(navigation image)
Home American Libraries | Canadian Libraries | Universal Library | Community Texts | Project Gutenberg | Children's Library | Biodiversity Heritage Library | Additional Collections
Search: Advanced Search
Anonymous User (login or join us)
Upload
See other formats

Full text of "Specimens of the later English poets, with preliminary notices;"

Southern Branch 
of the 

University of California 



Los Angeles 



Form L 1 



This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 



UMJRL SEF 
INTERLIBRARY 

SEP 4 1968 

.THREE WEEKS FRQM 



181986 
LOANS 






Form L-9-15m-8,'26 



S P E C I M E N S 



OF THE 



Cater Cnjjlisl) $oets, 



WITH PRELIMINARY NOTICES; 



BY ROBERT SOUTHEY, 



4581 



IN THREE VOLUMES. 



VOL. III. 



LONDON: 

PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, 
PATER-NOSTER ROW. 

1807. 



7 1 tt G 



JYmted by S. Hollingsworth, Crane-Court, Fleet-Street. 



^ na 

v , 3 

c i ] 



CUTHBERT SHAW. 



Ravens-worth, Yorkshire- 1738 1771. 



The Monodies of this writer upon his Wife and Child are 
well known. What other misfortunes he suffered besides 
their deaths, were occasioned by his own follies and vices. 

His first poem was published under the name of W. Sey- 
mour. 



An Evening Address to a Nightingale. 

SWEET bird ! that kindly perching near, 

Pourest thy plaints melodious in mine ear, 
Not, like base worldlings, tutor'd to forego 
The melancholy haunts of woe, 

Thanks for thy sorrow-soothing strain : 
For surely, thou hast known to prove, 
Like me, the pangs of hapless love, 

Else why so feelingly complain, 
And with thy piteous notes thus sadden all the grove ? 
Say, dost thou mourn thy ravish'd mate, 

That oft enamour'd on thy strains has hung? 

VOL. III. B 



2 CUTHBERT SHAW. 

Or has the cruel hand of fate 

Bereft thee of thy darling young ? 

Alas, for BOTH, I weep 

In all the pride of youthful charms, 

A beauteous bride torn from my circling arms ! 

A lovely babe that should have lived to bless, 

And fill my doating eyes with frequent tears, 
At once the source of rapture and distress, 

The flattering prop of my declining years! 
In vain from death to rescue I essay'd, 

By every art that science could devise; 
Alas ! it languish'd for a mother's aid, 

And wing'd its flight to seek her in the skies- 
Then O our comforts be the same, 

At evening's peaceful hour, 
To slum the noisy paths of wealth and fame, 

And breathe our sorrows in this lonely bower. 

But why, alas ! to thee complain ! 

To thee unconscious of my pain ! 

Soon shah THOU cease to mourn thy lot severe, 

And hail the dawning of a happier year : 
The genial warmth of joy-renewing spring 
Again shall plume thy shatter'd wing; 
Again thy little heart shall transport prove, 
Again shall flow thy notes responsive to thy love 



CUTIIBERT SHAW. 3 

But O for ME in vain may seasons roll, 

Nought can dry up the fountain of my tears, 

Deploring still the COMFORT OF MY SOUL, 
I count my sorrows by increasing years. 

Tell me, thou syren Hope, deceiver, say, 

Where is the promised period of my woes ? 
Full three long, lingering years have roll'd away, 
And yet I weep, a stranger to repose : 

O what delusion did thy tongue employ ! 
" That EMMA'S fatal pledge of love, 

" Her last bequest with all a mother's care, 
" The bitterness of sorrow should remove, 
" Soften the horrors of despair, 

" And chear a heart long lost to joy ?" 
How oft, when fondling in mine arms, 
Gazing enraptured on its angel-face, 
My soul the maze of Fate would vainly trace, 
And burn with all a father's fond alarms ! 
And O what flattering scenes had Fancy feign'd, 

How did I rave of blessings yet in store ! 
Till every aching sense was sweetly pain'd, 
And my full heart could bear, nor tongue could 

utter more. 

" Just Heaven," I cry'd with recent hopes elate, 
{( Yet I will live will live, though EMMA'S 
dead 

B 2 



4 etTHBERT SHAW. 

" So long bow'd down beneath the storms of Fate, 

" Yet will I raise my woe-dejected head ! 
" My little EMMA, now my ALL, 

" Will want a father's care, 
' Her looks, her wants my rash resolves recall, 

"And for her sake the ills of life I'll bear : 
" And -oft together we'll complain, 

" Complaint, the only bliss my soul can know, 
" TYom me my child shall learn the mournful strain, 

" And prattle tales of woe ; 

" And O in that auspicious hour, 
' " When Fate resigns her persecuting power, 

" With duteous zeal her hand shall close, 

" No more to weep my sorrow streaming eyes, 
t( When death gives misery repose, 

" And opes a glorious passage to the skies." 

Vain thought ! it must not be She too is dead 

The flattering scene is o'er 
My hopes for ever ever fled 

And vengeance can no more. 
Crnsh'd by misfortune blasted by disease 

And none none left to bear a friendly part ! 
To ineditate my welfare, health, or ease, 

Or soothe the anguish of an aching heart I 
2ow ail one gloomy scene, till welcome death, 

Wi'h Itn-ent hand (O falsly deem'd severe) 






CXJTHBITRT SHAW. 5 

Shall kindly stop my grief-exhausted breath. 

And dry up every tear : 
Perhaps , obsequious to my will;. 

But ah from my affections far removed ! 
The last sad office strangers may fulfil, 
As if I ne'er had been beloved ; 
As if, unconscious of poetick fire, 
I ne'er had touch'd the trembling lyre, 
As if my niggard hand ne'er dealt relief,.. 
Nor my heart melted at another's grief. 

Yet while this weary life shall last, 

While yet my tongue can form the impassion-'d 

strain, 
In piteous accents shall the Muse complain, 

And dwell with fond delay on blessings past : 

For O how grateful to a wounded heart, 

The tale of misery to impart j 

From other's eyes bid artless sorrows flow, 

And raise esteem upon the base of woe ! 
Even HE, * the noblest of the tuneful throng-,. 

Shall deign my love-lorn tale to hear, 
Shall catch the soft contagion of my song, 

And pay the pensive Muse the tribute ot a tear, 

* Lord Lyttleton. 
B 3. 



-L 3 



GEORGE CANNING. 



1771. 



* An Irish Gentleman, father to the Right Honourable George 
Canning. 



Epistle from Lord William Russcl to William Lord 
Cavendish, supposed to have betn written by 
Lord Russet, on Friday night, July 20, 1683, in 
Newgate. 

L/OST to the world, to-morrow doom'd to die, 
Still for my country's weal my heart beats high. 
Though rattling chains ring peals of horror round, 
While Night's black shades augment the savage 

sound, 

Midst bolts and bars the active soul is free, 
And flies, uufetter'd, CAVENDISH, to thee. 



CANNING. 7 

Thou dear companion of my better days, 
When hand in hand we trod the paths of praise -, 
When, leagued with patriots, we maintain'd the 

cause 

Of true religion, liberty, and laws, 
Disdaining down the golden stream to glide, 
But bravely stemm'd Corruption's rapid tide ; 
Think not I come to bid thy tears to flow, 
Or melt thy generous soul with tales of woe; 
No : view me firm, unshaken, undismay'd, 
As when the welcome mandate I obey'd 
Heavens ! with what pride that moment I recall ! 
Who would not wish, so honour'd, thus to fall ! 
When England's Genius, hovering o'er, inspired 
Her chosen sons with love of Freedom fired, 
Spite of an abject, servile, pension'd train, 
Minions of Power, and worshippers of Gain, 
To save from Bigotry its destin'd prey, 
And shield three nations from tyrannick sway. 

'Twas then my CA'NDI SH caught the glorious flame, 
The happy omen of his future- fame ; 
Adorn'd by Nature, perfected by Art, 
The clearest head, and warmest, noblest heart, 
His words, deep-sinking in each captived ear, 
Had power to make even Liberty more dear. 
B 4 



8 GEORGE CANNING. 

While I, unskill'd in Oratory's lore, 

Whose tongue ne'er speaks but when the heart runs 

o'er, 

In plain blunt phrase my honest thoughts express'd 
Warm from the heart, and to the heart address'd. 

Justice preyail'd; yes, Justice, let me say, 
Well poised her scales on that auspicious day. 
The watchful shepherd spies the wolf afar, 
Nor trusts his flock to try the unequal war j 
What though the savage crouch in humble guise, 
And check the fire that flashes from his eyes, 
Should once his barbarous fangs the fold invade, 
Vain were their cries, too late the shepherd's aid, 
Thirsting for blood, he knows not how to spare, 
His jaws distend, his fiery eye-balls glare, 
While ghastly Desolation, stalking round, 
With mangled limbs bestrews the purple ground. 

Now, Memory, fail ! nor let my mind revolve, 
How England's Peers annull'd the just resolve, 
Against her bosom aim'd a deadly blow, 
And laid at once her great Palladium low ! 

Degenerate nobles ! Yes, by Heaven I swear, 
Had BEDFORD'S self appear'd delinquent there, 



GEORGE CANNING. 

And join'd, forgetful of his country's claims, 
To thwart the exclusion of the apostate JAMES, 
All filial ties had then been left at large, 
And I myself the first to urge the charge. 

Such the fix'd sentiments that rule my soul, 
Time cannot change, nor Tyranny controul ; 
While free, they hung upon my pensive brow, 
Then my chief care, my pride and glory now ; 
Foil'd I submit, nor think the measure hard, 
For conscious Virtue is its own reward. 

Vain then is force, and vain each subtile art, 
To wring retraction from my tortured heart j 
There, lie, in marks indelible engraved, 
The means whereby my country must be saved ; 
Are to thine eyes those characters unknown ? 
To read my inmost heart, consult thine own ; 
There wilt thou find this sacred truth reveal'd, 
Which shall to-morrow with my blood be seal'd, 
Seek riot infirm expedients to explore, 
But banish James, or England is no more. 

Friendship her tender offices may spare, 
Nor strive to move the unforgiving pair, 
Hopeless the tyrant's mercy-seat to climb 
Zeal for my country's freedom is my crime ! 



10 GEORGE CANNING. 

Ere that meets pardon, lambs with wolves shall 

range, 
Charles be a saint, and James his nature change. 

Press'd by my friends, and Rachel's fond desires, 
(Who can deny what weeping love requires !) 
Frailty prevail'd, and for a moment quell'd 
Th' indignant pride that in my bosom swell'd ; 
I sued the weak attempt 1 blush to own 
I sued for mercy, prostrate at the throne. 
O ! blot the foible out, my noble friend, 
With human firmness human feelings blend ! 
When Love's endearments softest moments seize, 
And Love's dear pledges hang upon the knees, 
When Nature's strongest ties the soul enthral, 
(Thou canst conceive, for thou hast felt them all !) 
Let him resist their prevalence who can ; 
He must, indeed, be more or less than man. 

Yet let me yield my Rachel honour due, 
The tenderest wife, the noblest heroine too ! 
Anxious to save her husband's honest name, 
Dear was his life, but dearer still his fame ! 
When suppliant prayers no pardon could obtain, 
And, wonderous strange ! ev'n Bedford's gold proved 
vain. 



GEORGE CANNING. 11 

The informer's part her generous soul abhorr'd, 
Though life preserved had been the sure reward ; 
Let impious Estrick act such treacherous scenes, 
And shrink from death by such opprobrious means. 

O ! my lov'd Rachel ! all accomplish'd fair ! 
Source of my joy, and soother of my care ! 
Whose heavenly virtues, and unfading charms, 
Have bless'd through happy years my peaceful 

arms! 

Parting with thee into my cup was thrown, 
Its harshest dregs else had not forc'd a groan ! 
But all is o'er these eyes have gaz'd their last 
And now the bitterness of death is past. 
Burnet and Tillotson, with pious care, 
My fleeting soul for heavenly bliss prepare, 
Wide to my view the glorious realms display, 
Pregnant with joy, and bright with endless day. 
Charm'd, as of old when Israel's prophet sung, 
Whose words distill'd like manna from his tongue, 
While the great bard sublimest truths explored, 
Each ravish'd hearer wonder'd and adored ; 
So rapt, so charm'd, my soul begins to rise, 
Spurns the base earth, and seems to reach the skies. 

But when, descending from the sacred theme, 
Of boundless power, and excellence supreme, 



12 GEORGE CANNING. 

They would for man, and his precarious throne, 
Exact obedience, due to Heaven alone, 
Forbid resistance to his worst commands, 
And place God's thunderbolts in mortal hands ; 
The vision sinks to life's contracted span, 
And rising passion speaks me still a man. 

What ! shall a tyrant trample on the laws, 
And stop the source whence all his power he draws ? 
His country's rights to foreign foes betray, 
Lavish her wealth, yet stipulate for pay ? 
To shameful falshood's venal slaves suborn, 
And dare to laugh the virtuous man to scorn ? 
Deride Religion, Justice, Honour, Fame, 
And hardly know of Honesty the name? 
In Luxury's lap lie screen'd from cares and pains, 
And only toil to forge his subjects chains ? 
And shall he hope the public voice to drown, 
The voice which gave, and can resume his crown! 

When Conscience bares her horrours, and the dread 
Of sudden vengeance, bursting o'er his head, 
Wrings his black soul ; when injured nations groan, 
And cries of millions shake his tottering throne j 
Shall flattering churchmen soothe his guilty ears, 
With tortured texts, to calm his growing fears j , 



GEOUGE CANNING. 13 

Exalt his power above the etherial climes, 
And call down Heaven to sanctify his crimes ! 

O ! impious doctrine ! Servile priests away ! 
Your Prince you poison, and your God betray. 

Hapless the monarch, who, in evil hour, 

Drinks from your cup the draught of lawless 

power ! 

The magick potion boils within his veins, 
And locks each sense in adamantine chains j 
Reason revolts, insatiate thirst ensues, 
The wild delirium each fresh draught renews } 
In vain his people urge him to refrain, 
His faithful servants supplicate in vain ; 
He quaffs at length, impatient of controul, 
The bitter dregs that lurk within the bowl. 

Zeal your pretence, but wealth and power your 

aims, 

You even could make a Solomon of James. 
Behold the pedant, throned in awkward state, 
Absorb'd in pride, ridiculously great ; 
His courtiers seem to tremble at his nod, 
His prelates call his voice the voice of God ; 
Weakness and vanity with them combine, 
And James believes his majesty divine.. 



14 - GEORGE CANNING. 

Presumptuous wretch ! almighty power to scan, 
While every action proves him less than man. 

By your delusions to the scaffold led, 
Martyr' d by you a royal Charles has bled. 
Teach then ye sycophants ! O ! teach his son, 
The gloomy paths of tyranny to shun j 
Teach him to prize Religion's sacred claim, 
Teach him how Virtue leads to honest fame, 
How Freedom's wreath a monarch's brows adorns, 
Nor, basely fawning, plant his couch with thorns. 
Point to his view his people's love alone, 
The solid basis of his stedfast throne ; 
Chosen by them their dearest rights to guard, 
The bad to punish, and the good reward, 
Clement and just let him the sceptre sway, 
And willing subjects shall with pride obey, 
Shall vie to execute his high commands, 
His throne their hearts, his sword and shield their 
hands. 

Happy the Prince ! thrice firmly fix'd his crown ! 
Who builds on public good his chaste renown ; 
Studious to bless, who knows no second aim, 
His people's interest, and his own the same ; 
The ease of millions rests upon his cares, 
And thus Heaven's high prerogative he shares. 



GEORGE CANNING. la 

Wide from the throne the blest contagion spreads, 
O'er all the land its gladdening influence sheds, 
Faction's discordant sounds are heard no more, 
And foul corruption flics the indignant shore. 
His ministers with joy their courses run, 
And borrow lustre from the royal sun. 
But should some upstart, train'd in Slavery's school, 
Learn'd in the maxims of despotick rule, 
Full fraught with forms, and grave pedantic pride, 
(Mysterious cloak the mind's defects to hide!) 
Sordid in small things, prodigal in great, 
Saving for minions, squandering for the state 
Should such a miscreant, born for England's bane, 
Obscure the glories of a prosperous reign j 
Gain, by the semblance of each praiseful art, 
A pious prince's unsuspecting heart ; 
Envious of worth, and talents not his own, 
Chase all experienc'd merit from the throne ; 
To guide the helm a motley crew compose, 
Servile to him, the king's and country's foes ; 
Meanly descend each paltry place to fill, 
With tools of power, and panders to his will ; 
Brandishing high the scorpion scourge o'er all, 
Except such slaves as bow their knee to Baal 
Should Albion's fate decree the baneful hour 
Short be the date of his detested power ! 



16 GEORGE CANNING. 

Soon may his sovereign break his iron rods, 
And hear his people 5 for their voice is God's ! 

Cease then your wiles, ye fawning courtiers! cease, 
Suffer your rulers to repose in peace j 
By Reason led, give proper names to things, 
God made them men, the people made them kings; 
To all their acts but legal powers belong, 
Thus England's monarch never can do wrong j 
Of right divine let foolish Filmer dream, " 
The public welfare is the law supreme. 

Lives there a wretch, whose base, degenerate soul 
Can crouch beneath a tyrant's stern controul ? 
Cringe to his nod, ignobly kiss the hand 
In galling chains that bind his native land ? 
Purchased by gold, or aw'd by slavish fear, 
Abandon all his ancestors held dear ? 
Tamely behold that fruit of glorious toil, 
England's great charter made a ruffian's spoil j 
Hear, unconcern'd, his injured country groan, 
Nor stretch an arm to hurl him from the throne ? 
Let such to freedom forfeit all their claims, 
And Charles's minions be the slaves of James. 
But soft awhile Now, Cavendish, attend 
The warm effusions of thy dying friend j 



GEORGE CANNING. I? 

Fearless who dares his inmost thoughts reveal, 
When thus to Heaven he makes his last appeal. 

All-gracious God ! whose goodness knows no bounds ! 

Whose power the ample universe surrounds ! 

In whose great balance, infinitely just, 

Kings are but men, and men are only dust ; 

At thy tribunal low thy suppliant falls, 

And here condemn'd, on thee for mercy calls ! 

Thou hear'st not, Lord ! an hypocrite complain, 

And sure with thee hypocrisy were vain ; 

To thy all-piercing eye the heart lies bare, 

Thou know'st my sins, and, knowing, still can'st 

spare ! 

Though partial power its ministers may awe, 
And murder here by 'specious forms of law ; 
The axe, which executes the harsh decree, 
But wounds the flesh, to set the spirit free ! 
Well may the man a tyrant's frown despise, 
Who, spurning earth, to Heaven for refuge flies , 
And on thy mercy, when his foes prevail, 
Builds his firm trust that rock can never fail ! 
Hear then, Jehovah, hear thy servant's prayer ! 
Be England's welfare thy peculiar care ! 
Defend her laws, her worship chaste, and pure, 
And guard her rights while Heaven and earthendure ! 
vo/.. in. c 



18 GEORGE CANNING. 

O let not ever fell tyrannick sway 

His blood stain'd standard on her shores display ! 

Nor fiery Zeal usurp the holy name, 

Blinded with blood, and wrapt in rolls of flame ! 

In vain let Slavery shake her threatening chain, 

And Persecution wave her torch in vain ! 

Arise, O Lord ! and hear thy people's call ! 

Nor for one man let three great kingdoms fall ! 

O ! that my blood may glut the barbarous rage 

Of Freedom's foes, and England's ills assuage ! 

Grant but that prayer, I ask for no repeal, 

A willing victim for my country's weal ! 

With rapturous joy the crimson stream shall flow. 

And my heart leap to meet the friendly blow. 

But should the fiend, though drench'd with human 

gore, 

Dire Bigotry, insatiate, thirst for more, 
And, arm'd from Rome, seek this devoted land, 
Death in her eye, and bondage in her hand 
Blast her fell purpose ! blast her foul desires ! 
Break short her sword, and quench her horrid fires! 

Raise up some champion, zealous to maintain 
The sacred compact, by which monarchs reign ! 
Wise to foresee all danger from afar, 
And brave to meet the thunders of the war 1 



GEORGE CANNING. 19 

Let pure Religion, not to forms confin'd, 
And love of freedom fill his generous mind ! 
Warm let his breast with sparks celestial glo\v, 
Benign to man, the tyrant's deadly foe ! 
While sinking nations rest upon his arm, 
Do thou the great Deliverer shield from harm ! 
Inspire his councils ! aid his righteous sword ! 
'Till Albion rings with Liberty restored ! 
Thence let her years in bright succession run, 
And Freedom reign coaeval with the sun. 

'Tis done, my Ca'ndish, Heaven has heard my 

prayer j 
So speaks my heart, for all is rapture there. 

To Belgia's coast advert thy ravish'd eyes, 
That happy coast, whence a!! our hopes arise. 
Behold the Prince, perhaps thy future king, 
From whose green years maturest blessings spring) 
Whose youthful arm, when all o'erwhelming Power 
Ruthless march'd forth, his country to devour, 
With firm-braced nerve repell'd the brutal force, 
And stopp'd th' unwieldy giant in his course. 

Great William, hail ! who sceptres could despise, 
And spurn a crown with unretorted eyes : 
e 2 



20 CSEORGE CANNING. 

O ! when will princes learn to copy thee, 

And leave mankind, as Heaven ordain'd them, free ! 

Haste, mighty chief, our injur'd rights restore, 
Quick spread thy sails for Albion's longing shore ! 
Haste, mighty chief, ere millions groan enslav'd > 
And add three realms to one already sav'd ! 
While Freedom lives, thy memory shall be dear, 
And reap fresh honours each returning year> 
Nations preserved shall yield immortal fame, 
And endless ages bless thy glorious name ! 

Then shall my Ca'ndish, foremost in the field, 
By justice arm'd, his sword conspicuous wield; 
While willing legions crowd around his car, 
And rush impetuous to the righteous war. 
On that great day be every chance defied, 
And think thy Russel combats by thy side; 
Nor, crown'd with victory, cease thy generous toil, 
'Till firmest peace secure this happy isle. 

Ne'er let thine honest, open heart believe 
Professions specious, forged but to deceive ; 
Fear may extort them, when resources fail., 
But O ! reject the baseless, flattering tale. 



GEORGE CANNING. 21 

Think not that promises, or oaths can bind, 
With solemn ties, a Rome-devoted mind j 
Which yields to all the holy juggler saith, 
And deep imbibes the bloody, damning faith. 
What though the bigot raise to Heaven his eyes 
And call the Almighty witness from the skies ! 
Soon as the wish'd occasion he explores, 
To plant the Roman cross on England's shores, 
All, all will vanish, while his priests applaud, 
And saint the perjurer for the pious fraud. 
Far let him fly these freedom-breathing climes, 
And seek proud Rome, the fosterer of his crimes ; 
There let him strive to mount the Papal chair, 
And scatter empty thunders in the air, 
Grimly preside in Superstition's school, 
And curse those kingdoms he could never rule. 
Here let me pause, and bid the world adieu, 
While Heaven's bright mansions open to my view ! 

Yet still one care, one tender care remains j 
My bounteous friend, relieve a father's pains ! 
Watch o'er my son, inform his waxen youUa 
And mould his mind to virtue and to truth 
Soon let him learn fair liberty to prize, 
And envy him, who for his country diesj 
C8 



22 GEORGE CANNING; 

In one short sentence to comprize the whole, 
Transfuse to his the virtues of thy soul. 

Preserve thy life, my too, too generous friend, 
Nor seek ^vith mine thy happier fate to blend ! 
Live for thy country, live to guard her laws, 
Proceed, and prosper in the glorious cause ; 
While I, though vanquish'd, scorn the field to fly, 
But boldly face my foes, and bravely die. 

Let princely Monmouth courtly wiles beware^, 
JNor trust too far to fond paternal care j 
Too oft dark deeds deform the midnight cell, 
Heaven only knows how noble Essex fell ! 
Sidney yet lives, whose comprehensive mind 
Ranges at large through systems unconfin'dj 
Wrapt in himself, he scorns the tyrant's power, 
And hurls defiance even from the tower } 
With tranquil brow awaits the unjust decree, 
And, arm'd with virtue, looks to follow me. 

Ca'ndish, farewell ! may Fame our names entwine! 
Through life I loved thee, dying I am thine j 
With pious rites let dust to dust be thrown, 
And thus inscribe my monumental stone. 
" Here Russel lies, enfranchised by the grave, 
" He prized his birthright, nor would live a slave. 



. 



GEORGE CANNING. 23 

" Few were his words, but honest and sincere*, 

" Dear were his friends, his country still more dear ; 

" In parents, children, wife supremely bless'd, 

" But that one passion swallow'd all the rest ; 

" To guard her freedom was his only pride, 

" Such was his love, and for that love he died." - 

" Yet fear not thou, when Liberty displays 

" Her glorious flag, to steer his course to praise ; 

" For know, (whoe'er thou art that read'st his fate, 

" And think'st, perhaps, his sufferings were too 

great,) 

" Bless'd as he was, at her imperial call, 
" Wife, children, parents he resign'd them all; 
" Each fond affection then forsook his soul, 
" And AMOR PATRIJE occupied the whole ; 
" In that great cause he joy'd to meet his doom, 
" Bless'd the keen axe, and triutnph'd o'er th 

tomb." 

The hour draws near But what are hours to me 2 
Hours, days, and years hence undistinguished flee ! 
Time, and his glass unheeded pass sfway, 
Absorb'd, and lost in one vast flood of day ! 
On Freedom's wings my soul is borne on high, 
And soars exulting to its native sky ! 



WILLIAM WILKIE. 



West Lothian, 1721, 1672. 



Whatever nationality could do for a Poem, has been done 
for this writer's Epigoniad. Hume recommended it in the 
Critical Review, as one of the ornaments of our language, 
Smollett enumerated it among the glories of George 
the Second's reign, and he is called the Scottish Homer. 
All would not do, the fable is well invented, but it is dull, 
the verses respectable but dull, the author learned but 
lu".l, and duhiLas is the poetical sin, for which there is 
no redemption. 

TVilkie wrote this poem as the most probable means of in, 
troducing himself to the notice of the Great. He com- 
posed an epick poem upon the speculation of getting pre- 
ferment. 

In person he was slovenly, dirty, and even nauseous, he- 
abhorred nothing so much us clean sheets. One evening 
at Hatton, being 1 asked by Lady Lauderdale to stay all night, 
he expressed an attachment to his own bed., but said, if 
her Ladyship would give him a pair of foul sheets, he 
would stay. 

But there are more honourable traits in Wilkie's character ; 
his talents made him (he best farmer in his neighbour. 



. 



WILLIAM WILKIE. 25 

hood, his honesty the worst dealer in the market, he wa* 
parsimonious, and parsimony must be ascribed to him as 
a virtue, for he had been obliged to borrow ten pounds 
for his father's burial, and had been refused the loan by 
his uncle : he provided for his sisters, and was known t 
be charitable when he had amassed money. 

Wallace said, nobody could venture to cope with him in 
conversation ; boih his manner and thoughts were mas- 
culine in a degree peculiar to himself." It is < xtraordi- 
ary that no trace of this manliness or originality is to be 
found in his writings, but it is still more extraordinary 
that a man should have been able to write verses at all, 
who could not read them without violating all metre and 
all melody by the grossest mistakes ia quantity and pro- 
nunciation. 

}Jis Fables are even worse than his Epick ; that which we 
have selected is the best, as well as the shortest. His 
Dream will show his own opinion of his epick merits. 

At the time of his death he was Professor of Natural Philo- 
sophy at St. Andrews, the only preferment he ever ob- 
tained, except the living of Ruth's, which he resigned 
for it. 



From " The Epigo?tiad." 
BOOK III. 

XHB Spartan bands, with thirst of vengeance fired. 
The fight maintain' dj nor from their toils respired. 



26 WILLIAM AVJLKIE. 

Before the hero fallen, the warriors stand, 
Firm as the chains of rock which guard the strand j 
Whose rooted strength the angry ocean braves, 
And bounds the fury of his bursting waves. 
So Sparta stood ; their serred bucklers bar . 
The Theban phalanx, and exclude the war. 
While from the field, upon their shoulders laid, 
His warriors sad, the Argive prince convey 'd ; 
Leophron saw, with indignation fired, 
And with his shouts the lingering, war inspired, 
Again the rigour of the shock returns ; 
The slaughter rages, and the combat burns $ 
Till, push'd and yielding to superior sway, 
In slow retreat the Spartan ranks give way. 
As in some channel pent, entangled wood 
Reluctant stirs before the angry flood ; 
Which, on its loaded current, slowly heaves 
The spoils of forests mix'd with harvest sheaves. 

Pallas observed, and from the Olympian height 
Precipitated swift her downward flight. 
Like Cleon's valiant son, the goddess came ; 
The same her stature, and her arms the same. 
Descending from her chariot to the ground, 
The son of Tydeus, 'midst his bands, he found ; 
His steeds unruled : for, stretch'd before the wheel, 
Lay the bold driver pierced with Theban steel. 



WILLIAM WILKIK. 27 

On the high car her mighty hand she laid, 
And thus address'd the valiant Diomed : 
The Spartan warriors, prince ! renounce the fight, 
O'ermatch'd by numbers and superior might : 
While adverse Fate their valiant chief restrains, 
Who, dead or wounded, with the foe remains ; 
Hegialus lies lifeless on the earth, 
Brother to her from whom you claim your birth : 
The great Atrides, as he press'd to save, 
Leophron's javelin mark'd for him the grave. 
To vengeance haste ; and, ere it is too late, 
With speedy succour stop impending fate : 
For stern Leophron, like the rage of flame, 
With ruin threatens all the Spartan name. 
The Goddess thus : Tydides thus replies : 
How partial are the counsels of the skies ! 
For vulgar merit, oft the Gods with care 
Honour, and peace, and happiness prepare j 
While worth, distinguish'd by their partial hate> 
Submits to all the injuries of fate. 
Adrastus thus, with justice may complain 
His daughters widow'd, sons in battle slain. 
In the devoted line myself J stand, 
And here must perish by some hostile hand : 
Yet not for this I shun the works of war., 
Nor skulk inglorious when I ought to dar, 



58 WILLIAM TflLKIE. 

And now I'll meet yon terrour of the plain, 
To crown his conquests, or avenge the slain. 
But wish some valiant youth to rule my car, 
And push the horses through the shock of war, 
Were present j for, extended in his gore, 
The brave Speusippus knows his charge no more. 



FABLE XV. 

The Crow, and the other. Birds. 
Containing an ustful hint to the Critlcks* 

IN ancient times, tradition says, 

When birds, like men, would strive for praise j 

The Bulfinch, Nightingale, and Thrush, 

With all that chant from tree or bush, 

Would often meet in song to vie ; 

The kinds that sing not, sitting by. 

A knavish Crow, it seems, had got 

The nack to criticise by rote : 

He understood each learned phrase, 

As well as criticks, now-a-days : 

Some say, he learned them from an owl, 

By listening where he taught a school. 



WILLIAM W1LKIE. 

'Tis strange to tell, this subtle creature. 

Though nothing musical by nature, 

Had learn'd so well to play his part, 

With nonsense couch'd in terms of art, 

As to be own'd by all at last 

Director of the publick taste. 

Then, pufTd with insolence and pride, 

And sure of numbers on his side. 

Each song he freely criticised ; 

What he approved not was despised : 

But one false step in evil hour, 

For ever stript him of his power. 

Once when the birds assembled sat, 

All listening to his formal chat ; 

By instinct nice hexhanced to find 

A cloud approaching in the wind, 

And ravens hardly can refrain 

From croaking when they think of rain ; 

His wonted song he sung : the blunder 

Amazed, and scared them worse than thunder ; 

For no one thought so harsh a "note 

Could ever sound from any throat : 

They all at first with mute surprise 

Each on his neighbour turn'd his eyes : 

But scorn succeeding soon took place, 

And might be read in every face. 



30 -WILLIAM WILKIE. 



All this the raven saw with pain 
And strove his credit to regain. 

Quoth he, The solo which ye heard 

In publick should not have appear'd : 

The trifle of an idle hour, 

To please my mistress once when sour r 

My voice, that's somewhat rough and strong, 

Might chance the melody to wrong, 

But, try'd by rules, you'll find the grounds 

Most perfect and harmonious sounds. 

He reason'd thus ; bi?t to his trouble, 

At every word the laugh grew double : 

At last o'ercome with shame and spite, 

He flew away quite out of sight. 



JAMES GIUEME. 



Carmvorlh, Lanarkshire. 1749 1772. 



Graeme is indebted to the partial friendship of Dr. Andersom 

for a place among the English Poets. 
In one of his pieces a very curious passage is to be found. 

It is debated in Heaven how to reward the distinguished 

virtue of Archibald Hamilton, Esq. son of the Reverend 

Mr. Hamilton, Minister of Douglas. 

' Shall he at onee our happy mansions tread, 

From life's low cares and flesh's fetters freed f 

Or rather with some kindred spirit know 

AH that can be conceived of hi:aven below ? 

'Tis fix'd ; and who shall question Heaven's award;. 

Be Miss Dinwiddie his divine reward. 



The Student. 

REMOTE from schools, from colleges remote, 
In a poor hamlet's meanest, homeliest cot, 
My earliest years were spent, obscurely low ; 
Little I knew, nor much desired to know ; 



32 TAMES 



My highest wishes never mounted higher, 
Than the attainments of an aged sire ; 
Proverbial wisdom, competence of wealth, 
Earn'd with hard labour, and enjoy'd with health, 
Blest, had I still these blessings known to prize! 
More rich I sure had been ; perhaps more wise. 

One luckless day, returning from the field, 
'Two swains, the wisest that the village held, 
Talking of books and learning, T o'erheard, 
Of learned men and learned men's reward : 
How some rich wives, and some rich livings, got, 
Sprung from the tenants of a turf-built cot : 
Then both concluded though it ruin'd health, 
Increase of learning was increase of wealth. 

Fired with the prospect, I embraced the hint, 
A grammar borrowed, and to work I went; 
The scope and tenor of each rule I kept. 
No accent miss'd me, and no gender scap'd j 
I read whate'er commenting Dutchmen wrote, 
Turn'd o'er Stobaeus, and could Suidas quote ; 
In letter'd Gellius traced the bearded sage 
Through all the windings of a wise adage : 
Was the spectator of each honest scar, 
Each sophist carry 'd from each wordy war : 



JAMES GRjEMB. 33 



Undaunted was ray heart, nor could appal 
The mustiest volume of the mustiest stall j 
Where'er I turn'd, the giant-spiders fled, 
And trembling moths retreated as I read ; 
Through Greece and Rome, I then observant 

stray'd, 

Their manners noted, and their states survey'd j 
Attended heroes to the bloody fields, 
Their helmets polish'd, and emboss'd their shields; 
With duteous hand the decent matron drest, 
And wrapp'd the stripling in his manly vest j 
Nor stop'd I there, but mingled with the boys, 
Their rattles rattled, and improved their toys j 
Lash'd conick turbos as in gyres they flew, 
Bestrode their hobbies, and their whistles blew : 
But still when this, and more than this, was done, 
My coat was ragged and my hat was brown. 

Then thus I commun'd with myself: " shall I 

rf Let all this learning in oblivion die, 

<l Live in the haunts of ignorance, content 

" With vest unbutton'd, and with breeches rout 7 

f< None knows my merit here ; if any knew, 

" A scholar's worth would meet a scholar's due. 

" What then ? the college! ay, 'tis there I'll shine, 

<e I'll study morals, or I'll turn divine ; 

VOL, III. ) 



34 JAMES GRJEME. 

" Struck with my letter'd fame, without a doubt, 
" Some modern Loelius will find^me out: 
tc Superior parts can never long be hid, 
" And he who wants, deserves not to be fed.'' 
Transported with the thoughts of this and that, 
I stitch'd my garments, and I dyed my hat ; 
To college went, and found with much ado, 
That roses were not red, nor violets blue j 
That all J've learn'd, or all I yet may learn, 
Can't help me truth from falsehood to discern, 
* * * * * * # 

All mere confusion, altogether hurl'd, 

One dreary waste, one vast ideal world ! 

Where uproar rules, and do you what you will, 

Uproar has ruled it, and will rule it still. 

Victorious ergo, daring consequence, 

Will even be a match for common sense ! 

To lordly reason every thing must bow, 

The hero liberty, and conscience too ; 

The first is fetter'd in a fatal chain, 

The latter gagg'd attempts to speak in vain. 

Locke ! Malebrauche ! Hume ! abstractions thrice 

abstract ! 

In reason give me what in sense I lack ; 
I feel my poverty, and in my eye, 
My hat, though dyed has but a dusky dye, 



JAMES GE^.ME. 35 



c< Mistrust your feelings, Reason bids you do."- 
But, gentlemen, indeed I cannot now j 
For after a.11 your ergo' s, -look you there 
My bat is greasy, and my coat is bare. 

Hail MORAL TRUTH ! I'm here at least secure, 
You'll give me comfort, though you keep me poor. 
But say you so ? in truth 'tis something hard, 
Virtue does surely merit a reward. 
" Reward ! O, servile, selfish; ask a hire!" 
Raiment and food this body does require : 
A prince for nothing may philosophize, 
A student can't afford to be so wise. 

Sometimes the Stoick's gloomy walks I try'd, 
Wrinkled my forehead, and enlarged my stride, 
Despised even hunger, poverty, and pain, 
Searching my pockets for a crust in vain. 
Sometimes in Academus' verdant shade, 
With step more graceful I exulting stray'd, 
Saw health and fortune join'd with happiness, 
And virtues smiling in her social dress ; 
On me she did not smile, but rarl^er lour : 
I still was wretched, for L still was poor. 
Sworn to no master, sometimes I would dwell 
With Shaftesbury, sometimes with Mandeville 5 
r>2 






36 JAMES GRJEMF. 

Would call at every system on my way, 
And now. with Leibnitz, now with Manes stay j 
But after all my shiftings here and there, 
My hat was greasy, and my coat was bare. 

Then I beheld ruy labours past, and lo ! 

It was not vanity, and all was woe ; 

I look'd on learning, and her garb was mean, 

Her eyes were hollow, and her cheeks were leanj 

Disease and Famine threaten'd in her train, 

And Want, who strives to hide her rags in vain j 

Her lurid brow a sprig .of laurel traced, 

On which was mark'd, ' Unpension'd and Unplac'd.' 

I turn'd to Ignorance} and lo she sate 

Enthroned beneath a canopy of state} 

Before her riches all his bags unty'd, 

And ever and anon her waiits supply'd, 

While on a smiling plenitude efface, 

Was clearly read, " a Pension and a Place." 



To Lady D n, on htr learning. 


In beauty or wit, 

No mortal as yet, 
To question your empire has dared : 



JAMES GRJEMF. 37 

* 

But men of discerning, 
Have thought, that in learning, 
To yield to a Lady was hard. 

Impertinent schools, 

Where Pedants give rules, 
Have reading to females deny'd : 

So Papist s refuse, 

The Bible to use, 
Lest flocks should be wise as their guide. 

'Twas a female at first, 

(Indeed she was curst) 
In knowledge that tasted delight : 

And Sages agree, 

Our laws will decree, 
To the first possessor the right. 

Then bravely, fair dame, 

Renew the old claim, 
Which to your whole sex xloth belong : 

And let men ieceive, 

From a second bright Eve, 
The knowledge jof right and of wrong. 

But if Eve the first, 
Was so cruelly curst, 
When only one apple had she : 
D3 



98 



JAMES 



What punishment new, 
Shall be found out for you, 
Who have robb'd the whole fruit of the tree. 



To the Two Miss Woodwards. 

THE charms of sweet Lydia inspire me, 
Her face, shape, and wit, I adore : 

But Emily's smiling eyes fire me 
With wishes I ne'er felt before. 

The bright mind of Lydia's a jewel, 
Well set in an elegant frame : 

But Emily pleases me too well, 
To examine what causes my flame. 

His measure with Lyclia Time loses, 
Hours glide like the minutes away : 

If Emily her presence refuses, 

One moment appears a whole day. 

One sister my head so possesses,' 

My reason with her would take part : 

But the otiier that rebel suppresses, 
And absolute reigns in my heart. 



JAMES GRJEME. 30 



To musick wV>en gay Lydia bounds., 
My fancy too dances the hays : 

When Emily's spinnet resounds, 
I feel on ray heart-string she plays. 

Fair Lydia all the Graces adorn, 

Every word, every look 1 approve 5 
But Emily's serene as the morn, 
, And I only know this., that I love. 



[ 40 J 



WALTER HARTE. 



Alout 17001773. 



Walter Harte was the son of a clergyman'of the same nam 
who obtained, mirallh dictu, a Prebendary of Bristol, 
through ;he recommendation of Lord Chancellor Jefferies, 
in return for the manly freedom with which he remon- 
strated against his severities at Taunton. 

The subject of this biographical sketch was 'authour of the 
History of Gustavus Adolphus, which work has been 
aptly said to be ' full of Latinisms, Gallicisms, German- 
icisms, and all isms, but Anglicisms." He was tutor to 
Lord Chesterfield's sen, and is thus spoken of in Ander- 
son's collection : 

11 The character of Harte seems to have been highly ami- 
able and respectable. He was beloved, esteemed, and 
revered by his friends. The testimonies of Pope, Fen- 
ton, and Lyttleton, are unquestionable authorities in 
favour of his intellectual and moral endowments. - Even- 
Chesterfield concurs in the fullest commendation of his 
amiable worth and consummate erudition, though his 
fastidious delicacy unfitted him to balance the excellence 
of his moral qualities against his deficiency in the graceF 
cf personal behaviour, 



WALTER HAUTE. 41 

"Meditations on Christ's Death and Passion. 
An Emblem. 



He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised. for 
our iniquities : the chastisement of our peace was upon 
him. Isaiah liii. 5. 



XPISTE' <rv<Tov, us Avlos 

GRC. NAZ. CARM. JAM. 

Respice dum transis ; Quia sis mihi causa doloris, 



HASTE not so fast, on worldly cares employed, 
Thy bleeding Saviour asks a short delay : 
What trifling bliss is still to be enjoy'd, 
What change of folly wings thee on thy way ? 
Look back a moment, pause a while, and stay., 
For thee thy God assumed_the human frame j 
For thee the guiltless pains and anguish try'd y 
Thy passions (sin excepted) his became : 
Like thee he suffer' d, hunger'd, wept, and died. 

Nor \vealth nor plenty did he ever taste, 

The moss his pillow, oft his couch the ground - f 

The poor man's bread completed his repast ; 

Home he had none, and quiet never found, 

For fell Reproach pursued,' and aim'd the wound : 



42 WALTER HARTE. 

The wise men mock'd him, and the learned 

scorn'd $ 

Th' ambitious worldling other patrons tried ; 
The power that judg'd him every foe suborn'dj 
He wept unpity'd, and unhonour'd died. 

For ever mournful, but for ever dear, 
O love stupendous ! glorious degradation ! 
No death of sickness, with a common tear ; 
No soft extinction claims our sorrows here j 
But anguish, shame, and agonizing passion ! 
The riches of the world, and worldly praise, 
No monument of gratitude can prove j 
Obedience only the great debt repays, 
An imitative heart, and undivided love ! 

To see the image of the All-glorious Pow'r 

Suspend his immortality, and dwell 

In mortal bondage, tortured every hour : 

A self-made prisoner in a dolesome cell, 

Victim for sin, and conqueror of hell ! 

Lustration for offences not his own ! 

The unspotted for the impure resign'd his breath j 

No other offering could thy crimes atone : 

Then blame thy Saviour's love, but not his death. 



WALTER HAUTE. 43 

From this one prospect draw thy sole relief, 
Here learn submission, passive duties learn ; 
Here drink the calm oblivion of thy grief: 
Eschew each danger, every good dis^rn, 
And the true wages of thy virtue earn. 
Reflect, O man, on such stupendous love, 
Such sympathy divine, and tender care j 
Beseech the Paraclete thine hand to move, 
And offer up to heaven this silent prayer. 

" Great God, thy judgments are with justice 

crown'd, 

To human crimes and errours gracious still ; 
Yet, though thy mercies more and more abound, 
Right reason spares not fresh-existing ill, 
Nor can thy goodness counterwork thy will. 
Ah, no, the gloom of sin so dreadful shows, 
That horrour, guilt, and death the conscience fill : 
Eternal laws our happiness oppose j 
Thy nature and our lives are everlasting foes ! 

" Severe thy truth, yet glorious is thy scheme j 
Complete the vengeance of thy just desire $ 

See from our eyes the gushing torrents stream, 
Yet strike us, blast us with celestial fire j 
Our doom, and thy decrees, alike conspire. 



44 WALTER HARTE. 

Yet dying we will love thee and adore : 
Where shall the flaming flashes of thy ire 
Transpierce pur bodies ? Ev'ry nerve and pore 
With Christ's Tmmaculate blood is cover'd o'er and 
o'er." 



A SIMILE, 

Upon a set of Tea Drinkers. 



So Fairy elves their morning table spread 

O'er a white Mushroon's hospitable head : 

In acorn cups the merry goblins quaft" 

The pearly dews ; they sing, they love, they laugh 

Melodious Musick trembles through the sky, 

And airy sounds along the green wood die. 



GEORGE LORD LYTTLETON. 



17081773. 



To have been a respectable versifier, if praise it be, is the 
least of this nobleman's praises: he was a faithful his- 
torian, an honourable statesman, and a good man. 



Advice to a Lady. 1731. 

THE counsels of a friend, Belinda, hear, 
Too roughly kind to please a lady's ear, 
Unlike the flatteries of a lover's pen. 
Such truths as women seldom learn from men. 
Nor thiak I praise you ill, when thus I show 
What female vanity might fear to know. 
Some merit's mine, to dare to be sincere ; 
But greater your' s, sincerity to. bear. 

Hard is the fortune that your sex attends j 
Women, like princes, find few real friends : 



46 GEORGF t,OHD LYTTLETON. 

All who approach them their own ends pursue ; 
Lovers and ministers are seldom true. 
Hence oft from rea- -i heedless beauty strays, 
And the most trusted guide the most betrays ! 
Hence, by lend dreams of fancied power amused, 
When most you tyrannize, you're most abused. 

What is your sex's earliest, latest care, 
Your heart's supreme ambition ? to be fair. 
For this, the toilet every thought employs, 
Hence .all the toils of dress, and all the joys : 
For this, hands, lips, and eyes, are put to school, 
And each instructed feature has its rule : 
And yet, how tew have learnt, when this is given, 
Not to disgrace the partial boon of heaven ! 
How few with all their pride of form can move ! 
How few are lovely, that are made for love ! 
Do you, my fair, endeavour to possess 
An elegance of mind as well as dress ; 
Be that your ornament, and know to please 
By graceful nature's unaffected ease. 

Nor make to dangerous wit a vain pretence, 
But wisely rest content with modest sense j 
For wit like wine intoxicates the brain, 
Too strong for feeble woman to sustain : 



GEORGE LORD fcYTTLETON. 47 

Of those who claim it more than half have none, 
And half of those who have it are undone. 

Be still superior to your sex's arts, 
Nor think dishonesty a proof of parts : 
For you the plainest is the \v isest rule : 
A' cunning woman is a knavish fool. 
Be good yourself, nor think another's shame 
Can raise your merit, or adorn your fame. 
Prudes rail at whores, as statesmen in disgrace 
At ministers, because they wish their place. 
Virtue is amiable, mild, serene j 
Without, all beauty, and all peace within ; 
The honour of a prude is rage and storm, 
*Tis ugliness in its most frightful form; 
Fiercely it stands, defying gods and men, 
As riery monsters guard a giant's den. 
Seek to be good, but aim not to be great : 
A woman's noblest station is retreat : 
Her fairest virtues fly from public sight, 
Domestick worth, that shuns too strong a light. 

To rougher man Ambition's task resign : 
'Tis ours in senates or in courts to shine j 
To labour for a sunk corrupted state, 
Or dare die rage of envy, and be great. 
3 



48 GEORGE LORD LYTTLETON. 

One only care your gentle breasts shall move, 
The important business of your life is love ; 
To this great point direct your constant airn, 
This makes your happiness, and this your fame. 

Be never cool reserve with passion join'd ; 
With caution choose : but then be fondly kind.' 
The selfish heart that but by halves is given, 
Shall find no place in love's delightful heaven ; 
Here sweet extremes alone can truly bless : 
The virtue of a lover is excess. 

A maid unask'd may own a well-placed flame } 
Not loving first, but loving wrong is shame. 
Contemn the little pride of giving pain, 
Nor think that conquest justifies disdain. 
Short is the period of insulting power, 
Offended Cupid finds his vengeful hour ; 
Soon will resume the empire which he gave, 
And soon the tyrant shall become the slave. 
Blest is the maid, and worthy to be blest, 
Whose soul, entire by him she loves possest, 
Feels every vanity in fondness lost, 
And asks no power but that of pleasing most ; 
Hers is the bliss, in just return, to prove 
The honest warmth of undissembled love j 



GEORGE LORD LYTTLETOH. 4JJ 

For her, inconstant man might cease to range, 
And gratitude forbid desire to change. 
But, lest harsh care the lover's peace destroy, 
And roughly blight the tender buds of joy, 
Let reason teach what passion fain would hide, 
That Hymen's bands by prudence should be tied, 
Venus in vain the wedded pair would crown, 
If angry Fortune on their union frown : 
Soon will the flattering dream of bliss be o'er, 
And cloy'd imagination cheat no more. 
Then, waking to the sense of lasting pain, 
With mutual tears the nuptial couch they stain j 
And that fond love, which should afford relief, 
Does but increase the anguish of their grief j 
While both could easier their own sorrows bear, 
Than the sad knowledge of each other's care. 

Yet may you rather feel that virtuous pnin, 
Than sell your violated charms for gainj 
Than wed the wretch whom you despise or hate, 
For the vain glare of useless wealth or state. 
The most abandoned prostitutes are they, 
Who not to love but avarice fall a prey : 
Nor aught avails the specious name of wife ; 
A maid so wedded is a whore for life, 
vor-. JIT, K 



50 GEORGE LORD LYTTLETON. 

Even in the happiest choice, where favouring 

heaven 

Has equal love and easy fortune given, 
Think not, the husband gain'd, that all is done j 
The prize of happiness must still be won : 
And oft, the careless find it to their cost, 
The lover in the husband may be lost ; 
The graces might alone his heart allure, 
They, and the virtues meeting, must secure. 

Let even your prudence wear the pleasing dress 
Of care, for him, and anxious tenderness. 
From kind concern about his weal or woe, 
Let each domestic duty seem to flow. 
The household sceptre if he bids you bear, 
Make it your pride his servant to appear : 
Endearing thus die common acts of life, 
The mistress still shall charm him in the wife : 
And wrinkled age shall unobserved come on, 
Before his eye perceives one beauty gone : 
Even o'er your cold, your ever-sacred urn, 
His constant flame shall unextinguish'd burn. 
Thus f, Belinda, would your charms improve, 
And form your heart to all the arts of love. 
The task were harder to secure my own 
Against the power of those already known: 



CEORSE LORD LYTTLETOX. 51 

For well you twist the secret chains that bind 
With gentle force the captivated mind, 
Skill'd every soft attraction to employ, 
Each flattering hope, and each alluring joy. 
I own your genius ; and from you receive 
The rules of pleasing, which to you I give. 



E'l 



C 52 ] 



PHILIP DORMER STANHOPE, 

EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. 



London. 1 694 1773. 



Lord Chesterfield has been too much praised by dancing 
masters, who cannot read him ; and too much blamed 
by rigid moralists, who cannnot understand him. His 
jjreat penetration led him to look deeply into the cha- 
racter of mankind ; and the picture that he draws of it, 
is so like, that it cannot but'provoke a melancholy smile. 
To a very young mind, such a representation may be 
prejudicial, as tending to destroy that ingenuousness in 
the outset of life, which dies naturally and gradually by 
intercourse with the world. A man, therefore, who should 
begin by acting upon Lord Chesterfield's principles, 
would now become a consummate hypocrite ; and Jw 
who should not acknowledge the truth of his Lordship's 
observations in the progress of experience, would be a 
fool ; and thus at thirty we should acquiesce in what might 
shock us at eighteen. 

Lord Chesterfield's attempts to lay down rules for behaviour, 
are vain attempts j the cautions which he gives upon 



t, D. STANHOPE, EARL OF CHESTEUFIELD. 53 

points of more serious importance, are those of a father, 
anxious to pour the benefit of his experience upon his 
son ; an attempt perhaps equally fruitless. 
He was among the first wits of his time, and filled high 
political situations. 



Advice to a Lady in Autumn. 

ASSE'S milk, Haifa pint, take at seven, or before j 

Then sleep for an hour or two, and no more. 

At nine stretch your arms, and O! think when 

alone, 
There's no pleasure in bed. Mary, bring me my 

gown : 

Slip on that ere you rise ; let your caution be such ; 
Keep all cold from your breast, there's already too 

much. 

