k I AMER'CAN 1 The American University Library WASHINGTON, D.C. r~r::) I/ I I 4 k ~/ (cc^/1-I I .q!,. _ ~_ __ _ I_ I_ I __ P OEM S, BY WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ. TOGETHER W\ITH 'HIS POSTHUMOUS POETRY, AND A SKETCH OF IIIS LIFE BY JOHN JOHNSON, LL. D. THREE VOLUMES IN ONI';. NEW EDITION. BOSTON: PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMIPANY. '\EWV YOIK: JAMES C. I)DEBY. 1 8 ) 1. - --- IF - - - - -- -- -- - -- I - (Icf V-1a x -,, el /,,'^. 4 / f' 1.01_0927 Cj,_ I_ I_ -_ 1. -- i CONTENTS ) OF TIE FIRST VOLUME. Table Talk, -. I Progress of Errour,....Truth, 41) Expostulation, - - 65 Hope,. * 85 Charity, - -- 10( Conversation,. - 1~4 Retirement, -... 49 The Yearly Distress, or Tithing Time at Stock in Essex, - - - 171 Sonnet to Henry Cowper, Esq. - - 174 Lines addressed to Dr. Darwin, - 175 On Mrs. Montagu's Feather-llangings, 176 Verses, supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk during his abode in the Island of Juan Fernandez, - - 178 On the promotion of Edward Thurlow, Esq. to the Chancellorship of England, - - 180 Ode to Peace, - - - 181 Human Frailty, - - - 182 The Modern Patriot, - - 163 On observing some names of little Note recorded in the Biographia Britannica, - 184 Report of an adjudged Case, not to be found in any of the Books, - - ibid. On the Burning of Lord Mansfield'q Library, 186 On the Same, - - 187 The Love of the World reproved, - -188 On the death of Lady Throckmorton's Bulfinch, 189 The Rose, - -. 190 The Doves, - - - 192 A Fable,. - 194 I II I - C_ - 4 CONTENTS. A Comparison,... -. 195 Another, addressed to a young Lady, - 16 The Poet's New Year's Gift,.bid. Ode to Apollo, - -. 1') Pairing Time anticipated, a Fable, - i'S The Dog and the Water Lily, - 201 The Poet, tile Oyster, and the Sensitivo Plant, 202 The Shrubbery, - - - 204 The Winter Nosegay, - - - 205 Mutual Forbearance necessary to the happiness of the Married State, - - - 206 Tlhe Negro's Complaint, - - - f28 Pity for poor Africans, - - - 210 The Morning Dream, - - - 212 The Nightingale and Glow-worm, 213 On a Goldfinch starved to death in his Cage, 215 The Pine Apple and the Bee, - - 21; Horace, Book II. Ode X. - - - 217 A reflection on the foregoing Ode, - 218 The Lily and the Rose, - - - 219 Idem, Latine Redditum, - - - 2?0 The Poplar Field, - - - 221 Idem, Latine Redditum, - - * 222 Votum, - - -223 Translations fronm Vincent Bourne, Cicindela, - - - 223 The Glow-worm, - - - 224 Cornicula, -... '25 The Jackdaw, - - - 22( Ad Grillum. Anacreonticum, - - o7 The Cricket, -. - 229 Simile agit in simile, - - - 20 The Parrot, - - - 2:31 Translation of Prior's Chloe and Euphelia, r. The History of John Gilpin, -:33 Epistle to an affliqted Protestant Lady in France, 24A To the Rev. W. C. Unwin, - - 214 I - J., i I i~ - I __ _____ __ PREFACE TO THE FIRST VOLUME. WIHEN an Author, by appearing in print, requests an audience of the publick, and is upon the point of speaking for himself, whoever presumes to step before him with a preface, and to say, " Nay, but hear me first," slould have something worthy of attention to offer, or lie will be justly deemed officious and iliper tinent. The judicious reader has, probably upon other occasions, been beforehand with me in this reflection: and I ant not very willing it should now be applied to me, however I may seem to expose myself to the dan ger of it. But the thought of having my own name perpetuated in connexion with the name in the title page, is so pleasing and flattering to the feelings of my heart, that I am content to risk sonmething for the gratification. Tills Preface is not designed to commend the Poems to which it is prefixed. My testinony would be insufficient for those who are not qualified to judge properly for themselves, and unnecessary to those who are. Besides, the reasons which render it improper and unseemly for a man to celebrate his own performances, or those of his nearest relatives, will have some 1*: -- L IILll - Z~ — d-.J1 f 6 iPREFACE mnflueice m1 sulp: essing much of what he might other. wise wish to say.n favour of a friend, when that friend is indeed an altc' idem, and excites almost the same emotions of sensibility and affection as he fee for himself. It is very probable that these Pocnms may come into the hands of some persons, in whom the sight of tile author's name wili awaken a recollection of incidents and scenes, which, through length of time, they had almost forgotter. They will be reminded of one, who was once the companior of their chosen hours, and who set out with them in early life in the paths which lead to literary honours, to influence and affluence, with equal prospects of success. But he was suddenly and powerfully withdrawn from those pursuits, and he left them without regret; yet not' till lie had sufficient opportunity of counting the cost and of knowing the value of what he gave up. If happiness couli have been found in classical attainments, in an elegant taste, in the exertions of wit, fancy, and genius, and in the esteem and converse of suizh persons as in these rospects were mo t congenial with himself, he would have been happy. But he was not-He wondered (as thousands in a similar situation still do) that he should continue dissatisfied, with all the means apparently conducive to satisfaction within his reach. But in due time the cause of his disappointment was discovered to him; he had lived without God in the world In a memorable hour the wisdom which is from above visited his heart. Then he felt himself a wanderer, and then he found a guide. Upon this change of views, a change of plan and conduct fillowed of course. When ho saw the busy and the gay world in its true light, he IL - -- -- -- -- -- - I i iI i I I i ii - I PREFACE. 7 left it with as little reluctance as a prisoner, h len called Lo liberty, leaves nis dungeon. Not that he became a Cynick or an Ascetick-A heart filled with love to God will assuredly breathe benevolence to men. But the turn of his temper inclining him to rural life, he indulged it, and the Providence of God evidently preparing his way and marking out his retreat, he retired into the country. By these steps the good hand of God, unknown to me, was providing for me one of the principal blessings of my life; a friend and a counsellor, in whose company for almost seven years, though we were seldom seven successive waking hours separated, I always found-new pleasure. A friend who was not only a comfort to myself, but a blessing to the affectionate poor people, among whom I then lived. Some time after inclination had thus removed him from the hurry anLd bustle of life, lie was still more se eluded by a long indisposition, and my pleasure was succeeded by a proportionable degree of anxiety and concern. But a hope that the God whom he served would support him under his affliction, and at length vouchsafe him a happy deliverance, never forsook me. The desirable crisis, I trust, is now nearly approaching. The dawn, the presage of returning day, is already arrived. lIe is again enabled to resume his pen, and some of the first fruits of his recovery are here presented to the publick. In his principal subjects, the same acumen, which distinguished him in the early period of life, is happily employed in illustrating and enforcing the truths of which he received such deep and unalterable impressions in his maturer years. His satire, if it may be called so, is benevolent, (like the operations of the skilful and humane surgeon, who wounds I - I I I I I - ------------ --------— ~ -- 8 PREFACE. only to heal,) dictated by a just regard for the honour of God, and indignant grief excited by the profligacy of the age, and a tender compassion for the souls of men. His favourite topicks are least insisted on in tile piece entitled Table Talk; which, therefore, with regard to the prevailing taste, and that those who are governed by it may not be discouraged at the very threshold from proceeding further, is placed first. In most of the large Poems which follow, his leading design is more explicitly avowed and pursued. Hle aims to communicate his own perceptions of the truth, beauty, and influence of the religion of the Bible-A religion which however discredited by the misconduct of many who have not renounced the Christian name, proves itself; when rightly understood, and cordially embraced, to be the grand desideratum, which alone can relieve the mind of man froim painful and unavoidable anxieties, inspire it with stable peace and solid hope, and furnish those motives and prospects, which, in the present state of things, are absolutely necessary to produce a conduct worthy of a rational cleature, distinguished by a vastness of capacity which no assemblage of earthly good can satisfy, and by a principle and pre-intimation of immortality. At a time when hypothesis and conjecture in philo. sophy are so justly exploded, and little is considered as deserving the namo of knowledge which will not stand the test of experiment, the very use of the term experimental, in religious concernments, is by too many unhappily rejected with disgust. But we well know, that they who affect to despise the inward feclings which religious persons speak of, and to treat I I I. I ---cc ----- -, ___ - -- c, -- - -- - I - PREFACE 9 them as enthusiasm and folly, have inward feelings of their own, which, though they would, they cannot sup. press. We have been too long in the secret oursclves, to account the proud, the ambitious, or tie voluptuous, happy. We must lose the remembrance of what we once were, before we can believe tlat a man is satisfied with himself, merely because he endeavours to appear so. A smile upon the face is often but a mask worn occasionally and in company, to prevent, if possi ble, a suspicion of what at the same time is passing in the heart. We know that there are people who seldom smile when they are alone; who, therefore, are glad to hide themselves in a throng from the violence of their own reflections; and who, while by their looks and language they wish to persuade us they are happy, would be glad to clange their conditions with a dog. But in defiance of all their efforts, they continue to think, forebode, and tremble. This we know, for it has been our own state, and therefore we know how to commiserate it in others. From this state the Bible relieved us. When we were led to read it with attention, we found ourselves described. We learned tlie causes of our inquietude-We were directed to a lmethod of relief-we tried, and we were not disappointed. DEUS NOBIS IIEC OTIA FECIT. We are now certain, that the gospel of Christ is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth It has reconciled us to God, and to ourselves; to our. duty, and our situation. It is the balm and cordial of the present life, and a sovereign antidote against the fears of death. Sed hactenus haec. Some smaller pieces upon less - - - I i I I I ~_ — 5~I-U. ---~ ---~-~~~-U~ 10 PREFACE. important subjects close the volume. INot one of them I believe was written with a view to publication, but 1 was unwilling they should be omitted. JOHN N EW'TON. CHARLES SQUAtRE, HOXTON, Feoruary 18, 1782. J ------- - ---- " —" --- —L -— `- ---' —~- - L --- ------ — ~ -~ ---C-~~ --- —-C --- — - TABLE TALK. Si te fortM mete grn.vis uret sa(rrina charts, Abjicito............ Hor. lib. i. Epist. 13. J. You told me, I remember, glory, built On selfish principles, is shame and gmilt; The deeds that men admire as halfdivine, Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears 5 The laurel that the very lightning spares; Brings down the warrior s trophy to the dust, And eats into his bloody sword like rust. B. I grant, that men continuing what they ale, Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war; 10 And never meant the rule should be applied To him that fights with just-ice on his side. Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dcws, Reward his mem'ry, dear to ev'ry muse, Who, with a courage of unshaken root, 15 In honour's field advancing his firm foot, Plants it upon the line that Justice draws, And will prevail, or perish in her cause. 'Tis to the virtues of such inPn, man owes His portion in the good that Hea.v'n bestows. 20 And when recording History displays Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days, Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died Where duty plac'd tnem-at their country's side; Thle man, that is not mov'd withi what he reads, 2 That takes not fire at their heroick deeds. Unworthy of the blessings of the brave, Is base in kind, and born to be a st-tv N. I I r^ -- - - I I_ __ _ T2 TABLE TALK. But let eternal infamy pursue The wretch to naught but hIs ambition true, 30 Who, for the sake of filling with one blast The post horns of all Europe, lays her waste Think yourself station'd on a tow'ring rock To see a people scatter'd like a flock, Some royal mastiff panting at their heels, 35' With all the savage thirst a tiger feels: Then vi?w him self-proclaim'd in a gazette Chief monster that has plagu'd the naticns yet. The globe and sceptre in such hands misplac'd, Those ensigns of dominion, how disgrac'd! 4) The glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour, And Death's own sithe would better speak his pow'r, Then grace the bony phantom in their stead With the king's shoulderknot and gay cockade; Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress, 45 The same their occupation and success. A.. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man; Kings do but reason on the self-same plan: Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn, Who think, or seem to think, man made for them. 50 B. Seldom, alas! the power of ogick reigns, With much sufficiency in royal brains; Such reas'ning falls like an inverted cone, Wanting its proper base to stand upon. Man made for kings those opticks are but dim, 55 That tell you so-say, rather, they for him. That were indeed a king-ennobling thought, Could they, or would they, reason as they ought. The diadem with mighty projects lin'd, To catch renown by ruining mankind, 60 Is worth, with all its gold and glitt'ring store, Just what the toy will sell for, and no more. Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good, How seldom used, how little understood! To pour in Virtue's lap her just reward; 66 Keep vice restrain'd behind a double guard; I I Il I! __ - ____ _ __ _ I --- —-- - ~ — TABLE. TAK.. To quell the faction that affronts the throne, By silent magnanimity alone; To nurse with tender care the thriving arts; Watch ev'ry beam Philosophy imparts; 70 To give Religion her unbridled scope, Nor judge by statute a believer's hope; With close fidelity and love unfeign'd, To keep the matrimonial bond unstain'd; Covetous only of a virtuous praise; 75 His life a lesson to the land he sways; To touch the sword with conscientious awe, Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw; To sheath it in the peace-restoring close With joy beyond what victory bestows; 80 Blest country where these kingly glories shine! Blest England, if tils happiness be thine! Jq. Guard what you say; the patriotick tribe Will sneer and charge you with a bribe.-B. A bribe? The worth of his three kingdoms I defy, 85 To lure me to the baseness of a lie; And, of all lies, (be that one poet's boast,) The lie that flatters I abhor the most. Those arts be theirs, who hate his gentle reign, But lie that loves him has no need to fain. 90.?. Your smooth eulogium to one crown address'd, Seems to imply a censure on the rest. B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, Ask'd, when in Hell, to see the royal jail; Approv'd their method in all other things; 95 But where, good sir, do you confine your kings? There, said h:s guide-the group is full in view. Indeed?-replied the Don-there are but few. His black interpreter the charge disdaln'dFew, fellow?- there are all that ever reign'd..,0 W:t, undistinguishing, is apt to strike The guilty and not guilty, both alike. I grant the sarcasm is too severe, And we can read;ly refute it here; VoL. I. o I _ I --- - --- —-----— --- —- — r —~ —--r —~-~- -- -9 — ---~ —~ ----1-~-I-~- ~h- CL-~-C —CIIU- -- -C — 14 TABLE TALK. While Alfred's name, the father of his age, 165 And the Sixth Edward's grace th' historick page. JI. Kings then at last have but the lot of all: By their own conduct they must stand or fall B. True. While they live. the courtly laureat pays His quit-rent ode, his peppercorn of praise; 110 And many a dunce, whose fingers itch to write, Adds, as he can, his tributary mite: A subject's faults a subject may proclaim, A monarch's errors are forbidden game! Thus free from censure, overaw'd by fear, 115 And prais'd for virtues that they scorn to wear, The fleeting forms of majesty engage Respect, while stalking o'er life's narrow stage; Then leave their crimes for history to scan, And ask with busy scorn, Was this the rran? 120 I pity kings, whom Worship waits upon, Obsequious from the cradle to the throne; Before whose infant eyes the flatt'rer bows, And binds a wreatl, about their baby browq; Whom Education stiffens into state, 1 And Death awakens from that dream too late. Oh! if Servility with supple knees, Whose trade it is to smile, to crouch, to please; If smooth Dissimulation, skill'd to grace A devil's purpose with an angel's face; 130 If smiling peeresses, and simp'ring peers, Encompassing his throne a few short years; If the gilt carriage and the pamper'd steed, That wants no driving, and disdains the lead; If guards, mechanically form'd in ranks, 135 Playing, at beat of drum, thdir martial pranks, ShoulJ'ripg and standing as if stuck to stone, While condescending majesty looks on; If monarchy consist il such base things, Sighing, I say agan, I pity kings! 14C To be suspected, thwarted, and withstood, E'cn when he labours for his country's good, -I II I I I I I i i I I I I I I - I` - -- -- - -- C'-L-L ---IF^' —L —C-r ----~- --- —----- -- ------ ---- -- - - ''ABnLE TALK. 15 To see a band call'd patriot for no cause, But that they catch at popular applause, Careless of all the anxiety he feels, 145 Hook disappointment on the publick wheels With all their flippant fluency of tongue, Most confident, when palpably most wrong; If;his be kingly, then farewell for me All kingship,; and may I be poor and free! 15C To be the Table Talk of clubs up stairs, To which th' unwash'd artificer repairs, T' indulge his genius after long fatigue, 1Jy diving into cabinet intrigue; (For what kings deem'd a toil, as well they may, 155 To him is relaxation and mere play,) To win no praise, when well-wrought plans prevail, But to be rudely censur'd when they fail; To doubt the love his fav'ritcs may pretend, And in reality to find no friend; 16 If he indulge a cultivated taste, H:is gall'ries with the works of art well grac'd, To hear it call'd extravagance and waste; If these attendants, and if such as these, Must follow royalty, then welcome ease: 105 Howvever humble and confin'd the sphere, hlappy the state that has not these to fear. J.. Thus men, whose thoughts contemplative have dwelt On situations that they never felt, Start up sagacious, cover'd with the dust 1lO Of dreaming study and pedantick rust, And prate and preach about what others prove, As if the world and they were hand and glove. Leave kingly backs to cope with kingly cares; They have their weight to carry, subjects theirs;:"5 Poets, of all men, ever least regret Increasing taxes, and the nation's debt. Could you contrive the payment, and rehearse The mighty plan, oracular in verse, I I I I --- I I - - -- - -- I - 1G TABLE TALK. No hard, howe'er majcstick, old or new, ISO Should claim my fix'd attention more than you. B. Not Brindley nor Bridgewater would essay To turn the course of Helicon that way; Nor would the Nine consent the sacred tide Should purl amidst the traffick of Cheapside, 1d5 Or tinkle in Change Alley, to amuse The leathern ears of stockjobbers and Jews../. Vouchsafe, at least, to pitch the key of rhyme To themes more pertinent, if less sublime. When ministers and ministerial arts; 190 Patriots, who love good places at their hearts; When admirals extoll'd for standing still, Or doing nothing with a deal of skill; Cen'rals who will not conquer when they may, Firn friends to peace, to pleasure, and good pay; 1)5 When Freedom, w runded almost to despair, Though Discontent alone can find out where; Wlen themes like these employ the poet's tongue, I hear as mute as if a syren sung. Or tell me, if you can, what pow'r maintains 200 A Briton's scorn of arbitrary chains? That were a theme might animate the dead, And move the lips of poets cast in lead. B. The cause,tho'worth the search, may yet elude Conjecture and remark, however shrewd. 2O5 They take perhaps a well-directed aim, Who seek it in his climate and his frame. iib'ral in all things else, yet Nature here With stern severity deals out the year. Winter invades the spring, and often pours 210 A chilling flood on summer's drooping flow'rs, Unwelcome vapours quench autumnal beams, U ngenial blasts attending curl the streams; 'I'le peasantsb 'rge their harvest, ply the fork With double tcil, and shiver at their work; 215 Thus with a rigour, for his good design'd, She rears her itu'rite man of all n.ankind. I ---— - — --- - -----— -!. _. r --- -- - I I I i II I f '' -17 Had- forin robust anrl,it elastrlCK tone, Pi Jportion'd well. aill inuscie and halfbono Fi fl'lies with warin activity and force 230 A mind well lodg'd, anid masculine of course, hence Librty, sweet Liberty inspires, And keeps alive his fierce but nobl fires. P.tient of constitutional control, lie bears it with meek manliness of soul; 225 But, if Authority grow wanton, v.o To him that treads upon his free-born toe; One step beyond the bound'ry of the laws Fires him at once in Freedom's gl(rious cause. 'Thus proud prerogative, not much rever'd, 230 Is seldom felt, though sometines seen and heard; And in his cage, like parrot fine and gay, Is kept to strut, look big, and talk away. Born in a climate softer far than ours, Not form'd like us, with such Herculean powr's, 235 The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, Give hinm Ilis lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, Is always happy, reign whoever may, And laughls the sense ofmnis'ry far away. iHe drinks his simple bev'rage with a gust; 240 And, feasting on an onion and a crust, We never feel the alacrity and joy With which lie shouts and carols Vive le Roi! Fill'd with as much true merriment and glee, As if he heard his king say-' Slave, be free!' 245 Thus happiness depends, as Nature shows, Less on exteriour things than most suppose. Vigilant over all that he has made, Kind Providence attends with gracious aid; Bids equity throughout his works prevail, 2,1 And weighs the nations in tn even scale; He can encourage slav'ry to a smile, And fi11 with discontent a British isle. ' Freeman and slave, then, if the case be such, Stand on a level; and you prove too much: 255 -— ~~._. ----~ —,~.~~- ___ __ ~ _As_ — i I - - ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ - - 18 TABLE TALK. If all man indiscriminately share lHis fost'ring power, and tutelary care, As wel! be yok'd by Despotisni's hand, A, dwell at large in Britain's charter'd land. B. No. Freedom has a thousand charms to show, 26C That slaves, howe'er contented, never know. The mind attains beneath her happy reign The growth, that Nature meant she should attain; The varied fields of science, ever ncw, Op'ning, and wider op'ning, on her view, 265 She ventures onward with a prosp'rous force, While no base fear impedes her in her course. Religion, richest favour of the skies, Stands most reveal'd before the freeman's eyes; No shades of superstition blot the day, 270 Liberty chases all that gloom away; The soul emancipated, unoppress'd, Free to prove all things, and hold fast the best, Learns much; and to a thousand list'ning minds Communicates with joy the good she finds; 275 Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show His manly forehead to the fiercest foe; Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace, His spirits rising as his toils inciease, Guards well what arts and industry have won, 280 And Freedom clai,ns him for her first-born son. Slaves fight for what were better cast awayThe chain that binds them, and a tyrant's sway; But they that fight for freedom, undertake The noblest cause mankind can have at stake 28i Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call A blessing-freedom is the pledge of all. O Liberty! the pris'ners pleasing dream, The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme; Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's nurse; 290 Lost without thee th' ennobling pow'rs of verse; fleroick song from thy free touch acquires Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires. 1 -- -- ---- --- - - I/ TABLE TALK. 19 Place me where Winter breathes l:is keenest air, And I will sing, if Liberty be there; 295 And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet, In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat. A Sing where you please; in such a cause i grant An English poet's privilege to rant; But is not Freedom-at least, is not ours, 300 Too apt to play the wanton with her pow'rs, Grow freakish, and, o'erleaping every mound, Spread anarchy and terrour all around? B. Agreed. But would you sell or slay your horse For bounding and curvetting in his course? 305 Or if, when ridden with a careless rein, He break away, and seek the distant plain? No. His high mettle, under good control, Gives him Olympick speed, and shoots him to the gal. Let Discipline employ her wholesome arts; 31G Let magistrates alert perform their parts, Not skulk or put on a prudential mask, As if their duty were a desperate task; Let active Laws apply the needful curb, To guard the Peace, that Riot would disturb; 315 And Liberty, preserv'd from wild excess, Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress. When Tumult lately burst his prison door, And set plebeian thousands in a roar; When lie usurp'd Authority's just place, 320 And dar'd to look his master in the face: When the rude rabole's watchword was-destroy, And blazing London seem'd a second Troy; Liberty hlush'd, and hung her drooping L.ead, Beheld their progress with the deepest dread; 325 Blusll'd that effects like these she should produce, Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose She loses in such storms her very name, And fierce Licentiousness should bear the blame. Incomparable gem! thy worth untold; 330 -Cheap, tho' blood-bought, and thrown away whensoid, - -— 7 ------ _ — -- I _____ ________________________ _____ ___ _ ___ ____~_ _.____._____ _._ ____ ___1_______1_____1__I __ 20 TABLE TALK. May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend Betray thee, while professing to defend! Prize it, ye ministers; ye monarchs, spare; Ye patriots, guard it with a miser's care. 335.j. Patriots, alas the few that have been found Where most they flourish, upon English ground, The country's need have scantily supplied, And the last left the scene, when Chatham died. B. Not so-the virtue still adorns our age, 340 Though the chief actor (lied upon the stage. In him Demosthenes was heard again; Liberty taught him her Athenian strain: She cloth'd him witl authority and awe, Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. 345 His speech, his for;n, his action, full of grace, And all his country beaming in his face, He stood, as some inimitable hand Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand. No sycophant or slave, that dar'd oppose 350 Her sacred cause, but trembled when lie rose; And evry venal stickler for the yoke Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke. Such men are rais'd to station and command, When Providence means mercy to a land. 355 IIe speaks, and they appear: to him they owe Skill to direct, and strength to strike the blow; To manage with address, to seize with pow'r The crisis of a dark decisive hour. So Gideon earn'd a victory not his own; 360 Subserviency his praise, and that alone. Poor England! thou art a devoted deer, Beset with every ill but that of fear. Th;c( nations hunt; all mark thee for a prey; They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay 365 Unoaunted still, though wearied and perplex'd, Once Chatham sav'd thee; but who saves thee pe.t. Alas! the tide of pleasure sweeps along All, that should b the boast of British song. I i i I I I 1 I I I i i I _, ~_,-, — ~~,,.,, ^ — --—.. -. — =7: --- I I I I I I - TABLE TALK. 21 'Tis not the wreath, that once adorn'd thy brow, 370 The prize of happier times, will serve thee now Our ancestry, a gallant, Christian race, Patterns of ev'ry virtue, ev'ry grace, Confes'd a God; they kneel'd before they fought, And pra.is'd hiln in the victories he wrought. 375 Now from the dust of ancient days bring forth l heir sober zeal, integrity, and worth, Courage ungrac'd by these, affronts the skies, Is but the fire without the sacrifice. Tne stream, that feeds the well-spring of the heart, 380 Not more invigorates life's noblest part, Than Virtue quickens with a warmth divine The pow'rs that Sin has brought to a decline..i. Th' inestimable Estimate of Brown Rose like a paper kite, and charm'd the town; 385 But measures, plann'd and executed well, Shifted the wind that raised it, and it fell. lie trod the very self-same ground you tread, And Victory refuted all he said. B. And yet his judgment was not fram'd amiss; 390 Its errour, if it err'd, was merely thisHe thought the dying hour already come, And a complete recov'ry struck him dunb. But that effeminacy, folly, lust, Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must; 395 And that a nation shamefully debas'd Will be despis'd and trampled on at last, Unless sweet Penitence her pow'rs renew; Is truth, if history itself be true. There is a time and Justice marks the date, 400 For long-forbearing clemency to wait; That hour elaps'd th' incurable revolt Is punish'd, and down comes the thunderbolt. If mercy then put by the threat'ning blow, Must she perform the same kind office now? 405 May she? and if offended Heav'n be still Accessible, and pray'r prevail, she will " --- 22 TABLE TALK. I 22 TABLE TALK. q'is not, however, insolence and noise, 1'he tempest of twnultuary joys, Nor is it yet despondence and dismay 4J1 W ill win her visits, or engage her stay; Pray'r only, and thle penitential tear, Can call her smiling down, and fix her here But when a country, (one tlat I could name,) In prostitution sinks the sense of shame; 415 When infamlous Venality, grown bold, Writes on his bosom, To be let or sold; When Perjury, that Heav'n-defying vice, Sells oaths by tale, and at the lowest price Stamps God's own name utlon a lie just made, 420 To turn a penny in the way of trade; When Av'rice starves, (and never bides his face,) Two or three millions of the human race, And not a tongue inqnires, how, where, or when, j Though conscience will have twinges now and then; { Whlen profanation of the sacred cause, 426 In all its parts, times, ministry, and laws, Bespeaks a land, once Christian, fitll'n and lost, In all, but wars against that title most; What follows next let cities of great name, 430 And regions long since desolate, proclaim. Nineveh, Babylon, and ancient Romec, Speak to the present times, and times to come; They cry aloud in cv'ry careless car, Stop while you may; suspend your mad career; 435 O learn from our example and our fate, Learn wisdom and repentance ere too late. Not only Vice disposes and prepares The minid, that slumbers sweetly in her snares, To stoop to Tyranny's usurp'd command, 440 And bend her polish'd neck beneatl his hand, (A dire effect, by one of Nature's lawvs, irchlangeably connected with its calu;e;) But Providence himself will intervne,r ro throw his dark displeasure o'er the scene 445 I I I I I I I t.__i I --- —c — - - - I I~ --- —----- -- ' --- ~I -- ___ ___ I__ ______CII_______LII1_ ---I.~ -- I - -T I I I I i I I I I i I I I I I I I I I I I I I I iI I TABLE TALK. 23 All are his instruments; each form of war, What burns at home, or threatens from afar: Nature in arms, her elements at strife, The storms tlat overset the joys of life, Are but his rods to scourge a guity land. 40 And waste it at the bidding of his hand. He gives the word, and Mutiny soon roars In all her gates, and shakes her distant shores; Tile standards of all nations are unurl'd; She has one foe, and that one foe the world. 4.5 And, if le doom that people with a frown, And mark them with a seal of wrath press'd down, Obduracy takes place: callous and tough, The reprobated race grows judgment proof; Earth shakes beneath them, and Heav'n roars above; 460 But nothing scares them from the course they love. To the lascivious pipe and wanton song, That charm down fear, they frolick it along, With mad rapidity and unconcern, Down to the gulf, from which is no return. 465 They trust in navies, and their navies failGod's curse can cast away ten thousand sail! They trust in armies, and their courage dies; In wisdom, wealth, in fortune, and ill li;, But all they trust in, withers, as it must, 470 When He commands, in whom they place no trust. Vengeance at last pours down upon their coast A long despis'd, but now victorious, host; Tyranny sends the chain, that must abridge The noble sweep of all their privilege; 475 Gives liberty the last, the mortal shock: Slips the slave's collar on, and snaps the lock. i. