-
duced the following little poem ; in which I have said
nothing of (Churchill's) manners that is not warranted
by the best authority : nor of his vmtings, that is not
perfectly agreeable to the opinion of many of the most
competent judges in Britain.

{Aberdeen) January^ 1765.

BuFo, begone ! with thee may faction's fire.
That hatched thy salamander-fame, expire.
Fame, dirty idol of the brainless crowd.
What half-made moon-calf can mistake for good!
Since shared by knaves of high and low degree ;
Cromwell and Cataline : Guido Faux, and thee.

By nature uninspir'd, untaught by art ;
With not one thought that breathes the feeling heart.
With not one offering vow'd to Virtue's shrine.
With not one pure unprostituted line ;
Alike debauch'd in body, soul, and lays ; —
For pensioned censure, and for pensioned praise.

64 ON CHURCHILL.

For ribaldry, for libels, lewdness, lies.

For blasphemy of all the good and wise :

Coarse violence in coarser doggrel writ.

Which bawling blackguards spelFd, and took for wit :

For conscience, honour, slighted, spurnM, overthrown : '

Lo, Bufo shines the minion of renown.

Is this the land that boasts a Milton's fire.
And magic Spenser's wildly warbling lyre !
The land that owns th' omnipotence of song.
When Shakespear whirls the throbbing heart along f
The land, where Pope, with energy divine.
In one strong blaze bade wit and fancy shine :
Whose verse, by truth in virtue's triumph bom.
Gave knaves to infamy, and fools to scorn ;
Yet pure in manners, and in thought refin'd.
Whose life and lays adom'd and bless'd mankind ?
Is this the land, where Gray's uulabourVd apt
Sooths, melts, alarms, and ravishes the heart :
While the lone wanderer's sweet complainings flow
In simple majesty of manly woe :
Or while, sublime, on eagle-pinion driven.
He soars Pindaric heights, and sails the waste of

Heaven ?
I^ this the land, o'er Shenstone's recent urn
Where all the Loves and gentler Graces mourn ?
And where, to crown the hoary bard of night*
The Muses and the Virtues all unite ?

• Dr.'YoDDj;.

ON CHURCHILL. 65

Is this the landa where Akenside displays
The hold yet temperate flame of ancient days }
Like the rapt sage,^ in genius as in theme^
Whose hallowf d strain renownM Ilyssus* stream :
Or him> the indignant hard^f whose patriot ire^
SuhUme in vengeance, smote the dreadful lyre :
For truth, for liberty^ for virtue warm.
Whose mighty song unnerved a tyrant's arm,
HushM the rude roar of discord, rage, and lust.
And spumM licentious demagogues to dust

Is this the queen of realms ! the glorious isle,
Britannia, blest in Heaven's indulgent smile !
Guardian of truth, and patroness of art.
Nurse of th' undaunted soul, and generous heart !
Where, from a base unthankful world exil'd.
Freedom exults to roam the careless wild :
Where taste to science every charm supplies.
And genius soars unbounded to the skies i

And shall a Bufo's most poUbted name
Stain her bright tablet of untainted fame !
Shall his disgraceful name with theirs be join'd.
Who wish'd and wrought the welfare of their kind !
His name accurst, who leagued with ****** and Hell,
Laboured to rouse, with rude and murderous yell.
Discord the fiend, to toss rebellion's brand,
To whelm in rage and woe a guiltless land :

• Plato,
t Alceat* See Akenside's Ode on Lyric Poetiy.

06 ON CHURCHILL.

To frustrate wisdom's^ virtue's noblest plaD#
And triumph in the miseries of man.

Driveling and duU^ when crawls the reptile Muse
Swoln from the sty, and rankling from the stewi»
With envy, spleen^ and pestilence replete.
And gorg'd with dust she lickM from Treason's feet:
Who once, like Satan, raised to Heaven her sights
But turned abhorrent from the hated light : —
O'er such a Muse shall wreaths of glory bloom !
No— shame and execration be her doom.

Hard-fated Bufo, could not dulness save
Thy soul from sin, from infamy thy grave !
Blackmore and Quarles, those blockheads of renown.
Lavished their ink, but never harm'd the town.
Though this, thy brother in discordant song.
Harassed the ear, and crampM the labouring tongue :
And that, like thee, taught staggering proae to atand,
And limp on stilts of rhyme around the land.
Harmless they doz'd a scribbling life away.
And yawning nations own'd th' innoxious lay.
But from thy graceless, rude, and beastly brain
What fiiry breath'd th' incendiary strain ?

Did hate to vice exasperate thy style ?
No — ^Bufo ipatch'd the vilest of the vile.
Yet blazon'd was his verse with Virtue's name***
Thus prudes look down to hide their want <€ shame:
Thus hypocrites to truth, and fools to sense.
And fops to taste, have sometimes made pretence:

ON CHURCHILL. 67

Thus thieves and gamesters swear by honour's laws :
Thus pension-hunters bawl ** their country's cause :''
Thus furious Teague for moderation rav'd
And own'd his soul to liberty enslavM.

Nor yet, though thousand cits admire thy rage>
Though less of fool than felon marks thy page :
Nor yet, though here and there one lonely spark
Of wit half brightens through th' involving dark.
To show the gloom more hideous for the foil.
But not repay the drudging reader's toil ;
(For who for one poor pearl of clouded ray
Through Alpine dunghills delves his desperate way ?)
Did genius to thy verse such bane impart ?
No. 'Twas the demon of thy venom'd heart,
(Thy heart with rancour's quintessence endued)
And the blind zeal of a mi^udging crowd.

Thus from rank soil a poison'd mushroom sprung.
Nurseling obscene of mildew and of dung :
By Heaven design'd on its own native spot
Harmless t' enlarge its bloated bulk, and rot
But gluttony th' abortive nuisance saw ;
It rous'd his ravenous undiscerning maw :
Gulp'd down the tasteless throat, the mess abhorr'd
Shot fiery influence round the maddening board.

O had thy verse been impotent as dull.
Nor spoke the rancorous hieart, but lumpish scull ;
Had mobs distinguish'd, they who howl'd thy fame.
The icicle from the pure diamond's flame,

f2

.^*i .

68 ON CHURCHILL.

From fancy's soul thy gross imbruted sense/
From dauntless truth thy shameless insolence.
From elegance confusion's monstrous mass^
And from the lion's spoils the sculking ass.
From rapture's strain the drawling doggrel line.
From warbling seraphim the gpruntling swine ; —
With gluttons^ dunces^ rakes^ thy name had slept.
Nor o'er her sullied fame Britannia wept :
Nor had the Muse with honest zeal possess'd,
T' avenge her country, by thy name disgrac'd,
Rais'd this bold strain for virtue, truth, mankind.
And thy fell shade to infamy resign'd.

When frailty leads astray the soul sincere.
Let mercy shed the soft and manly tear.
When to the grave descends the sensual sot.
Unnamed, unnoticed, let his carrion rot.
When paltry rogues, by stealth, deceit, or force.
Hazard their necks, ambitious of your purse :
For such the hangman wreaths his trusty gin.
And let the gallows expiate their sin.
But when a ruffian, whose portentous crimes
Like plagues and earthquakes terrify the times.
Triumphs through life, from legal judgment free.
For Hell may hatch what law could ne'er foresee :
Sacred from vengeance shall his memory rest ?-—
Judas though dead, though damn'd, we still detest.

^9

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.

[Published in 1765.]

Far in the depth of Ida's inmost grove>
A scene for lore and solitude designed ;

Where flowery woodbines wild by Nature wove
Form'd the lone bower, the royal swain reclinM.

All up the craggy cliflPs, tha^t towered to Heaven,
Green wav'd the murmuring pines on every side ;

Save where, fair opening to the beam of even,
A dale slop'd gradual to the valley wide.

Echoed the vale with many a cheerful note ;

The lowing of the herds resounding long.
The shrilling pipe, and mellow horn remote.

And social clamours of the festive throng.

For now, low hovering o'er the western main.
Where amber clouds begirt his dazzling throne.

The Sun, with ruddier verdure deckt the plain :
And lakes, and streams, and spires triumplial shope^

70 THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.

And many a band of ardent youths were seen }
Some into rapture fir'd by glory's charms.

Or hurlM the thundering car along the green, "
Or march'd embattled on in glittering armi.

Others more mild, in happy leisure gay.
The darkening forest's lonely gloom explore.

Or by Scamander's flowery margin stray.
Or the blue Hellespont's resounding shore.

But chief the eye to Ilion's glories turn'd, ' »

That gleam'd along th' extended champaign far.

And bulwarks, in terrific pomp adorn'd.

Where Peace sat smiling at the frowns of War.

Rich in 'the spoils of many a subject-clime.
In pride luxurious blaz'd th* imperial dome ;

Tower'd mid th' encircling grove the fane sublime ;
And dread memorials mark'd the heroes tomb.

\Vlio from the black and bloody cavern led

The savage stern, and sooth'd his boisterous breast ;

Who spoke, and Science rear'd her radiant head.
And brighten'd o'er the long benighted waste ;

Or, greatly daring in his country's cause.
Whose heaven-taught soul the aweful plan desigpiM,

Whence Power stood trembling at the voice of laws ;
Whence soar'd on Freedom's wing th' ethereal mmd.

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 71

But not the pomp that royalty displays^
Nor' all th* imperial pride of lofty Troy,

Nor Virtue's triumph of immortal praise
Could rouse the languor of the lingering hoy.

Ahandon'd all to soft Enone's charms^
He to oblivion doomed the listless day ;

Inglorious lulled in Love's dissolving arms^
While flutes lascivious breath'd th' enfeebling lay.

To trim the ringlets of his scented hair :

To aim, insidious. Love's bewitching glance ;

Or cull ft'esh garlands for the gaudy fair.
Or wanton loose in the voluptuous dance :

These were his arts ; these won Enone's love.
Nor sought his fettered soul a nobler aim.

Ah why should beauty's smile those arts approve.
Which taint with infamy the lover's flame !

Now laid at large beside a murmuring spring.

Melting he listen'd to the vernal song,
Aiid Echo listening wav'd her airy wing.

While the deep winding dales the lays prolong.

When slowly floating down the azure skies
A crimson cloud flash'd on his startled sight ;

Whose skirts gay-sparkling with onnumber'd dies
Lanched the hmg biDowy trails of flickery light

m.

72 THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.

That instant, hushed was all the vocal grove,
HushM was the gale, and every rud^r sound.

And strains aerial, warbling far above.
Rung in the ear a magic peal profound.

Near, and more near, the swimming radiance roll'd ^
Along the mountains stream the lingering fires.

Sublime the groves of Ida blaze with gold,
Ai^d all the Heaven resounds with louder lyres.

The trumpet breathed a note : and all in air.
The glories vanished from the dazzled eye ;

And three ethereal forms, divinely fair,
Down the steep glade were seen advancing nigh.

The flowering glade fell level where they mov*d;{
O'er-arching high the clustering roses hung.

And gales from Heaven on balmy pinion rov^dj^
And hill and dale with gratulation rung.

The FIRST with slow and stately step drew near,
Fix*d was her lofty eye, erect her mien :

Sublime in grace, in majesty severe.
She )ook'd and moVd a goddess and a queen. »

Her robe along the gale profusely streamed.
Light lean'd the sceptre on her bending arm ;

And round her brow a starry circlet gleamed.
Heightening the pride, of each commanding cbamu

THE JUDGMENT OF PAEIS. 73

Milder the next came on with artless grace.
And on a javeUn's quivering length reclin'd :

T' exalt her mien she hade no splendour hlaze.
Nor pomp of vesture fluctuate on the wind.

Serene, though awful, on her hrow the light
Of heavenly wisdom shone : nor rov'd her eyes.

Save to the shadowy cliff's majestic height.
Or the blue concave of th' involving skies^

Keen were her eyes to search the inmost soule
Y^t Virtue triumphed in their beams benign,

Ahd impious Pride oft felt their dread controul.
When in fierce lightning flash'd the wrath divine.*

With .awe and wonder gaz'd th' adoring swain ;

His kindling cheeks great Virtue's power coinfess'd ;
put soon 'twas o'er, for Virtue prompts in vain.

When Pleasure's influence numbs the nerveless
breast

And now advanced the queen of melting jot.

Smiling supreme in unresisted charms.
Ah then, what transports fir'd the trembling boy !

How throb'd his sickening frame with fierc^ alarms !

* This is agreeable to the theology of Homery who often re*
presents Pallas as the execationer ui divine veogeance.

74 THE JUDGMENT OF PARISL

Her eyes in liquid light luxurious swim.

And languish with unutterable love.
Heaven's warm bloom glows along each brigfat'ning
limb^
Where fluttering bland the veil's thiu mantlings
rove.

Quick, blushing as abash'd, .she half withdrew :
One hand a bough of flowering myrtle wav'd.

One graceful spread, where, scarce conceal'd from
view.
Soft through the parting robe her bosom heav'd.

*' Offipring of Jove supreme ! belov'd of Heav'n !

Attend." Thus spoke the empress of the skies.
*' For know, to thee, high-fated prince, 'tis given

Through the bright realms of Fame sublime to
rise,

" Beyond man's boldest hope ; if nor the wiles
Of Pallas triumph o'er th' ennobling thought;

Nor Pleasure lure with artificial smiles
To quaff the poison of her luscious draught.

** When Juno's charms the prize of beauty claim
Shall ought on Earth, shall ought in Heav'n contend?

Whom Juno caUs to high triumphant £une.
Shall he to meaner sway inglorious bend ?

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 7S

** Yet lingering comfortless in lonesome wild.
Where Echo sleeps mid cavem'd vales profound.

The pride of Troy, Dominion's darling child.
Pines while the slow hour stalks its sullen round.

'' Hear thou, of Heav'n unconscious ! From the bla^e
Of glory* stream'd from Jove's eternal throne.

Thy soul, O mortal, caught th' inspiring rays
That to a god exalt Earth's raptur'd son.

** Hence the bold wish, on boundless pinion bom.
That fires, alarms, impels the maddening soul ;

The hero's eye, hence, kindling into scorn.
Blasts the proud menace, and defies controul.

*' But, unimprov'd, Heav'n's nqblest boons are vain.
No sun with plenty crowns th' uncultur'd vale :

Where green lakes languish on the silent plain.
Death rides the billows of the western gale.

'' Deep in yon mountain's womb, where the dark cave

Howls to the torrent's everlasting roar.
Does the rich gem its flashy radiance wave }

Or flames with steady ray th' imperial ore ?

''Toil deck'd with glittering domes yon champaign
wide.

And wakes yon grove-embosom'd lawns to joy.
And rends the rough -ore firom the mountain's side«

Spangling with starry pomp the thrones of Troy.

76 THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS

>

^' Fly these soft scenes. Even now^ with playful art.
Love wreathes the flowery ways with fatal snare.

And nurse th' ethereal fire that warms thy heart.
That fire ethereal lives but by thy care.

" Lo, hovering near on dark and dampy wing.
Sloth with stem patience waits the hour assign'd^

From her chill plume the deadly dews to fling.

That quench Heav'n's beam, and freeze the cheer-
less mind.

'* Vain, then, th' enlivening sound of Fame's alarms.
For Hope's exulting impulse prompts no more :

Vain even the joys that lure to Pleasure's arms.
The throb of transport is for ever o'er.

•

'' O who shall then to Fancy's darkening eyes
Recal th' Elysian dreams of joy and light ?

Dim through the gloom the formless visions rise,'
Snatch'd instantaneous down the gulph of night

'' Thou, who securely lull'd in youth's warm ray
Mark'st not the desolations wrought by Time,

Be rous'd or perish^ Ardent for its^prey
Speeds the fell hour that ravages thy prime.

^' And, midst the horrours shrin'd of midnight storm.
The fiend Oblivion eyes thee from afar.

Black with intolerable frowns her form.
Beckoning th' embattled whirlwinds into war,

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 77

^'Fanes, bulwarks^ mountains, worlds, their tempest
whelms :

Yet glory brayes unmoVd th' impetuous sweep.
Fly then, ere, hurl'd from life's delightful reahns.

Thou sink t' Oblivion's dark and boundless deep.

" Fly then, where Glory points the path sublime.
See her crown dazzling with eternal light !

'Tis Juno prompts thy daring steps to cHmb,
And girds thy bounding heart with matchless might.

^' Warm in the raptures of divine desire,
. Burst the soft chain that curbs th' aspiring mind :
And fly, where Victory, bom on wings of jfire.
Waves her red banner to the rattling wind.

*' Ascend the car. Indulge the pride of arms.
Where clarions roll their kindUng strains on high.

Where the eye maddens to the dread alarms.
And the long shout tumultuous rends the sky.

'' Rung'd in the uproar of the thundering field

I see thy lofty arm the tempest guide :
Fate scatters lightning from thy meteor-shield.

And Ruin spreads around the sanguine tide.

" Go, urge the terrours of thy headlong car

On prostrate Pride, and Grandeur's spoils o'er*
thrown.

While all amaz'd even heroes shrink afar.
And hosts embattled vanish at thy frown.

iCi .♦. . "-• ,. -^

b«.>.-. ><■.■.

79 THE JUDGMENT OF PABIS.

** When glory crowns thy godlike toils> and all
The triumphs lengthening pomp exalts thy soul.

When lowly at thy feet the mighty fall.
And tyrant's tremble at thy stern controul :

*' When conquering millions hail thy sovereign might.
And tribes unknown dread acclamation join :

How wilt th^u spurn the forms of low delight !
For all the ecstasies of Heav*n are thine :

"For thine the joys, that fear no length of days.
Whose wide effulgence scorns all mortal bound :

Fame's trump in thunder shall announce thy praise.
Nor bursting worlds her clarion's blast confound."

The goddess ceas'd, not dubious of the prize :
Elate she mark'd his wild and rolling eye,

Mark'd his lip quiver, and his bosom rise.
And his warm cheek sufTus'd with crimson die.

But Pallas now drew near. Sublime, serene
In conscious dignity, she viewed the swain :

Then, love and pity softening all her mien.
Thus breathed with accents mild the solemji. strain.

*' Let those, whose arts to fatal paths betray.

The soul with passion's gloom tempestuous blind.

And snatch from Reason's ken th' auspicious ray ,p
Truth darts from Heave^ to guide th' exploring mind.

_» k'k.

THE JXJDGMENT OF PABIS. 79

'' But Wisdom loves the calm and serious hour.

When Heaven's pure emanation beams confessed:
Rage> ecstasy, alike disclaim her power,
. She wooes each gentler impulse of the breast,

''Sincere th' unaltered bliss her charms impart.
Sedate th' enlivening ardours they inspire :

She bids no transient rapture thrill the heart.
She wakes no feverish gust of fierce desire.

" Unwise, who, tossing on the watery way.
All to the storm th' unfettered s$dl devolve :

Man more unwise resigns the mental sway.
Born headlong on by passion's keen resolve.

^ While storms remote but murmur on thine ear,
Nor waves in ruinous uproar round thee roll.

Yet, yet a moment check thy prone career.
And curb the keen resolve that prompts thy souL

^ Explore thy heart, that, rous'd by Glory's name,.

Pants all enraptured with the mighty charm —
And, do^s Ambition quench each milder flame?

And is it conquest that alone can warm ?

** "F indulge fell Rapine's desolating lust.
To drench the balmy lawn in streaming gore.

To spurn the hero's cold and silent dust —
Are these thy joys ? Nor throbs thy heart for more ?

80 THE JUDGMENT OF PAKia

^' Pleas'd canst thou listen to the patriot's groan>
And the wild wail of Innocence forlorn ?

And hear th' abandon'd maid's last frantic moan.
Her love for ever from her bosom torn ?

'' Nor wilt thou shrink, when Virtue's fainting breath
Pours the dread curse of vengeance on thy head ?

Nor when the pale ghost bursts the cave of death.
To glare distraction on thy midnight bed ?

« Was it for this, though born to regal power.
Kind Heav'n to thee did nobler gifts consign.

Bade Fancy's influence gild thy natal hour.
And bade Philanthropy's applause be thine ?

** Theirs be the dreadful glory to destroy.

And theirs the pride of pomp, and praise subom'd,
Whose eye ne'er lightened at the smile of Joy,

Whose cheek the tear of Pity ne'er adorned :

" Whose soul, each finer sense instinctive quell'd.
The lyre's mellifluous ravishment defies :

Nor marks where Beauty roves the flowery field.
Or Grandeur's pinion sweeps th' unbounded skies*

" Hail to sweet Fancy's unexpressive charm !

Hail to the pure delights of social love !
Hail, pleasures mild, that fire not while ye warm^

Nor rack th' exulting frame, but gently move.