Your pinners set right, your twicher ty'd on, 
Your prayers at an end, and your breakfast quite 

done; 

Ketire to some author improving and gay, 
And with sense like your own, set your mind for 

the day. 
At twelve you may walk, for at this time of 

year, 

The sun, like your wit, is as mild as 'tis clear : 
s3 



54 P. D. STANIIOPE, EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. 

But mark in the meadows the ruin of time ; 
Take the hint, and let life be improved in its prime. 
Return not in haste, nor of dressing take heed; 
For beauty like yours, no assistance can need. 
With an appetite, thus, down to dinner you sit, 
Where the chief of the feast, is the flow of your 

wit : 

Let this be indulged, and let laughter go round j 
As it pleases your mind, to your health 'twill re- 
dound. 

After dinner two glasses at least, I approve j 
Name the first to the king, and the last to your 

love : 

Thus cheerful with wisdom, with innocence gay, 
And calm with your joys gently glide through the 

day. 

The dews of the evening most carefully shun j 
Those tears of the sky for the loss of the sun. 
Then in chat, or at play, with a dance, or a song, 
Let the night, like the day, pass with pleasure 

along. 

All cares, but of love, banish far from your mind ; 
And those you may end, when you please to be 
kind. , 



55 ] 
JOHN CUNNINGHAM. 

Dublin. 17291773. 

Cunningham's father was a wine-cooper at Dublin, who won 
a prize in the Lottery, and was ruined by it, for he com* 
menced wine-merchant with his new capital, and became 
abankrupt. His son, who was then at the grammar-school 
at Drogheda, was taken from his studies in consequence, 
and began, like many young men in hopeless circumstan- 
ces, to look to the Theatre fdr support. Voice, figure, 
manner, every thing wa* against him ; he became seni- 
ble of his own unfitness for this way of life, but there 
was no alternative ; and having made one unsuccessful 
effort to better himself, by attempting the trade of author- 
ship in London, he returned contentedly to the stage. The 
places where he was* employed weVe Edinburgh, Newcas- 
tle, and Alnwick, wfcere,~irt. 'spltfe - ; oi his situation, he 
seems to have been regarded with that respect Which his 
worth and talents deserved. 

Cunningham was an interesting man, he had a true love for 
the beauties of nature, his life was innocent, and, humble 
as his lot was, he was contented, and happy. His Poems 
have obtained considerable popularity, and are not un- 
worthy of it. 



EVENING. 

O'ER the heath the heifer strays 
Free (the furr9we4 &sk " done) 



56 JOHN CUNNINGHAM. 

Now the village windows blaze, 
Burnish'd by the setting sun. 

Now he hides behind the hill, 
Sinking from a golden sky : 

Can the pencil's mimick skill, 
Copy the refulgent dye ? 

Trudging as the ploughmen go, 
To the smoking hamlet bound, 

Giant-like their shadows grow, 
Lengthen'd o'er the level ground. 

Where the rising forest spreads 
Shelter for the lordly dome, 

To their high-built airy beds, 
See the rooks returning home 1 

As the lark, with varied tune, 
Carols to the evening loud, 

Mark the mild resplendent moon, 
Breaking through a parted cloud. 

Now the hermit howlet peeps 
From the barn, or twisted brake : 

And the blue mist slowly creeps, 
Curling on the silver lake. 



JOHN CUNNINGHAM. 57 

As the trout in speckled pride, 

Playful from its bosom springs j 
To the banks, a ruffled tide 

Verges in successive rings. 

Tripping through the silken grass, 

O'er the path-divided dale, 
Mark the rose-complexion'd lass, 

With her well-poised milking pail. 

Linnets, with unnumber'd notes, 

And die cuckoo bird with two, 
Tuning sweet their mellow throats, 

Bid the setting sun adieu. 



EPIGRAM. 

A MEMBER of the modern great 
Pass'd Sawney with his budget, 

The peer was in a car of state, 
The- tinker forced to trudge it. 

But Sawney shall receive the praise 
His lordship would parade for ; 

One's debtor for his dapple greys, 
And t'other's shoes are paid for, ' 



5ft JOHN CUNNINGHAM. 

n f ., '. t., .!- f 

CONTENT : 

A Pastoral. 

O'ER moorlands and mountains, rude, barren, and 
bare, 

As wilder'd and weary'd I roam, 
A gentle young shepherdess sees my despair, 

And leads me o'er lawns to her hooie ; 

Yellow sheaves fjrom, jich Ceres hpr cottage had 

crown'd, ., -:,,, h ,- M o +.' , i,. 
Green rushes werestrew'd on her floor, 
Her casement sweet woodbines crept wantonly 

round, 
And deck'd the sod seats at her door. 

We sate ourselves down to a cooling recast, 
Fresh fruits! agd sh$ cull'd nie the best j 
While thrown Jfeom my guard by some glai:ces she 

Cast, , >t .1^ i) h 15. Hi* -. 

Love slily stole into my breast 

I told my soft wishes.; she sweetly reply'd, 
(Ye virgins, herwice wa^ divine!). 

I've rich ones rejected, and great ones deny'd, 
But take me fond shepherd Um, lhii>e. 



JOHN CUNNINGHAM. 50 

Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek, 
So simple, yet sweet, were her charms, 

I kiss'd the ripe roses that glow'd on her cheek, 
And lock'd the dear maid in my arms. 

Now jocund together we tend a few sheep, 
And if, on the banks of the stream, 

Reclined on her bosom, I sink into sleep, 
Her image still softens my dream. 

Together we range o'er the slow-rising hills, 

Delighted with pastoral views, 
Or rest on the rock whence the streamlet distils, 

And point out new themes for my Muse. 

To pomp or proud titles she ne'er did aspire, 

The damsel's of humble descent; 
The cottager, Peace, is well known for her sire, 

And the shepherds have named her Content. 



The Sheep and the Bramble Busk. A Fable. 
A thick twisted brake, in the time of a storm, 

Seem'd kindly to cover a sheep : 
So snug, for a while, he lay shelter'd and warm, 

It quietly soothed him asleep. 



60 JOHN CUNNINGHAU. 

The clouds are now scatter'd the winds are at 
peace j 

The sheep to his pasture inclined : 
But ah ! the fell thicket lays hold of his fleece, 

His coat is left forfeit behind. 

My friend, who the thicket of law never try'd, 

Consider before you get in ; 
Though judgment und sentence are pass'd on yout 
side, 

By Jove you'll be fleeced to your skin. 



Verses by the Author, 

Written about three Weeks before 7's death. 
Dear lad, as you run o'er my rhyme, 
And see my long name at the end, 
You'll cry " and has Cunningham time 
" To give so much verse to bis friend ?" 

'Tis true, the reproof, though severe, 

Is just, from the letters I owe ; 
But blameless I still may appear, 

For nonsense is all I bestow. 



JOHN CUNNINGHAM. 61 

However for better for worse, 
As Damons their Chloes receive, 

Even take the dull lines I rehearse- 
They are all a poor friend has to give. 

The drama and I have shook hands, 
We have parted, no more to engage ; 
Submissive I met her commands 
For nothing can cure me of age. 

My sunshine of youth is no more ! 

My mornings of pleasure are fled ! 
'Tis painful my fate to endure> 

A pension supplies me with bread ! 

Dependant at length on the man 

Whose fortunes I struggled to raise ! 

I conquer my pride as I can 
His charity merits my praise ! 

His bounty proceeds from his heart ; 

'Tis principle prompts the supply 
His kindness exceeds my desert, 

And often suppresses a sigh. 



62 JOHX CUNNINGHAM. 

But like the old horse in the song, 

I am turn'd on the common to graze 

To fortune these changes belong, 
And contented I yield to her ways ! 

She ne'er was my friend ; through the day, 
Her smiles were the smiles of deceit 

At noon she'd her favours display, 
At night let me pine at her feet : 

No longer her presence I court, 
No longer I shrink at her frowns ! 

Her whimsies supply me with sport 
And her smiles I resign to the clowns ! 

Thus lost to each worldly desire, 
And scorning all riches all fame, 

I quietly hope to retire 

When time shall the summons proclaim. 

I have nothing to weep for behind ! 

To part with my friends is the worst ! 
Their numbers I grant are confined ; 

But you are still one of the first. 



JAMES DANCE. 



1774. 



This Author was an Actor at Drury-Lanc Theatre, under 
the assumed name of Love. He was the son of the City 
Architect, and published a small volume of poems printed 
t Edinburgh, in 1754. 



The Wish. 

When Time and gently creeping age 
Shall point my exit from life's stage j 
If all I could desire were mine 
To smooth and soften my decline ; 
I'd ask but this, instead of wealth 
A competence, and store of health, 
Far from the city's busy noise, 
From Pomp and Luxury's false jors, 



64 JAMES DANCE. 

With one dear female, and one friend, 
I'd laugh and prattle to my end, 
And think what mortals most esteem, 
A trifling play, an idle dream. 
Let other actors grasp the bays 
And pant each year for birth-day praise 
Or more voluptuous, hold their wish, 
And gorge on venison, or on fish ! 
Far otherwise my soul is bent, 
All I desire is but CONTENT. 



EPIGRAM. 

Janus commends me to my face, 
As first in Wisdom's school ; 
The rogue in every other place, 
Proclaims me for a fool. 

By this confest a judging youth, 
The world with trust receive him ; 
And I, self-conscious of the truth, 
You may be sure, beKeve him. 



C 65 ] 



CHARLES JENNER, 



1774. 



Rector of Claybrooke, Leicestershire; 



ECLOGUE II. *. 

Time was. 

THE spring had now eriliven'd every scene; 
And clad the dusky park in partial green ; 
Gay opening buds peep'd throxigh the winter rust, 
And kindly showers Lad half wash'd off their dust. 

On a dull day which, every week, affords 
A glut of 'prentices, in bags and swords j 
When sober families resort to prayer, 
And cits take in their weekly meal of air ; 
Whilst, eastward of St. Paul's, the well-dress'u 

spark 
Runs two long miles, to saunter in the Park : 

VOL. Ill, F 



66 CHARLES JENEXR. 



Prudentlo strolling down the mall was seen, 

To loll upon a bench, and vent his spleen : 

He meets Avaro on the accustom'd seat, 

And thus, in grumbling strains, the veterans greet. 

AVARO. 

Well met, Prudentio Come man, sit you down ; 

How fare you ? 

PRUDENTIO. 

Sick, of this confounded town. 

AVARO. 

Aye, so am I ; time was when it was said., 
A penny buys a pennyworth of bread ; 
But now, engrossers meet with no controul, 
Your penny scarce v ill buy a farthing roll. 
Time was, when evening markets fed the poor, 
And good cheap things were cried from door to 

door j 

But now, the bakers get each week a rise, 
And all provisions double in their price. 

PRUDENTIO. 

How should it happen otherwise ? look here 
What shoals of puppies every where appear ! 



CHARLES JENNER. 67 

That fellow with the tarnish'd suit of lace, 

With insolence and folly in his face, 

Must raise his soap and candles, to afford 

To dress himself on Sundays, like a lord j 

Whilst that pert puppy, with the powder' d queue, 

Must pay his barber out of me or you. 

AVAHO. 

Time was, when sattin waistcoats and scratch wigs, 

Enough distinguished all the city prigs, 

Whilst every sunshine Sunday saw them run 

To club their sixpences, at Islington ; 

When graver citizens, in suits of brown, 

Lined every dusty avenue to town, 

Or led the children and the loving spouse, 

To spend two shillings at White-Conduit-house : 

But now, the 'prentices, in suits of green, 

At Richmond or at Windsor may be seen ; 

Where in mad parties they run down to dine, 

To play at gentlefolks, and drink bad wine : 

Whilst neat post-chariots roll their masters down 

To some nug box, a dozen miles from town. 

PRUDENTIO. 

I grant, that even prudence' self allows 

The man of wealth his coach and country bouse ; 



68 CHARLIS JENNElt. 

By common justice every man is taught, 
To taste those blessings which his labour bought j 
But, say, if candoui can forbear to scoff, 
When men begin just where their sires left off? 
But trade to gain is now too slow a way j 
Fortunes must rise, like mushrooms, in a day j 
Hence sprung that most destructive mode of robbing,, 
By dangerous under-writing, and stock -jobbing j 
Even merchants now, laborious trade despise, 
And find that money is best merchandize ; 
Hence springs the irrecoverable debt, 
Hence,, whereas fills each page of the Gazette. 

AVABO. 
Time was, when tradesmen laid up what they 

gain'd, 

And frugally a family maintain'd ; 
When they took stirring house-wives for their 

spouses, 

To keep up prudent order in their houses ; 
Who thought no scorn, at night to sit them down, 
And make their childrens cloaths, or mend their 

own; 

Would Polly's coat to younger Bess transfer, 
And make their caps without a milliner : 
But now a shopping half the day they're gone, 
To buy five hundred things, and pay for none; 



CHARLES JENNER. 6t 

Whilst Miss despises all domestick rules, 
But lisps the French of Hackney boarding-schools j 
And every lane around Whitechapel bars 
Resounds with screaming notes, and harsh guittars, 

PRUDENTIO. 

Time was too, when the prudent dames would stay 
Till Christmas holidays to see a play, 
And met at cards, at that glad time alone, 
In friendly setts of loo or cheap pope-joan j 
Now, every lady writes her invitations 
For weeKly routs, to all her wise relations, 
And every morning teems with fresh delights ; 
They run the city over, seeing sights j 
Then hurry to the play as night approaches, 
And spend their precious time in hackney-coaches* 

AVARO. 

Hence spring assemblies with such uncouth names, 
At Deplford, Wapping, Rotherhithe, and Shad- 
Thames, 
Where every month the powder'd white-gloved 

sparks, 

Spruce haberdashers, pert attornies* clerks, 
With deep-enamour'd 'prentices, preft-r 
Their suit to m:-nv :i ;.:;.;!)in<c miTe;-;" : 



I 





70 CHARLES JENNER. 

In scraps of plays their passions they impart, 
JiVith all the awkward bows they learn from Hart. 
Tis here they learn their genius to improve, 
And throw by Wingate for the Avt of Love ; 
They frame the acrostick deep, and rebus terse, 
And fill the day-book with enamour' d verse ; 
Even learned Penning on his vacant leaves, 
The ill-according epigram receives, 
And Cocker's margin hobling sonnets grace 
To Delia, measuring out a yard of lace. 

PRUDENTIO. 

Tis true, my friend 5 and thus throughout th 

nation 

Prevails this general Efve of dissipation : 
It matters little where their sports begin, 
Whether at Arthur's, or the Bowl and Pin 3 
Whether they tread the gay Pantheon's round, 
Or play at skittles at St. Giles's pound, 
The self-same idle spirit drags them on, 
And .peer and porter are alike undone : 
Whilst thoughtless imitation leads the way, 
And laughs at all the grave or wise can say. 
The prudent youth, whom some fond mother's 

care 
Had taught to dread the subtle gamester's snare, 



CHARLES 



The first half year improves his own estate, 
And visits not the mansions of the great. 
But thirst of pleasure lures him up to town, 
And every sliarper marks the pigeon down. 
Destructive custom quickly draws him in, 
He plays for trifles, and they let him win j 
He doubles stakes, still feels no fatal rub, 
And now is ballotted at every club : 
No more he dreads the rattling sound of dice, 
And what was but amusement, turns to vice j 
He views the Faro-bank without affright, 
And all his acres tremble every night. 
So have I seen the cautious maiden fair, 
Bred up in innocence and country air, 
Her first appearance make^i tlys gay place, 
And hang her head, and cHed to shew her face ; 
A bashful, blushing, modest, timorous creature, 
That fancies every man she meets will eat her : 
But this improving air soon calms her fear, 
She looks around and spies no dangers near, 
In one short month learns how to play her cards, 
A.nd flirts it with an Ensign in the Guards. 

AVARO. 

All these are heavy truths - - - what can we say ? 



ft CHARLES JENNER, 

PHUDENTIO. 

Why nothing - - let the children have their way. 
Our grave remarks will never make them wiser, 
And sad experience is their best adviser. 
But, hark ! the palace clock is striking three,. 
So even go home and eat your beef with me; 
it 






PAUL WHITEHEAD. 



London, 1710, 1774. 



An imitator of Pope, whose talents were so far successful 
that they raised him from obscurity to affluence. 



VERSES, 

On converting the Chapel to a Kitchen, at the seat of 
the Lord Donnerayle called The Grove, in Hert- 
fordshire. 

BT Ovid, among other wonders we're told 
What chanced to Philemon and Baucis of old j 
How their cot to a temple was conjured by Jove, 
.So a chapel was changed to a kitchen at Grove. 

The lord of the mansion most rightly conceiting, 
His guests loved good prayers, much less than good 
eating j 



74 9A.VL \V1UTEHEAD. 

And possess' d by the devil, as some folks will tell 

ye> 

What was 'meant for the soul, he assign'd to the 
belly. 

The word was' scarce given when down dropp'd 
the clock, 

And straight was seen fixed, in the form of a jack ; 

And shameful to tell ! pulpits, benches, and pews, 

Form'd cupboards, and shelves for plates, sauce- 
pans, and stews. 

Prayer-books turn'd into platters ; nor think it a 

fable, 

A dresser sprung out of the communion-table ; 
Which instead of the usual repast, bread and wine, 
Is stored with rich soups, and good English sirloin. 

No tire but what pure devotion could raise, 

'Till now had been known in this temple to blaze : 

But, good lord ! "how the neighbours around did 

admire, 
When a chimney rose up in the room of a spire. 

For a Jew many people the master mistook, 
Whose Levites were scullions, his high-priest a 
cook; 

* .,* 



J 

*AUL -WHITEHEAD. 75 

And thought he design'd our religion to alter, 
"When they saw the burnt-offering smoke at the 
altar. 

-^ 
The bell's solemn: sound, that was heard far and 

near, 

And oft roused the chaplain unwilling to prayer, 
No more to good sermons now summons the sinner, 
But blasphemous rings in the country to dinner. 

When my good lord the bishop had heard the 

strange story, 
r - How the place was profaned that was built to G 's 

glory ; 
Full of zeal he cried out, " Oh how impious the 

deed, 
" To cram Christians witn pudding, instead of the 

" creed !" 

Then away to the grove hied tlje church's protec- 
tor, 

Resolving to give his lay brother a lecture ; 

But he scarce had begun, when he saw placed be- 
fore 'em, 
- A haunch piping hot from the sanctum sanctorum, 



*,, 



4 f <J JAUL WHITEHEAB. 

" Truth f quoth he, " I find no great sin in the 

plan, 
" What was useless to G d to make useful to 

man : 

" Besides, 'tis a true Christian duty, we read, 
* r The poor and the hungry with good things to 

feed." ^ 

Then again on the walls he bestow'd consecration, 
But reserved the full rights of a free visitation : 
Thus, 'tis still the Lord's house only varied the 

treat, 
Now, there's meat witheut grace where was 

grace without meat. 



v* 



[ 77 ] 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

. 

. Ireland, 1729, 1774. 

I 

" 

Goldsmith's career began in misfortunes, and the greater 

part of his life was overshadowed by poverty. A simple 
man in the affairs of the world, his imprudences brought 
with them the meed of vices. But even in indigence he 
was clear to those who know how to honour talents ; and 
his exquisite good nature attached to him even those who 
might have hated him for his wit. The TRAVELLER, and 
DESERTED VILLAGE will to many eyes present serious 
trmhs, to many, the speculations only of a man of genius. 
He died in 1774, in the possession of such honours as th* 
friendship of men, high in rank, and abilities could be- 
stow upon him. 



From " The Traveller" 

****** 



FIRED at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, 
And flies where Britain courts the western spring j 



78 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride, 
And brighter streams than famed Hydaspes glide, 
There all around the gentlest breezes stray, 
There gentle musick melts on every spray j 
Creation's mildest charms are there combined, 
Extremes are only in the master's mind ! 
Stern o'er each bosom Reason holds her state, 
With daring jfcms irregularly great ; 
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, 
I see the lords of human kind pass by j 
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, 
By forms unfashion'd fresh from nature's hand; 
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, 
True to imagined right above controul, 
While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan, 
And learns to venerate himself as man. 

Thine, Freedorn, thine the blessings pictured here, 
Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear; 
Too blest indeed, were such without alloy ; 
But foster'd even by freedom, ills annoy ; 
That independence Britons prize too high, 
Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie j 
The self-dependent lordling stands alone, 
All claims that bind, and sweeten life unknown j 



.OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 79 

Here by the bonds of nature feebly held, 
Minds combat minds, repe.iini?; and repell'd. 
Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar, 
Represt ambition struggles round her shore, 
Till over-wrought, the general system feels 
Its motion stop, or frenzy fire the wheels. 

Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay, 
As duty, love, and honour fail to sway, 
Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, 
Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. 
Hence nil obedience bows to these alone, 
And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown ; 
Till time may come, when, stript of all her charms, 
The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms, 
Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame, 
Where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame, 
One sink of level avarice shall lie, 
And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour'd, die. 



From " The Deserted Village" 
.ILL fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay , 






80 OLIYIE GOLDSMITH. 

Princes and lords may florish, or may fade j 
A breath can make them, as a breath has made; 
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
When once destroy 'd, can never be supplied, 

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, 
When every rood of ground maintained its man ; 
For him light labour spread her wholesome store j 
Just gave what life required, but gave no more : 
His best companions, innocence and health, 
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 

But times are alter'd ; trade's unfeeling train 
Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain ; 
Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, 
Unwieldy wealth and cumberous pomps repose ; 
And every want to luxury allied, 
And every pang that folly pays to pride. 
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 
Those calm desires that ask'd but little room, 
Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful 

scene 

Lived in each look, and brighten'd all the green} 
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, 
And rural mirth and manners are no more. 
* * ** * 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 



Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey 
The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 
'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand 
Between a splendid and a happy land. 
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore j 
Hoards, even beyond the miser's wish abound, 
And rich men flock from all the world around. 
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name 
That leaves our useful product still the same. 
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride, , 
Takes up a space that many poor supplyed ; 
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, . 
Space for his horses, equipage and hounds ; 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken cloth, 
Has robb'd the neighbouring fields of half their? 

growth ; 

His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
Indignant spurns the cottage from the sreen; 
Around the world each needful product flies, 
For all the luxuries the world supplies, 
While thus the land adorned for pleasure all, 
In barren splendor feebly waits its fall.. 

\>L. 11 U 6, 



GOLnSMItlf.' 

As some fair female unadorned and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, 
Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies ; 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes : 
But when those charms are past, for charms a,re 

frail, 

When time advances, and when lovers fail, 
She then shines forth solicitous to bless, 
In all the glaring impotence of dress. 
Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd, 
In natures simplest charms at first array'd, 
But verging to decline, its splendors rise, 
Its vista's strike, its palaces surprise j 
While scourged by famine from the smili'ng land^ 
The mournful peasant leads his humble band j 
And while he sinks, without one arm to save, 
The country blooms a garden, and a grave. 



[ 33 



HENRY BAKER, 



1774. 



From his poems, published in two volumes, 1725, 

He was the confidential friend of Miller, from whos 
poetry there are extracts in this work. 



The Petition. 

GRANT me, you Gods ! before I die, 

A happy mediocrity ; 

I envy not the man thaf s great ; 

His floors inlaid, his coach of state y 

To me an humble quiet's more- 
Than all the statesman's dearly purchas'd store. 
Nor rank, nor wealth, I ask , but let me be 
Above contempt, and wantful poverty. 
Give me a mind not anxious to encrease, 
But able to enjoy my little stock in peace j 



$4 HENRY BAKER. 

Be it unruffled, calm, sedate, 
.Not rais'd above, but equal to my fate. 
Good nature still in my behaviour shine, ' 
And be humanity for ever mine : 
May true religion, that unerring guide, 

Direct my flight 

To Heaven aright, 
But let me lay its empty forms aside. 

Health and sound reason give me still^ 
To judge unbiass'd what is good or ill. 

Obedient let rny passions be 
To all the rules of strict morality. 

Now, you Heav'nly Powers above J 
Benign, indulgent, full of love, 
If in all your boundless store 
A blessing so unprizeable there be, 
Crown whate'er you gnve before 
With a true friend, full of sincerity : 
Be he the adviser of my rising thoughts,, 
Able and willing to correct their faults. 

Grant me this, and wheresoe'er 
Phoebus shews his golden ray, 
Underneath the frozen bear, 
Or in the sultry wilds of Africa, 



HENRT RAKER. 85 

Tlace me wheresoe'er you please, 
On th' extended Continent, 
Or some island dasht with seas, 
Still shall I praise you, and be well content, 



A serious Reflection on Human Life. 

How vain is man! how foolish all his ways! 
How short, and yet, how sorrowful his days ! 
From life's first moment, to its latest date, 
A painful, careful, miserable state 1 
Languid as sunshine in a winter's day, 
Its worthless joys, scarce tasted, haste away : 
But grief, and labour, everlasting flow, 
And make out one continued scene of woe. 

Like blades of gnss, poor mortals fall, and rise , 
Here one springs up; one withers there, and dies 
This sun restores the loss of yesterday, 
To-morrow takes, what this restor'd, away. 
Thus liery meteors dance along the plain, 
Now up, now down, now seen, now lost again. 

Man's infant state is chiefly pass'd in tears; 
His youih, in bondage under tyrant fears ; 
o4 



85 HENRY BAKER. 

Manhood drives headlong with a loosen'd rein. 
By passion spur'd, nor reason can restrain ; 
And in old age even life itself is pain. 
Thus ev'ry stage peculiar sorrow knows, 
As years on years, so woes increase on woes. 

On man, if poor, a thousand ills attend, 
Abandon'd, comfortless, he knows no friend j 
A wretched life his labours scarce sustain, 
Begun, continued, and dragg'd on with pain. 
By all regarded with a scornful eye, 
Despis'd he lives, does unlamented die: 
No pompous obsequies his corse shall have, 
Alone, and unattended to the grave.* 

But, if the Gods have doom'd him rich, and great, 
He stands a mark for all the darts of fate : 
So lofty mountains, storms, and tempests know, 
While gentle calms bless all the plains below. 

Tho' on his brows a regal-circle blaze, 

And wond'ring crowds at humble distance gaze, 

Wait ev'ry nod, his each command obey, 

Aw'd by the false delusive charms of sway, 

He sadly feels that weight which bends him down, 

And finds there's no enjoyment in a crown : 



BKNRY BAKER. 9 

tXistinguish'd by his purple, and his carw, 
His griefs superior, as the rank he bears. 

No age, no state, unhappy mortals know, 
Which is not full, and ever-charg'd with woe: 
Troubles from life, as sparks from fire, arise ; 
Man's born, knows cares, looks round, lament*, 
and dies. 



Death. 

DEATH is the road to everlasting life, 
To palms, and crowns, and to eternal joys 
Unmix'd with sorrow : where no care, nor strife, 
Or hopes, or fears, the happiness destroys ^ 
But where content, and love, and perfect peace, 
And bliss, abides, which never knows decrease. 

Death is a friend, that sets the wretched free, 
From pain and want, and all their sufferings here 
That laughs at disappointed tyranny, 
And makes the slave no more his bondage fear ; 
That heals the sick, tiie hungry kindly fills, 
And cures mankind of all their worldly Ills. 



88 HENRY BAKER. 

Deatli is a gate, that opens differently 
Two folding doors, which lead contrary waysj 
Thro' this the good man finds felicity, 
The bad thro' that to endless ruin strays : 
Herein they both the 'self-same rule retain, 
Who enters once must ne'er return again. 



Thf. Modish Lover. 

WITH down-cast eyes, and folded arms/ 
Young Myrtle .-aunter'd out one day, 

Reflecting on Florinda's charms, 

The fair, the blooming, and the gay j 

Deeply he sigh'd, his bosom all a flame, 

And on the dust he flourished out her naim, 

Next morn, abroad he walk'd again, 
Much alter'd since the day before: 
' A good night's rest had cur'd his paiu, 
Nor was Florinda thought of more. 
But gidd} chance the fickle youth had brought 
'Close by that spot where he her name had wrote, 



UHNRT BAKER. Sf 

'The place recals to mind his flame, 

\Vheo all in love he wander'd there : 
Twas here, he cries, I left the name 

Of yesterday's commanding fair. 
Pensive a-while he stood, then look'd to find 
What beauteous image had possess'd his mind. 

.But vain, alas! his searches prove, 

The rain had fallen, the wind had blown, 

.And sympathizing with his love, 
Away was every letter flown : 

iNor could his faithless memory declare 

Whose name he yesterday had fiourish'd there. 



The Expostulation. 
should I pine, lament, and die, 
Tor one kind glance of Flora's eyej 
Or sue to her who slights my pains, 
Contemns my vows, my iove disdains * 
"While such a beauteous throng appear, 
More kind than she, tho' none so fair. 

-More soft she seems than falling snow,; 
-Or silver streams that gently flow, 



00 HENRT BAKER. 

When those bewitching eyes I view, 
They look as they could pity too j 
But when to her I make my moan, 
She's harder than the hardest stone. 

No longer will I waste my time, 
And spend in vain my youthful prime, 
To court a maid, whose chiefest joy 
Is how to torture and destroy : 

1 won't be any longer blind, 

For none are charming but the kind. 

But, stay : behold the blooming fair! 
Her graceful shape ! her lovely air ! 
All my resolves are flown away, 
Like ghosts at the approaching day j 
And as the sun the flower revives, 
My passion in her presence thrives. 

Tis vain elsewhere to seek redress, 

For she, and only she, can bless : 

Ev'n while I to forget her try, 

For her, and her alone, I die : 

May Heav'n, that made her fair, dispose 

Her breast to cure the lover's woes. 



r 91 3 



EDWARD LOVIBOND. 



1775. 



A country gentleman whose amusements in verse were col- 

lected after his death. 
He was the Author of " The Tears of Old May Day" 

printed in No. 82 of the World, a poem which has been 

often praised. 



On a very fne "Lady. 

FINE B R observes no other rules 

Than those the coterie prize > 

She thinks, whilst lords continue fools, 
Tis vulgar to be wise r 

Thinks rudeness wit in noble dames, 

Adultery, love polite ; 
That ducal stars shoot brighter flames 

Than all the host of light. 



52 KDlfARD LOYIBOND. 

Yet sages own that greatness throw 
A grace on Spencer's charms ; 

On Hagley's .verse, on Stanhope's prose, 
And gilded Marlborough's arms. 

For titles here their reverence -endsj 

In general wisdom thinks 
The higher grandeur's scale ascends, 

The lower nature's sinks. 



On Rural Sports. 
THE sun wakes jocund all of life, who bre?.thk 

In air, or earth, and lawn, and thicket rove, 
Who swim the surface, or the deep beneath, 

Swell the full chorus of delight and love, 

But what are ye, who cheer the bay of hounds, 
Whose levelled thunder frightens morn's repose, 

Who drag the net, whose hook insidious wounds 
A writhing reptile, type of mightier woes ? 

I see ye come, and havoc loo=e the reins, 
A general groan the general anguish speaks, 

The stately stag falls butchered on the plains, 
The dew of death hangs clammy on his cheek*; 



IDWARD LOVIBONB. 93 

Ah ! see the pheasant fluttering in the brake, 
Green, azure, gold, but undistinguished gore ! 

Yet spare the tenants of the silver lake ! 
I call in vain, They gasp upon the shore. 

A yet ignobler band is guarded round 

With dogs of war the spurning bull their prize ; 
And now he bellows, humbled to the ground ; 

And now they sprawl iu howlings to the skies. 

You too must feel their missile weapon's power, 
Whose clarion charms the midnight's sullen airj 

Thou the morn's harbinger, must mourn the hour 
* Vigil to fasts and penitence and prayer ; 

Must fatal wars of human avarice wage, 

For milder conflicts, love their palm design'd; 

Now sheath'd in steel, must rival reason's rage>. 
Deal mutual death, and emulate mankind ; 

Are these your sovereign joys, creations lords ? 

Is death a banquet for a godlike soul ? 
Have rigid hearts no sympathising chords 

for concord, order, for the harmonious whole ? 

Shrove Tuesday* 



4 1DWARD LOYIBOND. 

Nor plead necessity, thou man of blood ! 

Heaven tempers power with mercy Heaven, 

revere ! 
Yet slay the wolf for safety, lamb for food ; 

But shorten misery's pangs, and drop a tear ! 

AH ! rather turn, and breathe this evening gale, 
Uninjur'd, and uninjuring Nature's peace. 

Come, draw best nectar from the foaming pail, 
Come, pen the fold, and count the flock's in- 
crease I 

See pasturing heifers with the bull who wields 
Yet budding horns, and wounds alone the soil J 

Or see the panting spaniels try the fields 

While bursting coveys mock his wanton toil F 

Now feel the steed with youth's elastic force 
Spontaneous bound, yet bear thy kind controul j 

Nor mangle all his sinews in the course, 

And fainting, staggering, lash him to the goal I 

Now sweetly pensive, bending o'er the stream, 
Mark the gay, floating myriads, nor molest 

Their sports, their slumbers, but inglorious dream 
Of evil fled and all creation blest. 



EDWARD LOVIBOND. 95 

Or else, beneath thy porch, in social joy 
Sit and approve thy infant's virtuous haste, 

Humanity's sweet tones while all employ, 
To lure the wing'd domesticks to repast ! 

There smiling see, a fop in swelling state, 
The turkey struts with valour's red pretence, 

And duck row on with waddling honest gait, 
And goose mistake solemnity for sense ! 

While one with front erect in simple pride 

Full firmly treads, his consort waits his call j 

Now deal the copious barly, waft it wide, 
That each may taste the bounty meant for all. 

Yon bashful songsters with retorted eye 

Pursue the grain, yet wheel contracted flight. 

While he, the bolder sparrow, scorns to fly, 
A son of freedom claiming Nature's right. 

Liberal to him, yet still the wafted grain, 
Choicest for those of modest worth, dispense, 

And blessing heaven that wakes their grateful strain, 
Let, Heaven's best joy be thine,, Benevolence I 



96 EDWARD LOVIBON0. 

While flocks soft bleatings, echoing high and clear, 
The neigh of steeds, responsive o'er the heath, 

Deep lowings sweeter melt upon thy ear 

Than screams of terror and the groans of death. 

Yet sounds of woe delight a giant brood : 

Fly then mankind, ye young, ye helpless old ! 

For not their fury, a consuming flood, 

Distinguishes the shepherd, drowns the fold.. 

But loosen once tliy gripe, avenging law ! 

Eager on man, a nobler chase they start ; 
Now from a brother's side a dagger draw, 

Now sheath it deeper in a virgin's heart. 

See as they reach ambition's purple fruits, 

Their reeking hands in nation's carnage dyed i! 

No longer bathing in the blood of brutes, 
They swim to empire in a human tide. 

But see him, see the fiend that others stung, 

With scorpion,conscience lash himself, the last !. 

See festering in the bosom where they sprung 
The fury passions' that laid nature waste ? 



EDWARD LOVIBOXD. 97 

Behold the self- tormentor drag his chains, 

And weary heaven with many a fruitless groan ! 

By pining fasts, by voluntary pains, 

Revenging nature's cause, he pleads his own. 

Yet prostrate, suppliant to the throne above, 
He calls down heaven in thunders to pursue 

Heaven's fancied foes O God of peace and lov 
The voice of thunder is no voice from you ! 

Mistaken mortal ! 'tis that God's decree 

To spare thy own, nor shed another's blood : 

Heaven breathes benevolence, to all, to thee ; 
Each being's bliss consummates general good. 



VOL. III. 



C 9 s 3 



DANIEL BELLAMY. 



London. 16871776. 



This gentleman was the son of opulent parents, but the 
unfortunate issue of the south sea scheme obliged him, 
" to turn those talents, which were intended for the orna- 
ment towards the support of life," and he actually de- 
voted more than half a century to writing for the pub- 
lick^ 

As an example of that virtuous levity of heart, of which 
no adverse circumstances can deprive those who early 
and assiduously cultivate the means of preserving; the 
following extract is taken from a M S. preface to his 
works, written by his son D. Bellamy, Chaplain at Kew, 
in the possession of Thomas Hill, Esq. of Queenhithe. 

' The fable of the City Mouse and the Country Mouse; 
and of the Dog and the Shadow, in the tenth article of 
this collection, were written in the mad year 1720; at 
which time our author was so deeply engaged in the south 
sea scheme, that he there lost his lands, and sunk his 
fortune. As somewhat too nearly similar to the infatu- 
ation of that year lias happened to various adventurers i 



0ANTEL 

change-alley in our times, it is presumed there will be the 
less need of apology for re-printing those poetical sallies 
on such an interesting event; more especially as they 
convey the feelings of the author while smarting under 
the distresses which those projects brought upon him; 
and which gave the colour to every transaction of a life 
extended to the age of eighty-eight years. Our author 
departed this life the 6th day of February, l77fr." 



The Old Lyon. 

ALL drowri'd in tears a lion sat, 
With age and cares oppressed : 

Once the dread sovereign of the plains, 
But now his subjects jest. 

The tenants of the groves and meads- 

Insult him now by turns : 
The bear torments him with his. tusks, 

The bull with levelled horns. 

But above all the coward ass 
Of former wrongs complains ; 

H2 



100 DANIKt BELLAMY. 

TYims (ail, and with uplifted heels, 
Still aggravates his pains. 

The lion sigh'd, and dying curst 

The day that he was born ; 
Who'd wish to live, that once become* 

A senseless ass's scorn. 

The Application. 

WHEW fortune frowns and friends disdain ui, 

Their censure's hard to bear; 
But when a fool's reflections pain us 

They drive us to despair. 



fhe City Mouse and Country Mouse. 

A MODERN mouse bred up at 'change . 

An active, airy cit j 
Worth twice two plums, tho' more by chance, 

Than by the dint of wit. 

Took a short tour one leisure day 

In all the pomp of pride ; 
His south-sea coach, six Flanders maret, 

And sumptev horse beside. 



BANIEL BBLLAMT. 101 



To pay a visit to a friend, 
An honest country yeoman, 

A civil, modest, easy clown, 
One that wish'd ill to no man. 

At his approach Hob look'd aghast ; 

And stared with all his eyes ; 
Not thinking of his quondam friend, 

In such a gay disguise. 

But recollecting soon : He said, 
I hope you'll stay and eat : 

My house, and fare are mean 'tis true j 
Yet decent, Sir, and sweet. 

Although Sir Courtly's stomach stood, 
To such good country feeding ; 

He would not make a hearty meal 
To shew his city breeding. 

So pick'd and piddled at a crust, 
A^d turned it o'er and o'er : 

No dainty toothless lady could 
Mumble a sweet- meat more. 

EJf 



102 DANIEL BELLAMY. 

At last he mounts, and to his mouth, 

Applies a gilt tooth-picker ; 
Split me cries he, Iv'e fed, methinks, 

Like any country vicar. 

Thank you dear friend, and then he bow'd, 

For this your plenteous treat ; 
Pray, come to town, my dear, and see 

How we at London eat. 

Soon after Hob to London went, 

And found the best of cheer j 
Roast beef, boiled fowl, and rich minced pies, 

French wine and bumming beer. 

But in the height of all their mirth, 

In bounces one grimalkin j 
A broker with a sour phiz, 

And interrupts their talking. 

Lord ! Sir, says he, we're all undone ! 

There's dreadful mischief brewing j 
Last Saturday's gazette will prove 

One half of Britain's ruin. 
3 



DANIEL BEU/AMT. 103 

Your *York is under twenty, Sir, 

And South-sea but two hundred : 
Then farewell all my future hopes ! 

S'death, I am broke, I'm plunder'd ! 

A thousand frantick tricks he play'd j 

With patience could not bear it ; 
And thoughtless of his country friend, 

Threw down a flask of claret. 

Is this, says Hob, your city treat, 

Your sauce to your nice diet ? 
Give me a homely dish of peas, 

And let me dine in quiet. 

A little plain but wholesome food, 

Is better far than cramming: 
And a small gain with honest care, 

Than thousands got by gaming. 

Grant me, ye Gods! a life sedate, 

Tho' in an humble cellj 
Rich discontent I see too plain, 

Is but a glorious hell. 

* The author had engaged large sums in the York-builJinj 
Company. 



104 BAMEL BELLAMY. 



The Dog and the Shadow; or JEsop in Change-alley. 

In days of yore, a farmer's dog, 

To use fam'd ^Esop's apologue, 

Took a sly tour around his kitchen, 

As Joan her tatter'd gown was stitching, 

And John was busy sitting nigh her, 

Telling love-stories at the fire ; 

And squinted, east, west, north, and south, 

To find out something for his mouth : 

And in the pantry, on a hook, 

He spy'd a leg of mutton stuck. 

This, this must be the lucky minute, 

Or else, quoth he, old Nick is in it. 

So up he mounts on his fore-paws, 

And gripes the joint between his jaws. 

But now I've got, thinks he, my booty, 
Lest Joan should scold, or John should shoot me, 
For preservation's sake 'tis better 
To dine to-d;'.y across the water. 
Now here 'tis proper to be noted, 
That Towser's master's house was raoaied. 
So in he jumps with his tit-bit, 
And long'd on t'other side to get, 
3 



DANIEL BELLAMY. 105 

The famed Leander could not more 
Desire to land on Hero's shore. 
But as the moat was smooth and clear, 
And gilt with sun-beams here and there, 
The shadow of his new got prize 
Presents itself before his eyes, 
Bless me, quoth he, here's noble luck ! 
Here's profit ! Here's increase of stock! 
Here's cent per cent, got in a trice j 
This stock jobbing's a rare device! 
He said, and at the shadow snaps; 
And down the leg of mutton drops. 
Too late he finds what he has done. 
And sees at once his dinner gone. 
Speechless awhile the puppy stood, 
And lour'd on the deceitful flood : 
But at the last, all drown'd in tears, 
He curs'd his fate, and shook his ears. 

MORAL. 

Was ever senseless dog so bit ; 
Had ever whelp so little wit ? 
T' involve himself in so much trouble, 
For a mere shadow, a mere bubble. 



I 106 ] 



EVAN LLOYD. 



1 734 1776. 



Oh! pleasing Poet, friend for ever dear, 

Thy memory claims the tribute of a tear; 

In thee wen: join'd, whate'er mankind admire, 

Keen wit, strong sense, the Poet's, Patriot's fire, 

Temper'd with gentleness such gifts were thine, 

Such gifts with heartfelt anguish we resign. 

J. VVILKES. 

This Epitaph is inscribed upon the tomb of this Poet in 
Llanyhill church, on the banks of J3ala Lake. It is some 
honour to have been praised by Wilkes, even in such 
verses as these. 

Evan Lloyd was of Jesus College, Oxford ; he published, 
]. The Powers of the Pen. 2. The Curate. 3. The 
Methodist. 4. Conversation. 5. An Epistle to David 
Garrick. 6. An Ode on opening the new exhibition 
room of the Royal Incorporated Society of Artists ef 
Great Britain ; each seperately in quarto. 



EVAN LJuOYD. 107 



The Ode performed at the neto Exhibition Room of the 
Royal Incorporated Society of Artists of Great 
Britain, written by E. Lloyd. 

Ingetiuas'didicisse ficleliter Artes* 

Emollit mores, nee sink essc fer. 



where grim Mars with ruin strew'd th 
plain, 

And wide displayed the terrors of his reign, 
While discord wav'd her crimson wings, 
Dripping with the blood of Kings, 
Britannia wept forlorn to see, 
Death revel 'midst her progeny : 
Then asked of Heav'n to temper, not debase, 
The savage fierceness of her warlike race. 

Ye powers ! sooth a mother's care ; 
Propitious to a mother's prayer, 
Vouchsafe a boon that may assuage 
My martial island's burning rage ! 
The pen, the pencil, and the lyre, 
Might gentler bravery inspire, 
And manners mild infuse 
Then send, O Heaven ! the muse, 



.10^ KVAN LLOTD. 

Her pray'r prevail'd from Heav'n the mu* 

descends, 
And in her train each liberal art attends. 

In softer murmurs let the hills 

Pour down fresh heliconian rills ; 

Ye vales, with groves of laurel swell, 

The muse now deigns with you to dwell. 

Hark ! thro' the enchanted isle 
The choir of Phoebus sings ! 

They teach the warriors brow to smile, 

And tame the hearts of Kings ! 
Tame, not enfeeble firmer is the steel 
When made the polish of the file to feel. 

The sister of the. pencil came 
With these, another and the same, 
She came and lent her plastic hand 
To humanize the savage land ; 
Iris on her steps attended 
And the mimic colours blended. 

Hail ! wond'rous art! whose pow'r is such 

With mightiest magic fraught, 
Jt gives with a promethean touch 

To colour, life, and thought! 



EVAN LLOTI). 1 () 

Not Egypt's skill so well can save, 
And give the form to elude the grave; 
When fate condemns, thy hand reprieves, 
And after death the person lives ! 
Vain are the ravages of time ; 
Thy pencil gives etemal prime: 
When Delia moulders in the tomb, 
On canvas she retains her bloom. 
From thee a new creation grew, 
Adorn'd with every living hue 
That Phoebus' orb illumes : 

Each moral quality, no more 

Abstracted notions, as before, 
A person'd shape assumes. 

Each passion by the pencil dress'd 
Is better to the mind express'd 

Than in the writer's page; 
And virtues, which with langour pine 
When pedant moralists define 

In cherub forms engage. 
Picture, music of the eye, 
Might tempt a seraph from the sky 
'Mid kindred forms on earth to roam, 
And think it his celestial home. 



110 EVAN LLOYD'. 

Less is the ardour cold narration gives 

Or fame historic kindles in the breast, 
Than when the war in glowing colours lives, 

And heroes on the canvas field contest ; 
And less energic holy prelates call 
To penitence than Raphael's pictur'd Paul. 

What were life without the muse ? 

Toil that wisdom would refuse ; 

Nought of living but the breath ; 

Days of blood, and nights of death. 

Genius of arts ! here turn thine eyes, 

Behold to thee this temple rise ! 

Lo ! thy priests, a sacred band, 

Round thy altar musing stand ; 

The sweet enthusiasts deign to inspire, 

And fill their breasts with thoughts of fire ! 

When living tables they design, 

Stamp thou thyself on every line j 

Teach the passions how to glow, 

And virtue's comely semblance shew; 

Bid her every charm unfold, 

And men reform as they behold. 

Let vice with gorgon terrors scare, 

And bid her votaries beware 

Open Clio's brightest page 

Where honour's noblest deeds engage ! 



EVAN LLOYD. Ill 

To make her charms still more inflame, 
Contrast them with the shade of shame ! 
Let Brutus here each danger brave, 
And Caesar stab, his Rome to save. 
There teams of slaves in tyrant's chain 
Teach Britons slavery to disdain ; 
And from Britannia's annals bring 
The portraits of a patriot King. 

Albion, thus thy gifts possessing. 

Shall abound in every blessing j 

Greater shall her monarchs be, 

Nobler her nobility ; 

To patriots shall her peasants turn, 

And with the love of freedom burn. 
The power descends ! from his auspicious nod 
The temple lives, and shews the present God. 

Behold ! the arts around us bloom, 

And this muse-devoted dome 

Rivals the works of Athens and of Rome. 



[ 132 ] 



FRANCIS FAWKES. 



1721, 1777. 



A Clergyman who was not one of the " righteous over- 
much," and translated some of the minor Greek Poets 
respectably. 



An Autumnal Ode. 

I ET once more, glorious god of day> 
While beams thine orb serene, 
O let me warbling court thy stay 
To gild the fading scene ! 
Thy rays invigorate the spring, 
Bright summer to perfection bring, 
The cold, inclement days of winter cheat, 
And make th' Autumnal months the mildest of th* 
year. 



rnvxcis FVWKr.s. 113 



Ere yet-the russet foliage fall, 

I'll climb the mountain's brow, 

My friend, my Hayman, at thy call, 

To view the scene below : 

Mow sweetly pleasing to behold 

Forests of vegetable gold ! 

How mix'd the many checker'd shades between 

The tawny mellowing hue, and the gay vivid green . 

How splendid all the sky ! how still ! 

How mild the dying gale ! 

How soft the whispers of the rill, 

That wind along the dale ! 

So tranquil Nature's works appear, 

It seems the sabbath of the year ; 

As if, the summer's labour past, she chose 

This season's sober calm for blandishing repose. 

Such is a well spent life, the time 

When busy days are past, 

Man verging gradual from his prime, 

Meets sacred peace at last : 

His flowery spring of pleasures o'er, 

And Summer's full blown pride no more, 

VOJ.. III. I 



114 FRANCIS FAWKES. 

He gains pacific Autumn, raeek and bland, 
And dauntless braves the stroke of Winter's palsy'd 
hand. 

For yet a while, a little while, 
Involved in wintery gloom, 
And lo ! another Spring shall smile, 
A Spring eternal bloom ; 
Then shall he shine, a glorious guest, 
In the bright mansions of the blest, 
Where due rewards on Virtue are bestow'd, 
And reap the golden fruits of what his Autumn 
sow'd. 



A Vernal Ode. 

Sent to his Grace the Lord Arthbishop of Canterbury, 
March 12, 1754. 

BRIGHT God of day, whose genial power 

Revives the buried seed, 

That spreads with foliage every bower, 

With verdure every mead, 

Bid all thy vernal breezes fly, 

Diffusing mildness thro' the sky ; 

Give the soft Season to our drooping plains, 

Sprinkled with rosy dews, and salutary rains. 



FRANCIS FAWKE9. ill 

Enough has Winter's hand severe 
Hurl'd all his terrors round, 
Chill'd the fair dawning of the year, 
And whiten'd all the ground : 
Give but thy vital beams to play, 
The frozen scenes will melt away j 
And, mix'd in sprightly dance, the blooming hours, 
Will 'wake the drowsy Spring, and Spring awake 
the flowers. 

Let Health, gay daughter of the skies, 

On Zephyr's wings descend. 

And scatter pleasures as she flies 

Where Surry's downs extend j 

There Herring wooes her friendly power, 

There may all her roses shower, 

To heal that shepherd all her balms employ, 

So will she sooth our fears, and give a nation jojr. 

Ah me ! that Virtue's godlike friends 
So soon are claim'd by fate ! 
Lo ! * Pelham to the grave descends, 
The bulwark of the state : 

* The Right Honourable Henry Pelham Esq. died on 
the 6th of March, 175-!. 

i 2 



116 FRANCIS FAWKE9. 

When will fair Truth his equal find 

Among the best of human-kind ? 

Long be the fatal day with mourning kept ! 

Augustus sigh'd sincere, and all the worthy wept. 

Thy delegate, kind heaven, restore 
To health, and safely keep j 
Let good Augustus sigh no more, 
No more the worthy weep : 
And still upon the royal head 
The riches of thy blessings shed : 
Establish'd with his counsellors around, 
Long be his prosperous reign, and all with glory 
crown'd. 



The Birth Day of Folly, an Heroi- Comical Poem. 

Now dawcs the day to Folly ever dear, 
And deem'd by her the fairest of the year, 
April's first morn, distinguish'd for her birth ; 
To sloth she gives the day, the night to mirth. 
Her herald, Lauder, vehement and loud, 
Brays out this proclamation to the crowd : 



TRANCIS TAWKES. 117 

** Attend, ye dunces, and ye zanies all, 

*' Tis Folly's birth-day, come at Folly's call; 

" To sound her fame the sons of dulness meet 

" At seven o'clock precisely in Hart-street j 

" Come when the hooting Owls begin their flight, 

' For Folly keeps her holiday at night. 

Close by that theatre of high repute 
Where Quin so well perform'd the part of Brute ; 
Where Macklin, late the stage's dullest tool, 
Once play'd old Shylock, but now plays the Fool ; 
A fabrick rose, magnificent of frame, 
Which from this grand projector took its name : 
As to the music of the damn'd that fell, 
Hose Pandemonium on the plains of hell j 
So of this pile, 'tis thought, in some ill weather. 
Rich's Orchestra fiddled it together. 
Here on a sofa of goose-feathers made, 
Lo ! half-supine luxurious Folly laid : 
Powerful to lull the most enliven'd sense, 
This sofa was the gift of Indolence : 
Her little left eye twinkles to the light, 
But open'd wide, and goggling is her right : 
Down from her collar to her bosom bare, 
Her bells hung pendant like a solitaire : 
i 3 



118 FRANCIS FA \TKES. 

High o'er her ear, light-wavering to the gale, 
She wore the plumage of a peacock's tail, 
Which, nodding o'er her round unmeaning face, 
Gave to her front the French fantastick grace. 
Full fat and fair she waddles in her gate, 
And lisps so pretty that she loves to prate j 
Her ears she pricks up to herself to list, 
And sputters all her meaning in a mist. 
Wise in conceit she seems, for all the while 
Her face is dimpled with a foolish smile. 
A painted fan her fickleness declares, 
Which waving gives the ideot Goddess airs j 
She flirts it to a sceptre of command j 
And grasps an English Plautus in her hand. 

But hark ! what sounds my trembling ears dismay j 
The screech-owls hoot, the long-ear'd brethren 

bray) 

Loud squeal the cat-calls with discordant strain, 
The sport of Folly, but the poet's pain. 
The signal given, all boobies hear the call, 
(The feast of Folly is a feast for all) 
Tittering they run tall Taylor heads the rout, 
And swells his high harangue with many a-round- 

about : 



FRANCIS FAWKES. 