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach, Mean you to prophesy, or but to preach? B. I know the mind that feels indeed the fire 4S5 The muse imparts, and can conlm.and the lyre, Acts with a force and kindles with a zeal, Whato'er the tlheme, that others never feel. I I i 24 TA13LF TALK. If hum in woes her soft attention claim, A tender sympathy pervades the frame; 455 She pours a sensibility divine Along the nerves of every feeling line. But if a aeed not tamely to be borre Fire indignation and a sense of scorn, The strings are swept with such a pow'r so lond, 490 The storm of musick shakes th' astonish'd crowd. So, when remote futurity is brought Before the keen inquiry of her thought, A terribl~ sagacity informs The poet's heart; he looks to distant storms; 495 He hears the thunder ere the tempest low'rs; And, arm'd with strength surpassing human pow'rs, Seizes events as yet unknown to man, And darts his soul into the dawning plan. Hence in a Roman mouth, the grac,.ul name 500 Of prophet and of poet was the same; Hence, British poets, too, the priesthood shar'd, And every hallow'd druid was a bard. But no prophetick fires to me belong; I play with syllables, and sport in song. 505.A. At Westminster, where little poets strive To set a disticl upon six and five, Where Discipline helps th' op'ning buds of sense, And makes his pupils proud with silver pence, I was a poet too: but modern taste 510 Is so refin'd, and delicate, and chaste, That verse, whatever fire the fancy warms, Without a creamy smoothness has no chaims. Thus, all success depending on an ear, And thinking I might purchase it too dear, 515 If sentiment were sacrific'd to sound, And truth cut short to make a period round, I judg'd a man of sense cotld scarce do worse, Than caper in the morris-dance of verse. B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit, 520 And some wits flag through fear of losing it I - - --:-f - I I 1*--~~~~-~~ ---1111 - -— ` TABLE TALK 25 Give me;l ii e that ploughs its stately course Like a proud swan, conqu ring the stream by force; That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart, Quite unindebted to the tricks of art. 525 When Labour and when Dulness club in hand, Like the two figures at St. Dunstan's, stand, Beating alternately in measur'd timne, Tile clock-work tintinabulum of rhyme, Exact and regular the sounds will be; 530 But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me. From l;in who rears a poem lank and long, To him who strains his all into a song; Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air, All birks and braes, though he was never there; 535 Or, having whelp'd a prologue with great-pains, Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains; A prologue interdash'd with many a strokeAn art contriv'd to advertise a joke, So that the jest is clearly to be seen, 540 Not in the words-but in the gap between: Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ To substitute for genius, sense, and wit. To dally much with subjects mean and low Proves that the mind is weak, or makes it so. 545 Neglected talents rust into decay, And cv'ry effort ends in pushpin play. The man that means success should soar above A soldier's feather, or a lady's glove; Else, summoning the muse to such a theme, 550 Tha fruit of all her labour is whipp'd cream, As if an eagle flew aloft, and thenStoop'd from its highest pitch to pounce a wren As if the poet, purposing to wed, Should carve himself a wife in gingerbread. 555 Ages elaps'd ere Homer's lamp appear'd, And ages ere the Mantnun swan was heard; To carry Nature's lengths unknown before, To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more. VOL. I. 3 - "` ---I - ___ * - v- 4?t 26 TABLE TALK. Thus Genius rose and set at order'd times, 56C And shot a day-spring into distant climes, Ennobling ev'ry region that he chose; He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose; And, tedious years of Gothick darkness pass'd, Emerg'd all splendour in our isle at last. 565 Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, Then show far off their shining plumes again. A. Is genius only found in epick lays? Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise. Make their heroick pow'rs your own at once, 570 Or candidly confess yourself a dunce. B. These were the chief: each interval of night Was grac'd with many an undulating light. In less illustrious bards his beauty shone A meteor or a star; in these the sun. 575 Tile nightingale may claim the topmost bough, While the poor grasshopper must chirp below. Like him unnotic'd I, ar.d such as 1, Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly; Perch'd on the meagre produce of the land, 580 An ell or two of prospect we command; But never peep beyond the thorny bound, Or oaken ferce that hems the paddock round. In Zden, ere yet innocence of heart HIad faded, poetry was not an art: 585 Language above all teaching, or, if taught, Only by gratitude and glowing thought, Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstasy, unmanacled by form, Not prompted, as in our degen'rate days, 590 By low ambition and the thirst of praise, Was natural as is the flowing stream, And yet magnificent-A God the theme! That theme on Earth exhausted, though above 'Tis found as everlasting as his love, 595 Man lavish'd all his thoughts on human thing — The feats of heroes, and the wrath of dittgs; I I I I. I. I _~ TABLE TALK. 27 But still, while virtue kindled his delight, Thle song was moral, and so far was right. Twas thus till Luxury seduc'd the mind 600 To joys less innocent, as IL ss refin'd; Then Genius danc'd a bacchanal; he crown'd Tile brimming goblet, seiz'd the thyrsus, bound His brows with ivy, rush'd into the field Ot wild imagination, and there reel'd, 605 Tlie victim of his own lascivious fires, And, dizzy with delight, profan'd the sacred wires. Anacreon, Horace, play'd in Greece and Rome This bedlam part, and others nearer hone. When Cromwell fought for pow'r, and while he reign'd The proud protector of the power he gain'd, 611 Religion harsh, intolerant, austere, Parent of manners like herself severe, Drew a rough copy of the Christian fice, Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace; 615 The dark and sullen humour of the time Judg'd ev'ry effort of the muse a crime; Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast, Was lumber in an age so void of taste: But when the second Charles assum'd the sway, 620 And arts reviv'd beneath a softer day, Then like a bow long forc'd into a curve, The mind, releas'd from too constrained a nerve, Flew to its first position with a spring, That made the vaulted roofs of Pleasure ring. 625 His court, the dissolute and hateful school Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule, Swarm'd with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid With brutal lust as ever Circe made. From these a long succession, in a rage 630 Of rank obscenity debauch'd their age: Nor ceas'd till ever anxious to redress 1 he abuses of her sacred charge, the,p —s, Ti.e muse instructed a well-nurtur'd train Of rhler votaries to cleanse the stain, 635 J I... —_ _- - L I I _ L_ _ __ __!^28 TA LE TALK. And claim the palm for purity of songr, That Lewdness had usurp'd and worn so long. Then decent Pleasantry, and sterling Sense, Thlat neither gave nor would endure offence, Whipp'd out of sight, with satire just and keen, C40 The puppy pack, that had defil'd the scene. In front of these came Addison. In him Iumour in holiday and sightly trim, Sublimity and attick taste combin'd, To polish, furnish, and delight the mind. 645 Then Pope, as harmony itself exact, In verse well disciplin'd, complete, compact, Gave virtue and morality a grace, That quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face, Levied a tax of wonder and applause, 650 E'en on the fools that trampled on their laws. But he, (his musical finesse was such, So nice his ear, so delicate his touch,) Made poetry a mere mechanick art; And ev'ry warbler has his tune by heart. 655 Nature imparting her satirick gift, Ier serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift, With droll sobriety they rais'd a smile At Folly's cost, themselves unmov'd the while. That constellation set, the world in vain 660 Must hope to look upon their like again. l. Are we then left-B. Not wholly in the dark; Wit now and then, struck smartly, shows a spark, Sufficient to redeem the modern race From total night and absolute disgrace. 665 While servile trick and imitative knack Confine the million in the beaten track. Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road, Snuffs up the wind, and flings himself abroad. Contemporaries all surpass'd. see one; 670 Short his career, indeed, but ably run; Churchill, himself unconscious of his pow're, [a pen)lury c('otsum1'd his id'e hours; I ----- TABLE TALK. 29 And like a scatter'd seed at random sown, Was left to spring by vigour of his own. 675 Lifted at length, by dignity of thought And dint of genius to an affluent lot, HIe laid his head in Luxury's soft lap, And took, too often, there his easy nap. If brighter beams than all he tlrew not forth, C80 'Twas negligence in him, not want of worth. Surly, and slovenly, and bold, and coarse, Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force, Spendthrift alike of money and of wit, Always at speed, and never drawing bit, 685 lie struck the lyre in such a careless mood, And so disdain'd the rules lie understood, The laurel seem'd to wait on his command, He snatch'd it rudely from the muses' hand. Nature, exerting an unwearied pow'r, 690 Forms, opens, and gives scent to ev'ry flower; Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads. She fills profuse ten thousand little throats With musick, modulating all their notes; 695 And charms the woodland scenes, and wilds unknown, With artless airs and concerts of l er own; But seldom, (as if fearful of expense,) Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretenceFervency, freedom, fluency of thought, 700 liarmony, strength, words exquisitely sought; Fancy, that from the bow that spans the sky, Bringsr colours dipp'd in Heav'n, that never die; A soul exalted above earth, a mind ]kill'd in the characters that form mankind;?05 And as the sun in rising beauty dress'd, Looks to the westward from the dappled east, And marks whatever clouds mnay interpose, Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close; And eye like his to catch the distant goal, J10 Or, ere the wheels of verse begin to roll, 3' i --- - - ii i I I I I I _. ______ ________________ ___._._._.______ ______ ____ ______._____ 30 TAbLE; TALK. Like his to shed illuminating rays On ev'ry scene and subject it surveys: Thus grac'd, the man asserts a poet's name, And the world cheerfully admits the claim. 715 Pity Religion has so seldom found A skilful guide into poetick ground! P The flow rs would spring where'ei she deign'd to stray And ev'ry muse attend her in her way. Virtue indeed, meets many a rhyming friend, 720 And many a compliment politely penn'd; But, unattir'd in that becoming vest BRligion weaves for her, and half undress'd, Stands in the desert, shiv Ilg and iorlorn, A wintry figure, like a wither'd thorn. 725 The shelves are full, all other themes are sped; Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread, Satire has long since done his best; and curst And loathsome ribaldry has done his worst; Fancy has sported all her pow'rs away 730 In tales, in trifles, and;n children's play; And 'tis th3 sad complaint, and almost true. Whate'cr we write, we bring forth n(ching new. rwere new indeed to see a bard all fire, rouch'd with a coal from Heav'n, assume the lyre, 735 And tell the world, still kindling as he sung, With more than mortal musick on his tongue, 'hat He, who died below, and reigns above, Inspires the song, and that his name is Love. For, after all, if merely to beguile, 740 By flowing numbers, and a flow'ry style, The tedium that the lazy rich endure, Which now and then sweet poetry may cure, Or, if to see the name of idle self, Stalnp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf, 745 To float a bubble on the breath of Fame, Prompt his endeavour and engage his aim, Dl)as'd to servile purposes o0 pride, How ar * tlih pow'rs of genius misapplied!.... - I I I I I I if I-L~L L --- —---— _ ____ ___ -__ —~ I I TABI.E TA LK..1 The gift whose office is t'ie Giver's praise, >( To tramce him in his word, Ils wlorks, his vjays Then spread the rich discov'ry, and invite Mankind to share in the divine delight, Distorted from its use and just design, To make the pitiful possessor shine,?7, To purchase at the fool-frequented fair Of Vanity, a wreath for self to wear, Is profanation of the basest kindProof of a trifling and a worthless mind. 75 -9. Hail, Sternhold, then; and, Hopkins, hail!-B. If flatt'ry, folly, lust, employ the pen; LAnmen. If acrimony, slander, and abuse, Give it a charge to blacken and traduce; Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's case, With all that fancy can invent to please, 7G5 Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall, One madrigal of theirs is worth them all... 'Twould thin the ranks of the poetick tribe, To dash the pen through all that you proscribe. B. No matter-we could shift when they were not; And should, no d ubt, if they were all forgot. 771.k I _ _____U_ TI1E PROGRESS OF ERROUIR. Si quid loquar audiendum....Itor. Lib. iv. Od. 2. SING, muse, (if such a theme, so dark, so long, May find a muse to grace it with a song,) By what unseen and unsuspected arts, The serpent Errour twines round human hearts; Toll where she lurks, beneath what fow'ry shades, 5 That not a glimpse of genuine light pervades, The pois'nous, black, insinuating worm Successfully conceals her loathsome foin. Take, if ye can, ye careless and supine, Counsel and caution from a voice like mine! 10 Truths, that the theorist could never reach, And observation taught mne, I would teach. Not all, whose eloquence the fancy fills, Musical as the chime of tinkling rills, Weak to perform, though mighty to pretend, 15 Can trace her mazy windings to their end; Discern the fraud beneath the specious lure, Prevent the danger, or prescribe the cure. The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear, Falls soporifick on the listless ear; 20 Like quicksilver, the rhet'rick they display Slines as it runs, but grasp'd at slips away. Plac'd for his trial on this bustling stage, From thoughtless youth to ruminating age, Free in his will to choose or to refuse, 25i Man may improve the crisis or albuse; I _, I I I I I _ I __ THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR 33 Else oh the fatalist's unrighteous plan, Say to what bar amenable were man? With nought in charge he could betray no trust; And, if he fell, would fall because he must: 30 If Love reward him, or if Vengeance strike. His recompense is both unjust alike. Divine authority within his breast Brings ev'ry thought, word, action, to the test: Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains, 35 As Reason, or as Passion takes the reins. Heav'n from above, and Conscience from within, Cries in his startled ear-Abstain from sin! The world around solicits his desire, And kindles in his soul a treach'rous fire; 40 While, all his purposes and steps to guard, Peace follows Virtue as its sure reward; And Pleasure brings as surely in her train Remorse, and Sorrow, and vindictive Pain. Man, thus endu'd with an elective voice, 45 Must be supplied with objects of his choice; Where'er he turns, enjoyment and delight, Or present, or in prospect, meet his sight; Those open on the spot their honey'd store: These call him loudly to pursuit of more. 50 His unexhausted mine the sordid vice Avarice slows, and virtue is the price. Here various motives his ambition raisePow'r, pomp, and splendour, and the thirst of praise. There Beauty woos him with expanded arms; 55 E'en Bacchanalian madness has its charms. Nor these alone whose pleasures, less refin'd, Might well alarm the most unguarded mind, Seek to supplant his inoxperienc'd youth, Or lead him devious from the path of truth, GO Hlourly allurements on his passions press, Safe in themselves, but danr'rous in th' excess. Hark! how it floats upon the dewy air 0, what a dying, dying close was thero! -.........c - _-L ~ _ ~ - 34 THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 'TIs Ihrmlony from yon sequester'd bow'r, 65 Sweet harmony, that soothes the midnight hour! Long ere the charioteer of day had run His morning course, th' enchantment was begun And he shall gild yon mountain's height again, Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain. 70 Is this the rugged path, the steep ascent, 'hilt Virtue points to? Can a life thus spent Lead to the bliss she promises the wise, Detach the soul from earth, and speed her to the skier Ye devotees to your ador'd employ, 75 Enthusiasts, drunk with an unreal joy, Love makes the Inusick of the blest above, Hleav'n's harmony is universal love; And earthly sounds, tho' sweet and well conmbin'd, And lenient as soft opiates to the mind, 80 Ieave Vice and Folly unsubdu'd behind. Gray dawn appears; the sportsman and his train Speckle the bosom of the distant plain: 'Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighb'ring lairs; Save that his scent is less acute than theirs, 85 For persevering chase, and headlong leaps, True beagle as the stanchest hound lhe keeps. Charg'd with the folly of his life's mad scene, lie takes offence, and wonders what you mean 1The joy the danger and the toil o'erpays- 90 'Tis exercise, and health, and length of (lays. Again impetuous to the field lie flies; Ieacs ev'ry fence, but one, there falls and dies; Like a slain deer, the tumbrel brings him home, lUnmss'd but by his dogs and by his groom. 95 Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place. Lights of the world, and stars of human race; But if eccentrick ye forsake your sphere, Prodigies ominous, and view'd with fear; The comet's baneful influence is a dream; 100 Yours real and pernicious in th' extreme. What then!-are appetites and lusts laid down With tlhe same ease that man puts on his gown? I I y - ____ - - I ---J ,,; --- —--- -- -- THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 35 Will Av'ricc and Concupiscence give place, Charm'd by the sounds-Your Rev'rence, or Your Grace? 105 No. But his own engagement binds him fast; Or, if it does not, brands him to the last, What atheists call him-a designing knave, A mere church-juggler, hypocrite, and slave. Oh, laugh, or mourn with me the rueful jest, 110 A cassock'd huntsman, and a fiddling priest I He from Italian songsters takes his cue: Set Paul to musick, he shall quote him too. He takes the field, the master of the pack Cries-Well done, saint! and claps him on the back. 115 Is this the path of sanctity? Is this To stand a way-mark in the road to bliss? Himself a wanderer from the narrow way, His silly sheep what wonder if they stray? Go, cast your orders at your Bishop's feet, 120) Send your dishonour'd gown to Monmouth-street! The sacred function in your hands is madeSad sacrilege! no function, but a trade! Occiduus is a pastor of renown; When he has pray'd and preach'd the sabbath down, With wire and catgut he concludes the day, 126 Quav'ring and semniquav'ring care away. The full concerto swells upon your ear; All elbows shake. Look in, and you would swear Tile Babylonian tyrant with a nod, 130 Had summon'd them to serve his golden god, So well that thought th' employment seems to suit, Psalt'ry and sackbut, dulcimer, and flute. O fie! 'tis evangelical and pure: Observe each face, how sober and demure 135 Ecstasy sets her stamp on every mien; Chins fall'n and not an eyeball to be seen. Still I insist, though musick heretofore Has charm'd me much, (not e'n Occiduius more,) Love, joy, and peace, make harmony more meet 1 0 I =c r I i 1 __ - -- - -- -- - ~-U-C~SIC-~ ---~~~I -- - -- - - L- — ~~ ----L 36 THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR For Sabbath ev'nings, and perhaps as sweet. Will not the sickliest sheep ofev'ry flock Resort to this example as a rock; There stand, and justify the foul abuse Of sabbath hours with plausible excuse? 14E If apostolick gravity be free ro play the fool on Sundays, why not we e If he the tinkling( harpsichord regards As inoffensive, what offence in cards? Strike up the fiddles, let us all be gay, 15C Laymen have leave to dance, if parsons play. Oh Italy!-Thy sabbaths will be soon Our sabbaths, clos'd with Inumm'ry and buffoon. Preaching and pranks will share the motley scene, Ours parccll'd out, as thine have ever been, 155 God's worship and the mountebank between. What says the prophet? Let that day be blest With holiness and consecrated rest. Pastime and business both it should exclude, And bar the door the moment they intrude; 1GO Nobly distinguish'd above all the six By deeds, in which the world must never mix. Hear him again. He calls it a delight, A day of luxury observ'd aright, When the glad soul is made Heav'ns welcome guest, Sits banqueting, and God provides the feast. 166 But triflers are engag'd and cannot come; Their answer to the call is-NJot at home. O the dear pleasures of the velvet plain, The painted tajlets, dealt and dealt again! 170 Cards with what rapture, and the polish'd die, The yawning chasm of indolence supply! Then to the dance, and make the sober moon Witness ofjoys that shun the sighlt of noon. blame, cynick, if you can, quadrille or ball, 175 The snug close party, or the splendid hall, Where night, down-stooping from her ebon throne Views constellations brighter than her own. I I - I. - - ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~~~ - I TIHE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 37 'Tis innoceni, and harmless, alnd refin'd, 'The balm of care, Elysium of the mind. 189 Innocent! Oh, if venerable Time Slain at the foot of pleasure be no crime, Then, with his silver beard and nagick wand, Let Comus rise archbishop of the land; Let him your rubrick and your feasts prescribe, I { Grand metropolitan of all the tribe. Of manners rough, and coarse athletick cast, The rank debauch suits Clodio's filthy tastu. Rusillus, exquisitely form'd by rule, Not of the moral, but the dancing school, 190 Wonders at Clodio's follies, in a tone As tragical, as others at his own. HIe cannot drink five bottles, bilk the score, Then kill a constable, and drink five more: But lie can draw a pattern, make a tart, 195 And has the ladies' etiquette by heart. Go, fool; and, arm in arm with Clodio, plead Your cause before a bar you little dread: But know, the law, that bids tile drunkord die, Is far too just to pass the trifler by. 200 Both baby featur'd, and of infant size, View'd from a distance, and with heedless eyes Folly and Innocence are Po alike, The diff'rence, though essential, fails to strike, Yet Folly ever has a vacant stare, 2t5 A simp'ring count'nance, and a trifling air: But Innocence, sedate, serene, erect, Delights us,by engaging our respect. Man, Nature's guest by invitation sweet, Receives from her both appetite and treat;!i0 But if he play the glutton, and exceed, His benefactress blushes at the deed; For Nature, nice, as lib'ral to (Ispense, Made nothing but a brute the slave of sense. Daniel ate pulse by choice- -eample rare' 21. Heaven bless'd the youth, and made hinm fresh and fair. VOL. I. 4 - I - - -- I _I_ __ ___ _______ __~ 38 THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. Gorgonius sits, abdominous and wan, Like a fat squab upon a Chinese fan: He snuffs far off the anticipated joy; Turtle and ven'son all his thoughts employ, 220 Prepares for meals as jockies take a sweat, Oh. nauseous!-an emetick for a whet! Will Providence o'erlook the wasted good? Temperance were no virtue if he could. That pleasures, therefore, or what such we call, 22". Are hurtful, is a truth confess'd by all. And some, that seem'd to threaten virtue less, Still hurtful in th' abuse, or by the excess. Is man then only for his torment plac'd The centre of delights he may not taste? 230 Like fabled Tantalus condemn'd to hear The precious stream still purling in his ear, Lip deep in what he longs for, and yet curs'd With prohibition, and perpetual thirst? No, wrangler,-destitute of shame and sense, 235 The precept, that enjoins him abstinence, Forbids him none but the licentious joy, Whose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy. Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid In every bosom where her nest is made, 210 Hatch'd by the beams of truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast. No pleasure? Are d'mestick comforts dead? Are all the nameless sweets of friendship fled? 2-1 Has time worn out, or fashion put to shame, [firne? -'ood.3ense, good health, good conscience, and good,-1 these belong to virtue, and all prove, That virtue has a title to your love. Have you no touch of pity, that the poor Stand starv'd at your inhospitable door? 250 Or if yourself, too scantily supplied, Need help, let honest industry provide. Earn, if you want; if you abound, impart, These both are pleasures to the feeling heart. -- r --- —--- -- -- ---------— ~~~~~~~~~~~-, I I I I I I I I _ __ __ _ - i i -- --------- __ ~ __ THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 39 No pleasure? Hlas some sickly eastern waste 2'55 Sent us a wind to parch us at a blast? Can British Paradise no scenes afford To please her sated and indifferent lord? Are sweet philosophy's enjoyments run Quite to the lees? And has religion none? 26~ Brutes capable would tell you 'tis a lie, And judge you from the kennel and the sty. Delights like these, ye sensual and profane, Ye are bid, begg'd, besought to entertain; Call'd to these crystal streams, do ye turn off 265 Obscene to swill and swallow at a trough? Envy the beast then, on whom Heav'n bestows Your pleasures, with no curses in the close. Pleasure admitted in undue degree Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free. 270 Tis not alone the grape's enticing juice, Unnerves the moral powers, and mars their use: Ambition, av'rice, and the lust of fame, And woman, lovely woman, does the same. The heart surrender'd to the ruling power 275 Of some ungovern'd passion every hour, Finds by degrees the truths, that once bore sway, And all their deep impressions, wear away; So coin grows smooth, in traffick current pass'd, Till Cassar's image is effac'd at last. 280 The breach, tho' small at first, soon opening wide, In rushes folly with a full-moon tide, Then welcome errours of whatever size, To justify it by a thousand lies. As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone, 285 And hides the ruin that it feeds upon; So sophistry cleaves close to and protects Sin's rotten trunk, concealing its defects. Mortals, whose pleasures are their only care, First wishl to be impos'd on, and then are. 290 And, lest the fulsomel artifice should fail, Themselves will hide its coarseness with a veil. I i I I Ir --- ----— --- 40 THE PROGRESS OF ERROUIR Not more industrious are the just and true, To give to Virtue what is Virtue's dueThe praise of wisdom, comeliness, and worth, And call her charms to publick notice forthThan Vice's mean and disingenuous race, To hide the shocking features of her face. Her form with dress and lotion they repair; Then kiss their idol, and pronounce her fair. The sacred implement I now employ Might prove a mischief, or at best a toy; A trifle, if it move but to amuse; But, if to wrong the judgment and abuse, Worse than a poniard in the basest hand, It stabs at once the morals of a land. Ye writers of what none with safety reads; Footing it in the dance that Fancy leads; Ye novelists, who mar what ye would mend, Sniv'ling and driv'ling folly without end; Whose corresponding misses fill the ream With sentimental frippery and dream, Caught in a delicate soft silken net By some lewd earl, or rakehell baronet; Ye pimps, who under virtue's fair pretence, Steal to the closet of young innocence, And teach her, unexperienc'd yet and green, To scribble as you scribbled at fifteen; Who, kindling a combustion of desire, With some cold moral think to quench the fire, Though all your engineering proves in vain, The dribbling stream ne'er puts it out again. 0 that a verse had pow'r, and could command Far, far away these flesh-flies of the land; Who fasten without mercy on the fair, And suck, and leave a craving maggot there! Howe'er disguis'd, th' inflammatory tale, And cover'd with a fine-spun specious veil; Such writers, and such readers, owe the gust And relish of their pleasure all to lust.... I x5b 300 305 310 315 320 325 I 'D"' XI -=I i! TIlE PRtOGRIESS OF' ERt OUR. 4;1 II i 4 I I I I L I But the mnuse, eagle pinion'd, has in view A quarry mare important still thaln you; Down, down the wind she swims, and sails away, Now stoops upon it, and now grasps the prey. Petronius! all the muses weep for thee; But ev'ry tear shall scald thy memory; The graces too, while Virtue at their shrine, Lpy bleeding under that soft hand of thine, Felt each a mortal stab in her own breast, Abhorr'd the sacrifice, and curs'd the priest. Thou polish'd and high finisll'd foe to truth, Graybeard corrupter of our list'ningr youth, I o purre and skim away the filth of vice, 'rhat so refin'd it might the more entice, Then pour it on the morals of thy son; To taint his heart, was worthy of thine own! Now, while the poison all high life pervades, Write, if thou canst, one letter fromn the shades, One, and one only, charg'd with deep regret, That thy worst part, thy principles, live yet; One sad epistle tlence may cure mankind Of the plague spread by bundles left behind. 'Tis granted, and no plainer truth appears, Our most important are our earliest years; The Mind, impressible and soft, with ease Imbibes and copies what sle hears and sees, And through life's labyrinth holds fast the clew, That Education gives her, false or true, Plants rais'd with tenderness are seldom strong; Man's coltish disposition asks the thong; Ands without discipline, the fav'rite child, Like a neglected forester, runs wild. But we, as if good qualities would grow Spontaneous, take but little pains to sow; We give some Latin, and a smatch of Greek; 'each himn to fence, and figure twice a week: And having done. we think the best we can, Praise his proficiency, and dub him:nan. 4* I ii 310 345 350 3G00!I Ii - _ --- -- - --- - -- -- i I I I 42 'THE PROGRIESS OF ERROUR. From school to Cam or Isis, and thence lhoie; And thence with all convenient speed to Rome, 370 With rev'rcnd tutor clad in habit lay, To tease for cash, and quarrel with all day; With memorandum book for ev'ry town, And ev'ry post, and where the chaise broke down. His stock, a few French phrases got by heart, 37.~ With much to learn, but nothing to impart: The youth, obedient to his sire's commands, Sets off a wanderer into foreign lands. Surpris'd at all they meet, the gosling pair, With awkward gait, stretch'd neck, anro silly stare, Discover huge cathedrals built with stone, 381 And steeples tow'rinr high much like our own; But show peculiar light by many a grin At popish practices observ'd within. Ere long some bowing, smirking, smart abbe 385 Remarks two loit'rers, that have lost their way; And being always prim'd with politesse For men of their appearance and address, With much compassion undertakes the task, To tell them more than they have wit to ask; 390 Points to inscriptions whercsoe'er they tread, Such as, when legible, were never read, But, being canker'd now and half worn out, Craze antiquarian brains with endless doubt; Some headless hero, or some Cesar shows- 395 Defective only in his Roman nose; Exhibits elevations, drawings, plans, Models of Herculanean pots and pans; And sells them medals, which, if ne'ther rare Nor ancient, will be so, preserv'd with care. 400 Strange the recital! from whatever cause His great improvement and new light he draws, The squire, once bashful, is shamefac'd no inmro, But teems with pow'rs he never felt before: Whether incrcas'd momentum, and tie force 405 With which from clime to clime he sped his course, I 1 - -------------- ----- -- -— `- ---— `I --- —-" ir I —; I I I I I I i I I i I TILE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. As axles soimetiens kiidle as they go.) Chaf'd him, and brought dull nature to a glow; Or whether clearer skies and softer air, That make Italian flow'rs so sweet and fair, Fresh'ning his lazy spirits as he ran, Unfolded genially and spread the man: Returning he proclaims by many a grace, By shrugs and strange contortions of his face, Flow much a dunce, that has been sent to roam, EExcels a dunce, that has been kept at home. Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, And wisdom falls before exteriour grace: jWe slight tlie precious kernel of the stone, And toil to polish its rough coat alone. A just deportment, manners grac'd with ease, Elegant phrase, and figure form'd to please, Are qualities that seem to comprehend Whatever parents, guardians, schools, intend; Hence an unfurnisl'd and a listless mind, Though busy, trilling; empty, though refin'd; Hence all that interferes, and dares to clash With indolence and luxury, is trash: VWhile learning, once the man's exclusive pride, Seems verging fast towards the female side. Learning itself, receiv'd into a mind By nature weak, or viciously inclin'd, Serves but to lead philosophers astray, Where children would with ease discern the way. And of all arts sagacious dupes invent, To cheat themselves and gain the world's assent, The worst is-Scripture warp'd from its intent The carriage bowls along, and all are pleas'd If Tom be sober, and the wheels well greas'd; But if the rogue have gone a cup too far, Left out his linchpin or forgot his tar, It suffers interruption and delay, And meets with hind'rance in the smoothest way When some hypothesis absurd and vain 43 H I 410 415 420 425 430 435 440 i I i I I I I I I I 11 I I i — I 44 THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. Has fill'd with all its fumes a critick's brain, 445 The text, that sorts not with his darlingr whim, Though plain to others, is obscure to bhim. The will made subject to a lawless force, All is irregular and out of course; And judgment drunk, and brib'd to lose his way, 450 Winks hard, and talks of darkness at noonday. A critick on the sacred book should be Candid and learn'd, dispassionate and fre,; Free fiom the wayward bias bigots feel, From fancy's influence, and intemperate zeal; 455 But above all, (or let the wretch refrain, Nor touch the page lie cannot but profane,) Free from tile domineering power of lust; A lewd interpreter is never just. How shall I speak tlee, or tly power address, 460 Thou god of our idolatry, the press? By thee, religion, liberty, and laws, Exert their inlluence, and advance their cause; By tlee worse plagues than Plaraoh's land befell, Diffus'd, make eartl the vestibule of Hell; 465 Thou fountain, at which drink the good and wise; Thou ever-bubbling spring of endless lies; Like Eden's dread probationary tree, Knowledge of good and evil is from tlhe. No wild entlusiast ever yet could rest, 470 Till half mankind were like himself possess'd. Philosophers, who darken and put out Eternal truth by everlasting doubt; Church quacks, with passions under no command, Who fill the world with doctrines contraband, 475 Discov'rers of thley know not what, confin'd WVithin no bounds —the blind that lead the blind; To streams of popular opinion drawn, Deposit in those shallows all their spaw\n. The wriggling fry soon fill the creeks around, 480 Pois'ning the waters where their swarmls abound Scorm'd by the nobler tenants of the flood, I 2 - -— c — - -- C ___ _ i i I I I I I I I i i I I I I I I I i I i k - TI-E PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 45 Minnows and gudgeons gorge the unwholesome food. The propagated myriads spread so fast, E'en Lewenhoeck himself would stand aghast, 485 Employ'd to calculate tli' enormous sum, And own his crab-computing powers o'ercome. Is this hyperbole? The world well known, Your sober thoughts will hardly find it one. Fresh confidence the speculatist takes 490 From every hair-brain'd proselyte he makes: And therefore prints. Himself but halfdeceiv d, Till others have the soothing tale believ'd Icence comment after comment, spun as fine As bloated spiders draw the flimsy line. 495 Hence tie same word, that bids our lusts obey, Is misapplied to sanctify their sway. If stubborn Greek refuse to be his friend, Ilebrew or Syriack shall be forc'd to bend. If languages and copies all cry, No- 500 Somebody prov'd it centuries ago. Like trout pursued, the critick in despair Darts to the mud, and finds his safety there. Women, whom custom has forbid to fly The scholar's pitch, (the scholar best knows why,) 505 With all the simple and unletter'd poor, Admire his learning, and almost adore. Whoever errs, the priest can ne'er be wrong, With such fine words familiar to his tongue. Ye ladies! (fir indiffrent in your cause, 510 I should deserve to forfeit all applause,; Whatever shocks or gives the least offerce To virtue, delicacy, truth, or sense (Try the criterion, 'tis a faithful guide,) Nor has, nor can have, Scripture on its side. 515 Nono but an author knows an author's cares, Or Fancy's fondness for the child she bears. Committed once into the publick arms, The baby seems to smile with added charms. Like something precious ventur'd far from shore, 5:2 I I - I --- — -- ---------- _ __.