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 81

" But Fancy soothes no more, if stem Remorse
With iron g^rasp the tortur'd bosom wring.

Ah then, even Fancy speeds the venom's course.
Even Fancy points with rage the maddening sting.

'* Her wrath a thousand gnashing fiends attend.
And roll the snakes, and toss the brands of Hell :

The beam of Beauty blasts : dark Heavens impend
Tottering : and Music thrills with startling yell.

'' What then avails, that with exhaustless store
Obsequious Luxury loads thy glittering shrine :

What then avails, that prostrate slaves adore.
And Fame proclaims thee matchless and divine ?

'' What tho* Wand flattery all her arts apply ? —
Will these avail to calm th' infuriate brain ?

Or will the roaring surge, when heaVd on high.
Headlong hang, hush'd, to hear the piping swain ?

^ In health how fair, how ghastly in decay
Man's lofty form ! how heavenly fair the mind

Subtimed by Virtue's sweet enlivening sway !
But ah ! to guilt's outrageous rule resigned,

*' How hideous and forlorn ! when ruthless Care
With cankering tooth corrodes the seeds of life.

And deaf with passion's storms when pines Despair,
And howling furies rouse th' eternal strife.

82 THE JUDGMENT OF PAKOS.

" O, by thy hopes of joy thai restless glow, '

Pledges of Heaven ! be taught by Wisdom's lore :

With anxious haste each doubtful path forego.
And life's wild ways with cautious fear explore,

'^ Straight be thy course: nor tempt the maze that
leads

Where fell Remor^ie his shapeless strength conceals,
And oft Ambition's dizzy cliff he treads.

And slumbers oft in Pleasure's flow'ry vales.

" Nor linger unresolv'd : Heav'n prompts the choice ;

Save when Presumption shuts the ear of Pride :
With grateful awe attend to Nature's voice.

The voice of Nature Heav'n ordain'd thy guide.

" Warn'd by her voice, the arduous patli pursue.
That leads to Virtue's fane a hardy band.

What, though no gaudy scenes decoy their view.
Nor clouds of fragrance roll along the land ?

'' What, though rude mountains heave the flinty way,
Yet there the soul drinks light and life divine.

And pure aereal gales of gladness play.
Brace every nerve, and every sense refine.

" Go, prince, be virtuous, and be blest. The throne
Rears not its state to swell the couch of Lust :

Nor dignify Corruption's daring son,
T' overwhelm his humbler brethren of the dust

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. SS

*' But yield an ampler scene to Bounty's eye.
An ampler ran^ to Mercy's ear expand S

And, midst admiring nations, set on high

Virtue's fair model, framed by Wisdom's hand,

*' Go then : the moan of Woe demands thine aid : '
Pride's licens'd outrage claims thy slumbering ire :

Pale Genius roams the bleak neglected shade> -rt y
And battening Avarice mocks his tuneless lyre. •

" Even Nature pines by vilest chains oppress'd :
Th' astonish'd kingdoms crouch to Fashion's nod.

O ye pure inmates of the gentle breast.
Truth, Freedom, Love, O where is your abode ?

*' O yet once more shall Peace from Heaven return.
And young Simphcity with mortals dwell I

Nor Innocence th' august pavilion scorn.
Nor meek Contentment fly the humUe cell !

** Wilt thou, my prince, the beauteous train implore.
Midst Earth's forsaken scenes once more to bide ?

Then shall the shepherd sing in every bower.

And Love with garlands wreath the domes of Pride^

'* The bright tear starting in th' impassion'd eyes-

Of silent gratitude ; the smiling gaze
Of gratulation, faltering while he tries-

With voice of transport to proclaim thy praise ;

g3

84 THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.

" Th' ethereal glow that stimulates thy frame^
When all th' according powers harmoniouB more.

And wake to energy each social aim,
Atttined spontaneous to the will of Jove ;

" Be these, O man^ the triumphs of thy soul ^
- And all the conqueror's dazzling glories slight/
That meteor-like, o'er trembling nations roHy
To sink at once in deep and dreadful night.

'* Like thine, yon orb's stupendous glories bum
With genial beam ; nor, at th' approach of even;

In shades of horrour leave the world to mourn^
But gild with lingering fight th* impurpled Heaven.

Thus while she spoke, her eye^ sedately meek>
Look'd the pure fervour of maternal love.

No rival zeal intemperate flush'd her cheek—*
Can Beauty's boast the soul of Wisdom move ?

Worth's noble pride, can Envy's leer appal/
Or staring Folly's vain applauses soothe ?

Can jealous Fear Truth's* dauntless heart enthral?
Suspicion lurks not in the heart of Truth*

And now the shepherd raised his pensive head :
Yet unresolved and fearful roved his eyes.

Scared at the glances of the awful maid ;
For young unpractis'd Guilt distrusts the guise

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. S5

Of shameless Arrogance — His wav'ring breast>

Though wannM by WisdoiQ^ own'd no consfcaut fire ;

While lawless Fancy roam'd afar, unblest
Save in the oblivious lap of soft Desire.

When thus the queen of soul^ssolving smiles i
'' Let gentler fate my darling prince attend.

Joyless and cruel are the warrior's spoils.
Dreary the path stem Virtue's sons asc^d.

^' Of human joy full short is the career.

And the dread verge still gains upon your sight :

While idly gazing, far beyond your sphere.
Ye scan the dream of unappro^eh'd delight :

'' Till every sprightly hour, and blooming scene^
Of life'« gay morn unheeded glides away.

And clouds of tempests mount the blue serene.
And storms and ruin close the troublous day.

*' Then still exult to hail the present joy.
Thine be the boon that comes unearned by toil ;

No froward vain desire thy bliss annoy.

No flattering hope thy longing hours beguile.

^' Ah ! why should man pursue the charms of Fame,

For ever luring, yet for ever coy ?
lAght as the gaudy rainbow's pillar'd gleam.

That melts illusive from the wondering boy !

86 THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.

** What though her throne irradiate many a clime^
If bung loose-tottering o'er th' unfathom'd tomb?

What though her mighty clarion, reared sublime.
Display the imperial wreathe, and glittering plame ?

" Can glittering plume, or can th' imperial wreathe
Redeem from unrelenting fate the brave ?

What note of triumph can her clarion breathe,
T alarm th' eternal midnight of the grave ?

" That night draws on : nor will the vacant hour

Of expectation linger as it flies :
Nor Fate one moment unenjoy'd restore :

Each moment's flight how precious to the wise !

'' O shun th' annoyance of the bustling throng.
That haunt with zealous turbulence the great.

There coward Office boasts th' unpunished wrong.
And sneaks secure in insolence of state.

" O'er fancy'd injury Suspicion pines.
And in grim silence gnaws the festering wound ;

Deceit the rage-embitter*d smile refines.

And Censure spreads the viperous hiss around.

" Hope not, fond prince, though Wisdom guard thy
throne,

Tho' Truth and Bounty prompt each generous aim,
Tho' thine the palm of peace, the victor's crown.

The Muse's rapture, and the patriot's flame :

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 87

" Hope not, tho^ all that captivates the wise.
All that endears the good exalt thy praise :

Hope not to taste repose : for Envy's eyes
At fairest worth still point their deadly rays.

" Envy, stern tyrant of the flinty heart.
Can aught of Virtue, Truth, or Beauty charm ?

Can soft Compassion thrill with pleasing smart.
Repentance melt, or Gratitude disarm.

''Ah no. Where Winter Scythians waste enchains.
And monstrous shapes roar to the ruthless storm.

Not Phoebus' smile can cheer the dreadful plains.
Or soil accurs'd with balmy life inform.

'' Then, Envy, then is thy triumphant hour.
When mourns Benevolence his baffled scheme :

When Insult mocks the clemency of Pow'r,
And loud Dissension's livid firebrands gleam :

" When squint-ey'd Slander plies th' unhallow'd tongue.
From poison'd maw when Treason weaves his line.

And Muse apostate (infamy to song !)

Grovels, low-muttering, at Sedition's shrine.

*' Let not my prince forego the peaceful shade.
The whispering grove, the fountain and the plain.

Power, with th' oppressive weight of pomp array'd, .
Pants toT simplicity and ease in vain.

98 THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.

" The yell of frantic Mirth may stun hit ear.
But frantic Mirth soon leaves the heart foiiom t

And Pleasure flies that high tempestuous ^here.
Far different scenes her lucid paths adorn.

" She loves to wander on th' untrodden lawn.

Or the green hosom of rechning hill,
Sooth'd hy the careless warhler of the dawn.

Or the lone plaint of ever murmuring rilL

'' Or from the mountain -glades aSreal brow.
While to her song a thousand echoes call,

Marks the wild woodland wave remote below.
Where shepherds pipe unseen, and waters fall.

" Her influence oft the festive hamlet proves.
Where the high carol cheers th' exulting ring ;

And oft she roams the maze of wildering groves.
Listening th' unnumbered melodies of Spring.

" Or to the long and lonely shore retires ;

What time, loose-glimmering to the lunar beaim.
Faint heaves the slumberous wave, and starry flres

Gild the blue deep with many a lengthening gleam.

''Then to the balmy bower of Rapture bom.
While strings self-warbling breathe elysian rest.

Melts in delicious vision, till the mom

Spangle with twinklingdew the flowery waste.

THE JUDGMENT OF PAEIS. 89

'' The frolic Mbments, purple-pinion'd^ dance
Around, and scatter roses as they play :

And the blithe Graces, hand in hand, advance.
Where, with her lov'd compeers, she deigns to stray.

" Mild Solitude, in veil of rustic die.

Her sylvan spear with moss-grown ivy bound :

And Inddence, with sweetly-languid eye.
And zondess robe that trails along the ground.

" But chiefly love — O thou, whose gentle mind.
Each soft indulgence Nature framM to share.

Pomp, wealth, renown, dominion, all resigned,
O haste to Pleasure's bower, for Love is there.

** Love, the desire of gods! the feast (^ Heaven !

Yet to Earth's favour'd ofispring not denied !
Ah, let not thankless man the blessing given

Enslave to Fame, or sacrifice to Pride.

" Nor I from Virtue's call decoy thine ear ;

Friendly to Pleasure are her sacred laws.
Let Temperance' smile the cup of gladness cheer.

That cup is death, if he with-hdd applause.

" Far from thy haunt bie Envy's baneful sway.
And Hate, that works the hajrass'd soul to storm.

But woo Content to breathe her soothing lay.
And charm from Fancy's view each angry form.

90 THE JUDGMENT OF PABIS:

" No savage joy th' harmonious hour» profane !

Whom Love refines, can harharous tumults please ?
Shall rage of blood pollute the sylvan reign ?

Shall Leisure wanton in the spoils of Peace ?

" Free let the feathery race indulge the song.
Inhale the liberal beam, and melt in love :

Free let the fleet hind bound her hills along.
And in pure streams the watery nations rove.

" To joy in Nature's universal smile
Well suits, O man, thy pleasurable sphere ;

But why should Virtue doom thy years to toil ?
Ah, why should Virtue's law be deem'd severe f

" What meed. Beneficence, thy care repays ?

What, Sympathy, thy still returning pang ?
And why his generous arm should Justice raise.

To dare the vengeance of a tyrant's fang !

" From thankless spite no bounty can secure ;

Or froward wish of discontent fulfil.
That knows not to regret thy bounded power.

But blames with keen reproach thy partial will.

** To check th' impetuous all-involving tide
Of human woes, how impotent thy strife !

High o'er thy mounds devouring surges ride.
Nor reek thy baffled toils, or lavishM life.

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS, 91

" The bower of bliss, the smile of love be thine»
Unlabour'd ease, and leisure's careless dream.

Such be their joys, who bend at Venus' shrine.
And own her charms beyond compare supreme.

»

Warm'd as she spoke, all panting with delight.
Her kindling beauties breathed triumphant bloom ;

And Cupids ^utter'd round in circlets bright.
And Flora pour'd from all her stores perfume.

" Thine be the prize,*' exclaim'd th* enraptur'd youth,
*' Queen of unrivall'd charms, and matchless joy." —

O blind to fate, felicity and truth ! —
But such are they, whom Pleasure's snares decoy.

The Sun was sunk ; the vision was no more ;

Night downward rush'd tempestuous, at the frown
Of Jove's awaken'd wrath : deep thunders roar.

And forests howl afar and mountains groan.

And sanguine meteors glare athwart the plain ;

With horrour's scream the Dian towers resound.
Raves the hoarse storm along the bellowing main.

And the strong earthquake rends the shuddering
ground.

«

THE WOLF AND SHEPHERDS^

[Wrium m 1757, aadfimpMuked m 17M.]

Lawi , as we read in ancient taf^et.
Hare been like cobwebf in afl ages.
Cobwebs for little flies are spread.
And laws for little folks are made ;
But if an insect of renown.
Hornet or beetle, wasp or drone.
Be caught in quest of sport or plunder.
The flimsy fetter flies in sunder.

Your simile perhaps may please one.
With whom wit holds the place of reason:
But can you prove that thb in fact is
Agreeable to Ufe and practice?

Then hear, what in his simple way
Old Esop told me t'other day.
In days of yore, but (which is very odd)
Our author mentions not the period.
We mortal men less given to speeches.
Allowed the beasts sometimes to teach ut.

THE WOLF AND SHEPHERDS. 05

But now we all are prattlers grown.
And 8u£fer no voice but our own ;
With us no beast has leave to speak.
Although his honest heart should break.
Tis true, your asses and your apes.
And other brutes in human shapes.
And that thing made of sound and show
Which mortals have misnamed a beau,
(But in the language of the sky
Is caird a two-legg'd butterfly)
Will make your very heartstrings ake
With loud and everlasting clack.
And beat your auditory drum.
Till you grow deaf, or they grow dumb*

But to our story we return :
Twas early on a Summer mom>
A Wolf forsook the mountain-den.
And issued hungry on the plain.
Full many a stream and lawn he paasM,
And reach'd a winding vale at last ;
Where from a hollow rock he spy'd
The shepherds drest in flowery pride.
Garlands were strow'd, and all was g^y.
To celebrate an holiday.
The merry tabor's gamesome sound
ProvokM the sprightly dance around.
Hard by a rural board was reared.
On which in fair array app^ar'd

k1'' ' ■■■■'*■'■ > :-i

^ THE WOLF AND SHEPHERDS.

The peach, the apple, and the raisin^
And all the fruitage of the season.
But« more distinguish^ than the rest.
Was seen a weather ready drest.
That smoking, recent from the fhme,
DifTusM a stomach-rousing steam.
Our wolf could not endure the sight.
Courageous grew his appetite :
His entrails groan'd with tenfold pain.
He lickM his lips and lickM again ;
At last, with lightning in his eyes.
He bounces forth, and fiercely cries,
'' Shepherds, I am not given to scolding.
But now my spleen I cannot hold in.
By Jove, such scandalous oppression
Would put an elephant in passion.
You, who your flocks (as you pretend)
By wholesome laws from harm defend.
Which make it death for any beast.
How much soever by hunger pressed.
To seize a sheep by force or stealth.
For sheep have right to life and health ;
Can you commit, uncheckM by shame,.
What in a beast so much you blame ?
What is a law, if those who make it
Become the forwardest to break it ?
The case is plain : you would reserve
All to yourselves^ while others atanre.

*>■.,

THE WOLF AM) SHEPHERDS. 9&

Such laws from base self-interest spriDg^
Not from the reason of the thing — "
He was proceedings, when a swain
Burst out— i" And dares a wolf arraign
His betters^ and condemn their measures.
And contradict their wills and pleasures ?
We have establishM laws, 'tis true.
But laws are made for such as you.
Know, sirrah, in its very nature
A law can't reach the legislature.
For laws, without a sanction joinM,
As all men know, can never bind :
But sanctions reach not us the makers.
For who dares punish us though breakers ?
'Tis therefore plain, beyond denial.
That laws were ne'er designed to tie all.
But those, whom sanctions reach alone ^
We stand accountable to none.
Besides, 'tis evident, that, seeing
Laws from the great derive their being.
They as in duty bound should love
The great, in whom they live and move^
And humbly yield to their desires :
'Tis just, what gratitude requires.
What suckling dandled on the lap
Would tear away its mother's pap ?
But hold — ^Why deign I to dispute
With such a scoundrel of a brute ?

THE WOLF AND SHEPHEEUL

Logkk it loit upon a kaxrty

Let action prove the law our ifane.*

An aogrj nod his wifl dedar'd
To his gmff yeomen of the guard.
The foU-led OMfigreb, train'd to rwrmge,
¥\j to deronr the shaggy sarage.

The beast had now no time to Iok
In chopping logick with his foes,
*' This argument,'' quoth be, " has force.
And swiftness is my sole resource/*

He said, and left the swains their prey.
And to the mountains icower'd away.

m

TRANSLATIONS.

ANACREON. Ode xxii.

THi&wv^

Bathyllus, in yonder lone grove

All carelessly let us recline :

To shade us the branches above

Their leaf-waving tendrils combine ;

While a streamlet inviting repose

Soft-murmuring wanders away.

And gales warble wild through the boughs :

^Who there would not pass the sweet day ?

H

THE BEGINNING OF THE

FIRST BOOK OF LUCRETIUS.

JEneadam Genetrix — ?r— Y. 1-^45.

Mother of mighty Rome's imperial line^
Delight of man, and of the powers dirine;,
Venus, all-hounteocis queen ! whose genial pow'r
Diffuses heauty in unbounded store
Through seas, and fertile plains, and all that lie»
Beneath the starr'd expansion of the skies.
Prepar'd by thee, the embryo springs to day.
And opes its eye-lids on the golden ray.
At thy approach, the clouds tumultuous fly.
And the hushed storms in gentle breezes liie ;
Flowers instantaneous spring ; the billows sleep ;
A wavy radiance smiles along the deep ;
At thy approach, th' untroubled sky refines.
And all serene Heaven's lofty concave shines.
Soon as her blooming form the Spring reveals^
And Zephyr breathes his warm prolific g^es.
The feathered tribes first catch the genial flame.
And to the groves thy glad return proclaim.

^^r I

FIRST BOOK OF LUCRETIUS. 09

Thence to t^e beasts the soil infection spreads ;

The raging cattle spurn the grassy meads.

Burst o'er the plains, and frantic in their course

Cleave the wild torrents wiUi resistless force.

Won by thy charms thy dictates all obey.

And eager follow where thou lead'st the way.

Whatever haunts the moimtains, or the main.

The rapid river, or the verdant plain.

Or forms its leafy mansion in the shades.

All, all thy universal power pervades.

Each panting bosom melts to soft desires.

And with the love of propagation fires.

And since thy sovereign influence guides the reins.

Of nature, and the universe sustains ;

Since nought without thee bursts the bonds of night,

To hail the happy realms -of heavenly light ;
Since love, and joy, and hsHrmony are thine.
Guide me, O goddessi, by thy jpower divine.
And to my rising lays thy succour briii^.
While I the universe attempt lo sing*
O, may my verse deserv'd applause ol^in
Of him, for whom I try the daring strain^
My Mimmius, him, wihom thou |Nrofuaely kind
Adom^st with tivery excellence refiu'd.
And that immortal charms my song may grac^
Let war, with all its cruel labours, cease ;
O hush the dismal din of arms once more.
And calm the jarring world from shore to shore.

h2

100 FIRST BOOK OF LUCRETIUS.

By thee alone the race of man foregoes
The rage of bloody and sinks in soft repose :
For mighty Mars, the dreadful god of arms.
Who wakes or stills the battle's dire alarms.
In love's strong fetters by thy charms is bound.
And languishes with an eternal wound.
Ofl from his bloody toil the god retires
To quench in thy embrace his fierce desires.
Sofl on thy hearing bosom he reclines.
And round thy yielding neck transported twines;
There fix'd in ecstasy intense surveys
Thy kindling beauties with insatiate gaze,.
Grows to thy balmy mouth, and ardent sips
Celestial sweets from thy ambrosial lips.
O, while the god with fiercest raptures blest
Lies all dissolving on thy sacred breast,
O breathe thy melting whispers to his ear.
And bid him still the loud alarms of war.
In these tumultuous days> the Muse, in vain.
Her steady tenour lost, pursues the strain.
And Memmius' generous soul disdains to taste
The calm delights of philosophic rest ;
Paternal fires his beating breast inflame>
To rescue Rome, and vindicate ber name.

101

HORACE,

BOOK II. ODE X.

i^ectius yives, licini

WouLDST thou through life securely glicie ;
Nor boundless o'er the ocean ride ;
Nor ply too near th' insidious shore,
Scar'd at the tempest's threatening roar.