" Most potent Queen, with heart-dilating glee 

" I greet tlie day benign to You and Me 

" That dire Glaucoma which your eye bedims, 

" This hand deterges, dispumates and skims. 

" Thanks to my stars that sent me here to-day 

" To purge from films opaque your visual ray j 

" Pay but ten pieces that my constant rate is; 

" One shilling and this syllabus comes gratis. 

" Great in the art no falshoods I maintain j 

" In France I'm honour'd, and adored in Spain: 

" In Prussia, Poland, Portugal I'm known ; 

" Sweden, 3nd Denmark ring with my renown: 

" Of me strange things all Germany relates, 

" For I'm admired thro' all her hundred states : 

" Bohemia, Muscovy I've travell'd o'er, 

" Kingdoms where Doctors never went before : 

" Full well these foreign courts my pains requite, 

" They chuse me member, and they dub me 

Knight j 

" The Patents of the Dignities I've won, 
" Are all lodged safely with my darling son. 
" Your gracious Majesty has heard I hope, 
*' I'm Oculist-Physician to the Pope, 
" Besides (think not 1 dare your Highness hum) 
" To every Sovereign Prince in Christendom : 
I 4 



120 TRAXCIS FAWKES. 

" So well all Europe knows me and my works, 
" Next month I'll shew my parts among the Turks; 
" Now, now's the lucky time to cure your sight, 
" This wonder-working needle sets it right : 
" Consult with me, great Queen, nor more regard 
" That cursed tar- water, or the pills of Ward. 

He spoke, and turning carelessly display'd 
His golden badge of honour, and brocade. 
The simpering Queen embraced her wondrous 

son, 
And thus with sneer sarcastical begun : 

" Go on. and prosper, great exotick knight, 
<r Yet shew some reverence for thy mother's sight : 
" Tho' of that glittering pendant justly vain, 
" In France tho' honour'd, and adored in Spain ; 
" Tho' Germans, Goths, and Huns, thy skill admire, 
" And many a nurse, and many a rural Squire, 
*' Yet I the greatest of all fools should be, 
" Tho' Queen of Dupes, to trust tny eyes with 
thee. 

Next came, resolved the Goddess to trepan, 
Something betwixt a Monkey and a Man, 
(Not far behind in impudence the first) 
Who aped all characters, and wore the worst ; 



FftANCIS FA WEES. 121 

Expressive thrice lie shook his empty he-id, 
Pertly addrebs'd the dame, and thus uo said : 

" How blest am I, illustrious Queen, to think 

" You deign to tip your own dear son the wink ? 

" Lo ! here I stand, obsequious to your call, 

" Great patron, friend, and mother of us all : 

" So keen your piercer, and so sweet your smile, 

" You charm us at the distance of a mile. 

" To crown with high leativity the night, 

" If jest, and farce, and mimickry delight, 

" The stingless satire, and the ideot sneer, 

" I'll mount my rostrnn. and turn Auctioneer. 

" My taste consists of foolery and fun ; 

" Without your succour I had been undone : 

" To you 'tis owing that I please the great j 

" Thro' you I eat to live, and live to eat : 

" That I the chattering of maccaws exceed, 

** And learn queer faces from the monkey breed, 

" Like Proteus boast dexterity of limb 

" To you I owe it all, and not to him : 

" Yours be the praise, that from my infant state 

" You taught your son to move, to grin, to prate." 

He ended, and prepared 10 take his stand, 

As Auctioneer, with hammer in his hand : 

The Goddess watch d him sly, and at his head 

Hurling her Plautus, thus indignant said; 



12$ FRANCIS TAWKES. 

" Vile wretch, thou'rt much too silly for my son, 
" Born on Baeotian bogs, away, begone, 
" Go and reserve the squeezings of thy brains 
" To brew small beer, and feed the pigs with 

grains." 

Abash'd he stood shame fluster'd him all o'er, 
And he once blusht, who never blush t before j 
Fear made him fly, and with amazing art, 
He took three strides, and jump'd into a cart* 



[ 123 ] 



PAUL HIFFERMAN* 



County of Dublin, 17 1Q 1777. 



Hifferman's parents designed him to be a Popish Priest ; he 
was sent to France to finish his education, but after re- 
maining there seventeen years, he took a batchelor's de- 
gree in physic and returned to Dublin to practise. He 
left that city in consequence of having unsuccessfully 
written against Dr. Lucas, and repaired to London to live 
by his wits. Here he obtained a dirty livelihood by wri- 
ting pamphlets, levying contributions upon his friends, 
and extorting money from the actors. 

An amusing account of this eccentrick and despicable scoun- 
drel, who attracted considerable notice in his day, may 
be found in the European Magazine. His Miscellanies in 
Prose and Verse, 1754, entitle him to a place in thi 
series. 



The Author on himself. 
THE author, I, to reason's dictates true, 
Love all mankind, a Deist, Turk, or Jew, 



114 PAUL UIFFERMAW. 

No matter what your faith or country be, 

If a good fellow, 'tis all one to me. 

Our life's so short, for sects why should we justle, 

In the great day Heaven will decide the bustle. 

While in this world to all I'd civil be^ 

And would from all require civility. 

Four lustres and one annual orb have run, 

Since in this world existence I begun. 

And now behold the sad result of all, 

My travelling, studying, labours, great or small, 

Heaven for past sins, to avert all future pain, 

Has plagued, not bless'd me with a scribbling vein. 

'Tis not, I swear, for sordid gain I chuse, 
But for herself I woo the lovely Muse. 
'Tis she that tunes, that animates my lyre, 
Warms my gay soul, and sets me all on fire. 

Of what I trifle, learn the mighty ends, 
To please myself, divert good humour'd friends. 
I'll therefore scorn all envious criticks slight; 
For 'tis amusement in my mirth I write ; 
J3ut still jog on, and follow my own ways, 
Careless of partial censure, deaf to praise. 



AL'L HIFFERMAN. 125 

Perhaps some curious would my person know j 

I humbly answer, 'tis but so and so j 

Not over tall, nor despicably low. 

Black frowning brows my deep-sunk eyes o'ershade, 

They were I fear for a physician made. 

Foreseeing nature gave this anti-grace, 

And mark'd me with a medical grimace, 

In limbs proportion'd, body somewhat gross, 

In humour various, affable, morose ; 

The ladies servitor in health a king; 

Good natured, peevish, gay phantastic thing : 

That like friend Horace, grey before his time, 

Seek fame in loose-paced Prose, and fetter'd Rhime, 

Whose highest wish 's a meer absurdity^ 

Nothing to do, and learndly idle be : 

Like to myself to have a Muse-bit friend, 

My vain chimeras to review and mend. 

The day to write, by night in fancy stray ; 

So, like true Poets dream my life away. 

His Epitaph. 
READER, 

HERE lies the man that to his end, 
Good Books, good Wine adored, the Fair-Sex and 
his Friend". 



E 126 ] 



THOMAS DENTON. 



1777. 



The pupil of Josiah Relph, and the first editor of his work. 



The House of Superstition a Vision. 

\\THEN Sleep's all-soothing hand with fetters soft 

Ties down each sense, and lulls to balmy rest ; 
The internal power, creative Fancy, oft 

Broods o'er her treasures in the formful breast, 
Thus when no longer daily cares engage, 

The busy mind pursues the darling theme; 
Hence angels whisper' d to the slumbering sage, 

And gods of old inspired the hero's dream; 
Hence as I. slept, these images arose 

To Fancy's eye, and join'd, this fairy scene 
compose. 



THOMAS DENTOTf. 127 

As when fair morning dries her pearly tears, 

The mountain lifts o'er mists its lofty head ; 
Thus new to sight a gothick dome appears 

With the grey rust of rolling years o'erspread. 
Here Superstition holds her dreary reign, - 

And her lip-labour'd orisons she plies 
In tongue unknown, when morn bedews the plain, 

Or evening skirts with gold the western skies ; 
To the dumb stock she bends, or sculptur'd wall, 

And many a cross she makes, and many a bead 
lets fall. 

Near to the dome a magick pair reside 

Prompt to deceive, and practised to confound j 
Here hood-winkt Ignorance is seen to bide 

Stretching in darksome cave along the ground. 
No object e'er awakes his stupid eyes, 

Nor voice articulate arrests his ears, 
Save when beneath the moon pale spectres rise, 

And haunt his soul with visionary fears : 
Or when hoarse winds incavern'd murmur round, 
And babbling echo wakes, and iterates the sound. 

Where boughs entwining form an artful shade, 
And in faint glimmerings just admit the light, 

There Errour sits in borrow'd white array'd, 
And in Truth's form deceives the transient sight. 



128 THOMAS DENTOtf. 

A thousand glories wait her opening day, 

Her beaming lustre when fair Truth imparts j 

Thus Error would pour forth a spurious ray, 
And cheat the unpractised mind with mimic arts : 

She cleaves with magic wand the liquid skies, 

Bids airy forms appear, and scenes fantastick rise. 

A porter deaf, decrepid, old, and blind 

Sits at the gate, and lifts a liberal bowl 
With wine of wonderous power to lull the mind, 

And check each vigorous effort of the soul : 
Whoe'er un' wares shall ply his thirsty lip, 

And driuk in gulps the luscious liquor down, 
Shall hapless from the cup delusion sip, 

And objects see in features not their own ; 
Each way-worn traveller that hither came, 
He laved with copious draughts, and Prejudice his 
name. 

Within a various race are seen to wonne, 
Props of her age, and pillars of her state, 

Which erst were nurtured by the wither'd crone, 
And born to Tyranny, her griesly mate ; 

The first appear'd in pomp of purple pride, 
With triple crown erect, and throned high; 

Two golden keys hang dangling by his side 

To lock or ope the portals of the sky j 



THOMAS DENTOIf. H9 

Crouching and prostrate there, ah sight unmeet ! 
The crowned head would bow, and lick his dusty 
feet. 

With bended arm he on a book reclined, 

Fast lock'd with iron clasps from vulgar eyesj 
Heaven's gracious gift to light the wandering mind, 

To lift fallen man, and guide him to the skies ! 
A man no more, a God he would be thought, 

And 'mazed mortals blindly must obey : 
With slight of hand he lying wonders wrought, 

And near him loathsome heaps of reliques lay : 
Strange legends would he read, and figments dire 
Of Limbos' prisou'd shades, and purgatory fire. 

There meagre Penance sat, in sackcloth clad, 

And to his breast close hugg'd the viper, Sin ; 
Yet oft with brandish'd whip would gall, as mad, 

With voluntary stripes his shrivel'd skin. 
Counting large heaps of o'er-abounding good 

Of saints that dy'd within the church's pale j 
With gentler aspect there Indulgence stood, 

And to the needy culprit would retail j 
There too, strange merchandize ! he pardons sold, 
And treason would absolve, and murder purge with 
gold. 

V6L. III. X. 



130 THOMAS DENTON. 

With shaven crown in a sequester'd cell 
A lazy lubbard there was seen to lay -, 
No work had he, save some few beads to tell, 

And indolently snore the hours away. 
The nameless joys that bless the nuptial bed, 
The mystick rites of Hymen's hallow'd tye 
Impure he deems, and from them starts with dread, 

As crimes of foulest stain, and deepest dye: 
No social hopes, hath he, no social fears, 
But spends in lethargy devout the lingering years. 

Gnashing his teeth in mood qf furious ire 

Fierce Persecution sat, and with strong breath 
Wakes into living flame large henps of fire, 

And feasts on murders, massacres, and death. 
Near him was placed Procrustes' iron bed 

To stretch or mangle to a certain size j 
To see their writhing pains each heart must bleed, 

To hear their doleful shrieks and piercing cries j 
Yet he beholds them with unmoisten'd eye, 
Their writhing pains his sport, their moans his 
melody. 

A gradual light diffusing o'er the gloom, 
And slow approaching with majestick pace j 

A lovely maiti appears in Beauty's bloom, 
With native charms, and unaffected grace : 
3 



THOMAS DEXTOft. 131 

Her hand a clear reflecting mirror shows, 
In which all objects their true pictures wear, 

And on her cheek a blush indignant glows 
To see the horrid sorceries practised there ; 

She snatch'd the volume from the tyrant's rage, 

UoJock'd its iron clasps,and ope'd the heavenly page, 

* f My name is Truth, and you, each holy seer, 
" That all my steps with ardent gaze pursue, 

*' Unveil, she said, the sacred mysteries here, 
" Give the celestial boon to public view. 

" Tho' blatant Obloquy with leperous mouth 

" Shall blot your fame, and blast the generom 
deed, 

" Yet in revolving years some generous youth 

" Shall crown your virtuous act with glory's meed- 
" Your names adorn 'd in *Gilpin's polish'd page, 
*' With each historick grace,' shall shine thro' every 
age. 

*' With furious hate the fierce relentless power 
" Exert of torment all her horrid skill ; 

" Tho' your lives meet too soon the fatal hour 
" Scorching in flames, or writhing on the wheel ; 

* The Rev. Mr. William Gilpin, author of the lives of 
Bernard Gilpin, Bishop Latirncr, \Viclcliff, and the pri-ic:;^ 1 . 
of his followers. 

K 2 



132 THOMAS DINTOW. 

' f Yet when the Dragon in the deep abyss 

<c Shall lie, fast bound in adamantine chain, 
" Ye with the Lamb shall rise to ceaseless bliss, 

" First-fruits of death, and partners of his reign; 
" Then shall repay the momentary tear 
" The great sabbatick rest, the millenary year. 



WILLIAM DODD. 



17201777. 



Dodd's was a life of thoughtlessness and extravagance, and 
he paid dearly for all his faults in the conclusion of it. 
Courage at an earlier period, to have met the evils he 
brought upon himself, might have saved him from the 
last and most terrible one. Had he lived an economist he 
might have died honourably. 

Vet, let him have his due; and his claim is not small Many 
were reclaimed from vice and many relieved from wretch- 
edness by his labours. Who derived advantage from his 
death? When one reads his pathetick appeals for mercy, 
at his trial, and in the Prison-thoughts, one is tempted to 
ask if the hearts to which they were made were human, 
or ever knew what it was to err ? 

But it was an appeal to Avarice under the name of Justice : 

and at a tribunal, where property is of more value than the 

life of man, such an appeal is not likely to he heard. The 

advertisement prefixed to the MS. of the Prison-thoughts, 

K3 



134 WIL1IAM DODD. 

concludes with a remarkable break, more impressive than 
the most finished rhetorick. 

*' The thinking will easily pardon all inaccuracies, as I am 
neither able nor willing to read over these melancholy 
lines with a curious and critical eye. They are imperfect, 
but the language of the heart ; and had 1 time and in- 
elinauon, might and should be improved. 

Bm ." 



Thoughts in Prison. 

YET, oh ye sons of Justice I ere we quit 
This awful court, expostulation's voice 
One moment hear impartial. Give a while 
Your honest hearts to nature's touches true, 
Her fine resentments faithful. Draw aside 
That veil from reason's clear reflecting view, 
Which practice long, and rectitude supposed 
Of laws establish'd, hath obstructive hung. 
But pleads or time, or long prescription aught 
In favour or abatement of the wrong 
By folly wrought, or errour? Hoary grown, 
And sanctify'd by custom's habit grey, 
Absurdity stalks forth, still more absurd., 



WILLIAM DODD. . 135 

And double shame reflect upon an age 
Wise and enlighten'd. Should not equal laws 
Their punishments proportionate to crimes j 
Nor, all Draconic, ev'n to blood pursue 
Vindictive, where the venial poor offence 
Cries loud for mercy ? Death's the last den. and 
Law can exact : the penalty extreme 
Of human crime ! and shall the petty thief 
Succumb beneath its terrours, when no more 
Pays the bold murderer, crimson' d o'er with guilt? 

Few are the crimes against or God or man, 
Consult the eternal code of right or wrong, 
Which e'er can justify this last extreme, 
This wanton sporting with the human life, 
This trade in blood. Ye sages, then, review. 
Speedy and diligent, the penal code, 
Humanity's disgrace : our nation's first 
And just reproach, amidst its vaunted boasts 
Of equity and mercy : Shiver not 
Full oft your inmost souls, when from the bench 
Ye deal out death tremendous ? and proclaim 
Th' irrevocable sentence on a wretch 
Pluck'd early from the paths of social life, 
And immature, to the low grave consign'd 
For misdemeanors trivial ! Runs not back, 



136 WILLIAM DODD. 

Affrighted, to its fountain your chill'd blood, 

"When, deck'd in all the horrid pomp of death, 

And Gothick rage surpassing, to the flames 

The weaker sex, incredible you doom j 

Denouncing punishments the more severe, 

As less of strength is found to bear their force > 

Shame on the savage practice ! Oh stand forth 

In the great cause, Compassion's, Equity's, 

Your Nation's, Truth's, Religion's, Honour's cause, 

Stand forth, reflecting EDEN ! Well thou'st toil'd 

Already in the honourable field : 

Might thy young labours animate, the hour 

Auspicious is arrived. Sages esteem'd, 

And venerably learn'd, as in the school 

Of legal science, so in that of worth 

And sentiment exalted, fill the bench : 

And lo ! the imperial Muscovite, intent 

On public-weal, a bright example shines 

Of civilizing justice. Sages-, rise ? 

The cause, die animating pattern calls. 

Oh, I adjure you, with my parting breath, 

By all your hopes of mercy and of peace, 

By all the blood henceforth unjustly spilt, 

Or wantonly by all the sorrows deep, 

And scalding tears shed for that blood so spilt I 

In God's tremendous name, lo, I adjure, 



WILLIAM DODO. 137 

Without procrastination to the task 
Important that you haste ! With equal hand 
In scales of temperate justice, balance well 
The claims of pleading mtrcy ! Unto crimes 
Inflictions just and adequate assign ; 
On reformation or example sole, 
And all imp'artial, constantly intent, 
Banish the rage for blood, for tortures, fell, 
Savage, reproachful. Study to restore 
Its young, its useful members to the state, 
Well disciplined, corrected, moralized ; 
Preserved at once from shame, from death, from 

Hell, 

Men, rationals, immortals, Sons of God. 
Oh prosperous be your labours, crown'd your zeal ! 



But, ah, why droops my soul ? why o'er me thus 
Comes a chill cloud ? Such triumph well besuits 
The faithful Christian ! thee had suited well,, 
If haply persevering in the course, 
As first thy race exultingly began. 
But thou art fallen, fallen ! Oh my heart, 
What dire compunction ! sunk in foul offence 
A prisoner, and condemn'd : an outcast vile j 
Bye-word and scorn of an indignant world., 



138 WILLIAM DODO. 

Who reprobate with horrour thy ill deed : 
Turn from thee loath'd, and to damnation just 
Assign, unpi tying, thy devoted head, 
Loaded with every infamy ! 

Dread God 

Of Justice and of Mercy ! wilt thou too, 
In fearful indignation on my soul, 
My anguish'd soul, the door of pity close, 
And shut me from thee ever ?" Lo ! in dust, 
Humiliate, prostrate, weeping 'fore thy throne- 
Before thy cross, oh dying Friend of man, 
Friend of repentant sinners I confess 
And mourn my deep transgressions, as the sand 
Innumerous, as the glowing crimson red 3 
With every aggravation, every guilt 
Accumulate and burden'd ! Against light, 
'Gainst love, and clearest knowledge perpetrate! 
Stampt with Ingratitude's most odious stain j 
Ingratitude to tliee ; whose favouring love 
Had bless'd me, had distinguish'd me with grace, 
With goodness far beyond my wish or worth ! 
Ingratitude to man ; whose partial ear 
Attended to my doctrine with delight ; 
And from my zeal conspicuous justly claim'd 

Conspicuous example ! Lord, I sink 

O'erwhelm'd with self-conviction, with dismay, 



WILLIAM DODO, 139 

With anguish and confusion past compare ! 

And could I weep whole seas of briny tears 

In painful penitence ; could I deplore 

From my heart's aching fountain, drop by drop, 

My crimes and follies ; my deep grief and shame 

For vile dishonour on thy gospel brought; 

For vile discredit to my order done j 

For deep offence against my country's laws ; 

For deep offence to pity and to man, 

A patriarchal age would be too short 

To speak my sorrows and lament my sins ; 

Chief, as I am, of sinners ! Guiltier far 

Than he who, falling, at the cock's shrill call 

Rose t and repented weeping : Guiltier far 

I dare not say, than Judas ; for my heart 

Hath ever loved, could never have betray 'd, 

Oh never, never Thee, dear Lord ! to death ; 

Tho' cruelly, unkindly, and unwise 

That heart hath sacrificed its truth and peace, 

For what a shameful, what a paltry price ! > 

To sin, detested sin ; and done thee wrong, 

Oh blessed source of all its good, its hope ! 

For tho' thus sunk, thus sinful, sorrowing thus, 

It dare not, cannot Judas' crime commit, 

tast crime, and of thy mercy, Lord, despair ! 

But conscious of its guilt : contrite and plunged 



140 WItLIAM D0. 

; 

In lowest self-abjection, in the depths 

Of sad compunction, of repentance due 

And undissembled, to thy cross it cleaves, 

And cries for ardent cries for mercy, Lord ! 

Mercy, its only refuge ! Mercy, Christ ! 

By the red drops that'in the garden gush'd 

'Midst thy soul's anguish from thee ; By the drop* 

That down thy precious temples from the crown 

Of agony distill'd ! By those that flow'd 

From thy pierced hands and blessed feet so free; 

By all thy blood, thy sufferings, and thy death, 

Mercy, oh Mercy, Jesus ! Mercy, Thou 

Who erst on David, with a clement eye, 

When mourning at thy footstool, deign'dst to look. 

Thou, who the adulterous Magdalen forgav'st, 

When in the winning garb of penitence 

Contrite she knelt, and with her flowing tears 

Wash'd lowly thy loved feet! Nor thou the thief, 

forgav'st 

Even in the last, the bitterest hour of pain, 
Refusedst, gracious ! Nor wilt thou refuse 
My humble supplication, nor reject 
My broken bleeding heart, thus offer'd up 
On true contrition's altar ; while thro' thee, 
Only thro' Thee acceptance do I hope, 
Thou bleediag Love ! Consummate Advocate, 



WILLIAM DODD 141 

Prevailing Intercessor ! Oh lock pifying down ! 
On thy sufficient merits I depend ; 
From thy unbounded mercies I implore 
The look of pardon, and the voice of grace,- 
Grace, Grace ! Victorious Conqueror over sin, 
O'er death, o'er Hell, for me, for all mankind j 
For grace I plead : repentant at thy feet 
J throw myself, unworthy, lost, undone j 
Trusting my soul, and all its dear concerns, 
With filial resignation to thy will : 
Grace, still on grace my whole reliance built : 
Glory to grace triumphant ! And to thee, 
Dispenser bounteous of that sovereign grace ! 
Jesus, thou King of glory ! at thy call 
I come obedient : lo, the future world 
Expands its views transporting ! Lord, I come j 
And in that world eternal trust to 'plaud, 
"With all Redemption's sons, thy glorious grace ! 
Then farewell, oh, my friends ! light o'er my grave 
The green sod lay, and dew it with the tear 
Of memory affectionate ! and you, 
The curtain dropt decisive, oh my foes, 
Your rancour drop ; and, candid, as I am 
Speak of me, hapless ! Then you'll speak of one 
Whose bosom beat at pity's gentlest touch 
From earliest infancy ; whose boyish mind 



wrr,ttAM DOOB. 

In acts humane and tender ever joy'd ; 
And who, that temper by his inmost sens* 
Approved and cultivate with constant cart, 
Melted thro' life at Sorrow's plaintive tale j 
And urged, compassionate, with pleasure ran 
To soothe the sufferer and relieve the woe ! 
Of one, who, though to humble fortune bred^ 
With splendid generosity's bright form 
Too ardently enamour'd, turn'd his sight, 
Deluded, from frugality's just care, 
And parsimony needful ! one who scorn'd 
Mean love of gold, yet to that power, his scor 
Retorting vengeful, a mark'd victim fell ! 
Of one, who, unsuspecting, and ill-form'd 
For the world's subtleties, his bare breast bore 
Unguarded, open ; and ingenuous, thought 
All men ingenuous, frank, and open too ! 
Of one, who, warm with human passions, soft 
To tenderest impressions, frequent rush'd 
Precipitate into the tangling maze 
Of errourj instant to each fault alive. 
Who, in his little journey through the world- 
Misled, deluded oft, mistook his wayj- 
Met with bad roads and robbers, for his steps 
Insidious lurking : and, by cunning craft 
Of felknv-travellers sometimes deceived. 



VILMAM DODD. 143 

Severely felt of cruelty and scorn, 
Of envy, malice, and of ill report, 
The heavy hand oppressive ! One who brought 
(From ignorance, from indiscretion, blind,) 
Jlls numerous on hi- head } but never aim'd, 
Nor wish'd an ill or injury to man ! 
Injured, with cheerful readiness forgave ; 
Nor for a moment in his happy heart 
Harbour'd of malice or revenge a thought : 
Still glad and blest to avenge his foes despite 
By deeds of love benevolent ! Of one 
Oh painful contradiction, who in God, 
In duty, placed the summit of his joy; 
Yet left that God, that blissful duty left, 
Preposterous, vile deserter ! and received 
A just return* " Desertion from his God, 
" And consequential plunge into the depth 
" Of all his present of all human woe !" 



HUGH KELLY. 



Dublin, 1739, 1777. 



The father of this writer kept a Tavern ; it was frequented 
by the players, and thus young KeJy's attention was at- 
tracted to the theatre. The boy went through the Latin 
Grammar, but his education did not proceed farther ; he 
was apprenticed at an early age to a Stay maker; the 
players, however, flattered him ; he had written songs, 
theatrical criticism, &c. and was persuaded to try his 
fortune in London as a man of talents. There he at- 
'tempted to carry on his business, his friends the players 
recommended him, and he h id employment enough, but 
his work was ill-finished and dirty, his customers forsook 
him, and he was saved from want by the offer of an at- 
torney to engage him as a copying clerk at fifteen shillings 
a- week This income he increased by writing paragraphs 
for one of the Daily papers ; the underling Booksellers 
discoveied that he held the pen of a ready writer, and 
offered him more profitable work in the Magazines, and 
having no other means of subsistence, he ventured at the 
age of two and twenty, to marry a woman who had sup* 



HUGH KELLY. 145 

ported herself by needlework. She was an excellent 
woman, and this marriage was perhaps the wisest action 
of his life. 

He now wrote his Babbler, and his Louisa Mildmay, be- 
came editor of the Public Ledger in 1765, one of the 
four Morning Papers then published in London, and in 
the ensuing year produced his "Thespis;" this introduced 
him to Garrick, and at Garrick's instigation he venturedto 
write for the stage. " False Delicacy" was his first attempt, 
and the representation of this, the first Sentimental 
Comedy, is an era in theatrical history. Kelly's profits 
amounted to above 700 pounds, and his fame spread over 
the Continent. Goldsmith, it is said, was envious of his 
good fortune ; it would be more just to say that he was 
provoked and mortified at the miserable taste of the 
publick. He lived however to witness the downfall of the 
Sentimental Comedy, and probably to occasion it. 

Kelly now applied himself to the Law ; he continued his 
dramatick labours, realizing by them and by other exer- 
tions of the pen nearly a thousand a year, till in course of 
time he was called to the bar. The ill success of his last 
comedy had then irritated him, and he confined himself 
wholly to his profession. In this he obtained some repu- 
tation and some practice, but his income fell short of 
what he had formerly enjoyed. Kelly did not retrench ; 
fee became embarrassed, contracted habits of drinking, 
and died, leaving a widow and five children in distressed 
circumstances. 
TOL. III. 1 



14(5 MUCH KELLT. 



Song. 

1 ou ask what charm in Nancy's face, 
This foolish heart has stole : 

Nor can I name one striking grace- 
Not I upon my soul ; 

But there's a certain something there 
This bosom must adore : 

A something not exactly fair, 
And yet extremely more. 

A finer face perhaps may try 

A greater share of art : 
And yet can only touch the eye, 

Bat never strike the heart: 
Less native force experience sees, 

Attends a fairer form ; 
For that can only hope to please, 

But ne\ er think to charm. 

But say my passion is misplaced, 

I live for her alone : 
And which must I consult, your taste, 

Or gratify my own ? 



MUCH KEM/f. 147 



Our friendship, if you kindly cease, 
Your silence best secures : 

Nor think, I can destroy my peace, 
To please a whim of yours. 



Prologue to the Romance of an Hour, 

\. 

A COMEDY. 

\ 

To night good folkes, tho' led a little dance, 
Thro' the light mazes of an Hours Romance, 
No spells, nor spectres, have you cause to dread, 
Not one poor thunder rumbles o'er your head; 
Nor will the tempest howling thro' the trees, 
Once rouse your horror >with a storm of peas , 
Between ourselves, this Poet was a fool, 
To plan by common sense, or build-by rule; 
"When even the mightiest masters of the stage, 
Have gain'd so much from trick in every age. 
Shakspeare is great is exquisite, no doubt 
But then our carpenters must help him out : 
The deep distresses of a maddening Lear 
In vain would ask the tributary tear, 



148 HUGH KELLY. 

If, midst the fury of the midnight sky, 
Our rosin lightenings did not aptly fly, 
And pity warmly plead to be let in, 
Thro' a smart shower of heart exploring tin 
Let Criticks boldly form dramatick laws, 
Give me, I say, what's sure to meet anplaxise ; 
Let them of time, and place, and action, boast, 
I'm for a Devil, a Dungeon, or a Ghost 
When Hamlet, weeping for a murder'd sire, 
Upbraids his mother with a guil'y fire, 
Tho' every line a plaudit should command 
Not one God yonder will employ his hand: 
But, cased in canvass, let the dead stalk in, 
Then the loud peans, then the claps begin - ' 
And Pit, Box, Gallery eagerly contend, 
Exalted strife ! Who loudest shall commend 
The f ran tick ' Hah' the bedlamite < Look there* 
The star the heave the stagger and the stare. 
To dear Macbeth the learned ladies all run, 
What to enjoy 1 the flaming of the cauldron; 
Ask Molly Dripping there, so sleek and mild, 
(As good a Cook as e'er drest roast or boil'd, 
What in all Julet makes her soonest weep, 
She'll say the Funeral 'tis so werry deep, 
Allured by sterling sentiment alone, 
" Cato for me" cries Darby Macahone, 



HUGH KELLY. 14 

* f I never miss that place at any time, 
" If tis but added to a Pantomime" 
et Hoot" growls a bold North-Bratton taking snuff, 
" A Pantomime is exacrable stuff 
" No Bag-pipes in the bond, they dinna play 
" The Corn Rags,or the Barkes of Audermay" 
In short, tho' all Stage-mummery despise, 
All want a banquet for their ears, or eyes ; 
And while at shews they take the most offence. 
Still make them bladders to the shore of sense. 
The name our Author gives his Piece to-night, 
Would well admit a supper for the sight ; 
A grand collection of dramatick dishes, 
Of Dragons, Giants, Forests, Rivers, Fkhes 
Yet tho' he calls his tritie a Romance, 
He does not treat you with a single dance, 
Nor use one hackney'd, one excentrick art 
To lull your judgment, or to cheat your heart- 
He brings indeed a character to view 
From Indian clirnes, he trus;s entirely new. 
A poor Gentoo, composed of virtues all, 
Tho' fresh from English Nabobs at Bengal ; 
His face perhaps too swarthy you may find, 
" Yet see Othello's visage in his mind" 
And till you've fairly tried our trembling Bays 
Forbear to blame but do not fear to praise. 



C 150 ] 



BENJAMIN VICTOR. 



1778. 



Victor descended regularly, from the honourable trade of 
shaving and perriwig making, to that of vending Norwich 
stuffs, and lastly to that of .poetry. He was passionately 
fond of the theatre, and thought hy the converse of the 
proposition " All the World's a Stage," that the Stage 
was all the World ; it was so in reality to hinv, for all his 
pleasures and all his disappointments originated from it. 

lie was treasurer of Drury-Lane Theatre, and was faithful 
and scrupulous in the execution of his trust ; while in 
this office, he published his works in 3 vols 8vo. omitting 
only " The Widow of the Wood," and " The History of 
the Stage ;" he died advanced in years, at his lodgings, ia 
Covent-Garden, in 1778. 



PROLOGUE 



Designedfor the Comedy called the Modern Husband; 
written by Henry Fielding, Esq. 

To night you')l see two dangerous things in life, 
A willing cuckold, and a jilting wife ! 



BENJAMIN VICTOR. 151 

With the same views here two impostors meet, 
And holy wedlock well improves the cheat ; 
Kindly combmed, for mischief they prepare, 
And each fond cull falls plump into the snare. 

The comick Muse assumes her pleasing art,. 

And by instruction would her worth impart : 

Teach, by example, how to shun the fury, 

Of plaintiff Cuckold, and a London jury. 

For there, alas, how vain the lover strives ! 

They squeeze much harder than you squeeze their 

wives.. 

With needful satire we this vice pursue, 
But, on ! how vain unless approved by you. 
\Vhen Shakspeare, Jonson, Fletcher, ruled the 

stage, 

There scarce were ten good palates in the age ; 
Wore curious cooks than guests, for men would eat, 
Most heartily of any kind of meat. 
E'en since their time what authors have we seen ! 
Expect not, Sirs, such poets as have been ; 
And though the richness of the crop is spent?, 
And wit's quite barren, yet you raise the rent, 

Our youthful author various themes has tried; 
Uy him Tom Thumb fought, conquered, lov d and 
died. 



152 BENJAMIN TICTOR. 

Wild flights of fancy ! gay, unbounded strains ! 
Where wanton wit, without true judgment reigns. 
Yet blooming merit should demand your care 3 
Genius alone can thrive and flourish there : 
Indulgence comes, like kind, enlivening showers, 
And the warm sun-beam to awake the flowers ; 
When from the tree young spritely branches shoot, 
If blasted blame the wind and not the root. 



To Sir William Brewer, Bart, in Kent; written in the 
Year 1744. 

MUSE ! to my worthy friend an offering bring; 
And his fair garden, in soft numbers sing: 
Sweet let thy verse from unforced nature flow, 
Yet strongly raark'd let the full figures glow; 
As when drawn clouds unveil the blushing sky, 
And Heaven burns broad with a vermillion dye, 
While thro' the grovy tracks, cool zephyrs pass, 
To fan the silver streams, and sweep the grass. 

Deep, in surrounding woods, there shines a seat, 
Nature'* blest favourite, and Love's retreat ; 
Green, amid strny wilt's, rise opening bowers, 
Arch'u with a wreathy heaven of pendant flowers : 



BENJAMIN VICTOR. 153 

Cool, in the burning dog-star's sultry sway j 
Yet in the ice of winter, warm and gay. 

O shades, well temper' d, like your owner's mind, 
Where soft, and solid, are by nature join'd ; 
Sublimely wise, and to perfection blest, 
You know to judge, and dare to choose the best. 

Beauty and wit, in your loved consort meet, 
"Where all that's noble lives \\ith all that's sweet ; 
At once your wife, your partner, and ) our friend, 
She curbs your cares, and does your joys extend : 
You are the point, which all her hopes pursue $ 
And if she sings, she sweetly sings of you! 
In her, alone, you every blessing find, 
Charm to your eye, and cordial to your mind. 
Ever thus bless'd, may life wear slow away, 
And some new charm mark even its latest day; 
May no noise reach you, but thro' rustling trees, 
When their broad boughs bend from the murmuring 
breeze. 

Lift roe, some God, from this tumultuous town, 
And near that heavenly umbrage set me down ; 
In some small cottage, that delightful stands, 
Some clean thatch'd tenement within your lands 5 



154 BENJAMIN TPCTOR. 

Hemm'd with high rosy banks, and shadowy bower*, 
" A snow of blossoms and a wild of flowers-;" 
Where the low vine does the tall elm beseech, 
And the sweet lime-tree woos the useful beech; 
'Till the mix'd boughs compose a roofy shade,, 
And no bold sun-beam can my rest invade ; 
Here out of hated scandal's noisy sound, 
Stretch'd in sweet leisure on the silent ground j 
Deathless companions of my shade I'd choose, 
The few fix'd favourites of our English muse : 
High soaring Milton ! Dryden sweet of strain! 
Undying Shakspeare! and wild Spenser's vein! 
Sometimes familiar Jonson in low flight, 
Shall place the vulgar world before my sight ; 
But Waller's numbers most my heart shall move., 
For the prevailing passion there, is love j 
But naming love, hark ! Clio tunes the strings, 
And the soul melts before her, as she sings ; 
What prouder ornaments of life remain, 
I leave for fools to seek ; and knaves to gain*. 



C 155 ] 



DAVID GARRICK. 



17161779. 



The life of Garrick is too well known, and too full of little 
incidents, to require, or to allow, of its insertion here. 

lie. seems always to have written as the manager of a 
theatre, and to have always kept in view the interest he 
possessed in it. His poetry is calculated to catch ap- 
plause, but does not aspire to fame ; it would be invidious 
therefore to try it by very rigid rules. His satire is not 
weak, but it is not terrible ; and his muse is always lively 
enough to please, though she may not attempt to astonish. 
The Fribbleriad will net compare with the Rosciad ; the 
first 90 lines are nearly upon the same subject as those 
of Churchill, beginning 

' With that low cunning which in fools supplies' 

and are given in these specimens. The reader will see 
that in a better-natured vein he satirizes a prevailing 
folly, in the prologue to Foote's comedy, " Taste." 

The Ode to Shakspeare is not in the manner of the ancient 
Pindar, but of a modern Manager, and can hardly give a 
just idea of the lyrick poetry of our times ; as it has been 
much spoken of, an extract from it is subjoined. 



156 DAYLD GARRICK. 



The Fribbleriad. 

WHO is the Scribler, X, Y, Z, 

Who still writes on, though little read? 

Whose falshood, malice, envy, spite, 

So often grin, yet seldom bite? 

Say, Gnrrick, does he write for bread, 

This friend of yours, this X, Y, Z ? 

For pleasure sure, not bread 'twere vain, 

To write for that he ne'er could gain j 

No calls of nature to excuse him, 

He deals in rancour to amuse him ; 

A man, it seems 'tis hard to say 

A woman then ? a moment pray j 

Unknown as yet by sex or feature, ' 

Suppose we try to guess the creature j 

Whether a wit, or a pretender ? 

Of masculine, or female gender ? 

Some things it does may pass for either. 
And some it does, belong to neither ; 
It is so fibbing, slandering, spiteful, 
In phrase so dainty, so delightful; 



DAVID OARRICK. 157 

So fond of all it reads and writes, 

So waggish when the maggot bites j 

Such spleen, such wickedness, and whim ; 

It must be woman, and a brim. 

But then the learning and the Latin ! 

The ends of Horace come so pat in, 

And, wanting wit, it makes such shift, 

To fill up gaps with Pope and Swift, 

As cunning house-wives bait their traps, 

And take their game with bits and scraps} 

For playhouse c: iticks, keen as mice, 

Are ever greedy, ever nice ; 

And rank abuse, like toasted cheese, 

Will catch as many as you please j 

In short, 'tis easily discerning, 

By here and there a patch of learning, 

The creature's male say all we can, 

It must be something like a man 

What, like a man, from day to shrink, 

And seek revenge with pen and ink ? 

On mischief bent, his name conceal, 

And like a toad in secret steal, 

There swell with venom inward pent, 

Till out he climbs to give it vent. 

Hate, join'd with fear, will shun the light, 

But hate and manhood fairly fight 



158 DAVID GARRICK. 

'Tis manhood's mark to face the foe, 
And not in ambush give the blow ; 
The savage thus less man than beast. 
Upon his foe will fall and feast, 
From bush, or hole, his arrows send, 
To wound his prey, then tear and rend ; 
For fear and hatred in conjunction, 
Make wretches that feel no compunction. 

With colours flying, beat of drum, 

Unlike to this, see Churchill come. 

And not like Hercules he stands, 

Unmask'd his face, but aim'd his hands ; 

Alike prepared to write or drub ! 

This holds a pen, and that, a club ! 

A club! which nerves like his can wield, 

And form'd a wit like his to shield. 

* f Mine is the Rosciad, mine, he cries j 

Who says 'tis not, I say, he lies. 

To falsehood and to fear a stranger, 

Not one shall fear my fame or danger ; 

Let those who write with fear or shame, 

Those Craftmen scribblers, hide their name ! 

My name is Churchill !" . . Thus he spoke, 

And thrice he waved his knotted oak : 



D.YYin OARRICK. 159 

That done, he paused. . . . prepared the blow. 
Impartial bard ! for friend and foe. 

If such are manhoods' feats and plan, 
Poor X, Y, Z, will prove no man ; 
Nor male ? nor female ? . . . . then on oath 
We safely may jpronounce it both. 

What ! of that wriggling, fribbling race, 

The curse of nature, and disgrace? 

That .mixture base, with fiends set sorth, 

To taint and villify all worth 

Whose rancour knows no bounds, nor measure, 

Pools every passion, tastes no pleasure ; 

The want of power, all peace destroying, 

For ever wishing, ne'er enjoying 

So smiling, smirking, soft in feature, 

You'd swear it was the gentle creature 

But touch its pride, the lady-fellow, 

From sickly pale, turns deadly yellow 

Male, female, vanish fiends appear 

And all is malice, rage, and fear ! 



160 DAVID GARRICK, 



From " An Ode upon dedicating a Building, and 
erecting a Statue to Shakspeare ; at Stratford upon 
Avon." 

To what blest Genius of the isle 
Shall Gratitude her tribute pay, 

Decree the festive day, 
Erect the Statue, and devote the Pile ? 

Do not your sympathetick hearts accord, 

To own the " bosom's lord?" 
'Tis he ! 'tis he ! that demi-god ! 
Who Avon's flowery margin trod, 

While sportive Fancy round him flew, 
Where Nature led him by the hand, 

Instructed him in all she knew, 
And gave him absolute command ! 
'Tis he ! 'tis he ! 

" The God of our idolatry !" 

To him the song, the edifice we raise, 
He merits all our wonder, all our praise ! 
Yet ere impatient joy break forth, 
Jn sounds that lift the soul from earth j 



DAVID GARRtCKt 181 

/ nd to our spell-bound minds impart 
Some faint idea of his magidc art ; 
Let awful silence still the air ! 
From the dark cloud, the hidden light 

Burst ten-fold bright ! 
Prepare ! prepare ! prepare ! 

Now swell at once the choral song> 
Roll tho full tide of harmony along 

Let Rapture sweep the trembling strings, 
And Fame expanding all her wings, 
With all her trumpet-tongues proclaim 
The loved, revered, immortal name ! 
Shakspeare ! Shakspeare ! Shakspeare ! 
Let the enchanting sonnd 
From Avon's shores rebound j 
Thro' the air 
Let it bear 
The precious freight the envious nations round I 

CHORUS. 

SWELL the choral song, 
Roll the tide of harmony along, 
Let Rapture sweep the strings, 
Fame expand her wings, 

VOL. III. M 



162 J>AVID GARRICK. 

With her trumpet-tongues proclaim 
The loved, revered, immortal name, 
Shakspeare! Shakspeare! Shakspeare! 

AIR. 

SWEETEST bard that ever sung, 
Nature's glory, Fancy's child ; 
Never sure did witching tongue 
Warble forth such wood- notes wild ! 

Come each Muse, and sister Grace, 
Loves and Pleasureshither come> 
Well you know this happy place, 
Avon's banks were once your home. 

Bring the laurel, bring the flowers, 
Songs of triumph to him raise } 
He united all your powers, 
All uniting, sing his praise ! 

Tho* Philip's famed unconquer'd son, 
Had every blood-stain'd laurel won 
He sigh'd tliat his creative word 
(Like that which rules the skies) 
Could not bid other nations rise, 
Tp glut his yet unsated sword : 



DAVID CAIUUCK. 163 

Kut wlien our Shakspeare's raatcliless pen, 
Like Alexander's sword had done with men; 
He heaved no sigh, he made no moan, 

Not limited to human kind, 
, He fired his wonder-teaming mind, 
Raised other worlds, and beings of his own ! 



PROLOGUE TO TASTE. 

Spoken by Mr. Garrick, in the Character of an 
Auctioneer. 

BEFORE this court I Peter Puff appear, 
A Briton born, and bred an Auctioneer j 
Who for myself, and eke a hundred others, 
My useful, honest, learned, bawling brothers, 
With much humility and fear implore ye, 
To lay our present desperate case before ye, 

'Tis said this night a certain wag intends 
To laugh at us, our calling, and our friends j 
If lords and ladies, and such dainty folks, 
Are cured of auction-hunting by his jokes 5 

M2 



164 DAVID GAURICK. 

Should this odd doctrine spread throughout the 

land, 

Before you buy be sure to understand, 
Oh think on us what various ills will flow, 
When great ones only purchase what they know. 
What ! laugh at Taste ? It is a harmless fashion. 
And quite subdues each detrimental passion ; 
The fair one's hearts will ne'er incline to man. 
While thus they rage for china and japan. 
The virtuoso too, and connoisseur, 
Are ever decent, delicate, and pure ; 
The smallest hair their looser thoughts might hold, 
Just warm when single and when married cold; 
Their blood at sight of beauty gently flows ; 
Their Venus must be old, and w^nt a nose ! 
No amourous passion with deep knowledge 

thrives j 

'Tis the complaint indeed of all our wives ! 
'Tis said Virtd to such a height is grown, 
All artists are encouraged but our own. 
Be not deceived, I here declare on oath, 
I never yet sold goods of foreign growth : 
Ne'er sent commissions out to Greece or Rome j 
My best antiquities are made at home. 
I've Romans, Greeks, Italians, near at hand. 
Free Britons all: and living in the Strand. 



DATID CAUIUCK. 165 

I ne'er for trinkets rack my pericranium, 
They furnish not my room from Herculaneum. 

But hush 

Should it be known that English are employ'd, 
Our manufacture is at once destroy'd 3 
No matter what our countrymen deserve, 
They'll thrive as antients, but as moderns starve. 
If \ve should fail, (o you it will be owing ; 
Farevvel to Arts they're going, going, going j 
The fatal hammers' in your hand, oh Town \ 
Then set Us up and knock the Poet down. 



[ 166 J 



JOHN LANGHORNE. 



1779. 



Dr. Langhorne was Rector of Blagden, in Somersetshire, 
and is well known as the translator of Plutarch's Lives;. 
He was also author of several other literary productions.. 



Hymn to Humanity. 

PARENT of virtue, if thine ear 
Attend not now to sorrow's cry j 

If now the pity-streaming tear 

Should haply on thy cheeks be dry; 

Indulge my votive strain, O sweet Humanity. 



JOHN' LANCIIORNE. 107 

Come, ever welcome to my bieast! 

A tender, but a cheerful guest ; 

Nor always in the gloomy cell 

Of life-consuming Sorrow dwell; 

For Sorrow, long-indulged and slow, 

Is to Humanity a foe ; 

And Grief, that makes the heart its prey, 

Wears Sensibility away, 

\Vhy comes sweet nymph, instead of thee, 

The gloomy fiend, Stupidity? 

O may that fiend be banish'd far, 
Though passions hold eternal war ! 
Nor ever let me cease to know, 
The pulse that throbs at joy, or woe ; 
Nor let my vacant cheek be dry, 
When sorrow fills a brother's eye; 
Nor may the tear that frequent flows 
From private, or from social woes, 
E'er make this pleasing sense depart. 
Ye Caresj O harden not my heart. 

If the fair star of Fortune smile, 
Let not its flattering power beguile ; 
Nor borne along the favouring tide, 
My full sails swell with bloating pride. 



168 JOHN LANGUORNE. 

Let me from wealth but hope conten . 
Remembering still it was but lent ; 
To modest merit spread my store, 
Unbar my hospitable door; 
Nor feed, for pomp, an idle train, 
While want unpitied pines in vain. 

If heaven, in every purpose wise, 
The envied lot of wealth denies ; 
If doom'd to drag life's painful Ioa4 
Through poverty's uneven road, 
And, for the due bread of the day, 
Destined to toil as well as pray j 
To thee, Humanity, still true, 
J'll wish the good I cannot do ; 

And give the wretch, that passes by, 
A soothing word a tear a sigh. 

Howe'er extracted, or deprest, 
Be ever mine the feeling breast, 
From me remove the stagnant mind 
Of languid indolence, reclined j 
The soul that one long Sabbath keeps, 
And through the sun's whole circle sleeps^ 
Pull, peace, that dwells in Folly's eye. 
And self-attending vanity. 



JOHN LANGHORNE. 169 

Alike, the foolish, and the vain, 
Are strangers to the sense humane. 

O for that sympathetick glow 

Which taught the holy tear to flow, 

When the pronhetick eye sarvey'd 

Sion in future ages laid j 

Or, raised to heaven, implored the bread 

That thousands in the desert fed ! 

Or, when the heart o'er friendship's grave, 

Sigh'dj and forgot its power to save - 

for that sympathetick glow 
Which taught the holy tear to flow ! 

It comes: It fills my labouring breast ! 

1 feel my beating heart opprest. 
Qh ! hear that lonely widow's wail ! 
See her dim eye, her aspect pale ! 
To heaven she turns in deep despair, 
Her infants wonder at her prayer, 

And mingling tears they know not why. 
Lift up their little hands, and cry, 
O God ! their moving sorrow see ! 
Support them, sweet Humanity ! 

Life, fill'd with griefs' distressful train, 
for ever asks the tear humane. 



170 JOHN LAXG1IORNE. 

Behold, in you unconscious grove, 
The victims of ill-fated love! 
Heard you that agonizing throe ? 
Sure this is not rormntick woe ! 
The golden day of joy is o'er ; 
And now they part to meet no more. 
Assist them hearts from anguish free ! 
Assist them, sweet Humanity! 

Parent of virtue, : .f thine ear 

Attend not now to sorrow's cry; 

If now the pity streaming tear 

Should haply on thy cheek be dry, 

Indulge my votive strain, O sweet Humanity ! 



Rural S'unpliciiy, an Ode. 

O THOU, whom Love and Fancy lead, 
To wander near this woodland hill, 
If ever musick soothed thy quill, 

Or pity waked thy gentle reed, 
Repose beneath my humble tree, 
If thou lovest Simplicity. 



JOHN' LA.NOHORNE. 

Stranger, if thy lot has laid 

In toilsome scenes of busy life, 

Full sorely may'st them see the strife, 

Of weary passions ill repaid, 
In a garden live like me, 

If thou lovest Simplicity. 

Flowers have sprung for many a year. 
O'er the village maiden's grave, 
That, one memorial -spring to save, 

Bore it from a sister's bier 

And homeward walking, wept o'er me 
The true tears of simplicity. 

And soon, her cottage- window near, 
With care my slender stem she placed, 
And fondly thus her grief embraced, 

And cherish'd sad remembrance dear; 
For love sincere and friendship free, 
Are children of Simplicity. 

When past was many a painful day, 
Slow-pacing o'er the village-green 
In white were all its maidens seen, 

And love my guardian friend away. 
Oh, Death ! what sacrifice to thee 
The ruins of Simplicity. 



172 JOIHf LANGIIORE. 

One generons swain her heart approved, 
A youth, whose fond and faithful breast, 
With many an artless sigh confest, 

In Nature's language that he loved : 
But Stranger, 'tis no tale for thee, 
Unless thou lovest Simplicity. 

He aed and soon her lip was cold, 
And soon her rosy lip was pale, 
The village wept to hear the tale 

When for both the slow bell toll'd 
Beneath yon flowery turf they lie, 
The lovers of Simplicity. 

Yet one boon have I to crave j 
Stranger, if thy pity bleed, 
Wilt thou do one tender deed, 

And strew my pale flowers o'er their grave ? 
So lightly lie the turf on thee, 
Because thou lovest Simplicity. 



JOHN LANGHORXE. ITS 



Ode to the River Eden. 

DELIGHTFUL Eden ! parent stream, 

Yet shall the maids of Memory say, 
When, led by Fancy's fairy dream, 

My young steps traced thy winding way : 
How oft along thy mazy shore, 
Where slowly waved the willows hoar, 

In pensive thought their poet stray'd j 
Or, dozing near thy meadow 1 d side, 
Beheld thy dimply waters glide, 

Bright thro' the trembling shade. 

Yet shall they paint those scenes again, 

Where once with infant-joy he play'd, 
And bending o'er thy liquid plain, 

The azure worlds below survey 'd $ 
JLed by the rosy-handed hours, 
When Time trip'd o'er that bank of flowers, 

Which in thy crystal bosom smiled ! 
Tho 1 old the God, yet light and gay, 
He flung his glass, his scythe away, 

And seem'd himself, a child. 



174 JOHN LANGHORNE. 

The poplar tall, that waving near 

Would whisper to thy murmurs free j 
Yet rustling seems to soothe mine ear, 

And trembles when I sigh for thee. 
Yet seated on thy sheltering brim, 
Can Fancy seethe Naiads trim 

Burnish their green locks in the sun ; 
Or at the last lone hour of day, 
To chase the lightly glancing jay, 

In airyxircles run. 