__-___ — ------ -— ^ --- —-~ --- —-- ---.__ —- — _ ___ — ------ -- ------ -- 46 TH-E PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 'Tis valued for the danger's sake the more. He views it with complacency supreme, Solicits kind attention to his dream; And daily more enamour'd of the cheat Kneels, and asks Heav'n to bless the dear deceit. So one, whose story serves at least to show Men lov'd their own productions long ago, Woo'd an unfeeling statue for his wife, Nor rested till the gods had giv'n it life. If some mere driv'ller suck the sugar'd fib, One that still needs his leading string and bib, And praise his genius, he is soon repaid In praise applied to the same part-his head For 'tis a rule, that holds for ever true, Grant me discernment, and I grant it you. Patient of contradiction as a child, Affable, humble, diffident, and mild; Such was Sir Isaac, and such Boyle and Locke: Your blund'rer is as sturdy as a rock The creature is so sure to kick and bite, A muleteer's the man to set him right. First Appetite enlists him Truth's sworn foe, Then obstinate Self-will confirms him so. Tell him he wanders; that his errour leads To fatal ills; that, tho' the path lie treads Be flow'ry, and he see no cause of fear, Death and the pains of Hell attend lhim there; In vain: the slave of arrogance and pride, He has no hearing on the prudent side. His still-refuted quirks he still repeats; New-rais'd objections with new quibbles meets; Till, sinking in the quicksand lie defends, Ile dies disputing, and the contest endsBut not the mischiefs; they, still left behind, Like thistle seeds, are sown by every wind. Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill; Bend the straight rule to their own crooked will; And with a clear and shining 'amp supplled, 525 530 535 540 545 550 555 I1 _ - I THEI PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 47 First put it out, then take it for a guide. Ilalting on crutches of unequal size, 560 One leg by truth supported, one by lies; They sidle to the goal with awkward pace, Secure of nothing-but to lose the race. Faults in the life breed errours in the brain, And these reciprocally those again. 565 The mind and conduct mutually imprint And stamp theii image in each other's mint; Each sire, and dam, of an inflernal race, Bcretting and conceiving all that's base. None sends his arrow to the mark in view, 576 Whose hand is feeble, or his aim untrue. For the', ere yet the shaft is on the wing: Or when it first forsakes th' clastick string, It err but little from th' intended line, It falls at last far wide of Ins design; 575 So he, who seeks a mansion in tile sky, Must watch his purpose with a steadfast eye. That prize belongs to none but the sincere, The least obliquity is fatal here. With caution taste the sweet Circean cup: 580 Ife that sips often at last drinks it up. Habits are soon assuind; but when we strive To strip them off,:ts being flay'd alive. Ca.ll'd to the temple of impure delight, lie that abstains, and lie alone, does rirht. 585 If a wish wander that way, call it home; He cannot long be safe whose wishes roam. But, if yon pass the threshold, you are cauglit; Die then, if pow'r Alnighlty save you not. There hard'ning by degrees, till double steel'd, 590 Trke leave of Nature's God, and God reveal'd; Then laugh at all you tremlbled at before; And, joining the free thinkers' brutal roar, Swallow the two grand nostrums they dispense — That Scripture lies, and blasphemy is sense. 595 1,I i I I ------------ ------ 'I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 48 THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. If clemency revolted by abuse Be damnable, then damn'd without excuse. Some dream that they can silence when they will, The storm of passion, and say, " Peace, he still;' But, " Thus far and no farther," when address'd (00 To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, Implies authority that never can, That never ought to be the lot of man. But, muse, forbear; long flights forebode a fial; Strike on the deep-ton'd chord the sum of all. G05 Hear the just law-the judgment of the skies! He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies: And he that will be cheated to the last, Delusions strong as Hell shall bind him fast. But if the wand'rer his mistake discern, 610 Judge his own ways and sigh for a return, Bewilder'd once, must he bewail his loss For ever and for ever? No-the cross! There, and there only, (though the deist rave, And atheist, if earth bear so base a slave;) 615 There, and there only, is the power to save. There no delusive hope invites despair; No mock'ry meets you, no deception there. The spells and charms, that blinded you before, All vanish there, and fascinate no more. 620 I am no preacher, let this hint sufficeThe cross once seen is death to ev'ry vice; E;se he that hung there, suffer'd all his pain, Bled, groan'd, and agoniz'd, and died in vain. - I~ — ~~ --- I - - i __ TRUTH. Pensantur trutina-HOR. Lib. II. Epist. 1. MAN, on the dubious waves of errour toss'd, His ship half founder'd, and his compass lost, Sees far as human opticks may command, A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land! Spreads all his canvass, ev'ry sinew plies; 5 Pants for't, aims at it, enters it, and dies I Then farewell all self-satisfying schemes, His well-built systems, philosophick dreams Deceitful views of future bliss, farewell! He reads his sentence at the flames of Hell. 10 Hard lot of man-to toil for the rev-ard Of virtue, and yet lose it! Wherefore hard?He that would win the race must guide his horse Obedient to the customs of the course; Else, tho' uneqnlal''d to the goal he flies, 15 A meaner than himself shall gain the prize. Grace leads the right way; if you choose the wrong, Take it and perish; but restrain your tongue; Charge not with light sufficient, and left free, Your wilful suicide on God's decree. 20 Oh how unlike the complex works of man, Heav'n's easy, artless, unencumber'd plan! No meretricious graces to beguile, No clust'ring ornaments to clog the pile; From ostentation as from weakness free, 25 It stands like the cerulean arch we see, Majostick in its own simplicity. VOL. I. 5 I I 7 re - I l __ - ---— ~C~~~ - ----- _ - ^ - 50 TRUTII. Inscrib'd above tlhe portal, fronm afar Conspicuous as the briglhtiiess of a star, Legible only by tile light they give, 30 Stand the soul-quick'ning words-bclicerc and live. Too many, shock'd at what should charm them most, Despise the plain direction, and are lost. Heav'n on such terms! (they cry with proud disdain,) Incredible, impossible, and vain!- 35 Rebel, because 'tis easy to obey: And scorn, for its own sake, the gracious way. These are the sober, in wlose cooler brains Some thought of immortality remains; Tlie rest too busy or too gay to wait 40 On the sad theme, their everlasting state, Sport for a day, and perish in a night, The foam upon the waters not so light. Who judg'd the pharisee? What odious cause Expos'd him to the vengeance of the laws? 4 Had he seduc'd a virgin, wrong'd a friend, Or stabb'd a man to serve some private end? Was blasphemy his sin? Or did he stray From the strict duties of the sacred day? Sit long and late at the carousing board? ' (Such were the sins with which he charg'd his Lord.) No-the man's morals were exact, what then? 'Twas his ambition to be seen of men: His virtues were his pride; and that one vice Made all his virtues gewgaws of no price; 55 Ile wore them as fine trappings for a show, A praying, synagogue-frequenting beau. The self-applauding bird, the peacock, see Mark what a sumptuous pharisee is he! Meridian sunbeams tempt him to unfold l His radiant glories, azure, green, and g'old; He treads as if some solemn musick near, His measur'd step were govern'd by his ear; And seems to say-Ye meaner fowl, give place, I am all splendour, dignity, and grace! G5 I I ------- - -- -- - -- -- - - _ ____ II TRUTIH. 61 Not so the pheals:int on his charms presumes, Though he too has a glory in his p!llues, lie, chlristian-like, retreats with modest mien To the close copse, or far scquester'd green, And shines without desiring to be seen. 70 The plea of works, as arrogant and vain, Hleav'n turns from with abhorrence and disdain; Not more affronted by avow'd neglect, Than by the mere dissembler's feign'd respect. What is all righteousness that men devise? 75 What-but a sordid bargain for the skies? But Christ as soon would abdicate his own, As stoop from Heav'n to sell the proud a throne Iis dwelling a recess in some rude rock, Book, beads, and maple dish, his meagre stock. 80 In shirt of hair and weeds of canvass dress'd, Girt with a bell rope that the pope has bless'd; Adust with stripes told out for ev'ry crime, And sore tormented long before his time; His pray'r preferr'd to saints that cannot aid; 85 Iis praise postpon'd, and never to be paid; See the sage hermit, by mankind admir'd, With all that bigotry adopts inspir'd, Wearing out life in his religious whim, Till his religious whimsy wears out him. 90 His works, his abstinence, his zeal allow'd, You think him humble-God accounts him proud; High in demand, though lowly in pretence, Of all his conduct this the genuine senseMy penitential stripes, my streamnng blood, 95 Have purchas'd Heav'n, and prov'd my title good. Turn eastward now, and Fancy shall apply To your weak sight her telescopick eye. The bramin kindles on his own bare head The sacred fire, self-torturing his rade; 100 His voluntary pains, severe and long, Would give a barb'rous air to British song; No grand inquisitor oould worse invent, I i I I I I I I.1 i I I I I I I I I -— ~ I-``~ ---- I f2 TRUTH Than he contrives to suffer, well content. Which is the saintlier worthy of the two? 105 Past all dispute, yon anchorite, say you. Your sentence and mine differ. What s a name I say the bramin has the fairer claim. If suff'rings, Scripture no where recommends, Dev;?'d by self to answer selfish ends, 110 Give saintship, then all Europe must agree Ten starving hermits suffer less than he. The truth, is, (if the truth may suit your ear And prejudice have left a passage clear,) Pride has attain'd its most luxuriant growth, 115 And poison'd ev'ry virtue in them both. Pride may be pamnper'd while the flesh grows lean; Humility may clothe an English dean; That grace was Cowper's-his, confess'd by allThough plac'd in golden Durham's second stall. 120 Not all the plenty of a bishop's board, His palace, and his lacqueys, and " My lord," Mocre nourish pride, that condescending vice, Than abstinence, and beg-gary, and lice; It thrives in mis'ry, and abundant grows; 125 In mis'ry fools upon themselves impose. But why before us protestants produce An Indian mystick, or a French recluse? Their sin is plain; but what have we to fear, Reform'd and well instructed? You shall hear. 130 Yon ancient prude, whose wither'd features show She might be young some forty years ago, Her elbows pinion'd close upon her hips, Iler head erect, her fan upon her lips, Her eye-brows arch'd, her eyes both gone astray 135 To watch yon am'rous couple in their play, With bony and unkerchiefd neck defies The rude inclemency of wintry skies, And sails with lappet head and mincing airs, Duly at clink of bell to morning prav'rs. 140 To thrift and parsimony much inclin'd, I I I -- - __ __I_____ CIL --- —----- ___ I I I TRUTH. 53 She yet allows herself that boy behind; The shiv'ring urchin, bending as he goes, With slipshod heels, and dewdrop at his nose; His predecessor's coat advanc'd to wear, 115 Which future pages yet are doom'd to share, Carries her Bible tuck'd beneath his arm, And hides his hands to keep his fingers warm. She half an angel in her own account, Doubts not hereafter witl the saints to mount. 150 Though not a grace appears on strictest search, But that she fasts, and, item, goes to church. Conscious of age she recollects her youth, And tells, not always, with an eye to truth, Who spann'd her waist, and who, where'er he can e, Scrawl'd upon glass Miss Bridget's lovely name; 156 Who stole her slipper, fill'd it with tokay, And drank the little bumper ev'ry day. Of temper as envenom'd as an asp, Censorious, and her ev'ry word a wasp; 160 In faithful mnem'ry she records the crimes, Or real or fictitious of the times; Laughs at the reputations she has torn, And holds them dangling at arm's length in scori. Such are the fruits of sanctimonious pride, 1G5 Of malice fed while flesh is mortified: Take, Madam, the reward of all your pray'rs, Where hermits and where bramins meet with theirs, Your portion is with them.-Nay, never frown, But if you please, some fathoms lower down. 170 Artist, attend-your brushes and your paintProduce them-take a chair-now draw a saint. Oh sorrowful and sad! the streaming tears Channel her cheeks-a Niobe appears Is this a saint ' Throw tints and all away- 175 True Piety is cheerful as the day, Will weep indeed and heave a pitying groan For others' woes, but smiles upon her own. What purpose has the Kingl of saints in viow. I. -- -II ---c` - --— -~ —~ --- --- i I I I I I 1. ____ __ -- --- _ 64 TRUTH. Why falls the Gospel like a gracious dew? 180 To call up plenty from tie teeming earth, Or curse the desert with a tenfold dearth? Is it that Adam's offspring may l e sav'd From servile fear, or be the more ensiav'd? To loose the links that gall'd mankind before, 185 Or bind them faster on, and add still more? The freeborn Christian has no chains to prove, Or, if a chain, the golden one of love; No fear attends to quench his glowing fires, What fear he feels his gratitude inspires. 190 Shall lie for such deliv'rance freely wrought, Reconpense ill? HIe trembles at the thought. His master's interest and his own combin'd, Prompt ev'ry movement of his heart and mind; Thought, word, and deed, his liberty evince, 195 His freedom is the freedom of a prince. Man's obligations infinite, of course His life should prove that lie perceives their force; His utmost he can render is but smallThe principle and motive all in all. 200 You have two servants-Tom, an arch, sly rogue, From top to toe the Geta now in vogue, Genteel in figure, easy in address, Moves without noise, and swift as an express, Reports a message with a pleasing grace, 205 Expert in all the duties of his place; Say, on what hinge does his obedience move P Has he a world of gratitude and love? No, not a spark-'tis all mere sharper's pna.y He likes your house, your housemaid, and your 1pay Reduce his wages, or get rid of her, 21 Tom quits you, with-Your most obedient, Sir. Tile dinner serv'd, Charles takes his usual stand, VWatcihes your eye, anticipates command; Sighs, if perlaps your appetite should fail; 215 And, if lie but suspects a frown, turns pale; Consults all day your int'rcst and your ea!se, II II I i I - I ------------------------ ----- ---- ---- ------------- - __ L ______ C -I —~ ----~ --- —-L --- _ --- —-- -- I I l] TRUTH. r5 Richly rewarded if he can but please; And, proud to make his firmn attachment known, To save your life, would nobly risk his own. 220 Now which stands highest in your serious thourght Charles, without doubt, say you-and so he ought; One act, that from a thankful heart proceeds, Excels ten thousand mercenary deeds. Thus Heav'n approves as honest and sincere, 225 I'he work of gen'rous love, and filial fear; But with averted eyes th' omniscient Judge Scorns the base hireling, and the slavish drudge. Where dwell tlles mnatchless saints?-old Curio cries: Ev'n at your side, Sir, and before your eyes, 230 The favour'd few-th' enthusiasts you despise. And pleas'd at heart, because on holy ground Sometimes a canting hypocrite is found, Reproach a people with a single fall, And cast his filthy garment at them all. 235 Attend!-an apt similitude shall show Whence springs the conduct that offends you so. See where it smokes along the sounding plain, Blown all aslant, a driving, dashing rain, Peal upon peal redoubling all around, 240 Shakes it again and faster to the ground: Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play, Swift beyond thought the lightnings dart away. Ere yet it came the trav'ller urg'd his steed, And hurried, but with unsuccessful speed; 245 Now drench'd throughout, and hopeless of his case, He drops the rein, and leaves him to his pace. Suppose, unlook'd for in a scene so rude, Long hid by interposing hill or wood, Some mansion, neat and elegantly dress'd, 250 By some kind hospitable heart possess'd, Offer him warmth, security, and rest; Think with what pleasure, safe, and at his ease He hears the tempest howling in the trees; Vlhat glowing thanks his lips and heart employ 255 I I I I -1. ----- — I - --- —------— --- — LII ----` —' ` ---- --- — c-r —' -- I I I I i i I _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ - - - - - - ~. 56 TRUTH. While danger past is turn'd to present joy. j So fares it with tile sinner, when lie feels A growing dread of vengeance at his heels; His conscience, like a glassy lake before, Lash'd into foaming waves begins to roar; 260 lThe law grown clamorous, though silent long, Arraigns him,-charges him with ev'ry wrongAsserts the rights of his offended Lord, And death or restitution is the word; The last impossible-lie fears the first, 265 And, having well deserv'd, expects the worst. Then welcome refuge, and a peaceful home; Oh for a shelter from the wrath to come! Crush me, ye rocks; ye falling mountains, hide Or bury me in ocean's angry tide- 270 The scrutiny of those all-seeing eyes I dare not-And you need not, God replies: The remedy you want I freely give; The book shall teach you-read, believe, and live. 'Tis done-the raging storm is heard no more, 275 Mercy receives him on her peaceful shore; And justice, guardian of the dread command, Drops the red vengeance from his willing hand. A soul redeem'd demands a life of praise; IHence the complexion of his future days, 280 Hence a demeanour holy and unspeck'd, And the world's hatred, as its sure effect. Some lead a life unblalnable and just, Their own dear virtue their unshaken trust: They never sin-or if, (as all offend,) 2S5 Some trivial slips their daily walk attend, The poor are near at hand, the chalge is small, A slight gratuity atones for all. For though the pope has lost his int'rest here, And pardons are not sold as once they were, 290 No papist more desirous to compound, Than some grave sinners upon English ground, T'hat plea refuted, other quirks they seek-.I) I - -— 1. - ---- - I I TRUTH. 57 Mercy is infinite, and man is weak; The future shall oblit:rate the past, 295 And Heav'n no doubt shall be their home at last. Come then-a still smiall whisper in your ear — He has no hope who never had a fear; And he that never doubted of his state, He may perpaps-perhaps he may-too late. 300 The path to bliss abounds with many a snare; Learning is one, and wit, however rare. The Frenchman, first in literary fame, (Mention him if you please. Voltaire?-The same,) With spirit, genius, eloquence, supplied, 305 Liv'd long, wrote much, laugh'd heartily, and died; The Scripture was his jest book, whence he drew Bon mots to gall the Christian and the Jew; An infidel in health, but what when sick? Oh-then a text would touch him at the quick: 310 View him at Paris in his last career, Surrounding throngs the demigod revere, Exalted on his pedestal of pride, And fimi'd with frankincense on ev'ry side, He begs their flattery with his latest breath, 315 And smother'd in't at last, is prais'd to death. Yon cottager, who weaves at her own door, Pillow and bobbins all her little store; Content, though mean, and cheerful if not gay Shuffling her threads about the livelong day, 320 Just earns a scanty pittance, and at niglht Lies down secure, her heart and racket light; She, for her humble sphere by nat re fit, Has little understanding, and no wit, Receives no praise; but though hIlr lot be such, 325 (Toilsome and indigent,) she rend 'rs mluch: Just knows, al-d knows no more, her Bible trueA truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew; And in that charter reads with sparkling eyes Her title to a treasure in the skies. 330 O happy peasant! Oh unhappy bard i I I I i I z.-';;;Z _.7 _ - - ___ I I I i I I I I.I I I I' -— —I --- —-- - -- ------------------— U 58 TRUTH. His the rere tinsel, hers the rich reward, lie prais'd perhaps for ages yet to coice, She never heard of half a mile from home: He, lost in errours, his vain heart preters, 335 She, safe in the sim:rlicity of hers. Not many wise, rich, noble, or profound In science, win one inch of heavenly ground. And is it not a mortifying thought Tie poor should gain it, and the rich should rot. 340 No,-the voluptuaries, who ne'er forget One pleasure lost, lose Heav'n without regret; Regret would rouse them, and give birth to pray'r, Pray'r would add faith, and faith would fix them there. Not that the Former of us all, in this, 345 Or ought he does, is govern'd by caprice; The supposition is replete with sin, And bears the brand of blasphemy burn'd in. Not so-the silver trumpet's heav'nly call Sounds for the poor, but sounds alike for all: 350 Kings are invited, and would kings obey, No slaves on earth more welcome were than they; But royalty, nobility, and state, Are such a dead preponderating weight, That endless bliss, (how strange soe'er it seem,) 355 In counterpoise, flies up and kicks the beam. 'Tis open, and ye cannot enter,-why? Because ye will not, Conyers would replyAnd he says much that many may dispute And cavil at with ease, but none refute. 360 O bless'd effect of penury and want, The seed sown there, how vig'rous is the plant! No soil like poverty for growth divine, As leanest land supplies the richest wine. Earth gives too little, giving only bread, 365 To nourish pride, or turn the weakest head: To them the sounding jargon of the schools Seems what it is-a cap and bells for fools: The light they walk by, kindled from above,.. L --- - -- - -C ----~ --- —--- _ _ --- —---- i-L~ — I TRUTIh. 59 Shows them the sl-ortest way to life and love; 370 They, strangers to the controversial field, Where deists, always foil'd, yet scorn to yield, And never check'd by what impedes the wise, Believe, rush forward, and possess the prize. Envy, yo great, the dull unletter'd small: 375 Ye have much cause for envy-but not all. Wo boast some rich ones whom the Gospel sways, And one who wears a coronet, and prays; Like gleanings of an olive tree they show Here and there one upon the topmost bough. 380 hlow readily upon the Gospel plan, That question has its answer-What is man? Sinful and weak, in ev'ry sense a wretch; An instrument, whose chords, upon the stretch, And strain'd to the la'Jt screw that lie can bear, 385 Yield only discord in his Maker's ear: Once the bless'd residence of truth divine, Glorious as Solyma's interiour shrine, Where, in his own oracular abode, Dwelt visibly the light-creating God: 390 But made long since like Babylon of old, A den of mischiefs never to be told; And she, once mistress of the realms around, Now scatter'd wide, and no where to be found, As soon shall rise and reascend the throne, 395 By native pow'r and energy her own, As Nature at her own peculiar cost, Restore to man the glories he has lost. Go —bid the winter cease to chill the year, Replace the wand'ring comet il his sphere, 100 Then boast, (but wait for that unhop'd-for hour,) The self-restoring arm of human pow'r. But what is man in his own proud esteem? Iear him-himself the poet and the theme: A monarch cloth'd with majesty and awe, 405 H-s mrind, his kingdom, and his will, his law; Grace in his mien, and glory in his eves, I I H I I I - II - I - - - I~ - 60 TRUTH. Supreme on earth, and worthy of the skies, Strength in his heart, dominion in his nod, And thunderbolts excepted, quite a god! 410 So sings he, charm'd with his own mind and form, The song magnificent-the thene a worm! Himself so much the source of his delight, His Maker has no beauty in his sight. See where he sits, contemplative and fix'd, 415 Pleasure and wonder in his features mix'd; HIis passions tam'd, and all at his control, low perfect the composure of his soul I Complacency has breath'd a gentle gale O'er all his thoughts, and swell'd his easy sail: 420 His books well trimm'd and in the gayest style Like regimented coxcombs rank and file, Adorn his intellects as well as shelves, And teach him notions splendid as themselves: The Bible only stands neglected there, 425 Though that of all most worthy of his care; And like an infant, troublesome awake, Is left to bleep for peace and quiet sake. VWhat shall the man deserve of human kind, Whose happy skill and industry combin'd 430 Shall prove, (what argument could never yet,) The Bible an imposture and a cheat? The praises of the libertine profess'd, The worst of men, and curses of the best. Where should the living, weeping o'er his woes; 435 The dying, trembling at the awful close; Where the betray'd, forsaken, and oppress'd, The thousands whom the world forbids to rest, Where should they find, (those comforts at an end The Scripture yields,) or hope to find a friend? 4.10 Sorrow might muse herself to madness then, And seeking exile from the signt of men, Bury herself in solitude profound, Grow frantick with her pangs, and bite the ground. Thus often Unbelief, grown sick of life, 445 -- I I I I -"- -- i 1 i I I I i I I I ___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ -__ __ - -- I TRUTH. 61 Flies to the tempting pool, or felon knife. The jury meet, the coroner is short, And lunacy the verdict of the court; Reverse the sentence, let the truth be known, Such lunacy is ignorance alone; 450 They knew not, what some bishops may not know, That Scripture is the only cure of wo; That field of promise, how it flings abroad Its odour o'er the Christian's thorny road' The soIu, reposing on assur'd relief, 455 Feels herself happy amidst all her grief, Forgets her labour as she toils along, Weeps tears of joy, and bursts into a song. But the same word, that, like the polish'd share, Ploughs up the roots of a believer's care, 460 Kills, too, the flow'ry weeds, where'er they grow, That bind the sinner's Bacchanalian brow. Oh that unwelcome voice of heavenly love, S:ad messenger of mercy from above! How does it grate upon his thankless ear, 465 Crippling his pleasures with the cramp of fear! Ilis will and judgment at continual strife, Thlat civil war imbitters all his life: In vain lie points his pow'rs against the skies. In vain he closes or averts his eyes, 470 Truth will intrude-she bids him yet beware And shakes tile sceptick in the scorner's chair. Though various foes against the truth combine, Pride above all opposes her design; Pride, of a growth superiour to the rest, 475 The subtlest serpent with the loftiest crest, Swells at the thought, and, kindling into rage, Would hiss the cherub Mercy from the stage. And is the soul indeed so lost?-she cries, Fall'n from her glory, and too weak to rise? 480 Torpid and dull beneath a frozen zone, Has she no spark that may be decm'd her own? Grant her indebted to what zealots call VOL. I. G I I II II I -------- -— ^ I I i I 4 _ -----— I --- —-— ~ --- — _I -------— -_ 62 TRUTH. Grace undeserv'd, yet surely not for allSome beams of rectitude she yet displays, 485 Some love of virtue, and some pow'r to praise; Can lift herself above corporeal things, And, soaring on her own unborrow'd wings, Possess herself of all that's good or true, Assert the skies, and vindicate her due. 490 Past indiscretion is a venial crime, And if the youtl, unmellow'd yet by time, Bore on his branch, luxuriant then and rude, Fruits of a blighted size, austere and crude, Maturer years shall happier stores produce, 495 And meliorate the well-concocted juice. Then, conscious of her meritorious zeal, To Justice she may make her bold appeal, And leave to Mercy, with a tranquil mind, The worthless and unfruitful of mankind. 500 Hear, then, how Mercy, slighted and defied, Retorts the affront against the crown of Pride. Perish the virtue as it ought, abhorr'd, And the fool with it who insults his Lord. Tlhe atonement a Redeemer's love has wrought, 505 Is not for you-the righteous need it not Seest thou yon harlot wooing all she meets, The worn-out nuisance of the publick streets: Herself from morn to night, from night to morn, Her own abhorrence, and as much your scorn! 510 The gracious show'r, unlimited and free, Shall fall on her, when Heav'n denies it thee. Of all that wisdom dictates, this the drift, Tlhat man is dead in sin, and life a gift. Is virtue, then, unless of Christian growth, 515 Mere fallacy, or foolishness, or both? Ten thousand sages lost in endless wo, For ignorance of what they could not know? That speech betrays at once a bigot's tongueCharge not a God with such outrageous wrong. 520 Truly not I-the oartia! light nmen have, - I I - -- -- - -I- I --`- - _ ___ _ I ______I_ r ----c --- —-- ---------- TRUTH. 63 My creed persuades me, well-employd, may save; While lie that scorns the noonday beam, perverse, Shall find the blessing unimprov'd, a curse. Let heathen worthies, whose exalted mind 525 Left sensuality and dross behind, Possess for me their undisputed lot, And take, unenvied, the reward they sought. But still in virtue of a Saviour's plea, Not blind by choice, but destin'd not to see. 530 Their fortitude and wisdom were a flame Celestial, though they knew not whence it came, Deriv'd from the same source of light and grace, Tlhat guides the Christian in his swifter race; Their judge was conscience, and her rule their law; That rule, pursued with reverence and with awe, 536 Led tlem however falt'ring, faint, and slow, From what they knew, to what they wish'd to know. But let not him, that shares a brighter day, Traduce the splendour of a noontide ray, 540 Prefer the twilight of a darker time, And deem llis base stupidity no crime; The wretch, who slights the bounties of the skies, And sinks, while favour'd with the means to rise, Shall find them rated at their full amount, 545 The good lhe scorn'd all carried to account. Marshalling all his terrours as lie canmc, Thunder, and earthquake, and devouring flame, From Sinai's top Jehovah gave the law, Life for obedience, death for cv'ry flaw. 550 When the great sov'ieignl would his will express, He gives a perfect rule, what can he less? And guards it with a sanction as severe As vengeance can inflict, or sinners fear; Else his own glorious rights lie would disclaim, 55j And man lliglt safely trifle with his name. He bids himi glow with unremitting love To all on earth, and to himself above; Condemns th' injurious deed, the sland'rous tongue, _ ----- ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ - I i i i I i I I I I I I i I i I I ii I f f 1 1 I i I I I - ______ I-- 64 TRUTH. The thought that meditates i brother's wrcng: 560 Brings not alone the more conspicuous part, His conduct, to the test, but tries his heart. Hark! universal nature shook and groan'd, 'Twas the last trumpet-see the Judge entllron'd I Rouse all your courage at your utmost tleed, 565 Now summon ev'ry virtue-stand and plead. What! silent? is your boasting heard no more? That self-renouncing wisdom learn'd before, Had shed immortal glories on your brow, That all your virtues cannot purchase now. 570 All joy to the believer! He can speakTrembling, yet happy; confident, yet meek. Since the dear hour that brought me to thy foot, And cut up all my follies by the root, I never trusted in an arm but thine, 575 Nor hop'd, but in thy righteousness divine: My pray'rs and alms, imperfect and defild, Were but the feeble efforts of a child; Ilowo'er perform'd, it was their brightest part That they proceeded from a grateful heart; 580 Cleans'd in thine own all-purifying blood, Forgive their evil, and accept their good; I cast them at thy feet-my only plea Is what it was, dependence upon thee; While struggling in the vale oftears below, 585 That never fail'd, nor shall it fail me now. An-tclick gratulations rend the skies, Pride falls unpitied, never more to rise, -lumnility is crown'd, and Faith receive. the prize. I I I i I i h I 11 I I i I I i I i I I _____________________________ I ....: ____ I I_ ~ _ ___ _ ____ _ ______,i i;. I I I i I I EXPOSTULATION. Tantane, tam patiens, nullo ccrtamine tolli Dona sines? V Io. WHY weeps the muse for England? What appears In England's case, to move the muse to tears? From side to side of her delightful isle Is she not cloth'd with a perpetual smile? Can Nature add a charm, or Art confer 6 A new-found luxury not seen in her? Where under Heav'n is pleasure Inore pursued, Or where does cold reflection less intrude? Her fields a rich expanse of wavy corn, Pour'd out from Plenty's overflowing horn; 10 Ambrosial gardens, in which art supplies The fervour and the force of Indian skies; Her peaceful shores, where busy Commerce waits To pour his golden tide tlrough all her gates; Whom fiery suns, that scorch the russet spice 15 Of eastern groves, and oceans floor'd with ice, Forbid in vain to push his daring way To darker climes, or climes of brighter day; Whom the winds waft where'er the billows roll, From the world's girdle to the frozen pole; 2; The chariots bounding in her wheel-worn streets, -Hr vaults below, where ev'ry vintage meets; Her theatres, her revels, and her sports; rile scenes to which not yduth alone resorts. Gi " i. - 6f EEXPOSTULATION. Rut age, in spite of weakness and of pain, 25 Still haunts, in hope to dream of youth again; All speak her happy: let the muse look round From east to west, no sorrow can be found; Or only what, in cottages confin'd, Sighs unregarded to the passing wind. 30 Then wherefore weep for England? What appears In England's case, to move tile muse to tears? The prophet wept for Israel: wish'd his eyes Were fountains fed with infinite supplies: For Israel dwelt in robbery and wrong; 35 lThere were the scorner's and the sland'rer's tongue; Oa;ths, used as playthings or convenient tools, As interest bias'd knaves, or fiashion fools; Adult'ry, neighing at his neighbour's door; Oppression, lab'ring hard to grind the poor: 40 The partial balance, and deceitful weight; The treach'rous smile, a mask for secret hate; Hypocrisy, formality in pray'r, And the dull service of the lip were there. Her women, insolent and self-caress'd, 45 By Vanity's unwearied Linger dress'd, Forgot the blush, that virgin fears impart To modest cheeks, and borrow'd one from art. Were just such trifles, without worth or use, As silly pride and idleness produce: 50 Curl'd, scented, firbelow'd, and flounced around, With feet too delicate to touch the ground, They stretch'd the neck, and roll'd the wanton es., And sirlh'd for every fool that flutter'd by. He saw his people slaves to ev'ry lust, 55 Lewd, avaricious, arrogant, unjus'.: He heard the wheels of an avenging God Groan heavily along the distant road; Saw Babylon set wide her two-leav'd brass '1iv let the military deluge pass; GO Jerusalem a prey, her glory soil'd, Her princes captive, and her treasure spoil'd; I il il! L - -- -— — - I --- —-- " — - -- - ^ I- I-` --- —---- ---------------— I — r-I" — -^ —I —I ----- -` ----I --- i i i i I i I I f I i I i I I I I I i I I I I I I Ii I i I I I I I I I I I i I I I EXPOSTULATION. 