The man, who foHpws Wisdom's voice.
And makes the golden mean his choice.
Nor plung'd in antique gloomy cells
Midst hoary desolation dwells ;
Nor to allure the envious eye
Rears his proud palace to the sky.

The pine, that all the grove transcends,'
With every blast the tempest rends ;
Totters the tower with thundrous sovmd.
And spreads a mighty ruin round ;
Jove^s bolt with desolating blow
Strikes the ethereal mountain's brow.

The man, whose stedfast soul can beaj
fortune indulgent or severe.

HORACE,

Hopes when she frowns, and when she smiles
With cautious fear eludes her wiles.
Jove with rude winter wastes the plain,
Jove decks the rosy spring again.
Life's former ills are overpast.
Nor will the present always last.
Now Phoebus wings his shafts, and now
He lays aside th' unbended bow.
Strikes into life the trembling string.
And wakes the silent Muse to sing.
With unabating courage, brave
Adversity's tumultuous wave ;
When too propitious breezes rise.
And the light vessel swiftly flies.
With timid caution catch the gale.
And shorten the distended sail.

HORACE,

BOOK HI. ODE Xin.

O Pons Blaudnsifle

Blandusia ! more than crystal clear !
Whose soothing murmurs charm the ear !
Whose margin soft with flowrets crowned
Invites the festive band around^

HORACK 103

Their careless limbs dififusM supine.
To quaff the soul-enlivening wine.

To thee a tender kid I vow.
That aims for fight his budding brow ;
In thought, the wrathful combat proves.
Or wantons with his little loves :
But vain are all his purposed schemei^
Delusive all his flattering dreams.
To morrow shall his fervent blood .
Stain the pure silver of thy flood.

When fiery Sirius blasts the plain.
Untouch^ thy gelid streams remain.
To thee, the fainting flocks repair.
To taste thy cool reviving air ;
To thee, the ox with toil opprest.
And lays his languid limbs to rest.

As springs of old renowned, thy name
Blest fountain ! I devote to fame ;
Thus while I sing in deathless lays
The verdant holm, whose waving sprays.
Thy sweet retirement to defend.
High o'er the moss-grown rock impend.
Whence pratthng in loquacious play
Thy sprightly waters leap away.

I(M

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL.

Non ita certandi cupidus, qnam propter amorem

Quod te imitari aveo

iMcret. Ub. III.

PASTORAL I *

MELIBCEUS^ TITYRVS.
MELIBCEUS.

VV HERE the broad beech an ample shade displays.

Your slender reed resounds the sylvan lays,

O happy Tityrus ! while we, forlorn.

Driven from our lands, to distant climes are bom,

StretchM careless in the peaceful shade you 9ing,

And all the groves with Amaryllis ring.

*

* It has been observed by some critics, who have treated of
pastoral poetry, that, in every poem of this kind, it is proper,
that the scene or landscape, connected with the little plot or
fiible on which the poem is fonnded, be delineated with at least
as much accuracy, as is sufficient to render the description par-
ticular and picturesque. How far Virgil has thought fit to
attend to such a rule may appear from the remarks which the
translator has subjoined to every Pastoral.

The scene of the first pastoral is pictiu^d out with great accn-

ncy.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 105

TITYRUS.

This peace fo a propitious god I owe ;
None else, my friend, such blessings could bestow.
Him will I celebrate with rites divine.
And frequent lambs shall stain his sacred shrine.
By him, these feeding herds in safety stray ;
By him, in peace I pipe the rural lay.

racy. The shepherds Melibcens and Titynis are represented as
convening together beneath a spreading beech-tree. Flocks
and herds are feeding hard by. At a little distance we behold,
on the one hand a great rock, and on the other a fence of flower*
ing willows. The prospect as it widens is diversified with groves,
and streams, and some tall trees, particularly elms. Beyond all
these appear marshy grounds, and rocky hills. The ragged and
drooping flock of the unfortunate shepherd, particularly the she-
goat which he leads along, are no inconsiderable figures in this
picture.— The time is the evening of a summer-day, a little
before sunset. See of the Original, v. 1, 5, 9, 52, 54, 57, 59, 81>
&c.

This Pastoral is said to have beev written on the following oc*
casion. Augustus, in order to reward the senrices of his vete-
rans, by means of whom he had established himself in the Roman
empire, distributed among them the lands that lay contigDons to
Mantua and Cremona. To make way for these intruders, the
rightful owners, of whom Virgil was one, were turned out. Bat
our poet, by the interceasioii of Mecttnas, was reinstated in his
possessions. Melibceus here personates one of the unhappy
exiles, and Virgil is represented under the character of Tityrus.

106 THE PASTORALS OF VmODU

MELIBGBUS.

I envy not, but wonder at your fate.
That DO alarms invade this blest retreat ;
While neighbouring fields the voice of woe resound.
And desolation rages all around.
Worn with fatigue I slowly onward bend.
And scarce my feeble fainting goats attend.
My hand this sickly dam can hardly bear.
Whose young new-yean'd (ah once an hopeful pair!)
Amid the tangling hazles as they lay.
On the sharp flint were left to pine away.
These ills I had foreseen, but that my mind
To all portents and prodigies was blinds
Oft have the blasted oaks foretold my woe ;
And often has the inauspicious crow,
Perch'd on the withered holm, with fateful cries
Scream'd in my ear her dismal prophecies.
But say, O Tityrus, what god bestows
This blissful life of undisturbM repose ?

•

TITYRUS.

Imperial Rome, while yet to me unknown,
^ vainly liken'd to our country-town.
Our little Mantua, at which is sold
The yearly offspring of our fruitful fold :
As in the whelp the father's shape appear^*
And as the kid its mother's semblance bears.

THE PASTOBALS OF VIBGIL. 107

I

Thus greater things mj inexperienc'd mind
Rated by others of inferior kind.
But she^ midst other cities, rears her head
High, as the cypress overtops, the reed.

MELIBOBUS.

And why to visit Rome was you inclined ?

TITYRUS.

'Twas there I hoped my liberty to find.
And there my liberty I found at last.
Though long with listless indolence opprest ;
Yet not till Time had silver'd o'er my hairs.
And I had told a tedious length of years ;
Nor till the gentle Amaryllis charmM,*
And Galatea's love no longer warm'd.
For (to my friend I will confess the whole]
While Galatea captive held my soul.
Languid and Ufekss all I dragged the chain.
Neglected liberty, neglected gain.
Though from my fold the frequent victim bled,
Though my fat cheese th' ungrateful city fed.
For this I ne'er perceiv'd my wealth increase ;.
I lavished all her haughty heart to please.

* The refinements of TanbrnannuSy De La Cerda, and others,
who will have Amaryllis to signify Rome, and Galatea to sin^nify
Mantua, have perplexed this passage not a little: if the literal
meaning be admitted, the whole becomes obvions and natnral.

lOS THE PASTORALS OF VIRGlt

MELIB(EUS.

Why Amaryllis pinM, and pass'd away.
In lonely shades the melancholy day ;
Why to the gods she breathed incessant vows ;
For whom her mellow apples press'd the boughs
So late, I wonder'd — ^Tityrus was gone.
And she (ah luckless maid !) was left alone.
Your absence every warbling fountain mourned.
And woods and wilds the wailing strains return^.

TITYRUS.

What could I do ? to break th' enslaving chain
All other efforts had (alas !) been vain ;
Nor durst my hopes presume, but there, to find
The gods so condescending and so kind.
'Twas there these eyes the Heaven-born youth* beheld,
To whom our altars monthly incense yield :
My suit he eve^ prevented, while he spobe,
"Manure your ancient farm, and f&ed your former
flock."

MELIB(£US.

Happy old man ! then shall your lands remain^
Extent sufficient for th' industrious swain !
Though bleak and bare yon ridgy rocks arise.
And lost in lakes the neighbouring pasture lies.
Your herds on wonted grounds shall safely range,
. And never feel the dire effects of change*

* Aognstus Caesar.

THE PASTORALS OF VffiGIL. 109

No foreign flock shall spread infecting bane '
To hurt your pregnant dams^ thrice happy swain !
You by known streams and sacred fountains laid
Shall taste the coolness of the fragrant shade.
Beneath yon fence^ where willow-boughs unite.
And to their flowers the swarming bees invite.
Oft shall the lulling hum persuade to rest.
And balmy slumbers steal into your breast ;
While warbled from this rock the pruner's lay
In deep repose dissolves your soul away ;
High on yon elm the .turtle wails alone.
And your lov^d ringdoves breathe a hoarser moan.

TITYRUS.

The nimble harts shall graze in empty air.
And seas retreating leave their fishes bare.
The German dweH where rapid Tigris flows.
The Parthian banish'd by invading foes
Shall drink the Gallic Arar, from my breast
Ere his majestic image be eflac'd.

MELIBCEUS.*

But we must travel o'er a length of lands,
0*er Scythian snows, or Afric's burning sands j
Some wander where remote Oaxes laves
The Cretan meadows with his rapid waves;
In Britain some, from every comfort torn.
From all the world removed, are doomed to mourn.

110 THE PASTORAIJS OF VIRGIL.

When long long years have tedious nUl'd awaj^
Ah ! shall I yet at last, at last, surrey
My dear paternal lands, and dear abode.
Where once I reign'd in walls of humble sod !
These lands, these harvests must the soldier share !
For rude barbarians lavish we our care !
How are our fields become the spoil of wars !
How are we minM by intestine jars !
Now, Meliboeus, now ingraffdie pear.
Now teach the vine its tender sprays to rear ! —
Gro then, my goats ! — go, once an happy store !
Once happy ! — happy now (alas !) no more !
No more shall I, beneath the bowery shade
In rural quiet indolently laid.
Behold you from afar the clilTs ascend.
And from the shrubby precipice depend ;
No more to music wake my melting flute.
While on the thyme you feed, and willow's wholesome
shoot.

TITYRUS.

This night at least with me you may repose
On the green foliage, and forget your woes.
Apples and nuts mature our boughs afford.
And curdled milk in plenty crowns my board.
Now from yon hamlets clouds of smoke arise.
And slowly roll along the evening-skies ;
And see projected from the mountain's brow
A lengthened shade obscures the plain below.

Ill

PASTORAL n *

ALEXIS.

Young Corydon for fair Alexis pin'd^
But hope ne'er gladden'd his desponding mind ;
Nor vows nor tears the scomftil boy could move^
Distinguished by his wealthier master's lore.

* The chief ezceUency of tlus poem caonstiin its dcficacy
and nmplicity. Corydon addresses his finromite in «nch a parity
of sentiment as one would thiidc miglbt effiectnaUy diseoantenanct
the prepossessions which generally prevail a^iaiast the subject of
tins eclogue. The nature of bis afiection may eanly be ascer-
tained from his ideas of the happiness which he hopes to eqjoy
jn the company of his belaved Alexis.

O tantum libeat

O deign at last amid these lonely fields, &c.

It appears to have been no other than that fi-iendshqi, which
encouraged by the wisest legislators of ancient Greece, as a
noble incentive to viHue, and recommended by the example
•even of Agesilaos, Pericles, and Socrates: an afiection wholly
distinct from the iafiunous attachments that prevailed among the
licentious. The reader wiH find a full and satisfying account of
this generous passion in Dr. Potter's Antiquities of Greece, B.iv*
chap. 9. Mons. Bayle in his Dictionary at the article Virgile
has at great length vindicated our poet firom the charge of inuno*
rality which the critics have grounded upon this pastoral.

The scene of this pastoral is a grove interspersed with beech;
trees; theaeason, harvest

112 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL.

Ofl to the beech's deep-embowering shade
Pensive and sad this hapless shepherd strayed ;
There told in artless verse his tender pain
To echoing hills and groves, but all in vain.

In vain the flute's complaining lays I try;
And am I doomed, unpitying boy> to die ?
Now to faint flocks the grove a shade suppUes,
And in the thorny brake the lizard hes;
Now Thestylis with herbs of savoury taste
Prepares the weary harvest-man's repast ;
And all is still, save where the buzzing sound
Of chirping grasshoppers is heard around ;
While I expos'd to all the rage of heat
Wander the wilds in search of thy retreat.

Was it not easier to support the pain
I felt from Amaryllis' fierce disdain ?
Easier Menalcas' cold neglect to bear.
Black though he was, though thou art blooming fair P
Yet be relenting, nor too much presume,
O beauteous boy, on thy celestial bloom ;
The sable violet* yields a precious die.
While useless on the field the withering lilies lie.
Ah cruel boy ! my love is all in vain.
No thoughts of thine regard thy wretched swain.

* Vacdninm (here translated violet) yielded a purple colour
used in dying tiie garments of slavesy according to Plin. ixn.
c. 28.

. THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 113

How rich my flock thou carest not to know.
Nor how iny pails with generous milk overflow.
With bleat of thousand lambs my hills resound.
And all the year my milky stores abound.
Not AmphionV lays were sweeter than my song.
Those lays that led the listening herds along.
And if the face be true I lately view'd.
Where calm and clear th' uncurling ocean stood.
I lack not beauty, nor could'st thou deny.
That even with Daphnis I may dare to vie.
O deign at last amid these lonely fields.
To taste the pleasures which the country yields ;
With me to dwell in cottages resignM,
To roam the woods, to shoot the bounding hind ;
With me the weanling kids from home to guide
To the green mallows on the mountain-side ;
With me in echoing groves the song to raise^
And emulate even Pan's celestial lays.
Pan taught the jointed reed its tuneful strain.
Pan guards the tender flock, and shepherd swain.
Nor grudge, Alexis, that the rural pipe
So oft hath stain'd the roses of thy lip :
How did Amyntas strive thy skill to gain ! '
How grieve at last to find his labour vain !
Of seven unequal reeds a pipe I have.
The precious gift wliich good Damoetas gave ;
" Take this,'* the dying shepherd said, "for none
Inherits all my skill but thou alone."

J

114 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL.

He said ; Amyntas munnun at my praise;^
And with an envious eye the gift surveya.
Besides, as presents for my soul's delight
Two beauteous kids I keep bestreak'd widi white.
Nourished with care, nor purchased without pain ;
An ewe's full udder twice a day they drain.
These to obtain oil Thestylis hath tried
Each winning art, while I her suit denied ;
But I at last shall yield what she requests.
Since thy relentless pride my gifts detests.

Come, beauteous boy, and bless my rural bowan,
For thee the nymphs collect the choicest flowers :
Fair Nais culls amid the bloomy dale
The drooping poppy, and the violet pale>
To marygolds the hyacinth applies.
Shading the glossy with the tawny dies :
Narcissus' flower with daffodil entwin'd.
And cassia's breathing sweets to these are join'd.
With every bloom that paints the vernal grove.
And all to form a garland for my love.
Myself with sweetest fruits will crown thy featit ;
The luscious peach shall gratify thy taste.
And chesnut brown (once high in my regard.
For Amaryllis this to all prefer'd ;
Bui if the blushing plum thy choice thou make.
The plum shall more be valued for thy sake.)
The myrtle wreath'd with laurel shall exhale
A blended fragrance to delight thy smell.

X

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. IK*

Ah Corydon ! thou rustic, simple swain !
Thyself, thy prayers, thy offers all are vain.
How few, compared with rich lolas' store.
Thy hoasted gifts, and sH thy wealth how poor !
Wretch that I am ! while thus I pine forlorn.
And all the live-long day inactive mourn.
The hoars have laid my silver fountains waste.
My flowers are fading in the southern blast. —
Fly'st thou, ah foolish boy, the lonesome grove ?
Yet gods for this have left the realms above.
Paris with scorn the pomp of Troy surveyed.
And sought th' Idsean bowers and peaceful shade.
In her proud palaces let Pallas shine ;
The lowly woods, and rural life be mine.
The lioness all dreadful in her course
Pursues the wolf, and he with headlong force
Fhes at the wanton goat, that loves to climb
The cliflPs steep side, and crop the flowering thyme ;
Thee Corydon pursues, O beauteous boy :
Thus each is drawn along by some peculiar joy.

Now evening soft comes on ; and homeward now
From field the weary oxen bear the plough.
The setting Sun now beams more mildly bright, •
The shadows lengthening with the level light.
While with love's flame my restless bosom glows.
For love no interval of ease allows.
Ah CcMrydon ! to weak complaints a prey !
What madness thus to waste the fleeting day !

i2

116 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL.

Be rous'd at length ; thy half-prun'd yines demand
The needful culture of thy curbing hand.
Haste^ lingering swain, the flexile willows weave.
And with thy wonted care thy wants relieve.
Forget Alexis' unrelenting scorn.
Another love thy passion will return.

PASTORAL IIL

MENALCAS, DAMOETAS, PAUEMON.''^
MENALCAS.

1 o whom belongs this flock, Damoetas, pray :
To Melibceus ?

DAMOETAS.

No ; the other day
The shepherd .£gon gave it me to keep.

MANALCAS.

Ah still neglected, still unhappy sheep If
He plies Nesra with assiduous love,

* The contending shepherds, Menalcas and Damoetas, toge«
ther with their nmpire Palsmony are seated on the grass, not
iar from a row of beech- trees. Flocks are seen feediog hard hf*
The time of the day seems to be noon, the season between
Spring and Summer.

t Throughout the whole of this altercation, aotwithstaadinf

V

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 117

And fears lest she my happier flame approve ;
Meanwhile this hireling wretch (disgrace to swains !)
Defrauds his master, and purloins his gains.
Milks twice an hour, and drains the famishM dam^.
Whose empty dugs in vain attract the lambs.

DAMOETAS.

Forbear on men such language to bestow.
Thee, stain of manhood! thee, full well I know.
I know, with whom*r--and where — * (their grove de-

fil'd
The -nymphs reveng'd not, but indulgent smiFd)
And how the goats beheld, then browsing near.
The shameful sight with a lascivious leer.

MENALCAS.

No doubt, when Mycon's tender trees I broke.
And gash'd 'his young vines with a blunted hook.

DAMOETAS.

Or when concealM behind this ancient row
Of beech, you broke young Daphnis' shafts and b,ow.

the, untoward subject, the reader will find in the original such a
happy union of simplicity and force of expression and harmony
of verse, as it is vain to look for in an English translation.

* The abruptness and obscurity of the origipalis here imi-
^ted.

IH THE PASTOSALS OF VIRGIL.

With ftharpeft pangt of rancoroof aii|;iikk ftmg
To we the f^ft confer^d oa one to yotmi^ ;
Ami hail jou not thus wreak'd your sordid spite.
Of rery eniry joa had died outright.

XEdlALCAS.

C^odA ! what maj masters dare, when such a pitch
(^H impudence their thierish hirdings reach :
Did I not, wretch (deny it if you dare)
Did I not see you Damon's goat ensnare ?
Lycisca bark'd ; then I the felon spy'd.
And '^ Whither slinks yon sneaking thief?'' I cried.
The thief discovered straight his prey forsod^.
And skulk'd amid the sedges of the brook.

DAMOETAS.

That goat my pipe from Damon fairiy gain'd;
A match was let, and I the prize obtained,
[le own'd it due to my superior skill.
And yet refus'd his bargain to fulfil.

MANALCA8.

By your superior skill — the goat was won !
Have you a jointed pipe, indecent clown ! ,
Whose whizzing straws with harshest discord jarr'd.
As in tlie streets your wretched rhymes you marred.

DAM0ETA8.

Boasts are but vain. Tm ready, when you wiH^
To niake a solemn trial of our skill.

THE PARTORALS OF VIRGIL. 119

I stake this heifer, no ignoble prize ;
Two calves from her fuU udder she supplies.
And twice a day her milk the pail overflows ;
What pledge of equal worth will you expose ?

MENALCAS.

Ought from the flock I dare not risk ; I fear
A cruel step-dame, and a sire severe.
Who of their store so strict a reckoning keep.
That twice a day they count the kids and «heep.
But, since you purpose to be mad to day.
Two beechen cups I scruple not to lay,
(Whose far superior worth yourself will own)
The laboured work of fam'd Alcimedon,
Rais'd round the brims by the engraver's care
The flaunting vine unfolds its foliage fair ;
EntwinM the ivy's tendrils seem to g^ow.
Half-hid in leaves its mimic berries glow ;
Two figures rise below, of curious frame,
Conon, and — ^what's that other sage's name.
Who with his rod described the world's vast round.
Taught when to reap, and when to till the ground ?
At home I have reserved them unprofan'd.
No lip has e'er their glossy polish stain'd.

DAMOETAS.