But Fancy, can thy mimick power, 

Again those happy moments bring ? 
Canst thou restore that golden hour, 

When young Joy waved his laughing wing ? 
When first in Eden's rosy vale, 
My full heart pour'd the lover's tale, 

The vow sincere, devoid of guile ! 
While Delia in her panting breast, 
With sighs, the tender thought supprest, 

And look'd as angels smile. 

O Goddess of the crystal brow, 

That dwells't the golden meads among j 
Whose streams still fair in memory flow, 
Whose murmurs melodize my song ! 



JOHN LANGIIORN'E. 17ft 

O ! yet those gleams of joy display, 

"Which brightening glow'd in Fancy's ray 

When, near thy lucid urn reclined, 
The Dryad, Nature, bared her breast, 
And left, in naked charms imprest, 

Her image on my mind. 

In vain the maids of Memory fair 

No more in golden visions play; 
No friendship smoothes the brow of care. 

No Delia's smile approves my lay. 
Yet, love and friendship lost to me, 
Tis yet some joy to think of thee, 

And in thy breast this mortal find ; 
That life, tho' stain'd with sorrow's shower*, 
S'. all flow serene, while Virtue pours 

Her sunshine on the mind. 



C 176 ] 



WILLIAM KENRICK, 



1779. 



Kenrick's memory will be perpetuated by the slight men- 
tion which Goldsmith makes of him in his Poem of 
" RETALIATION," his own efforts were not the best 

. directed for the accomplishment of that purpose ; for he 
lived in a state of warfare, and died unregretted by his 
contemporaries. 



The Force of Prejudice. 

A FABLE. 

The Hint from Helvetius. 



ONCE on a time, or story lies, 
A Deity forsook the skies ; 
And rambling, curious, up and down, 
Enter'd, at length, an Africk town ! 



WILLIAM KENRICX. 175 

Where lived a tribe of mortals black, 
With each a hump upon his back* 
A burthen common to the nation 
Thro' each such successive generation. 

The comely God, well-shaped and fair, 

March'd forward with a graceful air; 

While, gathering round, the gaping throng 

Wonder' d, and hooted him along. 

This gave a kick, and that a thump ; 

All crying, Where's the fellow's hump ? 

The females too, among the rest. 

Their detestation had express'd j 

While luscious jokes were cut and crack' d. 

To see a man so slender back'dj 

Eager each flirt to have a fling, 

At such a pale faced ugly thing. 

Nay, heaven knows where their taunts had ended, 

If fate the God had not befriended. 

But so, it chanced, a sober sage 

Advanced, revered for sense and age ; 

Made wise by time and observation, 

His knowledge gleaned from every nation ; 

He whites had seen, as well as blocks, 

No mountains bearing on their backs ; 

VOL. III. N 



176 WILLIAM KENRICK. 

And knew, from reason consequential. 

Colour and form, were not essential. 

Yet still too wise to call in doubt 

The wisdom of the rabble rout: 

He thus, the stranger to protect, 

.Address'd the mob with due respect. 

" O give, my friends, your insults o'er, 

f( Nor vex this hapless creature more : 

* f What tho' before our eyes we see 

" A lump of fair deformity j 

tf Not e'en a mole-hill on his shoulder, 

" To captivate one black beholder; 

" Hut like an un.slinpec! log he stands, 

et Unfinisli'd left by Nature's hands ; 

(t Yet mock him not, in cruel pride, 

" For wanting what (he Gods deny'd: 

" 'Tis affectation makes the fool; 

" No object this, of ridicule. 

" 1 1 might have been your fate or mine, 

" To \\ant the human hump divine ; 

" Au-1 each of us, an ngly sight, 

" Might have flat-shoulder'd been and white: 

" If therefore heaven, to us so kind, 

" Give the p otub ranee behind, 

" Thanks to the Gods \\ith fervour pray, 

" But send this wretch unhurt away." 



WILLIAM K.KNR1CK. 177 

The mob on every word intent, 
With some few murmurings gave consent ; 
When now the sage the God addres.s'd 
And thus dismiss'd the injured guest. 

" On earth a welcome wouldst thou find, 

" Go hence and learn to know mankind. 

" In other lands thy form and face, 

" May challenge comliness and grace ; 

" But here to beanty are we blind, 

" If wanting of a hump behind. 

" Thus eveiy nation, every tribe, 

" Peculiar sentiments imbibe; 

" And beauty, virtue, sense, lay claim. 

" To little more than empty name ; 

" Varied in every clime and nation, 

ff As suits the general situation. 

" Hence, judging each by different ru 1 es, 

" They think each other knaves or foois ; 

" While no defect or vice is known, 

" Unless it differs from their own. 

f< To turn the shafts of scorn aside, 

' Then take this maxim for your guide: 

tf Go where yon will, be sure to wear 

" The general .hump the people boar : 



178 WILLIAM KENRICK. 

" He's ne'er accounted fool or rogue, 
" Whose vice or folly is in vogue/' 



The Eullfnch and Sparrow, 
A Fable, from the French, of the King of Prussia. 

OF greatness, and its pompous train, 
What notions false, we entertain ! 
The glittering dress, the splendid feast, 
Those seeking most, who know them least ; 
Our time, anxiety, and cost, 
In the vain acquisition lost. 

Its joy and grief, to every state 
Adapted by the will of fate, 
The man we envy, oft as blest, 
In secret pines, with care oppress'd ! 
( )f this, though trite, just observation, 
My fable is an illustration.. 

As, on the rake, one winter's day, 
A to\vn-bred sparrow wing'd his way, 
Pos^ess'd of each engaging art 
To win the feathei'd fair one's heart, 



M'lLT.IAM KENHICK. 179 

To all his rivals still preferr'd, 
The favourite of each female bird. 
He lighted near an ancient seat, 
Whose turrets mark the squire's retreat; 
The mansion, where renown'd in fame, 
Resides the guardian of the game; 
Or the right worshipful the Mayor, 
"Whose corporation's all his care. 

There, hopping round from tree to tree, 
Curious, no doubt, to hear and see, 
A Bullfinch, from a window nigh, 
Attracted the young rover's eye. 
Struck \vitn the warbler's gilded cage, 
He glow'd with envy, grief and rage. 
" How partial," he exc'aim'd, " is fate ! 
" See how that Bullfinch lives in state, 
" The hapoiest of the feather' d race ! 
" How different the poor Sparrow's case ! 
" He, shelter'd from the winds and rain, 
" Still chaunts at ease his warbling strain. 
(t While I sit, shivering in the shower, 
" Exposed through each inclement hour 
" To nipping frost, or melting snows ; 
" Ills that no pamper'd Bullfinch knows! 
N3 .. 



I 

180 WILLIAM KENR1CK. 

le He, cherish 'd at a sumptuous board, 

" Is logd^ and feasted like a lord ; 

" Fondled and by his master fed, 

" With sweetest cakes ana whitest bread; 

" While after me the village runs, 

" With pelting stones and popping guns ; 

" Forced by such barbarous sport to fly, 

" A miserable wanderer I, 

" In the more hospitable wood 

" Pick, up and down, precarious food. 

" Hard lot ! alas, how different mine, 

" Compared, thrice happy bird with thine 

" Why, cruel fate, live I to rue 

" I was not hatch'd a Bulfinch too ! 

The finch, in quite a well-bred way, 
Heard what our Sparrow had to say,- 
And understood him, though at distance, 
Without the interpreter's assistance. 
Indeed a bird, not quite a fool, 
Brought up in so polite a school, 
Could not be thought in want of learning: 
A word's enough to the discerning. 
Not comprehend the vulgar folk ! 
Poh, comprehend ! tis all a joke. 



WILLIAM KENRICK. 181 

Smiling to find the awkward blunder 

The foolish fellow labour'd under ; 

He, pluming up his haughty crest, 

The envious grumbler thus address'd : 

" Sure my good friend, you're touch'd in brain, 

" To talk in this mistaken strain ; 

" 'Tis true there's something of a smatterinor 

O O 

" Of veil, in what you have been chattering; 

" But, chirp as smartly as you will, 

" Trust me you reason very ill j 

" And to be serious for a while, 

" In trath, your envy makes me smile. 

*' What is there in this fine gilt cage 

*' So much your fancy should engage ? 

" These wires my prison bars, where I, 

" A splendid slave must live and die ! 

" Go hence, content, and learn of me, 

f< How vain the finery you see. 

" Forbear my joys true blis? to call: 

" Thy liberty is worth them all." 






[ 182 ] 



THOMAS PENROSE. 



17431779- 



From this writer's Poem, that which has been most 
praised is selected. The author mistook inclination 
for power, and has luckily found Criticks, who have 
accepted the will for the deed. 



M.ADNESS. 

SWELL the clarion, sweep the string, 
Blow into rage t e Muse's fires ! 
All thy answers, echo, bring, 
Let wood and daL-, let rock and valley ring, 
'Tis Madness self inspires. 



TUOMAS PENROSE. 183 

Hail, awful Madness, hail ! 
Thy realm extends, thy powers prevail, 
Far as the voyager spreads his venturous sail. 
Nor best nor wisest are exempt from thee ; 
Folly Folly's only free. 

Hark ! To the astonish'd ear 
The gale conveys a strange tumultuous sound. 
They now approach, they now appear, 

Phrenzy leads her chorus near 

And Demon's dance around. 

Pride Ambition idly vain, 

Revenge, and malice swell her train, 

Devotion warp'd Affection crost 
Hope in disappointment lost- 
And injured merit, with a downcast eye, 
Hurt by neglect, slow stalking heedless by. 
Loud the shouts of madness rise 
Various voices, various cries, 
Mirth unmeaning causeless moans, 
Bursts of laughter heart-felt groans 
All seem to pierce the skies. 



184 THOMAS PENROSE. 

Rough as the wintry wave, that wars 
On Thule's desert shores, 
Wild raving to the unfeeling air, 
The fetter'd maniac foams along, 
(Rage the burden of his jarring song) 
In rage he grinds his teeth, and rends his stream- 
ing hair. 



No pleasing memory left forgotten quite 
All former scenes of dear delight, 
Connubial love parental joy 
No sympathies like these his soul employ, 
But all is dark within, all furious black despair. 

; 

Not so the love-lorn maid, 
By too much tenderness betray'd , 
Her gentle breast no angry passion fires, 
But slighted vows possess, and fainting, soft 

desires. 

She yet retains her wonted flame, 
All but in reason, still the same. 
Streaming eyes, 
Incessant sighs. 



THOMAS PENROSE. 185 

Dim haggard looks, and clouded o'er with 

care, 
Point out to pity's tears, the poor distracted 

fair. 

Dead to the world her fondest wishes crost ! 
She mourns herself thus early lost. 

Now, sadly gay, of sorrows past she sings, 
Now, pensive, ruminates unutterable things. 
She shouts she flies who dares so rude 
On her sequester'd steps intrude ? 
'Tis he the Momus of the flighty train. 
Merry Miscliief fills his train. 
Blanket-robed, and antick crown'd, 
The mimick monarch skips around ! 
Big with conceit of dignity he smiles, 
And plots his frolics quaint, and unexpected 
wiles, 

Laughter was there but mark that groan, 

Drawn from his inmost soul ! 
" Give the knife, Demons, or the poison'd bowl, 
" To finish miseries equal to your own" 

Who's this wretch, with horror wild ! 

-'Tis devotion s ruin a child. 



186 THOMAS PENROSE. 

Sunk in the emphasis of grief, 

Nor can he feel, nor dares he ask relief. 

Thou, fair Religion, wast design'd, 
Duteous daughter of the skies, 
To warm, and cheer the human mind, 
To make men happy, good and wise . 
To point where sits, in love array'd, 
Attentive to each suppliant call, 
The God of universal aid, 
The God, the Father of us all. 

First shown by thee, thus glow'd the gracious 

scene, 

'Till Superstition, friend of woe, 
Bade doubts to rise, and tears to flow, 
And spread deep shades our view and heaven 

between. 

Drawn by her pencil the Creator stands, 
His beams of mercy thrown aside, 
With thunder arming his uplifted hands, 
And hurling vengeance wide. 
Hope, at the frown aghast, yet lingering, flies, 
And dash'd on terrour's rocks, Faith's best de- 
pendence lies. 



THOMAS PENROSE. 187 

But ah! too thick they crowd, too close the/ 

throng, 

Objects of pity and affright ! 
Spare farther the descriptive song 
Nature shudders at the sight. 
Protract not, curious ears, the mournful tale, 
But o'er the hapless groupe, low drop compas- 
sion's veil. 



[ 188 



SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 



17231780. 



Though the reputation of this celebrated lawyer may be 
built on the broad foundation of legal quartos, we must 
yet be pleased to view the more ornamental part of his 
literary life derived from his poetical character, and his 
pursuits of elegant studies : at the age of twenty he had 
compiled a treatise, entitled, " Elements of Architec- 
ture," which met with approbation, though intended 
only for his own use. These were the arts of his 
choice. And it is pleasanter to follow his mind through 
them, than to trace its labours through those by which 
he rose to fame. x 



The Lawyer's Farewel to his Muse. 

A s, by some tyrant's stern command, 
A wretch forsakes his native land, 
In foreign climes condemn'd to roam 
An endless exile from his home ; 



SIR WILLIAM BLACK3TOWE. 189 

Pensive he treads the destined way, 
And dreads to go j nor dares to stay ; 
'Till on some neighbouring mountains' brow 
He stops, and turns his eyes below; 
There, melting at the well-known view, 
Drops a last tear, and bids adieu : 
So I, thus doom'd from thee to part, 
Gay queen of Fancy, and of Art, 
Reluctant move, with doubtful mind, 
Oft stop, and often look behind. 

Companion of my tender age, 

Serenely gay, and sweetly sage, 

How blithsome were \\ e want to rove 

By verdant hill, or shady grove, 

Where fervent bees, with humming voice, 

Around the honey'd oak rejoice, 

And aged elms with awful bend 

In long cathedral walks extend ! 

Lull'd by the lapse of gliding floods, 

Chear'd by the warbling of the woods, 

How blest my days, my thoughts how free, 

In sweet society with thee ! 

Then all was joyous, all was young, 

And years unheeded roll d along : 







190 SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 

But now the pleasing dream is o'er, 

These scenes must charm me now no more, 

Lost to the fields, and torn from you, 

Farewell a long, a last adieu. 

Me wrangling courts, and stubborn law, 

To smoak, and crowds, and cities draw : 

There selfish faction rules the day, 

And Pride and Avarice throng the way ; 

Diseases taint the murky air, 

And midnight conflagrations glare j 

Loose Revelry, and Riot bold 

In frighted streets their orgies hold j 

Or, where in silence all is drown'd, 

Fell Murder walks his lonely round j 

No room for peace, r.o room for you, 

Adieu, celestial Nymph adieu ! 

Shakspeare no more, thy sylvan son, 

Nor all the art of Addison, 

Pope's heaven strung lyre, nor Waller's ease, 

Nor Milton's mighty self must please : 

Instead of these a formal band 

In furs, and coifs around me stand ; 

With sounds uncouth and accents dry, 

That grate the soul of harmony, 



SI* WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 191 

Each pedant sage unlocks his store 
Of mystick, dark, discordant lore ; 
And points with tottering hand the ways 
That lead me to the thorny maze. 

There, in a winding close retreat, 
Is justice doom'd to fix her seat, 
There, fenced by bulwarks of the Law, 
She keeps the -wondering world in awe, 
And there, from vulgar sight retired, 
Like eastern queens, is more admired. 

O let me pierce the secret shade 
Where dwells the venerable maid ! 
There humbly mark with reverent awe, 
The guardian of Britannia's Law, 
L T nfold with joy her sacred page, 
The united boast of many an age, 
Where mix'd, yet uniform appears 
The wisdom of a thousand years. 
In that pure spring the bottom view, 
Clear, deep, and regularly true, 
And other doctrines thence imbibe 
Than lurk within the sordid scribe j 
Observe how parts with parts unite 
In one harmonious rule of right : 

VOL. III. O 



192 SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 

See countless wheels distinctly tend 
By various laws to one great end : 
While mighty Alfred's piercing soul 
Pervades, and regulates the whole. 

Then welcome business, welcome strife, 
Welcome the cares, the thorns of life, 
The visage wan, the pore blind sight, 
The toil by day, the lamp at night, 
The tedious forms, the solemn prate, 
The pert dispute, the dull debate, 
The drowsy bench, the babling Hall, 
For thee, fair Justice, welcome all ! 
Thus though my noon of life be past, 
Yet let my setting sun, at last, 
Find out the still, the rural cell, 
Where sage Retirement loves to dwell ! 
There let me taste the homeful bliss 
Of innocence, and inward peace} 
Untainted by the guilty bribe, 
Uncursed amid the Harpy tribe j 
No orphan's cry to wound my ear ; 
My honour, and my conscience clear; 
Thus may I calml) meet my end, 
Thus to the grave in peace descend. 



JAMES DE LA COUR. 



Cork, 1709 1781. 



At a very early age this writer attained some reputation, 
by an Epistle from Abelard to Eloisa, and by his " Pros- 
pect of Poetry." He took orders, but neglected the duties 
and even the decencies of his profession, till habitual 
drunkenness produced derangement. His madness took a 
prophetic-k turn, and asduring the siege of the Havannah, 
he guessed what day it would surrender, he was for some 
time in high odour as a prophet. A little estate of about 
fourscore pounds a-year, preserved him, with the help of 
hospitality, from want : towards the latter end of his life 
he sold this to his brother-in-law for his board and 
lodging and a certain yearly allowance ; restraining bim- 
eelf from staying out aftejr twelve o'clock at night, under 
the penalty of one shilling ; his balance at the end of the 
year, was in consequence very inconsiderable- 
o 2 



194 JAMES DE LA COUR. 

TO JAMES THOMSON, ESd. 
On his Seasons. 

FROM sunless worlds, where Fhebus seldom 

smiles, 

But with bis evening wheels hangs o'er our isles ; 
A Western M.ise to worth this tribute pays, 
Fro.n regions bordering on the Hebrides : 
For thec the Irish harp, new strung, once more 
Greets our rough rocks, and bleak Hibernian 

shore : 
Thou, Thomson, badest my fingers wake the 

strings, 

Anl w'uh thy praise the wild wood hollow rings; 
The shades of reverend Druids hover round, 
Ana bend transported o'er the brazen sound. 

So the wing'd bees that idly rove along, 
(Renowa'd alike for sweets as those for song) 
If the shrill brass invite tl^em from the sky, 
In dusky clusters round the musick fly. 

Blest Bard! with what new lustre dost thou rise ? 
i oft as the Season o'er the Summer skies ! 



JAMES DE LA COLR. 195 

Thy works a little world, new-found appear, 
And thou the Phebns of a heaven so fair ; 
Thee their bright sovereign all the signs allow, 
And Thomson is the name for Nature now ; 
Thou first could' st drive the coursers of the clay, 
Nor through the dazzling glories lost thy wayj 
Thy steeds red hoofs, still trod the eternal round, 
Nor threw the burning chariot to the ground. 

So round Julus' temples blazing bright 
In locks dishevel'd stream'd a length of light; 
The prince unharm'd beheld the sparkles spread, 
Nor shook the shining honours from his head. 

Beneath thy touch, description paints anew, 
And the skies brighten to a purer blue ; 
Spring owes thy pencil her peculiar green, 
And drown'd in redder roses Summer's seen ; 
While hoary Winter whitens into cold. 
And Autumn bends beneath her bearded gold. 

In various drapery see the rolling year, 
And the wild waste in sable spots appear ; 
O'er the black heath the bittern stalks alone, 
And to the naked marshes makes his moan ; 
o 3 



196 JAMES DE LA COUR. 

Engulph'd in bogs behold his muddy beak, 
And the brown partridge feeding in the brake. 

But chief the sweetest passion best you sing, 

The grove's soft theme, and symphony of Spring : 

How brindled lions roar with fierce desire, 

And in the waters Phocae feel the fire j 

There large Leviathan unwieldly raves, 

And burns though circled round with all his waves. 

But higher still, those wonders must give place 

To the new transports of a beauteous face ! 

Its force on man the touch the glowing glance, 

The tempting bosom, and the tender trance ! 

On those how strongly dost thou paint our care, 

And all the darling weakness of the fairj 

What thanks must Beauty give in yielding hour, 

To warn them from us in the rosy bower ! 

A sudden flash of lightning turns my eye 
To thunder rumbling in the Summer sky ! 
Beneath thy hand the flaming sheet is spread 
O'er heaven's wide face, and wraps it round with 

red; 
With the broad blaze the kindling lines grow 

bright, 
And all the glowing page is fill'd with light > 



JAMES D 1A COUK. 19? 

Through the rough verse the thunder hoarsly roam 
And on red wings the nimble lightning soars : 
Here thy Amelia starts, and, chill'd with tears, 
At every flash her eye-lids swim in tears ; 
What heart but beats for so divine a form, 
Pale as a lily sinking in the storm! 
What maid so cold to take a lover's part, 
But pities Celadon with all her heart ! 

How precious gems enrich each sparkling line>. 
Add sun to sun, and from thy fancy shine! 
Here rocks of diamond blaze in broken ray, 
And sanguine rubies shed a blushing day ;. 
Blue shining sapphires a giy heaven unfold, 
And top;iz lightens like transparent g >ld j 
Of evening tint pale amethysts are seen, 
And emeralds paint their languid beams with green: 
While the clear opal courts the rural sight ; 
And rains a showoi of many-colour'd light: 
Your sky-dipp'd pencil adds the proper glow, 
Stains each bright stone, and lets thrir lustre 
Tempers the colours shilling from each beam, 
And bids them fla^h in one continued stream, 

So have I seen the florid rainbow rise, 
In braided colours o'er the watery skies,. 



198 JAMES DE LA COUR. 

Where drops of light alternate fall away, 
And fainting gleams in gradual dies decay ; 
But thrown together the broad arch displays 
One tide of glory ! one collected blaze ! 

Where may those numbers find thee now retired ? 
What lawn or grove is by the Muse admired ? 
Dost thou in Stowe's delightful gardens stray, 
Or in the glooms of Doddington delay : 
There sweet embower'd some favourite author read, 
Or breathe the breezes of thy native Tweed 3 
On her cool border rest reclined a while, 
Mindful of Forbes, and of thy own Argyle ? 
O ! thou that only in this garb could'st please, 
And bring me over to commend thy lays, 
Where rhyme is wanting, but where fancy shines, 
And burst like ripen'd ore above the mines ; 
Enjoy thy genius, glory in thy choice, 
Whose Roman freedom has Roscommon's voice. 



[ 199 ] 
RICHARD JAGO. 



17151781. 



The friend of Shenstone and Graves, who had courage 
enough to break through the prejudice which exists at 
our Universities, against Servitors and Sizers, and to 
admit him of their Society, on which Jago brought no 
discredit. He was afterwards protected and cherished by 
persons of higher rank, and died athis Rectory of Snit- 
terfield.in Warwickshire, which heowed tr-jthe patronage 
of the Earl Nugent. 



THE GOLDFINCHES, 

AM ELEGY. 

TO you, whose groves protect the feather'd choirs, 
Who lend their artless notes a willing ear, 

To you, whom pity moves, and taste inspires, 
The Dorick strain belongs, O Shenstone, hear. 

'Twas gentle Spring, when all the plumy race, 
By nature taught, in nuptial league combine! 

A Goldfinch joy'd to meet the warm embrace, 
And with her mate hi love s delights to join. 



200 



All in a garden, on a currant bush, 

With wonderous art they build their airy seatj 
In the next orchard lived a friendly thrush. 

Nor distant far a woodlark's soft retreat. 

Here blest with ease, and in each other blest, 
With early songs they waked the neighb'ring 

groves, 
Till time matured their joys, and erown'd their 

nest 
With infant pledges of their faithful loves. 

And now what transport glow'd in cither's eye ! 

What equal fondness dealr the allotted food ! 
What joy each others' likenes, to descry, 

And future sonnets in the chirping brood ! 

But ah, what earthly happiness can last ! 

How does the fairest purpose often fail ! 
A truant schoolboy's wantonness could blast 

Their flattering hopes, and leave them both to 
wail. 

The most ungentle of his tribe was-he, 
No generous precept ever touch'd his heart, 

With concored false, and hideous prosody 

He scrawl'd his task, and blunder'd o'er his 
part. 



RICHARD JAGO. 201 

On mischief bent, he mark'd, with ravenous eyes, 
Where wrapt in down the callow songsters lay, 

Then rushing rudely seized the glittering prize, 
And bore it in his impious hands away ! 

But how shall I describe, in numbers rude, 
The pangs for poor Chrysomitris decreed, 

When from her secret stand aghast she view'd 
The cruel spoiler perpetrate the deed ? 

' O grief of griefs!' with shrieking voice she cried, 
" What sight is this that I have liv'd to see ! 

" O ! that I had in youth's fair season died, 

" From love's false joys, and bitter sorrows free* 

" Was it for this, alas ! with weary bill, 

" Was it for this 1 pois'd the unwieldy straw ? 

" For this I bore the moss from yondej hill, 
" Nor shunn'd the ponderous stick along to 
draw ? 

" Was it for this I peck'd the wool with care, 
" Intent with nicer skill our work to crown; 

" For this, with pain, 1 bent the stubborn i air,. 
" And lined our cradle with the thistle's down? 



" Was it for this my freedom I resign'd, 

" And ceased to rove at large from plain to plain ; 

" For this I sat at home whole days confin'd, 
To bear the scorching heat, and pelting rain ? 

" Was it for this my watchful eyes grew dim ? 

" For this the roses on my cheek turn'd pale ? 
" Pale is my golden plumage, once so trim ! 

" And all my wonted mirth and spirits fail. 

" O plunderer vile ! O more than adders fell ! 

" More murderous than the cat, with prudish 

face ! 
*' Fiercer than kites in whom the furies dwell, 

" And thievish as the cuckow's pilfering race !. 

ff May juicy plumbs for thee forbear to grow, 
'' For thee no flower unveil its charming dies, 

"May birch-trees thrive to work thee sharper woe, 
" And listening starlings mock thy fran tick cries. 

" Thus sang the mornful bird her piteous tale, 
" The piteous tale her mournful mate return'd, 

" Then side by side they sought the distant vale, 
" And there in secret sadness iniy mourn'd." 



[ 203 ] 



PHANUEL BACON. 



r 1 70O J 783. 



This Doctor in Divinity is characterized as having been 
" possessed of exquisite humour with a strong inclination 
for punning." He published, The Kite, a poem, 1719. 
then five Dramatick Fitces ; 'I he Foxes The Insign fi- 
cants The Trial of the Time-killers The Moral 
Quack The Duellists, 1757 : afterwards collected in one 
volume, and entitled, Humourous Ethicks. '1 he Snipe 
and the Song of Similies, in the Oxford Sausage are his, 
and the Friar in the first Ballad, is intended for himself. 



THE SNIPE, 

A BALLAD. 

Tune Abbot of Canterbury. 

I'LL tell you a Siory, a Story that's true, 
A Story that's dismal ; yet comical too j 
It is of a Friar, who some people think, 
Tbo' as sweet as a nut, might have died of a stink. 
Deny down, down, hey derry down. 
4 



204 PHANUEL KACO.V. 

This Friar would often go out with his gun, 
And tho* no great Marksman, he thought himself 

one j 

For tho' he for ever was wont to miss aim, 
Still something, but never himself, was to blame. 
Deny down, down, hey deny down. 

It happen'd young Peter, a friend of the Friar's, 
With legs arm'd with leather, for fear of the briars. 
Went out with him once, tho' it signifies not 
Where he hired his gun, or who tick'd for the 
shot. 

Deny down, down, hey deny down. 

Away these two trudged it, o'er hills and o'er dales, 
They popt at the Partridges, frighten'd the Quails, 
But to tell you the truth, no great mischief was 

done, 
Save spoiling the Proverb, as sure as a Gun. 

Deny down, down, hey deny down. 

But at length a poor Snipe flew direct in the way, 
In open defiance, as if he would say 
" If only the Friar and Peter are there, 
" I'll fly where I list, there's no reason to fear," 
Derry down, down, hey deny down. 



WIANUEL BACON. 205 

Tho' H'tle thought he that his deatli was so nigh, 
Yet Peter by chance fetch'd him down from on 

high, 

His shot was ramm'd down with a journal, I wist, 
The first time he charged so improper with Mist. 
Derry down, down, hey <ierry down. 

Then on both sides the speeches began to be made, 
As I beg your acceptance oh ! no Sir indeed I 
I beg that yon would Sir, for both wisely knew, 
That one Snipe could ne'er be a supper for two, 
Derry down, down, hey derry down. 

What the Friar declined in a most civil sort, 
Peter slipt in his pocket, the De'el take him 

for't! 

But were the truth known 'twould plainly appear, 
He oft-times had found a longer Bill there. 

Derry down, down, hey derry down. 

Hid in his pocket the Snipe safely lay, 

While a week did pass over his head, and a day, 

Till the ropes for a toast too offensive were 

g own, 

And were smelt out by every nose but his own. 
Derry down, down, hey derry down, 



206 PIIANUEL BACOtf. 

The Friar look'd wholesome it must be agreed, 
So no one could say, whence the stink should 

proceed ; 

Where the stink m-ghtbe laid, tho' no one could say, 
'Tis certain he brought it aud took it away. 

Deny down, down, hey derry down. 

At sight of the Friar began the perfume, 
And scarce he appear'd, but he scented the room : 
Snuff-boxes were held in the highest esteem, 
And all the wry faces were made when he came. 
Derry down, down, hey derry down. 

As the place he was in, it was call'd this and that ; 
In his room 'twas a close-tool, or else a dead rat; 
In the fields where he walk'd for some carrion 

'twas guess'd ; 

'Twas a fart, at the Angel, and pass'd for a iest. 
Derry down, down, hey derry down. 

At length the suspicion fell thick on poor Tray, 
Till he took to his heels and with 'speed ran away; 
Thought the Friar poor Tray, I'll remember thee 

soon, 

Jf I live to grow sweet, I will give thee a bone. 
Derry down, down, hey derry down. 



6 . PII \KUEL B\CON. 207 

- For he knew that poor Tray was most highly 

abused, 

- And if any, 'himself, thus deserved to be used: 
For 'twas certainly he, whom else could he think; 
'Twas certainly he, that must make all the stink ; 
Deny down, down, hey deny down. 

So when he came home he sat down on his bed, 
His elbow at distance supported his head ; 
His body long while like a pendulum went; 
But all he could do did not alter the scent. 

Derry down, down, hey derry down, 

Tl;us hypp'd, he got up, and pull'd offhis cloaths, 
He peep'd in his breeches and smelt to his hose, 
And the very next morning, fresh deaths he 

put on, 
All, all but a waistcoat, for he had but one. 

Derry down, down, hey derry down. 

1?ut ch&ntjing his clothes did not alter the case, 
A-ad so ^e stunk on for three weeks and three 

days; 

'Till to send for a-Doc'or he thought it most meet ; 
For though ha was not, yet his life it was, sweet. 

Derry down, down, hey derry down. 
VOL, nr. P 



208 PHANUEL BACON. 

The Doctor he came, felt his pulse in a trice > 
Then crept at a distance to give his advice: 
But sweating, nor bleeding, nor purging would do. 
For instead of one stink, this only made two. 

Deir/ down, down, hey deny down. 

The Friar oft-times to his glass would repair, 
But to death, he was frighten'd whene'er he came 

there, 

His eye were so sunk, and he look'd so aghast, 
He verily thought he was stinking his last 

Derry down, down, hey derry down. 

So for credit he hastens to burn all his prose, 
And into the fire his verses he throws ; 
When ser.ching his pockets to make up the pile, 
He found out the Snipe, which had stunk all the 

while, 

Derry down, down, hey derry down. 

So he hopes you will now think him wholesome 

again, 

Since his waisicoat discovers the cause of 'his pain, 
To conclude, the poor"Friar entreats you to note, 
That you might have been -sweet had you been in 

his coat. 

Derry down, down, hey derry down. * 



fHANUEL BACON. 



A SONG OF SIMILIES. 
By the Rev. Dr. Bacon. 

ft T 

I'VE thought}" the fair Clarissa cries; 
" What is it like, Sir?" ' Like your Eyes.' 
" 'Tis like a Chair Tis like a Key 
" 'Tis like a Purge 'Tis like a Flea 
" 'Tis like a Beggar like the Sun 
" 'Tis like the Dutch 'Tis like the Moon 
'< 'Tis like a Kilderkin of Ale 
" 'Tis like a Doctor like a Whale. 

" Why are my Eyes, Sir, like a Sword ? 

" For that's the Thought upon my werd. 

" Ah ! witness ev'ry Pang I feel 5 
" The Deaths they give their Likeness tell. 
" A Sword is like a Chair, you'll find, 
" Because 'tis most an end behind. 
" 'Tis like a Key, for 'twill undo one; 
" 'Tis like a Purge, for 'twill run through one. 
" Tis like a Flea, and Reason good, 
" 'Tis often drawing human Blood ; 
" Why like a Beggar, you shall hear, 
" 'Tis often borne before the Mayor. 
p 2 



2K) JHANUEL BACON. 

" 'Tis like the Sun, because 'tis gilt, 

" Besides it travels in a Belt. 

" 'Tis like the Dutch we plainly see, 

" Because that State, whenever we 

" A Push for our own Interest make, 

" Does instantly our Sides forsake. 

" The Moon why when all's said and done, 

" A Sword is very like the Moon : 

" For if his Majesty, (God bless him) 

" When Country Sheriff comes t' address him, 

" Is pleased his Favoi to bestow 

" On him, before him kneeling low, 

f< This o'er his shoulders glitters bright, 

" And gives the Glory to the Knight. [Night] 

'Tis like a Kilderkin, no doubt, 

" For 'tis not long in drawing out. 

" 'Tis like a Doctor, for whoVill 

' ' Dispute a Doctor's power to kill ? 

" But why a Sword is like a Whale, 

" Is no such easy thing to tell. 

". But since all Swords, are Swords d'ye see] 

" Why let it then a Backsword be : 

*' Which if well used will seldom fail 

*' To raise up somewhat like a Whale." 



JOHN SCOTT. 



Southwark \ 730 1 783. 



A very amiable man, whose opinions were seldom wrong, 
and whose feelings always fi^hu Some of his goems are 
peculiarly happy. 



O D F. 

THIS scene how rich from Thames's side, 
While evening suns their amber beam 
Spread o'er the glossy-surfaced tide,. 
And 'midst 'the masts and cordage gleam ; 
Blaze on the roofs with turrets crown'd, 
And gild green pastures stretch'd around, 
And gild the slope of that high ground, 
Whose corn-fields bright the prospect bound. * 

* Shooter's HIU. This view was talun on the north 
side of the Th,mes, at Ratdi* 



212 JOHN SCOTT. 

The white sails glide along the shore, 
Red streamers on the breezes play, 
The boat-men ply the dashing oar, 

f| 

And wide their various freight convey ; 
Some, Neptune's hardy thoughtless train^ 
And some, the earful sons of gaits, 
And some, the enamour'd nymph and swain., 
Listening to musick's soothing strain. 

But there, while these the sight allure. 
Still fancy wings her flight away 
To woods recluse, and vales obsure, 
And streams that solitary stray <; 
To view the pine-grove on the hill, 
The rocks that trickling springs distill, 
The meads that quivering aspins fill, 
Or alders crowding o'er the rill. 

And where the trees unfold their bloom, 
And where the banks their floriage bear, 
And all effuse a rich perfume,. 
That hovers in the soft calm air ; 
The hedge-row path to wind along, 
To hear the bleating fleecy throng, 
To hear the sky-lark's airy song, 
And throstle's note so clear and strong. 



JOHN SCOTT. 213 

* * 

But say, if ( there our steps were broxight, 
Would these their power to please retain .' 
Say, would not restless, roving thought 
Turn back to busy scenes again ? 
O strange formation- of the mind! 
Still tho'ugh the present fair we find, 
Still tow'rds the absent thus inclined, 
Thus fix'd on objects left behind ! 



O D E,. 

Written after reading some modern LoTe-vcrscs. 
TAKE hence this tuneful triflers' lays ! 
I'll hear no more the unmeaning strain 
Of Venus' Loves, and Cupids' darts, 
And killing eyes, and wofendcd hearjs j 
All flattery's round of fulsome praise, 
All falsehood's cant of fabled pain. 

Bring me the Muse, whose tongue has told 
Love's genuine plaintive tender tale ; 
Bring me the Muse, whose sounds of woe 
'Midst deaths' dread scenes so sweetly flow, 
When friendships' faithful breast lies cold, 
When beauty's blooming cheek is pale : 



214 JOHN SCOTT. 

Bring these I like their grief sincere; 
Jt sooths my sympathetic^ gloom : 
For, oh ! love's genuine pains I've born, 
And deaths' dread rage has made me mourn; 
I've wept o'er friendship's early bier, 
And dropt the tear on beauty's tomb. 

ODE. 

J HAIR that drum's discordant sound, 

Parading round, and round, and round, 

To thoughtless yo\>th it pleasure yields, 

And lure's from cities and from fields, 

To sell their liberty for charms 

Of tawdry lace, and glittering arms ; 

And when ambition's voice commands, 

To march, and fight, ai.d'fall, in foreign lands. 

I hate that drum's discordant sound, 
Parading round, and round, and round : 
To me it talks of ravaged plains, 
And burning towns, and rnin'd swains, 
And mangled limbs, and dying groans, 
And widow's tears, and orphans moans ; 
And all that misery's hand bestows, 
To till the catalogue of human woes. 



JOHN SCOTT. * 215 

SONNET. 
To Britain 176U 

RENOWN'D Britannia ! lov'd parental land ! 
Regard -thy welfare with a watchful e^e ! * 
Whene'er the weigm of want's afflicting hand 
Wakes in tliy vales tlie poor's persuasive cry 

i 

When wealth enormous sets the oppressor high, 
When bribes thy ductile senators tc mnannd, 
And slaves in office freemen's rights withstand, " 
Then mourn, for then thy fate approacheth nigh h 

Not from perfidious Gaul or haughty Spain, 
Nor all the neigM|puriug nations of the main, 
Though leagued' in ^war tremeudous round thy 

shore 

But from thyself thy rain mast proceed ! 
Nor boast thy power ! for know it is decreedj 
Thy freedom lost, thy power shall be ao more ! 



.:.[ 216 ] 



4 

' 

HEN$Y BROOKE. 

* 



^ 

'' Ireland- 17061783. 
t. jj . 

4 

' ! ' fc' " & 
1 

SIT. Sheridan had the honour of educating Henry Brooke, 
whose early genius -was notice! by Swift and by Pope. 
When he was a very yonng man, his Aunt left to his 
guardianship, her only daughter, a beautiful girl, be-* 
tween eleven and twelve, with a sjighf portion. He placed 
her at atoarding-shool ; but they became enamoured 
of e:ich other ; were- secretly married, aad Mrs. Biooke 
had her first child before she wa$ fourteen. 

Brooke removed to London, abandoning law for literature. 
'1 he Prince of Wales patronised him, and he on his part 
esnoijsed his p;i^)Dns politicks, with such indiscreet and 
dangerous violence, that his wife, excrtin* all her in- 
fluence, made him abandon all his prospects of advance- 
ment in this country, and return to his paternal seat. 
Here his bother and his brothers family, domesticated 
with him; but be impoverished, himself by a thoughtless 
generosity, and wa> obliged. to mortgage, and, at last to 
sell, his hereditary 'estate, ile^ook a farm in its neigh- 



HENRY BHOOKE. 517 

bourhood, and bore up well against adversity ; till the 
death of his wife, (whom for nearly fifty years he had 
loved tenderly) gave his intellects a shook which they 
never recovered. He was advanced in life himself, and 
his after productions all bear the marks of debility and 
derangement. 

Brooke published proposals for printing, by [subscription, 
the History of Ireland. 



MTTLE 'JOHN AND THE GIANTS. , 

A I R. 

Tune' Ye*fai>$ Elves that be." 

COME follow, follow me, 

Ye jolly boys all, who be 

Divested of coi^traint 

From mov: ified saw or saint ; 

To pleasure, and prank, and pastime free, 

Come fortow, follow, folio V me ! 

To prank, and*^>leasnre, and pastime free. 

Come follow, follow, follow me ! 



218 HENRY BROOKE. 

Let lean-ey'd Honesty bear 

His merited weight of care, 

And phlegm and consience dwell '; ' 

In cynical tub or cell ; 

But all ye lovers of game, and glee, 

And feast, and frolick, come follow me ! 

To pleasure, and prank, and pastime free, 

Come follow, follow, follow me ! 

The pedanted priest, who fain 

Would ride, but wants a rein j 

To moral us into controul, 

Would sour the jovial soul 

The Priest is cunning and so are we ; 

Then Priest, and people, come follow me! 

From scruple, and qualm, and conscience free, 

Come follow, follow, follow me ! 



A I R. 

Tune. ' Dole and icoejja our Cat.' 

FOH often my mammy has told, 
And stire^she is wondaronsj wise, 

In cities that all you behold, 

Is a fair, but a faithless disguise. 



HI M:Y BROOKE. 219 

That the modes of a court education, 
Are train-pits and traitors to youth} 

And the only fine language irk fash ion, 
A tongue that is foreign to truth, 

Where Honour is barely an oath, 

Where knaves ara with noblemen classed ; 
Where Natures' a stranger to both, 

And Love an old tale of times past. 

Where laughter no pleasure dispense!, 
Where smiles are the envoys of art ; 

Where joy lightly swims on the senses, 
But never can enter the heart. 

Where hopes and kind hugs are trepanners, 
Where \ irtue's divorced from success ; 

Where cringing goes current for manners, 
And worth is no deeper than dress. 

Where Favour creeps lamely on crutches, 
Where Friendship is nothing but facej 

And the title of duke, or of duchess, 
Js all that entitles to Grace. 



HENRY BROOKE. 



AIR. 

Tune. * You Commons and Peers' 

THE time to beguile, 

Now listen a-while, 

And I'll shew 'you an excellent plot - t 

How husband and wife, 

Through the crosses of life, 

May be held by the true lover's knot. 

As mortals are frail, 

Let indulgence prevail, 

And all mutual infirmities blot j 

Let the husband atone 

His wife's faults, by his own, 

And I'll vouch for the true lover's knot. 

My Dolly so bright, 

Should your Hob over night, 

Be surprised by his pipe or his pot ; 

Let him sleep his dose out, 

Nor by scolding and pout, 

Strive to loosen the trae lover's knot. 



, 

HENRY BROOKE. 

When your wives they grow grey, 

And their graces decay, 

Of all mortal beauty the lot j 

Remember their youth, 

And by friendship and truth, 

Make eternal the true lover's knot. 



Prologue for the Opening of a Theatre. 

* 
WHEN lazy moralists from cloisters taught 

The frosty precepts of unpractised thought, 
Howe'er the judgment coldly was inform- d, 
No worth was kindled, for no heart was warm'd. 
But when some good Man to the publick read, 
The generous lecture of a life well led ; 
When patriots stood for liberty and laws, 
Or fell the victims of their country's cause; 
Then hearts were taught to glow, and eyes to melt, 
And hands to act the lesson that was felt. 

# 

In languid maxims, which we barely hear, , 
The voice of Truth sounds distant to our earj 
But Action bids the substance to arise/ 
And gives the living Beauty to your eye*. 



r i 

t 

HENRY BROOKE. 

Hfence, was the Stage, from earliest times'!? design'd 

A vital School of Virtue to mankind. 

In real life, if- scant the Good and Fair, 

If Truth be foreign, and if Worth be rare, 

For these through everv clime and age we steer ; 

And thence unlade the precious purchase here ! 

Though Time and Death have closed their ancient 
reign, 

They bar their everlasting gates in vain 
The fatal valves shall to your eyes un|pid, 
Rt-cal the past, and renovate the old; 
And, from the realms of silence and of night, 
Pour down a flood of eloquence and light. 

Whate'er of worth informs the social breast, 
Upon humanity by Heaven imprest, 
The sympathy that proves gieat souls of kin, 
The touch that tries the hidden gold within j 
Whate'er of generous, courteous, foi'd, and 

kind, 

Strikes ine lined unison of mind to mind 
Whate'er may teach a. virtuous eye to flow, 
For gria$ that pa<t, nine hundred years ago-} 
All those we bring Confest to modern eyes, 
The Deed'of fani'd antiquity shall risej 



HENRY BROOKE. 22S 

Friends, lovers, heroes, patriots, to this stage 
Shall come, from every land, from every age j 
Old Time shall render, to your eyes and ears, 
The truths and trophies of four thousand year* j 
Cato again shall abdicate his tomb, 
And Brutus strike for Liberty and Rome ! 



PROLOGUE TO OTHELLO, 

Spoken in Dublin, ly Mr. Garrick. 

MY Term expired with this concluding play, 
I've cast the Buskin and the Sock away. 
No more to kindle with poetick rage, 
Nor in mock-majesty to awe the stage, 
The Hero shrinks into his native span 
This little sketch and miniature of Man ! 

'* Where's Garrick ?" says the Beau ; and as I pass, 
To mark the noted insect takes his glass. 
Placed in yon box, to publish my disaster, 
" Mamma" cries Miss, 'who is that little Master? 1 
" Zounds!" says the Captain, ' what, is that 
Othello?' 

" Ha, ha, ha !" 

"' A good joke^ damme a rare hulking fellow ', H 

VOL. t U. ft 



224 HENRY BUOOKE. 

Thus, on defects, I dare to build a name j 
And Imperfection gives me up to fame. 
O, could my Stature with your Bounty rise, 
And -swelling Gratitude extend my size ! 
What ample measure would that change impart, 
When every limb should answer to my heart > 

Great are the favours which my soul avows ; 
Great are the thanks with which your servant 

bows! 

My faults are debtors to your generous sense 
Quicb to observe, yet gracious to dispense! 
And should I br.t presume that something, too, 
Is to your judgment, to your justice due ; 
Blame not the vanity you kindly raise, 
Sprung from your smiles, and heighten'd by your 

praise ! 

Hail, generous Isle ! though neighbouring to the 

Pole, 

Thy warmth is in the virtues ol the soul ! 
Though clouds, above, may intercept the light j 
Below, thy Sun of Beauty cheers our sight ! ' 

Where'er my distant fortunes may command, 
I sigh for thee, as for my natal land. 



HENRY BROOKE. 225 

Or East, or West, howe'er the region lies, 
A country takes its name from social ties } 
The Heart alone appoints its favourite place, 
And I'm a native by your special Grace. 

Then take the warmest wishes of my mind- 
As your own favours, great and unconfined, 
May peace and smiling pleasure, hand in hand, 
Walk the wide limits of your plenteous land ! 
May Gallia curse the day of William's might, 
And Chesterfield return to bless your sight I 



a 2 



226 j 



GEORGE ALEXANDER STEVENS. 



1784. 

A professional wit, who has often set the town and the 
table in a roar. His songs are well known, and many, 
of them have wit to recommend them, more than falls 
to the share of sor.gs in general ;. but their author has 
taken great liberties both with language and decency, 
in most of them. 



S O N G. 
THE WORMS. 

Tune, 
' When Strfphon to Chloe. made lone 7's 

KEEP your distance, quoth King, who in lead 

coffin lay, 

As beside him they lower' d, a shroudless old Clay, 
4 



6KOKGE ALEXANDER STEVENS. 227 

The mendicant carcase replied \viih a sneer; 

" Mister Monarch, be still, we are all equal here 

" Life's miseries long I was forced to abide, 

" By the Seasons sore pelted, sore pelted by 

pride : 
" And tho' clad in ermine, yet you've been dis- 

trest, 
" Both our cares now are over, so let us both 

rest." 

A committee of worms, manor lords of the grave, 
Overheard 'em, and wonder' d to hear the dead 

rave. 
ftuotb*the Chairman, "Dare mortals presume thus 

to prate, 
94 When even we maggots don't think ourselves 

great ? 

v 

" Insane ostentations, who brag of their births, 
" Yet are but machines, mix'd of aggregate 

earths. 
" They distinctions demand with distinctions 

meet, 
* When we throw by the rich folk?, as not fit to 

eat. 



228 GEORGE ALEXANDER STENEN*. 

" They are scurvy compounds of debauch and 

disease, 

" Putrefactions of sloth, or vice run to the lees, 
" By luxury's pestilence health is laid waste ; 
" And all they can boast is They 're poison'd hi 

taste. 

'* 'Tis true, cries Crawlina, the Queen of the 

worms, 
" They make upon earth immense noise with 

their forms, 

" Pon onner, with beauties, tho' so much I deal, 
" On not one in ten can 1 make a good meal. 

" When we chose to regale, on the dainties of 
charms, 

" We formerly fed on necks, faces, and arms ; 

" Now varnish envenoms their tainted com- 
plexions, 

" A fine woman's features spread fatal infections. 

" Not a worm of good taste, and Iron ton, I dare 

vouch, 

" A morsel of fashion made beauties will touch. 
" A Quality toast we imported last week, 
"' Two uuiggots, my servants, d/d eaiing her 

cheek." 



C.LOtU.J. ALEXANDER STEVENS. 229 

Very odd, quoth a Critick, worms bold such dis- 
course. 

Very odd, quoth the Author, that men shou'd tilk 
worse. 

Like Reptiles, we crawl upon earth for a term, 

Take wing for a-while, then descend to a worm. 

Dan Pope declares all human race to be worms; 
Maids, misers, wives, widows, all maggotty forms, 
But of worms, avid worm-feeding, no more we'll 

repeat, 
I lere's a glass to the dainty that's made for man's 

meat. 



THE WINE VAULT. 
Tune ' T/'u Hounds art all out.' 

CONTESTED 1 am, and contented I'll be, 
For what can this world more afford, 

Than a lass that will sociably sit on my knee, 
And a cellar as sociably stored, 

My brave boys. 



230 GLORGE ALEXANDER STETEWS*- 

My vault door is open, descend and improve, 

That cask, aye, that we will try. 
Tis as rich to the taste as the lips of your lore, 

And as bright as her cheeks to the eye: 

My brave boys. 

In a piece of slit hoop, see my candle is stuck, 
'Twill light us each bottle to hand; 

The foot of my glass for the purpose I broke, 
As J hate that a bumper should stand, 

My brave boys. 

Astride on a butt, as a butt should be strod, 

I gallop the brusher along ; 
Like grape-blessing Bacchus, the good fellow's 

God, 
And a sentiment give, or a song, 

My brave boys. 

\Ve are dry where we sit, tho' the coy ing drops 

seem 

With pearls the moist walls to emboss ; 
From the arch, mouldy cob-webs in gothick taste 

stream 
Like stucco-work cut out of moss : 

My brave boys. 



GEORGE ALEXANDER STEYENS. 231 

When the lamp is brimful, how the taper flame- 
shines, 

Which, when moisture is wanting, decays; 
Replenish the lamp of my life with rich wines,. 
Or else there's an end of my blaze, 

My brave- boys. 

Sound those pipes, they're in tune, and those bins 

are well fill'd ; 

View that heap of old Hock in your rear ; 
Yon bottles are Burgundy ! mark how they're piled,. 
Like artillery, tier over tier, 

My brave boys. 

My cellar's my camp, and my soldiers my flasks, 

All gloriously ranged in review ; 
When I cast my eyes round, I consider my casks 

As kingdoms I've yet to subdue, 

My brave boys. 

Like.Macedon's Madman, my glass I'll enjoy, 

Defying hyp, gravel, or gout ; 
He cry'd when he had no more worlds to destroy r , 

I'll weep when myjiquoris out, 

My brave boys. 



232 GEORGE ALEXANDER STEVEN'S. 

On their stumps some have fought,, and as stoutly 

will I, 

When reeling, I roll on the floor ; 
Then my legs must be lost, so Fll drink as I lie, 
And dare the best Buck, to do more, 

M} brave boys. 

. 'Tis my will when I die, not a tear shall be shed, 

No Hie .facet be cut on my stone ; 
But pour on my coffin a bottle of red, 

And say that his drinking is done, 

My brave boys. 



THE TRIO. 

Tune. ' Ye Fair Possessed of evtry Charm.' 

WIT, Love, and Reputation, walk'd 

One evening out of town, 
They sung, they laugh'd, they toy'd, they talk'cl, 

'Till night came darkling on. 
Love wilful, needs would be their guide, 

And smiled at loss of day, 
On her the kindred pair rely'd, 

And lost with her their way. 



GTORGE ALEXANDER STEVENS. e 2'j3 

Damp fell the dew, the wind blew cold, 

All bleak the barren moor j 
Across they toil'd, when Love, grown bold, 

Knock'd loud at Labour's door. 
Awhile within the reed-roof d cot 

They stood and stared at Care, 
But long could not endure the spot, 

For Poverty was there. 