67 Wept till all Israel heard his bitter cry, Staxnp'd with his foot, and smote upon his thigh; j But wept, and stamp'd, and smote his thigh in vain, 65 Pleasure is deaf when told of futurepain, And sounds prophetick are too rough to suit Ears long accustoin'd to the pleasing lute: They scorn'd his inspiration and his theme, Pronouncd him frantick, and his fears a dream; 70 With self indulgence wing'd the flceting hours, Till the foe found them, and down fell their tow'rs I ong time Assyria bound them in lher chain, "lill penitence had purg'd tlhe pulbick stain, And Cyrus, with relenting pity ilov'd, 75 Return'd them happy to the land they lov'd; There, proof against prosperity, a while They stood the test of her ensnaring smile, And had the grace in scenes of peace to show Tlhe virtues they had learn'd in scenes of wo. 80 But man is frail, and can but ill sustain A long immunity from grief and pain; And after all the joys that Plenty leads, With tiptoe step,Vice silently succeeds. When lie that rull'd them with a shepherd's rod 85 In form a iman, in digity a God, Came, not expected in that humble guise, To sift and search them with unerring eyes; He found conceal'd beneath a fair outside, Tho filth of rottenness, and worm of pride; 90 Their piety a system of deceit, Scripture emnploy'd to sanctify the cheat; The pharisee the dupe of his own art, Self idoliz'd, and vet a knave at heart. When nations are to perish in their sins, 95 'Tis in the church the leprosy begins; The priest, whose office is with zeal sincere To watch the fobntain and preserve it clear, Carelessly nods and sleeps upon the brink, While otlers poison what the flock must drink; 100 I I I - - -- - --- -— ~- - - I I L ~ I_ __I _ _~_ __~_ ____ __ ___. ~ __ I 68 EXPOSTULATION. Or, waking at the call cf lust alone, Infuses lies and errours of his own; His unsuspecting sheep believe it pure; And, tainted by the very means of cure, Catch from each other a contagious spot, 1C5 The foul forerunner of a gen'ral rot. Then Truth is hush'd, that Heresy may preach; And all is trash, that Rec:son cannot reach: Then God's own image on the soul impress'd Becomes a mock'ry, and a standing jest; 110 And Faith, the root whence only can arise The graces of a life that wins the skies, Loses at once all value and esteem, Pronounc'd by graybeards a pernicious dream: Then Ceremony leads her bigots forth, 11I Prepar'd to fight for shadows of no worth; While truths, on which eternal things depend, Find not, or hardly find, a single friend; As soldiers watch the signal of commnand, They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand; 12* Happy to fill Religion's vacant place With hollow form, and gesture, and grimace. Such, when the Teacher of his church was there, People and priest, the sons of Israel were; Stiff in the letter, lax in the design l'Z And import, of their oracles divine; Their learning legendary, false, absurd, And yet exalted above God's own word; They drew a curse from an intended good, Puff'd up with gifts they never understood. J30 He judg'd them with as terrible a frown, As if not love, but wrath, had brought him down Yet he was gentle as soft summer airs, Had grace for others' sins, but none for theirs; Through all he spoke a noble plainness ran- 135 Rhet'rick is artifice, the work of man And tricks and turns, that fancy may devise, Are far too mean for him that rules the Ekios. I 1 I i I I ---- -— .L.--.-. - - - - _1_11 ---- -— — __; i i I I i I I II I I I i I II i I i I i I I I I I I I rI I Ii I EXPOSTULATION. 6. Th' astonish'd vulgar trembled while he tore The mask from faces never seen before: 140 l-c stripp'd the impostors in the noonday sun, Show'd that they follow'd all they seem'd to shun Their pray'rs made publick, their excesses kept As private as the chambers where they slept The temple and its holy rites profan'd 145 By mumm'ries he that dwelt in it disdain'd; Uplifted hands, that at convenient times Could act extortion and the worst of crimes, Wash'd with a neatness scrupulously nice, And free from ev'ry taint but that of vice. 150 Judgment, however tardy, mends ler pace When Obstinacy once has co;lqur'd Grace. They saw distemper heal'd, and life restor'd, In answer to the fiat of his word; Confess'd the wonder, and with daring tongue 155 Blasphem'd th' authority from which it sprung. They knew by sure prognosticks seen on high, The future tone and temper of the sky; But, grave dissemblers, could not understand, That Sin let loose speaks Punishment at hand. lCO Ask now of history's authentick page, And call up evidence from every age; Display with busy and laborious hand The blessings of the most indebted land; What nation will you find, whose annals prove 165 So rich an int'rest in almighty love? Where dwell they now, where dwelt in ancient day, A people planted, water'd, bless'd as they? Let Erypt's plagues and Canaan's woes proclaim The favours pour'd upon the Jewish name; 170 Their freedoln purchas'd for them at the cost Of all their hard oppressors valued most; Their title to a country not their own, lade sure by prodigies till then unknown; 174 For them, the states tlley left nmade waste and void; For them, the states to which they went destroy'd. I I I i I I - 70 EXPOSTULATION. A cloud to measure out their march by day, By night a fire to cheer the gloomy way: That moving signal summoning, when best Their host to move, and when it stay'd, to rest. 180 For them the rocks dissolv'd into a flood, The dews condens'd into angelick food, Their very garments sacred-old, yet new, And Time forbid to touch them as he flew; Streams, swell'd above the bank, enjoin'd to stand, 185 While they pass'd through to their appointed land; Their leader arm'd with meekness, zeal. and love, And grac'd with clear credentials from above Themselves secur'd beneath the Almirghty wing; Their God their captain,* lawgiver, and king; 190 Crown'd with a thousand vict'ries, and at last Lords of the conquer'd soil, there rooted fast, In peace possessing what they won by war, Their name far published, and rever'd as far: Where will you find a race like theirs, endow'd 1;5 With all that man e'er wish'd, or Heav'n bestow'd? They, and they only, amongst all mankind Receiv'd the transcript of the eternal mind; Were trusted with his own engraven laws, And constituted guardians of his cause; 200 Theirs were the prophets, theirs the priestly call, And theirs, by birth, the Saviour of us all. In vain the nations that had seen them rise With fierce and envious, yet admiring eyes, Had sought to crush them, guarded as they were 205 By pow'r divine, and skill that could not err. Had they maintain'd allegiance firm and sure, And kept the faith immaculate and pure, Then the proud eagles of all-conquering Rome Had found one city not to be o'ercome; 210 And the twelve standards of the tribes unfurl'd, Had bid defiance to the warring world. I I I i i I I I I I S L * Vide Joshua, v. 14. -— cl — ` --- —— ' --- — - --- —' ------ I,~ I I I I I I I I I 11 i I I i i I II I 1. F __ __II__ _C __.fEXPOSTULAT.ION. 71 But grace abus'd brings forth tile foulest deeds, As richest soil the most luxuriant wfceds. Cur'd of the golden calves, their fathers' sin, 215 They set up self, that idol god, within; View'd a deliverer with disdain and hate, Who left them still a tributary state; Seiz'd fast his hand, held out to set them free From a worse yoke, and nail'd it to the tree: 220 There was the consummation and the crown, The flow'r of Israel's infamy full blown; Thence date their sad declension and their fall. Their woes not yet repeal'd, thence date thelm, l. Thus fell the best instructed in her day, 2*'5 And the most favour'd land, look where we may. Philosophy, indeed, on Grecian eyes Had pour'd the day, and clear'd the Roman skies In other climes perhaps creative Art, With pow'r surpassing theirs, perform'd her part; 230 Might give more life to marble, or might fill The glowing tablets with a juster skill; Might shine in fable, and grace idle themes With all the embroid'ry of poetick dreams; 'Twas theirs alone to dive into the plan, 235 That Truth and Mercy had reveal'd to mnan; And, while the world beside, that plan unknown, Deified useless wood or senseless stone, They breath'd in faitl their well-directed pray'rs, And the true God, the God of truth, was theirs. 240 Their glory faded, and their race dispcrs'd, The last of nations now, though once the first; They warn and teach the proudest, would they learn Keep wisdom, or meet vengeance in your turn: If we escap'd not, if Heav'n spar'd not us, 215 Peel'd, scatter'd, and exterminated thus! If Vice receiv'd her retribution due, When we were visited, what hope for you? When God arises with an awful frown To punish lust, or pluck presumnption down; 250 — I - - -" --— cl - ---- --- -- - I I I i 72 EXPOSTULATIONN. When gifts perverted, or not duly priz'd, Pleasure o'ervalued, and his grace dcspis'd, Provoke the vengeance of his righteous hand; To pour down wrath upon a thankless land; IHe will be found impartially severe, 256 'oo just to wink, or speak the guilty clear. Oh Israel, of all nations most undone! Thy diadem displac'd, thy sceptre gone: hly temple, once thy glory, fall'n and raz'd, And thou a worshipper e'en where thou may'st; 260 The services, once only without spot, Mere shadows now, their ancient pomp forgot; Thy Levites, once a consecrated host, No longer Levites, and their lineage lost, And t.-b- thyself o'er ev'ry country sown, 265 With none,.n earth that thou canst call thine own; Cry aloud, thou, that sittest in the dust, Cry to the proud, the cruel, and unjust; Knock at the gates of nations, rouse their fears; Say wrath is coming, and the storm appears, 270 But raise the shrillest cry in British ears. What ails thee, restless as the waves that roar, And fling their ibam against thy chalky shore, Mistress, at least while Providence shall pleaso And trident-bearing queen of the wide sei;- 275 \tWy, having kept good faith, and often shown Friendship and truth to others, find'st thou none? Thou tlat hast set the persecuted free, None interposes now to succour thee. Countries indebted to thy pow'r, that shine 280 With light deriv'd from thee, would smother thine Thy very children watch for thy disgraceA lawless brood, and curse thee to thy face. Thy rulers load thy credit year by year, With sums Peruvian mines could never clear; 285 As if, like arches built with skilful hand, The more 'twere press'd the firmer it would stand.: -, - -- -- -- - -- -- - —` ---- - I I I I I l. ____ ____ _ EXPOSTULATION. 7, The cry in all thy ships is still tle sanlue, Speed us away to battle and to 1lo!e. Thy mariners explore the wild expan:so, 2J0 Impatient to descry the flags of France: But though they fight as thine have ever fought, Return asham'd without the wreaths they soug lt Thy senate is a scene of civil jar, ChaQs of contrarieties at war;, 29 Where sharp and solid, phlegmatick and light, Discordant atoms meet, ferment, and light; Where Obstinacy takes his sturdy stand, To disconcert what Policy has plann'd; Where Policy is busied all night long 300 In setting right what Faction has set wrong; Where flails of oratory thresh the floor, That yields them chaff and dust, and nothing more. Thy rack'd inhabitants repine, complain, Tax'd till the brow of Labour sweats in vain; 30O War lays a burden on the reeling state, And peace does nothing to relieve the weight; Successive loads succeeding broils impose, And sighing millions prophesy the close. Is adverse Providence, when ponder'd well, 310 So dimly writ, or difficult to spell, Thou canst not read with readiness and ease Providence adverse in events like these? Know, then, that heavenly wisdom on this ball Creates, gives birth to, guides, consummates all; 3ll That while laborious and quick-thoughte.d man Snuffs up the praise of what he seems to plan, He first conceives, then perfects his design, As a mere instrument in hands divine: Blind to the working of that secret pow'r, 320 That balances the wings of ev'ry hour, The busy trifler dreams himself alone, Frames many a purpose, and God works his own. States thrive or wither as moons wax and wane, E'en as his will and his decrees ordain; 225 VOL. 1. 7 - - II i I - -------------------- --- —-~' 74 EXPOSTULATION. While honour, virtue, piety, bear sway, They flourish; and as these decline, decay: ]n just resentment of his injur'd laws, lie pours contempt on them, and on their cause: Strikes the rough thread of errour right athwart 330 The web ofev'ry scheme they have at heart; Bids rottenness invade and bring to dust The pillars of support, in which they trust, And do his errand of disgrace and shame On the chief strength and glory of the frame. 335 None ever yet impeded what he wrought, None bars him out from his most secret thought; Darkness itself before his eye is light, And Hell's close mischief naked in his sight. Stand now and judge thyself-Hast thou incurr'd Iis anger, who can waste thee with a word; 341 Who poises and proportions sea and land, Weighing them in the hollow of his hand: And in whose awful sight all nations seem As grasshoppers, as dust, a drop, a dream? 3.5 Hast thou, (a sacrilege his soul abhors,) Claim'd all the glory of thy prosperous wars? Proud of thy fleets and armies, stol'n the gem Of his just praise, to lavish it on them? HIast thou not learn'd, what thou art often told, 350 A truth still sacred, and believ'd of old, Tlat no success depends on spears and swords Tnblest, and that the battle is the Lord's? That courage is his creature, and dismay The post that at his bidding speeds away, 355 Ghastly in feature, and his stamm'ring tongue Witl doleful rumour and sad presage hung, To quell the valour of the stoutest heart, And teach the combatant a woman's part That he bids thousands fly where none pursue, 360 Saves as he will by many or by few, And claims for ever as his royal right, Th' event and sure decision of the fight?.I I I.I I I - I - __ - _ _ --- __ I, I I il I __ ____I____I_ _ _LI____I __ EXPOSTULA-TON. 75 Hast thou, tho' suckled at fair Freedom's breast, Exported Slav'ry to the conquered East? 365 Pull'd down the tyrants India serv'd with dread, And rais'd thyself, a greater in their stead? Gone thither arm'd and hungry, return'd full, Fed from the richest veins of the Mogul, A despot big with pow'r obtain'd by wealth, 370 And that obtain'd by rapine and by stealth? With Asiatick vices stor'd thy mind, But left their virtues and thine own behind? And having truck'd thy soul, brought home the fee, To tempt the poor to sell himself to thee? 375 Hast thou by statute shov'd from its design The Saviour's feast, his own bless'd bread and wine, And made the symbols of atoning grace An office-key, a picklock to a place, That infidels may prove their title good 380 By an oath dipp'd in sacramental blood? A blot, that will be still a blot, in spite Of all that grave apologists may write; And though a bishop toil to cleanse the stain, He wipes and scours the silver cup in vain. 385 And hast thou sworn on ev'ry slight pretence, Till perjuries are common as bad pence, While thousands, careless of the damning sin, Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er look'd within? Hast thou, when Heav'n has cloth'd thee witl disgrace, 390 And long provok'd, repaid thee to thy face, (For thou hast known eclipses and endur'd, Diminess and anguish, all thy beams olscur'd, When sin has shed dishonolr on thy brow; And never of a sabler hue than now,) 395 Hast tnou with heart perverse and conscience sear'd, Despising all rebuke, still persever'd, And having chosen evil, scorn'd the voice That cried, Repent!-and gloried'in thy cbhiece I -— — ------------- I I^ 76 EXPOSTULATION. Thy fastings, when calamity at last 400 Suggests th' expedient of a yearly fast, What mean they? Canst thou dream there is a pow'r In lighter diet at a later hour, To charm to sleep the threat'ning of the skies, And hide past folly from all-seeing eyes? 405 The fast that wins deliverance, and suspends The stroke that a vindictive God intends, Is to renounce hypocrisy; to draw Thy life upon the pattern of the law; To war with pleasure, idoliz'd before; 410 To vanquish lust, and wear its yoke no more. All fasting else, whate'er be the pretence, Is wooing mercy by renew'd offence. Hast thou within thee sin, that in old time Brought fire from Heav'n, the sex-abusing crime, 415 Whose horrid perpetration stamps disgrace, Baboons are free from, upon human race? Think on the fruitful and well-water'd spot That fed the flocks and herds of wealthy Lot. Where Paradise seem'd still vouchsaf'd on earth, 420 Burning and scorch'd into perpetual dearth; Or in his words who damn'd the base desire, Suf'ring the vengeance of eternal fire; Then Nature injur'd, scandaliz'd, defil'd, Unveil'd her blushing cheek, look'd on, and smil'd; 425 Beheld with joy the lovely scene defac'd, And prais'd the wrath that laid her beauties waste. Far be the thought from any verse of mine, And farther still the form'd and fix'd design, To thrust the charge of deeds, that I detest, 430 Against an innocent unconscious breast; The man that dares traduce, because he can With safety to himself, is not a man: An individual is a sacred mark Not to be pierc'd in play, or in tile dark; 435 But publick censure speaks a publick foe, Unless a zeal for virtue guide the blow..; --- —- - — - -- - -- I I I I I EXPOSTULATION. 77 The priestly brotherhood, devout, sincere, From mean self-int'rest and ambition clear, Their hope in Heav'n, servility their scorn, 440 Prompt to persuade, expostulate, and warn, Their wisdom pure, and giv'n them from above, Their usefulness ensur'd by zeal and love, As meek as the man Moses, and withal As bold as, in Agrippa's presence, Paul, 415 Should fly the world's contaminating touch, Holy and unpolluted;-are thine such? Except a few with Eli's spirit bless'd,. Hophni and Phineas may describe the rest. Where shall a teacher look, in days like these, 450 For ears and hearts that he can hope to please? Look to the poor-the simple and the plain Will hear perhaps thy salutary strain; Humility is gentle, apt to learn, Speak but the word, will listen and return, 455 Alas, not so!-the poorest of the flock Are proud, and set their faces as a rock; Denied that earthly opulence they choose, God's better gift they scoff at and refuse, The rich, the produce of a nobler stem, 460 Are more intelligent at least-try them. Oh, vain inquiry! they, without remorse, Are altogether gone a devious course; Where beck'ning Pleasure leads them, wildly stray, Have burst the bands, and cast the yoke away. 465 Now borne upon the wings of truth sublime, Review thy dim original and prime. This island, spot of unreclaim'd rude earth, The cradle that receiv'd thee at thy birth, Was rock'd by many a rough Norwegian blast, 470 And Danish howlings scar'd thee as they pass'd; For thou wast born amid the din of arms, And suck'd a breast that panted with alarms. While yet thou wast a grov'ling puling chit, Thy bones not fashion'd, and thy joints not knit, 475 7 * I I I i I - - I i i i i I I' ----------------------— - ---- ---— ' -- -- ----------— - --- —----— --- —- ' —'~ 78 EXPOSTULATION. The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow, Though twice a Ceesar could not bond thee now; His victory was of that orient light, When the sun's shafts disperse the gloom of night. Thy language at this distant moment shows 480 How much the country to the conqueror owes Expressive, energetick, and refin'd, It sparkles with the gems he left behind: He brought thy land a blessing when he came; He found thee savage, and he left thee tame; 485 Taught thee to clothe thy pink'd and painted hide, And grace thy figure with a soldier's pride; He sow'd the seeds of order where he went, [mprov'd thee far beyond his own intent, And, while he rul'd thee by the sword alone, 490 Made thee at last a warriour like his own. Religion, if in heavenly truths attir'd, Needs only to be seen to be admir'd; But thine, as dark as witch'ries of the night, Was form'd to harden hearts and shock the sight; 495 Thy Druids struck the well-hung harps they bore With fingers deeply dyed in human gore; And while the victim slowly bled to death, Upon the rolling chords rung out his dying breath. Who brought the lamp, that with awaking beans Dispell'd thy gloom, and broke away thy dreams, 501 Tradition, now decrepit and worn out, Babbler of ancient fables, leaves a doubt But still light reach'd thee; and those gods of thine, Woden and Thor, each tottering in his shrine, 505 Fell, broken and defac'd at his own door, As Dagon in Philistia long before. But Rome with sorceries and magick wand Soon rais'd a cloud, that darken'd ev'ry land; And thine was smother'd in the stench and fog 1 ( Of Tiber's marshes and the papal bog. Then priests with bulls, and briefs, and shaven crowns And griping fists, and unrelenting frowns, I - - -- -e -- _~___ L_III__ _~_ _______I _____ __ __ __L_ ___ I I I EXPOSTULATION. 79 Legates and delegates with pow'rs from Hell, Though heavenly in pretension, fleec'd thee well; 515 And to this hour, to keep it fresh in mind, Some twigs of that old scourge are left behind.* Thy soldiery, the pope's well-manag'd pack, Were train'd beneath his lash, and knew the sma k, And when he laid them on the scent of blood, 520 Would hunt a Saracen through fire and flood. Lavish of life, to win an empty tomb, That prov'd a mint of wealth, a mine to Rome, They left their bones beneath unfriendly skies, His worthless absolution all the prize. 525 Thou wast the veriest slave in days of yore, That ever dragg'd a chain or tugg'd an oar; Thy monarchs arbitrary, fierce, unjust, Themselves the slaves of bigotry or lust, Disdain'd thy counsels, only in distress 530 Found thee a goodly spunge for Power to press. Thy chiefs, the lords of many a petty fee, Provok'd and harass'd, in return plagu'd thee; Call'd thee away from peaceable employ, Domestick happiness and rural joy, 535 To waste thy life in arms, or lay it down In causeless feuds and bick'rings of their own. Thy parliaments ador'd on bended knees The sov'reignty they were conven'd to please; Whate'er was ask'd, too timid to resist, 540 Complied with, and were graciously dismiss'd; And if some Spartan soul a doubt express'd, And blushing at the tameness of the rest, Dar'd to suppose the subject had a choice, He was a traitor by the general voice. 545 O slave! with powers thou didst not dare exelt, Verse cannot stoop so low as thy desert; It shakes the sides of splenetick Disdain, Thou self-entitled ruler of the main, To trace thee to the date when yon fair sea, 550 Thaet clips thy shores, had! no such cha rms for thee; * Which ma' le found at Doctors' Comiiions. I I I I i i i i I - - 80) EXPOSTULATION. When other nations flew from coast to coast, And thou hadyt neither fleet nor flag to boast. Kneel now, and lay thy forehead in the dust; Blush if thou canst; not petrified, thou must; 555 Act but an honest and a faithful part; Compare what then thou wast with what thou art; And God's disposing providence confess'd, Obduracy itself must yield tile restThen thou art bound to serve him, and to prove, WO Hour after hour, thy gratitude and love. Has he not hid thee, and thy tavour'd land, For ages safe beneath his shelt'ring hand: Giv'n thee his blessing on the clearest proof, Bid nations leagu'd against thee stand aloof, 565 And charg'd Hostility and Hate to roar, Where else they would, but not upon thy shore? His power secur'd thee when presumptuous Spain Baptiz'd her fleet invincible in vain; Her gloomy monarch, doubtful and resign'd 570 To ev'ry pang that racks an anxious mind, Ask'd of the waves that broke upon his coast, What tidings? and the surge replied-All lost! And when the Stuart, leaning on the Scot, Then too much fear'd and now too much forgot, 575 Pierc'd to the very centre of the realn, And hop'd to seize his abdicated helm, 'Twas but to prove how quickly with a frown, He that had rais'd thee could have pluck'd thee down. Peculiar is the grace by thee possess'd, 5d0 Thy foes implacable, thy land at rest; Thy thunders travel over earth and seas, And all at home is pleasure, wealth, and ease. 'Tis thus, extending his tempestuous arm, Thy Maker fills the nations with alarm, 585 While his own Heav'n surveys the troubled scene, And feels no change, unshaken and serene, Freedom, in other lands scarce known to shine, Pours out a flood of splendour upon tliin; I M -. 4 — 4 --- —-------------- -- A_ I i I I I I 11 EXPOSTULA TTON. 81 Thou hast as bright an int'rest in her rays., 590 As ever Roman had in Rome's best days. True freedom is where no restraint is known, That Scripture, justice, and good sense disown; Where only vice and injury are tied, And all from shore to shore is free beside. 595 Such freedom is-and Windsor's hoary tow'rs Stood trembling at the boldness of thy pow'rs, That won a nymph on that immortal plain, Like her the fabled Phoebus woo'd in vain; He found the laurel only-happier you, COO Tn' unfading laurel and the virgin too!* Now think, (if pleasure have a thought to spare, If God himself be not beneath her care; If business, constant as the wheels of time, Can pause an hour to read a serious rhyme; 605 If the new mail thy merchants now receive, Or expectation of the next give leave,) O think, if chargeable with deep arrears For such indulgence gilding all thy years, -low much, though long neglected, shining yet, 610 The beams of heavenly truth have swell'd the debt. When persecuting zeal made royal sport With tortur'd innocence in Mary's court, And Bonner, blithe as shepherd at a wake, Enjoy'd the show, and danc'd about the stake; 615 The sacred book, its value understood, Receiv'd the seal of martyrdom in blood. Those'holy men, so full of truth and grace, Seem to reflection of a different race; Me(k, modest, venerable, wise, sincere, 620 In such a cause they could not dare to fear; They could not purchase earth with such a prize, Or spare a life too short to reach the skies. ' Alluding to the grant of Magna Charta, which was ext)rted from King John by the barons at R.nlnymede, ncas V indsor. I I I I _ _C I_ _CI_ IC_ ___ _ _I ^_C_ _C __ ___ ____I_ I I I I I I | 82 EXPOSTULATION. From them to thee convey'd along the tide, Their streaming hearts pour'd freely, when they died; Those truths, which neither use nor years impair, 626 Invite thee, woo thee, to the bliss they share. What dotage will not vanity maintain? What web too weak to catch a modern brain? The moles and bats in full assembly find 630 On special search, the keen-ey'd eagle blind. And did they dream, and art thou wiser now? Prove it-if better, I subnit and bow. Wisdom and goodness are twin-born, one heart Must hold both sisters, never seen apart. 635i So then-as darkness overspread the deep, Ere Nature rose from her eternal sleep, And this delightful earth, and that fair sky, Leap'd out of nothing, call'd by the Most High; By such a change thy darkness is made light, 640 Thy chaos order, and thy weakness might; And He whose pow'r mere nullity obeys, Who found thee nothing, form'd thee for his praise. To praise him is to serve him, and fulfil, Doing and suffring, his unquestion'd will; 645 'Tis to believe what men inspir'd of old, Faithful, and faithfully inform'd, unfold; Candid and just, with no false aim in view, To take for truth what cannot but be true; To learn in God's own school the Christian part, v6 And bind the task assign'd thee to thine heart: Happy the man there seeking and there found, * Happy the nation where such men abound. -low shall a verse impress thee? by what name Shall I adjure thee not to court thy shame? G5f By theirs, whose bright example unimpeach'd, Directs thee to that eminence they reach'd, Heroes and worthies of days past, thy sires? Or his, who touch'd their hearts with hallow'd firep Their names, alas! in vain reproach an age, Whom all the vanities they scorn'd engage i -- - - _:__ ____ ~ __ _ _5_ _ _ 2_.I i EXPOSTULATION. 83 And His, that seraph's trembled at, is hung Disgracefully on ev'ry trifler's tongue, Or serves the champion in forensick war To flourish and parade with at the bar. 665 Pleasure herself perhaps suggests a plea, If int'rest move thee, to persuade e'en thee; By ev'ry charm, that smiles upon her face, By joys possess'd, and joys still held in chase, If dear society be worth a thought, 670 And if the feast of freedom cloy thee not, Reflect that these, and all that seem thino own, Held by the tenure of his will alone, Like angels in the service of their Lord, Remain with thee, or leave thee at his word, 675 That gratitude and temperance in our use Of what he gives, unsparing, and profuse Secure the favour, and enhance the joy, That thankless waste and wild abuse destroy. But, above all. reflect, how cheap soe'er 680 Those rights that millions envy thee appear, And though resolv'd to risk them, and swim down The tide of pleasure, heedless of his frown, That blessings truly sacred, and when giv'n, Mark'd with the signature and stanmp of Heav'n, 685 The word of prophecy, those truths divine, Which make that Heav'n, if thou desire it, thine. Awful alternative! believ'd, belov'd, (Thy glory, and thy shame if unimprov'd,) Are never long vouchsafed, if push'd aside C90 With cold disgust, or philosophick pride; And that judicially withdrawn, disgrace, E:rour, and darkness, occupy their place. A world is up in arms, and thou, a spot Not quickly found if negligently sought, 695 Thy soul as ample as thy bounds are small, Endur'st the brunt, and dar'st defy them all And wilt thou join to this bold enterprise, A bolder still, a contest with the skies? I I i I I I I II - I II i I 84 EXPOSTULATION. Remember, if I-e gua.rd thee and secure, 700 Whoe'er assails thee, thy success is sure; But if lie leave thee, though the skill and pow'r Of nations sworn to spoil thee and devour, Were all collected in thy single arn, And thou could'st laugh away the fear of harln, 705 That strength would fail, oppos'd against the push And feeble onset of a pigmy rush. Say not, (and if the thought of such defence Should spring within thy bosom, drive it thence;) What nation amongst all my foes is free 710 From crimes as base as any charg'd on mre? Their measure fill'd, they too shall pay the debt, Which God, though long forborne, will not forget. But know that wrath divine, when most severe, Makes justice still the guide of his career, 715 And will not punish, in one mingled crowd, Them without light, and thee without a cloud. Muse, hang this lharp upon yon aged beech, Still murm'ring with the solemn truths I teach; And while at intervals a cold blast sings 720 Through the dry leaves and pants upon the strings, My soul shall sigh in secret, and lament A nation scourg'd, yet tardy to repent. I know the warning song is sung in vain; That few will hear, and fewer heed the strain; 725 But if a sweeter voice, and one design'd A blessing to my country and mankind, Reclaim the wand'ring thousands, and bring home A flock so scatter'd and so wont to roam, Then place it once again between my knees; 730 The sound of truth will then be sure to please: And truth alone, where'er my life be cast, In scenes of plenty, or the pining waste, Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last.. L _ -- --- -- - ~ ----C-~ --- -- - ^ I HOPE. doceas iter, et sacra ostea pandas. VitG. En. 6. ASK what is human life-the sage replies, With disappointment low'ring in his eyes, A painful passage o'er a restless flood; A vain pursuit of fugitive false good; A scene of fancied bliss and heart-felt care, 5 Closing at last in darkness and despair. The poor, inur'd to drudg'ry and distress, Act without aim, think little, and feel less, And no where, but in feign'd Arcadian scenes, Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means. 10 Riches are pass'd away from hand to hand, As fortune, vice, or folly may command; As in a dance, the pair that take the lead Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed, So shifting and so various is the plan, 15 By which Hcav'n rules the mix'd affairs of man; Vicissitude wheels round the motley crowd, Tho rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud Business is labour, and man's weakness such, Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much. 20 The very sense of it foregoes its use, By repetition pall'd, by age obtuse. ~outh lost in dissipation, we deplore, rhrough life's sad remnant, what no sighs restore: VOL. I. 8 _ _ ___._ _ __ 86) -HOPE. ur years a fruitless rat e without a prize, 25 Fo, many, yet too few to make us wiso. Dangling his cane about, and taking snuff, Lothario cries, Wlat philosophick stuff — O querulous and weak!-whose useless brain Once thought of nothing, and now thinks in vain; 30 Whose eye reverted weeps o'er all the past, Whose prospect shows thee a disheart'ning waste: Would age in thee resign his wintry reign, And youth invigorate that frame again, Renew'd desire would grace with other speech 35 Joys always priz'd, when plac'd within our reac;h. For, lift thy palsied head, shake off the gloom That overhangs the borders of thy tolmb, See Nature gay as when she first began, With smiles alluring her admirer man; 40 She spreads the morning over eastern hills, Earth glitters with the drops the night distils; The sun, obedient at her call, appears, To fling his glories o'er the robe she wears; Banks cloth'd with flow'rs, groves fill'd with sprightly sounds, 45 The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rising grounds, Streams edg'd with osiers, fatt'ning ev'ry field, Where'er they flow, now seen, and now conceal'd; From the blue rim, where skies and mountains meet, Down to the very turf beneath thy feet, 50 Ten thousand charms, that only fools despise, Or Pride can look at with indiff'rent eyes, All speak one language, all with one sweet voico Cry to her universal realm, Rejoice! Man feels the spur of passions and desires; 55 And she gives largely more than he requires; Not that his hours devoted all to Care, Hollow-ey'd Abstinence, and lean Despair, The wretch may pine, while to his smell, taste, sight, She holds a paradise of iich delight; GO I I I --- - I I i I CI-CI~L _ _ I --- —— _ --- —~ C —~ --— ~ --- HOPE. 87 But gently to relnuke his awksward fear, To prove that what she gives, she gives sincere. To banish hesitation, and proclaimn His happiness, her dear, her only aim. 