Two cups for me that skilful artist made ;
Their handles with acanthus are array 'd;

120 THE PASTORALS OF VIKGIL.

Orpheus is in the midst, whose magic song
Leads in tumidtuous dance the lofty groves along.
At home I have reserr'd them onprofiui'd.
No lip has e^er their glossy polish stain-M.
But my pledg'd heifer if aright you prize.
The cups so much extoU'd you will despise.

MENALCAS.

These arts, proud boaster, all are lost on me ;
To any terms I readily agree.
You shall not boast your victory to day.
Let him be judge who passes first this way :
And see the. good Palaemon ! trust me, swain.
You'll be more cautious how you brag again.

DAMOETAS.

Delays I brook not; if you dare, proceed;
At singing no antagonist I dread.
Palaemon, listen to th'. important songs.
To such debates attention strict belongs.

PAViEMON.

Sing then. A couch the flowery herbage yields :
2i ow blossom all the trees, and all the fields ;
And all the woods their pomp of foliage wear.
And Nature's fairest robe adorns the blooming year,
Damoetas first th' alternate lay shall raise :
Th' inspiring Muses love alternate lays.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 121

BAMOETAS.

Jove first I sing ; ye Muses, aid my lay ;
All Nature owns his energy and sway;
The Earth and Heayens his sovereign bounty share.
And to my verses he vouchsafes his care.

MENALCAS.

With great Apollo I begin the strain.
For I am great Apollo's favourite swain $
For him the purple hyacinth I wear.
And sacred bay to Phoebus ever dear,

DAMOETAS.

The sprightly Galatea at my head
An apple flung, and to the willows fled ;
But as along the level lawn she flew.
The wanton wish'd not to escape my view, n

MENALCAS.

I languished long for fair Amyntas' charms.
But now he comes unbidden to my arms.
And with my dogs is so familiar grown.
That my own Delia is no better known.

nAMOETAS.

I lately markM where midst the verdant shade
Two parent-doves had built their leafy bed ;
I from the nest the young will shortly take.
And to my love an handsome present make.

122 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL.

MENALCAS.

Ten ruddy wildings, from a lofty bough.
That through the green leaves beamM with yellow glov
I brought away, and to Amyntas bore ;
To-morrow I shall send as many more*

DAMO^TAS.

Ah the keen raptures ! when my yielding fair
Breathed her kind whispers to my ravishM ear !
Waft, gentle gales, her accents to the skies.
That gods themselves may hear with sweet surprise.

MENALCAS.

What, though I am not wretched by your scorn ?
Say, beauteous boy, say can I cease to moum»
If, while I hold the nets, the boar you face.
And rashly brave the dangers of the chace.

DAMOETAS.

Send Phyllis home, lolas, for to-day
I celebrate my birth, and all is gay ;
When for my crop the victim I prepare,
lolas in our festival may share.

MENALCAS.

Phyllis I love ; she more than all can cbami^
And mutual fires her gentle bosom warm :
Tears, when I leave her, bathe her beauteoiis eyes,
" A long, a long adieu, my love !'^ she cries. .

^

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 125

BAMOfiTAS.

The wolf is dreadful to the woolly train,
fatal to hanrests is the criuhing rain.
To the green woods the winds destructive prove.
To me the rage of mine ofiended loye.

MENALCAS.

The willow's gratefiil to the pregnant ewes.
Showers to the corns, to kids the mountain-brows ;
More grateful far to me my lovely boy.
In sweet Amyntas centers all my joy.

DAMOBTAS.

Even PoUto deigpis to hear my rural lays;
And cheers the bashful Muse with generous praise;
Ye sacred Nine, for your great patron feed
A beauteous heifer of the noblest breed.

MENALCAS.

PoUio, the art of heavenly song adcnms ;
Then let a bull be bred with butting homa^
And ample fronts that beUowing spurns the ground^ .
Tears up the turf, and throws the sands around.

DAMOBTAft^

Him whom my PoUio loves may nought annoy.
May he like PoUio every wish enjoy,
O may his happy lands with honey flow.
And on hia ttiorxM Assyrian roses blow !

134 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL.

MENALCAS.

Who hatest not foolish Bavius, let him loye
Thee, Msevius, and thy tasteless rhymes approve
Nor needs it thy admirer's reason shock
To milk the he-goats, and the foxes yoke.

DAMOETAS.

Ye hoys, on garlands who employ your care.
And pull the creeping strawberries, beware.
Fly for your lives, and leave that fatal place,
A deadly snake hes lurking in the grass*

MENALCAS.

Forbear, my flocks, and warily proceed.
Nor OB that faithless bank securely tread ;
The heedless ram late plungM amid the pool.
And in the sun now dries his reeking wool.

DAMOETAS.

Ho Tityrus i lead back the browsing flock.
And let them feed at distance from the brook ;
At }>athing-time I to the shade will bring
My goats, and wash them in the cooling springs

MENALCAS.

Haste, from the sultry lawn the flocks remove
To the cool shelter of the shady grove :
When burning noon the curdling udder dries,
7h' ungrateful teats in vain the shepherd pUes»

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 125

< BAMOETAS.

How lean my bull in yonder mead appears.
Though the fat soil the richest pasture bears !
Ah Love ! thou reign'st supreme in every heart.
Both flocks and shepherds languish with thy dart.

MENALCAS.

Love has not injur'd my consumptive flocks.
Yet bare their bones, and faded are their looks :
What envious eye hath squinted on my dams.
And sent its poison to my tender lambs !

DAMOETAS.

Say in what distant land the eye descries
But three short ells of all th' expanded skies ;
Tell this, and g^at ApoUo be your name ;
Your skill is equal, equal be your fame.

MENALCAS.

Say in what soil a wondrous flower is bom.
Whose leaves the sacred names of kings adorn ;
Tell this, and take my Phyllis to your arms,
.And reign th' unrivall'd sovereign of her charms.

PALiEMON.

n'is not for me these high disputes to end;
Each to the heifer justly may pretend.
>Such be their fortune, who so well can sing^
From love what painful joys, what pleasing torments
spring.

lift THE Fik5TORALS OF

I :?^

y<m, boy^ obficrnct tbe eoone of joader liB
The meadows Inf e tkradj draok didr ilL

PASTORAL IV*

POLUO.

SiciUAX Mose, sobiiiDcr strains in^irc.
And wann my bosom with dhriner fire !
All take not pleasure in the rural scene.
In lowly tamarisks, and forests green.

• la tinsfoorth pistofal, no partkBhr ImJiinn k lifliMatgJ
Tbe whok is a prophetic song of triumph. BatasalsMMtalllht
inages and allosiou are of the raial kiad, it is ao lev a tiae ba-
eoKc than the others; if we admit the definition of a pastoialt
given ns by an antiior of tbe first rank,* who caDs it *< A poem
in which any action or passion is represented by its effects
coontry fife."

It is of fitfle importance to inqoire on what occasion this
was written. The spirit of prophetic enthusiasm that bre a thes
throogh it, and the resemblaoce it bears in many pbices to the
Oriental manner, makes it not improbable, that oar poet oom-
posed it partly firom some pieces of antient prophecy that mig|it
have fiiUen into his hands, and that he afterwards inscribed it lo
bh friend and patron Pollio, on occasion of the birth
flaloainas.

* The author of the Rambler.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 127

If sylvan themes we sing, then let our lays
Deserve a consul's ear, a consul's praise.

The age comes on, that iuture age of gold
In Cuma's mystic prophecies foretold.
The years begin their mighty course again.
The Virgin now returns, and the Satumian reign.
Now from the lofty mansions of the sky ^
To Earth descends an heaven-bom progeny.
Thy Phebus reigns, Lucina, knd thine aid,-
Nor be his birth, his glorious birth delay'd !
An iron race shall then no longer rage.
But all the world regain the golden age*
This child, the joy of nations, shall be bom
Thy consulship, O PoUio, to adorn :
Thy consulship these happy times shall prove.
And see the mighty months begin to move :
Then all our former guilt shall be forgiv'n.
And man shall dread no more th' avenging dooio of
Heav'n.

The son with heroes and with gods shall shine.
And lead, enroU'd with them, the life divine.
He o'er the peaceful nations shall preside.
And his sire's virtues shall his sceptre guide.
To thee, auspicious babe, th' unbidden earth
Shall bring the earliest of her flowery birth ;
Acanthus soft in smiling beauty gay.
The blossom'd bean, and ivy's flaunting spray.

acwn '' '

126 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL

Th' untended goats shall to their homes repair.
And to the milker's hand the loaded udder bear.
The mighty lion shall no more be fear'd.
But graze innoxious with the friendly herd.
Sprung from thy cradle firagrant flowers shall spread.
And, fanning bland, shall wave around thy bead.
Then shall the serpent die, with all his race :
No deadly herb the happy soil disgrace :
Assyrian balm on every bush shall bloom.
And breathe in every gale its rich perfume.

But when thy father's deeds thy youth shall fire^ •
And to great actions all thy soul inspire.
When thou shalt read of heroes and of kings.
And mark the glory that from virtue springs j
Then boundless o'er the far-extended plain.
Shall wave luxuriant crops of golden grain.
With purple grapes the loaded thorn shall bend.
And streaming honey from the oak descend.
Nor yet old fraud shall wholly be effac'd ;
Navies for wealth shall roam the watery waste ;
Proud cities fenc'd with tow.ery walls appear.
And cruel shares shall earth's soft bosom tear r
Another Tiphys o'er the swelling tide
With steady skill the bounding ship shall guide ;
Another Argo with the flower of Greece
From Colchos* shore shall waft the golden fleece ;
Again the world shall hear war's loud alarms>
And great Achilles shine again in arms.

-'----■

THE PASTORALS OF VffiGIL. H9

When riper years thy strengthened nerves shall birace.
And o'er thy hmbs diffuse a manly grace.
The mariner no more shall plough the deep.
Nor load with foreign wares the trading ship.
Each country shall abound in every store.
Nor need the products of another shore.
Henceforth no plough shall cleave the fertile ground.
No pruninghook the tender vine shall wound ;
The husbandman, with toil no longer broke.
Shall loose his ox for ever from the yoke.
No more the wool a foreign die shall feign.
But purple flocks shall graze the flowery plain.
Guttering in native gold the ram shall tread.
And scarlet lambs shall wanton on the mead.

In concord joined with fate's, unaltei^d law
The Destinies these happy times foresaw.
They bade th^ sacred spindle swiflly run.
And hasten the auspicious ages on.

O dear to all thy kindred gods above ! '
O thou, the offspring of eternal Jove !
Receive thy dignities, begin thy reign.
And o'er the world extend thy wide domain.
See nature's mighty frame exulting round.
Ocean, and earth, and heaven's immense profound !
See nations yet unborn with joy behold
Thy glad approach, and hail the age of gold!

O would th' immortals lend a length of days.
And give a soul sublime to sound thy praise ;

K

130 THE PASTORALS OF VIROIL.

Would Heaven this breast^ this labouiitig bfcttt in-
flame
With ardour equal to the mighty theme;
Not Orpheus with diviner transports glowed.
When all her fire his mother-muse bestowM ;
Nor loftier numbers flowed from Linus' tongue.
Although his sire Apollo gave the song ;
Even Pan, in presence of Arcadian swains
Would vainly strive to emulate my strains.
Repay a parent's care, O beauteous boy.
And greet thy mother with a smile of joy ;
For thee, to loathing languors all resigned
Ten slow-revolving months thy mother pin'd.
If cruel fate thy parents bliss denies,*
If no fond joy sits smiling in thine eyes.
No nymph of heavenly birth shall crown thy love.
Nor shalt thou share th' immortal feast above.

* This passage has perplexed all the critics. Dot of a
ber of significations that have been offeredi the translator hai
pitched upon one, which he thinks the most agreeable to Ihe
scope of the poem and most consistent with the famgaage of tte
original. The reader, who wants more particnlan on this bead»
may consult Senrios, De La Cerda, or Rnaeos.

TOB PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 131

PASTORAL V *

MENALCAS, MOPSUS.
MENALCAS.

Since you with skill can touch the tuneful reed.
Since few my verses or my voice exceed ;
In this refreshing shade shall we recline^
Where hazels with the lofty elms combinje ?

MOPSUS.

Your riper age a due respect requires,
*Tis mine to yield to what my friend desires ;
Whether you choose the zephyr's fanning breeze.
That shakes the wavering shadows of the trees ;
Or the deep-shaded grotto's cool retreat : —
And see yon cave screened from the scorching heat.
Where the wild vine its curling tendrils weaves.
Whose grapes glow ruddy through the quivering leaves.

MENALCAS.

Of all the swains that to our hills belong,
Amyntas only vies with you in song.

* Here we discover Menalcas and Mopsos seated in an arboar
iSsrmed by the interwoven twigs of a wild vine. A grove of
hazels and elms surrounds this arbour. The season seems to be
Somitter. The time of the day is not specified*

k9

133 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL

MOPSUS.

What> though with me that haughty shepherd vie.
Who proudly dares Apollo's self defy ?

MENALCAS.

Begin ; let Alcon's praise inspire your strains,^
Or CJodrus' death, or Phyllis' amorous pains j
Begin, whatever theme your Muse prefer.
To feed the kids be, Tityrus, thy care.

MOPSUS.

I rather will repeat that mournful song.
Which late I carv'd the verdant beech along ;
(I carv'd and trilKd by turns the laboured lay)
And let Amyntas match me if he may.

MENALCAS.

As slender willows where the olive gproWB,
Or sordid shrubs when near the scarlet rose.
Such (if the judgment I have form'd be true)-
Such is Amyntas when compared with you.

MOPSUS.

No more, Menalcas ; we delay too long.
The grot's dim shade invites my promised song.

* From this passage it is evident that Virgd tfaouglit pastoni
poetry capable of a mnch greater variety in its sal^tiy tbui
some modem critics will allow.

A

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 133

When Daphnis fell by fate's remorseless blow,*
The weeping nymphs poured wild the plaint of woe;
Witness, O hazel-grove, and winding stream.
For all your echoes caught the mournful theme.
In agony >qf grief his mother prest
The clay -cold carcase to her throbbing breast.
Frantic with anguish wail'd his hapless fate^
Rav'd at .the stars, and Heaven's relentless hate.
'Twas then the swains in deep despair forsook
Their pining flocks^ nor led them to the brook ;
The pining flocks for him their pastures sHght,
Nor grassy plains, nor cooling streams invite.
The doleful tidings reached the Libyan shores.
And lions mourned in deep repeated roars.
His cruel doom the woodlands wild bewail.
And plaintive hills repeat the melancholy tale.
'Twas he, who first Armenia's tigers broke^
And tam'd their stubborn natures to the yoke ;
He first with ivy wrapt the thyrsus round.
And made the hills with Bacchus' rites resound.f

* It is the most general and most probable conjectare, that
Jalins Caesar is the Daphnis, whose death and deification are
here celebrated. Some however are of opinion, that by Daph-
nis is meant a real shepherd of Sicily of that name, who is said
to have invented bucolic poetry, and in honour of whom the
Sicilians performed yearly sacrifices.

jt This can be applied only to Julius Caesar; for it was he who
^trodnced at Rome the celebration of the Bacchanalian revels,

Serviua,

134 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL.

As vines adorn the trees which they entwine.

As purple clusters beautify the vine.

As bulls the herd^ as corns the fertile plains.

The godlike Daphnis dignified the swains.

When Daphnis from our eager hopes was tom> \

Phoebus and Pales lefl the plains to mourn. |

Now weeds and wretched tares the crop subdue.

Where store of generous wheat but lately grew. ^

Narcissus' lovely flower no more is seen.

No more the velvet violet decks the ereen ;

Thistles for these the blasted meadow yields.

And thorns and frizled burs deform the fields.

Swains, shade the springs, and let the ground be drett

With verdant leaves ; 'twas Daphnis' last request. A

Erect a tomb in honour to his name

Mark'd with this verse to celebrate his fame.

" The swains with Daphnis' name this tomb adorn.

Whose high renown above the skies is borne ; . ■ <

Fair was his flock, he fairest on the plain.

The pride, the glory of the sylvan reign." \

MENALCAS.

Sweeter, O bard divine, thy nun^bers seem.
Than to the scorched swain the cooling stream^
Or soil on fragrant flowrets to recline.
And the tir'd limbs to balmy sleep resig^.
Blest youth ! whose voice and pipe demand the praise
Due but to thine, and to thy master's lays.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL; 135

I in return the darling theme will chuse.
And Daphnis' praises shall inspire my Muse ;
He in my song shall high as Heaven ascend^
High as the Heavens, for Daphnis was my friend.

' ' -r MOPSUS.

His virtues sure our nohlest numbers claim ;
Nought can deUght me more than such, a theme,
Which in your song new dimity obtains ;
Ofi has our Stimichon extoFd the strains.

MENALCAS.

' Now Daphnis shines, among the gods a god.
Struck with the splendours of his new abode.
Beneath his footstool far remote appear
The clouds slow-sailing, and the starry sphere.
Hence lawns and groves with gladsome raptures ring.
The swains, the nymplis, and Pan in concert sing.
The wolves to murder are no more inclin'd.
No guileful nets ensnare the wandering hind.
Deceit and violence and rapine cease.
For Daphnis loves the gentle arts of peace.
From savage mountains. shouts of transport rise
Bom in triumphant echoes to the skies;
The rocks and shrubs emit melodious sounds.
Through nature's vast extent the god, the god rebounds.
Be gracious still,, still present to our pray'r;
Four altars, lo ! we build with pious care,

1S6 THE PASTORALS OT VIRGIU

Two for th' inspiring god of song divine.
And two, propitious Daphnis, shall be thine.
Two bowls white-foaming with their milky store.
Of generous oil two brimming goblets more.
Each year we shall present before thy shrine.
And cheer the feast with liberal draughts of wine ;
Before the fire when winter-storms invade.
In summer's heat beneath the breezy shade :
The hallowM bowls with wine of Chios crown'd.
Shall pour their sparkling nectar to the ground.
Damoetas shaU with Lyctian* iBgon play.
And celebrate with festive strains the day.
Alphesiboeus to the sprightly song
Shall like the dancing Satyrs trip along.
These rites shall still be paid, so justly due.
Both when the nymphs receive our annual vow.
And when with solemn songs, and victims crownM,
Our lands in long procession we surround.
While fishes love the streams and briny deep.
And savage boars the mountain's rocky steep.
While grasshoppers their dewy food delights.
While balmy thyme the busy bee invites ;
So long siiall^last thine honours and thy fame.
So long the shepherds shall resound thy name.
Such rites to thee shall husbandmen ordain.
As Ceres and the god of wine obtain.

* Lyctium was a city of Crete.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 13T

Thou to our prayers propitiously inclined

Thy grateful suppliants to their vows sbalt bind.

MOPSUS.

What boon> dear shepherd^ can your song requite ?
For nought in nature yields so sweet delight
Not the soft sighing of the southern gale^
That faintly breathes along the flowery vale ;
Nor, when light breezes curl the liquid plain.
To tread the margin of the murmuring main ;
Nor melody of streams, that roll away
Through rocky dales, delights me as your lay.

MENALQAS.

No mean reward, my friend, your verses claim ;
Take then this flute that breath'd the plaintive theme
Of Corydon ;* when proud Damoetasf try'd
To match my skill, it dash'd his hasty pride.

MOPSUS.

And let this sheepcrook by my friend be worn.
Which brazen studs in beamy rows adorn ;
This fair Antigenes ofl beg'd to gain, '
But all his beauty, all his prayers were vain.

* See Pastoral second. t See Pastoral third.

ISS THE PASTORALS OF VIRCOL.

PASTORAL VI.»

SILENUS.

AIy sportive Muse first sung Sicilian strains^

Nor blush'd to dwell in woods and lowly plains^

To sing of kings and wars when I aspire,

Apollo checks my vainly-rising fire.

" To swains the flock and sylvan pipe belong.

Then choose some humbler theme^ nor dare heroic

song."
The voice divine, O Varus, I obey.
And to my reed shall chant a rural lay ;
Since others long thy praises to rehearse.
And sing thy battles in immortal verse.
Yet if these songs, which PHoebus bids me write.
Hereafter to the swains shall yield delight.
Of thee the trees and humble shrubs shall sing.
And all the vocal grove with Varus ring.
The song inscribed to Varus' sacred name
To Phoebus' favour has the justest claim.

Come then, my Muse, a sylvan song repeat.
'Twas in his shady arbour's cool retreat

* The cave of Silenus, which is the scene of this edogoe, is
delineated with sofficient accuracy. The time seems to be the
evening ; at least the song does not cease, till the flocks are
folded; and the evening star appears.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 139

Two youthftil swains the god Silenus found.

In drunkenness and sleep his senses bound.

His turgid veins the late debauch betray ;

His garland on the ground neglected lay.