The Twain proposed next morn to part, 

And travel different ways ; 
Quoth Love, I soon shall find a heart, 

Wit went to 1 ?ok for Praise. 
But Reputation, sighing, spoke, 

" 'Tis better we agree, 
" Though Love may laugh, and Wit may joke, 

" Yet,, friends, take care of me. 

" Without me. Beauty wins no heart, 

" Without me, W 7 it is vain; 
*' If head-strong here, with me you part, 

" We ne'er can meet again. 
" Of me, you both should take great care, 

" And slum the' rambling plan, 
" No calling back, my friends, I'll bear, 

" So keep me while you can." 



234 GEORGE ALEXANBEIT STEVENS. 

Love stopt among the village youth, 

Expecting to be crown'd, 
Enquiring for her brother Truth, 

But Truth was never found. 
She sought in vain, for Love was blind, 

And Hate her guidance crost ; 
Tis said, since Truth she cannot 

That Love herself is lost.. 



SAMUEL JOHNSON. 



Litchfvld. 1709. 17&4 



ON THE DEATH OF MR. ROBERT JOEVETT. 

A Practiser in Physic. 

CONDEMN'D to hope's delusive mine, 

As on we toil from day to day, 
By sudden blast, or slow decline, 

Our social comforts drop away. 

Well tried through many a varying year, 
See Level to the grave descend j 

Officious, innocent, sincere, 

Of every friendless name the friend. 

Yet still he fills affections' eye, 

Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind, 

Nor, lettered ignorance deny 
Thy praise to merit unrefin'd. 



236 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

When fainting nature call'd for aid, 
And hov'ring death prepar'd the blow. 

His vig'rous remedy display'd, 

The power of art, without the show. 

In mis'ry's darkest caverns known, 
His useful care was ever nigh ; 

Where hopeless anguish pour'd his groan, 
And lonely want retir'd to die. 

No summons mock'd by chill delay ; 

No petty gain disdain'd by pride : 
The modest wants of ev'ry day 

The toil of ev'ry day supply'd. 

His virtues walk'd their narrow round, 
Nor made a pause, nor left a void j 

And -sure the eternal Master found 
The single talent well employ'd. 

The busy day, the peaceful night, 

Untelt, uncounted, glided by ; 
His frame was firm, his powers were bright, 

Though now his eightieth year was nigh. 



SAMUEL JOHNSON 237 



Then with. no throo of fiery pain, 
No cold gradations of decay j 

Death broke at once the vital chain, 
And freed his soul the nearest way. 



FRIENDSHIP. 

FRTENDSHIP, peculiar boon of Heaven, 

The noble minds' delight and pride, 
To men and Angels only given, 
' To all the lower world denied. 

While Love, unknown among the blest, 
Parent of thousand wild desires, 

The savage and the human breast 
Torments alike with raging fires. 

With bright, but of destructive gleam, 
Alike o'er all his lightnings fly : 

Thy lambent glories only beam 
Around the favourites of the sky. 

Thy gentle flows of guileless joys 
On fools and villains ne'er descend : 

In vain fort hee the tyrant sighs, 
And hugs a flatterer for a friend. 



SAMUEL JOHNSON. 



Directress of the brave and just, 
O guide us thro' life's darksome way, 

And let the tortures of mistrust 
On selfish bosoms only prey. 

For shall thine ardours cease to glow- 

When souls to blissful climes remove, 
What raised our virtue here below 
Shall aid our happiness above. 



RICHARD GLOVER. 



London n\Z 17*5. 



Richard Glover was a man of liberal education, and con- 
siderable talents, who devoted himself to commercial 
pursuits, without neglecting the refinements of taste and 
literature. A Poem inscribed by him, to the memory 
of Sir Isaac Newton, is prefixed to Dr. Pemberton's 
View of the Newtonian Philosophy, published in 4to. 
1728. The Epick Poem, Leonidas, appeared in l7$7, 
and drew from Lord LytteUon such praise, as it is grateful 
to receive from a patriot, a scholar and a critick. The 
Hong, Hosier's Ghost, and London, or the Progress of 
Commerce, came out in 1739; they were written in 
order to excite the publicfe resentment against the mis- 
conduct of the Spaniards. In i7si, he was a candidate 
for the Ctoamberldlnship of London, but yielded to the 
superior interest of his antagonist with dignity, grace, 
and modesty. He produced the Tragedy of Boadicea, in 
1753, which saw only three nights at Drury Lane, and 
in 1761, another called Medea. Leonidas was republishcd 
VCL, III. K 



'240 RICHARD GLOVER. 

in 1770, and augmented from nine to twelve books. 
From this period Glover dedicated himself to the more 
active and ordinary occupations of life, till about the 
year 1775, when he retired to the enjoyment of literary 
leisure, in which he died. 

3 he life *nd soul of poetry were not in Glover ; but he loved 
liberty with fervour, worthy of a Greek or of an English- 
man ; and Leonidaswill continue to be read, in spite of 
MS bad language and disjointed versification, because the 
whole history of mankind furnishes no other subject so 
animating and EO ennobling. His Athenaid wants this 
inor-1 dignity '1 herhistocles is the chief personage; 
and it -.is impossible to conceal, that Themistocles was 
rather a Statesman than a Hero. Still the poem is a 
very pleasing one ; it deserves to be better know.n, and 
should always accompany the Lconidas; Glover thought 
it the best of the two ; it nvas the work of his old age, 
and in the vanity of an honest heart, he would sometimes 
boast that it was longer than tbe liiad. 

He was on a visir at Stowe, when he wrote his ballad of 
Admiral Hosier's Ghost, the most spirited of all his 
productions. The thought occurred to him during the 
<night, he 'rose early, and went into the garden to com- 
pose; in -the heat of composition he got into the tulip-bed, 
ami, unfortunately having a stick in his hand, hewed, 
and slashed all round him without mercy. Some of the 
^company who had seen him from the windows, and 
suspected how his mind was occupied, a^Led him at 



KicnAnn CLOVER. 241 

breakfast, how he could think of destroying Lady Temple's 
favourite flowers. The Poet, perfectly unconscious of 
what he had done, pleaded not guilty. There were, how- 
ever, witnesses enough to convict him ; he acknowledged 
that he had been composing in the garden, and wa 
easily forgiven, when he recited his ballad. 



ADMIRAL HOSIER S GHOST. 

As near Porto-Bello lying 

On the gently-swelling flood, 
At midnight with streamers flying 

Our triumphant Navy rode, 
There while Vernon sat all glorious 

From the Spaniards late defeat, 
And his crew with shouts victorious, 

Drank success to England's fleet} 

On a sudden, shrilly sounding, 

Hideous yells, and shrieks were heard ; 
Then each heart with fear confounding, 

A sad troop of Ghosts ap^ear'd 
R 2 



lUCHAUD GLOTER. 

All in dreary hammocks shrouded, 

Which for winding-sheets they wore, 
And with looks by sorrow clouded 

Frowning on that hostile shore. 

-..' 

On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre, 

When the shade of Hosier brave 
His pale bands was seen to muster, 

Rising from their watery grave : 
O'er the glimmering wave he hied him, 

Where the Burford rear'd her sail, 
With three thousand Ghosts beside him, 

And in groans did Vernon hail. 

" Heed, O heed our fatal story, 

" I am Hosier's injured ghost, 
" You, who now have purchased glory 

" At this place, where I was lost, 
<f Though .in Porto-Bello's ruin 

'" You now triumph free from fears, 
** When you think on our undoing, 

" You will mix your joy with tears. 

*' See these mournful spectres sweeping 

" Ghastly o'er this hated wave, 
<* Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping j 

** These were English captains brave ; 



cr.ovta. 

" Mark those numbers pale and horrid, 
" Those were once my sailors bold, 

" Lo each hangs his drooping forehead,. 
" While his dismal tale is told. 

" I by twenty sail attended, 

" Did tliis Spanish town affright j 
" Nothing then its wealth defended 

" But my orders not to fight : 
" O ! that in this rolling ocean 

" I had cast them with disdain, 
" And obey'd my hearts' warm motion, 

" To have quell'd the pride of Spain - r 

" For resistance I could fear none, 

" But with twenty ships had done 
" What thou brave and happy Vernon,, 

" Hast atchieved with six alone, 
" Then the Bastimentos never 

" Had our foul dishonour seen, 
" Nor the sea the sad receiver 

" Of this gallant train had been. 

" Then, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, 
" And her galleons leading home, 

" Though condemn'd for disobeying^ 
" had met a traitor's doom, 
* 3 



2^44 RICHARD GLOVER. 

" To have fallen, my country crying, 
" He has played an English part, 

" Had been better far than dying 
" Of a grieved and broken heart. 



" Unrepining at thy glory, 

" Thy successful arms we hail j 

But remember our sad story, 

" And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. 

" Sent in this foul clime to languish, 
" Think what thousands fell in vain, 

" Wasted with disease and anguish, 
" Not in glorious battle slain. 



Hence with all my train attending 
" From their oozy tombs below, 
Through the hoary foam ascending, 
" Here I feel my constant woe: 
Here the Bastimedtos viewing, 
" We recall our shameful doom, 
And our plaintive cries renewing, 
" Wander through the midnight gloom , 



RICHARD GLOVER. 

" O t er these waves for ever mourning, 

" Shall we roam deprived of rest, 
" If to Britain's shores returning 

' ' You neglect my just request ; 
" After tliis proud foe subduing, 

" When your patriot friends you see, 
" Think on vengeance for my ruin, 

" And for England shamed in me." 



MYLES COOPER. 



178*. 



The following specimens are the best which could be se- 
lected, from a volume of very indifferent 'Poems, on 
Several Occasions.' Printed at Oxford, 17615 the authot 
was of Queens' College. 



EPITAPH, 

LIFE is a jest" the bard averr'd, 
Whose nice conception seldom err'd > 
Yet, friend of mine, let me advise; 
Be never merry more than wise. 
This mean unless thou well discernest, 
J fear the jest will turn to earnest. 



MTLES COOPER. 247 



THE TURNCOAT. 

AN EPIGRAM : 

Written at a General Election. 

His head long since, Sir Gusman turn'd, 

'Twas pity no man thought j 
But all the world seem'd much concern'd. 

When Gusman turn'd his coat.J 

The contest ended, he has got 

This comfort for his pains, 
To see how much we think his coat 

Is better than his brains. 

ON THE SAME. 

A turncoat! Heavens, it cannot be; 
The Knight would never turn, not he j 

The very thought is shocking : 
Except he sagely sought to hide 
Some desperate hole on t'other side, 

AsTeague once turn'd his stocking j 



MYLES COOPER. 



ON THE SAME. 

SIR Gusman turn'd his brain, why then, 
. Cries Ned, e'n let him turn't again. 
His coat lie turn'd j ay, from my heart, 
Cries honest Dick, I'm sorry for't. 

Of Irish Ram, thus have I seen, 
For twice two shillings sold the skin - y 
And on the stall neglected laid, 
An useless heap his blundering head. 



TO DELIA SINGING. 

YES, my fair, to thee belong, 
All the noblest powers of song ; 
Trust me, for I scorn deceit, 
Nought on earth is half so sweet, 
As the melting, dying note 
Warbling through thy liquid throat,. 
Save the breath in which it flows, 
Save the lip on which it grows. 



WILLIAM WHITEHEAD; 



Cambridge 1 74 1 . 1 7 85. 



Cibber's succesror as Laureat 



T O MR. MASON. 

BELIEVE me Mason, 'tis in vain 

Thy fortitude the torrent braves j 
Thou too must bear the inglorious chain 

The -world will have its slaves. 
The chosen friend for converse sweet. 
The small, yet elegant retreat, 
Are peaceful unambitious views 

Which early fancy loves to form, 
When aided by the ingenuous muse, 
She turns the philosophick page, 
And sees the wise of every age, 

With nature's dictates warm, 

k But ah, to few has fortune given 

The choice to take, or to refuse j 
To fewer still indulgent Heaven 
Allots the very will to choose, 



550 WILLIAM WHITEHEAD. 

And why are varying schemes preferr'd ? 
Man mixes with the common herd : 
By custom guided to pursue, 

Or wealth, or honours, fame,, or ease. 
What others wish, he wishes too, 
Nor forms his own peculiar choice, 
'Till strengthen' d by the public voice, 

His very pleasures please. 

How oft, beneath some hoary shade 

Where Cam glides indolently slow 
Hast thou, as indolently laid, 

Preferr'd to Heaven thy favourite vow, 
" Here, here for ever let me stay, 
" Here calmly loiter life away, 
" Nor all those vain connections know 

f< Which fetter down the free-born mind> 
" The slave of interest, or show} 
" While yon gay tenant of the grove, 
" The happier heir of Nature's love, 

" Can warble uncoufined." 

Yet sure my friend, the eternal plari 
By truth unerring was design d > 

Inferior parts were made for man, 
But man himself for all mankind. 



Then by the apparent judge the unseen ; 
Behold how rolls this vast machine 
To one great end, howe'er withstood, 

Directing its impartial course. 
All labour for the general good ; 
Some stem the wave, some till the soil, 
By choice the bold, the ambitious toil, 

The indolent by force. 

That bird, thy fancy frees from care, 

With many a fear unknown to thee, 
Musi rove to glean his scanty fare 

From field to field, from tree to tree, 
His lot united with his kind, 
Has all his little joys confined; 
The lover's and the parents' ties 

Alarm by turns his anxious breast, 
Yet, bound by fate, by instinct wise, 
He hails with songs the rising morn, 
And, pleased at evening's cool return, 

He sings himself to rest. 

And tell me, has not nature made 
Some stated void for thee to fill, 

Some spring, some wheel, which asks thy akl 
To move regardless of thy will i 



252 W1M.IAM WtflTEHEAED. 

Go then, go feel with glad surprise 
New bliss from new attentions rise ; 
Till, happier in thy wider shpere, 

Thou quit thy darling schemes of ease j 
Nay, glowing in the full career, 
Even wish thy virtuous labours more; 
Nor 'till the toilsome day is o'er 

Expect the night of peace. 



INSCRIPTION FOR A TREE. * 
On the Terrace at Nuneham, Oxfordshire. 

THIS tree was planted by a female hand, 
In the gay dawn of rustick beauty's glow: 

And fast beside it did her cottage stand, 

When age had cloathed the matron'shead with 
snow. 

* This tree is well known to the country people, by the 
name of Bab's Tree. It was planted by one Barbara Wyat, 
who was so much attached to it, that, on the removaJ of 
the village of Nuneham, to whe:e it is now built, she 
earnestly entreated that she might still remain in her old 
liabitation. Her request was complied wuh, and her 

cottage not pulled down till after her death. 
a 



WILLIAM WIIITEIIEA0. 253 

To her, long used to nature's simple ways, 
This single spot was happiness complete} 

Her tree could shield her from the noon-tide blaze, 
And from the tempest screen her little seat. 

Here with her Golin oft the faithful maid 

Had led the dance, the envious youths among : 

Here, when his aged bones in earth were laid, 
The patient matron turn'd her wheel and sung. 

She felt her loss ; yet felt it as she ought, 

Nor dared 'gainst nature's general law exclaim ; 

But check'd her tears, and to her children taught 
That well known truth, " Their lot would be 
the same." 

Though Thames before her flow'd, his farther 
shores 

She ne'er explored : contented with her own. 
And distant Oxford, though she saw its towers, 

To her ambition was a world unknown. 

Did dreadful tales the clowns from market bear 
Of kings and tumults, and the courtier train, 

coldly listen'd with unheeding ear, 
And good queen Anne, for ought she cared, 
might reign. 



WILLIAM WHITEHEAD. 

The sun her day, the seasons mark'd her year, 
She toil'd, she slept, from care, from envy free, 

For what had she to hope, or what to fear, 
Blest with her cottage, and her favourite tree. 

Hear this ye great, whose proud possessions spread 
O'er earths' rich surface to no space confined j 

Ye learn'd in arts, in men, in manners read, 
Who boast as wide an empire o'er the mind, 

With reverence visit her august domain; 

To her unletter'd memory bow the knee : 
She found that happiness you seek in vain. 

Blest with a cottage, and a single tree. 



INSCRIPTION, IN THE GARDENS AT MUNEHAM, 
IN OXFORDSHIRE. 

To the Memory of Walter Clark, Florist, who died 
suddenly near this spot, 1784. 

ON Him whose very soul was here, 
Whose duteous, careful constant toil 

Has varied with the varying year, 
To make the gay profession smile j 



WILLIAM W111TEHEAD. 265 

Whose harmless life in silent flow 
Within these circling shades has past, 

What happier death could Heaven bestow. 
Than in these shades to breathe his last ? 

'Twas here he fell : not far removed 

Has earth received him in her breast; 
Still far beside the scenes he loved, 

In holy ground his relicks rest. 
Each clambering woodbine, flaunting rose. 

Which round yon bower he taught to wave, 
With every fragrant brier that blows, 

Shall send a wreath to bind his grave. 

Each village matron, village maid, 

Shall with chaste fingers chaplets tie. 
Due honours to the rural dead, 

And emblems of mortality. 
Each village swain that passes by, 

A sigh shall to his memory give ; 
For sure his death demands a sigh, 

Whose life instructs them how to live. 

If spirits walk, as fabling age 

Relates to childhood's wondering ear, 

Full oft, does fancy dare presage, 

Shall Walter's faithful shade be here ; 
vet. m. s 



266 M'lLMAM MH1TEIIEAD. 

Athwart yon glade, at night's pale noon, 
Full oft shall glide with busy feet, 

And by the glimmering of the moon 
Revisit each beloved retreat: 

Perhaps the tasks on earth he knew 

Resume, correct the gadding spray, 
Brush from the plants the sickly dew, 

Or chase the noxious worm away. 
The bursting buds shall gladlier grow, 

No midnight blasts the flowers shall fear; 
And many a fair effect shall show 

At noon that Walter has been here. 

Nay, every morn, in times to come, 

If quainter ringlets curl the shade, 
If richer breezes breathe perfume, 

If softer swell the verdant glade, 
If neatness charm a thousand ways, ' 

Till nature almost art appear, -j^ ;J 
Tradition's constant favourite theme, 

Shall be Poor Walter has been here. 



MOSES BROWNE. 



17031787. 



This writer was originally a pen-cutter, but betook orders, 
and obtained the vicarage of Olney, and was also chap- 
lain to Mordcn College ; he was one of the first con- 
tributors to the Gentleman's Magazine, and obtained 
some of the prizes offered by Mr. Cave for the best 
Poems ; besides some dramatick pieces, and an edition of 
Isaac Walton's Complete Angler; he published, 1 a 
volume of Poems, 1739. 2 Sunday Thoughts, a Poem, 
I74g 3 Percy Lodge, a descriptive Poem, 1756. His 
Piscatory Eclogues we*e reprinted in 1773. 

He seems to have enjoyed life to the very last. Cooper had 
wished for his Parsonage for Lady Hesketh But 
Moses Browne our Vicar,' he says, * who as I told you is 
in his eighty-sixth year, is not bound to die for that 
reason ;' he said himself when he was here last summer, 
( that he should live ten years longer, and for ought that 
appears, so he may.' His letter is dated 1786, and if 
its statement be accurate, as seems probable, Browne 
must have been born in 1700. 
52 



258 MOSES 



From ' An Essay on the Universe. 

* * * * * * * 



Why did Heaven produce 



This Orb, but for his Planets, mutual use ? 
Have theirs, to cherish with their vital fires, 
No^happy train, no circulating choirs? 
Shine they all void thro' solitary space ? 
Fair to no service? fruitful with no race .' 
No Reptile, Plant, or Animal, to tend ? 
Vast without worth ? and active, for no end ? 
O! rather think, since form'd with equal powers, 
Heaven meant their systems as complete as ours. 
Overwhelming image! what a boundless scene 
Breaks on the mind ! what musings intervene ! 
What ! when Discoveries still their sum enlarge, 
Swell on, and mental Faculties o'ercharge 
With the perspective, lo ! th' Observer sees 
More numerous Orbs, and more, succeed to 

these. 

In the bright knot, where six small Pleiads shine, 
Full seventy clustering luminaries join ; 
Where famed Orion's constellation glows, 
Two thousand mingled Stars their Orbs disclose. 



MOS1M BROWNE. 259 

How thick, discernible to aided sight, 

Their central forms possess the milky height ! 

Whose spheres elude the reach of naked eyes, 

And seem with light to belt the whiten'd skies. 

Have each (a soveteign in his system's bound) 

Their lighted Earths and Moons revolving round, 

Inhabitable all ? their plants and flowers ? 

Their Insects, Animals, and reasoning pow'rs ? 

Confute it, Mortal ! whose elating pride 

Would to thyself the Universe divide. 

What, tho' no Planets round these Orbs of light 

Appear, thus distant, to thy failing sight, 

Seen from their Region would thy Wanderers run 

To a like point, all shrank within thy sun. 

Thj Sun would seem, by a remove so far, 

Diminutive as theirs, supposed a Star, 

View'd with his kindred lamps (their night to 

cheer) 

In the same surface of one concave sphere. 
Say, do Reflections, Man ! enlarged like these, 
Thy vain ambition's ruling lust displease ; 
Yet, humble Christian, thy unswelling mind 
May from their lessons, deep instruction find. 
Jesus, the God ! the existing worlds proclaim, 
To Thee related by a dearer Name ; 



SCO MOSES BROWNE. 

Jesus, the Man ! the incarnate, saving friend ! 
To thy admiring thoughts they more com- 
mend j 

He, who thy Nature bore, thy sins attoned, 
Is Lord of all this vast Creation own'd. 
Jf lessen'd by the view thyself thou see, 
The more his love it magnifies for. thee. 



t *f.* U-i '} " '";*i| / :. Vil . 

t iiJ2 !: ji.<vtqijv 
ih'ib.lj) aqfafci ,w^ 



EDMUND RACK. 



1737. 



He was Secretary to the Society for the encouragement of 
Agriculture, Arts, &c. 

The specimen is taken from a volnme of Essays, Letters, 
and Poems, published, 1781. 



L AVI MA TO MART10. 

Jo her loved lord, who on a hostile shore, 
Sees the war rage, and hears the cannons roar 
To her loved lord, on whom her life depends ; 
These tender lines distress' d Lavinia sends. 



EDMUXD RACK. 

I write, (sad task !) that helps to wear away 
The long, long, mournful, melancholy day, 
Write what the fervours of my soul inspire, 
And vainly fan love's slow consuming fire. 

With unawailing sorrow sunk, I grow, 
A silent, weeping, monument of woe ! 
Yet hope's kind rays, sometimes afford relief, 
And, for a moment, chase the clouds of grief j 
Past scenes of bliss, in vision, I survey, 
When pleasure led the smiling hours of day : 
But soon, ah ! soon, the fleeting phantoms fly, 
And real woes their vacant place supply. 
O memory, source of happiness or woe, 
As from thy stores past joys or sorrows flow, 
How oft hast thou recall'd those happy hours, 
Enjoy'd, by silver streams, in blooming bowers j 
While every breeze that fann'd the conscious grove 
Wafted around our vows of mutual love j 
When I his suit with modest blush approved, 
And sighs unconscious told how well I loved j 
When he, enamour'd, snatch'd me to his arms. 
And gazed, delighted, on my youthful charms! 
To witness calling every power above, 
He vow'd a fix'd, inviolable love ; 



SU>MUND HACK. 263 

A love sublime as fervent as inspire*, {,/,' 
Celestial bosoms with ethereal fires ! 

,jip laliwi i: rtfjw .fitrn .'fit-dl v' I/ 
Then I too fondly trusted female power, 
And like the present, deem'd the future hour : 
1 hoped, that bound by love's cementing tie, 
From these fond arms my Martio ne'er would fly. 
Alas, how vain! The fields of combat claim 
His only care, and love submits to fame. 

Oh ! how couldst thou thy dear Lavinia leave, 
To trust the dangers of the faithless wave ! 
Or how forsake thy peaceful Tiativelandj Lr.r! i 
To meet fierce conflicts on a foreign strand 5 
Where hell- born discord holds her dreadful 

course j -nife-^ft -{in .'. 

Where rages war, with dire destructive force ! 
Where dying groans from wounded soldiers rise, 
And nought but death . and horrour meet thine 

eyes ! 

When that sad hour arrived, which from my arms 
Snatch'd thy dear form, and fill'd me with alarms, 
Soon as thy bark, unmoor' d, with flying sails 
Plough'd the green flood, and flew before the 

gales, 



264 E0MUNO RACK. 

(While, loud resounding, roar'd the deeps below,) 
Up the steep cliff, with labouring steps and slow, 
My way I bent, and, with a tearful eye, 
Trembling, beheld the lessening vessel fly: 
The lofty masts diminish'd in my view, 
And crimson streamers wore a doubtful hue : 
Swift fled the ship, beyond the reach of sight, 
Lost in blue mists that usher 1 d in the night. 
Then a cold shivering seiz'd my languid frame : 
I fell, and soon insensible became. 
O had that moment giv'n me to the skies, 
And kindly finish'd all my miseries; 
Then had my tears for ever ceased to run, 
And these sad numbers ne'er had been begun ! 
But my attendants, with officious haste, 
Recall'd my fleeting soul, again to taste 
Tne cup of woe which Martio's absence brings, 
And feel the force of sorrow's sharpest stings. 
*.'iiii) J9sm ironed ' &tt& dtasfe Jut 
Then, frantick with despair, my hair I tore : 
My loud lamentings echo'd round the shore. 
Life 1 disdain'dj but 'twas my hapless fate 
To wish in vain my death to a'ntedate. 
At length, a flood of tears, the friends of grief, 
Incessant flow'd, and gave my soul relief: 



EDMUXD RACK. 265 

With bended knee, I then to heaven preferr'd 
Prayers for the safety of my much loved lord ; 
That, when the horrors of grim war arise, 
And the fields echo with expiring cries, 
Thou might'st in safety pass the empurpled plain, 
And, crown'd with conquest, bless these arms 
again. 

Sometimes, when slumbers soft my eye-lids close, 

And lull my senses in a short repose, 

O'er thy uncertain fate my fancy rolls, 

And fear alarming, every hope controuls. 

Imagination, with her busy train, ,drx* 

Paints all the horrours of Germania's plain : 

In visions dire the field of death appears, 

And thou, encircled round with hostile spears. 

Then, trembling I behold the ruthless sword 

Plunged in the bosom of my dearest lord j 

Or sudden, hear the cannon's thundering sound, 

And see thee pale and fainting on the ground t! r*,<l 

Then, starting, wild with terror and affright, 

I wake, and mourn away the tedious night. 

When morn illumes the east, I pensive, rise ; 
But, ah! no joy the fragrant morn supplies j 

1 



266 EDMUND RACK. 

For fear, distracting fear, my breast invades, 
Destroys my peace, and mournful makes the 

shades 

Where erst with thee I pass'd the happy hours, 
When light- wing'd love sat hovering o'er the 

bowers : 

But lost to joy, my dearest Martio gone 
Pensive I sit, deserted, and alone : 
Wasted with grief, Lavinia now appears 
A weeping ghost, like Niobe in tears : 
No friend can cheer, or give my soul repose, 
Or shed the balm of comfort o'er my woes j 
For thou, perhaps, distracting thought ! hast 

found 

Some new Lavina, with perfection crown'd ; 
Some blooming fair, replete with matchless 

charms, 

Whose beauty binds thee to her wanton arms : 
Some blooming fair, of every grace possess'd, 
Perhaps now reigns sole empress of thy breast. 

Ah, no ! for ever banish'd be these fears! 
Thou wilt not, canst not, thus increase my tears ! 
Then let me not thy constancy accuse, 
Or fear the treasure of thy heart to lose. 



EDMUND RACK. 

Thy spotless heart is pure as Alpine snows j 
And truth dictated all thy tender vows. 
No thought licentious did thy actions prove ; 
Chaste was thy passion, fervent was thy love. 
Thy looks, persuasive, banish'd every fear j 
Thy words, endearing, spoke thy soul sincere : 
And when, dissolved in tender woe I lay, 
On the sad morning of the parting day; 
When pleading tears, the eloquence of pain, 
Flow'd down my cheeks, but flow'd, alas! in 

vain ; 

The soft distress disarm'd thy martial mind, 
And shook the purpose which thy soul design'd ; 
Yet honour, stubborn honour, would not yield 
To love, the triumphs of a conquer'd field 5 
But thee compell'd with sorrow in thine eye, 
To quit these arms, and from this breast to fly. 
Still, when the last, last parting moment came, 
Through all the Hero, shone the Lover's flame : 
" Adieu, my fair," with faultering voice he cried : 
" Adieu, my fair," the echoing rocks reply'd. 

Come, then, my Martio ; leave the hostile fidd, 
Where fierce Bellona shakes her horrid shield : 
With speed repass the intercepting main, 
Lavinia waits thee on thy native plain : 



268 EDMUKD RACK. 

Fly to her bosom , she thy absence mourns : 
Her love with undiminish'd fervor burns; 
Her sighs, her prayers, her tears, unceasing flow, 
And speak the language of perpetual woe. 
If to her longing arms you quick return, 
Life's quivering lamp will then, rekindled, burn : 
Her languid looks new lustre will assume ; 
Again the roses in her cheeks will bloom j 
Again young smiles will sparkle in her eye ; 
And love, and joy, their mingled bliss supply. 
But in thy absence, sad, she pines away, 
And soon to death, alas ! must fall a prey ; 
Forlorn and wretched, on her natal shore, 
She now but breathes, and soon will breathe no 
more. 



f 269 J 



SOAME JENYNS. 



London, 1740 1787. 



The elegant and characteristick pen of Mr. Cumberland 
has offered to the world the following sketch of Soame 
Jenyns, which presents itself to be opportunely for this 
work, not to be inserted in it. 

' He was a man who bore his part in all societies with the 
most even temper and undisturbed hilarity of all the 
good companions whom I ever knew. He came into 
your house at the very moment you had put upon your 
card; he dressed himself to do your party honour in all 
the colours of the jay ; his lace indeed had long since 
lost its lussre, but his coat had faithfully retained its cut 
since the days when gentlemen embroidered figured 
velvets with short sleeves, boot cuffs, and buckram 
skirts ; as nature had cast him in the exact mould of an 
ill made pair of stiff stays, he followed her so c'.ose in the 
fashion of his coat, that it was doubted if he did not 



270 SOAME JENYNS. 

wear them ; because he had a protuberant wen just under 
his poll, he wore a wig that did not cover above half his 
head. His eyes were protruded like the eyes of the 
lobster, who wears them at the end of his feelers, and 
yet there was room between one of these and his nose 
for another wen, that added nothing to his beauty ; yet I 
heard this good man very innocently remark, when. 
Gibbon published his history, that he " wondered any 
body so ugly could write a book." 

" Such was the exterior of a man, who was the charm of 
the circle, and gave a zest to every company he came 
into; his pleasantry was of a sort peculiar to himself; 
it harmonized with everything ; it was like the bread to 
our dinner ; you did not perhaps make it the whole, or 
principal part of your meal, but it was an admirable and 
wholesome auxiliary to your other viands. Soame Jenyns 
told you no long stories, engrossed not much of your 
attention, and was not angry with those that did ; his 
thoughts were original, and were apt to have a very 
whimsical affinity to the paradox in them: he wrote 
verses upon dancing, and prose upon the origin of evi!> 
yet he was a very indifferent metaphysician and a worse 
dancer : ill nature and personality, with the single ex- 
ception of his lines upon Johnson, I never heard fall 
from his lips; these lines I have forgotten, though I 
believe I was the first person to whom he recited them ; 
they were very bad, But he had been told that Johnson 
ridiculed his mctaphysicks, and some of us had just then 



SOAME JENYXS. 271 

been making extemporary epitaphs upon each other; 
though his wit was harmless, yet the general cast of it 
was ironical; there was a terseness in his repartee 
that had a play of words as well as of thought ; as, when 
speaking of the difference between laying out money 
upon land, or purchasing into the funds, he said, ' One 
was principal without interest, and the other interest 
without principal.' Certain it is, he had a brevity of 
expression, that neyer hung upon the ear, and you felt 
the point in the very moment that he made the push." 



THE 'SQUIRE AND THE PARSON, 
AN ECLOGUE. 

Written on the Conclusion of the Peace, J748- 

BY his hall chimney, where in rusty grate 

Green faggots wept their own untimely fate, 

In elbow-chair the pensive 'Squire reclined, 

Revolving debts and taxes in his mind : 

A. pipe just fill'd, upon a table near, 

Lay by the London-Evening, stain'd with beer 

VOL. Ill, T 



272 8OAME JENYNS. 

With half a Bible, on whose remnants torn 
Each parish round was annually forsworn, 
The gate now claps, as evening just grew dark. 
Tray starts, and with a growl prepares to bark ; 
But soon discerning with sagacious nose 
The well-known savour of the Parson's toes, 
Lays down his head and sinks in soft repose. 
The Doctor entering, to the tankard ran, 
Took a good hearty pull, and thus began : 

PARSON. 

Why sitt'st thou thus forlorn and dull, my friend., 
Now war's rapacious reign is at an end ? 
Hark, how the distant bells inspire delight ! 
See bonfires spangle o'er the vale of night ! 
\ r 

SQ UIRE. 

Whaf% peace, alas ! in foreign parts to me? 
At home, nor peace, nor plenty can I see, 
Joyless I hear drums, bells, and fiddles sound, 
'Tis all the same Four shillings in the pound. 
My wheels, though old, are clogg'd with a new 

tax; 
My oaks, though young, must groan beneath the 

axe ; 



SOAME JENYNS. 273 

My barns are half unthatch'd, untyled my house ; 
Lost by this fatal sickness all my cows : 
See, there's the bill my late damn'd law-suit cost ! 
Long as the land contended for and lost : 
Ev'n Ormond's head I can frequent no more. 
So short my pocket is, so long the score ; 
At shops all round I owe for fifty things f. , 
This comes of fetching Hanoverian kings. 

p 

P ARSO N. 

1 must confess the times are bad indeed: 
No wonder, when we scarce believe our creed ; 
When purblind reason's deem'd the surest guide, 
And heaven-born faith at her tribunal try'd ; 
When all Church-power is thought to make men 

slaves, 
Saints, Martyrs, Fathers, all call'd fools and knaves- 

'SQUIRE. 

Come, preach no more, but drink, and hold your 

tongue : 
I'm for the Church, but think the parson's 

wrong. 

T2 



274 SOA.ME JENYN3. 



1 : ; TC PAR SO N. 

See then ! free-thinking now so rank is grown, 
It spreads infection through each country town ; 
Deistick scoffs fly round at rural boards, 
'Squires, and their tenants too, profane as lords, 
Vent impious jokes on every sacred thing 



'S Q U I R E. 
Come, drink; 

PARSON. 




Here's to you then; to church and king 

"j !;*1 iKttlft 

'SQUIRE. 

Here's Church and king j I hate the glass should 

stand, 
Though one takes tythes, and t'other taxes land. 

PARSON. 

Heaven with new plagues will scourge this sinful 

nation, 

Unless we soon repeal the Toleration, 
And to the Church restore the Convocation. 



SOAME JENYNS. 275 

Jt 

'SQ UIRE. 

Plagues we should feel sufficient, on my word, 
Starved by two houses, priest-rid by a third. 
For better days we lately had a chance, 
Had not the honest Plaids been trick'd by France. 

P A R S O N. 

Is not most gracious George our faith's defender ? 
You love the Church, yet wish for the Pretender ! 

'SQUIRE. 

Preferment, I suppose, is what you mean ; 
Turn Whig, and you, perhaps, may be a Dean : 
But you must first learn how to treat your betters. 
What's here ? sure some strange news ! a boy with 

letters : 

Oh, ho! here's one, I see, from parson Sly : 
" My reverend neighbour Squab being like to die, 
" I hope, if heaven should please to take him 

hence, 

" To ask the living wou'd be no offence." 

> *V 9t 

P ARSO -V. 

f 
Have you not swore that I shou'd Squab succeed? 

Think how for this I taught your sons tc read ; 
1 



276 SOAME JENYN9. 

How oft discover* d puss on new-plow'd land ; 
How oft supported you with friendly hand, 
When I cou'd scarcely go, nor cou'd your wor- 
ship stand. 

'l .?.*! ' 

'SQUIRE. 

'Twas yours, had you been honest, wise, or civil - f 
Now ev'n go court the Bishops, or the Devil. 

P A R S N. 

If I meant any thing, now let me die ; 
I'm blunt, and cannot fawn and cant, not I, 
Like that old Presbyterian Sly. 
I am, you know, a right true-hearted Tory, 
Love a good glass, a merry song or story. 

'5 Q U I R E. 

f ,fc 

Thou art an honest dog, that's truth indeed 
Talk no more nonsense then about the creed. 
I can't, I think, deny thy first request j 
'Tis thine ; but first a bumper to the best. 

PARSO N. 
if 
Most noble 'Squire, more generous than your wine, 

How pleasing's the condition you assign ! 



SOAME JENY.NS. 277 

Give me the sparkling glass, and here, d'ye see, 
With joy I drink it on my bended knee : 
Great Queen*, who governest this earthly ball, 
And makes both kings and kingdoms rise and fall; 
Whose wonderous power in secret all things rules, 
Makes fools of mighty peers, and peers of fools; 
Dispenses mitres, coronets, and stars: 
Involves far distant realms in bloody wars, 
Then bids the snaky tresses cease to hiss, 
And gives them peace again nay gav'st us this; 
Whose health does health to all mankind impart, 
Here's to thy much-lov'd health: 

(SuaiRE, rubbing his hands.) 
- With all my heart. 



Madam de Pompadour. 



[ 278 ] 
ROBERT LOWTH, D D. 

BISHOP OF LONDON. 



1710. 1787. 



This eminent man is so well known, that little could be 
said of him here,' which is not fresh in the mind of 
every scholar. He was the son of the Rev. William 
Lowth, Rector of Buriton, Hants, and gave at Win- 
chester shool early promise of the talents which after- 
wards distinguished him. At Oxford he filled the chair 
of the Professor of Poetry for nine years, which he quitted 
in 1751. In 1762, he published his Introduction to 
English Grammar. In 1765, he entered into a controversy 
with Bishop Warburton, and, like all controversialists, 
the two antagonists disgraced themselves, and each other. 
But this conduct was not natural to Lowth; and when he 
and Warburton met, the latter, in his surprize at his 
amiable and gentle manners, bore ample testimony to 
his virtues. It is to the honor of both, that mutual 
shame produced a friendship; a rare instance of liberality 
between men of different opinions. 

Bishop Lowth died in consequence of a paralyttck stroke, 
on the 3d of November, 1?87. 



ROBERT LOWTH. 279 



. 
TO THE PEOPLE OF GREAT BRITAIN. 

Written in 1746. 

* 4 ( -- /! " < "if 

BRITON ! the thunder of the wrath divine, 

Due to thy father's crimes, and long with-held 

from thine, 
Shall burst with ten-fold rage on thy devoted head ; 

Unless with conscious terrors awed, 
By meek, heart struck repentance led, 

Suppliant thou fall before the offended God : 
If haply yet thou may'st avert his ire j 
And stay his arm outstretch'd to launch the 
avenging fire. 



Did not high God of old ordain, 
When to thy grasp he gave the sceptre of the 

main, 

That" empire in this favour'd land, 
Fix'd on agligion's solid base should stand ? 
When from thy struggling neck he broke 
The inglorious, galling, papal yoke, 
Humbled the pride of haughty Spain, 
And freed thee by a woman-hero's hand ; 



280 ROBERT 1,0 WTH. 

He then cbnfirm'd the strong decree : 
" Briton, be virtuous and be free ; 
" Be truth, be sanctity thy guide : 
" Be humble : fear thy God ; and fear thou 
nonebeside" 



Oft has the offended Power his rising anger shown: 

Led on by his avenging hand 

Rebellion triumphs in the land : 
Twice have her barbarous sons our war-train'd 
hosts o'erthrown. 

They fell a cheap inglorious prey -, 
The ambitious victor's boast was half supprest, 

While heaven-bred fear, and wild dismay, 
Unmann'd the warriour's heart, and reign'd in 
every breast. 

Her arms to foreign lands Britainia bore ; 
Her arms, auspicious now no more ! 
With frequent conquests where^ the sires were 

crown'd ; 

The sons ill-fated fell, and bit the hostile ground : 
The tame, war-trading Belgian fled, 
While in his cause the Briton bled : 



ROB MIT LOWTH. 281 

The Gaul stood wondering at his own success; 
Oft did his hardiest bands their wonted fears 

confess ; 

Struck with dismay, and meditating flight, 
While the brave foe still urged the unequal fight, 
While William, with his Father's ardour filed. 
Through all the undaunted host the generous 
flame inspired ! 

But heavier far the weight of shame 
That sunk Britannia's naval fame : 
In vain she spreads her once victorious sails, 
Or fear, or rashness, in her chiefs prevails 5 
And wijdly these prevent, those basely shun the 

' fight} 

Content with humble praise, the foe 
Avoids the long-impending blow ; 
Improves the kind escape, and triumphs in his 
flight. 

The monstrous age, which still increasing years 

debase, 
Which teems with unknown crimes, and genders 

new disgrace, 

First, unrestrain'd by honour, faith, or shame, 
Confounding every sacred name, 



282 ROBERT tOWTH. 

The hallow'd nuptial bed with lawless lust pro- 
faned j 

Derived from this polluted source 
The dire corruption held its course 
Through the whole canker'd race, and tainted all 
the land. 

The ripening maid is versed in every dangerous 

art, 

That ill adorns the form while it corrupts the heart : 
Practised to dress, to dance, to play, 
In wanton mask to lead the way, 
To move the pliant limbs, to roll the luring eye ; 
With folly's gayest partizans to vye 
In empty noise and vain expense ; 
To celebrate with flanting air 
The midnight revels of the fair ,- 
Studious of every praise but virtue, truth, and 
sense. 

Thus lesson'd in intrigue, her early thought im- 
proves, 

Nor meditates in vain forbidden loves ; 
Soon the gay nymph in Cyprus' train shall rove ' 
Free and at large amidst the Idalian grove ; 
Or haply jealous of the voice of fame, 
Mask'd in the matron's sober name. 



ItOBERT LOWTII. 283 

With many a well-dissembled wile 

The kind, convenient husband's care beguile ; 

More deeply versed in Venus' mystick lore, 
Yet for such meaner arts too lofty and sublime, 

The proud, high-born, patrician whore, 
Bears unabash'd her front, and glories in her 
crime. 

Hither from city and from court 

The votaries of love resort j 
The rich, the great, the gay, and the severe ; 

The pension'd architect of laws; 

The patriot, loud in virtue's cause , 
Proud of imputed worth, the Peer j 
Regardless of his faitb, his country, or his name, 

He pawns his honour and estate j 

Nor reckons at how dear a rate 
He purchases disease, and servitude, and shame. 

Not from such dastard sires, to every virtue lost, 
Sprung, the brave youth, which Britain once could 

boast : 

Who curb'd the Gaul's usurping sway, 
Who swept the unnumber'd hosts away, 



* * 
* 



284 ROBERT LOWTH. 

In Agincourt, and Cressy's glorious plain j 
Who dyed the seas with Spanish blood, 
Their vainly-vaunted fleets subdued, 

And spread the mighty wreck o'er all the van- 
quish'd main. 

No 'twas a generous race, by worth transmissive 

known : 

In their bold breast their father's spirit glow'd : 
In their pure veins their mother's virtue flow'd :. 

They made hereditary praise their own. , 
The sire his emulous offspring led 
The rougher paths of fame to tread ; 
The matron train'd their spotless youth 
In honour, sanctity and truth ; 

Framed by the united parents' care, 

The sons, though bold, were wise j the daughters 
chaste though fair. 

How time, all-wasting, even the worst impairs, 
And each foul age to dregs still fouler runs ! 

Our sires, more vicious even then theirs, 

Left us, still more degenerate heirs, 
To spawn a baser brood of monster-breeding 
eons. 



[ 285 ] 



t tf^okjfno eiwui ftjo ovoJ aiyil 
NATHANIEL COTTON. 



1788. 



THi* authour was a Physician at St. Alban's, where he 
acquired considerable reputation. Dr. Anderson, in the 
life prefixed to Cotton's Works, laments that ' Of the 
family, birth-place, and education of Nathaniel Cotton, 
there are no written memorials.' 



THE FIRESIDE. 

13 BAR Cloe, while the busy crowd. 
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud, 

In folly's maze advance ; 
Though singularity and pride 
Be call'd our dunce, we'll step aside, 

Nor join die giddy dance. 



286 NATHANIEL COTTON. 

From the gay world we'll oft retire 
To our own family and fire, 

Where love our hours employs ; 
No noisy neighbour enters here, 

No intermeddling stranger near, 
To spoil our heartfelt joys. 

If solid happiness we prize, 
Within our breast this jewel lies, 

And they are fools who roam j 
The world hath nothing to bestow, 
From our ownselves our bliss must flow, 

And that dear hut our home. 

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft, 
When with impatient wing she left 

That safe retreat, the ark j 
Giving her vain excursions o'er, 
The disappointed bird once more 

Explored the sacred bark. 

Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers, 
We, who improve his golden hours, 

By sweet experience know, 
That marriage rightly understood, 
Gives to the tender and the good, 

A paradise below. 



NATHANIEL COTTON. 287 

Our babes shall richer comfort bring j 
If tutor'd right they'll prove a spring 

Whence pleasures ever rise j 
We'll form their minds with studious, care 
To all that's manly, good, and fair, 

And train them for the skies. 

V 

While they our wisest hours engage, 
They'll joy our youth, support our age, 

And crown our hoary hairs ; 
They'll grow in virtue eveiy day, 
And they our fondest loves repay, 

And recompence our cares. 

No borrow'd joys ! they 're all our own, 
While to the world we live unknown, 

Or by the world forgot : 
Monarchs, we envy not your state, 
We look with pity on the great, 

And bless our humble lot. 

Our portion is not large, indeed, 
But then how litttle do we need! 

For nature's calls are few. 
In this the art of living lies, 
To want no more than may suffice, 

And make that little do. 

VOL. III. V 



588 NATHANIEL COTTON* 

We'll therefore relish with content, 
"Whate'er kind Providence has sent, 

Nor aim beyond our power ; 
For, if our stock be very small, 
> Tis prudence to enjoy it all, 

Nor lose the present hour. 

To be resign'd when ills betide, 
Patient when favours are denied, 

And pleased with favours given ; 
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part, 
This is that incense of the heart, 

Whose fragrance smells to heaven. 

We'll ask no long-protracted Ireat, 
Since winter-life is seldom sweet ; 

But, when our feast is o'er, 
Grateful from table we'll arise, 
Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes, 

The relicks of our store. 

Thus hand in hand through life we'll go j 
Its checker'd paths of joy and woe 

With cautious steps we'll tread : 
Quit its vain scenes without a tear, 
Without a trouble, or a fear, 

And mingle with the dead. 



NATHANIEL COTTON'* 

While conscience, like a faithful friend, 
Shall through the gloomy vale attend, 

And cheer our dying breath ; 
Shall, when all other comforts cease> 
Like a kind angel whisper peace, 

And smooth the bed of death. 



[ 290 ] 



ROBERT EARL NUGENT. 



1709 1788. 



This Nobleman was the son of Michael Nugent, Esq. of 
Carlanston, in Ireland. He distinguished himself both 
in literature and politicks, to the former of which he 
dedicated the early part of his life, which was passed 
ampng men, eminent for rank and talents. He was 
brought up a Catholick, but the vigour of his mind was 
not to be restrained by the creed of the church of Rome. 
The works of protestant divines, and protestant philoso- 
phers, connected him with Frederick Prince of Wales ; 
after whose death he made his peace with the court, 
and was appointed in 1754 a Commissioner of the 
Treasury, and continued in a walk of sun-shine till age 
and infirmities growing on him, induced him to retire 
from business for a few years preceding his death, which 
^happened in the year 1788. 



ROBERT EARL NUGENT. 29 I 



TO CAMILLA. 

VVKARIKD with indolent repose, 
A life unmix'd with joys or woes ; 
Where all the lazy moments crept, 
And every passion sluggish slept; 
I wish'd for Love's inspiring pains, 
To rouze the loiterer in my veins. 
The officious power my call attends, 
He who uncnll'd his succour lends, 
And with a smile of wanton spite, 
He gave Camilla to my sight. 
Her eyes their willing captive seize, 
Her look, her air, her manners please ; 
New beauties please, unseen before, 
Or seen, in her they please me more ; 
And soon, too soon, alas ! I find 
The virtues of a nobler kind, 

Now cheerful springs the morning ray. 
Now cheerful sinks the closing day ; 
For every morn with her I walk'd, 
And every eve with her I talk'd ; 
v 3 



292 ROBERT EARL NUGENT. 

With her I liked the vernal bloom, 
With her I liked the crowded room j 
From her at night I went with pain, 
And long'd for morn to meet again. 

How quick the smiling moments pass, 
Through varying Fancy's mimick glass I 
While the gay scene is painted o'er, 
Where all was one wide blank before $ 
And sweetly soothed the inchanting dream^ 
'Till Love inspired a bolder scheme. 

Camilla, stung with grief and shame, 
Now marks; and shuns the guilty flame j 
Fierce anger lighten'd in her face, 
Then cold reserve assumed its place : 
And soon, the wretch's hardest fate, 
Contempt, succeeds declining hate. 
No more my presence now she flies, 
She sees me with unheeding eyes ; 
Sees me with various passions burn, 
Enraged depart, submiss return ; 
Return with flattering'hopes to find 
Soft pity move her gentle mind. 
But ah ! her looks were still the same, 
Unmark'd I went, unmark'd I came; 



ROBERT EARL NUGENT. 

Unmark'd were all my hopes and fears. 
While Strephon whispers in her ears. 

O jealousy! distracting guest ! 
Fly to some happy lover's breast ; 
Fitly with joy thou minglest care, 
But why inhabit with despair? 



An Ode to William Pnltney, Esq. 

REMOTE from liberty and truth, 
By fortune's crime, my early youth 

Drank errour's poison'd springs. 
Taught by dark creeds and mystick law, 
Wrapt up in reverential awe, 

I bow'd to priests and kings. 

Soon reason dawn'd with troubled sight, 
I caught the glimpse of painful light, 

Afflicted and afraid. 
Too weak it shone to mark my way. 
Enough to tempt my steps to stray 

Along the dubious shade. 



294 ROBERT EARL NUGENT; 

Restless I roam'd, when from afar 
Lo Hooker shines ! the friendly star 

Sends forth a steady ray. 
Thus cheer'd, and eager to pursue, 
I mount, till glorious to my view, 

Locke spreads the realms of day. 

Now warm'd with noble Sidney's page, 
I pant with all the patriot's rage ; 

Now wrapt in Plato's dream, 
With More and Harrington around, 
I tread fair Freedom's magick ground, 

And trace the flattering scheme. 

But soon the beauteous vision flies> 
And hideous spectres now arise, 

Corruption's direful train : 
The partial judge perverting laws, 
The priest forsaking virtue's cause, 

And senates, slaves to gain. 

Vainly the pious artist's toil 
Would rear to heaven a mortal pile, 

On some immortal plan ; 
Within a sure, tho' varying date, 
Confined alas ! is every state 

Of empire and of man. 



ROBERT EARL NUGENT. 295 

What though the good, the brave, the wise, 
With adverse force undaunted rise, 

To break the eternal doom 1 
Though Cato lived, though Tully spokes 
Though Brutus dealt the godlike stroke, 

Yet perish'd fated Rome. 

To swell some future tyrant's pride, 
Good Fleury pours the golden tide 

On Gallia's smiling shores j 
Once more her fields shall thirst in vain. 
For wholesome streams of honest gain, 

While rapine wastes her stores. 

Yet glorious is the great design, 
And such, O Pultney ! such is thine, 

To prop a nation's frame. 
If crush'd beneath the sacred weight 
The ruins of a falling state, 

Shall tell the patriot's 



t 296 ] 



JOHN LOGAN. 



Soutra. Med Lothian. 1748 1788. 



Logan is accused of having purloined certain Poems from 
the manuscript of poor Michael Bruce, and published 
them as his own. The best pieces in his volume, are, 
however, indisputably his own. 



SONG. 

The Braes of Yarrow. 

1 HY braes were bonny, Yarrow stream ! 

' ' When first on them I met my lover ; 
" Thy braes how drear) , Yarrow stream ! 

" When now thy waves his body cover ! 
" For ever now, O Yarrow stream ! 

" Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ', 
" For never on thy banks shall I 

" Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow. 



JOHN LOGAN. 297 

" He promised me a milk-white steed, 
. " To bear me to his father's bowers j 
" He promised me a little page, 

" To 'squire me to his father's towers j 
" He promised me a wedding-ring, 

" The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow; 
" Now he is wedded to his grave, 

" Alas, his watery grave in Yarrow ! 

" Sweet were his words when last we met; 

" My passion I as freely told him ! 
" Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought 

' ' That I should never more behold him ! ' 
" Scarce was he gone, 1 saw his ghost; 

" It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow j 
" Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, 

" And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow. 