'Tis grave philosophy's absurdest dream, 65 Tlat Heav'n's intentions are not what they seem That only shadows are dispens'd below, And earth has no reality but wo. Thus things terrestrial wear a different hue, As youth or age persuades; and neither true. 70 So Flora's wreath through colour'd crystal seen, The rose or lily appears blue or green, But still th' imputed tints are those alone The medium represents, and not their own. To rise at noon, sit slipshod and undress'd, 75 To read the news or fiddle as seems best, Till half the world comes rattling at his door, To fill the dull vacuity till four; And, just when ev'ning turns the blue vault gray, To spend two hours in dressing for the day: 80 To make the Sun a bauble without use, Save for the fruits his heav'nly beams produce: Quite to forget, or deem it worth no thought, Who bids him shine, or if he shine or not; Through mere necessity to close his eyes 85 Just when the larks and when the shepherds rise: Is such a life, so te-iously the same, So void of all utility or aim, That poor Jonqutil, with almost ev'ry breath, Sighs for his exit, vulgarly call'd death: 90 For he, with all his follies, has a nind Not ye. so blank, or fashionably bl.nd, But now and then perhaps a feebl, ray Of distant wisdom shoots across li's way; By which he reads, that life withoeit a plan, 96 As useless as the moment it began, Serves merely as a soil for discontent To thrive in; an incumbrance ere half spent. II I1.,I ____. i -- i I 88 HOPE. O weariness beyond what asses feel, Tlhat tread the circuit of the cistern wheel; 100 A dull rotation, never at a stay, Yesterday's face twin image of to-day; While conversation, an exhausted stock, Grows drowsy as the clicking of a clock. No need he cries, of gravity stufld out 105 With academick dignity devout, To read wise lectures, vanity the text; Proclaim the remedy, ye learned, next; For truth self-evident, with pomp impress'd, Is vanity surpassing all the rest. 110 That remedy, not hid in deeps profound, Yet seldom sought where only to be found, While passion turns aside from its due scope Th' inquirer's aim, that remedy is hope. Life is his gift, from whom whate'er life needs, 115 With ev'ry good and perfect gift proceeds; Bestow'd on man, like all that we partake, Royally, freely, for his bounty's sake; Transient indeed, as is the fleeting hour, And yet the seed of an immortal flow'r; 120 Design'd in honour of his endless love, To fill with fragance his abode above; No trifle, howsoever short it seem, And howsoever shadowy, no dream; Its value what no thought can ascertain, 125 Nor all an angel's eloquence explain. Men deal with life as children with their play, Who first misuse, then cast their toys away; Live to no sober purpose, and contend That their Creator had no serious end. 130 When God and man stand opposite in view, Man's disappointment must of course ensue. The just Creator condescends to write, In beams of inextinguishable light, His names of wisdom, goodness, pow'r, and love, 135 On all that blooms below, or shines above; I I -- - -- i i I I L —C-C --- —-I --- —- —C --- —- ---- --- ---- — -- I-OPE. 89 To catch the wand'ring notice of mankind, And teach the world, if not perversely Llind, His gracious attributes, and prove the share His offspring hold in his paternal care. 140 If, led from earthly things to things divine, His creature thwart not his august design, Then praise is heard instead of reas'ning pride, And captious cavil and complaint subside. Nature cmploy'd in her allotted place, 145 Is handmaid to the purposes of Grace; By good vouchsaf'd makes known superiour good, And bliss not seen by blessings understood: That bliss, reveal'd in Scripture, with a glow Bright as the covenant-ensuring bow, 150 Fires all his feelings with a noble scorn Of sensual evil, and thus hope is born. HIope sets the stamp of vanity on all That men have deem'd substantial since the fall; Yet has the wondrous virtue to educe 155 From emptiness itself a real use; And while she takes, as at a father's hand, What health and sober appetite demand, From fading good derives, with chemick art, That lasting happiness, a thankful heart. 160 Hope with uplifted foot, set free from earth, Pants for the place of her ethereal birth, On steady wings sails through the immense abyss, Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss, And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here 165 Wi.th wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear. Hope, as an anchor firm and sure, holds fast The Christian vessel, and defies the blast. Hope! nothing else can nourish and secure Iis new-born virtues, and preserve him pure. 170 Hope! let the wretch, once conscious of the joy, Whom now despairing agonies destroy, Speak, for he can,.and none so well as he, What treasures centre, what delights in thee 8* I -1 -- -------- 1 ' ----— -. I r -- -- I,,: ---!0 HOPE. 1-lad he the gems, the spices, and the land, 175 That boasts the treasure, all at his command; The fragrant grove, th' inestimable mine, Were light, when weigh'd against one smile of thine. Though clasp'd and cradled in his nurse's arms, lie shines with all a cherub's artless charms. 180 Man is the genuine offspring of revolt, Stubborn and sturdy as a wild ass' colt; His passions, like the wat'ry stores that sleep Beneath the smiling surface of the deep, Wait but the lashes of a wintry storm, 185 To frown, and roar, and shake his feeble form. From infancy through childhood's giddy maze Froward at school, and fretful in his plays, The puny tyrant burns to subjugate The free republick of the whipgig state. 190 If one, his equal in athletick frame, Or, more provoking still, of nobler name, Dare step across his arbitrary views, An Iliad, only not in verse, ensues; The little Greeks look trembling at the scales, 195 Till the best tongue, or heaviest hand prevails. Now see him launch'd into the world at large; If priest, supinely droning o'er his charge, Their fleece his pillow, and his weekly drawl, Though short, too long, the price he pays for alL 200 If lawyer, loud whatever cause he plead, Bat proudest of the worst, if that succeed. Perhaps a grave physician, gath'ring fees, Punctually paid for length'ning out disease; No Cotton, whose humanity sheds rays 205 That make superiour skill his second praise. If arms engage him, he devotes to sport His date of life, so likely to be short; A soldier may be any thing, if brave, So may a tradesman, if not quite a knave. 210 Such stuff the world is made of: and mankind To passion, int'rast, pleasure, whim, resign'd, i i i I I I I~~~~~~~ I i" _ _-c-__-_ ____.. HOPE. 91 Insist on, as if each were his own p-pe, Forgiveness, and the privilege of hope. But Conscience, in some awful, silent hour, 215 When captivating lusts have lost their pow'r, Perhaps when sickness, or some fearful dream, Reminds him of religion, hated theme! Starts from the down, on which she lately slept, And tells of laws despis'd, at least not kept: 220 Shows with a pointing finger, but no noise, A pale procession of past sinful joys, All witnesses of blessings foully scorn'd, And life abus'd, and not to be suborn'd. Mark these, she says; these summon'd from afa:, Z25 Begin their march to meet thee at the bar; There find a judge inexorably just, And perish there, as all presumption must. Peace be to those, (such peace as earth can give,) Who live in pleasure, dead e'en while they live; 230 Born, capable, indeed, of heav'nly truth; But down to latest age, from earliest youth, Tleir mind a wilderness through want of care, The plough of wisdom never ent'ring there. Peace, (if insensibility may claim 235 A right to the meek honours of her name,) To men of pedigree, their noble race, Emulous always of the nearest place To any throne, except the throne of Grace. Let cottagers and unenlighten'd swains 240 Revere the laws they dream'd that Heav'n ordains; Resort on Sundays to the house of pray'r, And ask, and fancy they find blessings there. Themselves, perhaps, when weary they retreat T' enjoy cool nature in a country scat, 245 T' exchange the centre of a thousand trades, For clumps, and lawns, and temples, and cascades, May now and then the;r velvet cushions take, And seem to pray, for good example sake; I I I J -- -- -- I i _z _11___ __ __ 7 __ _1___1_ _ _I__ 32 HOPE. Judging, in charity, no doubt, the town 250 Pious enough, and having need of none. Kind souls! to teach their tenantry to prize What they themselves, without remorse despise: Nor hope have they, nor fear of aught to come, As well for them had prophecy been dumb; 255 They could have held the conduct they pursue, Had Paul of Tarsus liv'd and died a Jew; And truth, propos'd to reas'ners wise as they, Is a pearl cast-completely cast away. They die-Death lends them, pleas'd, and as in sport, 260 All the grim honours of his ghastly court. Far other paintings grace the chamber now, Where late we saw the mimick landscape glow: Tile busy heralds rang the sable scene With mournful scutcheons, and dim lamps between; Proclaim their titles to the crowd around, 2G6 But they that wore them move not at the sound; The coronet plac'd highly at their head, Adds nothing now to the degraded dead; And e'en the star, that glitters on the bier, 270 Can only say-Nobility lies here. Peace to all such-'twere pity to offend, By useless censure, whom we cannot mend; Life without hope can close but in despair, 'Twas there we found them, and must leave them there. 275 As when two pilgrims in a forest stray, Both may be lost, yet each in his own way; So fares it with tile multitudes beguil'd In vain Opinion's waste and dang'rous wild; Ten thousand rove the brakes and thorns among, 280 Some eastward, and some westward, and all wrong. But here, alas! the fatal diffrence lies, Each man's belief is right in his own eyes; And he that blames what they have blindly chose, Incurs resentment for the love he shows. 235 I I I II I I I I I I I I i -1 - - -— -I ---- —I --- —I ----c" --- —' I I I _ ) --- —--— L —~-~ --- —— ~L --- ^_-_- --------— _ ---— ~ --- — HOPE. 93 Say, botanist, wi!liin who;-c province fall The cedar and the hyssop on the wall, Of all that deck the lanes, the fields, the bow'rs, What parts the kindred tribes of weeds and ilow rs? Sweet scent, or lovely form, or both conibin'd, 290 Distinguish ev'ry cultivated kind; The want of both denotes a meaner breed, And Clloe from her garland picks the weed. Thus hopes of ev'ry sort, whatever sect Esteem them, sow them, rcar them, and protect. 29(5) If wild in nature, and not duly found, Gethsemane! in thy dear hallow'd ground, That cannot bear the blaze of Scripture light, Nor cheer the spirit, nor refresh the sight, Nor animate the soul to Christian deeds, 300 (Oil cast them from thee!) are weeds, arrant weeds. Ethelred's house, the centre of six ways, Diverging each from each, like equal rays, Himself as bountiful as April rains, Lord paramount of the surrounding plains, 305 Would give relief of bed and board to none, But guests that sought it in th' appointed One; And they might enter at his open door, E'en till his spacious hall would hold no more. He sent a servant forth, by ev'ry road, 310 To sound his horn, and publish it abroad. That all might mark-knight, menial, high, and low, An ord'nance it concern'd them much to know. If after all some headstrong hardy lout Would disobey, though sure to be shut out, 315 Could he with reason murmur at his case, Himself sole author of his own disgrace? No! the decree was just and without flaw; And ho that made, had right to make the law; His sov'reign power, and pleasure unrestrain'd, 320 The wrong was his who wrongfully complain'd. Yet half mankind maintains a churlish strife With Him, the Donor of eternal life, -I I I I i..... - - I r ~ ~ ~ ~ _ ---— 1~ ----L I c- 94 HOPE. Because the deed, by which his love confirms The largess h3 bestows, prescribes the terms. Compliance with his will your lot ensules, Accept it only, and the boon is yours. And sure it is as kind to smile and give, As with a frown to say, Do this, and live. Love is not pedler's trump'ry, bought and sold He will give freely, or he will withhold; His soul abhors a mercenary thought, And him as deeply who abhors it not; He stipulates, indeed, but merely this, That man will freely take an unbought bliss, Will trust him for a faithful gen'rous part, Nor set a price upon a willing heart. Of all the WLqs that seem to promise fair, To place you where his saints his presence share. This only can; for this plain cause, express'd In terms as plain-Himself has shut the rest. But oil the strife, the bick'ring, and debate, The tidings of unpurchas'd Heav'n create! The flirted fan, the bridle, and the toss, All speakers, yet all language at a loss. From stucco'd walls smart arguments rebound; And beaux, adepts in ev'ry thing profound, Die of disdain, or whistle off the sound. Such is the clamour of rooks, daws, and kites, Th' explosion of the levell'd tube excites, Where mould'ring abbey walls o'erhang the glado, And oaks coeval spread a mournful shade, The screaming nations, hov'ring in mid air, Loudly resent the stranger's freedom there, And seem to warn him never to repeat His bold intrusion on their dark retreat. Adieu, Vinosa cries, ere yet he sius The purple bumper trembling at his lipsAdieu to all morality! if Grace Make works a vain ingredient in the case..r25 330 335 340 315 350 355 3GO I --- -- - -------------------- _ _ *e~ ~_ _ ___ ____. _ L_ I I I I I I i i HOPE. 95 The Christian hcpe is-Waiter, draw the corkIf I mistake not-Blockhead! with a fork! Without good works, whatever some may boast, Mere folly and delusion-Sir, your toast. My firm persuasion is, at least sometimes, 365 That Heav'n will weigh man's virtues and his crimes With nice attention, in a righteous scale, And save or damn as these or those prevail. I plant my foot upon this ground of trust, And silence ev'ry fear with —God is just. 370 But if, perchance, on some dull, drizzling day, A thought intrude, that says, or seems to say, If thus th' important cause is to be tried, Suppose the beam should dip on the wrong side; I soon recover from these needless frights, 375 And God is merciful-sets all to rights. Thus between justice, as my prime support, And mercy, fled to as the last resort, I glide and steal along with Heav'n in view, And-pardon me, the bottle stands with you. 380 I never will believe, the colonel cries, The sanguinary schemes that some devise, Who make the good Creator on their plan, A being of less equity than man. If appetite, or what divines call lust, 385 Which men comply with, e'en because they must, Be punish'd with perdition, who is pure? Then theirs, no doubt, as well as mine, is sure. If sentence of eternal pain belong To ev'ry sudden slip and transient wrong, 390 Then Heav'n enjoins the fallible and frail A hopeless task, and damns them if they fail. My creed, (whatever some creed-makers mean By Athanasian nonsense, or Nicene,) My creed is, he is safe, that does his best, 395 And death's a doom sufficient for the rest. Right, says an ensign; and for aught I see Your faith and mine substantially agree; I Zt i - _ __ - - 96 HOPE. The best. of ev'ry man's performance here Is tj d'is Lharge the duties of his sphere. 400 A lawyer's dealings should be just and fair, Honesty shines with great advantage there. Fasting and pray'r sit well upon a priest, A decent caution and reserve at least. A soldier's best is courage in the field, 40.5 WVith nothing here that wants to be conceal'd. Manly deportment, gallant, easy, gay; A hand as lib'ral as the light of day. The soldier thus endow'd who never shrinks, Nor closets up his thoughts, whate'er lie thinks 410 Who scorns to do an injury by stealth. Must go to Heav'n-and I must drink his health Sir Smug, he cries, (for lowest at the board, Just made fifth chaplain of his patron lord, His shoulders witnessing by many a shrug 415 How much his feelings suffer'd, sat Sir Smug,' Your office is to winnow false from true; Come, Prophet, drink, and tell us, What think i a? Sighing and smiling as he takes his glass, Which they that woo preferment rarely pass, 420 Fallible man, the church-bred youth replies, Is still found fallible, however wise; And diffring judgments serve but to declare, That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where Of all it ever was my lot to read, 125 Of criticks now alive, or long since dead, The book of all the world that charm d me most Was-well-a-day —the title page was lost; The writer well remarks, a heart that knows To take with gratitude what Heav'n bestows, A.30 With prudence always ready at our call, To guide our use of it, is all in all. Doubtless it is-To which, of my own store, I superadd a few essentials more; But these, excuse the liberty I take, 435 I wave just now, for conversation's sake. I I I -- - _ __ _ ___ _ HOPE. 97 Spoke like an oracle, they all exclaim, And add Right Rev'rend to Smug's honoir'd name. And yet our lot is giv'n us in a land, Where busy arts are never at a stand; 440 Where Science points her telescopick eye., Familiar with the wonders of the sky; Where bold inquiry, diving out of sight, Brings many a precious pearl of truth to light; Where naught eludes the persevering quest, 445 That fashion, taste, or luxury, suggest. But above all, in her own light array'd, See Mercy's grand apocalypse display'd Tile sacred book no longer suffers wrong, Bound in the fetters of an unknown tongue; 450 But speaks with plainness, art could never mend, What simplest minds can soonest comprehend. God gives the word, the preachers throng around, Live from his lips, and spread the glorious sound; That sound bespeaks Salvation on her way, 455 The trumpet of a life-restoring day; 'Tis heard where England's eastern glory shines, And in the gulfs of her Cornubian mines, And still it spreads. See Germany send forth Her sons* to pour it on the farthest north: 460 Fir'd with a zeal peculiar, they defy The rage and rigour of a polar sky, And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose On icy plains, and in eternal snows. O bless'd within th' enclosure of your rocks, 465 Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks; No fertilizing streams your fields divide, That show revers'd the villas on their side; No groves have ye; no cheerful sound of bird, Or voice of turtle in your land is heard; 470 Nor gratefil eglantine regales the smell Of those that walk at ev'ning where ye dwell; I i II i.I i I I I * The Moravian Missionaries in Greenland. See Krantz Vor.. [. 9 ----------- -- --- --- - ----- - -- - I I i I { I~~~_ 98 HOPE. But winter, arm'd with terrours here unknown, Sits absolute on his unshaken throne; Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste, 475 And bids the mountains lie has built stand fast: Beckons the legions of his storms away From happier scenes, to make your land a prey; Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won, And scorns to share it with the distant Sun. 480 -Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied isle! And Peace, the genuine offspring of her snile; The pride of letter'd Ignorance that binds In chains of errour our accomplish'd minds, That decks with all the splendour of the true, 485 A false religion is unknown to you. Nature, indeed, vouchsafes for our delight The sweet vicissitudes of day and night: Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here; 490 But brighter beams than his who fires the skies, Have ris'n at length on your admiring eyes, That shoot into your darkest caves the day, From wlirch our nicer opticks turn away. Here see the encouragement Grace gives to vice, The dire eftect of mercy without price!. 496 What were they? what some fools are made by art, They were by nature, atheists head and heart. The gross idolatry blind heathens teach, Was too refin'd for them, beyond their reach. 500 Not e'en the glorious Sun, though men revere The monarch most, that seldom will appear, And the' his beams, that quicken where they shine, May claim some right to be esteem'd divine, Not e'en the Sun, desirable as rare, 505 Could bend one knee, engage one votary there; They were, what base Credulity believes True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards, thieves: The full-gorg'd savage, at his nauseous feast Spent half the darkness, and snor'd out the rest, 510 I I I I -— _ _ I I I 11 fi - -- - --- - -I — -----— ---- --- Lu --- — — - -— `- ------— I-`- --- — " — HOPE. 99 Was one, whom Justice, on an equal plan Denouncing death upon the sins of man, Might almost leave indulg'd with an escape, Chargeable only with a human shape. What are they now?-Morality may spare 515 IHer grave concern, her kind suspicions there: The wretcl, who once sang wildly, danc'd, and latgh'd, And suck'd in dizzy madness with h;s draught, Has wept a silent flood, revers'd his ways, Is sober, meek, benevolent, and prays, 520 Feeds sparingly, communicates his store, Abhors the craft he boasted of before, And he that stole has learn'd to steal no more. Well spake the prophet-Let the desert sing, Where sprang the thorn, the spiry fir shall spring, 525 And where unsightly and rank thistles grew, Slall grow the myrtle and luxuriant yew. Go now, and with important tone demand On what foundation virtue is to stand, If self-exalting claims be turn'd adrift, 530 And grace be grace indeed, and life a gift; The poor reclaim'd inhabitant, his eyes Glist'ning at once with pity and surprise, Amaz'd that shadows should obscure the sight Of one, whose birth was in a land of light, 535 Shall answer, Hope, sweet Hope, has set me free, And made all pleasures else mere dross to me. These amidst scenes as waste as if denied The common care that waits on all beside, Wild as if Nature there, void of all good, 540 Play'd only gambols in a frantick mood (Yet charge not heavenly skill with having p.ann d A play thing world, unworthy of his hand;) Can see his love, though tecret evil lurks In all we touch, stamp'd plainly on his works; 545 Deem life a blessing with its num'rous woes, Nor spurn away a gift a G d bestows. I i I II l - 11_ ____YCCI I ------- ----- ---- ----------- - I I i i I 1i 1i Ii I! L 100 HOPE. Hard task indeed o'er arctick seas to roam! Is hope exotick? grows it not at home Yes, but an object, bright as orient morn, 5,50 May press the eye too closely to be borne; A distant virtue we can all confess, It hurts our pride, and moves our envy less. Leuconomus, (beneath well-sounding Greek, I slur a name, a poet must not speak,) 555 Stood pilloried on Infamy's high stage, And bore the pelting scorn of half an age: The very butt of Slander, and the blot For cv'ry dart that Malice ever shot. The man that mention'd him at once dismiss'd 560 All mercy from his lips, and sneer'd and hiss'd; His crimes were such as Sodom never knew, And Perjury stood up to swear all true; His aim was mischief, and his zeal pretence, His speech rebellion against common sense; 565 A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule; And when by that of reason, a mere fool; The World's best comfort was, his doom was pass d: Die when he might, he must be dann'd at last. Now, Truth, perform thine office; waft aside 570 The curtain drawn by Prejudice and Pride, Reveal, (the man is dead) to wond'ring eyes, This more than monster in his proper guise. He lov'd the world that hated him; the tear That dropp'd upon his Bible was sincere: 475 Assail'd by scandal and the tongue of strife, I His only answer was a blameless life; And lie that forg'd, and he that threw the dart, Had each a brother's int'rest in his heart. Paul's love of Christ, and steadiness unbrib'd, 480 Were copied close in him, and well transcrib'd. He follow'd Paul; his zeal a kindred flame, His apostolick charity the same. Like him, cross'd cheerfully tempestuous seas, Forsaking country, kindred, friends, and ease; 585 I I i i I I -I - - - C~~~~~L L~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~__ ___ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_C_~~~~~~~~~___I____ _ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~1 _ 1~~~~~~~~~~~~1 _ ~~~~~~~ iI i I I I I I HOPE. 101 Like him he labour'd, and like him content To bear it, suffer'd shame where'er he went. Blush Calumny! and write upon his tomb, If honest Eulogy can spare thee room, Thy deep repentance of thy thousand lies, 590 Which, aim'd at him, have pierc'd th' offended skies! And say, Blot out my sin,:confess'd, deplor'd, Against thine image, in thy saint, O Lord' No blinder bigot, I maintain it still, Than he who must have pleasure, come what will: He laughs, whatever weapon Truth may draw, 596 And deems her sharp artillery mere straw. Scripture indeed is plain; but God and he On Scripture ground are sure to disagree; Some wiser rule must teach him how to live, 600 Than this his Maker has seen fit to give; Supple and flexible as Indian cane, To take the bend his appetites ordain; Contriv'd to suit frail Nature's crazy case, And reconcile his lust with saving grace. 605 By this, with nice precision of design, He draws upon life's map a zigzag line, That shows how far 'tis safe to follow sin, And where his danger and God's wrath begin. By this he forms, as pleas'd he sports along, 610 His well-pois'd estimate of right and wrong; And finds the modish manners of the day, Though loose, as harmless as an infant's play. Build by whatever plan Caprice decrees, With what materials, on what ground you please; 615 Your hope shall stand unblam'd, perhaps admir'd, If not that hope the Scripture has requir'd. The strange conceits, vain projects, and wild dreams, With which hypocrisy for ever teems, (Though other follies strike the publick eye, 620 And raise a laugh,) pass unmolested by; But if, unblamable in word or thouglht, A man arise, a man whom God has taught 9,,, _ -I —`'`- — '-~-"' -- LI — l ----ICI --- ----C --- —--— --- — I I i I _L__ ______________ ____________^____ _______ _ _____ t02 HOPE. With all Elijah's dignity of tone, And all the love of the beloved John, 625 To storm the citadels they build in air, And smite the untemper'd wall; 'tis death to spate To sweep away all refuges of lies, And place, instead of quirks themselves devise, Latma sanacthani before theiT eyes; 630 To prove, that without Christ all gain is loss, All ho)pe despair, that stands not on his cross; Except the few his God may have impress'd, A tenfold frenzy seizes all the rest. Throughout mankind, the Christian kind at least, There dwells a consciousness in ev'ry breast, 636 Tlat folly ends where genuine hope begins, And he that finds his Heav'n must lose his sins. Nature opposes with her utmost force This riving stroke, this ultimate divorce; 640 And, while religion seems to be her view, Hates with a deep sincerity the true: For this, of all that ever influenc'd man, Since Abel worshipp'd, or the world began, This only spares no lust, admits no plea, 645 But makes him, if at all, completely free; Sounds forth the signal, as she mounts her car, Of an eternal, universal war; Rejects all treaty, penetrates all wiles, 619 Scorns with the same indiffrence frowns and smiles; Drives through the realms of Sin, where Riot reels, And grinds his crown beneath her burning wheels Hence all that is in man, pride, passion, art, Pow'rs of the mind, and feelings of the heart, Insensible of Truth's almighty charms, 655 Starts at her first approach, and sounds to arms! While Bigotry, with well-d:ssembled fears, His eyes shut fast, his fingers in his ears, Mighty to parry and push by God's word With senseless noise, his argument the sword, 660 I I - ----- - -- --- I I I I I i i i 1 1 I I I I I I I I I I HOPE. 10ol Pretends a zeal for godliness and grace, And spits abhorrence in the Christian's face. Parent of Hlope, immortal Truth! make known Thy deathless wreaths and triumphs all thine own: The silent progress of thy pow'r is such, 665 Thy means so feeble, and despis'd so much, That few believe the wonders thou hast wrought, And none can teach them, but whom thou hast taught. O see me sworn to serve thee, and commandt A painter's skill into a poet's hand. 670( That while I trembling trace a work divine, Fancy may stand aloof from the design, And light, and shade, and ev'ry stroke be thine. If ever thou hast felt another's pain: If ever when he sigh'd, Ifst sigh'd again; 675 If ever on thy eyelid stood the tear That pity had engender'd, drop one here. This man was happy-had the World's good word, And with it ev'ry joy it can afford; Friendship and love seem'd tenderly at strife, 680 Which most should sweeten his untroubled life; Politely learn'd, and of a gentle race, Good breeding and good sense gave all a grace, And whether at the toilette of the fair He laugh'd and trifled, made him welcome there; 685 Or if in masculine debate he shar'd, Ensur'd him mute attention and regard. Alas, how chang'd! Expressive of his mind, His eyes are sunk, arms folded, head reclin'd; Those awful syllables,- Hell, death, and sin, 690 Though whisper'd plainly, tell what works witlin, That Conscience there performs her proper part, And writes a doomsday sentence on his heart; Forsaking, and forsaken of all friends, He now perceives where earthly pleasure ends 695 Hard task! for one who lately knew no care, And harder still as learn'd beneath despair -1 r - ---— ~- ---- I I 104 HOPE. His hours no longer pass unmark'd away, A dark importance saddens ev'ry day; He hears the notice of the clock perplex'd, 700 And cries, Perhaps eternity strikes next; Sweet musick is no longer musick here, And laughter sounds like madness in his ear; His grief the world of all her pow'r disarms, Wine has no taste, and beauty has no charms; 705 God's holy word, once trivial in his view, Now by the voice of his experience true, Seems, as it is, the fountain whence alone Must spring that hope he palts to make his own Now let the bright reverse be known abroad; 710 Say man's a worm, and pow'r belongs to God. As when a felon, whom his country's laws Have justly doom'd for some atrocious cause, Expects in darkness and heart chilling fears, The shameful close of all his mispent years; 715 If chance, on heavy pinions slowly borne, A tempest usher in the dreaded morn, Upon his dungeon walls the lightnings play, The thunder seems to summon him away, The warder at the door his key applies, 720 Shoots back the bolt, and all his courage dies If then, just then, all thoughts of mercy lost, When hope, long ling'ring, at last yields the ghost, The sound of pardon pierce his startled ear, He drops at once his fetters and his fear; 725 A transport glows in all he looks and speaks, And the first thankful tears bedew his cheeks. Joy, far superiour joy, that much outweighs The comfort of a few poor added days, Invades, possesses, and o'erwhelms the soul 730 Of him, whom Hope has with a touch made whole. 'Tis Heav'n, all Heav'n descending on the wings Of the glad legions of the King of kings; 'Tis more-'tis God diffus'd through ev'ry part, "Tis God himself triumphant in his heart 735 - I I i I = - ------------ i I I I i I I __ ___ -11^-1 --- —-- -- --- ) HOPE. 105 0 welcome now the Sun's once hated light His noonday beams were never half so bright. Not kindred minds alone are call'd t' employ Their hours, their days, in list'ning to his joy; Unconscious nature all that he surveys, 740 Rocks, groves, and streams, must join him in his praise. These are thy glorious works, eternal Truth, The scoffof wither'd age and beardless youth These move the censure and illib'ral grin Of fools that hate thee and delight in sin: 745 But these shall last when night has quench'd the pole, And Heav'n is all departed as a scroll. And when, as Justice has long since decreed, This earth shall blaze, and a new world succeed, Then these thy glorious works, and they who share That hope, which can alone exclude despair, 751 Shall live exempt from weakness and decay, The brightest wonders of an endless day. Happy the bard, (if that fair name belong To him that blends no fable with his song,) 755 Whose lines uniting, by an honest art, The faithful monitor's, and poet's part, Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind, And while they captivate, inform the mind: Still happier, if he till a thankful soil, 760 And fruit reward his honourable toil: But happier far, who comfort those that wait To hear plain truth at Judah's hallow'd gate: Their language simple, as their manners meek; No shining ornaments have they to seek; 7G5 Nor labour they, nor time, nor talents waste, In sorting flow'rs to suit a fickle taste; But while they speak the wisdom of the skies, Which art can only darken and disguise, Th' abundant harvest, recompense divine, 770 Repays their work —the gleanitng onlyi mine..... I I I I I I CHARITY. Quo nibil majius neliusve terris Fata dona ere, bonique dirii; Nec datbunt, qwamvis redeant in aurum Tempora priscum. lIoR. lib. iv. Od. 2. FAIREST and foremost of the train, that wait On man's most dignified and happiest state, Whether we name thee Charity or Love, Chief grace below, and all in all above, Prosper, (I press thee with a pow'rful plea,) 5 A task I venture on, impelld by thee: O never seen but in thy bless'd effects, Or felt but in the soul that Heav'n selects; Who seeks to praise thee, and to make thee known To other hearts, must have thee in his own. 10 Come, prompt me with benevolent desires, Teach me to kindle at thy gentle fires, And though disgrac'd and slighted, to redeem A poet's name, by making thee the theme. God, working ever on a social plan, 15 By various ties attaches man to man: He made at first, though free and unconfin'd, One man the common father of the kind; That ev'ry tribe, though plac'd as he sees best, Where seas or deserts part them from the rest, 20 I I _ i i I I - r CHARITY. 107 Differing in language, manners, or in face, Might feel themselves allied to all the race. When Cook-lamented, and with tears as just As ever mingled with heroick dust, Steer'd Britain's oak into a world unknown, 25 And in his country's glory sought his own, Wherever he found man, to nature true, The rights of man wore sacred in his view; IHe sooth'd with gifts, and greeted with a smile, The simple native of the new-found isle; 30 Hle spurn'd the wretch that slighted or withstood The tender argument of kindred blood, Nor would endure that any should control His freeborn brethren of the southern pole. But though some nobler minds a law respect, 35 That none shall with impunity neglect, In baser souls unnumber'd evils nieet, To thwart its influence and its end defeat. While Cook is lov'd for savage lives he sav'd, See Cortez odious for a world enslav'd! 40 Where wast thou then, sweet Charity! where then Thou tutelary friend of helpless men; Wast thou in monkish cells and nunn'ries found, Or building hospitals on English ground? No.-Mammon makes the world his legatee 45 Through fear, not love: and Heav'n abhors the fee Wherever found, (and all men need thy care,) Nor age nor infancy could find thee there. The hand that slew till it could slay no more, Was glued to the sword hilt with Indian gore. 50 Their prince, as justly seated on his throne, As vain imperial Philip on his own, Trick'd out of all his royalty by art, That stripp'd him bare, and broke his honest heart, Died by the sentence of a shaven priest, 55 For scorning what they taught him to detest. How dark the veil that intercepts the blaze Of Heav'n's mysterious purposes and ways ~ I = 'Z.