Fallen from his head ; and by the well-worn ear

His cup of ample size depended near.

Sudden the swains the sleeping god surprise.

And with his garland bind him as he lies,

(No better chain at hand) incens'd so long

To be defrauded of their promised song.

To aid their project, and remove their fears,

JE^le, a beauteous fountain-nymph, appears ;

Who, while he hardly opes his heavy eyes^

His stupid brow with bloody berries dies,

llien smiling at the fraud Silenus said,

^' And dare you thus a sleeping god invade ?

To see me was enough ; but haste, unloose

My bonds ; the song no longer I refuse ;

Unloose me, youths ; my song shall pay your pains ; *

For this fair nymph another boon remains."

He sung ; responsive to the heavenly sound
The stubborn oaks and forests dance around.
Tripping the Satyrs and the Fauns advance.
Wild beasts forget their rage, and join the general

dance.
Not so Parnassus' listening rocks rejoice.
When Phoebus raises his celestial voice ;

140 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL.*

Nor Thracia's echoing mountains so admire.
When Orpheus strikes the loud-lamenting lyre.'
For first he sung of Nature's wondrous birth ;
How seeds of water, air, and flame, and earthy'
Down the vast void with casual impulse huriM,
Clung into shapes, and formM this fabric of the worML
Then hardens by degrees the tender soil.
And from the mighty mound the seas recoil.
O'er the wide world new various forms arise ;
The infant Sun along the brighten'd skies
Begins his course, while Earth with glad amaze
The blazing wonder from below surveys.
The clouds sublime their genial moisture shed.
And the green grove lifts high its leafy head.
The savage beasts o'er desert mountains roam.
Yet few their numbers, and unknown their home.
He next the blest Saturnian ages sung ;
How a new race of men from Pyrrha sprung ;*
Prometheus' daring thefl, and dreadful doom.
Whose growing heart devouring birds consume.
Then names the spring, renown'd for Hylas' fate.
By the sad mariners bewail'd too late ;
They call on Hylas with repeated cries,
^nd. Hylas, Hylas, all the lonesome shore replies.
Next he bewails Pasiphae (hapless dame !)
Who for a bullock felt a brutal flame.

* See Ovid Met. lib. I.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. - 141

What fury fires thy bosom, frantic queen !

How happy thou, if herds had never been !

The maids, whom Juno, to avenge her wrong,*

Like heifers doomM to lowe the vales along.

Ne'er felt the rage of thy detested fire,

Ne*er were polluted with thy foul desire ;

Though oft for horns they felt their polished brow.

And their soft necks oft fear'd the galling plough.

Ah wretched queen! thou roam'st the mountain-.

waste.
While, his white limbs on lilies laid to rest.
The half-digested herb again he chews.
Or s6me fair female of the herd pursues.
" Beset, ye Cretan nymphs, beset the grove.
And trace the wandering footsteps of my love.
Yet let my longing eyes my love behold.
Before some favourite beauty of the fold
Entice him with Gortynianf herds to stray.
Where smile the vales in richer pasture gay.^'
He sung how golden firuit's resistless grace .
Decoy'd the wary virgin from the race. J

* Their names were Lysippe^ Ipponoe, and Cyrianassa. Jono
to be avenged of them for preferring their own beanty to hers,
strack them with madness, to sach a degree, that they imagined
themselves to be heifers.

t Gortyna was a city of Crete. See Ovid. Art Am. lib. I.

X Atalanta. See Ovid. Metamorph. Lib. X.

Ii2 THE PASTORAUS OF VIRGn^

Then wraps in bark the mourning siflten round,*

And rears the lofty alders from the ground.

He sung, while Gallus by Permesfusf stny'd,

A sister of the Nine the hero led

To the Aonian hill ; the choir in haste

Left their bright thrones, and hail'd the wekome
guest

Linus arose, for sacred song renowned.

Whose brow a wreath of flowers and parsley bound;
And ''Take" he said, "this pipe, which heretofore
The far-fam'd shepherd of Ascrsa} bore ;
Then heard the mountain -oaks its magic sound,

Leap'd from their hiUs, and thronging danced aroimd.

On this thou shalt renew the tuneful lay.

And grateful songs to thy Apollo pay.

Whose fam'd Grynflean§ temple from thy strain

Shall more exalted dignity obtain/'

Why should 1 sing unhappy Scylla's fate?t|

Sad monument of jealous Circe's hate !

Round her white breast what furious monsters rdl.

And to the dashing waves incessant howl :

* See Ovid. Met. Lib. H.

t A river in Boeotia arising from Moant Helicon, sacred to tlie
Moses.

I Hesiod

i Gryntum was a maritime town of the Leiser Asia, where
were an antient temple and oracle of Apollo.

II See VirgU JEa. Ul.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 145

How from the ships that bore Ulysses* crew*
Her dogs the trembUng sailors dragged, and slew.
Of Philomela's feast why should I sing,t
And what dire chance befel the Thracian king ?
Changed to a lapwing by th' avenging god
He made the barren waste his lone abode.
And oft on soaring pinions hovered o'er
The lofty palace then his own no more.

The tuneful god renews each pleasing theme.
Which Phoebus sung by blest Eurotas' stream;
When bless'd Eurotas gently flowed along.
And bade his laurels learn the lofty song.
Silenus sung ; the vocal vales reply.
And heavenly music charms the listening sky*
But now their folds the numbered flocks invite^
The star of evening sheds its trembling Ught,
And the unwiUing Heavens are wrapt in night.

* See Homer Odyss. lib. XIL
t See Ovid's Metamoiph. Lib. VI.

AJ.

144 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL*

PASTORAL Vn .♦

MELIBCEUS, CORTDON, THTRSIS.
MELIBCEUS.

Beneath an holm that murmur'd to the breeze

The youthful Daphnis leaned in rural ease :

With him two gay Arcadian swains reclin'd.

Who in the neighbouring vale their flocks bad joined,

Thyrsis> whose care it was the goats to keep.

And Corydon, who fed the fleecy sheep ;

Both in the flowery prime of youthful days.

Both skiird in single or responsive lays.

While I with busy hand a shelter form

To guard my myrtles from the future storm.

The husband of my goats had chanced to stray :

To find the vagrant out I take my way.

Which Daphnis seeing cries, " Dismiss your fear.

Your kids and goat are all in safety here ;

* The scene of this pastoral is as follows. Four ahepherds,
Daphnis in the most distinguished place, Corydon, Thyrsis, and
Meliboeus, are seen reclining beneath an hohn. Sheep and
goats intermixed are feeding hard by. At a little distance Min«
cios fringed with reeds appears winding along. Fields and trees
compose the surrounding scene. A venerable oak, with bees
'swarming around it, is particularly distinguished. The time
seems to be the forenoon of a summer-day.

»

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 145

And, ift'no other care require- your stay.
Come, an4 with us unbend the toils of day
In this cool shade ; at hand your heifejrs feed.
And of themselves will to the watering speed ;
Here fringed with reeds slow Mincius winds along.
And round yon oak the bees soft-murmuring throng.
What could I do ? for I was left alone.
My Phyllis and Alcippe both were gone.
And none remained to feed my weanUng lambs.
And to restrain them from their bleating dams :
Betwixt the swains a solemn match was set.
To prove their skiU, and end a long debate.
Though serious matters claim'd my due regard,
Their pastime to my business I prefer'd.
To sing by turns the M<ise inspirM the swains.
And Corydon began th' alternate strains.

CORTDOlf.

Ye nymphs of Helicon, my sole desire !
O warm my breast with all my Codrus' fire*
If none can equal Codrus' heavenly lays.
For next to Phoebus he deserves the praise.
No more I ply the tuneful art divise.
My silent pipe shall hang on yonder pine.

■

THYRSIS.

Arcadian swains, an ivy wreath bestow.
With early honours crown your poet's braw ;

h

^■111.1 '.^'.hl^"" .n

146 THE PASTOBALS OF VIBOIt.

Codrus shall chafe^ if you my songs commenijl^
Till burning spite his tortured eitrails rend ;
Or amulets^ to bind my temples^ frame.
Lest his invidious praises blast my fame*

CORTDON.

A stag's tall horns^ and stain'd with savage gore
This bristled visage of a tusky boar«
To thee, O virgin-goddess of the chase«
Young Mycon offers for thy former grace.
If like success his future labours crown.
Thine, goddess, then shall be a nobler boon.
In polishM marble thou shalt shine complete.
And purple sandals shall adorn thy feet*

THYBSIS*

To thee, Priapus,^ each returning year.
This bowl of milk, these hallow'd cakes we bear ;
Thy care our garden is but meanly stor'd.
And mean oblations all we can affi>rd.
But if our flocks a numerous ofispring yield.
And our decaying fold again be fillM,
Though now in marble thou obscurely shine.
For thee a golden slatue we design*

CORTDON.

O Galatea, whiter than the swan,

Loveliest of all thy sisters of the main,

^ This deity presided over gardefli.

\

THE PASTORALS OF VI&GIL. 147

Sweeter than Hybla« more than.lilies fair !
If ought of €oryd<m employ thy care.
When shades of night iuYotve the silent sky.
And slumbering in their stalls the oxen lie.
Come to my longing arms, and let me prove
Th' immortal sweets of Galatea's loye.

THYRSIS.

As the vile sea-weed scattered by the storm.
As he whose face Sardinian herbs deform,*
M burs and brambles that disgrace the plain.
So nauseous, so detested be thy swain ;
If when thine absence I am doomed to bear
The day appears not longer than a year.
Go home, my flocks, ye lengthen out the day.
For shame, ye tardy flocks, for shame away !

CORTDON.

Ye mossy fountains, warbUng as ye flow I
And softer than the slumbers ye bestow
Ye grassy banks ! ye trees with verdure crown'd.
Whose leaves u glimmering shade diffuse around !
Grant to my weary flocks a cool retreat.
And screen them from the summer's raging beat ;
For now the year in brightest glory shines.
Now reddening clusters deck the bending vines.

* It was tihe property of fliis poisonous herb to distort the fea-
tures of tiiose wholiad eaten of it, in such a manneri that fliej
seemed to ex^in in an pgony of langbter*

l3

148. THE PASTORALS OF VIRGnL

THTSSU.

Here's wood for fuel ; here the fire displcyi
To all around its animating Maze ;
Black with continual-smoke.our posts appear;
Nor dread we more the rigour of the. year.
Than the fell wolf, the fearful lambkins dreads.
When he the helpless fold by night invades ;
Or swelling torrents^ headlong as they roU,
The weak resistance of the shatter'd mcde.

CORTDON.

Now yellow harvests wave on every field.
Now bending boughs the hoary cbesnut yield.
Now loaded trees resigpn their annual store.
And on the ground the mellow fruiti^ pour ;
Jocund, the face of Nature smiles, and gay ;
But if the fair Alexis were away.
Inclement drought the hardening soil would drain.
And streams no longer murmur o'er the plain.

THYRSIS.

A lalnguid hue the thirsty fields assume,
Parch'd to the root the flowers resign their bloom.
The faded vines refuse their hills to shade.
Their leafy verdure withered and decayed :
But if my Phyllis on these plains appear.
Again the groves their gayest green -shall, wear, ^ .
Again the clouds their copious moisture l«pd.
And in the genial rain shall Jove descend.

the: pastorals of virgil. 149

CORYDON.

Alcides* brows 4he poplar-leaves jBurround,
Apollo's beamy locks with bays are crown*d.
The myrtle^ lovely qiieen of. smiles^ .is thine.
And jolly Bacchus loves the curling vine ;
But while my Phyllis loves the hazel-spray^
To hazel yield the myrtle and the bay.

THTRSIS.

The fir, the hills ; the ash adorns the woods ;
The pine> the gardens ; and the poplar, floods.
If thou, my Lycidas, wilt deign to come.
And cheer thy shepherd's solitary home.
The ash so fair in woods, and garden-pine
Will own their beauty far excePd by thine.

MELIBGBUS.

So sung the swains, but Thyrsis strove in vain ;
Thus far I bear in mind th' alternate strain.
Young Corydon acquired unrivalM fame.
And still we pay a deference to his name*

150 THE PASTORALS OP VIRGIL

PASTORAL VlII .♦

DAMON^ ALPHBSIBCSUS.

Rereabsb we, PolUo, the enchanting strains

Alternate sung hy two contending swains.

ChannM by their songs, the hungry heifers stood

In deep amaze, unmindful of their food ;

The Ustening Ijrnxes laid their rage aside.

The streams were silent, and forgot to glide.

O thou, where'er thou lead'st thy conquering host.

Or by Timavu8,t or th* Illyrian coast !

When shall my Muse, transported with the theme^

In strains sublime my Pollio's deeds proclaim ; ^

And celebrate thy lays by all admir'd.

Such as of old Sophocles' Muse inspired ?

To thee, the patron of my rural songs.

To thee my first, my latest lay belongs.

Then let this humble ivy-wreath enclose,

Twin'd with triumphal bays, thy godlike brows.

* In this eighth pastoral no particular scene is described.
The poet hearses l^e songs of two contending swains, Damon
and Alphesibcens. The former adopts the soliloquy of a despair-
ing lover: the latter chooses for his subject the magic rites of
an enchantress forsaken by her lover, and recalling liim 1^ the
power of her spells.

t A river in Italy.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 151

What time the chill sky brightens with the dawn^
When cattle love to crop the dewy lawn.
Thus Damon to the woodlands wild complainM,
As 'gainst an olive's lofty trunk he leaned.

DAMOy.

Lead on the genial day, O star of mom !
While wretched I, all hopeless and forlorn.
With my last breath my fatal woes deplore.
And call the gods by whom false Nisa swore ;
Though they, regardless of a lover's pajn.
Heard her repeated vows, and heard in vain.
Beg^n, my pipe, the sweet Maenalian strain.''^

Blest Msenalus ! that hears the pastoral song
Still languishing its tuneful groves along !
That hears th' Arcadian god's celestial lay.
Who taught the idly-rusthng reeds to play !
That hears the singing pines ! that hears the swain
Of love's soft chains melodiously complain !
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Maenalian strain.

Mopsus the willing Nisa now enjoys —
What may not lovers hope from such a choice !

* This intercalary line (as it it called by the conunentaton)
which seems to be intended as a dioms or harden to the song,
is here made the tost of a triplet^ tiiat it may be as hidepeiident
of the context and the verse ui the transtotion as it is in the ori-
ginal,— Mvnahis was a moontaio of Arcadia.

153 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL.

Now mares and griffins shall their hate, resign, .

And the succeeding age shall: see them join

In friendsl^rp-'s tie ; now. mutual love, shall bring .

The dog and doe to sl^are the friendly spring. -

Scatter thy nuts, O Mopsus, and prepare

The nuptial torch to light the wedded fair.

Lo, Hesper hastens to the western main !

And thine the night of bliss — ^thine, happy swain !

Begin, my pipe, the sweet Msnalian strain.

Exult, O Nisa, in thy happy state !
Supremely blest in such a worthy mate ;
While you my beard detest, and bushy brow.
And think the gods forget the world below :
While you my flock and rural pipe disdain.
And treat with bitter scorn a faithful swain.
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Maanalian strain.

When first I saw you by your mother's side.
To where our apples grew I was your guide :
Twelve summers since my birth had roll'd around.
And I could reach the branches from the ground.
How did I gaze ! — how perish ! — ah how vain
The fond bewitching hopes that soothM my pain !
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Maenalian strain.

Too well I know thee. Love. From Scythian snows.
Or Lybia's burning sands the mischief rose.
Rocks adamantine nurs'd this foreign bane.
This fell invader of the peaceful plain.
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Msenalian strain. . . . '

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 153

LoFe taught the mother's* murdering hand to kill.
Her children's blood love bade the mother spill.
Was love the cruel cause ?t Or did the deed
From fierce unfeeling cruelty proceed ? • -

«

Both fillM her brutal bosom with their bane ;
Both urg'd the deed, while Nature shrunk in vain.
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Maenalian strain.

Now let the fearful lamb the wolf devour ;
Let alders blossom with Narcissus' flower ;
From barren shrubs let radiant amber flow ;
Let rugged oaks with golden fruitage glow ;
Let shrieking owls with swans melodious vie ;
Let Tityrus the Thracian numbers try.
Outrival Orpheus in the sylvan reign.
And emulate Arion on the main.
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Maenalian strain.

Let land no more the swelling waves divide ;
Esurth, be thou whelm'd beneath the boundless tide ;
Headlong from yonder promontory's brow
I plunge into the rolling deep below.
Farewel, ye woods ! farewel, thou flowery plain !
Hear the last lay of a despairing swain.
And cease, my pipe, the sweet Maenalian strain.

* Medea.

t This seems to be Virgil's meaning. The translator did not
choose to preserve the conceit on the words puer and mater in his
version ) as this (in his opinion) would have rendered the passage
obscure and nnpleasing to an Eni^ish reader.

154 THE PASTORALS OF VIROIL

Here Damon ceas'd. An^ now, ye taneftd Nine,
Alphesiboeiu' magic verse subjoin.
To his responsive song your aid we call^
Our power extends not equally to alL

ALPHK8IB<EUS.

•

Bring living waters from the silver stream.
With vervain and fat incense feed the flame :
With this soft wreath the sacred altars bind.
To move my cruel Daphnis to be kind.
And with my phrenzy to inflame his soul;
Charms are but wanting to complete the whok.
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms,
O bring my long-lost kwe, my powerfbl charms.

By powerful charms what prodigies are done !
Charms draw pale Cynthia from her silver thrcme ;
Charms burst the bloated snake, and Circe's* gaeils
By mighty magic charms were changed to beasts.
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms,
O bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms.

Three woollen wreathes, and each of triple dye.
Three times about thy image I apply.
Then thrice I bear it round the sacred shrine ;
Uneven numbers please the powers divine.
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms,
O bring my long-lost love, my powerfiil channs.

THB PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. . 155

Haste,' let three colours with three knots be join'di
And say, *' Thy fetters, Venus, thus I bind."
Bring Daphnis hmne, bring Daphnis to my arms,
O bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms.

As this soft clay is hardened by the flame.
And as this wax is softenM by the same.
My love, that hardenM Daphnis to disdain.
Shall soften his relenting heart again.
Scatter the salted com, and place the bays.
And with fat brimstone light the sacred blaze.
Daphnis my burning passion slights with scorn.
And Daphnis in this blazing bay I bum.
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms,
O bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms.

As when, to find her love, an heifer roams
Through trackless groves, and solitary glooms ;
Sick with desire, abandon^ to her woes.
By some lone stream her languid limbs she throws ;
There in deep anguish wastes the tedious night.
Nor thoughts of home her late return invite :
Thus may he love, and thus indulge his pain^
While I enhance his torments with disdain.
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms,
O bring my long4ost love, my pow^ul charms.

These robes beneath the threshold here I leave.
These pledges of his love, O Earth, receive.
Ye dear memorials of our mutual fire.
Of yon my faithless Dapbms I reqim^^ a LA 4fJ?>^

IG

156 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL.

Brin^Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms,
O bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms.

These deadly poisons, and these magic weeds, .
Selected from the store which Pontus breeds, .
Sage Moeris gave me ; oft I saw him prove
Their sovereign power; by these, .along the grove i
A prowling wolf the dread magician roams ; .
Now gliding ghosts from the profoundest tombs -
Inspired he calls ; the rooted corn he wings,
, And to strange fields the flying h&i-vest brings.
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms,
O bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms. .

These ashes from the altar take with speed.
And treading backwards cast them o'er your head
Into the running stream, nor turn your eye.
Yet this last spell, though hopeless, let me. try.
But nought can move the unrelenting swain, .
And spells, and magic verse, and gods are vain.
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms,
O bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms. ..

Lo, while I Hnger, with spontaneous fire
The ashes redden, and the flames aspire !
May this new prodigy auspicious prove !
What fearful hopes my beating bosom move !
Hark ! does not Hylax.bark ! — ye powers supreme.
Can it be real, or do lovers dream !—
He comes, my Daphnis comes ! forbear, my charms ;
M[y love^'my Daphnis flies to. bjesi. my longing an^s. .

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 157

PASTORAL IX *

LTCIDAS, MCERIS.

LTCIDAS.

Go you to town, my friend ? this beaten way
Conducts us thither.

MCERIS.