" His mother from the window look'd, 

" With all the longing of a mother; 
" His little sister weeping walk'd 

" The green- wood path, to meet her brother. 
" They sought him east, they sought him west, 

" They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
" They only saw the cloud of night, 

" They only heard the roar of Yarrow. 
2 



298 JOHN LOGAN. 

" No longer from thy window look, 

tf Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! 
" No longer walk thou lovely maid! 

" Alas, thou hast no more a brother! 
" No longer seek him east or west, 

" And search no more the forest thorough j 
" For, wandering in the night so dark, 

" He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow. 

' ( The tear shall never leave my cheek, 

" No other youth shall be my marrow ; 
" I'll seek thy body in the stream, 

" And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow. 
The tear did never leave her cheek, 

No other youth became her marrow ; 
She found his body in the stream, 

And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. 



ODE. 

On the Death of a young Lady. 

THE peace of Heaven attend thy shade, 
My early friend, my favourite maid ! 
When life 'was new, companions gay, 
We hail'd the morning of our day. 



JOHN LOGAH. 299 

Ah, with what joy did I behold 
The flower of beauty fair unfold, 
And fear'd no storm to blast thy bloom, 
Or bring thee to an earthly tomb ! 

Untimely gone ! for ever fled 
The roses of the cheek so red; 
The affection warm, the temper mild, 
The sweetness that in sorrow smiled. 

Alas ! the cheek where beauty glow'd, 
The heart where goodness overflow'd, 
A clod amid the valley lies, 
And ' dust to dust' the mourner cries. 

O, from thy kindred early torn, 
And to thy grave untimely borne ; 
Vanish' d for ever from my view, 
Thou, sister of my soul, adieu ! 

Fair with my first ideas twined, 
Thine image oft will meet my mind; 
And, while remembrance brings thee near, 
Affection sad will drop a tear. 

How oft does sorrow bend the head, 
Before we dwell among the dead ! 



300 JOHN LOGAN. 

Scarce in the years of manly prime, 
I've often wept the wrecks of time. 

What tragick tears bedew the eye ! 
What deaths we suffer ere we die ! 
Our broken friendships we deplore, 
And loves of youth that are no more! 

No after-friendship e'er can raise 
The endearments of our early days ; 
And ne'er the heart such fondness prove, 
As when it first began to love. 

Affection dies, a vernal flower, 
And love, the blossom of an hourj 
The spring of fancy cares controul, 
And mar the beauties of the soul. 

Versed in the commerce of deceit, 
How soon the heart begins to beat! 
The blood runs cold at interests' call : 
They look with equal eyes on all. 

Then lovely nature is expell'd, 
And friendship is romantick held : 
Then prudence comes with hundred eyes : 
The veil is rent the vision flies. 



JOHN LOGAN. 301 

The dear illusions will not last; 
The era of enchantment's past ; 
The wild romance of life is done ; 
The real history is begun. 

The sallies of the soul are o'er, 
The feast of fancy is no more j 
And ill the banquet is supplied 
By form, by gravity, by pride. 

Ye Gods ! whatever 'ye withhold, 
Let my affections ne'er grow cold ; 
Ne'er may the human glow depart, 
Nor Nature yield to frigid art ! 

Still may the generous bosom burn, 
Though doom'd to bleed o'er beauty's urn} 
And still the friendly face appear, 
Though moisten'd with a tender tear. 



THE CUCKOO. 



HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove ! 
Thou messenger of spring ! 
Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, 
And woods thy welcome sing. 



302 JOHN I.OGGN, 

What time the daisy decks the green, 
Thy certain voice we hear; 
Hast thou a star to guide thy path, 
Or mark the rolling year ? 

Delightful visitant ! with thee 

I hail the time of flowers, 

And hear the sound of musick sweet 

From birds among the bowers. 

The school-boy, wandering through the wood 
To pull the primrose gay, 
Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, 
And imitates thy lay. 

What time the pea puts on it's bloom 
Thou fliest the vocal vale, 
An annual guest m other lands, 
Another spring to hail. 

Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green , 
Thy sky is ever clear : 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 
No winter in thy year ! 

Oh could I fly, I'd fly with thee i 
We'd make with joyful wing, 
Our annual visit o'er the globe, 
Companions of the spring. 



503 j 



HENRY HEADLEY. 



17HS. 



n an age which has been inundated by mechanical rhyme- 
stets, it is no small praise to say, that Headley had 
feeling of the real merits of our early Poets. 



SONNET III. 
To That. 

1 HOU hoary traveller ! slow passing by 
The wretch, who counts each moment of his woes, 
Till liberty his prison-gate unclose ; 

As the dull snail, whose motion mocks the ere, 
Full oft thy tardy journeyings betray 

The spoiler yon moss-mantled tower, 

Whose head sublime derided once thy power, 
Xow silent crumbling sinks beneath thy s\vay, 

VOL. III. X 



304 HENRY HEADLEY* 

The sapling, thy tall streamer, waves on high, 
Whilst thy deep wounds each mazy fissure 

shows, 
Like wrinkles, furrowing deep thy own grey 

brows : 
Yet not for this rude triumph swells my sigh, 

But that thy hand will wither beauty's rose, 
And dim the fire, that lights the sparkling eye. 



SONNET V. 

The Cottage. 

THY haughty eye disdains the wine-clad cot, 
And its rude owner, whose salubrious board 
Pomona kind, and Naiads fair, have stor'd: 

Simple, but dignified, his humble lot. 
When Patriotism call'd, from such retreat 
Sprang ancient Valour, son of Toil severe, 
And sunburnt Health ; he snatch'd the glittering 

spear, 
Leaving the plough his country's foes to meet. 



HENRY ttEADLEV. 505 

Nor back his eagle wing'd her flight to Rome, 
Till, bearing bloody spoils, he led the march 
Triumphant thro* the sculpture- woven arch, 

Where Victory rear'd sublime her laureate dome. 
Then Moderation's hand disarm'd the swain, 
And led him smiling to his cot again. 



SONNET VII. 

To Charlotte Smith. 

OF thee, fair mourner, o'er whose downcast face, 

Fortune has spread the sickly tints of grief j 

Whilst Poesy to give thee sweet relief, 
Assays with warblings mild thy woes to chase, 

An emblem meet thy search far roving finds, 
Among the infant spring's first opening flowers, 
Drooping its head, and wet with frequent showers, 

The snow-drop trembles in the ruffling winds. 
Yet seems its simple form in Fancy's eye 

More lovely, since in rudest season born. 

How piteous such a flower should bide die scorn 
Of every surly storm that passes by ! 

How far more piteous surly storms should blow 

'Gainst thee, whose song is echo to thy woe ! 
x 2 



3(X> 



WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. 



LangAoIm, Dumfries-shire. 1734. 17SQ- 



Mickle's Lusiad will live; but it is not a translation ; he has 
built upon the timbers of Camoens. The story is some- 
times altered, and every where ornamented ; and the 
descriptive parts, almost in every instance, original. 



Sacred to iht Heir of Castfe. 

OH thou whose hopes these fair domains inspire, 

The awful lesson here bestow'd attend, 
With pensive eve here let thy steps retire, 

What time rapt Fancy's shadowy forms descend. 
Hark ! from yon hall as headlong waste purveys, 

What Bacchanalian revels loud resound, 
With festive rires the midnight windows, blaze, 

And iever'd tumult reels his giddy round. 



WILLIAM JULIUS MICKtE. 307 

Tis past the mansion owns another lord, 

The ousted heir so riotous ere while, 
Now sits a suppliant at his wonted board, 

Insulted by a base-born menial's smile. 
By the base menials taunted from the door, 

With anguish'd heart resistless of his woe, 
Forlorn he strays those lawns, his own no more, 

Unknowing where, on trembling knees anH 
slow. 

'Till here beneath an aged elm's bleak shade, 

Fainting he sinks Ah ! let thy mind descry, 
On the cold turf how low his humbled head, 

On yon fair dome how iix'd his ghastly e^e. 
By his mad revels, by his last heart sigh, 

O thou of these proud towers the promised heir* 
By every manly virtue's holy tie, 

By honour's fairest bloom, Oh fortune's child,, 
beware 1 



I 3G8 3 



THOMAS DAY. 



London 1 7 48 1 789- 



Tiie life of Thomas Day has been written at some length, 
by Mr. Kier, who omitted all its most remarkable cir- 
cumstances ; these have been selected by Miss Seward, 
in her Memoirs of Darwin. Both writers deserve some 
censure. Biography should never be written, unle>s the 
whole truth is told, and the whole truth ought never to 
be told, while any good feelings can be wounded, or any 
evil cues gratified by divulging it. It is well that the 
heart of every remarkable man should be laid open 
to posterity : but it is not well, that his friends and his 
enemies should be invited to the dissection. 

I\iy has been anathematized as a Jacobin, by the same 
equitable and charitable spirit of reflex law which has 
placed Aristotle and Socrates in Hell, because they were 
not Christians. His ophiions were often erroneous, his 
feelings always right ; and though he was extravagantly 
eccentrick, his virtues were at least as singular, as his 
eccentricities. 

Sandford and PJcrton, will, no doubt, be included in the first 
English j.tdei Lxpurgatoriits. . Till, however, we have 
one, it will crntinue to be read with profit and pleasure, 
by those for whom it is designed. 



THOMAS DAT. 309 



THE DYING NEGRO. 



The following Poem was occasioned by a fact, which had 
recently happened at the time of its first publication, 
in 1773 ; A Negro, belonging to the captain of a Wcst- 
Indiaman, having agreed to marry a white woman bis 
fellow servant; in order to effect his purpose, had left his 
master's house, and procured himself to be baptized ; 
but being detected and taken, he was sent on board the 
captain's vessel, then lying in the river ; where, finding 
no chance of escaping, and preferring death to another 
voyaszc to America, he took an opportunity of stabbing 
himself. As soon as his determination is fixed, he is sup- 
posed to write this Epistle to his intended wife. 



ARM'D with thy sad last gift the power to die, 
Thy shafts, stern Fortune, now I can defy j 
Thy dreadful mercy points at length the shore, 
Where all is peace, and men are slaves no more; 
This weapon, even in chains, the brave can 

wield, 
And vanquish'd, quit triumphantly the field : 



310 THOMAS BAV. 

Beneath such wrongs let pallid Christians live> 
Such they can perpetrate, and may forgive. 

Yet while I tread that gulph's tremendous brink, 

Where nature shudders, and where beings sink r 

Ere yet this hand a life of torment close, 

And end by one determined stroke my woes, 

Is there a fond regret, which moves my mind, 

To pause, and cast a ling'ring look behind ? 

O my lov'd bride\! ^for I have call'd thee mine, 

Dearer than life, whom I with life resigri, 

For thee even here this faithful heart shall glow, 

A pang shall jend me, and a tear shall flow 

How shall I soothe thy grief, since fate denies- 

Thy pious duties to my closing eyes ? 

I cannot clasp thee in a last embrace, 

Nor gaze in silent anguish on thy face ; 

I cannot raise these fetter'd arms for thee, 

To ask that mercy Heaven denies to me; 

Yet let thy tender breast my sorrows share, 

Bleed for my wounds, and feel my deep despair. 

Yet let thy tears bedew a wretch's grave, 

Whom Fate forbade thy tenderness to save, 

Receive these sighs to thee my soul I breathe 

Fond love in dying groans is all I can bequeath. 



THOMAS DAT. 

###*-##* 



" So be thy life's gay prospects all o'ercast,. 

All thy fond hopes dire disappointment blast ! 
Thus end thy golden visions, son of pride ! 
"Whose ruthless ruffians tore me from my bride ^ 
That beauteous prize Heaven had reserved at last,. 
Sweet recompense for all my sorrows past* 
O may thy harden'd bosom never prove 
The tender joys of friendship or of love t 
Yet may'st thou, doom'd to hopeless flames a 

prey, 

In unrequited passion pine away ! 
May every transport violate thy rest, 
Which tears the jealous lover's gloomy breast ! 
May secret anguish gnaw thy cruel heart, 
'Till death in all his terrours wing the dart ; 
Then, to complete the horror of thy doom, * 
A favour'd rival smile upon thy toirb !" 

" Why does my lingering soul her flight delay > 
Come, lovely maid, and gild the dreary way ! 
Come, wildly rushing with disorder'd charms,. 
And clusp thy bleeding lover in thy arms 3, 



312 THOMAS DAY. 

Close his sad eyes, receive his parting breath, 
And soothe him sinking to the shades of death ! 
O come thy presence can my pangs beguile, 
And bid the inexorable tyrant smile ; 
Transported will I languish on thy breast, 
And sink enraptured to eternal rest : 
The hate of men, the wrongs of fate forgive, 
Forget my woes, and almost wish to live. 
Ah! rather fly, lest aught of doubt control 
The dreadful purpose labouring in my soul ; 
Tears must not bend me, nor thy beauties move. 
This hour I triumph over fate and love ! 



" Again with tenfold rage my bosom- burns, 
And all the tempest of my soul returns ; 
Again the furies fire my madning brain, 
And death extends his sheltering arms in vain ; 
For unrevenged I fall, unpitied die ; 
And wrth my blood glut Pride's insatiate eye ! 
Thou Christian God ! to whom so late I bow'd, 
To whom my soul its new allegiance vow'd, 
When crimes like these, tliy injured power 

prophane, 
O God of Nature ! art thou call'd in vain ? 



IHOMA9 UAY. 

Did'st thou for this sustain a mortal wound, 
While Heaven, and Earth, and Hell, hung trem- 
bling round 2 

That these vile fetters might my body bind j 
And agony like this, distract my mind > 
On thee I call'd with reverential awe, 
Adored thy wisdom, and embraced thy lawj 
Yet mark thy destined convert as he lies, 
His groans of anguish, and his livid eyes, 
These galling chains, polluted with his blood, 
Then bid his tongue proclaim thee just and good ! 
But if too weak thy vaunted power to spare, 
Or sufferings move thee not, O hear despair ! 
Thy hopes and blessings, I alike resign, 
But let revenge, let swift revenge be mine ! 
Be this proud bark, which now triumphant rides r 
Toss'd by the winds, and shatter'd by the tides r 
And may these fiends, who now exulting view 
The horrours of my fortune, feel them too ! 
Be theirs the torment of a lingering fate, 
Slow as thy justice, dreadful as my hatej 
Condemn'd to grasp the riven plank in vain, ; 
And chased by all the monsters of the main ; 
And while they spread their sinking arms to thee, 
Then let their fainting souls remember me ! 



314 THOMAS DAT. 

Thanks, righteous God ! Revenge shall jet be 

mine ; 

Yon flashing lightning gave the dreadful sign. 
I see the flames of heavenly anger hurl'd, 
I hear your thunders shake a guilty world. 
The time shall come, the fated hour is nigh. 
When guiltless blood shall penetrate the sky. 
Amid these horrours, and involving night i 
Prophetick visions flash before my sight, 
Eternal Justice wakes, and in their turn 
The vanquish'd triumph, and the victors mourn ; 
Lo! Discord, fiercest of the infernal band, 
Fires all her snakes, and waves her flaming brand - r 
No more proud Commerce courts the western 

gales, 

But marks tl.e lurid skies, and furls her sails; 
War mounts his iron car, and at his wheels 
In vain soft Pity weeps, and Mercy kneels, 
He breathes a savage rage through all the host, 
And stains with kmdred blood the impious coast ; 
Then, while with horrour sickening Nature groans, 
And earth and heaven the monstrous race dis- 
owns, 

Then the stern genius of my native land, 
With delegated vengeance in his hand,. 



THOMAS D4Y. 31o 

Shall raging cross the troubled seas, and pour, . 

The plagues of Hell on yon devoted shore. 

What tides of ruin mark his ruthless way; 

How shriek the fiends exulting o'er their prey 1 , 

I see their warriors gasping on the ground, 

I hear their flaming cities crash around. 

In vain with trembling heart the coward turns, > 

In vain with generous rage the valiant burns.-:- y 

One common ruin, one promiscuous grave, 

O'erwhelms the dastard ; and receives the brave 

For Afric triumphs! his avenging rage 

No tears can soften, and no blood assuage. 

He smites the trembling -waves, and at the shock 

Their fleets are dash'd upon the pointed rock. 

He waves his flaming dart, and o'er their plains, 

In mournful silence, desolation reigns 

Fly swift, ye years ! Arise, thou glorious 

morn ! 

Thou gieat avenger of thy race be born ! 
The conquerors palm and deathless fame be thine ! 
One gen'rous stroke, and liberty be mine ! 
And now, ye Powers to whom the brave are 

dear, 

.Receive me falling, and your suppliant hear. 
To you this unpolluted blood I pour, 
To you that spirit which ye gave restore ! 



316 THOMAS DAY. 

J ask no lazy pleasures to possess, 
No long eternity of happiness j ' 
Bat if unstain'd by voluntary guilt, 
At your great call, this being I have spilt, 
For all the wrongs, which, innocent, I share, 
For all I've suffer 'd, and for all I dare ; 
O lead me to that spot, that sacred shore, 
Where souls are free, and men oppress no 
more. 



THOMAS WARTON. 



1723 1790. 



Thomas Warton's prose-works are confused and desultory. 
His poetry is like a new medal, spotted with artificia^ 
rust ; yet there is no man of his generation to whom our 
literature is so much indebted, except Percy. He bore 
a great part in what may be called our Poetical Refor- 
mation in if calling us from a blind faith in Idols, to 
the study of the true books. 

It is delightful to hear how all Wykehamists speak of this 
happy-natuted man, who carried with him a boy's 
heart to the grave. We still want a life of Warton, 
which should relate all his good-tempered oddities. 



ODE, 

THE GRAVE OP KING ARTHUB. 

S TATELY the feast and high the cheer -, 
Girt with many an armed 



318 THOMAS 



And canopied with golden pall, 
Amid Cilganon's castle-hall, 
Sublime., in formidable state, 
And warlike splendour; Henry sate ; 
Prepared to stain the briny flood 
Of Shannon's lake with rebel blood. 


Illumining the vaulted roof, 

A thousand torches flamed aloof: 
From massy cups, with golden gleam, 
Sparkled the red metheglin's stream j 
Tp grace the gorgeous festival, 
Along the lofty-window'd hall 
The storied tapestry was hung 3 
With minstrelsy the' rafters rung 
Of harps, that with reflected light 
JFrom the proud gallery glitter'd bright : 
Wirile gifted bards, a rival throng, 
(From distant Mona, nurse of song, 
From Teivi, fringed with umbrage brown, 
From Elvy's vale, and Cader's crown, 
From many a shaggy precipice 
That shades Seme's hoarse abyss, 
And many a sunless solitude 
Of Radnor's inmost mountains rude,) 



THOMAS WARTON. 319 



To crown the banquet's solemn close, 
Themes of British glory chose; 
And to the strings of various chime. 
Attemper'd thus the fabling rhyme ; 

" O'er Cornwall's cliffs the tempest roar'd, 

" High the screaming sea-mew soar'd, 

" On Tintaggel's * topmast tower 

" Darksome fell the sleety shower j 

" Round the rough castle shrilly sung 

" The whirling blast, and wildly flung 

" On each tall rampart's thundering side 

" The surges of the tumbling tide : 

" When Arthur ranged his red-cross ranks 

" On conscious Camlan's crimsoned banks 

" By Mordred's faithless guile decreed 

" Beneath a Saxoa spear to bleed ! 

" Yet in vain a pay rum foe 

" Arin'd with fate the mighty blow : 



* Tinttiggel, or Tintadgal castle, where king Arthur tf 
said to have been born, and to have chiefly resided. Som; 
of its huge fragments still remain, on a rocky peninsular 
cape, of a prodigious declivity, towards the sea, and almosc 
inaccessible from the land side, on the southern coa.ti uf 
Cornwall. 

VOL. III. Y 



320 THOMAS WAKTON. 

" For when be fell, an elfin queen, 

" All in secret, and unseen, 

" O'er the fainting hero threw 

" Her mantle of ambrosial blue ; 

" And bade her spirits bear him far, 

" In Merlin's agate-axled Car, 

" To her green isle's enamel'd steep, 

" Far in the navel of tlie deep. 

" O'er his wounds she sprinkled dew 

" From flowers that in Arabia grew : 

" On a rich enchanted bed, 

" She pillow'd his majestick head, 

<{ O'er his brow, with whispers bland, 

" Thrice she waved an opiate wand j 

" And to soft musick's airy sound, 

" Her magick curtains closed around. 

" There, renew '-d the vital spring, 

" Again he reigns a mighty king ; 

<e And many a f:ur and fragrant clime, 

" Blooming in immortal prime, 

f< By gales of Eden ever fann'd, 

" f~>\vns the monarch's high command : 

" Tlience to Britain shall return, 

" (If right prop etick rolls I learn) 

' Borne on victory's spreading plume, 

" His ancient sceptre to resume, 



THOMAS WARTOX. 

" Once more, in old heroick pride, 
" His barbed courser to bestride; 
" His knightly table to restore, 
" And brave the tournaments of yore." 

They ceased, when on the tuneful stage 
Advanced a bard, of aspect sage ; 
His silver tresses, thin besprent, 
To age a graceful reverence lentj 
His beard, all white ss spangles frore 
That clothe Plinlimmon's forests hoar, 
Down to his harp descending flow'd ; 
With time's faint rose his features glovv'd j- 
His eyes diffused a soften'd fire, 
And thus he waked the warbling wir. 

" Listen, Henry, to my reed ! 

" Not from fairy realms I lead 

" Bright-robed tradition, to relate 

" In forged colours Arthur's fate ; 

" Though much of old romantick lore 

" On the high theme I keep in store : 

" But boastful fiction should be dumb, 

' Where truth the strain might best become, 

y 2 



322 THOMAS WARTON. 

" If thine ear may still be won 

" With songs of Uther's glorious son j 

" Henry, I a tale unfold, 

" Never yet in rhyme enroll'd, 

(t Nor sung, nor harp'd in hall or bower ; 

" Which in my youth's full early flower 

" A. minstrel, sprung of Cornish line, 

r{ Who spoke of kings from old Locrine, 

" Taught me to chant, one vernal dawn;] 

" Deep in cliff-encircled lawn, 

<r What time the glistering vapours fled 

" From cloud enveloped Clyder's head j 

" And on its sides the -torrents gray 

" Shone to the morning's orient ray, 



" When Arthur bow'd his haughty crest, 

" No princess," veil'd in azure vest, 

" Snatch* d him, by Merlin's potent spell,' 

'' In groves of golden bliss to dwell ; 

e: Where crown'd witli wreaths of misletoe, 

" Slaughter' d kings in glory go : 

" But when he fell, with winged speed, 

" His champions, on a milk-white steed, 

" From the battle's hurricane, 

" Bore hun to Joseph's towred fane, 



THOMAS WAUTON. 323 

<e In the fair isle of Avalon * : 

" There, with chanted orison, 

" And the long blaze of tapers clear, 

" The stoled fathers met the bier ; 

" Through the dim aisles in order dread 

" Of martial woe, the chief they led, 

" And deep entomb' d in holy ground, 

" Before the altar's solemn bound. 

" Around no dusky banners wave, 

" No mouldering trophies mark the grave: 

" Away the ruthless Dane has torn 

" Each trace that time's slow touch had worn j 

" And long, o'er the neglected stone, 

" Oblivion's veil its shade has thrown : 

" The faded tomb, with honour due, 

" 'Tis thine, O Henry, to renew ! 

" Thither, when conquest has restored 

" Yon recreant isle, and sheathed the sword, 

" When peace with palm has crowned thy brows, 

*' Haste thee, to pay thy pilgrim vows. 

' There observant of my lore, 

'* The pavement's hallow'd depth explore j 



* Glastonbury-abbcy, said to be founded by Joseph of 
Arimathea, in a spot ancicnily culled, the island, or valley 
of Avalonia. 



3*4 THOMAS VARTON. 

<f And thrice a fathom underneath 
" Dive into the vaults of death. 
" There shall thine eyes with wild amaze, 
t( On his gigantick stature gaze j 
" There shall thou find the monarch laid, 
" All in warrior-weeds array'd ; 
" Wearing in death his helmet-crown, 
" And weapons huge of old renown. 
" Martial Prince, 'tis thine to save, 
tc From dark oblivion Arthur's grave ! 
" So may thy ships securely stem 
" The western frith : thy diadem 
" Snine victorious in the van, 
" Nor heed the slings of Ulster's clan : 
" Thy Norman pike-men win their way 
" Up the dun rocks of Harald's bay* : 
" And from the steps of rough Kildare 
" Thy prancing hoofs the falcon scare : 
" So may thy bow's unerring yew 
" Its hafts in Roderick's heart imbrew" f . 

*The bay of Dublin; Harald, or Har-Fager, the fair- 
haired, King of Norway, is sakl, in the life of Gryffudh ap 
Conan, Prince of North-Wales, to have conquered Ireland, 
and to have founded Dublin. 

f- Henry is supposed to have succeeded in this enterprise, 
chiefly by .the use of the long-bow, with which the Irish 
were entirely unacquainted. 



THOMAS WAUTOX. 316 

Amid the pealing symphony 
The spiced goblets mautled high 
With passion new the song impress'd 
The listening king's impatient breast : 
Flash the keen lightnings from his eyes j 
He scorns a-while his bold emprise ; 
Even now he seems, with eager pace, 
The consecrated floor to trace j 
And ope, from its tremendous gloom, 
The treasure of the wonderous tomb : 
Even now, he burns in thought to rear, 
From its dark bed, the ponderous spear, 
Rough with the gore of Pictish kings : 
Even now fond hope his fancy wings, 
"To poise the monarch's massy blade, 
Of magic-temper'd metal made j 
And drag to-day the dinted shield 
That felt the storm of Camlan's field. 
O'er the sepulchre profound 
Even now, with arching'sculplure crown'd, 
He plans the chantry's choral shrine, 
The daily dirge, and rites divine. 



326 THOMAS VTARTOW. 



SONNET. 
On Bathing. 

WHEN late the trees were stripp'd by winter pale, 
Young Health a Dryad-maid in vesture green, 
Or like the forest's silver-quiver'd queen, 
On airy uplands met the piercing gale ; 
And, ere its earliest echo shook the vale, 
Watching the hunter's joyous horn was seen, 
But since, gay throned in fiery chariot sheen, 
Summer has smote, each daisy-dappled dale ; 
She to the cave retires, high arch'd beneath 
The fount that laves proud Isis' towery brim : 
And now, all glad the temperate air to breathe, 
While cooling drops distil from arches dim, 
Binding her dewy locks with sedgy wreath, 
She sits amid the choir of Naiads trim. 



SONNET. 

To the River Lodon. 

AH, what a weary race my feet have run 

Since first I trod thy banks, witn alders crown'd, 



THOMAS VARTO.V. 3'27 

And thought my way was all through fairy ground. 
Beneath thy azure sky and golden sun : 
Where first my Muse to lisp her notes begun ! 
While pensive memory traces back the sound, 
Which fills the varied interval between j 
Much pleasure, more of sorrow, fills the scene/ 
Sweet native stream! those skies and suns so pure., 
No more return to cheer my evening road! 
Yet still one joy remains, that not obscure, 
Nor useless all my vacant days have flow'd, 
From "Youth's gay dawn to manhood's prime ma- 
ture} 
Nor with the Muse's laurel unbestow'd. 



-^l if B 



SAMUEL ROGERS. 



A Clergyman, who published two volumes of 
chiefly translations in 1783. 



THE INVITATION. 

To the Right Honourable the Counttss of Berkeley* 

WHEN pomp, parade, and splendour cloy, 

Bliss on a smaller scale enjoy 

With me, within an humble cell, 

"Where Peace, and cheap Contentment dwell. 

No niceties can I bestow ; 
But if I had them well I know 
You'd wish all dainties to decline, 
And snugly on a collop dine ; 



SA.MTtl, ROGERS. 329 

For more would look so like your own- 
The puzzling meal would ill go down. 

When a hedge-parson is your host, 
Expect, indeed, but boil'd or roast : 
Perhaps beside, the frugal board 
A simple pudding may afford, 
With what gives value to a treat 
A hearty welcome, when you eat : 
But when this dinner ? let me see- 
On Tuesday next at half-past three. 

If then your Lady-ship will come, 
Spruced up each Muse shall be at home ; 
On Berkeley! Ah, how proud to tend T 
Berkeley the Muse's guardian friend ! 
To be in future ages sung 
As Her whence lively Craven * sprung. 
On whom has bland Thalia sinifed- '. V ' 
An 1 taken for her -favourite child ; 
Hereafter if such meed she chase- 
To be herself invoked a Muse'j 

* Right Honourable Lady Craven, highly distinguished 
for her theatrical taste, and literary compositions of varioos 
kinds. 



330 SAMUEL ROGERS. 

When to a Muse the honours due 
Must as their source recur to you. 

Whence Berkeley's Earl, well known to prove 

" A father in a brother's love :" 

Paternally, who draws his blood 

From Chiefs that figured near the flood : 

But virtue needs no aid from birth, 

Nobility's best title's-worth : 

And thus to worth the honours due 

Reach as their distant source to you 

Whence He*, who with impatience glows 
Vengeance to pour on Britain's foes j 
Too gallant much to trust to fame 
E'en to a Berkeley's boasted name, 
Though thence no mean, no niggard claim : 
In vain the youth's intreped spirit, 
Sworn foe is 3 d h to all merit ! 
Denied command oppress'd, and cross'd, 
Or in inglorious service lost. 



* Honourable George Berkeley, Captain of the Vestal 
Frigate. 



SAMUEL ROGEBS. 331 

This tribute due to worth excuse-^ 
The greatest Bards digressions use, 
Which Episodes are call'd in trade : 
Then to the point from whence we stray'd. 

Now should your Ladyship agree, 
To flatter thus my vanity. 

with you bring the lovely lass, * 
That justly for a Grace may pass, 
Whose beauty, and whose wit proclaim 
Her title to a Grace's name : 

And soon I hope 'twill be the case. 
That I may bow unto her Grace. 

This said, what now remains to siy ? 

1 might forsooth enlarge the lay, 
With Venus' charms, Minerva's air, 
Juno's I know not what, I sweir ; 
For she was a proud minx, I'm told, 
And horriby inclined to scold ; 

Ought then such trumpery to .lave place 
In the description of a Grace ? 

* Lady Louisa, youngest daugh.er of Lady Berkeley. 



333 SAMUEL ROGERS. 

Well wh*n a theme transcends all praise. 
As happens here to be the case, 
'Tis time, I trust, to close the lays, 
Lest that the Muses, who are my lodgers, 

Impeach of dotage 

Your's, 5. Rogers. 



AN ESSAY ON DREAMS. 

Inscribed to 'he Eight Honourable Lady Craven, 
ofBcn/tam Place, Berkshire. 



Somnia, trrores magicos, miracula, Sagas 

Nocturnes kmurcs, portantaquc Thessala rides ? 

HOR. 



ACCEPT, O Cra-en ! what of right belong 
To thee, sweet mstress of Morphean song ; 
Whose raagick pea so well itself displays 
Fancy's wild flights in captivating lays : 
Accept the lines an humble Muse commends, 
Whose pride it is to be ' Of Craven's friends :' 



SAMUEL ROGEHS. 333 

Of Thine, fair Patroness, whose liberal views 
Beyond the grave attend the favour'd Muse : 
Witness this truth, O Jenour's gentle shade, 
The signal honours to thy memory paid. 

Fancy, that prompts the aspiring soul to stray 
Far as the region? of eternal day; 
O'er bounds prescribed by Providence to leap, 
And dive into the wonders of the deep : 
Hail, sovereign, chief of faculties, assign'd 
To rule the various movements of the mind ! 
Hail, mighty power subordinate to none, 
Save when Imperial Reason mounts the throne ; 
Who knows to check, or urge the aspiring soul, 
To form the judgment, or direct the whole. 

Night yields to thee the empire of the rnind , 
In dreams to sport, and wanton unconfiued; 
While reason sleeps, in mimick forms you play, 
Re-judge her actions, and usurp her sway : 
But oft mis-join'd compound the motley scene, 
Form brutes with reason, and with instinct men j 
Nature for thee, inverts each genial power, 
For thee the heavens untimely blessings shower: 
Raised by thy magick eye new scenes appear, 
And crown with plenty the preposterous year ; 
4 



S3 I SAMUEL 



For thee fell meteors dart from pole to pole, 
Realms shift their place, and oceans cease to roll ^ 
With joy your wild creation you survey, 
And gild the prospect with your varying ray. 

Oh ! that by thee, the Muse, inspired to sing, 
For flights like thine would stretch the adventurous 

wing! 

Like thee to soar through worlds before unknown, 
Scenes unexplored, and regions of her own ! 
Pleased to pursue the visionary theme, 
And trace thee, wandering in the midnight dream ! 

The active soul let erring scepticks name, 
Of mortal substance, and material frame; 
Who on the senses think its powers depend, 
From these its being, and from these its end : 
Studious at best their nature to debase, 
And but ingenious in their own disgrace ; 
But thou my Muse, unanxious that thy name 
Should rise a bubble in the stream of fame, 
Boast not with them a doctrine to maintain 
Ignobly wise, and impotently vain. 

What, though a-while the languid frame's op- 

press'd, 
And every wearied sense lies sunk in rest : 



ROGV.R3. 335 



Conclude not hence the busy spirit fled, 
The mind extinguish'd, and its functions dead ; 
Stich god -like faculties did Heaven decree, 
That reason dormant still should reason be ; 
Yes, yes, our dreams some principles inspire, 
Some power unknown some spark of hearenl? 

firej 

By which we vie\v with Hope's presuming eye 
An active being, that can never die. 

1 lope springs eternal in the aspiring breast, 
To joys unknown, or knowlege unpossess'dj 
Hence then in sleep the sportive fancy roves 
O'er flowery meadows and Elysian groves : 
Through vales of bliss, o'er many a cloud-cap*: 

MM, 

By crystal fountain, or by purling rill j 
Bounds to her flight no rigid laws ordain, 
No matter clogs, no reasoning powers restrain. 
Sometimes o'er craggy rocks, and dreary lakes, 
Her midnight course die pensive wanderer 

takes j 

While from the rending earth and bursting skies 
Strange sounds are heard, and forms ideal rise ; 
Forms such as superstition ne'er believed, 
\or fable feign'd, nor pamck fear conceived : 

VOL. III. Z 



33Q SAMUEL ROGERS. 

The aerial shapes a-while delusive play, 

Bat fly the dawn of reason and of day. 

Mark how in dreams, whate'er the Fancy's theme, 

Love rage or fear are still in the extreme; 

Joy too, by sleep exalted and refined, 

With heavenly bliss dilates the ravish' d mind, 

While Pride exults with more aspiring wing, 

And veuom'd Anguish darts a keener sting. 

Hence midnight Fancy, in successive train, 
Presents each known idea to the brain ; 
The mine to Misers shoots a splendid beam, 
As watchful Avarice prompts the golden dream j 
The anxious merchant views the swelling sail 
Ride down the tide, and gather all the gale j 
When sudden tempests snatch the expected prize, 
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and mountains rise- 
Statesmen in glory's airy regions soar, 
Or boundless realms of politicks explore j 
But in the giddy height are blindly lost, 
Or rove abandon'd on a desart coast. 
The neighing steed, plumed troops, and glittering 

car, 

To slumbering Chiefs present the pomp of war j 
While softer charms inspire the melting maid 
Of sprightly dance,, and midnight masquerade; 



SAMUEL ROGERS. 337 

As Fancy sports, extravagantly gay, 

And sleep restores the conquests of the day. 

Mean-while the youth (whose heaven-imparted 

fires, 

Fair Virtue kindles, and true Love inspires) 
Feeds soft reflection in the dusky shade, 
Each ravish'd thought endears the absent maid j 
If absent deem'd, when Fancy's friendly beam 
Presents her image in the lively dream. 

Ah! strive those dear illusions to remove, 
Those pleasing phantoms of aerial love ; 
Strive hapless youth, lest swift-succeeding care, 
And all the frantick anguish of despair, 
With real grief thy paradise destroy, 
And blast the scenes of visionary joy ! 

Lo ! the poor Rustick on whose mind prevail 

The idle legend, and the nurse's tale 

Of midnight ghosts, by glimmering tapers seen, 

Of fairy forest, or enchanted green, 

In the wild dream distracts his tortured brain 

With gloomy feav's imaginary train. 

By fancy thus those airy forms are made, 
That haunt each lawn, and people every shade-; 
7. 2 



338 SAMUEL ROGERS. 

Hence swains attentive snatch a fearful joy, 
As tales of woe the tedious night employ : 
How, on a time, the love-lorn hapless maid, 
By faithless tears, and flattering vows betray'd, 
At William's feet a ghastly form was seen ; 
How headless monsters stalk across the green ; 
How bells at dead of night are heard to ring, 
While shrieking ravens flap their boding wing ! 

Thus all, like those, whose unambitious mind 
No arts have form'd, no science has refined, 
Through life in Fancy's mazy errour roam, 
As Superstition spreads its awful gloom; 
Till haply Reason's long-absenting ray 
The mind revisits, and restores the day; 
When the bright dawn of opening truth shall rise, 
To chase these airy phantoms from the eyes, 
And teach that all the mind's mistaken themes 
Our Hopes, our Fears, our Pleasures, are but 
Dreams. 



C 339 ] 



JOHN ELLIS. 

London, March 22, 1698 1(501. 



' It is wonderful,' Sir, said Dr. Johnson, 'what is to be 
found in London. The most literary conversation that 
I ever enjoyed, was at the table of Jack Ellis, a money- 
scrivener, behind the Royal-Exchange, with whom I at 
one period used to dine, generally once a weekl' 

John Ellis, who is thus honourably mentioned, attained to 
civick as well as literary, honours ; he was a common- 
council-man, Deputy of Broad-Street Ward, and was 
four times Master of the Scrivener's Company. His 
mother was one of the fierce old Calvinists ; she had him 
flogged at school, for looking at a top on a Sunday, 
which had been given to him the day before. 

The small pox had injured the sigrft of one of his eyes, in 
infancy very materially, so that when he was advanced 
in life, he could only use the other to draw, write, &c. 
with the help of a glass. But by some unaccountable 



340 JOHN ELLIS. 

operation of nature, when he was four-score years of age 
the sight of that eye became suddenly darkened, and the 
one which had been useless resumed its faculties, so that 
he saw far better than before. The change ocasioned no 
pain or sensation whatever ; it occurred during a walk 
by moonlight, and its immediate effect was, that though 
he saw the path distinctly, he could not keep it, but de- 
viated to the right, and so much that his companion 
was obliged to lead him home. 

'' iii^^dfcwiv^ v...l. 

All the seasons of relaxation from business, he employed in 
walking : and when he was questioned on his omitting 
to go to church, his usual reply was Nathan walked 
with the Lord. 

For more than twenty years he was in the habit of writing 
verses, some of which appeared in the collections of 
Dodsley, and of his friend and correspondent Moses 
Mendez ; his only seperate publications were, 1 The 
Surprize, or the Gentleman turned Apothecary. 1739. 
versified from a Latin translation of a French original. 

The canto added by Maphaeus 
To Virgil's twelve books of ^Eneas,. 
From the original Bombastic, 
Done into English Hudibrastic, 
With notes beneath, and Latin text 
In every other page annext 

1728. 



JOHN EttlS. 311 

Most of his works remain in manuscript ; there is among 
them a translation of Ovid's Epistles ready for the press, 
which Johnson, it is said, advised him to publish. 

The very curious specimen of his taste and poetry, is copied 
from the European Magazine, which contains an account 
of this happy and remarkable man at some length, and a 
good portrait. 



. 

SARAH HARTOP'S LOVE LETTER VERSIFIEft. 



Advertisement to the Header. 



The following Epistle was written by a Girl at Deal, to her 
sweet-heart, a sailor on board of a man of war in the 
Downs. The simplicity which runs through the whole, 
may, perhaps, excite the reader's ridicule on the first 
perusal: but if he compares this girl s sentiments, with 
those of Ovid's Heroines, making allowance for her want 
of so polite a Secretary, he will find them much the same. 
Therefore a poetical translation is here added; as an Essay 
' towards dressing up those naked sentiments of Sarah, in 
such a gatb, as to tender them rather worthy of com- 
uassion, than ridicule. 



JOH.N IXL13. 



THE ORIGINAL. 

. 
Latin Der Charts, 

THIS with mi kind lov to yow, is 
to tel yow, after all owr sport and fon, i am 
lik to pa fort, for i am with child, and wors for 
all, mi sister Nan nos it, and cals me a hore and 
bich, and is redy to ter mi sol owt, and Jack 
Peny lis with her every tim he cums ashor, and 
the saci dog wuld hav lade with me to, but i 
wold not let him, for i will be always onest to 
you, therefor der Charls, cum ashor and let 
us be mared to saf mi vartu ; and if yow hav no 
munni, i wil paun mi nu stas and sel mi to nu 
smoks you gav me., and that will pa the parson 
and find us a diner : and pra der Chails cum 
ashor, and dont be afraid for want of a ring, 
for J hav stol mi sister nans, and the nasti tod 
shal never -hav it no mor, for she tels about that 
i am goin to hav a bastard, and, god bles yor 
der lovin soly cum sune, for I longs to be mared 



JOHN ELLIS. 343 

accordin to your prom is, and \ will be yor der 

vartus wif tel deth. 

Sarah Hartop.^ 

Pel. 7, 1734. 

P S. Pray dont let yor mes-mat Jac see tin's 
if yow do hel tel owr nan, and shel ter mi 
hart owt then, for she is a divil at me now. 



TRANSLATION. 

DEAR object of my love, whose manly charms 
With bliss extatick filled my circling arms ! 
That bliss is past, and nought for me remains, 
But dire reproach, and never-pitied pains ; 
For, death to mine, and food for others' pride, 
My sister has my growing shame descried ; 
Even she assails me with opprobious name, 
When the prude's conscious she deserves the same. 
Her loose associate sated from her flies, 
And vainly to seduce my virtue tries. 
True as a wife) I only want the name, 
O haste and wed me, and preserve my fame- 



JONN BLE1S. 

And if your present power will not afford 
To fee the Priest, and spread the nuptial boardy 
The finry which your fondness did bestow, 
Full freely to supply that want shall go. 
With love alone attired ; love all my. guide, 
Oh could I see myself your naked bride ; 
No Dame I'd envy for her jointured lands ; 
Love scorns the lawyer's mercenary bands. 
Nor shall you want the mvstick ring of gold, 
My sister Ann's my finger shall enfold ; 
To me, but just that forfeit for the wrong 
My love sustains from her licentious tongue. 
Then haste away, and strike detraction dead, 
The nuptial feast awaits you, and the bed : 
Fail not ; my hope, my banish'd peace restore } 
Confirm the truth, you plighted me before; 
Nor fear the bond that will endure for life 
With me your loving and your faithful wife. 

P. S. These earnest dictates of my anxious heart, 
J beg you will not to your friend impart, 
For oft beneath fair friendship's specious show 
The traitor lurks the undermining foe. 



f 



WILLIAM HAYWARD ROBERTS; 

PROVOST OF ETON COLLEGE. 



1734 1791. 



Me published, 1. Judah Restored ; A Poem in six books., . 
and :.'. Poems, 1766. 



TJHE POOR MAN'S PRAYER, &C. 

AMIDST the more important toils of state, 
The counsels labouring in thy patriot soul, 

Though Europe from thy voice expect her fate, 
And thy keen glance extend from pole to 



. 

346 WILLIAM HAYWAUD ROBEftT*. 

Chatham, nursed in ancient Virtue's lore, 
To these sad strains incline a favouring ear j 

Think on the God, whom thou, and I adore, 
Nor turn unpitying from the Poor Man's 
Prayer. 

Ah me! how blest was once a peasant's life ! 

No lawless passion swell'd my even breast j 
Far from the roaring waves of civil strife, 

Sound were my slumbers, and my heart at rest. 

1 ne'er for guilty, painful pleasure roved, 

But taught by nature, and by choice to wed, 
From all the hamlet call'd whom best I loved, 
With her I shared my heart, with her my bed, 

To gild her worth, I ask'd no wealthy dower, 
My toil could feed her, and my arm defend ; 

1 envied no man's riches; no man's power, 
I ask'd of none to give, of none to lend. 

And she, the faithful partner of my care, 

When ruddy evening streak'd the western sky, 

Look'd towards the uplands, if her mate was 

there, 
Or through the beech- wood cast an anxious eye: 



WILLIAM UAYWARD ROBERTS. 317 

Then, careful matron, heap'd the maple board 

With savoury herbs, and pick'd the nicer part 
From such plain food as nature could afford, 
Ere simple nature was debauch'd by art. 

While I, contented with my homely cheer, 

Saw round my knees our prattling children 
play: 

And oft with pleased attention sat to hear 
The little history of their idle day.] 

But ah! how changed the scene! OH the cold 
stones, 

'Where wont at night to blaze the chearful fire. 
Pale famine sits, and counts her naked bones, 

Still sighs for food, still pines with vain desire. 

My faithful wife with ever-streaming eyes 
Hangs on my bosom her dejected head ; 

My helpless infants raise their feeble cries, 
And from their father claim their daily bread. 

Dear tender pledges of my honest love,. . 

On that bare bed behold your brother lie ; 
Three tedious days with pinching want he strove-, 

The fourth, I saw the helpless cherub die. 



34g WILLIAM HAYWARD ROBERT*. 

Nor -long shall ye remain. With visage sour 
Our tyrant lord commands us from our home j 

And, arm'd with cruel 'aw's coercive power, 
Bids me and mine o'er barren mountains 
roam. 

Yet never, Chatham, have I pass'd a day 

In riots' orgies, or in idle ease; 
Ne'er have I squander'd hours in sport and play, 

Nor wish'd a pamper'd appetite to please. 

Hard was my fare, and constant was my toil; 

Still with the morning's orient light 1 rose, , 
Fell'd the stout oak or raised the lofty pile, 

Parch'd in the sun, in dark December froze, 

Is it that Nature with a niggard hand 

Withholds her gifts from these once-favour'd 

plains ? 
Has God, in vengeance to a guilty land, 

Sent death and famine to her labouring swains ? 

Ah no, yon hill, where daily sweats my brow, 
A thousand flocks, a thousand herds adorn : 

Yon field, where late I drove the painful plough, 
Feels all her acres crown'd with bendinc; com. 



WILLIAM HAYWARD ROBERTS. 

JBut what avails, that o'er the furrow'd soil 
In Autumn's heat the yellow harvests rise, 

If artificial want elude my toil, 

Untasted plenty wound mycraving eyes? 

What ptofits that at distance, I behold 

My wealthy neighbour's fragrant smoke ascend, 

If still the griping cormorants withhold 
The fruits which rain and genial seasons send ? 

'If those fell vipers of the public weal 
Yet unrelenting on our bowels prey 3 

If still the curse of penury we feel, 

And in the midst of plenty pine away ? 

In every port the vessel rides secure, 

Which wafts our harvest to a foreign shore j 

While we the pangs of pressing want endure, 
The sons of strangers, riot on our store. 

O generous Chatham, stop those fatal sails, 

Once more , with outstretch'd arm thy Britons 

save; 
The unheeding crew, but waits for favouring 

gales, 
O stop them, e'er they stem the Etrurian wave. 



350 WILLIAM HAYWARD ROBERTS. 

* 

So may thy languid limbs with strength be braced. 
And glowing health support thy active soul ; 

With fair renown thy public virtue graced, 
Far as thou bidst Britannia's thunder roll. 

Then, joy to thee, and to thy children peace 
The grateful hind shall drink from plenty's 

horn: 

And while they share the cultured land's Ifecrease, 
The Poor shall bless the day when PITT < sva 
born. 









i 



[ 351 ] 



JOHN FREE. 



1791. 



Dr. Free was Rector of Runcorn, in Cheshire, and Lecturer 
of Newington, in Surry. He published a volume of 
Miscellanies, in 1751. 



AN ANSWER TO A POETICAL EPISTLE, 
FROM MY FRIEND MR. A . 

[Who being just then married, advised the Auf/ior to 
leave such solitary Amusements, as engraving verses 
tipon the Rock, and to employ himself better, in 
looking out a Wife.'] 

YOUR good Advice for me design'd, 
Sir, I must own was very kind : 
But since 'twas not a case in law., 
Forgive me, if I spy a flaw. 
VOL. rn. A A 



352 JOHN FREE. 

The thing you know was Matrimony, 

Which you protest is sweet as honey : 

And so it may, till this moon's o'er, 

But tell me, when you've proved it more. 

Though I confess it were a pity, 

That you should ever change your ditty; 

Of fetters you appear so fond ; 

So happy in the marriage bond. 

But I who freedom love and power, 

Could never be controul'd an hour; 

Beside the living thus in thrall, 

The women, if you know them all j 

Are not like your good chear your wife, 

No, some would lead you such a life ! 

And one of these without due care 

May fall to any neighbour's share : 

Better to reason and delay, 

And study whom you could obey, 

Than all one's happiness to barter, 

For a month's toying with a tartar. 

Then to go at it tooth and nail, 

And fly from home as from a jayl. 

From civil wars, good Heaven defend me, 

Nor let a woman's humour end me ; 

Not but there is a gentler kind, 

And one of these 1 hope to find j 



JOUN FREE. 35$ 

One, who can think that crystal floods, 

And mossy banks are solid goods : 

So for my turn, as, if she pleases, 

To make my sermons, or my cheeses. 

And when I've found her shall I marry? 

Why Reason still cries, " Tarry tarry. 

" The way for you is yet but thorny, 

" Though 'twas so easy for the Attorney, 

" His is a money-getting trade. 

" 111 fate hath you a Parson made ; 

" And given you so small a living, 

<e That you can never think of thriving. 

" And children too your wife may breed thena 

" Faster than both of you can feed them : 

" Then her meek spirit and your own 

" Under a weight of care must groan : 

" You die your daughter and your son 

" And your dear wife are all undone" 

If this for me be matrimony, 

It has much more of gall than honey. 

Eetter to muse among the flocks, 

And grave my Sonnets on the rocks; 

Than ever to desire to know 

A joy so intermix'^ with woe. 

A, A I 



354 JOHN FREE. 



ON THE GOVERNMENT OF OUR PASSIONS, 



, Love, for what good end design'd 
Wert thou to mortals given' 
Was it to fix on earth the mind ? 
Or raise the heart to heaven ? 

Deluded oft we still pursue 
The fleeting bliss we sought, 

As children chase the bird in view, 
That's never to be caught. 

O ! who shall teach me to sustain, 

A more than manly part ? 
To go through life, nor suffer pain 

Nor joy to touch my heart. 

Thou blest Indifference, be my guide, 

I court thy gentle reign ; 
When Passion turns my steps aside, 

Still call me back again. 

Tench me to see through Beauty's art, 

How oft its trappings hide 
A base, a lewd, a treacherous heart, 

With thousand ills beside. 



JOHN FREE. 355 



Nor let my generous sonl give way, 
Too much to serve my friends; 

Let Reason still controul their sway. 
And shew where Duty ends. 

If to my lot a wife should fall, 
May Friendship be our Love j 

The Passion, that is transport all., 
Does seldom lasting prove : 

If lasting, 'tis too great for Peace, 
The pleasure's so profuse j 

The heart can never be at ease, 
Which has too much to lose. 

Calm let me estimate tin's life, 
Which I. must leave behind, 

Nor let fond Passions raise a strife, 
To discompose my mind. 

When Nature calls, may I steal by, 

As rising from a feast ; 
I've had my fill of life, and why 

Should I disturb the rest ? 



EPITAPH. 

STRANGER, approach ! and shed a tender tear, 
If ever Virtue to thy soul was dear} 
If ever Friend in distant climate lost 
Unknown to all, or known to few at most, 
Thy heart, if ever female sweetness warm'd, 
Or lively wit, or strength of reason cliarm'd, 
Or suffering Beauty bade thy sorrows flow, 
Here stop a-while to melt at others' woe : 
And learn an husband's, brother's, parent's moan 
For such a consort, sister, daughter gone. 



[ 357 ] 



THOMAS BLACKLOCK, 



1721. 1791. 



Thomas Blacklock, though born in Scotland, was the son 
of English parents, his father was a bricklayer : at the age 
of six mouths he was deprived of his sight by the small- 
pox; this calamity was counterbalanced by an acute and 
comprehensive mind, and an amiable disposition ; he 
acquired an early taste for poetry, by hearing it from his 
father's readings ;^as he advanced in age, he acquired the 
Latin, Greek, and French languages, and a knowledge of 
Phiiosrphy; his poems arc very extraordinary pro- 
duciions, and demonstrate the power of genius, to 
overcome obstacles, which even nature has thrown in 
its way; the combined powers of his other senses, and 
the ideas he received through them, enabled him to form 
such associations, as that of sight would have assisted to 
supply him with, and it very seldom occurs in reading his 
works, that any trace of the deficiency of this sense can 
bs. discovered; The author of his life says, ' Mr. Black- 



353 THOMAS BLACKLOCK. 

lock is very descriptive in many parts of his poems ; but 
'tis easy to be observed, that, where his descriptions are 
of any length, they are generally not descriptions of 
things, but of passions.' 