- - - ~ -- - II I - - --- 108 CHARITY. God stood not, though he seem'd to stand, aloof; And at this hour the conqu'ror feels the proof; 60 The wreath he won drew down an instant curse, The fretting plague is in the publick purse, The canker'd spoil corrodes the pining state, Starv'd by that indolence their mines create. O could their ancient Incas rise again, G5 Iow would they take up Israel's taunting strain! Art thou too faIl'n, Iberia? Do we see The robber and the murderer weak as we? Thou, that hast wasted earth, and dar'd despise Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies, 70 Thy pomp is in the grave, thy glory laid Low in the pits thine avarice has made. We come with joy from our eternal rest, To see th' oppressor in his turn oppress'd. Art thou the god, the thunder of whose hand 7> Roll;d over all our desolated land, Shook principalities and kingdoms down, And made the mountains tremble at his frown? The sword shall light upon thy boasted pow'rs, And waste them, as thy sword has wasted ours. 8) 'Tis thus Omnipotence his law fulfils, And Vengeance executes what Justice wills. Again-the band of commerce was design'd 1" associate all the branches of mankind; And if a boundless plenty be the robe, 65 Trade is the golden girdle of the globe. Wise to promote whatever end he means, God opens fruitful nature's various scenes. Each climate needs what other climes produce, And offers something to the gen'ral use; c0 No land but listens to the common call, And in return receives supply from all. This genial intercourse, and mutual aid, Cheers what were else a universal shade, Calls nature from her ivy-mantled den, 95 And softens human rock-work into men. I I 1. 1 I I.1 - - I % -- ---- -- -------- -------— c —. -- _ __ __ CHARITY. 109 Ingenious Art, with her expressive face, Steps forth to fashion and refine the race; Not only fills necessity's demand, But overcharges her capacious hand: 100 Capricious taste itself can crave no more Than she supplies from her abounding store. She strikes out all that luxury can ask, And gains new vigour at her endless task. Her's is the spacious arch, the shapely spire, 105. The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre; From her the canvass borrows light and shade, And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade. She guides the finger o'er the dancing keys, Gives difficulty all the grace of ease, 110 And pours a torrent of sweet notes around, Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound. These are the gifts of Art, and Art thrives most Where Commerce has enrich'd the busy coast. He catches all improvements in his flight, 115 Spreads foreign wonders in his country's sight. Imports what others have invented well, And stirs his own to match them, or excel. 'Tis thus reciprocating, each with each, Alternately the nations learn and teach; 120 While Providence enjoins to ev'ry soul A union with the vast terraqueous whole. Heav'n speed the canvass, gallantly unfurl'd To furnish and accommodate a world, To give the pole the produce of the sun, 125 And knit th' unsocial climates into one.Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave Impel the fleet, whose errand is to save, To succour wasted regions, and replace The smile of Opulence in Sorrow's face.- 130 Let nothing adverse, nothing.unforesoen, Impede the bark, that ploughs the deep serene. Charg'd with a freight, transcending in its worth The gems of India, Nature's rarest birth, Vor,. 1, 10 -- ------ CI ' —1C1, - - -- - e j 110 CHARITY That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord's commands, 135 A herald of God's love to pagan lands. But ah! what wish can prosper, or what pray'r, For merchants rich in cargoes of despair, Who drive a loathsome traffick, gauge, and span, And buy the muscles and the bones of man? 14C The tender ties of father, husband, friend, All bonds of nature in that moment end; And each endures, while yet he draws his breath, A stroke as fatal as the scythe of death. The sable warriour, frantick with regret 145 Of her he loves, and never can forget, Loses in tears the far-receding shore, But not the thought, that they must meet no more; Depriv'd of her and freedom at a blow, What has he left, that he can yet forego? 150 Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resign'd, He feels his body's bondage in his mind; Puts off his gen'rous nature; and, to suit His manners with his fate, puts on the brute. O most degrading of all ills, that wait 155 On man, a mourner in his best estate! All other sorrows Virtue may endure, And find submission more than half a cure, Grief is itself a med'cine, and bestow'd T' improve the fortitude that bears the load, 16A To teach the wand'rer, as his woes increase, The path of Wisdom, all whose paths are peace; But slav'ry!-Virtue dreads it as her grave: Patience itself is meanness in a slave; Or if the will and sov'reignty of God 1;5 Bid suffer it awhile, and kiss the rod, Wait for the dawning of a brighter day, And snap the chain the moment when you may. Nature imprints upon whate'er we see, That has a heart and life in it, Be free: 170 The beasts are charter'd-neither age nor force Can quell the love of freedom in a horse I1 I - — ' ---- -- --— c - -- -- -- i I i _I _ ___~_ I _ _ __ ___CII_ _ __ CHARITY. 111 He breaks the cord, that held him at the rack, And conscious of an unencumber'd back, Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein; 175 Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane; Responsive to the distant neigh he neighs; Nor stops till, overleaping all delays, lie finds the pasture where his fellows graze. Canst thou, and honour'd with a Christian name, Buy what is woman born, and feel no shame; 181 Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead Expedience as a warrant for the deed? So may the welf, whom famine has made bold To quit the forest and invade the fold: 185 So may the ruffian,;,no with ghostly glide, Dagger in hand, steals close to your bedside Not he, but his emergence, forc'd the door, He found it inconvenient to be poor. Has God then giv'n its sweetness to the cane, 190 Unless his laws be trampled on-in vain? Built a orave world, which cannot yet subsist, Unless his right to rule it be dismiss'd? Impudent blasphemy! So Folly pleads, And Av'rice being judge, with ease succeeds. 195 But grant the plea, and let it stand for just, That man makes man his prey, because he must; Still there is room for pity to abate And sooth the sorrows of so sad a state. A Briton knows, or if he knows it not, 200 The scripture plac'd within his reach, he ought, That souls have no discriminating hue, Alike important in their Maker's view; That none are free from blemish since the fall, And Love divine has paid one price for all. 205 The wretch that works and weeps without relief, hIas one that notices his silent grief. He, from whose hands alone all pow'r proceeds, Ranks its abuse among the foulest deeds, l — JI _11 _I_ ___I _~_ -I --- —----— ll ---L~ 112 CHARITY. Considers all injustice with a frown; 21C But marks the man, that treads his fellow down Begone-the whip and bell in that hard hand Are hateful ensigns of usurp'd command. Not Mexico could purchase kings a claim To scourge him, weariness his only blame 215 Remember, Heav'n has an avenging rod; To smite the poor is treason against God. Trouble is grudgingly, and hardly brook'd, While life's sublimest joys are overlook'd: We wander o'er a sun-burnt thirsty soil, 220 Murm'ring and weary of our daily toi, Forget t' enjoy the palm-tree's offer'd shade, Or taste the fountain in the neighbouring glade: Else who would lose that had the pow'r to improve. The occasion of transmuting fear to love? 225 O 'tis a godlike privilege to save, And he that scorns it is himself a slave. Inform his mind; one flash of heavenly day Would heal his heart, and melt his chains away. " Beauty for ashes" is a gift indeed, 230 And slaves, by truth enlarg'd, are doubly freed Then would he say, submissive at thy feet, While gratitude and love made service sweet, My dear deliv'rer out of hopeless night, Whose bounty bought me but to give me light, 235 I was a bondman on my native plain, Sin forg'd, and Ignorance made fast the chain, Thy lips have shed instruction as the dew, Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue; Farewell my former joys! I sigh no more 240 For Africa's once lov'd, benighted shore; Serving a benefactor I am free; At my best home, if not exil'd from thee. Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds A stream of lib'ral and heroick deeds; 245 The swell of pity, not to be confin'd Within the scanty limits of the mind, - - I i i I I I 1-= CHARITY. 113 Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sands, A rich deposit on the bord'ring lands: These have an ear for his paternal call, 250 Who makes some rich for the supply of all; God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ; And Thornton is familiar with the joy. O could I worship aught beneath the skies, That earth has seen, or fancy can devise, 255 Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand, Built by no mercenary vulgar hand, With fragrant turf, and flow'rs as wild and fair As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air. Duly as ever on the mountain's height 260 The peep of morning shed a dawning light; Again when Ev'ning in her sober vest Drew the gray curtain of the fading west, My soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise, For the chief blessings of my fairest days: 265 But that were sacrilege-praise is not thine, But his who gave thee, and preserves thee mine Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly A captive bird into the boundless sky, This triple realm adores thee-thou art come 270 From Sparta hither, and art here at home, We feel thy force still active, at this hour Enjoy immunity from priestly pow'r, While Conscience, happier than in ancient years, Owns no superiour but the God she fears. 275 Propitious spirit! yet expunge a wrong Thy rights have suffer'd and our land, too long. Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts, that share The fears and hopes of a commercial care. Prisons expect the wicked, and were built 280 To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt; But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood, Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood; And honest Merit stands on slipp'ry ground Where covert g-iile and artifice abound 285 10) i ---- — --- ----— h I, i - X I __ ~ __ __ __ ___I_ -------------— C-. - -- -~ 114 CHARITY. Let just Restraint, for publick peace design'd, Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind; The foe of virtue has no claim to thee, But let insolvent Innocence go free. Patron of else the most despis'd of men, 290 Accept the tribute of a stranger's pen; Verse, like the laurel, its immortal meed, Should be the guerdon of a noble deed; I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame, (Charity chosen as my theme and aim,) 295 I must incur, forgetting Howard's name. Bless'd with all wealth can give thee, to resign Joys doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine, To quit the bliss thy rural scenes bestow, To seek a nobler amidst scenes of wo, 300 To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring home, Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome, But knowledge such as only dungeons teach, And only sympathy like thine could reach; That grief, sequester'd from the publick stage, 305 Might smooth her feathers, and enjoy her cage; Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal, The boldest patriot might be proud to feel. O that the voice of clamour and debate, That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state, 310 Were hush'd in favour of thy gen'rous plea, The poor thy clients, and Heav'n's smile thy fee! Philosophy, that does not dream or stray, Walks arm in arm with Nature all his way: Compasses earth, dives into it, ascends 315 Whatever step Inquiry recommends, Sees planetary wonders smoothly roll Round other systems under her control, Drinks wisdom at the milky stream of light That cheers the silent journey of the night, 32C And brings at his return a bosom charg'd With rich instruction, and a soul enlarg'd I - --- ~ - CHARITY. 115 The treasur'd sweet; of the capacious plan, That Heav'n spreads wide before the view of a;n, All prompt his pleas'd pursuit, and to pursue 325 Still prompt him with a pleasure always new; He too has a connecting pow'r, and draw Man to the centre of the common cause. Aiding a dubious and deficient sight With a new medium and a purer light. 330 All truth is precious, if not all divine; And what dilates the pow'rs must needs refine. He reads the skies, and, watching ev'ry change, Provides the faculties an ample range; And wins mankind, as his attempts prevail, 335 A prouder station on the gen'ral scale. But Reason still, unless divinely taught, Whate'er she learns, learns nothing as she ought, The lamp of revelation only shows, What human wisdom cannot but oppose, 340 That man, in nature's richest mantle clad, And grac'd, with all philosophy can add, Though fair without, and luminous within, Is still the progeny and heir of sin. Thus taught, down falls the plumage of his pride, 345 He feels his need of an unerring guide, And knows that falling he shall rise no more, Unless the pow'r that bade him stand, restore. This is indeed philosophy; this known Makes wisdom, worthy of the name, his own; 350 And without this, whatever he discuss, Whether the space between the stars and us, Whether he measure earth, compute the sea, Weigh sunbeams, carve a fly, or split a flea; The solemn trifler with his boasted skill 355 Toils much, and is a solemn trifler still: Blind was 1e born, and his misguided eyes Grown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies. Self-knowledge truly learn'd, of course implies The rich possession of a nobler prize; 360 ii. — ~ --- —-.. : 116 CHARITY For self to self and God to man reveal'd, (Two themes to Nature's eye for ever seal'd,) Are taught by rays, that fly with equal pace From the same centre of enlight'ning grace. Here stay thy foot, how copious, and how clear, 365 Th' o'erflowing well of Charity springs here! IHark! 'tis the musick of a thousand rills, Some through the groves, some down the sloping lulls, Winding a secret or an open course, And all supplied from an eternal source. 370 The ties of nature do but feebly bind, And Commerce partially reclaims mankind; Philosophy, without his heavenly guide, May blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride, But, while his province is the reas'ning part, 375 Has still a veil of midnight on his heart; Tis truth divine, exhibited on earth, Gives Charity her being and her birth. Suppose, (when thought is warm and fancy flows, What will not argument sometimes suppose?) 380 An isle possess'd by creatures of our kind, Endued with reason, yet by nature blind. Let supposition lend her aid once more, And land some grave optician on the shore: He claps his lens, if haply they may see, 385 Close to the part where vision ought to be; But finds, that though his tubes assist tile sight, They cannot give it, or make darkness light. He reads wise lectures, and describes aloud A sense they know not, to the wond'ring crowd 390 He talks of light, and the prismatick hues, As men of depth in erudition use; But all he gains for his harangue is-Well,What monstrous lies some travellers will tell! The sou!, whose sight all-quick ning grace renews, Takes tlho resemblance of the good she views, 396 As diamonds stripp'd of their opaque disguise, Reflect the noonday glory of the skies. j - -- C_ 1_ -— 1 —11 ---- -2 ---^ --- —- - -- CHARITY. 117 She speaks of him, her author, guardian, friend, Whose love knew no beginning, knows no end, 400 In language warm as all that love inspires, And in the glow of her intense desires, Pants to communicate he. noble fires. She sees a world stark blind to what employs Her eager thought, and feeds her flowing joys; 405 Though wisdom hail them, heedless of her call, Flies to save some, and feels a pang for all: Herself as weak as her support is strong, She feels that frailty she denied so long; And, from a knowledge of her own disease, 410 Learns to compassionate the sick she sees. Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence, The reign of genuine Charity commence. Though scorn repay her sympathetick tears. She still is kind and still she perseveres; 415 The truth she loves a sightless world blaspheme, 'Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream. The danger they discern not, they deny; Laugh at their only remedy, and die. But still a soul thus touch'd can never cease, 420 Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace. lPtre in her aim, and in her temper mild, Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child: She makes excuses where she might condemn, Rcvil'd by those that hate her, prays for them; 425 Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast, The worst suggested, she believes the best; Not soon provok'd, however stung and teaz'd, And, if perhaps made angry, soon appeas'd; She rather waves than will dispute her right, 430 And injur'd, mtkes forgiveness her delight. Such was the portrait an apostle drew, The bright original was one he knew; Heav'n held his hand, the likeness must be true. When one, that holds communion with the skies, Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise, 436 __ __ —__ 2 --- _ _ _ _ _ _ ___ ___ __ _II__ __ _1 5 I I i I I I 118 CHARITY. And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings; Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, That tells us whence his treasures are supplied. 440 So when a ship, well freighted with the stores The Sun matures on India's spicy shores, Ias dropp'd 'lel anchor, and her canvass furl'd, In some safe haven of our western world, 'Twere vain incuiry to what port she went, 445 The gale informr us, laden with the scent. Some seek, when queasy conscience has its qualms, To lull the painful malady with alms; But charity not feign'd, intends alone Another's good-theirs' centres in their own; 450 And too short-liv'd to reach the realms of peace, Must cease for ever when the poor shall cease. Flavia, most tender of her own good name, Is rather careless of her sister's fame: Her superfluity the poor supplies, 455 But, if she touch a character, it dies. The seeming virtue weigh'd against the vice, She deems all safe, for she has paid the price: No charity but alms ought values she, Except in porcelain on her mantle-tree. 460 How many deeds, with which the world has rung, From Pride, in league with Ignorance, have sprung! But God o'errules all human follies still, And bends the tough materials to his will. A conflagration or a wintry flood, 4G5 Has left some hundreds without home or food; Extravagance and Av'ricc shall subscribe, While fame and self-complacence are the brilb.. The brief proclaim'd, it visits ev'ry pew, But first the squire's a compliment but due; 470 With slow deliberation lie unties IIis glitt'ring purse, that envy of all eyes, And, while the clerk just puzzles out the psalm, Slides guinea behind guinea in his palm; I I I I I - I ---- CHARITY. 119 Till finding, what he might have found before, 475 A smaller piece amidst the precious store, Pinch'd close between his finger and his thumb, lie half exhibits and then drops the sum. Gold to be sure!-Throughout the town 'tis told l-ow the good squire gives never less than gold. 480 From motives such as his, though not the best, Springs in due time supply for the distress'd; Not less effectual than what love bestows, Except that office clips it as it goes. But lest I seem to sin against a friend, 485 And wound the grace I mean to recommend, (Though vice derided with a just design Implies no trespass against love divine,) Once more I would adopt the graver style, A teacher should be sparing of his smile, 490 Unless a love of virtue light the flame, Satire is, more than those lie brands, to blame; He hides behind a magisterial air His own offences, and strips others' bare: Affects indeed a most humane concern, 495 Tlat men, if gently tutor'd, will not learn; The mulish Folly, not to be reclalm'd By softer methods, must be made asham'd; Bult, (I might instance in St. Patrick's dean,) Too often rails to gratify his spleen. 500 Most sat'rists are indeed a publick scourge: Their mildest plysick is a farrier's purge; Their acid temper turns, as soon as stirr'd, The milk of their good purpose all to curd. Their zeal begotten, as their works rehearse, 505 By lean despair upon an empty purse, The wild assassins start into the street, Prepar'd to poniard whoinsoe'er they meet. No skill in swordmanship, however just, Can be secure against a madman's thrust: 510 And even Virtue, so unfairly match'd, Although immortal, may be prick'd or scratch'd I v. -r -- _ I_ 120 CHARITY. When Scandal has new-minted an old lie, Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply, 'Tis call'd a satire, and the world appears 515 Gath'ring around it with erected ears: A thousand names are toss'd into the crowd; Some whisper'd softly, and some twang'd aloud; Just as the sapience of an author's brain Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain- 520 Strange? how the frequent interjected dash Quickens a market, and helps off the trash; Th' important letters that include the rest, Serve as a key to those that are suppress'd; Conjecture gripes the victims in his paw, 525 The world is charm'd, and Scrib escapes the law. So, when the cold damp shades of night prevail, Worms may be caught by either head or tail; Forcibly drawn from many a close recess, They meet with little pity, no redress; 530 Plung'd in the stream, they lodge upon the mud, Food for the famish'd rovers of the flood. All zeal for a reform, that gives offence ro peace and charity, is mere pretence; A bold remark, but which if well applied, 535 Would humble many a tow'ring poet's pride. Perhaps the man was in a sportive fit, And had no other play place for his wit; Perhaps enchanted with the love of fame, He sought the jewel in his neighbour's shame; 540 Perhaps-whatever end he might pursue, The cause of virtue could not be his view. At ev'ry stroke wit flashes in our eyes; The turns are quick, the polish'd points surprise, But shine with cruel and tremendous charms, 545 That, while they please, possess us with alarms; So have I seen, (and hasten'd to the sight On all the wings of holiday delight,) Where stands that monument of ancient pow'r, Nam'd with emphatick dignity, the Tow'r, 550 I -- -- ---- - I- - - - ---- - - I ___ - CHARITY. 121 Guns, halberts, swords, and pistols, great and small, In starry forms dispos'd upon the wall; We wonder, as we gazing stand below, That brass and steel should make so fine a show; But though we praise th' exact designer's skill, 555 Account them implements of mischief still. No works shall find acceptance in that day, When all disguises shall be rent away, That square not truly with the Scripture plan, Nor spring from love to God, or love to man. 560 As he ordains things sordid in their birth To be resolv'd into their parent earth; And though the soul shall seek superiour orbs, Whate'er this world produces it absorbs; So self starts nothing, but what tends apace 565 Home to the goal, where it began the race. Such as our motive is, our aim must be; If this be servile, that can ne'er be free: If self employ us, whatsoe'er is wrought, We glorify that self, not him we ought; 570 Such virtues had need prove their own reward, The judge of all men owes them no regard. True Charity, a plant divinely nurs'd, Fed by the love from which it rose at first, Thrives against hope, and in the rudest scene, 575 Storms but enliven its unfading green, Exub'rant is the shadow it supplies, Its fruit on earth, its growth above the skies, To look at him who form'd us and redeem'd, So glorious now, though once so disesteem'd, 580 To see a God stretch bfrth his human hand, T' uphold the boundless scenes of his command; To recollect that in a form like ours, He bruis'd beneath his feet th' infernal pow'rs, Captivity led captive, rose to claim 58i The wreath he won so dearly in our name; That, thron'd above all height. he condescends To call the few that trust in him his friends; VOL.. 11 I __ I,. - -- - I - _ ___ ___ 7 122 CHARITY. That in the heav'n of heav'ns, that space he deems Too scanty for th' exertion of his beams, And shines as if impatient to bestow Life and a kingdom upon worms below; That sight imparts a never-dying flame, Though feeble in degree, in kind the same. Like him the soul thus kindled from above Spreads wide her arms of universal love: And, still enlarg'd as she receives the grace, Includes creation in her close embrace. Behold a christian!-and without the fires The founder of that name alone inspires, Though all accomplishment, all knowledge meet To make the shining prodigy complete, Whoever boasts that name-behold a cheat! Were love, in these the world's last doting years As frequent as the want of it appears, ( The churches warm'd, they would no longer hold Such frozen figures, stiff as they are cold; Relenting forms would lose their pow'r, or cease; And e'en the dipp'd and sprinkled live in peace: Each heart would quit its prison in the breast, ( And flow in free communion with the rest. The statesman, skill'd in projects dark and deep, Might burn his useless Machiavel, and sleep; His budget often fill'd, yet always poor, Might swing at ease behind his study door, ( No longer prey upon our annual rents, Or scare the nation with its big contents. Disbanded legions freely might depart, And slaying man would cease to be an art. No learned disputants would take the field, ( Sure not to conquer, and sure not to yield; Both sides deceiv'd, if rightly understood, Pelting each other for the publick good. Did charity prevail, the press would prove A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love; C 590 595 300 305;10;I15 i.I i I I I I I I 20,25 I'1- - - - _ ______ _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~' CHARITY. 123 And I might spare myself the pains to show What few can learn, and all suppose they know. Thus have I sought to grace a serious lay With many a wild, indeed, but flow'ry spray, In hopes to gain what else I must have lost, 630 Th' attention pleasure has so much engross'd. But if unhappily deceiv'd I dream, And prove too weak for so divine a theme, Let Charity forgive me a mistake, That zeal, not vanity, has chanc'd to make, 635 And spare the poet for his subject's sike. L~ —-5 --- —r C -- LChllll-r~ I ^ __ -I~ -I — --- — 1 —CI-13 ----~I ---CICr --— C--LI CONVERSATION. Nam neque me tantum venientis sibilus austhi, Nec percussajuvantfluctu tam litora, nec qucs Saxosas inter decurrantflumina valles. VIRG. Eel. 5. THOUGH nature weigh our talents, and dispense Co ev'ry man his modicumn of sense, And Conversation in its better part May be esteem'd a gift, and not an art, Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil, 5 On culture and the sowing of the soil. Words lcarn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse, But talking is not always to converse; Not more distinct from harmony divine, The constant creaking of a country sign. 10 As Alplabets in ivory employ, Hour after hour, the yet unletter'd boy, Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee Those seeds of science, called his A B C; So language in the mouths of the adult, 15 Witness its insignificant result, Too often proves an implement of play, A toy to sport with, and pass time away. Collect at evening what the day brought forth, Compress the sum into its solid worth, 20 I Al — I -Z ------------- -------- ---- --— ~ I. — -~ ------- - I --- —------ --- - -— ~ --- —---------- L-C-C CONVERSATION. 125 And if it weigh the importance of a fly, The scales are false, or algebra a lie, Sacred interpreter of human thought, How few respect or use thee as they ought! But all shall give account of cv'ry wrong, 25 Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue; Who prostitute it in the cause of vice, Or sell their glory at the market price; Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon, The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buffoon. 30 There is a prurience in the speech of some, Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them dumb His wise forbearance has their end in view, They fill their measure, and receive their due. The heathen lawgivers of ancient days, 35 Names almost worthy of a Christian's praise, Would drive them forth fromn the resort of men, And shut up ev'ry satyr in his den. O come not ye near innocence and truth, Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth; 40 Infectious as impure, your blighting pow'r Taints in its rudiments the promis'd flow'r; Its odour perish'd, and its charming hue, Thenceforth 'tis hateful, for it smells of you. Not e'en the vigorous and headlong rage 45 Of adolescence, or a firmer age, Affords a plea allowable or just, For making speech the pamperer of lust; But when the breath of age commits the fault, 'Tis nauseous as the vapour of a vault. 50 So wither'd stumps disgrace the sylvan scene, No longer fruitful, and no longer green; The sapless wood, divested of the bark, Grows fungous, and takes fire at every spark. Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife- 55 Some men have surely then a peaceful life: Whatever subject occupy discourse, The feats of Vestris, or the naval force, 11* I.: --- ~ -` --- --- ~ `.C --- —- A -— ~~ I 126 CONVERSATION. Asseveration blustering in your face Makes contradiction such a hopeless case: 60 In ev'ry tale they tell, or false, or true, Well known, or such as no man ever knew, They fix attention, heedless of your pain, With oaths like rivets forc'd into the brain; And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout, 65 They swear it, till affirmbnce breeds a doubt. A Persian, humble servant of the sun, Who, though devout, yet bigotry had none, Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address, With adjurations ev'ry word impress, 70 Suppos'd the man a bishop, or at least, God's name so much upon his lips, a priest! Bow'd at the close with all his graceful airs, And begg'd an int'rest in his frequent pray'rs. Go quit the rank to which ye stood preferr'd, 75 Henceforth associate in one common herd; Religion, virtue, reason, common sense, Pronounce your human form a false pretence; A mere disguise, in which a devil lurks, Who yet betrays his secret by his works. 80 Ye pow'rs who rule the tongue, if such there are, And make colloquial happiness your care, Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, A duel in the form of a debate, The clash of arguments and jar of words, 85 Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords, Decide no question with their tedious length, (For opposition gives opinion strength) Divert the champions prodigal of breath, And put the peaceably dispos'd to death. 90 O thwart me not, Sir Soph, at ev'ry turn, Nor carp at ev'ry flaw you may discern; Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue, I am not surely always in the wrong: 'Tis hard if all is false that i advance, 95 A fool must now and then be right by chance.; I I - - - - - -~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ - i LI-C ---- - - — ~. --- -- ----- LC — ---— ^. --- — I- -_ — _- C — -— I_____ _______ - --- —------ - CONVERSATION. Not all that freedom of dissent 1 blame; No-there I grant the privilege I claim. A disputable point, is no man's ground; Rove where you please, 'tis common all around. Discourse may want an animated-No, To brush the surface, and to make it flow; But still remember, if you mean to please, To press your point with modesty and ease, The mark at which my juster aim I take, Is contradiction for its own dear sake. Set your opinion at whatever pitch, Knots and impediments make something hitch, Adopt his own, tis equally in vain, Your thread of argument is snapp'd again; The wrangler, rather than accord with you, Will judge himself deceiv'd, and prove it too. Vociferated logick kills me quite, A noisy man is always in the rightI twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair, Fix on the wainscoat a distressful stare, And when I hope his blunders are all out, Reply discreetly-To be sure-no doubt! Dubious is such a scrupulous good manYes-you may catch him tripping, if you can. He would not with a peremptory tone, Assert the nose upon his face his own; With hesitation admirably slow, He humbly hopes-presumes-it may be so. His evidence, if he were call'd by law To swear to some enormity he saw, For want of prominence and just relief, Would hang an honest man, and save a thief. Through constant dread of giving truth offence, He ties up all his hearers in suspense; Knows what he knows, as if he knew it not; What be remembers, seems to have forgot: His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall, Cent'ring at last in having none at all 127 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 I: *,,. _ _ I - -. ---.. — - 1. --- — -- 128 CONVERSATION. Yet, though he tease and balk your list'ning ear, 135 He makes one useful point exceeding clear; Howe'er ingenious on his darling theme A sceptick in philosophy may seem, Reduc'd to practice, his beloved rule Would only prove him a consummate fool: 140 Useless in him alike both brain and speech, Fate having plac'd all truth above his reach, His ambiguities his total sum, He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb. Where men of judgment creep and feel their way, 145 The positive pronounce without dismay; Their want of light and intellect supplied By sparks absurdity strikes out of pride. Without the means of knowing right from wrong, They always are decisive, clear, and strong; 150 Where others toil with philosophick force, Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course; Flings at your head conviction in the lump, And gains remote conclusions at a jump: Their own defect invisible to them, 155 Seen in another, they at once condemn; And, though self-idolized in ev'ry case, Hate their own likeness in a brother's face. The cause is plain, and not to be denied, Tile proud are always most provok'd by pride, 160 Few competitions but engender spite; And those the most, where neither has a right. Tile point of honour has been deem'd of use, To teach good manners and to curb abuse; Admit it true, the consequence is clear, 165 Our polish'd nanners are a mask we wear, And, at the bottom barb'rous still and rude, We are restrain'd, indeed, but not subdu'd. The very remedy, however sure, Springs from the mischief it intends to cure, 1 0 And savage in its principle appears, Tried as it should be, by the fruit it bears I ------ --- -- -- ~ ~ ~...... I II CONVERSATION. 