Ah ! the fatal day
The unexpected day at last is come,
Wl^en a rude alien drives us from our home.
Heiice, hence, ye clowns, th' usurper thus commands.
To me you must resign your ancient lands.
Thus helpless and forlorn we yield to fate ;
And our rapacious lord to mitigate

* This and the first eclogue seem to have been written on the
same occasion. The time is a still evening. The landscape is
described at the 97th line of this translation. On one side of
tiie highway is an artificial arbour, where Lycidas invites Mceris
to rest' a little firom the fatigue of his journey : and at a consi*
derable distance appears a sepulchre by the way-side, where the
aDdeht sepulchres were commonly erected.

The critics with one voice seem to condemn this eclogue as
oowortfay of its author ; I know not for what good reason. The
nuni^ b«antifnl fines scattered through it woold, one might think,
Iw no weak recommendatioDt But it is by no means to be reck*

oned

158 THE PASTORALS OF VIRBIL

This brace of kids a present I design^
Which load with curses, O ye powers difine !

LTCIDAS,

^was said, Menalcas with his tuneful strains
Had sav'd the grounds of all the neighbouring swains,
From where the hill, that terminates the vale»
In easy risings first begins to swell.
Far as the blasted beech that mates the sky.
And the clear stream that gently murmurs by.

MCERIS,

Such was the voice of fame ; but muuc's chamu^
Amid the dreadful clang of warlike arms.
Avail no more, than the Chaonian dove.
When down the sky descends the bird of Jo¥e.
And had not the prc^hetic raven spoke
His dire presages from the hollow oak.

oneda loose collection of incoherent fifagmenti; its princ^
parts tre all strictly coimected, and refer to a certaiB end, and
its allniioiiii and images are wfaoDy salted to pastoial life. Ill
subject, though uncommoo, is not improper ; for what is more
mitunly than that two shepherds, when occasbiially nei^tioBiQi
the good qualities of tiieir ahient friend, partiealaify Ids poetteal
talents, diould repeat such fragments ^ his soo^ as th^ le-
coUeeted.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 159

^d often warnM me to avoid debate^
And with a patient mind submit to fate«
Ne'er bad thy Moeris seen this fatal hour>
And that melodious swain had been no more.

LYCIDAS.

What horrid breast such impious thoughts could
breed !
What barbarous hand could make Menalcas bleed !
Could every tender Muse in him destroy.
And from the shepherds ravish all their joy !
For who but he the lovely nymphs could sing.
Or paint the vallies with the purple spring ?
Who shade the fountains from the glare of day ?
Who but Menalcas could compose the lay.
Which, as we journey*d to my love's abode,
I softly sung to cheer the lonely road ?
*' Tityrus, while I am absent, feed the flock,*
And, having fed, conduct them to the brook*
(The way is short, and I shall soon return)
But shun the he-goat with the butting h<Mm.''

* These lines, which Virgil has translated litertUy from Theo-
critas, may be supposed to be a fragment of the poem mention-
ed in the preceding verses ; or, what is morp likely, to be spoken
by Lycidas to his servant^ something similar to which may be
seen Past. 5. v. 20. of this translation. — ^The origmal is here re-
markably explicit, even to a degree of aflfeetatioa. This the
translator has endeavoored to imitate.

■■^^^^^^■^--■^

IfiO THE PASTORALS OF VmGHDL.

MOCRIS.

Or who could finish the imperfect lays
Sung by Menalcas to his Varus' praise ?
" If fortune yet shall spare the Mantuan swains.
And save from plundering hands our peaceful plains^
Nor doom us sad Cremona's fate to share,
(For ah ! a neighbour's woe excites our fear)
Then high as Heaven our Varus' fame shall rise.
The warbling swans shall bear it to the skies.''

LYCIDAS.

Go on, dear swain, these pleasing songs pursue ;
So may thy bees avoid the bitter yew.
So may rich herds thy fruitful fields adorn.
So may thy cows with stnitting dugs return.
Even I with poets have obtained a name.
The Muse inspires me with poetic flame ;
Th' applauding shepherds to my songs attend.
But I suspect my skill, though they commend*
I dare not hope to please a Cinna's ear.
Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear.
Harsh are the sweetest lays that I can bring.
So screams a goose where swans melodious sing.

MCERIS.

This I am pondering, if I can rehearse
The lofly numbers of that laboured verse*. •

•\

tHE I^ASTORALS OF VIRGIL 161

'' Come Galatea, leave the rollir^ seas ;
Can rugged rocks and heaving surges please?
Come> taste the pleasures of our sylvan bowers,
Onr balmy-breathing gales, ahd fragrant flowers.
See, how our plains rejoice on every side.
How crystal streams through blooming vallies glid^ :
O'er the cool grot the whitening poplars bend.
And clasping vines their grateful umbrage lend.
Come, beauteous nymph, forsake the briny wave
Loud on the beach let the wild billows rave.''

LtClDAS.

Or what you sung one evening on the plain— •
The air, but not the words, I yet retain.

M<tRlS.

'' Why Daphnis, dost thou calculate the skietf.
To know when ancient constellations rise }f
Lo, Csesar's star its radiant light displays.
And on the nations sheds propitious rays«
On the glad hills the reddening clusters glow.
And smiling plenty decks the plains below.
Now graff thj^ears ; the star of Cesar reigns.
To thy remotest race the fruit remains.**
The rest I have forgot, for length of years
Deadens the sense, and memory impairs*

a <

1 1

162 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL

All things in time submit to sad decay ;
Oft have we sung whole summer suns away.
These v.anish'd joys must Mceris now deplore.
His voice delights, his numbers charm no more ;
Him have the wolves beheld, bewitchM his song,*
Bewitched to silence his melodious tongue.
But your desire Menalcas can fulfil.
All these, and more, he sings with matchless skill.

LTCtDAS.

These faint excuses which my Moeris frames
But heighten my desire.— =-And now the streams
In slumber-soothing murmurs softly flow }
And now the sighing breeze hath ceas'd to blow.
Half of our way is past, for I descry
Bianor's tomb just rising to the eye.f
Here in this leafy arbour ease your toil.
Lay down your kids, and let us sing the while :
We soon shall reach the town ; or, lest a storm
Of sudden rain the evening-sky deform.
Be yours to cheer the journey with a song,
Eas'd of your load, which I shall bear along.

* In Italia creditor Inpomm visas esse nozios; voceniqoe ho-
mini qaem priores contemplentur adimere ad praesens.

pum. N. H. rm. ft.

t Bianor is said to have founded Mantna.

Sbryius.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 168

MGBRIS.

No more> my friend ; your kind entreaties spare^
And let our journey be our present care ;
Let fate restore our absent friend again,
Then gladly I Presume the tuneful strain.

PASTORAL X.*

GALLI7S.

I o my last labour lend thy sacred aid,

O Arethusa : that the cruel maid

With deep remorse may read the mournful song.

For mournful lays to Gallus* love belong.

* The scene of &is pastoral is very accnrately delineated.
We belidld the fbrlom Gallus stretched along beneath a solitary
diffy his flocks standing round him at some distance. A group
of deities and swains encircle him, each of whom is particularly
described. On one side we see the shepherds with their crooks;
next to them the neatherds, known by the clumsiness of their
appearance; and next to these Menalcas with his clothes wet,
as just come firom beating or gathering winter-ma^t. On the
•ther side we observe Ap<||lo with his usual insignia ; Sylvanus
erown'd with flowers, and brandishing in his hand the long lilies
and flowering fennel; and last of all Pftn, the god of shepherds,

-known
m2

164 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL.

(What Muse in sympathy will not bestow
Some tender strains to sooth my Gallus' woe^)
So may thy waters pure of briny stain
Traverse the waves of the Sicilian main*
Sing mournful Muse, of Gallus' luckless love*
While the goats browse along the cliffs above.
Nor silent is the waste while we complain.
The woods return the long-resounding strain.

Whither, ye fountain -nymphs, were ye withdrawn/
To what lone woodland, or what devious lawn.
When Gallus' bosom languish'd with the fire
Of hopeless love, and unallay'd desire ?
Por neither by th' Aonian spring you strayM,
Nor roamM Parnassus' heights, nor Pindua' hallow'd

shade.
The pines of Msenalus were heard to mourn.
And sounds of woe along the groves were bom.
And sympathetic tears the laurel shed.
And humbler shrubs declin'd their drooping head.
AJl wept his fate, when to despair resigned
Beneath a desert-cliff he lay reclinM.

known by his ruddy smiling countenance^ and tiie other
arities of his form.

Gallus was a Roman of very considerable rank, a poet of no
small estimation, and an intimate friend of Virgil. He, loved to
distraction one Cy theris (here called Lycoris) who aliglittd hiVf
and followed Antony into Gaul.

THE PASTORALS OF VIBGIL. 16S

Lyceus' rocks Vere hung with many a tear«

And round the swain his flocks forlorn appear.

Nor scorn, celestial bard, a poet's name ;

Renown'd Adonis by the lonely stream

Tended his jQock. — ^As thus he lay along.

The swains and aukward neatherds round him throng.

Wet from the winter-mast Menalcas came*

All ask, what beauty raised the fatal flame«

The god of verse vouchsafed to join the rest ;

He said, " What phrensy thus torments thy breast ?

While she, thy darling, thy Lycoris, scorns

Thy proffer'd lo?e, and for another burns.

With whom o*er winter-wastes she wanders far,

'Midst camps, and clashing arms, and boisterous war/'

Sylvanus came with rural garlands crown'd.

And wav'd the lilies long, and flowering fennel round.

Next we beheld the gay Arcadian god ;

His smiling cheeks with bright vermilion glow'd.

^' For ever wilt thou heave the bursting sigh ?

Is love regardful of the weeping eye ?

Love is not cloy'd with tears ; alas, ' no more

Than bees luxurious with the balmy flowV,

Than goats with foliage, than the grassy plain

With silver rills and sa{i refreshing rain.''

]Pan spoke ; and thus the youth with grief opprest ;

^' Arcadians, hear, O hear my last request ;

O ye, to whom the sweetest lays belong,

O let my sorrows on your hilb be sung :

166 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGU;

If your soft flutes shall celebrate my woes.

How will my bones in deepest peace repose !

Ah had I been with you a country-swain.

And prun*d the vine, and fed the bleating train j

Had Phyllis, or some other rural fair.

Or black Amyntas been my darling care ;

(Beauteous though black ; what lovelier flower is seen

Than the dark violet on the painted green ?}

These in the bower had yielded all their charms.

And sunk with mutual raptures in my arms :

Phyllis had crown'd my head with garlands gay,

Amyntas sung the pleasing hours away.

Here, O Lycoris, purls the hmpid spring.

Bloom all the meads, and all the woodlands sing }

Here let me press thee to my panting breast.

Till youth, and joy, and life itself be past.

BanishM by love o'er hostile lands I stray.

And mingle in the battle's dread array;

Whilst thou, relentless to my constant flame,

(Ah could I disbelieve the voice of fame !)

Far from thy home, unaided and forlorn.

Far from thy love, thy faithful love, art bom.

On the bleak Alps with chilling blasts to pine.

Or wander waste along the frozen Rhine.

Ye icy paths, O spare her tender form !

O spare those heavenly charms, thou wintry storm |

" Hence let me hasten to some desert-grove.
And soothe with 9^ongs my long-unanswered loref

THE PASTORALS OF VraCIL. 167

I go, in some lone wilderaess to suit

Euboean lays to my Sicilian flute.

Better with beasts of prey to make abode

In the deep cayem, or the darksome wood ;

And carve on trees the story of my woe.

Which with the growing bark shall ever grow.

Meanwhile with woodland-nymphs, a lovely throng.

The winding groves of Msenalus along

I roam at large ; or chace the foaming boar 9

Or with sagacious hounds the wilds explore.

Careless of cold. And now methinks I bound

O'er roeks and cliffs, and hear the woods resound ;

And now with beating heart I seem to wing

The Cretan arrow from the Parthian string —

As if I thus my phrensy could forego.

As if love's god could melt at human woe.

Alas ! nor nymphs nor heavenly songs delight-7-

Farewel, ye groves ! the gloves no more invite.

No pains^ no miseries of man can move

The unrelenting deity of love.

To quench your thirst in Jiebrus* Irozen flood.

To make the Scythian snows your drear abode ;

Qt feed your flock on Ethiopian plains.

When Sirius' fiery constellation reigns,

(When deep-imbrown'd the languid herbage lies.

And in the elm the vivid verdure dies)

Were all in vain. Love's unresisted sway

Extends to all, and we must love obey.'^

168 THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL

Tis done ; ye Nine, here ends your poet^s Itniii
In pity Bun^ to soothe his GaUiu* pain.
While leaning on a flowery bank I twine
The flexile osiers, and the basket join.
Celestial Nine, your sacred influence bring.
And soothe my Gallus* sorrows while I sing :
Callus, my much belovM ! for whom 1 feel
The flame of purest friendship rising still :
So by a brook the verdant alders rise.
When fostering zephyrs fan the vernal skies.

Let us be gone : at eve, the shade annoys
With noxious damps, and hurts the singer's voice ;
The juniper breathes bitter vapours round.
That kill the springing com, and blast the groun4»
Homeward, my sated goats, now let us hie ;
Lo beamy Hesper gilds the western sky.

MJA*t^n^Mti4,A^€t*tftg^3'^aa4o^M^ roar
^ ^ Mihitrtl. Beo/tT.vrrJir.

169

THE MINSTREL:

on,
THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS.

PREFACE.

The design was, to trace the progress of a poetical
genius/ bom in a rude age, from the first dawning of
faticy and reason, till that period at which he may be
supposed capable of appearing in the wbrld as a Miiir
strel> that is, as an itinerant poet and musician ; — a
character which, according to the notions of our fore*?
fathers, was not only respectable, but sacred.

I have endeavoured to imitate Spenser in the mea«
sure of his verse, and in the harmony, simplicity, and
variety of his composition. Antique expressions I have
avoided; admitting, however, some old words, where
they seemed to suit the subject : but I hope none will
be found that are now obsolete, or in any degree not
intelligible to a reader of English poetry.

To those, who may be disposed to ask, what could
induce me to write in so difficult a measure, I can only
answer, that it pleases my ear, and seems, from its

170 THE MINSTREL.

gothic structure and original, to bear some relation to
the subject and spirit of the poem. It admits both
simplicity and magnificence of sound and of language,
beyond any other stanza that I am acquainted with.
It allows the sententiousness of the couplet, as well as
the more complex modulation of blank verse. What
wme critics have remarked, of ite uniformity growing
at last tiresome to the ear, will be found to hold true^
only when the poetry is faulty in other respects.

BOOK I.

Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb

The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar ;

Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime

Has felt the influence of malignant star.

And waged with Fortune an eternal war ;

CheckM by the scoflP of Pride, by Envy's frown.

And Poverty's unconquerable bar.

In life's low vale remote has pined alone.

Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown !

And yet the languor of inglorious days,
Kot equally oppressive is to all ;
Him, who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise.
The silence of neglect can ne'er appal.

THE MINSTREL. 171

There are> who, deaf to mad Ambition's call.
Would shrink to hear th' obstreperous trump of Fame ;
Supremely blest, if to their portion fall
Health, compe^nce, and peace. Nor higher aim
Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim^

The rolls of fame I will not now explore ;
Nor need I here describe, in learned lay.
How forth the Minstrel far'd in days of yore.
Right glad of heart, though homely in array ;
His waving locks and beard all hoary grey :
While from his bending shoulder, decent hung
His harp, the sole companion of his way.
Which to the whistling wild responsive rung :
And ever as he went some merry lay he sung.

Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride,
Th^t a poor villager inspires my strain ;
With thee let Pageantry and Power abide ;
The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign ;
Where through wild groves at eve the lonely swain
Enraptured roams, to gaze on Nature's charms.
They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain.
The parasite their influence never warms.
Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms.

Though richest hues the peaeock*s plumes adorn.
Yet horro^r screams from his discordant throaty

ITS THE MINSTREL.

Rise, sons of harmony^ and hail the morn^
While warbling larks on russet pinions float:
Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote.
Where the grey linnets carol from the hilL
O let them ne'er, with artificial note.
To please a tyrant, strain the little bill.
But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander where
they will.

Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand ;

Nor was perfection made for man below.

Yet all her schemes with nicest art are plannM,

Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe.

With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow ;

If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise ;

There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow;

Here peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies.

And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes.

Then grieve not, thou, to whom th' indulgent Muse
Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire :
Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse
Th' imperial banquet, and the rich attire.
Know thine own worth, and reverence the lyre.
Wilt thou debase the heart which God refin'd ?
No ; let thy heaven-taught soul to Heaven aspire.
To fancy, freedom, harmony, resigned ;
Ambition's groveling crew for ever left behind.

THE MINSTREL. 173

Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul
In each fine sense so exquisitely keen.
On the dull couch of Luxury to \o\\,
Stung with disease, and stupefied with spleen ;
Fain to implore the aid of Flattery's screen,
Even from thyself thy loathsome heart to hide,
(The mansion then no more of joy serene).
Where fear, distrust, malevolence, abide.
And impotent desire, and disappointed pride }

O how canst thou renounce the boundless store

Of charms which Nature to her votary yields !

The warbling woodland, the resounding shore.

The pomp of groves, and garniture 6f fields ;

All that the genial ray of morning gilds.

And all that echoes to the song of even.

All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields.

And all the dread magnificence of Heaven,

O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven ?

These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health.
And love, and gentleness, and joy, impart.
But these thou must renounce, if lust of wealth
E'er win it's way to thy corrupted heart :
For ah ! it poisons like a scorpion's dart ;
Prompting th' ungenerous wish, the selfish scheme.
The stern resolve unmov'd by pity's smart.
The troublous day, and long distressful dream.
Return my roving Muse, resume thy purposed theme.

^.

4

174 THE MINSTREL.

There lived in Gothic days, as legends tell,

A shepherd-swain, a man of low degree ;

Whose sires, perchance, in Fairyland might dwells

Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady ;

But he, I ween, was of the north countrie ;*

J^ nation famM for song, and beauty's charms ;

Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;

Patient of toil ; serene amidst alarms ;

Inflexible in faith ; invincible in arms.

The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made.
On Scotia's mountains fed his little flock ;
The sickle, scythe, or plough, he never sway*d ;
An honest heart was almost all his stock ;
His drink the living water from the rock :
The milky dams supplied his board, and lent
Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's shock ;
And he, though ofl with dust and sweat besprent.
Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoever
they went.

From labour health, from health contentment springs :
Contentment opes the source of every joy.

* There is hardly an ancient ballad, or romance, wherein a
Minstrel or a Harper appears, but he is characterized, by way of
eminence, to have been ** of the north conntrie.'' It is proba«
ble, that nnder this appellation were formerly comprehended all
the provinces to the north of the Trent. See Percy's Essay on
the English Minstrels.

THE MINSTREU 17S

He envied not, he nerer thought of, kings ;

Nor from those appetites sustained annoy.

That chance may frustrate, or indulgence cloy :

Nor Fate his calm and humble hopes beguiled ;

He mourned no recreant friend, nor mistress coy.

For on his vows the blameless Phoebe smiled.

And her alone he loved, and loved her from a chikL

No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast.

Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife ;

Each season lookM delightful as it past.

To the fond husband, and the faithful wife.

Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd life

They never roam'd ; secure beneath the stoni>

Which in Ambition's lofty land is rife.

Where peace and love are canker'd by the worm

Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to defornu

The wight, whose tale these artless lines unfold.

Was all the offspring of this humble pair :

His birth no oracle or seer foretold ;

No prodigy appeared in earth or air.

Nor aught that might a strange event declare.

You guess each circumstance of Edwin's birth ;

The parent's transport, and the parent's care ;

The gossip's prayer for wealth, and wit, and worth;

And one long summer-day of indolence and mirtlk

HWfCm!iri '' ' • ■i .

4t

176 THE BONSTREL.

And yet poor Edwin was no rulgar boy»
Deep thought oft seem'd to fix bis infant eye.
Dainties be heeded not, nor gaude, nor toy.
Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy :
Silent when glad ; affectionate, though shy ;
And now bis look was most demurely sad ;
And now he laughed a1oud> yet none knew why.
The neighbours star'd and sighed, yet bkss'd the lad :
Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some beliered
him mad.

But why should I his childish feats display ?
Concoune, and noise, and toil, he ever fled;
Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous firay
Of squabbling imps ; but to the fortst sped.
Or roamM at large the lonely mountain's head.
Or, where the maze of some bewildered stream
To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led.
There would he wander wild, till I^oebus' beam.
Shot from the western cliff, released the weary team*

Th' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed.

To him nor vanity nor joy could bring.

His heart, from cruel sport estranged, would bleed

To work the woe of any living thing.

By trap, or net ; by arrow, or by sling ;

These he detested ; those he scorned to wield 3

He wished to be the guardian, not the king.