His idea of brightness and glory, seems to be that of some- 
thing which gives pleasure to the eye, as smoothness 
to the touch, and he endeavoured to explain it thus. 
He took out his glass, and carrying his hand gently back- 
ward and forward on the case of it, he said that it gave 
him an idea of smoothness ; then doing the same on the 
glass, he said that it gave him an idea of much greater 
smoothness. Now this, says he, we may carry higher 
and higher in the mind; and the highest idea of smooth- 
ness, is my idea of Glory.' This might puzzle a meta- 
physician, or provoke his pride to a smile ; but few 
metaphysicians have written so well as this poor blind 
rnan. He also said, that ' a brisk tune was much more 
like the rays of the sun, than a melancholy one.' 

Much of the correctness of his images and epithets, is to 
be attributed, of course, to imitation of the works of 
others, though his imitation is not of the common- 
place sort; but such as his memory and cultivated mind 
furnished him with the means of employing. Once he 
speaks of a sun-beam as something pointed, and the 
designation of wine in the Epigram is very cuiious. 



THOMAS BLACK LOCK. 359 



FROM A HYMN TO FORTITUDE. 



NIGHT, brooding o'er her mute domain, 
In awful silence wraps her reign ; 
Clduds press on clouds, and, as they rise, 
Condense to solid gloom the skies. 
Portentous, through the foggy air, 
To wake the Demon of despair, 
The raven hoarse, and boding owl, 
To Hecate ! curst anthems howl. 

Jntent with execrable art, 
To burn the veins, and tear the heart, 
The witch, unhallow'd bones to raise, 
Through funeral vaults and channels strays; 
Calls the damn'd shade from every cell, 
And adds new labours to their hell. 
And, shield me heaven ! what hollow sound, 
Like fate's dread knell, runs echoing round? 
The bell strikes one, that magic hour, 
When rising fiends exert their power. 
And now, sure now, some cause unblest 
Breathes more than horrour thro' ray breast: 



360 THOMAS BLACKLOCK. 

How deep the breeze ! how dim the light ! 

What spectres swim before my sight! 

My frozen limbs pale terrour chains, 

And in wild eddies wheels my brains : 

My icy blood forgets to roll, 

And death even seems to seize my soul. 

What sacred power, what healing art, 

Shall bid my soul herself assert j 

Shall rouze the immortal active flame, 

And search her whence her being came > 

O Fortitude ! divinely bright, 

O Virtue's child, and man's delight ! 

Descend, propitious -to my lays, - 

And, while my lyre resounds thy praise, 

With energy divinely strong, 

Exalt my soul, and warm my song. 

When raving in eternal pains, 

And loaded with ten thousand chains. 

Vice deep in Phlegethon, yet lay, 

Nor with hervissage blasted day; 

No fear to guiltless man was known, 

For God and Virtue reign'd alone. 

But, \vhen from native flames and night, 

The cursed monster wing'd her flight, 



THOMAS BL.VCKLOCK. 30 I 

Pale Fear, among her hideous train, 
Chashed sweet contentment from her reign j 
Placed death and hell before each eye, 
And wrapt in mist the golden sky j 
Banish'd from day each dear delight, 
And shook with conscious starts the night." 



BUT in these dregs of human kind, 
These days to guilt and fear resign'd, 
How rare such views the heart elate ! 
To brave the last extremes of Fate ; 
Like heaven's Almighty power, serene, 
With fix'd regard to view the scene, 
When nature quakes beneath the storm, 
And horrour wears its direst form. 
Though future worlds are now descried, 
Though Paul has writ, and Jesus died, 
Dispell'd the dark infernal shade, 
And all the heaven of heavens displayed ; 
Cursed with unnumber'd groundless fears, 
Ho\v yale yon shivering wretch appears ! 
For him the day-light shines in vairf, 
or him the fields no joys contain j 



362 THOMAS BLACKXOCK. 

Nature's whole charms to him are lost, 
No more the woods their musick boast ; 
No more the meads their vernal bloom, 
No more the gales their rich perfume. 
Impending mists deform the sky, 
And beauty withers in his eye. 
In hopes his terrour to elude, 
By day he mingles with the croud ; 
Yet finds his soul to fears a prey, 
In busy crouds, and open day. 
If night his lonely walk surprise, 
What horrid visions round him rise ! 
That blasted oak, which meets his way, 
Shown by the meteor's sudden ray, 
The midnight murderer's known retreat 
Felt heaven's avengeful bolt of late ; 
The clashing chain, the groan profound, 
Loud from yon ruiu'd tower resound : 
And now the spot he seems to tread, 
Where some self-slaughter'd corse was laid 
He feels fixt earth beneath him bend, 
Deep murmurs from her caves ascend 5 
Till all his soul, by fancy sway'd, 
Sees lurid phantoms croud the shade $ 



THOMAS BLACKLOCK. 363 

While shrouded manes palely stare, 
And beckoning wish to breathe their care : 
Thus real woes from false he bears, 
And feels the death, the hell he fears. 



FROM A SOLILOQUY. 

[The Extract alludes to the Death of the Authors 
Father, -who was killtd by an Accident.] 



WHERE now, ah ! where is that supporting arm 
Which to my weak unequal infant steps 
Its kind assistance lent ? Ah ! where that love, 
That strong assiduous tenderness, which watch'd 
My wishes yet scarce form'd ; and, to my view, 
Unimportuned, like all-indulging heaven, 
Their objects brought- 1 Ah! where that gentle 

voice 

Which, with instruction, soft as summer dews 
Or fleecy snows, descending on my soul, 
Distinguished every hour with new delight? 
Ah ! where that virtue, which, amid the storms, 



364 THOMAS BLACKLOCK. 

The mingled horrors of tumultuous life," 
Untainted, unsubdued, the shock sustain'd ? 
So firm the oak, which, in eternal night, 
As deep its root extends as high to heaven 
Its top majestick rises : such the smile 
Of some benignant angel, from the throne 
Of God dispatch'd, ambassador of peace ; 
Who on his look imprest his message bears, 
And pleased, from earth averts impending ill, 
Alas ! no wife thy parting kisses shared : 
From thy expiring lips no child received 
Thy last dear blessing, and thy last advice. 
Friend, father, benefactor, all at once, 
In thee forsook me,*n unguarded prey 
For every storm, whose lawless fury roars 
Beneath the azure concave of the sky, 
To toss, and on my head exhaust its rage." 



AN EXTEMPORE EPIGRAM. 
On a Gtrl bringing in a Bottle of Wine. 

" TERRESTRIAL Hebe ! come, and banish woe 
Let mighty wine in generous bumpers flo\r j 



THOMAS BLACKLOCK. 3G5 

All flame, all spirit, let the glass go round j 
Each face be brighten'd, and each wish be 

crown'd. 

Atlas, the prop of Jove's sublime abodes, 
Oft groans beneath the weight of staggering 

gods: 

Their great example let us then pursue ; 
We cannot err in what our authors do . 
Like them, in joys unconscious of allay, 
Laugh, drink, and sing eternity away." 



[ 366 ] 



WILLIAM WOTY. 



17311791. 

One of the many Poets, who have had as much relish fur 
the juice of the grape, as for the waters of Helicon. 

His talents, and his love of good living, attended him 
chearfully to the age of sixty. His Poems are printed in 
2 vols. 8vo. 



THE WIG. 

********* 

1 URN we aside to yon slow solemn prig, 
Peck'd with a huge circumference of wig, 

Curl, above curl ascending 

Who fills the Change with all that pomp and 

state, 
As if, like , he was fix'd as fate, 



WILLIAM WOTY. 367 

Who would not think from his eternal pride, 
That wealth to him roll'd down her golden tide, 
And that the wheels of credit, rusty grown, 
Turn'd glibly forward by his means alone ? 
Deluding thought ! for Civis, whelm'd in debt, 
Trembling each time at reading the Gazette, 
But for the present swells into applause 
Ask yon the reason ! Why, his wig's the cause. 
Had it not been for this egregious show, 
The impostor would have fail'd some years ago. 



Day roll'd on day, and night succeeded night, 
Whole years had wing'd their everlasting flight, 
Ere Wig-wag's vast mechanick stretch of thought 
This wonderous wonder to perfection brought. 
Mean-while, earths' kings to death resign d their 

pride, 

Statesmen, and coblers, wits, and dunces, died; 
The knave, the fool, the coward, and the bold, 
Shared the same fate, and Time himself caught 

cold 

As well he might, when one poor lock of hair 
Was all lie had to shield a pate so bare, 

VOL. ill. B a 



368 WILLIAM WOTY. 



SPRING. 

AGAIN the blossom'd hedge is seen 
The turf again is dress'd in smiling green 

Again the lark ascends the sky, 
Winnows the air, and lessens in the eye. 

The swallow, that the meads forsook, 
Revisits now, and skims along the brook. 

The daw to steeple-top tip-springs, 
And the rook spreads his ventilating wings. 

The feather'd tribe, on ev'ry spray, 
Chant lively carols to the vernal day, 

Each lengthening morn's diurnal light 
J^eams fresher beauties on the raptured sight. 

The leaves hang clustering on the trees, 
And health comes riding on the tepid breeze. 

Where'er the Goddess fans her way, 
Creation feels her universal sway. 

The garden moist, with April showers, 
Teems with a family of laughing flowers. 

Not even a ray, or drop of rail), 
But what impregnates, nor that shines in vain. 

Yet though the bounteous hand of Heaven, 
All good, this liberality has given, 



WILLIAM WOT*. 369 

Beyond our wishes amply kind, 
Ingratitude still stains the human mind. 

Man sees, around, celestial power, 
And thankless tastes the blessings of each hour. 

He reaps the produce of the plains, 
And meanly thinks it tribute for his pains. 

Fond wretch ! the sordid thought forbear, 
.Nor to thy narrow self confine thy care; 

For know, the Deity, who gives to-day, 
To-night may blast thy crops., and snatch thy sofil 
away. 



HYMN TO THE MORN1KG> 

WRITTEN IN SUMMER. 

HAIL, Goddess of the silver star, 
Whose twinkling orb gives signal to the day; 
O ! queen of light, whose virgin ray 

The Sun salutes in his celestial car ; 
Whose active heats melt every cloud 
That would thy dawn of glory sbroud, 
And stain the lustre of thy laughing eye, 
While beneath thy azure sky 
B B 2 



370 WILLIAM WOTT. 

Dimple-cheek'd Health with rosy feature glows, 

Through lowing pastures on she goes, 
Wearing the milk-maid's ruddy grace, 
Ease in her tripping step, and pleasure in her 

face. 
Fore-runner of the day's bright reign, 

And giver of unspeakable delight ! 

How Nature triumphs at thy sight, 
And looks thanksgiving through her large domain: 

At thy approach, the conscious trees 

Bend humbly to the tepid breeze, 
And every flower a fresher brightness wears, 

Labour to the field repairs, 
Where buxom Ceres waits him with a smile, 

Whistling he crosses every stile, 
Or chants some love-lorn ditty's air, 

With which he means to charm, and win his 

favourite fair. 
O sovereign of the spicy gale, 

Of odours pure, und salutary dews, 

Oft as thy star its beam renews, 
Thy violet breath entranced let me inhale: 

Give me to range thy wholesome hills, 

Thy vallieswash'd with crystal rills, 



WILLIAM WOTY. 371 

And verdant laws, where many a wild flower 

grows. 

There while Zephyr softly blows, 
Let me indulge the heaven-devoted thought, 
And render praises, as I ought, 

To him whose power and love divine 
Cull'd thee from total void, and bade thy beauty 
shine. 



O D E, 

TO EVENING. 

THOU tranquil daughter of the day ? 
On whose fair face autumnal Zephyrs play ; 

O'er whose serene unclouded eye 
Sol sheds the mildest lustre of the sky. 

Thee undistmb'd, oh let me hail, 
And tread the carpet of thy verdant vale ; 

Near which, with bonnet wheaten-bound, 
Sits Ceres listening to the sheep-bells' sound j 

Or let me AVOO thee by the stream 
Obliquely gilded by the western beam, 



37? WILLIAM WOTT. 

While flies and gnats unnumber'd throng, 
And faintly murmur no unpleasing song. 

Now, to enjoy the silent hour, 
The lark descends from his aerial tower'} 

Apollo is reclined to rest 
Upon the down of Amphitrite's breast,- 

The bird, who loves the coming night, 
Hoots querulous, and flaps his wing for flight ; 

With wheeling plume the bat flits by, 
And mocks th' imperfect motion of the eye ; 

The buzzing chafer here and there 
Spreads his gauze wings, and spins along the ait: 

But dark-ey'd night ( c o Heaven ordains) 
Comes nodding on, and blackens all the plain.s. 

The pleasing scenes, which Nature drew, 
Are clouded o'er, and vanish'd from the view. 

The splendid morn, the noon of day, 
And all the shades of evening are away ; 

But soon the splendid morn again 
Shall radiate all the firmamental plain, 

And soon the Sun's meridian ray, 
Zenith'd on high, shall give us back the day; 

And Evening! thou, with aspect bland, 
Shalt pour thy lengthening shadow o'er the land, 

Scch is thy pictured life O man, 
Which daily dies, and fades as it began. 
3 



^ 11,1,1AM WOTY. 373 

Thy infant morn shall sink away, 
Thy noon of youth, and evening age, decay. 

Then death shall wrap thee in his urn, 
For dust thou wert, and shalt to dust return. 



AN AUtUMNAL SONG. 

THE wood-path is carpeted over with leaves, 

The glories of Autumn decay ; 
The Goddess of plenty has bound up her sheave*, 

And carried the harvest away. 
With dissonant guns, hills and vallies resound, 

The swains through the coppices rove, 
The patridges bleed on the dry stubble ground, 

The pheasants lie dead in the grove, 

To others such pastime, such sport I resign, 

And fly to my heart's little queen, 
Her breast with a sympathy tender as mine, 

Will mourn so pathetick a scene. 
A keener enjoyment, my fair, we'll pursue, 

From a sight so destructive remove, 
Let "sportsmen rejoice with the game in full view, 

Our pastime's the pastime of love*. 



374 WILLIAM WOTY. 

Together the true lover's knot let us tie, 

While youth revels high in each vein, 
When youth, and its pleasing concomitants fly, 

The true lover's knot will remain. 
Though age may creep on, and indenture the 
brow, 

Still then shall our constancy last, 
And, if we can't relish the feast we act now, 

We'll think on the pleasure that's past. 



[ S75 ] 



JAMES HARRIOT. 



1793. 



This Author wus a Fellow of Trinity-Hall, Cambridge; 
and one of the advocates in Doctor's-Commons. He 
published a volume of Poems, 1760. 



Inscription upon an Hennilagf. 

BENEATH this rural cell 
Sweet smiling Peace and calm Content 
Far from the busy crowd sequester'd dwell. 

Mortal approaching near, 

The hailow'd seat revere, 
Nor bring the loud tumultuous passions here ; 

For not for these is meant 

The sacred silence of the stream, 
Nor cave prophetiok prompting fancy's dream j 



376 JAMES HARRIOT. 

If with presumption rude, 
Thy daring steps intrude, 
Know, that with jealous eye 
Peace and content will fly ; 
The thoughtful Genius of the lone abode 
And guardianspirit of this solemn wood 
Will sure revenge the sacrilegious wrong ; 
\ Reflections tear will then in secret flow, 
And all the haunted solitude belong 
To Melancholy's train, 
Who point the string of pain 
Wilh keen remorse and oft redoubled woe. 



THE ACADEMICK. 
Written April, 1755. 

WHILE silent streams the moss-vgrown turrets 

lave, 

Calm on thy banks with pensive steps I tread j 
The dipping osiers kiss thy passing wave, 
And evening shadows o'er die plains arc 
spread, 



JAMES HARRIOT. 377 

From restless eye of painful care, 

To thy secluded grot I fly, 
Where fancy's sweetest forms repair, 

To sooth her darling poesy; 

Reclined the lovely vissionary lies 
In yonder vale and Laurel-vested bower: 

Where the gay turf is deck'd with various 

dies, 

And breathes the mingled scents of every 
flower : 

While holy dreams prolong her calm repose, 
Her pipe is cast the whispering reeds among ; 
High on the boughs her waving harp is hung, 

Murmuring to every wind that o'er it blows. 

Oft have I seen her bathe at dewy morn 
Her wanton bosom in thy silver spring, 

And, while her hands her flowing locks adorn 
With busy elegance, have heard her sing. 

But say what long recorded theme, 
Through all the lofty tale of time, 

More worthy can the goddess deem 
Of sounding chords and song sublime, 



378 JAMES MAKRIOT. 

Than whose parental hand to vigour bred 
Each infant art, the noble and the wise, 

Whose bounty gave yon arching shades to spread. 
Yon pointed spires in holy pomp to rise ? 

Shall war alone loud echoing numbers claim, 
And shall the deeds of smiling peace be drown'd 
Amid the hero's shouts and trumpet's sound ? 

These too shall flourish in immortal fame. 

When science fled from Latium's polish'd coasts 
And Grecian groves her long and loved abode, 

Far from the din of fierce conflicting hosts, 

Through barbarous realms the weary wanderer 
trod; 

' But to what more indulgent sky, 

To what more hospitable shade, 

Coald trembling, bleed ing, fainting fly 

The helpless and devoted maid ? 

Time honour'd Founders ! ye the virgin woo'd ! 

'Twas yours, with souls to native grandeur 

born, 
To bid her radiant beauties shine renew'd, 

With wealth to heap, with honours to adorn. 



JAMES MA II III OT. 379 

In Granta's happier paths she wept no more; 
Heal'd were the wounds that scarr'd her gentle 

breast 
Here, still she smiles with Freedom's sons to 

rest, 
Nor mourns her Attick towers, nor Tuscan shore. 

Fathers of Genius ! whom the Muse adores, 
For sure to you her noblest strains belong, 

Beneath whose venerable roofs she pours 
The grateful notes of sweetly flowing song, 

Th' increase of swift revolving years 
With conscious pride exulting view; 

How all ye plann'd compleat appears ; 
How all your virtues bloom anew . 

- 

The generous zeal which erst ye felt remains, 
Its bounteous beams still ardent to dispense; 

While unexhausted to your learned plains 
Rolls the rich stream of wide munificence. 

Joy to your shades ! the great career is run, 
.Reserved by late for some superiour hand, 
Confest, the last, the auspicious work shall stand, 

And statesman, monarch, end what ye begun. 



.T80 JAMES HARRIOT. 

Ye too, once inmates of these walls renown'd, 
Whose spirits mingling with the ethereal ray, 

Of universal nature traced the bound, 
Or raised in majesty of thought the la/. 

See your loved arts this clime to grace 

Their rival radiance brighter shed, 
While Holies smiles the wreath to place 

Upon the youthful Victor's head. 

Where Spenser sits among your thrones sublime, 
To the soft musick of his mournful lays 

Listening ye weep for his ungrateful time, 
And point the better hope of happier 'days. 

If with the dead dishonour's memory dies, 
Forget, much injur'd, the unworthy woe ! 
In strains like thine so may our accents flow, 

In nobler numbers yon fair domes arise. 

When faction's storms, or some fell tyrants hate 
Arts join'd with freedom to one grave shall 

doom, 

Then, though these structures to the hand of fate 
Bend their proud height, like thine imperial 
Rome ! 



JAMES HARRIOT. 381 

Know, vainly Time, thy rapid rage 
Shall point its wide destroying aim! 

Since what defies the force of age 
Thus consecrates die pile to fame. 

Some future eye the ruin'd heap shall trace, 
The name of Holies on the stone behold, 

'Shall point a Brunswick to a distant race 
Benign and awful on the swelling gold. 

Th' historick page, the poet's tuneful toil, 
With these compared, their mutual aid shall raise 
To build the records of eternal praise, 

And deck with endless wreaths their honour'd soil, 

Sweeter than warbled sounds that win the sense, 
Flows the glad musick of a grateful heart ; 

Beyond the pomp of wordy eloquence, 
Or strains too cold, high wrought with labour 'd art. 

Though weakly sounds the jarring string; 

Though vainly would the Muse explore 
The heights, to which with eagle wing 

Alone can heaven-taught genius soar, 

Yet shall her hand ingenuous strive to twine 
The blooming chaplet for her leaders brow ; 

While with new verdure graced in glory's shrine, 
The ampler palms of civick honours grow j 



382 JAMES MARRIOT. 

When he, these favour'd shades appears to bless, 
Whose guardian counsels guide a nation's fate 
And with superiour toils for Europe's state 

Mixes the thought of Granta's happiness. 

Hail seats revered ! where thoughtful pleasures 
dwell, 

And hovering peace extends her downy wings. 
Where musing knowledge holds her humble cell, 

And truth divine unlocks her secret springs : 

This verse with mild acceptance deign 
To hear, this verse yourselves inspire, 

Ere yet within your sacred fane 
The Muse suspends her votive lyre. 

Thee Granta, thus with filial thanks I greet, 

With smiles maternal thou those thanks receive, 

For learning's humble wealth, for friendship 

sweet, 
For every calmer joy thy scenes could give. 

While thus I sport upon thy peaceful strand, 
The storms of life at awful distance roar; 
And still I dread; still lingering on the shore, 

To launch my little bark, and quit the land. 



[ 383 J 



SIR WILLIAM JONES. 



1746 1794. 



A man of virtues," talents, and accomplishments, to 

he owed his advancement in the world : his life has lately 
been given to the publick by Lord Teignmouth ; and it 
affords a rare and useful example of the power of industry, 
Combined wkh genius. 



SO LIMA, 

Atf ARABIAN ECLOGUPJ 

Written in t/ic year }7(>8. 

IE maids of Aden, hear a loftier tale 

Than e'er was sung in meadow, bower, or dalp. 

The smiles of Abelah, and Maia's eyes, 

Where beauty plays, and love in slumber lies ; 
VOL. in. cc 



384 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 

The fragrant hyacinths of Azza's hair, 
That wanton with the laughing summer-air ; 
Love-tinctured cheeks, whence roses seek their 

bloom, 
And lips, from which the Zephyr steals per- 

fumej 

Invite no more the wild, unpolish'd lay, 
But fly like dreams before the morning ray. 
Then farewell, love ! and farewell, youthful fires 
A nobler warmth my kindled breast inspires. 
Far boldef notes the listening wood shall fill : 
Flow smooth, ye rivulets, and ye gales be still. 

See yon fair groves that o'er Amana rise, 
And with their spicy breath embalm the skies j 
Where every breeze sheds incense o'er the 

vales, 

And every shrub the scent of musk exhales ! 
See through yon opening glade a glittering scene, 
Lawns ever gay ; and meadows ever green ! 
Then ask the groves and ask the vocal bowers, 
Who deck'd their spiry tops with blooming 

flowers, 

Taught the blue stream o'er sandy vales to flow, 
And the brown wild with liveliest hues to glow ? 



SIR \VILM AM .TONES. 385 

Fair* Solima! the hills and dales will singj 

Fair Solima! the distant echoes ring. 

But not with idle shows of vain deKght, **.* 

To charm the soul', or to beguile the sight ; 

At noon on banks of pleasure to repose, 

Where bloom intwined the lily, pink, and rose, 

Not in proud piles to heap the mighty feast, 

Till morn with pearls has deck'd the glowing 

east ; 

Ah ! not for this she taught those bowers to rise, 
And bade all Eden spring before our eyes : 
Far other thoughts her heavenly mind employ, 
(Hence, empty pride ! and hence, delusive joy !) 
To cheer with sweet repast the fainting guest j 
To lull the weary on the couch of rest : 
To warm the traveller numb'd with winter's 

coll ; 

The young to cherish, to support the old j 
The sad to comfort, and the weak protect; 
The poor to shelter, and the lost direct : 
These are her cares, and this her glorious task ; 
Can heaven a nobler give, or mortals ask ? 

* It was not easy in this part of the translation to avoid u 
turn similar to that of Pope, in the known description of 
the Man of Ross. 

c c 2 



386 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 

Come to these groves, and these life-breathing 

. glades, 

Ye friendless orphans, and ye dowerless maids ! 
With eager haste your mournful mansions leave, 
Ye weak, that tremble, and ye sick that grieve ; 
Here shall soft tents, o'er flowery lawns dis- 

play'd, 

At night defend you, and at noon o'ershade j 
Here rosy health the sweets of life will shower, 
And new delights beguile each varied hour. 
Mourns there a widow, bathed in streaming 

tears ? 

Stoops there a sire beneath the weight of years ? 
Weeps there a maid, in pining sadness left, 
Of tender parents, and of hope, bereft ? 
To Solima their sorrows they bewail ; 
To Solima -they pour their plaintive tale. 
She hears ; and, radiant as the star of day, 
Through the thick forest gains her easy way : 
She asks what cares the joyless train opppress, 
What sickness wastes them, or, what wants 

distress ; 

And as they mourn, she steals a tender sigh, 
Whilst all her soul sits melting in her eye : 
Then with a smile the healing balm bestows. 
And sheds a tear of pity o'er their woes. 



SIR WILLIAM JONES. 387 

Which, as it drops, some soft-eyed angel bears 
Transferr'd to pearl, and in his bosom wears. 

HP (*:*. eltfti.. :.V t ^ til'Jjltl y<->|fr 

When, chill'd with fear, the trembling pilgrim 

roves 
Through pathless deserts, and through tangled 

groves, 

Where mantling darkness spreads her dragon wing, 
And birds of death their fatal dirges sing, 
While vapours pale a dreadful glimmering cast, 
And thrilling horror howls in every blast ; 
She cheers his gloom with streams of bursting 

light, 
By day a sun, a beaming moon by night; 

Darts through the quivering shades her heavenly 
ray, 

And spreads with rising flowers his solitary way. 

Ye heavens, for this, in showers of sweetness shed 
Your mildest influence o'er her favour'd head ! 
Long may her name, which distant climes shall 

praise, 

Live in our notes, and blossom in our lays ! 
And, like an odorous plant, whose blushing flower 
Paints every dale, and sweetens every bower, 



388 SIR WILLIAM JONES. 

Borne to the skies in clouds of soft perfume 

For ever flourish, and for ever bloom ! 

These grateful songs, ye maids and youths 

renew, 

While fresh-blown violets drink the pearly dew j 
O'er Azibs banks while love-lorn damsels rove, 
And gales of fragrance breathe from Hager's 

grove. 

So sung the youth, whose sweetly-warbled strains 
Fair Mena heard, and Saba's spicy plains : 
Sooth'd with his lay, the ravish'd air was calm, 
The winds scarce whisper'd o'er the waving 

palm: 

The camels bounded o'er the flowery lawn, 
Like the swift ostrich, or the sportful fawn ; 
Their silken bands the listening rose-buds rent, 
And twined their blossoms round his vocal tent : 
He sung, till on the bank the moonlight slept, 
And closing flowers beneath the night-dew 

wept ; 

Then ceased, and slumber'd in the lap of rest 
Till the shrill lark had left his low-built nest. 
Now hastes the swain to tune his rapturous tales 
In other meadows, and in other vales. 



SIR WILLIAM JONES. 389 

:vr<)'^ -.:i'. -f^'Jt ,.i> s O'vi .'>.'// yifc'< in 
A PERSIAN SONG, 

OF HAFIZ. 

SWEET Maid, if thou wouldst charm my sight. 

And bid these arms thy neck infold, 

That rosy cheek, that lily hand, 

Would give thy poet more delight 

Than all Bocara's vaunted gold, 

Than all the gems of Samarcand. 

Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow, 
And bid thy pensive heart be glad, 
Whate'er the frowning zealots say : 
Tell them, their Eden cannot show 
A stream so clear as Rocnabad, 
A bower so sweet as Mosellay. 

O ! when these fair perfidious maids, 
Whose eyes our secret haunts infest. 
Their dear destructive charms display, 
Each glance my tender breas,t invades, 
And robs my wounded soul of rest, 
As Tartars seize their destined prey, 



390 Sltt WILLIAM J6HJE9. 

In vain with love our bosoms glow: 
Can all our tears, can all our sighs, 
New lustre to those charms impart > 
Can cheeks, where living roses blow, 
Where nature spreads her richest dyes. 
Require the borrow 'd gloss of art ? 



Speak not of fate: ah! change the theme, 

And talk of odours, talk of wine, 

Talk of the flowers that round us bloom; 

'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream ; 

To love and joy thy thoughts confine, t, 

Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom. 



Beauty has such resistless power, 
That even the chaste Egyptian dame 
Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy; 
For her how fatal was the hour, 
When to the banks of Nilus came 
A youth so lovely and so coy ! 



SIR WILLIAM JONES. 391 

But all ! sweet maid, my counsel hear 
(Youth should attend when those advise 
Whom long experience renders sage) : 
While musick charms the ravish'd ear; 
While sparkling cups delight our eyes, 
Be gay; and scorn the frowns of age. 



What cruel answer have I heard ! 
And yet, by heaven, I love thee still : 
Can aught be cruel from thy lip ? 
Yet say, how fell that bitter word 
From lips which streams of sweetness fill. 
Which nought but drops of honey sip ? 

Go boldly forth, my simple lay, 

Whose accents flow with artless ease, 

Like orient pearls at random strung : 

Thy notes are sweet,- the damsels say; 

Bat O! far sweeter, if they please 

The nymph for whom these notes are sung- 



392 SIR WII.LIAM JOXE3. 



An Ode in Imitation of Akxus. 



Ou hi6oi t S J;i;A, B$e 

ixJovvv oil <jrol.iis 
'OTJ-B WOT' v wo-/v "AN APES 

AvTUS O-WE/V t?^OT(f, 



ALC, quoted by ARISTIDES. 

WHAT constitutes a State ? 
Not high-raised battlement or labour'd mound, 

Thick wall 0r moated gate j 
Not cities proud with spires and turrets crown'dj 

Not bays and broad-arm'd ports, 
Where laughing at the storm, rich navies ride, 

Not starr'd and spangled courts, 
Where low-brow'd business wafts perfume to 
pride. 

No! Men, high-minded Men, 
With powers as far above dull brutes endued 

In forest, brake, or den, 
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude - f 



SIR \V 11,1.1 AM JONES. 393 

Men, who their duties know, 
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare main- 
tain, 

Prevent the long-aim'd blow, 
And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain : 

These constitute a State, 
And sovereign Law, that state's collected will. 

O'er thrones and globes elate 
Sits Empress crowning good, repressing ill; 

Smit by her sacred frown 
The fiend Discretion like a vapour sinks, 

And e'en the all dazzling Crown 
Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. 

Such was this heaven -loved isle, 
Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore ! 

No more shall Freedom smile ? 
Shall Britons languish and be Men no more ? 

Since all must life resign, 
Those sweet rewards, which decorate the brave, 

'Tis folly to decline, 
And steal inglorious to the silent grave. 



394 SIR WILLIAM JONS. 

THE PALACE OF FORTUNE, 
AN INDIAN TALE; 

Written in the Ytar \lC\Q. 

MILD was the vernal gale, and calm the day, 
When Maia near a crystal fountain lay, 
Young Maia, fairest of the blue-eyed maids, 
That roved at noon in Tibet's musky shades j 
But, haply, wandering through the fields of air, 
Some fiend had whisper'd Maia, thou art fair ! 
Hence swelling pride had fill'd her simple breast, 
And rising passions robb'd her mind of rest } 
In courts and glittering towers she wish'd to dwell, 
And scorn'd her labouring parent's lowly cell. 
And now, as gazing o'er the glassy stream, 
She saw her blooming cheek's reflected beam, 
Her tresses brighter than the morning sky, 
And the mild radiance of her sparkling eye, 
Low sighs and trickling tears by turns she stole, 
And thus discharged the anguish of her soul : 
* Why glow those cheeks, if unadmired they 

glow? 

' " Why flow those tresses, if unpraised they flow ? 
" Why dart those eyes their liquid ray serene, 
" Unfelt their influence, and their sight unseen ? 



MR WILLIAM JONES. 395 

" Ye heavens! was that love-breathing bosom 

made 
" To warm dull groves, and cheer the lonely 

glade ? 

" Ah, no : those bluslies, that enchanting face, 
" Some tap'stried hall, or gilded bower, might 

grace ; 
" Might deck die scenes, where love and pleasure 

reign, 
" And lire with amorous flames the youthful train." 

While thus she spoke, a sudden blaze of light 
Shot through the clouds, and struck her dazzled 

sight, 

She raised her head, astonished, to the skies, 
And veil'd with trembling hands her aching eyes , 
When through the yielding air she saw from far 
A Goddess gliding in her golden car, 
That soon descended on the flowery lawn, 
By two fair yokes of starry peacocks drawn j 
A thousand nymphs with many a sprightly glance 
Form'd round the radiant wheels an airy dance, 
Celestial shapes, in fluid light array'd } 
Like tw inkling stars their beamy sandals play'd ; 



396 SIR WILLIAM JOKES. 

Their lucid mantles glitter'd in the sun, 
(Webs half so bright the silk-worm never spun) 
Transparent robes, that bore the rainbow's hue, 
And finer than the nest of pearly dew 
That morning spreads o'er every opening flower, 
When sportive summer decks his bridal bower. 

The Queen herself, too fair for mortal sight, 

Sat in the centre of encircling light. 

Soon with soft touch she raised the trembling 

maid, 

And by her side in silent slumber laid : 
Straight the gay birds display'd their spangled 

train, 

And flew refulgent through the aerial plain j 
The fairy band their shining pinions spread, 
And, as they rose, fresh gales of sweetness shed ; 
Fann'd with their flowing skirts, the sky was mild; 
And heaven's blue fields with brighter radiance 

smiled. 



[ 397 ] 



JAMES BOSWELL. 



1795. 



Our knowlcge of the life of Boswell, grows out of that of 
the life of Johnson : just as the misletoe branches from 
the oak. 



Prologue at the opening of the Theatre Royal Edin- 
burgh ; -written by James Bos-well, Esq. Spoken by 
Mr. Ross. 

SCOTLAND, for learning, and for arms renown'd, 
In ancient annals, is with lustre crown'dj 
And still she shares whate'er the world can yield 
Of letter' d fame, or glory in the field : 
In every distant clime Great Britain knows, 
The thistle springs promiscuous with the rose. 



398 JAMES HOSAVLLL. 

While in all points with other lands she vied, 
The stage alone to Scotland was denied : 
Mistaken zeal, in times of darkness bred, 
O'er the best minds its gloomy vapour spread j 
Taste and Religion were supposed at strife, 
And 'twas a sin to view this glass of life ! 
When the Muse ventured the ungracious task 
To play elusive with unlicensed mask, 
Mirth was restrain'd by statutory awe, 
And tragick greatness fear'd the scourge of law ; 
Illustrious heroes arrant vagrants seem'd, 
And gentlest nymphs were sturdy beggars deem'd. 

This night loved George's free enlightened age, 
Bids royal favour shield the Scottish stage : 
His royal favour every bosom cheers, 
The Drama now with dignity appears. 
Hard is my fate, if murmurings there be, 
Because the favour is announced by me. 

Anxious, alarm'd, and awed by every frown, 

May I entreat the candour of the town ? 

You see me here, by no unworthy art j 

My All I venture where Tve fixed my heart. 

Fondly ambitious of an honest fame, 

My humble hopes your kind indulgence claim. 



1 



JAMES BOSWELt. 309 

I wish to hold no right but by your choice j 
I'll risk my Patent on the Publick voice. 



Prologue to the Comedy of Variety. 

e . ,J J J ti; ; Y ); 

AMID the rivals of contending trade, 
That court Variety's successive aid, 

*"'j i^ 

Two neighbouring houses most exert their cares 

To deck with novelty their patent wares ; 

Both in their turns your generous custom gain, 

For both a powerful company maintain 

In Covent-garden, and at Drury-lane. 

What emulation fires this rival pair 

Variety their everlasting care ! 

What choice assortments each presents to view ! 

New furbish'd remnants, now whole pieces newj 

And now old patterns, by the scissars skill, 

Sliced into safety like a cut bank-bill. 

Here all the sattin of Circassia shines, 

Or homespun stuff with Scottish plaid combines. 

There checquer'd Harlequins fair Virtue calls 

To Negro nymphs, in linsey-wolsey shawls; 

VOL. HI. D D 



JAMES BOSWELL. 



Chictaws and Tictaws all the town entice 
True eastern splendour ! ' nothing but full price.* 
"Pis good old Lun rebukes the haughty boast ; 
Stalks from his tomb, and sinks a half-price ghost. 

What then, to justly win this precious name, 

"What true Variety now sues for fame ? 

Let your own judgment fix our author's plea 

To that we trust to-night's Variety. 

No fostering paragraph our Muse can boast, 

To slip young laurels in the Morning Post ; 

Or cull the seedling puffs, at random set, 

To thrive, transplanted in the Noon Gazette. 

Such bankrupt tricks let false ambition play, 

And live on paper-credit day by day 3 

Variety disdains to trust her cause 

To selfish flattery, and to bought applause. 

What says the town ? do more reform^ 

enough, 

That Brussels Gazette stop. The prompter's puff 
The prompter's eye, in a fine phrenzy fit, 
Glances from pit to box, from box to pit j 
And as his fancy bodies forth whole rows 
Of absent belles and visionary beaux, 



JAMES BOSWELt. 401 

His fertile pen assists the ideal vapours, 
And gives them local fixtures in the papers. 
There the bold tropes of adulation glow, 
Resplendent crowds the teeming house o'erflow j 
Repeated bursts attend the scene throughout, 
And the play closes with a general shout. 

But this fictitious currency is past 
False drafts on Fame must be disgraced at last. 
In wealth, as wits, for treasure, or applause, 
True genuine credit is the publick cause 
The laws of taste, at least, should still be free 
Assert them kindly for Variety. 



D 2 



GEORGE BUTT. 



His Poems were published in 2 vols. 1793. 



ODE, 
TO GREAT BRITAIN. 

SET in the silver sea a diamond bright, 

Dear native Albion, would I sing thy praise 
I need but ask of truth his purest light, 

To lend the lyrick Muse her proudest blaze. 
Borrowing from fable, what we boast our own, 

Let foreign fancy turn the florid tale ; 
Whilst worshipping, thy sea-sequester'd throne, 

We, what we truly paint, with rapture hail. 



GEORGE BUTT. 403 

Thus Gratitnde to loftiest transport fires, 

And Tuscan fancy yields to what the truth ia- 

. 
spires. 

In proud array thy guardian forests rise, 

The vigorous products of their genial home, 
And, whilst thy mountains touch the sun-bright 
skies, 

Half o'er their heights majestick mantles roam. 
Nor wants sweet Poesy her sweetest range, 

By glen and dale, by bower and murmuring 

brook j 
Toil has his field, and Yeomanry his grange, 

Whilst on his down the Shepherd casts his crook. 
O'er many a lowland Eden glad to gaze, 
And on his Dorick reed to listening Fhillis plays. 

Thy varying Ether's rolling mirror, shine 

Rivers that silver-streak the verdant plains, 
Nor seldom pass beside some fane divine, 

Where hoar Antiquity sublimely reigns 
To tell the glories of thy elder days ; 

Or to the Muses courteous still, afford 
To them, that emulate ingenuous praise, 

The cloister'd walk and hospitable board, 
And oft thy floods beneath those burdens bend, 
Which seas triumphant waft as far as seas extend, 



404 GEOHCE BUTT. 

No Norman bulwarks, Cambrian castles, now 
Frown in their strength, nor thence the embat- 
tled throng, 
Children of blood, as fierce a torrent flow 

As that which thunders Snovvdon's side along; 
But there the kids disport, or pensive seers 

Stray pleased though pensive, and with profit 

stray, 
Conscions that, after the long lapse of years, 

Illumined more and more by wisdom's ray, 
Here Liberty at last her throne has placed, 
And views her floating guards lords of the watery 
waste. 

Far as her eye from this her gorgeous tower 

Darts o'er the world she sighs to see mankind, 
So many groan beneath the despot's power, 

So widely spectral horrours rack the mind. 
She knows its power, she best its power expands,, 

Its warmth increases, and unclouds its sight ; 
Here then she sees Religion's fostering hands 

Drop Hope's best balm, distribute Faith's best 

light, 

Whilst human law weds sacred Charity, 
Ami tells the wondering earth that mind is here 
.most free. 



405 



Thus a far famous sage thrice ten years pass'd, 
With all a lovers zeal his country praised ; 

But, ah the fall ! the sage grown blind at last 
Fell as he shook the column he had raised. 

So Samson fell, but not alone. We stand 
Strong with augmented liberty and fame, 

And more than ever the proud world command, 

Fresh blooming still from Envy's traitourous 

.in^mo.Tt>9!li * . ;. or:er:.rni;'jj;j 
aim, 

Nor would we pillage Peerage, Church and 

Throne, 
To favour low-born pride, and make the world 

our own. 

Firm English honesty, sound English sense, 

Touch rights existing, holy ground, with care, 
Scorn Envy's fraud, pert Vanity's pretence, 

Nor dash to dust what Wisdom should repair. 
Hence History proud on Britain's acts to wail, 

Has told the. world she can her rights main- 

tain, 
From tyrant-power with temper save her state, 

With ease mojestick cast her papal chain, ' 
Too wise for hurry, too humane for rage, 
Dauntless as youth's blind zeal, and cool as well 
taught age. 



GEORGE BUTT. 



What shall I Read? 

3>d in fx> ; lf? nw-. 

AN ODE. 

Written in 1780, experimentally in order to ascertain how 
the observation, ' that poetry is imitation,' could apply 
to lyrical composition: I therefore as soon as I came into 
my study, set down, in the aborc careless way, the real 
circumstance of the moment. 



Tis winter, cold and rude, 

Heap, heap the warming wood ; 
The wild wind hums the sullen song to night. 

Oh hear that pattering shower ! 

Haste boy this gloomy hour 
Demands relief j the cheerful tapers light. 



Though now my cot around 

Still roars the Wintery sound, 
Methinks 'tis Summer by this festive blaze I 

My books, companions dear, 

In seemly ranks appear, 
And glisten to my fire's far-flashing rays. 



GEORGE BUTT. 405 

Her hairy length outspread, 

See Chloe sleeping laid, 
Whilst whisker'd Tabby, purring sits beside: 

My romping babes at rest 

With perfect leisure blest, 
Where shall I now my letter'd feast provide ? 

Shall I my gay MONTAIGNE, 

Pursue thy rambling vein, 
And hunt for wisdom in thy motley maze ? 

Or, with a brow of care, 

Think deep with thee Bruyere, 
And ponder man in all his mystick ways ? 

Shall TEMPLE skill'd to please 

In prose, whose graceful ease 
Wins half the glory from the Poet's toil, 

Ambition's pang controul, 

And fix my fervent soul 
Where rural pleasures best her cares beguile I 

Or shall I, couch -reclined 

To COWLEY yield my mind, 
When the sweet bard forgets his strains of art, 

And to the tender lays, 

That paint Retirements praise, 
Bids all his, s<pul its moral charms impart ? 



408- GEOllUE DUTT. 

Or in this hour of ease, 
Shalt thou CERVENTES please, 
And shew thy champions feasts my prime de- 
light ? 

No now thy pleasant page 
Shall not my thoughts engage, 
Though Wit, though Virtue ruled thy fancy 
bright j 

Though thy good-nature there 

(To wit companion rare) 
Might smooth the furrows of the sternest brow, 

And Qurxote's eloquence 

'Mid madness flashing sense, 
With wisdom's lessons laughter's hour endow. 

SWIFT I will gladly praise 

Thy skill in easy lays, 

Thy humourous prose, perspicuous, pure, and 
terse ; 

Yet whilst my candid mind 

Some honour owes mankind, 
From thy malignant page it turns averse. 

No be yon volume sought, 
With golden wisdom fraught, 



GEORGE BUTT. 409 

An Attick vest where English genius wears, 
Where harmless humour plays, 
Soft as the Solar rays, 

And beautifies the flowers that Virtue bears. 

Be this thy praise alone, 

Immortal ADDISON, 
That whilst the Graces o'er thy works preside, 

There in their forms divine, 

Religion, Virtue, shine, 
And point thy writings where thy actions guide. 



[ 410 ] 



SAMUEL BISHOP. 



London 1731 1795. 



Bishop, was Master of Merchant Taylor's school ; and 
imagination need not be put upon the stretch, to form 
an idea of his life. It is pleasant, however, to see one of 
his profession tying up the birch twigs with ribbon 
couleur de rose, and gathering the flowers of Parnassus as 
he drove his flock along the road. 



TO THE 

REV. GEORGE STEPKEY TOWNLEY, 
On the Birth of his daughter, September 18, 1779. 

>VHAT, shall the father hope, the mother pray. 
When their girl's eyes first open to the day ? 



SAMUEL BISHOP. 4U 

That ductile Spirit, simple Truth, 

And pregnant Sensibility, 
May lead up infancy to youth! 

And every prank of playful glee 
Still seem to say, ' This babe was born, 
* A Rose of Beauty, with no Thorn!' 

That year by year, new female grace 
To manlier judgment may be join'd ! 

Her genius animate her face ! 
Her manner indicate her mind ! 

A face, a mind, that show her born, 

A Rose of Beauty, with no Thorn ! 

That her full form, and perfect powers, 
The worthy and the wise may strike ; 

And Love, to bless her married hours, 
Conduct and match her to her like ! 

One, who shall know, and boast her. born 

A Rose of Beauty, with no Thorn ! 

That her capricious heart may take 
Grateful, the share of good decreed ! 

And comfortable candour make 
All she enjoys, be joy indeed ! 

Joy, whose pure glow may prove her bora 

A Rose of Beauty, with no Thorn! 



That never insults; kiss, or pain, 

May work an heavier weight of care, 

Than conscious honour can disdain, 
Or provident discretion bear T 

While meek complacence, speaks her born f 

A Hose of Beauty, with no Thorn ! 

That age insensibly may creep ! 

And heir last look may see survive 
An offspring of her own, to keep 

Her likeness, and her name alive ! 
Then may she die, as she was born, 
A Rose of Beauty, with no Thorn ! 



THE BRAMBLE, 

WHILE Wits thro' Fiction's regions ramble, 
While Bards for fame or profit scramble: 
While Pegasus can trot, or amble ; 
Come, what may come, I'll sing the Bramble, 

' How now!' methinks I hear you say : 
( Why? What is Rhyme run mad to-day?' 
No, Sirs, mine's but a sudden gambol j 
My Muse hung hamper'd in a Bramble. 



SAMUEL 1U-HOP. 413 

But soft ! no more of this wild stuff! 

Once for a frolick is enough j 

So help us Rhyme, at future need, 

As we in soberer style proceed. r -Ji'H < 

All subjects of nice disquisition, 
Admit two mocks of definition : 
For every thing two sides has got, 
What is it? and what is it not ? 

Both methods, for exactness sake, 
We with our Bramble mean to take : 
And by your leave, will first discuss 
It's negative good parts, as thus. 

A Bramble will not, like a Rose, 
To prick your fingers, tempt your nose , 
Whene'er it wounds, the fault's your own, 
Let that, and that lets you, alone. 

You shut your Myrtles for a time up ; 

Your Jasmine wants a wall to clime up } 

But Bramble, in its humbler station, 

Nor weather heeds, nor situation; 

No season is too wet, or dry for't, 

No ditch too low, no hedge too high for't. 



414 SAMUEL BISHOr. 

Some praise, and that with reason too, 
The Honey-suckle's scent and hue j 
But sudden storms, or sure decay, 
Sweep, with it's bloom, it's charms away : 
The sturdy Bramble's coarser flower 
Maintains it's post, come blast, come showerj 
And when time crops it, time subdues 
$3o charms; for it has none to lose. 

Spite of your skill, and care and cost, 

Your nobler shrubs are often lostj 

But Brambles, where they once get footing; 

From age to age continue shooting; 

Ask no attention, nor forecasting j 

Not ever-green j but ever-lasting. 

Some shrubs intestine hatred cherish, 
And plac'd too near each other, perish; 
Bramble indulges no such whimj 
All neighbours are alike to him j 
No stump so scrubby, but he'll grace it ; 
No crab so sour but he'll embrace it. 

Such, and so various negative merits, 
The Bramble from it's birth inherits ; 



SAMUEL BISHOP. 415 

Tdke we its positive virtues next ! 
For so at first we split our text. 

,'l)a no Oi^rf) ^Ail ')n;n (ykfrnr/.J -..l.ftW 
The more Resentment tugs and kicks, 
The closer still the Bramble sticks ; 
Yet gently handled, quits its hold ; !j ; ,) 
Like heroes of true British mould : 
Nothing so touchy, when they're tea,sed,7T*, 
No touchiness so soon appeased. 

Full in your view, t and next your hand, 
The Bramble's homely berries stand : 
Eat as you list, none calls you glutton ; 
Forbear, it matters not a button. 
And is not, pray, this very quality 
The essence of true Hospitality ? 
"Wh:n frank simplicity and sense 
Make no parade, take no offence j 
Such as it is, set forth their best, 
And let the welcome add the rest. 

The Bramble's shoot, though Fortune lay 
Point-blank obstructions in it's way, 
For no obstructions will give out ; 
Climbs up, creeps under, winds about ; 

VOL. ni. E E 



416 SAMUEL BISHOP. 

Like valour, that can suffer, die, 
Do any thing, but yield, or fly. 
While Brambles hints like these can start, 
Am I to blame to take their part > 
No, let who will affect to scorn 'em, 
My Muse shall glory to adorn 'em ; 
For as Rhyme did, in my Preamble, 
So Reason now cries, ' Bravo ! Bramble !' 



C 417 J 



JAMES FORDYCE. 



1721. 1796. 



A Dissenting Minister, whose Sermons to young women, 
should be marked in the Index Expurgatorius of Mora. 
lit/. He published a volume of Poems, in 1 786. 



TO COURTESEY: 

AN ODE. 

HAIL ! Courtesy, thou gracious power, 
Of Heaven-born Chastity the child j 

Remote from all that's rude and sour, 
Akin to all that's soft and mild ! 

Earth-bred Politeness is thy feeble ape j 

Without thy soul she only wears the shape. 
B E 2 



418 JAMES FOKDTOB, 

For selfish ends her tricks she plays $ 
She bows and smiles, devoid of hearts 

To impose she tries a thousand ways; 
The practised eye perceives her art. 

Mean-while, that art thy real worth proclaims? 

Since to partake thy honours thus, she aims. 

Let polish'd Falsehood dazzle youth ; 

Let Flatfry speak the style of courts : 
Give me Benevolence, and Truth, 

Far from dark Treachery's resorts. 
Clear as the sky that lights a sunshine eve, 
Thy style sweet Courtesy can ne'er deceive. 

Prompted by love of human race, 

From generous motives bent to please : 

Thy feelings answer to thy face ; 

Thy manners still are stampt with ease. 

Each social being, in thy presence blest, 

With ardour clasps thee to his grateful breast. 

The rich sometimes may succour want : 

For ever to oblige is thine. 
The great external gifts may grant, 

To charm the soul, but few incline, 
Sincere delight, would you each hour impart, 
Make haste to learn the breeding of the Heart. 



t 419 J 



THOMAS COLE. 



179<3. 



llator of Dalverton, in Somersetshire; two or three of his 
pieces are in Dodsley's Collection. The Specimens he.e 
given, are taken from a volume of his poems, published 
in 1795. 

This author published a volume of Sermons, and two 
poems, l, The Arbour, or the Rural Philosopher, 1 756 ; 
re-printed in Dodsley's Collection. 2, The Life of 
Hubert, A Narrative, Descriptive, and Didactic Poem. 
Book 1, 1796. 



THE BEECH TREE, 

AN ALLEGORICAL ODE. 



SERENE and calm, the morning ray 
Had pour'd a cheerful gloom of day 



420 THOMAS COLE. 

Through Philo's inmost grove, 
When Damon there in private sought 
With some kind Muse to shun each thought 

Of inauspicious love. 

But nature's walks in vain he views, 
In vain arts winding paths pursues, 

Though worthy both of song; 
For here the amorous boughs embrace 
And all the charms he there can trace 

To love alone belong. 

The lofty vista's ample bent, 
The rising prospect's vast extent, 

Aspiring thoughts suggest ; 
And though the streams and zephyrs meet 
To cool the arbour's close retreat, 

It but inflames his breast ! 

At length, beneath a Beech's shade, 
Each slighter object to evade, 

In pensive mood he came ; 
But there, alas ! some kindred swain 
Had on the bark inscribed his pain 

With lovely CELIA'S name! 



THOMAS COLL. 421 

Cupid at this, wh all the while 

Had watched his iteps with secret guile, 

Presents himself to sight ; 
And thinking now his conquest won, 
The indignant tyrant thus begun 

With insolent delight : 

Attempt no more, thou rebel slave, 
A weak and tender heart to save 

From mine and Celia's sway j 
For whilst to me that charming maid 
Consents to lend her powerful aid, 

Thou shalt my will obey. 

Cease then thy contest, and agree 
To pay due homage still to me 

At beauty's sacred shrine; 
Nor ever from this time presume 
Thy wonted commerce to resume 

With any of the Nine. 