129 'Tis hard, indeed if nothing will defend Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end; That now and then a hero must decease, 175 That the surviving world may live in peace. Perhaps at last close scrutiny may show The practice dastardly, and mean, and low; That men engage in it conpell'd by forex, And fear, not courage, is its proper source, 180 The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear Lest fops should censure us, and fools should sneer. At least to trample on our Maker's laws, And hazard life for any or no cause, To rush into a fix'd eternal state 185 Out of the very flames of rage and hate, Or send another shiv'ring to the bar With all the guilt of such unnatural war, Whatever Use may urge, or Honour plead, On Reason's verdict is a madman's deed. I 9) Am I to set my life upon a throw, Because a bear is rude, and surly? NoA moral, sensible, and well-bred nan Will not affront me; and no other can. Were I empower'd to regulate the lists, 195 They should encounter with well-loaded fists ' A Trojan combat would be something v.ew, Let Dares beat Entellus black ana blue; Then each might show, to his acmirlrg friends. In honourable bumps his rich amends, 23) And carry in contusions of his skuil, A satisfactory receipt in full A story, in which native humour reigns, Is often useful, always entertains: A graver fact, enlisted on your side, 205 May furnish illustration, well applied; But sedentary weavers of long tales Give me the fidgets, and my patience faild. 'Tis the most asinine employ on earth, To hear them tell of parentage and birth, 210 i I - 130 CONVERSATION. And echo conversations, dull and dry, Emnbellish'd with-He said, and So said I. At ev'ry interview their route the same, The repetition makes attention lame: We bustle up with unsuccessful speed, 215 And in the saddest part cry-Droll indeed The path of narrative with care pursue, Still making probability your clew; On all the vestiges of truth attend, And let them guide you to a decent end. 220 Of all ambitions man may entertain, The worst, that can invade a sickly brain, Is that, which angles hourly for surprise, And baits its hook with prodigies and lies. Credulous infancy, or age as weak, 225 Are fittest auditors for such to seek, Who to please others will themselves disgrace, Yet please not, but affront you to your face. A great retailer of this curious ware Having unloaded and made many stare, 230 Can this be true?-an arch observer cries, Yes, (rather mov'd) I saw it with these eyes; Sir! I believe it on that ground alone; I could not, had I seen it with my own. A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct; 235 The language plain, and incidents well link'd, Tell not as new what ev'ry body knows, And, new or old, still hasten to a close; There, cent'ring in a focus round and neat, Let all your rays of information meet. 240 What neither yields us profit nor delight Is like a nurse's lullaby at night; Guy, Earl of Warwick and fair Eleanor, Or giant-killing Jack, would please me more. The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, 24 Makes half a sentence at a time enough; The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain, Then pause, and puff-and speak, and pause again. J - -- - I - ' I CONVERSATION. 131 Such often, like the tube they so admire, Important triflers! have more smoke than fire. 250 Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys; Unfriendly to society's chief joys, Thy worst effect is banishing for hours The sex, whose presence civilizes ours: Thou art indeed the drug a gard'ner wants, 255 To poison vermin that infest his plants; But are we so to wit and beauty blind, As to despise the glory of our kind, And show the softest minds and fairest forms As little mercy, as lie grubs and worms? 260 They dare not wait the riotous abuse, Thy thirst-creating steams at length produce. When wine has giv'n indecent language birth, And forc'd the floodgates of licentious mirth; For sea-born Venus her attachment shows 265 Still to that element from which she rose, And with a quiet, which no fumes disturb, Sips meek infusions of a milder herb. Th' emphatick speaker dearly loves t' oppose, In contact inconvenient, nose to nose, 270 As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz, Touch'd with a magnet had attracted his. His whisper'd theme, dilated and at large, Proves after all a wind-gun's airy charge, An extract of his diary-no more, 275 A tasteless journal of the day before. Ho walk'd abroad, o'ertaken in the rain, Call'd on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home again, Resum'd his purpose, had a world of talk With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk. 280 I interrupt him with a sudden bow, Adieu, dear Sir, lest you should lose it now. I cannot talk with civet in the room, A fine puss-gentleman that's all perfume; The eight's enough-no need to smell a beau- 285 Who thiusts his nose into a raree show? --- -- ----- -- l. __ _ __ _ - 132 CONVERSATION. His odoriferous attempts to please Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees; But we that make no honey, though we sting, Poets are sometimes apt to maul the thing, 290 'Tis wrong to bring into a mix'd resort, What make some sick, and others a ia mort. An argument of cogence, we may say, Why such a one should keep himself away. A graver coxcomb we may sometines see, 295 Quite as absurd, though not so light as he: A shallow brain behind a serious mask, An oracle within an empty cask, The solemn fop; significant and budge; A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge; 300 He says but little, and that little said Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. His wit invites you by his looks to come, But when you knock it never is at home; 'Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage, 305 Some handsome present, as your hopes presage: 'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove An absent friend's fidelity and love; But when unpack'd your disappointment groans To find it stuff'd with brickbats, earth, and stones..10 Sonie men employ their health, an ugly trick, In making known how oft they have been sick, And give us in recitals of disease A doctor's trouble, but without the fees; Relate how many weeks they kept their bed; 315i How an emetick or cathartick sped; Nothing is slightly touch'd, much less forgot, Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot. Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill, Victorious seem'd, and now the doctor's skill; 320 And now-alas, for unforeseen mishaps' They put on a d-nlp nightcap and relapse; They thought they must have died, they were so bad; Their peevish hearers almost wish they had. I 11 -- Cc - - - CONVERSATION. 133 Some fretful tempers wince at ev'ry touch, 325 You always do too little or too much; You speak with life, in hopes to entertain, Your elevated voice goes through the brain; You fall at once into a lower key, That's worse-the dronepipe of an humblebee. 330 The southern sash admits too strong a light, You rise and drop the curtain-now 'tis night. He shakes with cold-you stir the fire and strive To make a blaze-that's roasting him alive. Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish; 335 With seal-that's just the sort he would not wish. He takes what he at first profess'd to loathe, And in due time feeds heartily on both; Yet still o'erclouded with a constant frown, He does not swallow, but he gulps it down. 340 Your hope to please him vain on ev'ry plan, Himself should work that wonder, if he canAlas! his efforts double his distress, He likes yours little, and his own still less. Thus always teazing others, always teaz'd, 345 His only pleasure is-to be displeas'd. I pity bashful men, who feel the pain Of fancied scorn, and undeoerv'd disdain, And bear the marks, upon a blushing face, Of needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace. 350 Our sensibilities are so acute, The fear of being silent makes us mute. We sometimes think we could a speech produce Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose; But being tried, it dies upon the lip, 3,5 Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip: Our wasted oil unprofitably burns, Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns, Few Frenchmen of this evil have complain'd; It seems as if we Britons were ordain'd, 360 1By way of wholesome curb upon our pride, To fear each other, fearing none beside. VOL. I. 12 I - -- -- - II II __ _ _ 134 CONVERSATION. The cause perhaps inquiry may descry, Self-searching with an introverted eye, Conceal'd within an unsuspected part, 365 The vainest corner of our own vain heart: For ever aiming at the world's esteem, Our self-importance ruins its own scheme; In other eyes our talents rarely shown, Become at length so splendid in our own, 370 We dare not risk them into publick view, Lest they miscarry of what seems their due. True modesty is a discerning grace, And only blushes in the proper place; But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear, 375 Where 'tis a shame to be asham'd t' appear; Humility the parent of the first, The last by vanity produc'd and nurs'd. The circle form'd, we sit il silent state, Like figures drawn upon a dial plate; 380 Yes, ma'am, and No, ma'am, utter'd softly, show Ev'ry five minutes how the minutes go; Each individual, suffring a constraint, Poetry may, but colours cannot paint; As if in close committee on the sky, 385 Reports it hot or cold, or wet or dry; And finds a changing clime a happy source Of wise reflection, and well-tim'd discourse. We next inquire, but softly and by stealth, Like conservators of the publick health, 390 Of epidemick throats, if such there are, And coughs, and rheums, and phthisicks, and catarrh That theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues, Fill'd up at last with interesting news, Who danc'd with whom, and who are like to wed, 395 And who is hang'd, and who is brought to bed; But fear to call a more important cause, As if'twere treason against English laws. The visit paid, with ecstasy we come, As from a seven years' transportation home, 400 I -- - - _ __ ___ I--------- I I I CONVERSATION. 135 And there resume an unembarrass'd brow, Recov'ring what we lost we know not how, The faculties, that seem'd reduc'd to nought, Expression and the privilege of thought. Tlhe reeking, roaring hero of the chase, 405 I give him over as a desp'ratu case. Physicians write in hopes to work a cure, Never, if honest ones, when death is sure; And though the fox he follows may be tam'd, A mere fox follower never is reclaim'd. 410 Some farrier should prescribe his proper course, Whose only fit companion is his horse; Or if deserving of a better doom, The noble beast judge otherwise, his groom. Yet e'en the rogue that serves him, tho' he stand 415 To take his honour's orders, cap in hand, Prefers his fellow grooms with much good sense, Their skill a truth, his master's a pretence. If neither horse nor groom affect the squire, Where can at last his jockeyship retire? 420 Oh to the club, the scene of savage joys, The school of coarse good fellowship and noise; There in the sweet society of those Whose friendship from his boyish years he chose, Let him improve his talent if he can, 425 Till none but beasts acknowledge him a mall. Man's heart had been impenetrably seal'd, Like theirs that cleave the flood or graze the field, Had not his Maker's all-bestowing hand Giv'n him a soul, and bade him understand; 430 The reas'ning pow'r vouchsaf'd of course inferr'd The pow'r to clothe that reason with his word; For all is perfect that God works on earth, And he that gives conception, aids the birth. If this be plain, 'tis plainly understood, 43.5 Wlat uses of his boon the giver would. Tlhe mind despatch'd upon her busy toil, Should range where Providence has bless'd the soil; - --- I,I v~- L~_ 136 CONVERSATION. Visiting ev'ry flow'r with labour meet, And gath'ring all her treasures sweet by sweet; 440 She should imbue the tongue with what she sips, And shed the balmy blessing on the lips, That good diffus'd may more abundant grow, And speech may praise the pow'r that bids it flow. Will the sweet warbler of the livelong night, 445 That fills the list'ning lover with delight, Forget his harmony, with rapture heard, To learn the twitt'ring of a meaner bird? Or make the parrot's mimickry his choice, That odious libel on a human voice? 450 No-Nature, unsophisticate by man, Starts not aside from her Creator's plan; The melody, that was at first design'd To cheer the rude forefathers of mankind, Is note for note deliver'd in our ears, 455 In the last scene of her six thousand years. Yet Fashion, leader of a chatt'ring train, Whom man for his own hurt permits to reign, Who shifts and changes all things but his shape, And would degrade ner votary to an ape, 460 The fruitful parent of abuse and wrong, Holds a usurp'd dominion o'er his tongue; There sits and prompts him with his own disgrace, Prescribes the theme, the tone, and the grimace. And, when accomplish'd in her wayward school, 465 Calls gentleman whom she has made a fool. 'Tis an unalterable fix'd decree, That none could frame or ratify but she, That Heav'n and Hell, and righteousness and sin, Snares in his path, and foes that lurk within, 470 God and his attributes, (a field of day Where 'tis an angel's happiness to stray,) Fruits of his love and wonders of his might, Be never nam'd in ears esteemn'd polite. That he who dares, when she forbids, be grave, 415 Shall stand proscrib'd, a madman, or a knave, - - -- --- -- I 1L _~ _ _. ~ I I_~__ _ _ I i I I I I CONVERSATION. 137 A close designer not to be believ'd, Or, ifexcus'd that charge, at least deceiv'd. Oh folly worthy of the nurse's lap, Give it the breast, or stop its mouth with pap! 480 Is it incredible, or can it seem A dream to any, except those that dream, That man should love his Maker, and that fire, Warming his heart, should at his lips transpire: Know then, and modestly let fall your eyes, 485 And veil your daring crest that braves the skie., That air of insolence affronts your God, You need his pardon, and provoke his rod: Now, in a posture that becomes you more Than that heroick strut assum'd before, 490 Know your arrears with ev'ry hour accrue For mercy shown, while wrath is justly due. The time is short, and there are souls on earth, Though future pain may serve for present mirth, Acquainted with the woes, that fear or shame, 4)5 By Fashion taught, forbade them once to name, And having felt the pangs you deem a jest, Have prov'd them truths too big to be express'd. Go seek on revelation's hallow'd ground, Sure to succeed, the remedy they found; 500 Touch'd by that pow'r that you have dar'd to mock, That makes seas stable, and dissolves the rock, Your heart shall yield a life-renewing stream, That fools, as you have done, shall call a dream. It happen'd on a solemn eventide, 505 Soon after lHe that was our Surety died, Two bosom friends, each pensively inclin'd, The scene of all those sorrows left behind, Sought their own village, busied as they went In musings worthy of the great event: 510 They spake of him they lov'd, of him whose life, Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife, Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, A deeo memorial graven on their hearts. 12 " I I I. ~- -- — -- - - -----— --- —------- — Lr-c-L — ----— iL --- ~L'--UCIZ I _ ___ _____^_______~_I________ ___IC _______ _ ___ ___ __ 138 CONVERSATION. The recollection, like a vein of ore 515 The farther trac'd, enrich'd them still the more, They thought him, and they justly thought him, one Sent to do more than he appear'd t' have done; T' exalt a people, and to place them high Above all else, and wonder'd he should die. 520 Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend, And ask'd them, with a kind engaging air, What their affliction was, and begg'd a share. Inform'd, he gather'd up the broken thread, 525 And truth and wisdom gracing all he said, Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well The tender theme on which they chose to dwell, That reaching home, the night, they said, is near, We must not now be parted, sojourn here. 530 The new acquaintance soon became a guest, And, made so welcome at their simple feast, He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word, And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord!" Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say- 535 Did they not burn within us by the way? Now theirs was converse, such as it behoves Man to maintain, and such as God approves; Their view, indeed were indistinct and dim, But yet successful being aim'd at him. 540 Christ and his character their only scope, Their object, and their subject, and their hope. They felt what it became them much to feel, And wanting him to loose the sacred seal, Found him as prompt, as their desire was true, 515 To spread the new-born glories in their view. Well-what are ages and the lapse of time Match'd against truths as lasting as sublime P Can length of years on God himself exact? Or make that fiction, which was once a fact 550 No-marble and recording brass decay, And like the graver's mem'ry pass away; i - -- -- i~ I ----- -- --- -- I CONVERSATION. The works of man inherit, as is just, Their author's frailty, and return to dust; But truth divine for ever stands secure, Ils head is guarded as its base is sure; Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years, The pillar of th' eternal plan appears, The raving storm and dashing waves defies, Built by that architect who built the skies. Hearts may be found that harbour, at this hour, That love of Christ and all its quick'ning pow'r; And lips, unstain'd by folly or by strife, Whose wisdom drawn from the deep well of life, Tastes of its healthful origin, and flows A Jordan for th' ablution of our woes. O days of Heav'n, and nights of equal praise, Serene and peaceful as those heavenly days, When souls drawn upwards in communion sweet, Enjoy the stillness of some close retreat, Discourse, as if releas'd and safe at home, Of dangers pass'd, and wonders yet to come, And spread the sacred treasures of the breast Upon the lap of covenanted rest. What, always dreaming over heavenly things, Like angel heads in stone with pigeon wings; Canting and whining out all day the word, And half the night? fanatick and absurd! Mine be the friend less frequent in his pray'rs, Who makes no bustle with his soul's affairs, Whose wit can brighten up a wintry day, And chase the splenetick dull hours away; Content on earth in earthly things to shine, Who waits for Heav'n ere he becomes divine, Leaves saints t' enjoy those altitudes they teach, And plucks the fruit plac'd more within his reach. Well spoken, Advocate of sin and shame, Known by thy bleating, Ignorance thy name. Is sparkling wit the world's exclusive right, The fix'd fee simple of the vain and light? 139 555 660 565 570 575 580 585 690 i 140 CONVERSATION. Can hopes of Heav'n, bright prospects of an hour, That come to waft us out of sorrow's pow'r, Obscure or quench a faculty that finds Its happiest soil in the serenest minds? Religion curbs indeed its wanton play, 595 And brings the trifler under rig'rous sway, But gives it usefulness unknown before, And, purifying, makes it shine the more. A Christian's wit is inoffensive light, A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight; 600 Vig'rous in age as in the flush of youth, 'Tis always active on the side of truth: Temp'rance and peace insure its healthful state, And make it brightest at its latest date. Oh I have seen, (nor hope perhaps in vain, 605 Ere life go down, to see such sights again,) A vet'ran warriour in the Christian field, Who never saw the sword he could not wield; Grave, without dulness, learned without pride, Exact, yet not precise; though meek, keen-ey'd; 610 A man that would have foil'd at their own play A dozen would-be's of the modern day; Who, when occasion justified its use, Had wit as bright as ready to produce; Could fetch from records of an earlier age, 615 Or from philosophy's enlighten'd page, Ilis rich materials, and regale your ear With strains it was a privilege to hear: Yet above all, his luxury supreme, And his chief glory, was the Gospel theme; 620 There he was copious as old Greece or Rome, His happy eloquence seem'd there at home, Ambitious not to shine or to excel, But to treat justly what he lov'd so well. It moves me more perhaps than folly ought, 6(25 When some green heads, as void of wit as thought, Suppose themselves monopolists of sense, And wiser men's ability pretence... I I I - - -- -- -- - -- I J IL -~- ---—. --- —-LI --- — --- —— "-" — - CONVERSATION. 141 Though time still wear us, and we must grow old, Such men are not forgot as soon as cold, Their fragrant memory will outlast their tomb, Embalm'd for ever in its own perfume. And to say truth, though in its early prime, And when unstain'd with any grosser crime, Youth has a sprightliness and fire to boast, That in the valley of decline are lost, And Virtue with peculiar charms appears, Crown'd with the garland of life's blooming years; Yet age, by long experience well inform'd, Well read, well temper'd, with religion warm'd, That fire abated, which impels rash youth, Proud of his speed to overshoot the truth, As time improves the grape's authentick juice, Mellows and makes the speech more fit for use, And claims a rev'rence in its short'ning day, That 'tis an honour and a joy to pay. The fruits of age less fair, are yet more sound, Than those a brighter season pours around; And like the stores autumnal suns mature, Through wintry rigours unimpair'd endure What is fanatick phrenzy, scorn'd so much, And dreaded more than a contagious touch? I grant it dang'rous, and approve your fear, That fire is catching if you draw too near; But sage observers oft mistake the flame, And give true piety that odious name. To tremble, (as the creature of an hour Ought at the view of an almighty pow'r,) Before his presence, at whose awful throne All tremble in all worlds, except our own, To supplicate his mercy, love his ways, And prize them above pleasure, wealth, or praise, Though common sense, allow'd a casting voice, And free from bias, must approve the choice, Convicts a man fanatick in th' extreme, And wild as madness in the world's esteem. 630 635 640 645 650 055 65; 605 i `'-` — - ~c I II i I I __ _ I _I I____~_~I_ _ _ _I_____ I_ 142 CONVERSATION. But that disease, when soberly defin'd, Is the false fire of an o'erheated mind: It views the truth with a distorted eye, And either warps or lays it useless by; 670 'Tis narrow, selfish, arrogant, and draws Its sordid nourishment from man's applause, And while at heart sin unrelinquish'd lies, Presumes itself chief fav'rite of the skies. 'Tis such a light as putrefaction breeds 675 In fly-blown flesh, whereon the maggot feeds, Shines in the dark, but usher'd into day, The stench remains, the lustre dies away. True bliss, if man may reach it, is compos'd Of hearts in union mutually disclos'd: 680 And, farewell else all hope of pure delight, Those hearts should be reclaim'd, renew'd, upright. Bad men, profaning friendship's hallow'd name, Form, in its stead, a covenant of shame: A dark confederacy against the laws 685 Of virtue and religion's glorious cause: They build each other up with dreadful skill, As bastions set point blank against God's will; Enlarge and fortify the dread redoubt, Deeply resolv'd to shut a Saviour out; 690 Call legions up from Hell to back the deed, And, curs'd with conquest, finally succeed. But souls that carry on a bless'd exchange Of joys they meet with in their heav'nly range, And with a fearless confidence make known 695 The sorrows sympathy esteems its own, Daily derive increasing light and force From such communion in their pleasant course, Feel less the journey's roughness ann its length, Meet their opposers with united strength, 700 And, ona in heart, in int'rest, and design, Gird up each other to the race divine. But Conversation, choose what theme we may, And chiefly when religion leads the way, I - -- -- -- - - - - - --- - I __ _ CONVERSATION. 143 Should flow like waters after summer show'rs, 705 Not as if rais'd by mere mechanick pow'rs. The Christian, in whose soul, though now distress'd, Lives the dear thought of joys he once possess'd, When all his glowing language issu'd forth With God's deep stamo upon its current worth, 710 Will speak without disguise, and must impart, Sad as it is, his undissembling heart, Abhors constraint, and dares not feign a zeal, Or seem to boast a fire he does not feel. The song of Sion is a tasteless thing, 715 Unless, when rising on a joyful wing, The soul can mix with the celestial bands, And give the strain the compass it demands. Strange tidings these to tell a world who treat All but their own experience as deceit! 720 Will they believe, though credulous enough To swallow much upon much weaker proof, That there are bless'd inhabitants on earth, Partakers of a new ethereal birth, Their hopes, desires, and purposes estrang'd 725 From things terrestrial and divinely chang'd, Their very language of a kind that speaks The soul's sure int'rest in the good she seeks; Who deal with Scripture, its importance felt As Tully with philosophy once dealt, 730 And in the silent watches of the night, And through the scenes of toil-renewing light, The social walk, or solitary ride, Keel) still the dear companion at their side? No-shame upon a self-disgracing age, 735 God's work may serve an ape upon a stage With such a jest, as fill'd with hellish glee Certain invisibles as shrewd as he; But veneration or respect finds none, Save from the subject of that work alone. 740 The world grown old, her deep discernment shows, Claps spectacles on her sagacious nose, 1 I I I _ __ _ __ _ __ __ 144 CONVERSATION. Peruses closely the true Christian's face, And finds it a mere mask of sly grimace; Usurps God's office, lays his bosom bare, 745 And finds hypocrisy close lurking there. And serving God herself through mere constraint, Concludes his unfeign'd love of him a feint. And yet God knows, look human nature through, (And in due time the world shall know it too,) 750 That since the flow'rs of Eden felt the blast, That after man's defection laid all waste, Sincerity tow'rds the heart-searching God Has made the new-born creature her abode, Nor shall be found in unregen'rate souls, 755 Till the last fire burn all between the poles. Sincerity! why 'tis his only pride, Weak and imperfect in all grace beside; He knows that God demands his heart entire, And gives him all his just demands require. 760 Without it his pretensions were as vain, As, having it, he deems the world's disdain; That great defect would cost him not alone Man's favourable judgment, but his own; His birthright shaken, and no longer clear 766 Than while his conduct proves his heart sincere. Retort the charge, and let the world be told She boasts a confidence she does not hold; That, conscious of her crimes, she feels instead A cold misgiving, and a killing dread: 770 That while in health the ground of her support Is madly to forget that life is short; That sick she trembles, knowing she must die, Her hope presumption, and her faith a lie; That while she dotes, and dreams that she believes, She mocks her Maker, and herself deceives; 776 Her utmost reach historical assent, The doctrines warp'd to what they never meant; That truth itself is in her head as dull And useless as a candle in a skull; 780 I i fI --- - -- -- -- - 1 I — --- —~ --- —-- -- -- -- I I I I 1. II -- -- l CONVERSATION. 1,15 And all her love of God a groundless claim, A trick upon the cauvass, painted flame. Tell her again, the sneer upon her face, And all her censures of the work of grace, A re insincere, meant only to conceal 785 A dread she would not, yet is forc'd to feel; That in her heart the Christian she reveres, And while she seems to scorn him, only fears. A poet does not work by square or line, As smiths and joiners perfect a design; 90 At least we moderns, our attention less, Beyond the example of our sires digress, And claim a right to scamper and run wide, Wherever chance, caprice, or fancy guide. The world and I fortuitously met; 795 1 ow'd a trifle, and have paid the debt; She did me wrong, I recompens'd the deed, And having struck the balance, now proceed. Perhaps, however, as some years have pass'd Since she and I convers'd together last, 800 And I have liv'd recluse in rural shades, Which seldom a distinct report pervades, Great changes and new manners have occurr'd, And bless'd reforms, that I have never heard, And she may now be as discreet and wise 805 As once absurd in all discerning eyes. Sobriety, perhaps, may now be found Where once intoxication press'd the ground: The subtle and injurious may be just, And lie grown chaste that was the slave of lust; 810 Arts once esteem'd may be with shame dismiss'd; Charity may relax the miser's fist; The gamester may have cast his cards away, Forgot to curse and only kneel to pray. It has indeed been told me, (with what weight, 815 How credibly, 'tis hard for me to state,) That fables old, that seem'd for ever mute, Reviv'd are hast'ning into fresh repute, VOL. I. 3 I I - - - - ___ -- __ __ I i i i i I i I I I i I i I I ii 146 CONVERSATION. And gods and goddesses, discarded long Like useless lumber, or a stroller's song, 820 Are bringing into vogue their heathen train, And Jupiter bids fair to rule again; That curtain feasts are instituted now, Where Venus hears the lovers' tender vow Thlat all Olyinpus through the country roves. 825 To consecrate our few remaining groves; And Echo learns politely to repeat The praise of names for ages obsolete; That having prov'd the weakness, it should seem Of revelation's ineffectual beam, 830 To bring the passions under sober sway, And give the moral springs their proper play, They mean to try what may at last be done, By stout substantial gods of wood and stone, And whether Roman rites may not produce 835 The virtues of old Rome for English use. May such success attend the pious plan, May Mercury once more embellish nman, Grace him again with long forgotten arts, Reclaim his taste, and brighten up his parts, 840 Make him athletick as in days of old, Learn'd at the bar, in the pelmestra bold, D;vest the rougher sex of female airs, And teach the softer not to copy theirs: The change shall please, nor shall it matter aught Who works the wonder, if it be but wrought. 846 'Tis time, however, if the case stand thus, For us plain folks, and all who side with us, To' build our altar, confident and bold, And say as stern Elijah said of old, 8'X 0 The strife now stands upon a fair award, If Israel's Lord be God, then serve the Lord If he be silent, faith is all a whim, Then Baal is the God, and worship him. Digression is so much in modern use, 855 Thought is so rare, and fancy so profuse, i k - --- ___ _ _ _ ______C_ i, ----~ --- —-c --- ------- --— ~ --- —-----— ~ --- —-- --- ----------------— -,i I I I I I I CONVERSATION. 147 Some never seem so wide of their intent, As wlen returning to the theme they meant; As mendicants, whose business is to roam, Make every parish but their own their home. 860 Thougrhl such continual zigzags in a book, Such drunken reelings have an awkward look, And I had rather creep to what is true, Than rove and sta.lgger with no mark in view; Yet to consult a little seem'd no crime, 865 'The freakish humour of the present time: lBt now to gather up wlhat seems dispers'd, And touch the subject I design'd at first, May prove, though much beside the rules of art Best for the publick, and my wisest part. 870 And first, let no man charge me, that I mean To clothe in sable ev'ry social scene, And give good company a face severe, As if they met around a father's bier; For tell some men, tlat pleasure all their bent, 875 And laughter all their work, is life mispent; Tleir wisdom bursts into this sage reply, Then mirth is sin, and we should always cry. To find the medium asks some share of wit, And tlerefore 'tis a mark fools never hit. 880 But though life's valley be a vale of tears, A brirghter scene beyond that vale appears, Whose glory with a light that never fades, Shoots betwee:n scatter'd rocks and op'ning shades, And while it shows thle land the soul desires, 835 The language of the land she seeks inspires. Thus touch'd, the tongue receives a sacred cure Of all that was absurd, profane, impure; Held within modest bounds, the tide of speecl Pursues the course that truth and nature teach; 890 No lonlg'r labours merely to produce The pomp of sound or tinkle without use; Where'er it winds, the salutary stream, Sprightly and fresh. enriches every theme, i. I I _____: __ __~______ _____~ __I____~ __________~ __ - I 148 CONVERSATION. While all the happy man possess'd before, 896 The gift of nature or the classick store, Is made subservient to the grand design For which Heav'n form'd the faculty divine. So, should an idiot, while at large he strays, Find the sweet lyre on which an artist plays, 900 With rash and awkward force the chords ho shakes, And grins with wonder at the jar he makes; But let the wise and well-instructed hand Once take the shell beneath his just command, In gentle sounds it secn'd as it compllain'd 905 i Of the rude injuries it late sustain'd, Till tun'd at lengthl to some immortal song, It sounds Jehovah's nm:le, an(l pours.is praise along. I i I L~~~__ -- I RETIREMENT. i, ---- stuiisfiorens ignobilis oti. VIRG. Georg Lib. 4 HACKNEY'D in business, wearied at tlat oar Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low, All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego; The statesnan, lawyer, merchant, man of trade, 5 Pants for the refuige of some rural shade, Wlere, all his long anxieties forgot Amnid the charms of a sequester'd spot, Or recollected only to gild o'er, And add a smile to what was sweet before, 10 Ile may possess the joys he thinks he sees, Lay his old age upon the lap of ease, Inl)prove the remnant of his wasted span, And, having liv'd a trifler, die a man. Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast, Thtough long rebell'd against, not yet suppress'd, h1 And calls a creature formi'd for God alone, For [leav'n's high purposes, and not his own, Calls him away from selfish ends and aims, From what debilitates and what inflames, 20 Frorm cities humming witlh a restless crowd, Sordid as active, ignorant as loud, 13 * I 1 -— '- — -— L ---- -— I -— ~ ---- --- -^- ---- I I I I I 150 RETIREMENT. Whose highest praise is that they live in vain, The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain. Where works of man are cluster'd close around, 25 And works of God are hardly to be found, To regions where in spite of sin and wo, Traces of Eden are still seen below, Where mountain, river, forest, field, and grove, Remind him of his Maker's power and love. 30 'Tis well if, look'd for at so late a day, In the last scene of such a senseless play, True wisdom will attend his feeble call, And grace his action ere the curtain fall. Souls that have long despis'd their heavenly birth, 35 Their wishes all impregnated with earth, For threescore years employ'd with ceaseless care In catching smoke and feeding upon air, Conversant only with the ways of men, Rarely redeem the short remaining ten. 40 Invet'rate habits, choke th' unfruitful heart, Their fibres penetrate its tend'rest part, And draining its nutritious pow'rs to feed Their noxious growth, starve ev'ry better seed. Happy, if full of days-but happier far, 45 If, ere we yet discern life's evening star, Sick of the service of a world that feeds Its patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds, We can escape from custom's idiot sway, To serve the Sov'reign we were born t' obey. 50 Then sweet to muse upon his skill display'd, (Infinite skill,) in all that he has made! To trace in nature's most minute design The signature and stamp of pow'r divine, Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease, 55 Wlhere unassisted sight no beauty sees, The shapely limb and lubricated joint, Within the small dimensions of a point, Muscle and nerve miraculously spun, His mighty work, who speaks and it is done, J C ___ ______I_____________________________I__ 21_ ___LII Y___ ___LYIII- _ —I~ ----. ~ --- —---— C --- RETIREMENT. 