THE MINSTREL. 177

Tyrant far less, or traitor of the field.

And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield.

Lo ! where the stripling, wrapt in wonder, roves
Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine ;
And sees, on high, amidst th' encircling groves.
From cliff to cUffthe foaming torrents shine :
While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join.
And Echo, swells the chorus to the skies.
Would Edwin this majestic scene resign
For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies ?
Ah ! no : he better knows great Nature's charms lo
prize.

And oft he traced the uplands, to survey.
When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn.
The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain grey.
And lake, dim-gleaming on the smoky lawn :
Far to the west the long long vale withdrawn.
Where twilight loves to linger for a while ;
And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn.
And villager abroad at early toil.
Butlo! the Sun appears! and heaven, earth, ocean,
smile.

And oft Uie craggy cliff he loved to climb.
When all in mist the world below was lost.
What dreadful pleasure ! there to stand sublime.
Like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast,

N

178 THE MINSTREL.

And view th' enormous waste of vapour^ tost

In billows, lengthening to th' horizon round.

Now scoop'd in gulfs, with mountains now emboss'd !

And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound.

Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the boat profound!

In truth he was a strange and wayward wight.
Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene.
In darkness, and in storm, he found delight :
Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene
The southern Sun diffused his dazzling sbene.''*'
Even sad vicissitude amused his soul :
And if a sigh would sometimes intervene.
And down his cheek a tear of pity roll,
A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wishM not to control.

'' O ye wild groves, O where is now your bloom !"
(The Muse interprets thus his tender thought)
'' Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom^
Of late so grateful in the hour of drought 1
Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought
To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake ?
Ah ! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought ?
For now the storm howls mournful thro' the brake.
And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake.

* Brightness, splendour. The word b used by some hte
writers, as well as by Milton,

^

THE MINSTREL. 179

" Where now the riU^ melodious^ pure^ and coo]^
And mead^ with life^ and mirth, and beauty crown'd 1
Ah ! see, th' unsightly slime, and sluggish pool.
Have all the solitary vale embrowned ;
Fled each fair form, and mute each melting sound.
The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray :
And hark ! the river, bursting every mound,
Down the vale thunders, and with wasteful sway
Uproots the grove, and rolls the shattered rocks away.

*' Yet such the destiny of all on Earth :

So flourishes and fades majestic Man.

Fair is the bud his vernal mom brings forth.

And fostering gales a while the nursling fan.

O smile, ye Heavens, serene ; ye mildews wan.

Ye blightiiig whirlwinds, spare his balmy prime.

Nor lessen of his life the little span.

Borne on the swifl, though silent, wings of Time,

Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clim^.

'* And be it so. Let those deplore their doom.
Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn :
But lofly souls, who look beyond the tomb.
Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.
Shall Spring to these sad scenes no more return ?
Is yonder wave the Sun's eternal bed ?
SM>n shall the orient with new lustre bum^

180 THE MINSTREL.

And Spring shall soon her vital influence shed.
Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead.

" Shall I be left forgotten in the dust.
When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ?
Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust.
Bid him, though doomed to perish, hope to live }
Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive
With disappointment, penury, and pain ?
No : Heaven's immortal springs shall yet arrive.
And man's majestic beauty bloom again.
Bright thro' th' eternal year of Love's triumphant
reig^."

This truth sublime his simple sire had taught.

In sooth, 'twas almost all the shepherd knew.

No subtile nor superfluous lore he sought.

Nor ever wish'd his Edwin to pursue.

" Let man's own sphere" said he '* confine his view.

Be man's peculiar work his sole delight." •

And much, and oft, he wam'd him, to eschew

Falsehood and guile, and aye maintain the right.

By pleasure unseduc'd, unaw'd by lawless might.

" And, from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Woe,

O never, never turn away thine ear !

Forlorn, in this bleak wilderness below.

Ah ! what were man, should Heaven refuse to hear !

To others do (the law is not severe]

THE MINSTBEU 181

What to thyself thoti wishett to be done.
Forgive thy foes ; and love thy parents dear^
And friends^ and native land ; nor those alone ;
AU human weal and woe learn thou to make thine
own/'

See^ m the rear of the warm sunny shower
The visionary boy from shelter fly ;
For now the storm of summer^rain is o'er^
And coo1« and fresh, and fragrant is the sky.
And, lo ! in the dark east, expanded high.
The rainbow brightens to the setting Sun !
Fond fool, that deem'st the streaming glory nigh.
How vain the chace thine ardour has begun !
'Tis fled afar, ere half thy purposed race be run.

Yet couldst thou learn, that thus it fares with age.
When pleasure, wealth, or power, the bosom warm.
This baffled hope might tame thy manhood's rage.
And disappointment of her sting disarm.
But why should foresight thy fond heart alarm?
Perish the lore that deadens young desire ;
Pursue, poor itnp, tV in\.aginary charm^
Indulge gay hope, and fancy's pleasing ^re :
Fancy and hope too sooi^ sb^U pf theipselyes expire.

When the long«80unding curfew from afar
Loaded with loud lauijieat the lonely galcj

189 THE minstrel:

Young Edwin, lighted by the evening star.
Lingering and listening, wander'd down the vale.
There would he dream of graves, and corses pale ;
And ghosts th^t to the chamel-dungeon throng.
And drag a length of clanking chain, and wail.
Till silenced by the owl's terrific song.
Or blast that shrieks by fits the shuddering isles along*

Or, when the setting Moon, in crimson dyed.

Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep.

To haunted stream, remote from man, he hied.

Where fays of yore their revels wont to keep ;

And there let Fancy rove at large, till sleep

A vision brought to his entranced sight.

And first, a wildly murmuring wind 'gan creep

Shrill to his ringing ear ; then tapers bright.

With instantaneous gleam, illumed the vault of night,

Anon in view a portal's blazon'd arch
Arose ; the trumpet bids the valves unfold ;
And forth an host of little warriors march,
Grasping the diamond lai>ce, and targe of gdd.
Their look was gentle, their demeanor bold.
And green their helms, and green their silk attire ;
And here and there, right venerably old.
The long-rob'd minstreb wake the warblinff wire.
And some with mellow breath the martial pipe in?
spire.

THE MINSTBEL. 183

With merriment^ arid song, and timbrels clear,
A troop of dames from myrtle bowers advance ;
The little warriors doff the targe and spear.
And loud enlivening strains provoke the dance.
They meet, they d^rt away, they wheel askance ;
To right, to left, they thrid the flying maze ;
Now bound aloft with vigorous spring, then glance
Kapid along : with many-coloured rays
Of tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing forests blaze.

The dream is fled. Proud harbinger of day.
Who scar^d'^t the vision with thy clarion shrilL
Fell chanticleer ! who oft hath reft away
My fancied good, and brought substantial ill !
O to thy cursed scream, discordant ^till.
Let harmony aye shut her gentle ear ;
Thy boastful mirth let jealous rivals spill.
Insult thy crest, and glossy pinions tear.
And ever in thy dreams the ruthless fox appear.

Forbear, my Muse. Let Love attune thy line.
Revoke the ^>ell. Thine Edwin frets not so.
For how should he at wicked chance repine.
Who feels from every change amusement flow !
Even now his eyes with smiles of rapture glow.
As on he wanders through the scenes of mom.
Where the fresh flowers in living lustre blow.
Where thousand pearls, the dewy lawns adorn,
A thousand notes of joy in every breeze .are borne.

184 THE MINSTREL.

But wbo the melodies of morn can tell ?

The wjld brook babbling down the mountain side ;

The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ;

The pipe of early shepherd dim descried

In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide

The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ;

The hollow murmur of the ocean -tide ;

The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love.

And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.

The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark ;
Crown'd with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings ;
The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, haric!
Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings ;
Through rustling com the hare astonished springs ;
Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour ;
The partridge bursts away on whirring wings ;
Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower.
And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tour.

O Nature, how in every charm supreme !

Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new!

O for the voice and fire of seraphim.

To sing thy glories with devotion due !

Blest be the day I 'scap'd the wrangling crew.

From Pyrrho's maze, and Epicurus' sty;

And held high converse with the godlike few.

Who to th* enraptur'd heart, and ear, and eye.

Teach beauty, virtue, trutli, and love, and melodf •

THE MINSTREL. 185

Hence 1 ye^ who snare and stupefy the mind.
Sophists, of heauty, virtue^ joj, the bane !
Greedy and felt though impotent and blind.
Who spread your filthy nets in Truth's fair fane.
And eyer ply your venom'd fangs amain !
Hence to dark Error's den, whose rankling slime
First gave you form! Hence! lest the Muse should

deign,
(Though loth on theme so mean to waste a rhyme).
With vengeance to pursue your sacrilegious crime.

But hail, ye mighty masters of the lay.

Nature's true sons, the friends of man and truth !

Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay,

Amus'd my childhood, and informed my youth.

O let your spirit still my bosom soothe.

Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings guide !

Your voice each rugged path of life can smoothe.

For well I know where-ever ye reside.

There harmony, and peace, and innocence abide.

Ah ine ! neglected on the lonesome plain.
As yet poor Edwin never knew your lore.
Save w))en against the winter's drenching rain.
And driving snow, the cottage shut the door.
Then, as instructed by tradition hoar.
Her legend when the beldame 'gan impart, .
Or chant the old heroic ditty o'er.

186 THE MINSTREL.

Wonder and joy ran thrilling to his heart ;

Much he the tale admir'd^ but more the tuneful art.

Various and strange was the long-winded tale ;

And halls^ and knights^ and feats of arms displayed ;

Or merry swains^ who quaff the nut-brown ale.

And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid ;

The moon-light revel of the fairy glade ;

Or hags^ that suckle an infernal brood.

And ply in caves th' unutterable trade,*

'Midst fiends and spectres, quench the Moon in blood,

Yell in the midnight storm, or ride th' infuriate ^ood*

But when to horrour his amazement rose,

A gentler strain the beldame would rehearse,

A tale of rural life, a tale of woes.

The orphan-babes, and guardian uncle fierce,

O cruel ! will no pang of pity pierce

That heart, by lust of lucre sear'd to stone i

For sure, if aught of virtue last, or verse.

To latest times shall tender souls bemoan

Those hopeless orphan-babes by thy fell arts undone,

* Allosion to Shakespeare.

Mlacbetk. How now, ye secret, blacky and midnight hags.
What is 't ye do?

WUduB, A deed without a name*

Macbeihf Ad^ JSeem 1,

THE MINSTREL. 187

Behold^ with berries ^mear'd, with brambles torn,*
The babes now famish'd lay them down to die :
Amidst the howl of darksome woods forlorn.
Folded in one another's arms they lie ;
Nor friend, nor stranger, hears their dying cry :
" For from the town the man returns no more/'
But thou, who Heaven's just vengeance dar'st defy.
This deed with fruitless tears shalt soon deplore.
When Death lays waste thy house, and flames consume
thy store.

A stifled smile of stem vindictive joy
Brighten'd one moment Edwin's starting tear,
" But why should gold man's feeble mind decoy.
And innocence thus die by doom severe ?"
O Edwin ! while thy heart is yet sincere,
Th' assaults of discontent and doubt repel ;
Dark even at noontide is our mortal sphere ;
But let us hope ; to doubt is to rebel ;
Let us exult in hope, that all shall yet be well.

Nor be thy generous indignation check'd.

Nor check'd the tender tear to Misery given ;

From Guilt's contagious power shall that protect.

This soften and reflne the soul for Heaven.

But dreadful is their doom, whom doubt has driven

* See the fine old ballad called, The ChUdren ia tiie Wood.

188 THE MINSTREL.

To censure Fate, and pious Hope forego :
Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven.
Perfection, beauty, life, they never know.
But frown on all that pass, a monument of woe.

Shall he, whose birth, maturity, and age.
Scarce fill the circle of one summer day.
Shall the poor gnat, with discontent and rage
^Exclaim that Nature hastens to decay.
If but a cloud obstruct the solar ray.
If but a momentary shower descend !
Or shall frail man Heaven's dread decree gainsay.
Which bade the series of events extend
Wide thro' unnumber'd worlds, and agea without
end !

One part, one little part, we dimly scan

Thro' the dark medium of life's feverish dream ;

Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan.

If but that little part incongruous seem.

Nor is that part perhaps what mortals deem ;

Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise.

O then renounce that impious self-esteem.

That aims to trace the secrets of the skies :

For thou art but of dust ; be humble, and be wise.

Thus Heaven enlarg'd his soul in riper years.
For Nature gav^ him strength, and fire, to soar

THE MINSTREL. 189

On Fancy*8 wing above this vale of tears ;
Where dark cold-hearted sceptics, creeping, pore
Through microscope of metaphysic lore :
And much they grope for Truth, but never hit
For why ? Their powers, inadequate before.
This idle art makes more and more unfit ;
Yet deem they darkness light, and their vain blunders
wit

Nor was this ancient dame a foe to mirth.

Her ballad, jest, and riddle's quaint device

Oft cheer'd the shepherds round their social hearth;

Whom levity or spleen could ne'er entice

To purchase chat, or laughter, at the price

Of decency. Nor let it faith exceed.

That Nature forms a rustic taste so nice.

Ah ! had they been of court or city breed.

Such delicacy were right marvellous indeed^

Oft when the winter storm had ceas'd to rave.
He roam'd the snowy waste at even, to view
The cloud stupendous, from th' Atlantic wave
High-towering, sail along th' horizon blue :
Where, 'midst the changeful scenery, ever new.
Fancy a thousand wondrous forms descries.
More wildly great than ever pencil drew.
Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size.
And glittering cliffs on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise*

190 TIIE MINSTREL.

Thence mtuing onward to the founding shore.
The lone enthiuiaft oft would take his way,
Liiiteninf^, with pleasing dread, to the deep roar
Of the wi^k'-weliffing waves. In black array
When sujphurouit clouds roll'd on th' autumnal day.
Even then he ha%ten'd from the haunt of man.
Along the trembling wilderness to stray.
What time the lightning's fierce career began.
And o'er Heay'n's rending arch the rattling thunder
ran.

Responsive to the sprightly pipe, when all
In sprightly dance the village youth were joined,
Edwin, of melody aye held in thrall.
From the rude gambol far remote reclin'd,
SoothM with the soft notes warbling in the wind.
Ah then, ail jollity seem'd noise and folly.
To the pure soul by Fancy's fire refin'd.
Ah, what is mirth but turbulence unholy.
When with the charm compar'd of heavenly melan-
choly !

Is there a heart that music cannot melt ?

Alas ! how is that rugged heart forlorn ;

Is there, who ne'er those mystic transports felt

Of solitude and melancholy born?

He needs not woo tlic Muse ; he is her scorn.

tj€ai^sTLat/V« ^ /At .^r^A^^ Ji^k^.wAen' a£

THE MINSTREL. 191

The sophist's rope of cobweb he shall twine ;
Mope o'er the schoolman's peevish page ; or mourn^
And delve for life in Mammon's dirty mine ;
Sneak with the scoundrel fox^ or grunt with glutton
swine.

For Edwin^ Fate a nobler doom had plann'd ;
Song was his favourite and first pursuit.
The wild harp rang to his advent'rous hand^
And languish'd to his breath the plaintive flute.
His infant Muse^ though artless^ was not mute :
Of elegance as yet he took no care ;
For this of time and culture is the fruit ;
And Edwin gain'd at last this fruit so rare :
As in some future verse I purpose to declare.

Meanwhile^ whate'er of beautiful^ or new.
Sublime, or dreadful, in earth, sea, or sky.
By chance, or search, was ofFer'd to his view.
He scan'd with curious and romantic eye.
Whate'er of lore tradition could supply
From gothic tale, or song, or fable old,
Bous'd him, still keen to listen and to pry.
At last, though long by penury control'd.
And solitude, her soul his graces 'gan unfold.

Thus on the chill Lapponian's dreary land.
For many a long month lost in snow profound.

192 THE MINSTREL.

When Sol from Cancer sends the season bland^
And in their northern cave the storms are bound ;
From silent mountains^ straight^ with startling sound.
Torrents are hurlM ; green hills emerge ; and lo.
The trees with foliage, cliffs with flowers are crowned ;
Pure rills through vales of verdure warbling go ;
And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant's heart over-
flow.*

Here pause, my gothic lyre, a little while.
The leisure hour is all that thou canst claim.
But on this verse if Montague should smile.
New strains ere long shall animate thy frame.
And her applause to me is more than fame ;
For still with truth accords her taste refined.
At lucre or renown let others aim,
I only wish to please the gentle mind.
Whom Nature's charms inspire, and love of human-
kind.

* Spring and Autumn are hardly known to the lAplaaden.
About the time the tun enters Cancer, their fieUISy which a week
before were covered with snow, appear on a sudden full of grass
and flowers.

Scheffer'i HUtory qfLapUmd, p. 1«.

193

THE MINSTREL:

OR,

THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS.

BOOK II.

Of chance or change O let hot man complain^
Else shall he never never cease to wail ;
For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain
Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale.
All feel th' assault of Fortune's fickle gale ;
Art, empire. Earth itself, to change are doomed ;
Earthquakes have rais'd to Heaven the humhle vale.
And gulpbs the mountain's mighty mass entombM ;
And where th' Atlantic rolls wide continents have
bloomM.*

But sure td foreign climes we need not range.
Nor search (he ancient records of our race.
To learn the dire effects of time and change.
Which in ourselves, alas ! we daily trace.

* See Plato's TlmeMr

194 THE MINSTREL.

Yet at the darkened eye, the withered face.

Or hoary hair, I never will repine :

But spare, O Time, whatever of mental grace.

Of candour, love, or sympathy divine.

Whatever of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame is mine.

So I, obsequious to Truth's dread command.
Shall here without reluctance change my lay.
And smite the gothic lyre with harsher hand ;
Now when I leave that flowery path for aye.
Of childhood, where I sported many a day.
Warbling and sauntering carelessly along ;
Where every face was innocent and gay.
Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue.
Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwin's infant song.

" Perish the lore that deadens young desire,"

Is the soft tenor of my song no more.

Edwin, tho' lov'd of Heaven, must not aspire

To bliss, which mortals never knew before.

On trembling wings let youthful fancy soar.

Nor always haunt the sunny realms of joy :

But now and then the shades of life explore ;

Tho' many a sound and sight of woe annoy.

And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy.

Vigour from toil, from trouble patience grows.
The weakly blossom^ warm iu summer bower.

THE MINSTREL. I9S

Some tints of transient beauty may disclose ;
But soon it withers in the chilling hour.
Mark yonder oaks ! Superior to the power
Of all the warring winds of Heaven they rise.
And from the stormy promontory tower.
And toss their giant arms amid the skies.
While each assaihng blast increase of strength sup*
pUes.

And now the downy cheek and deepened voice

Gave dignity to Edwin's blooming prime ;

And walks of wider circuit were his choice.

And vales more mild, and mountains more subUme.

One evening, as he framed the careless rhyme.

It was his chance to wander far abroad.

And o'er a lonely eminence to climb.

Which heretofore his foot had never trode ;

A vale appeared below, a deep retired abode.

Thither he hied, enamour'd of the scene.
For rocks on rocks pil'd, as by magic spell.
Here scorch'd with lightning, there with ivy green,
FencM from the north and east this savage dell.
Southward a mountain rose with easy swells
Whofi^ long long groves eternal murmur made :
And toward the western sun a streamlet fell.
Where, thro' the chfTs, the eye, remote, surveyed •
Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold ar*
ray'd.

o3

..J

196 THE MINSTREL.'

Along this narrow valley you might see

The wild deer sporting on the meadow ground^

And, here and there, a solitary tree.

Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crown'd.

Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound

Of parted fragments tumbling from on high ;

And from the summit of that crag^ mound

The perching eagle oft was heard to cry.

Or on resoundiog wings, to shoot athwart the sky.

One cultivated spot there was, that spread
Its flowery bosom to the noonday beam,
AVhere many a rose-bud rears its blushing head.
And herbs for food with future plenty teem.
Soothed by the lulling sound of groye and stream.
Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul :
He minded not the Sun's last ti'embling gleam.
Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll ;
When slowly on lus ear these moving accents stole*

** Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast.

And woo the weary to profound repose !

Can passion's wildest uproar lay to rest.

And whisper comfort to the man of woes !

Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes.

And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.

O jK>litude ! the man who thee foregoes.

THE MINSTREt. 197

When lucre lures him; or ambition stings^.
Shall never know the source whence real grandeur
springs.

«

/' Vain man ! is grandeur giv*n to gay attire ?
Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid :
To friends^ attendants, armies, bought with hire ?
It is thy Weakness that requires their aid :
To palaces, with gold and gems inlay'd ?
They f<^r the thief, and tremble in the storm :
To hosts, thro' carnage who to conquest wade ?
Behold the victor vanquished by the worm !
Behold, what deeds of woe the locust can perform !