Half yielding up dear Freedom's cause 
To this usurper's rigid laws, 

He hesitates assent; 
And caught with hope's delusive prize, 
Was half inclined to sacrifice 

The enjoyment of content. 



422 THOMAS COLE. 

When hark ! a soft harmonious sound 
Through all the grove diffuse d around, 

With wondering joy he hears : 
And, lo ! Urania, quick as thought, 
In a rich garb, by Iris wrought, 

Before him now appears. 

Nor mild nor rigorous her mien. 
But such as spoke intent benign, 

Though purposed to upbraid 5 
And thus, inclined at once to excite 
Hegret, attemper'd with delight, 

Severely kind, she said : 

In Contemplation's bower reclined, 
Have I so often calm'd thy mind 

With soothing lays in vain ; 
My lyre, in vain, so often strung, 
And with each favourite poet sung 

To thee his choicest strain ? 

Let not this sly, insidious cheat, 
With all his wiles, thy heart defeat, 

But vindicate thy choice : 
With courage own thy truest friend, 
Nor fear to show thou darest attend 

To mine and Reason's voice. 



THOMAS COL. 423 

Reflect on thy past happy state, 
And call to mind, er'e 'tis too late, 

How well you once was taught 
To bid defiance to those cares, 
Which now you feel, and shun those snares, 

In which you now are caught. 

From Passion's meteor turn thy sight, , ( 

And let calm Reason's steady light, 

Thy footsteps always guide : 
That only raves through Folly's chace, 
But this leads Wisdom to the place 

Where Truth and Peace reside. 

At this Urania paused to try 
Jf Cupid chose to make reply 

To aught she had express'd : 
But ere suspense left either free,, 
The Hamadiiad of the tree 

Each party thus address'd : 

" The nymph indeed, whose name J bear 
'' May well deserve your rival care, 

" But' tis as mutual friends : 
*" Your several gifts for her combine, 
t f Nor ere, in such a cause, decline 
" To serve each other's ends. 



424 THOMAS COLE. 

" Let her whose charms at once can raise 
" The lover's sigh, the poet's praise, 

" Your gentle favour find : 
" No more each other's votaries scorn, 
*' While perfect grace and worth adorn 

" Her person, and her mind! 

" And though you must not yet declare 
' To whom the fates reserve the fair, 

" This gentle youth direct, 
" If to his mind he can't be blest, 
" From envy to secure his breast, 

" And bear with cool neglect. 

" That face which jealousy can love, 
" That conduct censure must approve, 

" Permit him to admire: 
" But, oh ! with strength possess his soul 
" Each anxious passion to controul, 

" And check each fond desire. 



{ 425 ] 



JAMES MACPHERSON. 



RutAvrn, Inverness 1738 1796- 



It was beyond a doubt that Macpherson was the author 
of Ossian, not the translator. Malcolm Laing has 
hounded him with the indefatigable and unrelenting 
sagacity of a Bow-street Magistrate; this accusation on 
the one side, and the lame evidence set up in his defence 
by the Highland Society on the othe r ; have convinced 
all, who are capable of conviction. There are many 
who are not persuaded ; ' neither would they though oe 
should rise from the dead.' 

Let us have the songs of the Highlands, as faithfully as we 
have those of the Scottish Border. What is of modern 
fabrication will be easily distinguishable, by its trickery 
and tinsel. 

The rhythm of Ossian is a curious subject of investigation, 
for any one who studies metre. All the other ingre- 
dients, will be found in the following of Macpherson'* 
acknowledged poems. 



42ft JAMES MACPHERSON. 

THE CAVE. 

WRITTEN IN THE HIGHLANDS. 

THE wind is up, the field is bare ; 

Some hermit lead me to his cell, 
Where Contemplation, lonely fair, 

With bless'd Content has chose to dwell. 

Behold ! it opens to my sight, 

Dark in the rock : beside the flood j 
Dry fern around obstructs the light ; 
The winds above it move the wood. 

Reflected in the lake I see 

The downward mountains and the skies, 
The flying bird, the waving tree, 

The goats that on the hills arise. 

The grey-cloak'd herd drives en the cow ; 

The slow-paced follower walks the heath ; 
A freckled pointer scours the brow; 

A musing shepherd stands beneath. 

Curve o'er the ruin of an oak, 
The woodman lifts his axe on high, 

The hills re-echo to the stroke : 
I see, I see the shivers fly. 



JAMES MACFHERSON. 427 

Some rural maid with apron full, 

Brings fuel to the homely flame; 
I see the;smoky columns roll, 

And through the chinky hut the beam. 

Beside a stone o'ergrown with moss, 

Two well-met hunters talk at ease; 
Three panting dogs beside repose ; 

One bleeding deer is stretched on grass. 

A lake, at distance, spreads to sight, 

Skirted with shady forests round, 
In midst an island's rocky height 

Sustains a ruin once renown'd. 

One tree bends o'er the naked walls, 
Two broad- wing'd eagles hover nigh> 

By intervals a fragment falls, 

As blows the blast along the sky. 

Two rough-spun hinds the pinnace guide, 
With labouring oars along the flood ; 

An angler, bending o'er the tide, 

Hangs from the boat the insidious wood. 

Beside the flood, beneath the rocks, 

On grassy banks two lovers lean; 
Bend on each other amorous looks, 

And seem to laugh and kiss between. 



428 JAMES MACPIIERSOJT. 

The wind is rustling in the oak ; 

They seem to hear the tread of feet j 
They start, they rise, look round the rock 

Again they smile, again they meet, 

But see ! the grey mist from the lake 
Ascends upon the shady hills ; 

Dark storms the murmuring forests shake, 
Rain beats, resound a hundred rill?. 

To Damon's homely hut I fly; 

I see it smoking o'er the plain : 
When storms are past, and fair the sky, 
I'll often seek my Cave again. 



[ 429 ] 



GEORGE KEATE. 

About 1730 1797. 



. 

Kcate resided some years at Geneva, and published an 
Account of its History, Government, and Laws ; which 
Voltaire, who was his friend and correspondent, once 
designed to translate. He is best known by his enter- 
taining account of the Pelew Islands. His collected 
poems were published in two small 4to vols. 1781 ; 
he afterwards printed an Epistle to Angelica Kauff- 
man, and the Distressed Poet, a Serio-Comic Poem 
in three Cantos. 



THE TWO FLIES. 

A FABLE. 

Written in 1757. 
at an ancient rural seat, 
A country gentleman's retreat, 



430 GEORGE KEATE. 

The usual hour when dinner ends, 

And people toast their absent friends. 

In a large hall of antique state 

The family assembled sat, 

Round which was seen on ev'ry side, 

Of Birth and Heraldry the pride.; 

Old ancestors in order hung, 

And coats of arms between them strung, 

With branching horns from space to space, 

The spoils of many a weary chace. 

The cloth was mov'd, the grace was said 

And on the old oak table spread 

Such fruits as Summer-months produce, 

With sweet-meats both for show and use : 

Or, to describe, in terms of art, 

Was cover'd with a nice dessert : 

While all in chat the time beguile, 

The 'Squire roars, the Ladies smile, 

The joke goes round, the glasses ring 

To Liberty, and Church, arid King. 

Two Flies extravagantly gay, 

The idle beings of a day, 

A false philosophy pursu'd, 

That pleasure was the sov'reign Good, 



GEORGE KEATE. 

A doctrine which in days of yore 

A certain Greek had taught before. V) 

Each hour their scene of life they changed, 

Now gardens, fields, and meadows ranged, 

Of every flower enjoy'd the bloom, 

And wanton' d in the rich perfume. 

Luxurious oft they would repose 

On the soft foliage of the rose, <, - 

Or in the mom the dew-drops sup 

From the sweet lily's silver cup ; 

Nay, dared the fragrant odour seek 

Of Stella's lip, or Stella's cheek : 

Nor would one single wish restrain 

Their summum lonum to attain. 

Fortune, or Fate decreed, this way 

Our young adventurers should stray j 

"Who marking such delicious cheer, 

Resolved to fix their quarters here ; 

Down on the table they alight, 

Indulge their taste, and feast their sight; 

O O f 

With hasty step they walk about 
The scented melon's rugged coat, 
Each glass they sipp'd, each plate they try'd, 
Then pierced the peach's velvet sidej 
Nor cherry, fig, or juicv grape 
Could their insatiate touch escape, 
vor. in. r r 



432 GEORGE KEATEr 

At length upon a little jar 
Of floating sweetmeats, from afar 
Their eyes they threw, and round the rim- 
In many a circling eddy skim : 
Now bolder on the border dance, 
And spite of danger still advance : 
' The occasion was not to be lost,' 
The foremost cry'd, ' whate'er it cost f 
And letting every passion loose, 
He plunged into the tempting juice. 
The mortal Muse must tell the rest, 
The tempting juice received its guest 
With glew'd embraces such as prove 
The force of falshood not of love ! 
There is a time when all things cloy ! 
There's e'en satiety in joy ! 
Now fully gorged with his repast, 
He found his feet were fetter'd fast, 
He strove the margin to regain, 
But every wish and hope was vainj 
With new collected strength he springs - 
The clammy matter binds his wings, 
Till suffocated, clogg'd, and prest, 
His wanton friend he thus addrest : 
' Withdraw, my brother, e'er too late, 
' And happier thou, remark my fate j 



CEOUGE KE/YTE. 433 

* Doom'd here my errour to deplore, 

* And from this lake to rise no more. 
' Sorrow shall travel at his side, 

' Who makes not Temperance his guide 1 
' Struck with my crime, I here abjure 
' The system false of Epicure; 

* Go, preach it down, and render wise 
'The antient Common-wealth of Flies.' 

He said ; The syrup choak'd the rest j 
Then swelling with a sigh his breast, 
He mutter 'd somewhat of a prayer, 
But all was buzz, and lost in air ; 
And sinking, sought those shades below 
Where Flies and other Insects go. 

So he who rolls on Pleasure's bed, 
And with her garland crowns his head, 
Slave to her fascinating power, , 
Still shuns Reflection's sober hour. 

Who roams about new joys to meet, 
And greedy tastes of ev'ry sweet, 
Past as a dream his life shall find, 
Leaving no virtuous trace behind,, 
And like our dissipated Fly, 
The victim of his folly die ! 
F F 2 



[ 434 ] 
,...'- JOHN BAMPFYLDE. 



1796. 

Jackson of Exeter, a man whose various talents made all ho 
knew him remember him with regret, designed to re- pub- 
lish the little collection of Bampfylde's Sonnets, with what 
few of his pieces were still unedited, and to prefix to them 
an account of the authour, who was truly a man of genius. 
From him I heard an interesting and melancholy history, 
all of which he would not have communicated to ihe 
publick what he thought allowable to publish, may, 
perhaps, exist among- his papers. Those poems which are 
here first printed were transcribed from the originals ,-n 
his possession. 

Bampfylde published his Sonnets at a very early age ; they 
are some of the most original in our language He died 
m a private mad-house, after twenty years confinement. 



6 O N N E T, 

TO THE EVENING. 

WHAT numerous votaries 'neath thy shadowy 
O mild and modest Evening, find delight ! 

First, to the grove his lingering fair to bring, 
The warm and youthful lover, hating light, 

Sighs oft for thee And next the boisterous siring 
Of school-imps, freed from Dame's all dreaded 
sight, 



JOHN BAMPFYLM. 435 

Round Village-Cross, in many a wanton ring, 

Wishes thy stay Then too with vasty might, 
From steeple's side to urge the bounding ball, 
The lusty hinds await thy fragrant call; 
I, friend to all by turns, am join'd with all, 
Lover, and Elfin gay, and harmless Hind j 
Nor heed the proud to real wisdom blind, 
So as my heart be pure, and free my mind. 



SONNET, 

ON A WET SUMMKR. 

A LL ye who far from town, in rural hall, 
Like me, were wont to dwell near pleasant field, 
Enjoying all the sunny-dny did yield, 

With me the change lament, in irksome thrall, 
By rains incessant held ; for now no call 

From early swain invites my hand to wield 

The scythe; in parlour dim I sit conceal'd, 
And mark the lessening sand from hour glass fall ; 

Or 'neath my window view the wistful train 
Of dripping poultry, whom the vine's broad leaves 

Shelter no more. Mute is the mournful plain, 
Silent the swallow sits beneath the thatrh, 
And vacant hind hangs pensive o'er his hatch.. 
Counting the frequent drop from reeded eaves. 



436 JOHN BAMPFYLDE. 

(The two following poems have never been printed.) 

TO THE RIVER TEIGN. 

Saltern remote des, Pater, angulo 
Horas Senectae ducere liberas, 
Tutumque, vulgar! tumultu, 

Surripias, hominumque curis. 

GRAY. 

THOU, the guardian of each flowret pale 
That decks thy lonely brim, whether thy car 
Hoarse murmuring from afar 

Foams down the dark and solitary vale, 

Or through yon meads in peaceful channel roves r 

Where, "neath the pendant umbrage pleased to 
stray, 

Thou shun'st the noon-tide ray, 
That gilds the encircling majesty of groves j 
Hail hoary Sire! whilst keen remorse corrodes 

Sicken'd with pleasure's draught this aking heart, 

Thy freshening streams impart, 
And take, Oh take me to thy blest abodes ! 

But if, led on by Heaven's decree to explore 
The depths, and shoals of Fortune, once again 

1 trust the faithless main, 



JOHN BAMPFYLDI. 437 

Torn from thy desart caves and solemn roar : 
<Give me at length from storms secure, and woes, 

Of latest, age to lose the silent hours, 
And 'mvdst thy awful bowers 
Enshroud me far from men in deep repose. 



SONNET. 

COLB is the senseless heart that never strove, 
With the mild tumult of a real flame ; 
Rugged the breast that beauty cannot tame, 
Nor youth's enlivening graces teach to love 

The pathless vale, the long-forsaken grove, 
The rocky cave that bears the fair one's name. 
With ivy mantled o'er For empty fame, 
Let him amidst the rabble toil, or rove 
In search of plunder far to western clime. 

Give me to waste the hours in amorous play 
With Delia, beauteous maid, and build the rhvme 
Praising her flowing hair, her snowy arms, 
And all that prodigality of charms 

Form'd to enslave my heart and erace njy 
lay. 



438 



>:jn ,oij;:'5?. itmnja rnoti rij^u .' 

HORACE WALPOLE, 

EARL OF ORFORD. 

jETifV^ -T'-'^V^T"-' i^v.'i 

1797. 



Was the youngest son of Sir Robert Walpolc, Earl of 
Orford. His talents were various and elegant, and, 
directing tlrern to such objects as writers by profes- 
sion have neither the means nor the leisure to in- 
vestigate, he did honour and service to the cause of 
Literature as a volunteer, at a time when others of his 
rank were engaged in the transitory politicks of the day. 

His poems were of course either written for amusement, or 
as baits for praise, very pleasing to the palates for which 
they were designed : and his object, which was to be paid 
in kind, was seldom missed. The scarcity of the copies 
made tliem valuable to Collectors : Doctor Johnson's re- 
mark upon Lord Chesterfield, however, did not hold good 
in respect to Lord Orford ; but when a man prints at a 
private press, and distributes his works among friends, he 
cannot be said to measure his strength fairly with his con- 



HORACE WALPOLE. 439 

temporaries. Pride, or modesty, which areso alike, that 
they arc often mistaken for each other, would have ever 
prevented this noble authour from such competition. 
When Chatterton addressed him with the indignation of 
slighted genius, and the ignorance of rustiCk youth, he 
fancied the sacred character of his rank was injured, and 
he treated .the boy with silent contempt. Cbatterton's 
feelings on the subject were those of anger and resent- 
ment, not of despair ; but to this treatment the world 
most unjustly imputed the remote cause of Chatterton's 
death. 

;<i ttKM '{&' -.;!'jo;r urh Mgivv. >il7/ 
Lord Orford made a considerable collection of antiquities 

and curiosities, at his Villa near London; and, differ- 
ing from most connoisseurs (so called seemingly a non 
cflgnosendo) he knew the value, the merit, and the 
history of all the various articles in his collection, and 
they served as notes to illustrate his conversation, which 
was at once lively and instructive. 



From an Epistle from Florence to Thomas Ashton, 
Esq. Tutor to the Earl of Plymouth. 



* # 



BUT when your early care shall have design'd 
To plan the soul and mould the waxen mind - } 



440 HORACE WALPOLE. 

When you shall pour upon his tender breast 

Ideas, that must stand an age's test, 

Oh there imprint with strongest deepest dye 

The lovely form of Goddess Liberty ! 

For her in senates be he taught to plead, 

For her in battles be he taught to bleed. 

Lead him where Dover's rugged cliff resounds 

With dashing seas, fair Freedom's honest bounds ; 

Point to yon azure car bedropt with gold, 

Whose weight the necks of Gallia's sons uphold ; 

Where proudly sits an iron scepter'd Queen 

And fondly triumphs o'er the prostrate scene, 

Cry, ' That is Empire ! shun her baleful path, 

' Her words are slavery, her touch is death ! 

' Through wounds and blood the Fury drives her 

way, 
' And murders half, to make the rest her prey.' 

Thus spoke each Spartan Matron, as she drest 
With the bright cuirass her young soldiers breast 
On the new Warriour's tender sinew'd thigh, 
Girt Fear of Shame, and love of Liberty. 

Steel'd with such precepts, fora cause so good, 
What scanty bands the Persian host withstood ! 



HORACE WAI, POLE. 441 

Before the sons of Greece let Asia tell 
How fled her monarch, how her millions fell ! 
When arm'd for Liberty, a few how brave ! 
How weak a multitude, where each a slave ! 
No welcome faulchion fill'd their fainting hand, 
No voice inspired of favourite command ; 
No Peasant fought for wealthy lands possess'd, 
No fond remembrance warm'd the Parent's breast: 
They saw their lands for royal riot groan, 
And toil'd in vain for banquets, not their own$ 
They saw their infant race to bondage rise 
And frequent heard the ravish'd virgin's cries, 
Dishonour 'd but to cool a transient gust 
Of some luxurious Satrap's barbarous lust ! 



THE ENTAIL. 

A FABLE. 

IN a fair summer's radiant morn, 
A Butterfly divinely born, 
Whose lineage dated from the mud 
Of Noah's or Deucalion's flood, 



442 HORACE WALPOLE. 

Long hovering round a perfumed lawn, 
By various gusts of odours drawn, 
At last establish'd his repose 
On the rich bosom of a Rose. 

The palace pleased the lordly guest j 
What insect own'd a prouder nest ? 
The dewy leaves luxurious shed 
Their balmy odours o'er his head, 
And with their silken tap'stry fold 
His limbs enthroned on central gold, 
He thinks the thorns embattled round 
To guard his lovely castle's mound, 
And all the bush's wide domain 
Subservient to his fancied reign. 

Such ample blessings swell'd the Fly. 
Yet in his mind's capacious eye, 
He roll'd the change of mortal things j 
The common fate of Flies and Kings. 
With grief he saw how lands and honours 
Are apt to slide to various owners j 
Where Mowbrays dwelt, now Grocers dweD, 
And how Cits buy what Barons sell. 
' Great Phebus, Patriarch of my line, 
' Avert such shame from sons of thine ! 
3 



HORACE WALPOLE.. 443 

* To them confirm these roofs' he said j 
And then he swore an oath so dread, 
The stoutest Wasp that wears a sword, 
Had trembled to have heard the word ! 

' If Law can rivet down Entails, 

* These manours ne'er shall pass to snails, 

' I swear' A.ud then he smote his ermine 
' These towers were never built for vermine.* 

A Caterpillar grovell'd near, 

A subtile slow conveyancer, 

Who summon'd, waddles with his quill 

To draw the haughty Insect's will. 

None but his heirs must own the spot, 

Begotten, or to be begot : 

Each leaf he binds, each bud he ties 

To eggs of eggs of Butterflies. 

, -i> 

When lo ! how Fortune loves to teaze 
Those who would dictate her decrees ! 
A wanton boy was passing by ; 
The wanton child beheld the Fly, 
And eager ran to seize the prey 
But too impetuous in his play, 
Crush'd the proud tenant of an hour, 
And swept away the Mansion-flower. 



444 HORACE WALPOLE. 



The Printing-press at Strawbtrry-Hill, to the Earl 
of Chesterfield. 

FEW paces hence, beneath yon grotto'd road, 
From dying Pope the last sad accents flow'd ; 
O Twickenham, would the friend of Pope but 

bless 

With some immortal page thy favour'd press, 
The happier emblem would with truth depose., 
That where one Phenix died, another rose. 



t'erses to Lady Craven, 

GENIUS, howe'er sublime, pathetick, free, 
Trusts to the Press for immortality. 
To types would Craven her sweet lays transfer, 
The press would owe immortal fame to her : 
While she, too careless of so fair a face, 
Would breathe eternal youth on every grace j 
Ages unborn computing with surprize 
From her own wit, the brightness of her eyes. 



[ 446 ] 



EGBERT MERRY. 



1755. 1798. 



The career of Delia Crusca will forma curious chapter in 
literary history. We have seen other writers obtain as 
sutlden reputations, by gratifying the common itch for 
calumny ; or by addressing themselves t,o the vilest and 
basest passions of our nature ; but never, perhaps, did 
one who wrote to the ear, and to the ear only, obtain 
such rapid and such extensive success. Lady-Poets, 
and Gentlemen-Poets out of number became his imi- 
tators, and ranted and languished in publick corres- 
pondence with him. The news-paper in which these 
effusions appeared, extolled them in a style as new as 
their own, and even more extraordinary ; every-body 
read them, because they were published in this form, 
and they were afterwards collected into volumes of more 
beautiful typography, than the publick had then been 
accustomed to see. 

One satire swept away the whole brood ; seasonable it was, 
but it was too acrimonious, and lavished upon folly that 
indignation, which is due only to guilt. The publick 



446 noBERT MERRY. 



were as easily excited to contempt as they had been to 
wonder, and Delia Crusca's sky-rocket reputation fell, 
and was extinguished as rapidly as it had risen, and 
burst into light. 

Poor Merry's was an_unhappy life, and might prove an 
instructive one, if it were written with a sound judgment 
and a fair mind few men have been gifted with such 
advantages of person, accomplishments, and manners; 
and those colloquial talents which are of every-day use. 
His poems present the same sort of brilliance as the 
colour of the prism. Not one of them is good for any. 
thing, and yet amid the disgust which they excite, they 
still leave a feeling, that he who produced them could 
have been no ordinary man. 



THE SLAVES. 

AN ELEGY. 

IF late I paused upon the twilight plain' 
Of Fontenoy, to weep the Free-born Brave j 

Sure fancy now may cross the Western main, 
And melt in sadder pity for the Slave. 



ROBERT MEHRY.' 447 

Lo ! where to yon Plantation drooping goes, 
The sable herd of human kind, while near 

Stalks a pale despot, and around him. throws 
The scourge that wakes that punishes the 
tear. 

O'er the far beach the mournful murmurer strays, 
And joins the rude yell of the tumbling tide, 

As faint they labour in the solar blaze, 
To feed the luxury of British pride ! 

E'en at this moment, on the burning gale 

Floats the weak wailing of the female tongue : 

And can that sex's softness nought avail 
Must naked Woman shriek amid the throng ? 

O cease to think, my soul ! what thousands die 
By suicide, and toils extreme despair : 

Thousands, who never rais'd to Heaven the eye, 
Thousands, who fear'd no punishment, but 
there. 

Are drops of blood the horrible manure 

That fijls with luscious juice the. teeming cane r 
Aud must our fellow-creatures thus endure, 

For traffick vile, the indignity of pain ? 

VOL. in. a G 



448 ROBERT MERRY. 

Yes, their keen sorrows are the sweets we blend 
With the green beverage of our morning meal. 

The while to love meek mercy we pretend, 
Or for fictitious ills affect to feel. 

Yes, 'tis their anguish mantles in the bowl, 
Their sighs excite the Briton's drunken joy : 

Those ignorant surFrers know not of a soul, 
That we enlighten'd may its hopes destroy. 

And there are men, who leaning on the laws, 
What they have purchased claim a right to 

hold- 
Cursed be the tenure, cursed its cruel cause 
Freedom's a dearer property than gold ! 

And there are men, with shameless front have 
said, 

That Nature form'd the Negroes for. disgrace ; 
'That on their limbs subjection is display'd 

' The doom of slavery stampt upon their face.' 

Send your stern gaze from Lapland to the Line, 
And every region's natives fairly scan, 

Their forms, their force, their faculties combine, 
And own the vast variety of Man ! 



ROBERT MERRV. 449 

Then why suppose yourselves the chosen few, 
To deal oppression's poison'd arrows round, 

To gall with iron bonds the weaker crew, 
Enforce the labour, and inflict the wound ? 

'Tis sordid Interest guides you j bent on gain, 

In profit only can ye reason findj 
And pleasure too : but urge no more in vain, 

The selfish subject to the social mind. 

Ah ! how can He, whose daily lot is grief, 
Whose mind is vilified beneath the rod, 

Suppose his Maker has for him relief? 

Can he believe the tongue that speaks of God 5 

For when he sees the female of his heart, 
And his loved daughters torn by lust away, 

His sons, the poor inheritors of smart 

Had he Religion, think ye he could pray ? 

Alas ! He steals him from the loathsome shed, 
What time moist midnight blows her venom'd 

breath, 

And musing, how he long has toil'd and bled, 
Drinks the dire Balsam of consoling Death ! 
G G 2 



450 ROBERT MERUY. 

Haste, liaste, ye winds, on swiftest pinions Ay, 
Ere from this world of misery he go, 

Tell him his wrongs bedew a Nation's eye, 
Tell him, Britannia blushes for his woe ! 



Say that in future, Negroes shall be blest, 

Rank'd e'en as Men, and Men's just rights 
enjoy j *; 1 - 1 

Be neither sold, nor purchased, nor oppress'd, 
No grief shall wither, and no stripes destroy . 

- -a.Jar 3fc-.-:v. 
Say that fair Freedom bends her holy flight 

To cheer the infant, and console the sire; 
So shall He wondering prove at last delight, 
A.nd in a throb of extacy expire. 



Then shall proud Albion's crown, where laurels 
twine, 

Torn from the bosom of the raging sea, 
Boast ; 'midst the glorious leaves, a gem divine, 

The radiant gem of pure Humanity ! 



ROBERT MERRY. 451 

MONODY, 

ADDRESS'D TO MR. TICKELL." 

IP ever for fictitious grief 

My soul a transient sorrow knew; 

If sometimes I have heaved a sigh, 

Bui to behold the virgin leaf 

Of the lost Lily withering die ; 

Sure tenderest sympathy is due 

To Thee, from whom each cherish'd bliss is fled, 

Who mourn'st by day and night, thy own Mai'ia 

dead! 

O Tickell ! in the murmuring gale, 
Oft have I found thy plaintive voice prevail ; 
When the wet fingers of the morn, 
Shook the cold pearl-drops from the bending 

thorn ; 

Or when, at close of day, 
To the lone vale I took my way, 
The sad vibration of faint Echo's breath, 
Brought to my heart the dirge of Death. 
Then all dejected, have I paus'd to hear, 
And felt a kindred pang sincere j 



452 ROBERT MERRT. 

Sincere as erst thy Father's Parent proved, 
When for the * Friend he loved, 
He wove a cypress wreath, and pour'd the verse, 
That soothed the Poet's shade, and hung upon 

his herse. 

Ah ! let me take my simple reed, 
And seek the moonlight mead ; 
Or where 'mongst rocks the headlong stream, 
Flashes the lucid beam ; 
Woo calm Reflection in her sober bower, 
As pondering at the midnight hour, 
She flings her solace on each passing wind, 
That wafts the heavenly balm to heal the wounded 

mind. 

So may her mighty spell, 
Thy desolating anguish quell, 
So may'st thou quit at length the Forest's gloom j 
Nor thus for ever dwell upon the sainted Tomb. 
O think, when wandering on the shore, 
Thou mark'st with musing eye, 
O'er the rude cliffs the tempest fly, 
And rouse to sudden rage the howling main. 
Think, She thou lovest, has left a world, 
Where jarring elements are hurl'd, 

* Addison, 



ROBERT MERRY. 463 

And where contending atoms roar, 

To join, 'midst endless joy, the adoring Seraph's 

strain ! 

Yes, she was mild and lovely as the star, 
That in the Western hemisphere afar, 
Lifts its pure lamp above the mountain's head, 
To light meek Evening to her dewy bed j 
And as the waning Moon displays, 
With mirror clear, Morn's rising rays, 
She, in decay, shew'd Virtues Orb refined, 
Reflected fairer from her angel mind ; 
'Till at the last, too fierce a blaze was given, 
And then she sunk from sight, and faded into 

Heaven. 

Yet do not mourn, be grief away, 
For see how swift the dark clouds go ; 
Soon silence drinks the Linnet's lay, 
And yonder sapphire waves shall cease to flow, 
Scared by the hissing brand, 
Of thirsty Summer's sultry hand. 
From the lorn wood the leaves descend, 
And all of Nature, as of Art must end. 
Sad Consolation, true ! yet why, 
If soon must close the languid eye, 
Since a short moment but remains, 
For all our fears, and all our 



454 ROBERT MERRY. 

Why should we fondly brood on care;, 

Ah ! why devote us to despair ! 

But Time assiduous loves to urge 

Our footsteps to his utmost verge, 

Because that there a rapturous scene appears, 

Where Anguish never throbs, nor Sorrow sinks in 

tears. 

Mean-while, forbear not to disclose. 
The Scions of that beauteous Stem ; 
And though the Parent Rose, 
Was prematurely lost, 
By a remorseless frost j 
O view the opening Buds, and smile at least for 

them! 

DELLA CRUSCA. 



t 455 ] 



THOMAS BROWNE. 



Ytrktkire 1 77 1 1 798. 



The poems of this promising young man, were printed 
after his death for the benefit of his family. Of the then 
selected pieces, the first has been chosen as one of his 
latest and best productions ; the second for the singular 
circumstances which occasioned it, and the last as 
a specimen of the Yorkshire Dialect. 



THROUGH the fields, as I stray'd, when the skies 

were serene, 
When the corn's pendant ears wildly waved in 

the breeze ; 

When bustling at work the gay reapers were seen, 
And Pomona's rich bounties hung ripe on the 
trees; 



456 THOMAS BROAVNE. 

A poor Beggar I saw, as he sat on the ground ; 
And 1 heard him oft sigh, and thus plaintively 

speak, 
Whilst his eye sad survey'd the gay prospect 

around, 
And pensive dejection sat pale on his cheek : 

' Amidst the gay scenes now unfolded to sight, 
' It is almost a crime to be heard to complain ; 

' But, alas ! can the bosom partake of delight, 
' That struggles with want, and is tortured with 
pain ? 

' From the door, where I craved but a morsel of 

bread, 

' When s^urn'd with rude taunts, I'm compell'd 
to depart; 

* When houseless I rove, even nnblest wiih a shed, 

* How can pleasure admittance obtain to my 
heart ? 

* From Nature's great Parent the bounties that 

flow, 
' One would think, should awaken the kindness 

of man, 

' Like him out of plenty a part to bestow, 
' And give to the wretched the pittance he can. 



THOMAS BROWNE. 457 

' There was once, when the blessings of fortune 

were mine, 
' When hope bade me count certain bliss as ray 

lot; 

'^When the soul of the wanderer could not repine, 
' Who entreated an alms at the door of my cot. 

' But, alas ! stern misfortune's rude hand has now 

torn 
' From my heart, every joy made it pleasure to 

live ; 

* And hopeless, abandon'd, I wander forlorn, 
' To request the relief I exulted to give.' 

Ah me ! and I heard him thus pensively wail, 
And I past, as it seem'd quite regardlessJy by, 

As the Beggar repeated his sorrowful tale, 

Yes a tear a soft tear gently stole from my eye. 

From thy look, from the language of looks I 

believe, 
Thou didst think I was hard, and unfeeling, 

I knowj 

But my heart yes, my heart deeply sigh'd to re- 
lieve 

What I had not, poor Beggar, I could not be- 
stow. 



THOMAS BROWSE. 



The Lovers to their favourite Tree. 



ARGU MENT. 

In the Hospital, endowed by an ancestor of Sir Charles 
Turner, Bart., at Kirkleatham, amongst other natural 
and artificial curiosities, is a very singular Tree. It had 
been cut down, and divided into lengths, for the purpose 
of converting it into firewood, but upon its being split 
by the woodman's wedge, the heart of the tree turned 
out round and entire ; the outward part, which enclosed 
it, being about the thickness of four inches. Round the 
inner hole or heart, which is about a foot in diameter, 
are several letters, carved in a rude and seemingly 
irregular manner; but upon a closer observation are 
found to wind round the wood in a spiral form, and the 
following couplet is plainly legible. 

This tree long time witness bear, 
Two true-lovers did walk here. 

There are likewise other letters, which seem to be the 
initials of the Lovers' names, who appear to have fre- 
quented the solitary spot where the tree has grown, to 
vent the effusions of their mutual passion, and to enjoy 
the pleasure of each others' conversation, sequestered and 
unobserved. 



THOMAS BllOWXE. 459 



LONG the wintry tempest braving, 
Still this short inscription keep ; 

Still preserve this rude engraving, 
On thy bark imprinted deep : 

' This tree, long time witness bear, 
' Two true-lovers did walk here.' 

By the softest ties united, 

Love has bound our souls in one j 
And, by mutual promise plighted, 

Waits the nuptial rite alone 
Thou, a faithful witness bear; 
Of our plighted promise here. 

Tho' our sires would gladly sever 
Those firm ties they disallow, 

Yet they cannot part us ever 
We will keep our faithful vow, 

And in spite of threats severe. 
Still will meet each other here. 

While the dusky shade concealing, 
Veils the faultless fraud of love, 

We from sleepless pillows stealing, 
Nightly seek the silent grove ; 

And escaped from eyes severe. 

Dare to meet each other here. 



460 THOMAS BROWNE. 

Wealth and titles disregarding 

(Idols of their sordid mind,) 
Calm content true love rewarding, 
In the bliss we wish to find. . 
Thou Tree, long time witness bear. 
Two such Lovers did walk here. 

To our faithful love consenting 

(Love unchanged by time or tide,) 

Should our haughty sires relenting, 
Give the sanction yet deny'd ; 

'Midst the scenes to memory dear, 

Still we oft will wander here. 

Then our every wish compleated, 
Crown'd by kinder fates at last, 

All beneath thy shadow seated, 
We will talk of seasons past $ 

When by night, in silent fear, 

We did meet each other here. 

On thy yielding bark, engraving 
Now in short our tender tale, 

Long, time's roughest tempest braving. 
Spread thy branches to the gale j 

And, for ages, witness bear. 

Two TrueJovers did walk here. 



I 461 ] 
AWD DAISY, 

AN ECLOGUE. 

i? , . , i. , ; t;i .;. /.'if ;ji,0'. . J.',-.-Jv - !';. nil tor/! 

GOORGY AND ROBERT. 
G ORGY. 

>V siiL met, good Robert ! saw ye my awdmeer ? 
I've bated her, an hour, i' t' loonin here, 
But howsumivver, spite of all my care, 
I cannot spy her, nowther heead nor hair, 

RO BERT. 

Whxw Goorgy, I've to teyl ye dowly news, 
Syke as I's varra seer will mak ye muse ; 
I just this minnit left your poor awd tyke, 
Dead as a steean, i' Johnny Dobson's dyke. 

G R G Y. 

Whoor ! what's that Robert ? tell us owr ageean, 
You're joking or you're mebby been misteean; 

ROBERT. 

Nay, marry, Goorge, I's seer I can't be wrang, 
You kno* I've keyn'd aw'd Daisy now se lang. 
Her bread-ratch'd feeace, and twa white hinder 

legs, 
Preav'd it was hor, as seer as eggs is eggs. 



462 THOMAS BKOWNE. 

G R G Y. 

Poor thing ! what deead then had she laid there 

lang? 
Whor abouts is she? Robert will ye gang ? 

RO BERT. 

1 car nut, Goorgy, I hant mich to dea, 
A good hoar's labour, or may-happen tweaj 
Bud as I nivver like to hing behynd, 
When I can dea a kaundness tir a frynd,- 
An I can help ye, wi my hand or teeam, 
I'll help to skin her, or to bring her heeam', 

GOORGY. 

Thank ye., good Robert? I can't think, belikey 
How't poor awd creature's tummled inte t' dike, 

ROBERT. 

Ye maund, shee'd fun her sen just gaun te dee. 
An' see laid down by t'side (as seems to me,) 
An' when she felt the pains o' death within. 
She'd sick'd, an' straggled, an' se towpled in. 

GOORGY. 

Meast lickly, bud what was she deed outreet, 
When ye furst gat up ; when ye gat t' furst sect ? 



THOMAS BROWNE. 463 

ROBERT. 

Youse hear As I was gaun down't looan I spy'd, 
A scoore or mnir o' Crows by t' gutter side, 
A1J se thrang, hoppin in, an' hoppin out, 
I wonder'd what i' th' warld they were about. 
I leuks, and then I sees an awd yode laid, 
Gaspin' an' pantin' there, an* ommost dead ; 
An' as they pick'd it's een, an* pick'd ageean, 
It just cud lift it's leg, and give a greean, 
But when I fand aw-i Daisy was their prey, 
I wav'd my hat, an' shoo'd 'em all away. 
Poor Dais ! ye maund, she's now woorn fairly out, 
She's lang been quite hard sett te trail about. 
But yonder, Goorgy, loo' ye whoer she's laid, 
An' twea 'r three Nanpies chatt'rin' owre her 
head. 

CO ORGY. 

Aye marry ! this I nivver wish'd te see, 
She's been se good se true a fryud to me, 
An' is thou cum te this, my poor awd meer ? 
Thou's been a trusty servant monny a year. 
An* better treatment thou's desarv'd fra me, 
Than, thus neglected in a dike te dee. 

VOL. III. H H 



464 THOMAS BROWNE. 

Monny a days-wark, we ha' wrought together, 
An' bidden monny a blast o' wind and weather ; 
Monny a lang dree maule, owre moss, an' moor, 
An' monny a hill, an' deeal we've travell'd owre j 
Bud now waes me ! thou'll niver trot ne mair, 
Te nowther kirk, nor market, spoort, not fair j 
And now, fort' future, thofTI's awd and learn, 
I mun be foorc'd te walk, or stay at heam. 
Ne mair, thou'l bring me cooals fra' Brakay bron, 
Or sticks fra' t'wood, or turves fra' heaf how con. 

My poor awd Dais ! afoor I dig thy greeave, 
Thy weel-worn shoon I will for keep-seekes seeave; 
Thy hide, poor lass! I'll hev it taun'd wi' care, 
'Twill mak' a cover to my awd airm chair j 
An' pairt, an appron for my wife te weear, 
When cardin' woul, or weshin' t' parlour fleer- 
Deep i't 'cawd yearth I will thy carcass please, 
'At thy poor beeans may lig, and rist i* peeace ; 
Deep i't' cawd yearth, 'at dogs may'nt scrat' 

thee out, 

And rave thy flesh, an' trail thy beeans about. 
Thou's been se faithfull for se long to me, 
Thou sannut at thy death neglected be. 
Seyldom a Christian 'at yan now can fynd, 
Wad be mair trusty, or mair true a fynd. 



[ 465 ] 



JOSEPH WARTON. 



Basingstoke, 1722 1800. 



The Poems of Joseph Warton should be collected, for 
the Wartons have deserved well of literature; he pub- 
lished, i. The Enthusiast, or Love of Nature, 1745 ; 
which, with Fashion and Satire, is preserved in Dodsley'* 
Collection. 2. Odes on various Subjects, 1746. 



ODE TO LIBERTY. 

O GODDESS, on whose steps attend 
Pleasure, and laughter-loving health, 
White mantled Peace with olive- wand, 
Young Joy, and diamond-scepter'd Wealth, 
Blithe Plenty, with her loaded horn, 
With Science bright-eyed as the morn, 

H H 2 



466 JOSEPH WARTOX. 

In Britain, which for ages past 
Has been thy choicest darling care. 
Who madest her wise, and strong, and fair, 
May thy best blessings ever last. 

For thee, the pining prisoner mourns, 
Deprived of food, of mirth, of light ; 
For thee pale slaves to galleys chain'd, 
That ply tough oars from morn to night ; 
Thee the proud Sultan's beauteous train, 
By eunuchs guarded, weep in vain, 
Tearing the roses from their locks ; 
And Guinea's captive kings lament, 
By Christian lords to labour sent, 
Whipt like the dull, unfeeling ox. 

Inspired by Ihee, deaf to fond Nature's cries, 

Stern Brutus, when Rome's genius loudly spoke, 

Gave her the matchless filial sacrifice, 

Nor turn'd, nor trembled at the deathful stroke ! 

And he of later age, but equal fame, 

Dared stab the tyrant, though he loved the friend. 

How burnt the *Spartan with warm patriot flame, 

In thy great cause his valorous life to end ! 

* Leonidas. 



JOS.KPU WARTO.V. 407 

How burst Gustavus from the Swedish mine l-t-.ft 

Like %ht from chaos dark, eternally to shine. 

L-iis iw..oa: .rjii Hul hr"uv/;/v>-)J> vih i '-su v.fl't 

When heaven to all thy joys bestows, 

And graves upon our hearts- 1 be free- ~ 

Shall coward man those joys resign, 

And dara reverse this great decree ? 

Submit him to some idol-king, 

Some selfish, passion-guided thing, iit 

Abhorring man, by man abhorr'd, 

Around whose throne stands trembling doubt, 

Whose jealous eyes still roll about, 

And murder with- his reeking s r ord ? 

Where trampling Tyranny with Fate 
And black Revenge gigantick goes : 
Hark, how the dying infants shriek ! 
How hopeless age is sunk in woes ! 
Fly, mortals, from that fated land, 
Though birds in shades of Cassia sing> 
Harvests and fruits spontaneous rise> 
No storms disturb the smiling skies, ' 
And each soft breeze rich odours bring. 

Britannia, watch! remember peerless Rome, 
Her high-tower'd head dasU'd meanly to the 
ground $ 



468 JOSEPH WARTON. 

Remember, Freedom's guardian, Grecia's doom, 
Whom weeping the despotick Turk has bound : 
May ne'er thy oak-crown'd hills, rich meads and 

downs, 

(Fame, Virtue, Courage, Poverty, forgot) 
Thy peaceful villages, and busy towns, 
Be doom'd some death-dispensing tyrant's lot 5 
On deep foundations may thy freedom stand, 
Long as the surge shall lash thy sea-encircled 

land. 



ODE TO CONTENT. 

WELCOME Content ! from roofs of fretted gold, 
From Persian sofas, and the gems of Ind, 

From courts, and camps, and crowds, 

Fled to my cottage mean. 

*. 

Meek Virgin, wilt thou deign with me to sit 
Jn pensive pleasure by my glimmering fire, 

And with calm smile despise 

The loud world's distant din ? 



JOSEPH -\VAUTON. 4C9 

As from the piny mountain's topmost cliff 
Some wandering hermit sage hears unconcern'd, 

Far in the vale below, 

The thundering torrent burst ! 

Teach me, good Heaven, the gilded chains of vice 
To break, to study independent ease, 

Pride, pomp, and power to shun, 

Those fatal Syrens fair, 

That, robed like Eastern queens, sit on high thrones. 
And, beckoning every thirsty traveller, 

Their baleful cups present 

With pleasing poisons fraught. 

O let me dwell in life's low valley, blest 

With the dear Nymph I love, true, heart-felt joy, 

With chosen friends to turn 

The polish'd Attick page. 

Nor seldom, if nor Fortune damp my wings, 
Nor dire Disease, to soar to Pindus' hill, 

My hours, my soul devote, 

To Poesy and Love ! 



WILLIAM COWPER. 



1731. 1800. 



It is impossible to read the life of Cowper, and not to 
feel towards him the affection of intimacy ; while the 
misfortunes and the powers of hh mind claim at once 
our compassion and our admiration. 

The Melancholy which so frequently embittered his life, 
being unmixed with the usual petulance of disease, 
which frequently renders the patient the least sufferer, 
preyed only on himself, but did not affect the exquisite 
sweetness of his temper. In the hours of his severest 
misery, the native goodness of his disposition never 
deserted him, and this character, whatever be the sub- 
ject or the manner, is pre-eminent in his works. 

The TASK, with what faults it has, will remain a monu- 
ment of more than his genius. When he paints do- 
mestick scenes, it is with the hand of a master who 
knows how to throw a grace of his own into the most 
ordinary subjects there is nothing overdrawn, nothing 
out of place, no foreign ornament; yet we wonder that 
any thing so homely and so familiar should be so beau- 
Jifu'i and so new. 



WILLIAM COWPF.R. 471 

His lighter pieces are written with the most lively playful- 
ness, and in a strain so much superiour to the common- 
placed diction of what is called Poetry, that they preserve 
a character of their own, and carry the reader beyond 
the meie subject on which they are founded. The 
heart of the authouris in all his productions ; and they 
teach us, while we admire his talents and his genius, 
to esteem him and to love him as a man. 



THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED; 
OR, HYPOCKISY DETECTED. 

I HUS says the prophet of the Turk, 
' Good mussulman, abstain from pork j 
' There is a part in every swine 
* No friend or follower of mine 
' May taste, whate'er his inclination, 
' On pain of excommunication.' 
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge, 
And thus he left the point at large. 
Had he the sinful part express'd, 
They might with safety eat the rest ; 
But for one piece they thought it hard 
From the whole hog to be debarr'd ; 



472 WILLIAM COWPER. 

And set their wit at work to find 
What joint the prophet had in mind. 
. Much controversy straight arose, 

These choose the back, the belly those 5 

By some 'tis confidently said, 

He meant not to forbid the head ; 

While others at that doctrine rail, 

And piously prefer the tail. 

Thus, conscience freed from every clog, 

Mahometans eat up the hog. 



You laugh 'tis well The tale applied 

May make you laugh on t'other side. 

' Renounce the world* the Preacher crie*. 

* We do' a multitude replies. 

While one as innocent regards 

A snug and friendly game at cards ; 

And one, whatever you may say, 

Can see no evil in a play ; 

Some love a concert, or a race j 

And others shooting, and the chase. 

Reviled and loved, renounced and follow'd, 

Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd ; 

Each thinks his neighbour makes too free, 

Yet likes a slice as well as he : 



WILLIAM COWPER. 473 

With sophistry their sauce they sweeten, 
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten. 




THE Lady thus addressed her spouse - 
' What a mere dungeon is this house ! 
' By no means large enough ; and was it, 
' Yet this dull room, and that dark closet, 
' Those hangings with their worn-out graces, 
' Long beards, long noses, and pale faces, 
' Are such an antiquated scene, 
' They overwhelm me with the spleen.' 
Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark, 
Makes answer quite beside the mark : 
' No doubt, my dear, I bade him come, 
' Engaged myself to be at home, 
' And shall expect him at the door, 
' Precisely when the clock strikes four.' 

' You are so deaf,' the lady cried, 

(And raised her voice, and frown'd beside) 



474 WILLIAM 



' You are so sadly deaf, my dear, 
' What shall I do to make you hear ?* 

' Dismiss poor Harry !' he replies j 

' Some people are more nice than wise, 

* For one slight trespass all this stir ? 
' What if he did ride whip and spur, 

' 'Twas but a mile your favourite horse 
' Will never look one hair the worse.' 

* Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing ' 
' Child ! I am rather hard of hearing ' 

' Yes, truly one must scream and bawl, 
f I tell you, you can't hear- at all !' 
Then, with a voice exceeding low, 

* No matter if you hear or no.' 

Alas ! and is domestick strife, 
That sorest ill of human life, 
A plague so little to be fear'd, 
As to be wantonly incurr'd, 
To gratify a fretful passion, 
On every trivial provocation ? 
The kindest and the happiest pair 
Will find occasion to forbear ; 



WILLIAM COWPEIl. 47ft 

And something, every day they live, 
To pity, and perhaps forgive. 
But if infirmities, that fall 
In common to the lot of all, 
A blemish, or a sense impair'd, 
Are crimes so little to he spared, 
Then farewell all, that must create 
The comfort of the wedded state j 
Instead of harmony 'tis jar, 
And tumult, and intestine war. 

The love, that cheers life's latest stage, 
Proof against sickness and old age, 
Preserved by virtue from declension, 
Becomes not weary of attention ; 
But lives when that exterior grace, 
Which first inspired the flame decays. 
'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind, 
To faults compassionate or blind, 
And will with sympathy endure 
Those evils, it would gladly cure ; 
But angry, coarse, and harsh expression 
Shows love to be a mere profession ; 
Proves that the heart is none of his, 
Or goon expels him if it is. 



476 WILLIAM COWPER. 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE 

OUT OF NORFOLK. 
THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN, ANtf BODHAty. 

OH that those lips had language ! Life has pass'd 

With me but roughly since I heard thee last. 

Those lips are thine thy own sweet smiles I see, 

The same, that oft in childhood solaced me ! 

Voice only fails., else, how distinct they say, 

* Grieve not my child, chase all thy fears away !' 

The meek intelligence of those dear eyes 

(Blest be the art that can immortalize, 

The art that baffles time's tyrannick claim 

To quench it) here shines on me still the same. 

Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 

welcome guest, though unexpected here ! 
Who bid'st me honour with an artless song, 
Affectionate, a mother lost so long. 

1 will obey, not willingly alone, 

But gladly, as the precept were her own : 
And, while that face renews my filial grief, 
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief. 



WILLIAM COVttKtl. 477 

Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, 

A momentary dream, that thou art SHE. 

My MOTHER ! when I learned that thou wast dead, 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? 
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unseen, a kiss ; 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss 
Ah that maternal smile ! it answers Yes. 
I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day, 
I saw the hearse, that bore thee slow away, 
And, taming from my nursery window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! 
But was it such ? It was. Where thou art gone 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 
The parting sound shall pass my lips no more ! 
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, 
Oft gave rue promise of a quick return. 
What ardently I wish'd, I long believed. 
And, disappointed still, was still deceived. 
By disappointment every day beguiled, 
( Dupe of to-morrow even from a child,) 
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, 
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent., 



478 M'lLLIAM COM'PEtt. 

I learn'd at last submission to my lot, 

But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. 

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, 

Children not thine have trod my nursery floor ; 

And where the gardener Robin, day by day, 

Drew me to school along the publick way. 

Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt 

In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capt, 

'Tis now become a history little known, 

That once we called the pastoral house our own, 

Short lived possession ! but the record fair, 

That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, 

Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced 

A thousand other themes less deeply traced : 

Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, 

That thou might'st know me safe and warmly 

laid ; 

Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, 
The biscuit, or confectionary plum ; 
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd 
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd : 
All this, and more endearing still than all, 
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, 
Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and breaks, 
That humour interposed too often makes ; 



WILLIAM COWPEH. 479 

All this still legible in memory's page, 

And still to be so to my latest age, 

Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 

Such honours to thee as my numb'ers may 5 

Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, 

Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here. 



Could time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, 

When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, 

The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 

I pricked them into paper with a pin, 

(And thou wast happier than myself the while, 

Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and 

smile) 

Could those few pleasant hours again appear, 
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them 

here ? 

1 would not trust my heart the dear delight 
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. 
But no what here we call our life is such, 
So little to be loved, and thou so much, 
That I should ill requite thce to constrain 
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 

VOL. HI. I I 



480 WILLIAM COWPER. 

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast 
(The storms all weathered and the ocean cross'd) 
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, 
Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile, 
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 
Her beauteous form reflected clear below, 
While airs impregnated with incense play 
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay ; 
Sothou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the 

shore, 

* Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,' 
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 
Of life, long since, has anchored at thy side. 
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 
Always from port withheld, always distress'd 
Me howling winds drive devious, tempest toss'd, 
Sails ript, -seams opening wide, and compass lost, 
And day by day some current's thwarting force 
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 
But oh the thought, that thou art safe, and he ! 
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 
My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth j 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise 
The son of parents pass'd into the skies. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 48 1 

And now, farewell time unrevok'd has run 
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done. 
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; 
To have renewed the joys that once were mine. 
Without the sin of violating thine j 
And, while the wings of fancy still are free, 
And I can view this mimic shew of thee, 
Time has but half succeeded in his theft 
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left. 



END OF THE THIRD VOLUME. 



Printed by S. HollingswoNh, Crane-Court, Fleet-Street. 



PUBLISHED BY ROBERT SOUTHEY. 



1. Joan of Arc, 3d edition, corrected, &c. 

2. Poems, &c. 

3. Thalaba the Destroyer, &c. 

4. Amadis of Gaul, from the Spanish Ver- 

sion, &c. 

5. Metrical Tales. 

6. Madoe, &c. 



In the Press. 

Palmerin of England, a new edition, corrected 
from the original Portugueze of Francisco 
de Moraes. 



883 



University of California 

SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 

405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 

Return this material to the library 

from which it was borrowed. 



NON-RENE 

SEP,21J994 

l^/C^JL- 

DUE 2 WKb rKUM UA 1 1 KtCEiVED 



3 1158009344937 



UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 



A A 000056205 8