'* True dignity is his, whose tranquil mind
Virtue has rais'd above the things below ;
Who, every hope and fear to Heaven resigned.
Shrinks not, tho' Fortune aim her deadliest blow/'
This strain from 'midst the rocks was heard to flow.
In solemn sounds. Now beam'd the evening star ;
And from embattled clouds emerging slow
Cynthia came riding on her silver car ;
And hoary mountain-clifls shone faintly from afar.

3oon did the solemn voice its theme renew :
(While Edwin wrapt in wonder listening stood)
*' Ye tools and toys of tyranny, adieu,
Scorn'd by the wise and hated by the good !

r

198 THE MINSTREL.

Ye only can engage the servile brood
Of Levity and Lust^ who all their days»
AshamM of truth and liberty^ have woo'd.
And hugg'd the chain, that, glittering on their gaze^
Seems to outshine the pomp of Heaven's empyreal
. blaze.

" Like them, abandoned to Ambition's sway,

I sought for glory in the paths of guile ;

And fawn'd and smiled, to plunder and betray.

Myself betrajT^d and plundered all the while ;

So gnawed the viper the corroding file \

But now, with pangs of keen remorse, I rue

Those years of trouble and debasement vile.

Yet why should I this cruel theme pursue !

Fly, fly, detested thoughts, for ever from my view !

" The gusts of appetite, the clouds of care.

And storms of disappointment, all o'erpast.

Henceforth no earthly hope with Heaven shall share

This heart, where peace serenely shines at last

And if for me no treasure be amassM,

And if no future age shall hear my name,

I lurk the more secure from fortune's blast.

And with more leisure feed this pious flame.

Whose rapture far transcends the fairest hopes of fame,

'' The end and the reward of toil is rest,
Pc all my prayer for virtue and for peace^

THE MINSTREL. 199

Of wealth and fame^ of pomp and power possess'd^

Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease ?

Ah ! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece^

Hie lay heaven-prompted^ and harmonious strings

The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece.

All that arty fortune, enterprise, can bring.

If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride the bosom wring"!

** Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb

With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown.

In the deep dungeon of some gothic dome.

Where night and desolation ever frown.

Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down ;

Where a green grassy turf is all I crave.

With here and there a violet bestrpwn.

Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave ;

And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.

*^ And thither let the village swain repair ;
And, hght of heart, ihe village maiden gay.
To deck with flowers her half-dishevell'd hair.
And celebrate the merry morn of May.
There let the shepherd's pipe the Uve-long day
Fill all the grove with love's bewitching woe ;
And when mild Evening comes in mantle gray.
Let not the blooming band make haste to go ;
No ghost, nor spell, my long and last abode shall
know.

200 THE MINSTREL.

" For though I fly to 'scape from Fortune's rage«
And bear the scars of enyy, spite, and scorn.
Yet with mankind no horrid war I wage.
Yet with no impious spleen my breast is torn :
For virtue lost, and ruin'd man, I mourn.
O man ! creation's pride. Heaven's darling child.
Whom Natqre's best^ divinest gifts adorn.
Why from thy home are truth and joy exil'd.
And all thy favourite haunts with blood and tears
deei'd ?

" Along yon glittering sky what glory streams !
What majesty attends Night's lovely queen !
Fair laugh our vallies in the vernal beams ;
And mountains rise, and oceans roll between.
And all conspire to beautify the scene.
But, in the mental world, what chaos drear ;
What forms of mournful, loathsome, furious mien !
O when shall that eternal mom appear.
These dreadful forms to chase, this chaos dark to
clear !

" O Thou, at whose creative smile, yon heaven.
In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light.
Rose from th' abyss ; when dark Confusion driven
Down, down the bottomless profound of night.
Fled, where he ever flies thy piercing sight I

THE MINSTREL. 2(H

O glance on these sad shades one pitying ray.
To blast the fury of oppressive might/
Melt the hard heart to love and mercy's sway.
And cheer the wandering soul, and light him on the
way I

Silence ensued : and Edwin raised his eyes
In tears, for grief lay heavy at his heart.
*' And is it thus in courtly life," he cries,
*' That man to man acts a betrayer's part ?
And dares he thus the gifts of Heaven pervert^
Each social instinct, and sublime desire?
Hail Poverty ! if honour, wealth, and art.
If what the great pursue, and leam'd admire.
Thus dissipate and quench the soul's ethereal fire 1'^

He said, and turnM away ; nor did the sage
O'erhear, in silent orisons employ'd.
The youth, his rising sorrow to assuage.
Home as he hied, the evening scene enjoy'd :
For now no cloud obscures the starry void ;
The yellow moonhght sleeps on all the hills ;*
Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoy'd ;
A soothing murmur the lone region fills,
>0f groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills.

* How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.

Shakespeare^

«» THE MINSTREL.

But he from day to day more anxious grew.

The voice still seem'd to vibrate on his ear.

Nor durst he hope the hermit's tale untrue ;

For man he seem'd to love, and Heaven to fear ;.

And none speaks false^ where there is none to hear.

** Yet, can man's gentle heart become so fell !

No more in vain conjecture let me wear

My hours away, but seek the hermit's cell ;

'Tis he my doubt can clear, perhaps my care dispel.

n

At eaiiy dawn the youth his journey took.

And many a mountain pass'd and vaUey wide.

Then reach'd the wild ; where, in a flowery nook.

And seated on a mossy stone, he spied

An ancient man : his harp lay him beside.

A stag sprang from the pasture at his call.

And, kneeling, lick'd the withered hand that tied

A wteath of woodbine round his antlers tall.

And hung his lofty neck with many a floweret small.

And now the hoar^ sage arose, and saw

The wanderer approaching : innocence

Smil'd on his glowing cheek, but modest awe

Depress'd his eye, that fear'd to give offence.

" Who art thou, courteous stranger ? and from whence?

Why roam thy steps to this sequester'd dale ?''

<* A shepherd-boy," the youth replied, " fyr hence

J^u^tSodh 2. wrJtZP:

-^U£ji^:^^««^A>^^K/i'4lu'>n«K.^0W^>t'.

THE MINSTREL. «0S

My habitation ; hear my artless tale ;

Nor levity nor falsehood shall thine ear assail.

** Lal^ as I roam'd, intent on Nature's charms^
I reached at eve this wilderness profound ; .
And> leaning where yon oak expands her arms.
Heard these rude cli£& thine awful voice rebound,
(For in thy speech I recognise the sound.)
You moumM for ruinM man, and virtue lost.
And seemM to feel of keen remorse the wound.
Pondering on former days by guilt engrossM,
Or in the giddy storm of dissipation toss'd.

*' But say, in courtly life can craft be leamM,

Where knowledge opens, and exalts the soul ?

Where Fortune lavishes her gifts uneam'd.

Can selfishness the liberal heart control ?

Is glory there achieved by arts, as foul

As those that felons, fiends, and furies plan ?

Spiders ensnare, snakes poison, tygers prowl :

Love is the godlike attribute of man.

O teach a simple youth this mystery to scan.

" Or else the lamentable strain disclaim.
And give me back the calm, contented mind ;
Which, late, exulting, viewed in Nature's frame.
Goodness untainted, wisdom unconfin'd,
Grace, grandeur, and utility combined.

^ 204 THE MINSTREL.

Restore those tranquil days, that saw me still
Well pleas'd with all, but most with human kind z
When Fancy roam'd thro' Nature's works at will^
UncheckM by cold distrust, and uninformed of ilL'^

" Wouldst thou/* the sage replied, " in peace return
To the gay dreams of fond romantic youtb»
Leave me to hide, in this remote sojourn.
From every gentle ear the dreadful truth :
For if my desultory strain with ruth
And indignation make thine eyes overflow,
Alas ! what comfort could thy anguish ^ooth,
Shouldst thou th' extent of human folly know.
Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads to
woe.

** But let untender thoughts afar be driven ;

Nor venture to arraign the dread decree.

For know, to man, as candidate for heaven.

The voice of the Eternal said. Be free :

And this divine prerogative to thee

Does virtue, happiness, and Heaven convey ;

For virtue is the child of liberty.

And happiness of virtue ; nor can they

Be free to keep the path, who are not free to stray.

" Yet leave me not. I would allay that grief.
Which else might thy young virtue over-power.

THE MINSTREL 905

And in t)iy converse I shall find relief.

When the dark shades of melancholy lower ;

For solitude has many a dreary hour.

Even when exempt from grief, remorse, and pain :

Come often then ; for, haply, in my bower.

Amusement, knowledge, wisdom thou may'st gain ;

If I one soul improve, I have not liv'd in vain/*

And now, at length, to Edwin's ardent gaze

The Muse of history unrols her page.

But few, alas ! the scenes her art displap.

To charm his fancy, or his heart engage.

Here chiefs their thirst of power in blood asswage.

And straight their flames with tenfold fierceness bum :

Here smiling Virtue prompts the patriot's rage.

But lo, ere long, is left alone to mourn.

And languish in the dust, and clasp th- abandon'd urn!

*' Ambition's slippery verge shall mortals tread.
Where ruin's gulph unfathom'd yawns beneath !
Shall life, shall liberty be lost," he said,
'' For the vain toys that pomp and power bequeath 1
The car of victory, the plume, the wreath.
Defend not from the bolt of fate the brave :
No note the clarion of renown can breathe,
T' alaHn the long night of the lonely grave.
Or check the headlong haste of time's o'erwhelming
wave.

206 THE minstrel:

•

*' Ah^ what avails it to have trac'd the springs.
That vi^hirl of empire the stupendous wheel !
Ah, what have I to do with conquering kings.
Hands drenched in blood, and breasts begirt with steel!
To those, whom Nature taught to think and feel.
Heroes, alas ! are things of small concern ;
Could History man's secret heart reveal.
And what imports a heaven -born mind to learn.
Her transcripts to explore what bosom would not
yearn !

'* This praise, O Cheronean sage,* is thine !
(Why should this praise to thee alone bdong ?)
All else from Nature's moral path decline,
Lur'd by the toys that captivate the throng ;
To herd in cabinets and camps, among
Spoil, carnage, and the cruel pomp of pride ;
Or chant of heraldry the drowsy song.
How tyrant blood, o'er many a region wide.
Rolls to a thousand thrones its execrable tide«

** O who of man the story will unfold.
Ere victory and empire wrought annoy.
In that elysian age (misnam'd of gold)
The age of love, and innocence, and joy.
When all were great and free ! man's sole employ
To deck the bosom of his parent e»rth i

« Platarcb.

THE MmSTREL. 207

Or toward his. bower the murmuring stream decpy.
To aid the flow'ret's long-expected birth.
And lull the bed of peace, and crown the board of
mirth.

t€

Sweet were your shades, O ye primeval groves !
Whose boughs to man his food and shelter lent.
Pure in his pleasures, happy in his loves.
His eye still smiling, and his heart content.
Then, hand in hand, health, sport, and labour went.
Nature supply'd the wish she taught to crave.
None prowFd for prey, none watch'd to circumvent.
To all an equal lot Heaven's bounty gave :
No vassal fear'd his lord, no tyrant fear'd his slaves

But ah ! th' historic Muse has never dar'd

To pierce those hallow'd bowers : 'tis Fancy's beam

PourM on the vision of th* enraptured bard.

That paints the charms of that delicious theme.

Then hail sweet Fancy's ray ! and hail the dream

That weans the weary soul from guilt and woe \

Careless what others of my choice may deem,

I long, where Love and Fancy lead, to go

And meditate on Heaven, enough of Earth I know.

»»

*' I cannot blame thy choice," the sage repUed,
«< For soft and sitiooth are Fancy's flowery ways.

■■■• I.'. ■

do? THE minstrel;

And. yet, even th^re, if left without m guide.
The young adventurer unsafely plays.
Eyes dazzrd long by fiction's gaudy rays
In modest truth no light nor beauty find.
And who, my child, would trust the meteor-blaze.
That soon must fail, and leave the wanderer blind.
More dark and helpless far, than if it ne'er had
shinM ?

" Faftcy enervates, while it sooths, the heart.
And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight :
To joy each heightening charm it can impart.
But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night.
Andyoften, where no real ills affright.
Its visionary fiends, an endless train.
Assail with equal or superior might.
And thro' the throbbing heart, and dizzy brain.
And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than mortal
pain.

** And yet, alas ! the real ills of life
Claim the full vigour of a mind prepared.
Prepared for patient, long, laborious strife.
Its gruide experience, and truth its guard.
We fare on Earth as other men have far'd.
Were they successful ? Let not us despair.
Was disappointment oft their sole reward ?

THE MINSTREL.^ 209

Vet shall their tale instruct^ if it declare.
How they have borne the load ourselves are doomM to
bear.

" What charms th^ historic Muse adorn, from spoils,
Ancl blood, and tyrabits, when she wings her flight.
To hail the patriot prince, whose pious toils
Sacred to science, liberty, and right.
And peace, through every age divinely bright
Shall shine the boast and wonder of mankind !
Sees yonder Sun, from his meridian height,
A lovelier scene, than virtue thus enshrin'd
In power, and man with man for mutual aid com-
bin'd I

" Hail sacred Polity, by Freedom reared !

Hail sacred Freedom, when by law restrained !

Without you what were man ? A groveling herdi

In darkness, wretchedness, and want enchain'd.

Sublim'd by you, the Greek and Roman reign'd

In arts unrivall'd : O, to latest days.

In Albion may your influence unprofan'd

To godlike worth the generous bosom raise.

And prompt the sage's lore, and Are the poet's lays !

*' But now let other themes our care engage.
For lo, with modest yet msgestic grace.
To curb Imagination's lawless rage.
And from within the cherish'd heart to brace.

210 THE MINSTREL.

}%ilcMopby appears ! Tbe gloomy nee
By Indolence and mopiDg Fancy bredt
Fear, Discoatent, Solicitude, give place.
And Hope and Courage brighten in their ttead.
While on the kindling loal her vital beanu are ihad.

" Then waken frmn long lethargy to li&*

The seeds of happinei^ and powen of thooght;

Then jarring appetitci ^>itff* their tfrifi,

A strife by ignoraoce to ""■^'v^ wrou^iL

Pleaure by nnge man ia deaify boogbt

With fell revenge, iiut that defies coatron), -"

Wjth ^uttooy and death. The mind tmUugiil

Is a dark wafle, wlme fiend* and (eoapests howl ;

As PhcBbin to the worid. i^ttie^aelm^ ^h{

" And RaMn now thro' namW. tiiiv

THE MINSTREL. -Ml

from Xature's face; confusion disapiwars.

And order charms the eye, and hannoiiy the Kinl

" In the deep windings of the grove, no more

The bag obscene, and grisly phantom dwell ;

Nur in the fall of mountain-Etream, or roar

Of winds, is heard tbe angry spirit's yell ;

No wizard mutten the tremendous spell.

Nor sinks coavulsiTe in prophetic swoon ;

Nor bids the noise of drums and trumpets swell.

To ease of fancied pangs the labouring Muon,

Or chase the shade that blots the blazing orb of uouu.

load* the uaoitig /*

212 THE MINSTREL.

Even Fancy trembles, in her sprightliest mood ;
For there, each eye-ball gleams with lust of gore.
Nestles each murderous and each monstrous brood.
Plague lurks in -every shade, and steams from every floods

*' *Twas from Philosophy man learned to tame

The soil, by plenty to intemperance fed.

Lo, from the echoing axe, and thundering flame.

Poison and plague and yelling rage are fled !

The waters, bursting from their slimy bed.

Bring health and melody to every vale :

And, from the breezy main, and mountain's head,

Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale.

To fan their glowing: charms, invite the fluttering gale^

" What dire necessities on every hand

Our art, our strength, our fortitude require !

Of foes intestine what a numerous band

Against this little throb of life conspire !

Yet Science can elude their fatal ire

Awhile, and turn aside Death's level'd dart,

Sooth the sharp pang, allay the fever's fire.

And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the heart,

And yet a few soft nights and balmy days impart.

*' Nor less to regulate man's moral frame
Science exerts her all-composing sway.
Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame,
Or pines, to indolence and spleen a prey.

THE MINSTREL 213

Or avarice, a fiend more fierce than they ?
Flee to the shade of Academus' grove ;
Where cares molest not, discord melts away
In harmony, and the pure passions prove
How sweet the words of Truth, hreath'd fi-om the lips
of Love.

'* What cannot Art and Industry perform.
When Science plans the progress of their toil !
They smile at penury, disease, and storm ;
And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil.
When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil
A land, or when the rabble's headlong rage
Order transforms to anarchy and spoil,
Deep-vers'd in man the philosophic sage
Prepares with lenient hand their phrenzy to assuage.

" 'Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind.
From «ituation, temper, soil, and chme
Explor'd, a nation's various powers can bind.
And various orders, in one form subhme
Of policy, that midst the wrecks of time.
Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fear
Th' assault of foreign or domestic crime.
While public faith, and public love sincere.
And industry and law maintain their sway severe.*'

Enraptur'd by the hermit's strain, the youth
Proceeds the path of Science to explore.

314 THE MINSTREL.

And now, expanded to the beams of truth.
New energies and charms unknown before.
His mind discloses : Fancy now no more
Wantons on fickle pinion through the skies ;
But, fix'd in aim, and conscious of her power.
Aloft from cause to cause exults to rise.
Creation's blended stores arranging as she flies.

Nor love of novelty alone inspires.

Their laws and nice dependencies to scan ;

For, mindful of the aids that life requires.

And of the services man owes to man.

He meditates new arts on Nature's plan ;

The cold desponding breast of sloth to warm.

The flame of industry and genius fan.

And emulation's noble rage alarm.

And the long hours of toil and solitude to charm.

But she, who set on fire his infant heart.
And all his dreams, and all his wanderings shar'd
And bless'd, the Muse, and her celestial art.
Still claim th' enthusiast's fond and first regard.
From Nature's beauties variously compared
And variously combin'd, he learns to frame
Those forms of bright perfection,* i^rhich the bard.
While boundless hopes and boundless views inflame,
Enamour'd consecrates to never-dying fame.

* General ideas of exoeUence, the immediate archetypes of
sublime imif ation, both in paintittg and in poetiy. See Aris-
totle's Poeticsi and the Piscoarses of Sir Joshua Reynolds.

THE MINSTREL. 215

Of late, with cumbersome, tho' pompous show,
Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface.
Through ardour to adorn ; but Nature now
To his experienced eye a modest grace
Presents, where ornament the second place
Holds, to intrinsic worth and just design
Subservient still. SimpUcity apace
Tempers his rage : he owns her charm divine.
And clears th' ambiguous phrase, and lops th' unwieldy
line.

Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains)
What sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole.
When the great shepherd of the Mantuan plains*
His deep majestic melody 'gan roll :
Fain would I sing what transport storm'd his soul.
How the red current throVd his veins along.
When, like Pelides, bold beyond controul.
Without art gpraceful, without effort strong.
Homer raised high to Heaven the loud, th' impetuous
song.

And how his lyre, though rude her first esstyi^
^ow skilled to sooth, to tri«im^[^ to complaiA,
Warbling at will through each harmonious mazcu
Was taught to modulate the artful straii^
I fain would sing : — ^but ah ! I strive in vain.
Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound,

•VttfpL

216 THE MINSTREL.

With trembling step, to join yon weeping train,
I haste, where gleams funereal glare around.
And mix'd with shrieks of woe, the knells of death re^
sound.

Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn.
The soft amusenient of the vacant mind !
He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn.
He, whom each virtue fir'd, each grace refin'd.
Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind !
He sleeps in dust.**^ Ah, how shall I pursue
My theme I To heart-consuming grief resigned.
Here on his recent grave I fix my view.
And pour my bitter tears. Ye flowery lays, adieu !;

Art thou, my Gregory, for ever fled !

And am I lefl: to unavailing woe !

When fortune's storms assail this weary head.

Where cares long since have shed untimely snow f

Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go !

No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers :

Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow.

My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears.

'Tis meet thatlshouldmoum : flow forth afresh, my tearsk

* This excellent pJBnon died suddenly on the 10th of Febmary
1773. The condiision of the poem was written a few dayr
after. «

THE END.

J. BfCREERT, Printer,
BUGk<HorM<ouit,VleeUtrMt, Ltadoa.

3 tlOJ 012 Sf^l^

STANFORD UNIVERSITY lIDtAIIIE!
CECIl H. GREEN LIBRARY
STANFORD, CALIFORNIA 9430S-60
|41j) 7231493

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