151 Th' invisible in things scarce seen reveal'd, To whomn an atom is an ample field; To wonder at a thousand insect forms, These hatch'd and those resuscitated worms, New life ordain'd and brighter scenes to share, 65 Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air, Whose shape would make them, had they bulk and size, More hideous foes than fancy can devise; With helmet heads, and dragon scales adorn'd, The mighty myriads, now securely scorn'd, 70 Would mock the majesty of man's high birth, Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth Then with a glance of fancy to survey, Far as the faculty can stretch away, Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command 75 From urns that never fail, through ev'ry land; This like a deluge with impetuous force, Those winding modestly a silent course; The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales; Seas, on which ev'ry nation spreads her sails; 80 The sun, a world whence other worlds drink light, The crescent moon, the diadem of night; Stars countless, each in his appointed place Fast anchor'd in the deep abyss of spaceAt such a sight to catch the poet's flame, 85 And with a rapture like his own exclaim, These are thy glorious works, thou source of good, How dimly seen, how faintly understood! Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care, This universal frame, thus wondrous fair: 90 Thy pow'r divine, and bounty beyond thought, Ador'd and prais'd in all that thou hast wrought Absorb'd in that immensity I see, I shrink abas'd, and yet aspire to thee; Instruct me, guide me to that heavenly day, 96 Thy words more clearly than thy works display --- -- Ii[ — ___ _ _ ___ _~ _ _ _ I II- - I I 1532 RETIREMENT That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refine, I may resemble thee, and call thee mine. Oh blest proficiency! supassing all That men erroneously their glory call, The recompense that arts or arms can yield, The bar, the senate, or the tented field. Conpar'd with this sublimest life below, Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to elow ' Thus studied, us'd, and consecrated thus, On earth, what is, seems form'd indeed for us. Not as the plaything of a froward child, Fretful unless diverted and beguil'd, Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires Of pride, ambition, or impure desires; 1 But as a scale, by which the soul ascends From mighty means to more important ends, Securely, though by steps but rarely trod, Mounts from inferiour beings up to God, And sees, by no fallacious light or dim, Earth made for man, and man himself for him. Not that I mean t' approve, or would enforce, A superstitious and monastick course: Truth is not local, God alike pervades And fills the world oftraffick, and the shades, And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes, Or scorn'd where business never intervenes. But 'tis not easy with a mind like ours, Conscious of weakness in its noblest pow'rs, And in a world where other ills apart, The roving eye misleads the careless heart, To limit Thought, by nature prone to stray Wherever freakish Fancy points the way; To bid the pleadings of self-love be still, Resign our own, and seek our Maler's will; To spread the page of Scriptire, and comprlare Our conduct with the laws engraven there; To measure all that passes in the breast, Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test l 100 105 110 115 120 12S 130 I I i i I 1ii i 1.. _.. 1.. _ -- -- I RETIREMENT. 15l To dive into the secret deeps within, 135 To spare no passion and no fav'rite sin, And searcn the themnes important above all, Ourselves and our recov'ry from our fall. But leisure, silence, and a mind releas'd From anxious thoughts how wealth may be increas'd, How to secure, in some propitious hour, 41 The point of int'rest or the post of pow'r, A soul serene, and equally retir'd, From objects too much dreaded or desir'd, Safe from the clamours of perverse dispute, 145 At least are friendly to the great pursuit. Op'ning the map of God's extensive plan, We find a little isle, this life of man; Eternity's unknown expanse appears Circling around and limiting his years. 150 The busy race examine and explore Each creek and cavern of the dang'rous shore, With care collect what in their eyes excels, Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shells, Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great, 155 And happiest he that groans beneath his weight: The waves o'ertake them in their serious play, And ev'ry hour sweep multitudes away; They shrink and sink, survivors start and weep, Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep. l 60 A few forsake the throng; with lifted eyes Ask wealth of Heav'n, and gain a real prizeTruth, wisdom, grace, and peace like that above, Seal'd with his signet, whom they serve and love, Scorn'd by the rest, with patient hope they wait 165 A kind release from their imperfect state, And unregretted are soon snatch'd away From scenes of sorrow into glorious day. Now these alone prefer a life recluse, Who seek retirement for its proper use; 170 The love of change, that lives in ev'ry breast, Genius and temper, and desire of rest, I I 54 RETIREMENT. 54 RETIREME.NT. I I I I I i i I I i I I i i Discordant motives in one centre meet, And each inclines its votary to retreat. Some minds by nature are averse to noise, And hate the tumult half the world enjoys, Thle lure of av'rice, or the pompous prize, 'That courts display before ambitious eyes, Tile fruits that hang on pleasure's flow'ry stem, Whate'er enchants them, are no snares to them. To them the deep recess of dusky groves, Or forest, where the deer securely roves, Tlhe fall of waters, and the song of birds, And hills that echo to tile distant herds, Are luxuries excelling all the glare The world can boast, and her chief fav'rites share With eager step and carelessly array'd, For such a cause the poet seeks the shade; From all lhe sees he catches new delight, Pleas'd Fancy claps her pinions at the sight; The rising or the setting orb of day, The clouds that flit, or slowly float away, Nature in all the various shapes she wears, Frowning in storms, or breathing gentle airs, The snowy robe her wintry state assumes, Her summer heats, her fruits, and her perfumes, All, all alike transport the glowing bard, Success in rhyme his glory and reward. 0 Nature! whose Elysian scenes disclose His bright perfections, at whose word they rose, Next to that pow'r who form'd thee and sustains, Be thou the great inspirer of my strains. Still as I touch the lyre, do thou expand Tly genuine charms, and guide an artless hand, Tlat I may catch a fire but rarely known, Give useful lighlt, though I slould miss renown; And poring on thy page, whose ev'ry line Bears proof of an intelligence divine, May feel a heart enrich'd by what it pays, Tlhat builds its glory on its Maker's praise. Ii 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 I I I I I I i i I I I 210! - -- ---------------— ~~~~~~- I] I. -- -- - --- -- -- I I I I I I RETIREMENT. 155 Wo to the man, whose wit disclaims its use, Glitt'ring in vain, or only to seduce, Who studies nature with a wanton eye, Admires the work, but slips the lesson by; His hours of leisure and recess employs 215 In drawing pictures of forbidden joys, Retires to blazon his own worthless name, Or shoot the careless with a surer aim. The lover, too, shuns business and alarms, Tender idolater of absent charms. 220 Saints offer nothing in their warmest pray'rs, q'li;t lhe devotes not with a zeal like tieirs; 'Tis consecration of his heart, soul, time, And ev'ry thought that wanders is a crime. In sigls lie worships his supremely fair, 225 And weeps a sad libation in despair; Adores a creature, and, devout in vain, Wins in return an answer of disdain. As woodbine weds the plant within her reach, Rougl elm, or smooth-grain'd ash, or glossy beech, In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays 231 Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays, But does a mischief while she lends a grace, Strait'ning its growth by such a strict embrace; So love, that clings around the noblest minds, 235 Forbids th' advancement of the soul he binds; The suitor's air, indeed, he soon improves, And forms it to the taste of her he loves, Teaches his eyes a language, and no less Refines his speech, and fashions his address! 240 But farewell promises of happier fruits; Minly designs, and learning's grave ptursuits; Girt with a chain he cannot wish to break, His only bliss is sorrow for her sake, Who will may pant for glory and excel, 245 Her smile his aim, all higher aims farewell! Thyrsis, Alexis, or whatever name alay least offend against so pure a flame, -I I I I i I I I I I I i i I I I _ _1_ _~~~~_1_~~~1_1_ _. 156 RETIREMENT' Though sage advice of friends the most sincere Sounds harshly in so) delicate an ear, And lovers, of all creatures, tame or wild, Can least brook management, however mild, Yet let a poet, (poetry disarms The fiercest animals with magick charms,) Risk an intrusion on thy pensive mood, And woo and win thee to thy proper good. Pastoral images and still retreats, Umbrageous walks and solitary seats, Sweet birds in concert with harmonious streams, Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day dreams, Are'all enchantments in a case like thine, Conspire against thy peace with one design; Sooth thee to make thee but a surer prey, And feed the fire that wastes thy pow'rs away: Up-God has form'd thee witl a wiser view, Not to be led in chains, but to subdue; Calls thee to cope with enemies, arnd first Points out a conflict with thyself, the worst. Woman, indeed, a gift he would bestow When he design'd a Paradise below, The richest earthly boon his hands afford, Deserves to be belov'd, but not ador'd. Post away swiftly to more active scenes, Collect the scatter'd truths that study gleans, Mix with the world, but with its wiser part, No longer give an image all thine heart; Its empire is not hers, nor is it thine, 'Tis God's just claim, prerogative divine. Virtuous and faithful Heberden, whose skill Attempts no task it cannot well fulfil, Gives melancholy up to Nature's care, And send the patient into purer air. Look where lie comes-in this embower'd alcove Stand close conceal'd, and see a statue move: Lios busy, and eyes fix'd, foot falling slow, Arms hanging idly down, hands clasp'd below, 250 260 2C5 270 275 290 285 I I I 11 l -— -- --- -- - - - - I _I __ __ _ _ i RETIREMENT. 157 Interpret to the marking eye distress, Such as its symptoms can alone express. That tongue is silent now; that silent tongue, Could argue once, could jest or join the song, 290 Could give advice, could censure or commend, Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend. Renounc'd alike its office, and its sport, Its brisker and its graver strains fall short; Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway, 295 And like a summer brook are pass'd away. This is a sight for pity to peruse, Till she resemble faintly what she views, Till Sympathy contract a kindred pain, Pierc'd with the woes that she laments in vain. 300 This, of all maladies that man infest, Claims most compassion, and receives the least: Job felt it when lie groan'd beneath the rod And the barb'd arrows of a frowning God; And such emollients as his friends could spare, 305 Friends such as his for modern Jobs prepare. Bless'd, rather curs'd, with hearts that never feel, Kept snug in caskets of close-hammer'd steel, With mouths made only to grin wide and eat, And minds that deem derided pain a treat, 310 With limbs of British oak, and nerves of wire, And wit that puppet-prompters might inspire, Their sovereign nostrum is a clumsy joke, On pangs enforc'd with God's severest stroke. But with a soul, that ever felt the sting 315 Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing: Not to molest, or irritate, or raise A laugh at his expense, is slender praise: He that has not usurp'd the name of man, Does all, and deems too little all, he can, 320 T' assuage the throbbings of the fester'd part, And stanch the bleedings of a broken heart, 'Tis not as heads that never ache suppose, Fcrgery of fancy, and a dream of woos; VOL. I. 14 - --- c, --- if ---- 158 RETIREMENT. Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, 325 Eacl yielding harmony dispos'd aright; The screws revers'd, (a task which if lie please God in a moment executes with case,) Ten thousand thousand springs at once go loose, Lost, till lie tune them, all their power and use. 330 Then neither heathy wilds, nor scenes as fair As ever recompens'd tile peasant's care, Nor soft declivities with tufted hills, Nor view of waters turning busy mills, Parks in which Art preceptress Nature weds, 335 Nor gardens interspers'd with fiow'ry beds, Nor gales, that catch tile scent of bloonlinog groves, And waft it to the mourner as lie roves, Can call up life into his faded eye, That passes all he sees unheeded by; 340 No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels, No cure for such, till God, who makes them, heals. And thou, sad suff'rer under nameless ill, That yields not to the touch of human skill, Improve the kind occasion, understand 345 A Father's frown, and kiss his chast'ning hand. To thee the day-spring and the blaze of noon, Tile purple ev'ning and resplendent moon, The stars that, sprinkled o'er the vault of night, Seem drops descending in a show'r of light, 350 Shine not, or undesird and hated shine, Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine; Yet seek him, in his favour life is found, All bliss beside a shadow or a sound; Then Heav'n eclips'd so long, and this dull earth, 355 Shall seem to start into a second birth; Nature, assuming a more lovely face, Borrowing a beauty from the works of grace, Slall be despis'd and overlook'd no more, Shall fill thee with delights unfelt before, 360 Impart to things inanimate a voice, And bids her mountains and her hills rejoice ~ I... _,. I I i i I I I 1 _I I___ ____~C ______1_I__1 _ I I RETIREMENT. 159 The sound slall run along the winding vales, And thou enjoy an Eden ere it fails. Ye groves, (the statesman at his desk exclaims, 3G5 Sick of a thousand disappointed aims,) SMy patrimonial treasure and my pride, Beneath your shades your gray possessor hide, Receive me languishing for that repose, The servant ofthe publick never knows. 370 Ye saw me once, (ah those regretted days, When boyisli innocence was all my praise!) Hour after hour delightfully allot To studies then familiar, since forgot, And cultivate a taste for ancient song, 375 Catclling its ardour as I mus'd along; Nor seldom, as propitious Heav'n might send, What once I valu'd and could boast, a friend, Were witnesses how cordially I press'd His undisscmblinr virtue to my breast; 380 Receive me now, not uncorrupt as then, Nor guiltless of corrupting other men, But vers'd in arts, that wlhile they seem to stay A falling empire, hasten its decay, To the fair haven of my native home, 385 The wreck of what I was, fitigued I come; For once I can approve the patriot's voice, And make the course lie recommends my choice: We meet at last in one sincere desire, fis wish and mine both prompt mle to retire. 390 Tis done-he steps into tile welcome chaise, Lolls at his ease belind four handsome bays, Tlat whirl away from business and debate The disencumber'd Atlas of the state. Ask not the boy, who, when the breeze of morn 395 First slakes tlle glitt'ring drops from ev'ry thorn, Unfolds his flock, tlen under bank or bushl Sits linking cherry stones, or platting rusli, Ilow fair is freedom!-he was always free * To carvo his rustick name upon a tree, 400 I I I I — -~ — --- j I 1 1 i I I I I.Ii I I I __ ~_I _ _L_4 IC_ _ __________ __ _ _ 1__1___ _LIU__ 1Y~ ' X 160 RETIREMENT To snare the mole, or with ill-fitshion'd hoos To draw the incautious minnow from the brook, Are life's prime pleasures in his simple view, His flock the chief concern he ever knew; She shines but little in his heedless eyes, 405 The good we never miss we rarely prize: But ask tl'e noble drudge in state affairs, Escap'd from office and its constant cares, What charms lie sees in Freedom's smile express'd, In Freedom lost so long, now repossess'd; 410 The tongue, whose strains were cogent as commands, Rever'd at home, and felt in foreign lands, Shall own itself a stamm'rer in that cause, Or plead its silence as its best applause. He knows, indeed, that, whether dress'd or rude, 415 Wild without art, or artfully subdu'd, Nature in ev'ry form inspires delight, But never mark'd her with so just a sight. Her hedge-row shrubs, a variegated store, With woodbine, and wild roses mantled o'er, 420 Green balks and furrow'd lands, the stream, that spreads Its cooling vapour o'er the dewy mneads, Downs, that almost escape th' inquiring eye, That melt and fade into the distant sky, Beauties he lately slighted as he pass'd, 425 Seem all created since he travell'd last. Master of all th' enjoyments he design'd, No rough annoyance rankling in his mind, Wlat early philosophick hours he keeps, How regular his meals, how sound he sleeps! 430 Not sounder he, that on the mainmast head, While morning kindles with a windy red, Begins a long look-out for distant land, Nor quits till evening watch his giddy stand, Tlhen, swift descending with a seaman's haste, 435 Slips to his hammock, and forgets the blast. I i l - -- -. # _ _ I I i i i I I i i I RETIREMENT. 161 He chooses company, but not the squire's, Whoso wit is rudeness, whose good breeding t-rcs; Nor yet the parson's, who would gladly come, Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home; 440 Nor can he much affect the neighh'ring peer, Whose toe of emulation treads too near; But wisely seeks a more convenient friend With whom, dismissing forms, he may unbend A man, whom marks of condescending grace 445 Teach, while they flatter him, his proper place, Who comes when call'd, and at a word withdraws, Speaks with reserve, and listens with applause; Some plain mechanick, who, without pretence To birth or wit, nor gives nor takes offence; 450 On whom he rests well pleas'd his weary pow'rs, And talks and laughs away his vacant hours. The tide of life, swift always in its course, May run in cities with a brisker force, But no where with a current so serene, 455 Or half so clear, as in the rural scene. Yet how fallacious is all earthly bliss, What obvious truths the wisest heads may miss Some pleasures live a month, and some a year, But short the date of all we gather here; 460 No happiness is felt, except the true, That does not charm the more for being new. This observation, as it chanc'd, not made, Or, if the thought occurr'd not duly weigh'd, I-H sighs-for, after all, by slow degrees 4G5 The spot lie lov'd has lost the pow'r to please To cross his ambling pony day by day, Seems at the best but dreaming life away; The prospect, such as might enchant despair, lie views it not, or sees no beauty there; 470 With aching heart, and discontented looks, ReiLtrns at noon to billiards or to books, But feels, while grasping at his faded joys, A secret thirst of his renonnc'd employs 14 ' 1 _ - -- --- -------- __ ~ -- 162 ItETIRMAIENI He chides the tardiness of ev'ry post, 475 Pants to be told of battles won or lost, Blames his own indolence, observes, though late, 'Tis criminal to leave a sinking state, Flies to the levee, and, receiv'd with grace, Kneels, kisses hands, and shines again in place. 480 Suburban villas, highway side retreats, That dread th' encroachment of our growing streets, Tight boxes neatly sash'd, and in a blaze With all a July sun's collected rays, Delight the citizen, who, gasping there, 485 Breathes clouds of dust, and calls it country air. O sweet retirement, who would balk the thought That could afford retirement, or could not? 'Tis such an easy walk, so smooth and straight, The second milestone fronts the garden gate; 490 A step if fair, and if a show'r approach, You find safe shelter in the next stage coach. There prison'd in a parlour snug and small, Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall, The man of business and his friends compress'd, 495 Forget their labours, and yet find no rest; But still 'tis rural-trees are to be seen From ev'ry window, and the fields are green: Ducks paddle in the pond before the door, And what could a remoter scene show more? 500 A sense of elegance we rarely find The portion of a mean or vulgar mind, And ignorance of better things makes man, Who cannot much, rejoice in what he can; And he that deems his leisure well bestow'd 505 In contemplation of a turnpike road, Is occupied as well, employs his hours As wisely, and as much improves his pow'rs, As he that slumbers in pavilions gra.'d With all the charms of an accomplish'd taste. 510 Yet hence, alas! insolvencies; and hence The unpitied victim of ill-judg'd expense,. - -- -— 1-11 --- I i I i I i i i I i RETIREMENT. 163 From all his wearisome engagements freed, Shakes hands with business, and retires indeed. Your prudent grandmammas, ye modern belles, 515 Content with Bristol, Bath, and Tunbridge wells, When health requir'd it would consent to roam, Else more attach'd to pleasures found at home. But now alike, gay widow, virgin, wife, Ingenious to diversify dull life, 520 In coaches, chaises, caravans, and hoys, Fly to the coast for daily, nightly joys, And all, impatient of dry land, agree With one consent to rush into the seaOcean exhibits, fathomless and broad, 525 Much of the pow'r and majesty of God. He swathes about the swelling of the deep, That shines and rests as infants smile and sleep; Vast as it is, it answers as it flows The breatllings of tile lightest air that blows; 530 Curling and whit'ning over all the waste, The rising waves obey th' increasing blast, Abrupt and horrid as the tempest roars, Thunder and flash upon the steadfast shores, Till he that rides the wiiirlwind, checks the rein, 535 Then all the world of waters sleep again.Nereids or Dryads, as the fashion leads, Now in the floods, now panting in the meads, Vot'ries of pleasure still, where'er she dwells, Near barren rocks, in palaces, or cells, 540 O grant a poet leave to recommend, (A poet fond of Nature, and your friend,) Her slighted works to your admiring view; Her works must needs excel, who fashion'd you. Would ye, when rambling in your morning ride, 545 With some unmeaning coxcomb at your side, Condemn the prattler for his idle pains, To waste unheard the musick of his strains, And, deaf to all th' impertinence of tongue, That, while it courts, affronts and does you wrong, 550.I - I i I I I I I I I ~~~~~164 RETIREMENrl~T.~ 1(61 RETIREMEl NT r n. Marle well the finish'd plan without a fault, The seas globose and huge, th' oerarching vault, Earth's millions daily fed, a world employ'd, In gath'ring plenty yet to be enjoy'd. Till gratitude grew vocal in the praise 555 Of God beneficent in all his ways; Grac'd with such wisdom, how would beauty shine? Ye want but that to seem indeed divine. Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid, Force many a shining youth into the shade, 560 Not to redeem his time, but his estate, And play the fool, but at a cheaper rate. There, hid in loth'd obscurity, remov'd From pleasures left, but never more belov'd, He just endures, and with a sickly spleen 565 Sighs o'er the beauties of the charming scene; Nature indeed looks prettily in rhyme; Streams tinkle sweetly in poetick chime; The warblings of the blackbird, clear and strong, Are musical enough in Thomson's song; 570 And Cobham's groves, and Windsor's green retreats, When Pope describes them, have a thousand sweets; He likes the country, but in truth must own, Most likes it, when he studies it in town. Poor Jack-no matter who-for when I blame, 575 I pity, and must therefore sink the name, Liv'd in his saddle, lov'd the chace, the course, And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse. The estate his sires had own'd in ancient years, Was quickly distanc'd, match'd against a peer's. t580 Jack vanish'd, was regrettecdand forgot; 'Tis wild good nature's never-failing lot. At length, when all had long suppos'd him dead, By cold submersion, razor, rope, or lead, My lord, alighting at his usual place, 585 T'he Crown, took notice of an ostler's face. Jack knew his friend, but hop'd in that disguise [le might escape the most observing eyes;:. I. - - - -- ------- I- ---- - - I -- - L_I I______ -— l-CII --- — ---- RETIREMENT. 165 And whistling, as if unconcern'd and gay, Curried his nag, and look'd another way. 590 Convinc'd at last. upon a nearer view, 'Twas ho, the same, the very Jack he knew, O'erwhelm'd at once witl wonder, grief, and joy, H-e press'd him much to quit his base employ; His countenance, his purse, his heart, his hand, 595 Influence and pow'r, were all at his command: Peers are note always gen'rous as well-bred, But Granby was, meant truly what he said. Jack bow'd, and was oblig'd-confess'd 'twas strange, Tlhat so retir'd he should not wish a change, 6OO But knew no medium between guzzling beer, And his old stint-three thousand pounds a year. Thus some retire to nourish hopeless wo: Some seeking happiness not found below; Sonie to comply with humour, and a mind 605 To social scenes by nature disinclin'd; Some sway'd by faslion, some by deep disgust; Some self-impoverish'd, and becauss they must; But few, that court Retirement, are aware Of half the toils they must encounter there. 610 Lucrative offices are seldom lost For want of pow'rs proportion'd to the post: Give c'en a dunce tl' employment he desires, And he soon finds the talents it requires; A business with an income at its heels 615 Furnishes always oil for its own wheels. But in his arduous enterprise to cl,)so His active years with indolent repose, I-ie finds the labours of that state exceed His utmost faculties, severe indeed. 620 'Tis easy to resign a toilsome place, But not to manage leisure with a grace; Absence of occupation is not rest, A mind quite vacant is a mind distress'd. The vet'ran steed, excus'd his task at length, 625 In kind compassion of his failing strength, I I I.1 -~ ~ ~ ~ ~~-c_ I i I I i i I r --— ~~~~~~~~~ - - I I — i66 RETIREMENT. And turn'd into the park or mead to graze, Exempt from future service all his days, Thee feels a pleasure pefect in its kind, Ranges at liberty, and snuffs the wind: 630 But when his lord would quit the busy road, To taste ajoy like that he had bestow'd, lie proves, less happy than his favour'd brute, A life of ease a difficult pursuit. Thought, to the man that never thinks, may seem 635 As natural as when asleep to dream; But reveries, (for human minds will act,) Specious in show, impossible in fact, Those flimsy webs, that break as soon as wrought, Attain not to the dignity of thought: 640 Nor yet the swarms that occupy the brain, Where dreams of dress, intrigue, and pleasure reign; I for such as useless conversation breeds, Or lust engenders, and indulgence feeds. Whence, and what are we? to what end ordain'd? 645 What means the drama by the world sustain'd? Business or vain amusement, care or mirth, Divide the frail inhabitants of earth. Is duty a mere sport, or an employ? Life an intrusted talent, or a toy? 650 Is there, as reason, conscience, Scripture say, Cause to provide for a great future day, When earth's assign'd duration at an end, Man shall be summon'd and the dead attend? The trumpet-will it sound? the curtain rise? G55 And show the august tribunal of the skies, Where no prevarication shall avail, Where eloquence and artifice shall fail, The pride of arrogant distinctions fall, And conscience and our conduct judge us all? 660 Pardon me, ye that give the midnight oil To learned cares of philosophick toil, Though I revere your honourable names, Your useful labours and important aims, I I _ - --- --- —--- .I I i I _ __ __ -C~I ----CI ----~ ---~ --- —-- - RETIREMENT. 167 And hold the world indebted to your aid, 665 Enrich'd with the discov'ries ye have made; Yet let me stand excus'd, if I esteem A mind employ'd on so sublime a theme, Pushing her bold inquiry to the date And outline of tie present transient state, 6"10 And after poising her advent'rous wings, Settling at last upon eternal things, Far more intelligent, and better taught The strenuous use of profitable thought, Than ye, when happiest, and enlighten'd most, 675 And highest in renown, can justly boast. A mind unnerv'd, or indispos'd to bear The weight of subjects worthiest of her care, Whatever hopes a clange of scene inspires, Must change her nature, or in vain retires. 580 An idler is a watch that wants both hands; As useless if it goes, as when it stands. Books, therefore, not the scandal of the shelves, In which lewd sensualists print out themselves; Nor those in which the stage gives vice a blow, 685 With what success let modern manners show; Nor his, who, for the bane of thousands born, Built God a church, and laugh'd his word to scorn, Skilful alike to seem devout and just, And stab religion with a sly side-thrust; 690 Nor those of learned philologists, who chase A panting syllable through time and space, Start it at home, and hunt it in the dark, To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark; But such as learning without false pretence, 695 The friend of truth, th' associate of good sense. And such as, in the zeal of good design, Strong judgment lab'ring in the Scripture mine, All such as manly and great souls produce, Worthy to live, and of eternal use; 700 Behold in these what leisure hours demand, Amusement and true knowledge hand in hand. -I II I I I J I --- ------------- -- -- - - I I I __~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~-1 168 RETIREMENT. Luxury gives the mind a childish cast, And, while she polishes, perverts the taste; Habits of close attention, thinking heads, 705 Become more rare as dissipation spreads, Till authors hear at length one gen'ral cry, Tickle and entertain us, or we die. Tile loud demand, from year to year the same, Beggars Invention, and makes Fancy lame; 710 Till farce itself most mournfully jejune, Calls for the kind assistance of a tune; And novels, (witness ev'ry month's review,) Belie their name, and offer nothing new. The mind, relaxing into needful sport, 715 Should turn to writers of an abler sort, Whose wit well manag'd. and whose classick style, Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile. Friends, (for I cannot stint, as some have done, Too rigid in my view, that name to one; 720 Though one, I grant it, in the gen'rous breast Will stand advane'd a step above the rest; Flow'rs by that name promiscuously we call, But one, the rose, the regent of them all,)Friends, not adopted with a schoolboy's haste, 725 But chosen with a nice discerning taste, Well born, well disciplin'd, who, plac'd apart From vulgar minds, have honour nucll at heart, And though the world may think the ingredients odd, The love of virtue, and the fear of God! 730 Such friends prevent what else would soon succeed, A temper rustick as the life we lead, And keep the polish of the manners clean, As theirs who bustle in the busiest scene; For solitude, however some may rave, 73,5 Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave, A sepulchre, in which the living lie, Where all good qualities grow sick and die. I I i I I I I I.I. I- I -- -- --- - -------— '-~ RETIREMENT. 169 i I I I praise the Frenchman,* his remark was shrewdHow se cet, how passing sweet is solitude 740 But grant me still a friend in my retreat, Whoml I may whisper-solitude is sweet. Yet neither these delights, nor aught beside, That appetite can ask, or wealth provide, Can save us always from a tedious day, 715 Or shine the dulncss of still life away; Divine communion, carefully enjoy'd, Or sought witl energy, must fill the void. O sacred art, to which alone life owes Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close; 750 Scorn'd in a world, indebted to that scorn For evils daily felt and hardly borne. Not knowing tlee, we reap with bleeding nands Flow'rs of rank odour upon thorny lands, And while Experience cautions us in vain, 755 Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain. Despondence, self-deserted in her grief, Lost by abandoning her own relief, Murmuring and ungrateful discontent, That scorns afflictions mercifully meant, 760 Those humours tart as wine upon the fret, Which idleness and weariness beget Tlese, and a thousand plagues, that haunt the breast, Fond of tle phantom of an earthly rest, Divine communion chases, as the day 760 Drives to their dens th' obedient beasts of prey. See Judah's promis'd king, bereft of all, Driv'n out an exile from the face of Satul; To distant caves the lonely wand'rer flies, To seek that peace a tyrant's frown denies. ": Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice, Hear him, o'erwhchn'd with sorrow, yet rejoice; No womanish or wa-ilino grief' hIts part, No. not a nmoment, in his royal heart; Bruy r'e. I I i II. i.I VoT,. I. 15, _ —c ----- —~IJ __ i I I I i I I _ __ _ --- —_I ,,,,,, __ ___ 170 RETIREMENT. 'Tis manly musick, such as martyrs make, 775 Suff'ring with gladness for a Saviour's sake; Ils soul exults, hope animates his lays, The sense of mercy kindles into praise, And wilds, familiar with a lion's roar, Ring with ccstatick sounds unheard before; 790 'Tis love like his, that can alone defeat The foes of man, or make a desert sweet. Religion does not censure or exclude Unnumber'd pleasures harmlessly pursu'd; To study culture, and with artful toil 785 To meliorate and tame the stubborn soil; To give dissimilar, yet fruitfil lands, The grain, or herb, or plant, that each demands; To cherish virtue in an humble state, And share the joys your bounty may create; 790 To mark the matchless workings of the pow'r, That shuts within its seed the future flow'r, Bid these in elegance of form excel, In colour these, and those delight the smell Sends nature forth, the daughter of the skies, 795 To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes, To teach the epnvass innocent deceit, Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheetThese, these are arts pursu'd without a crime, That leave no stain upon the wing of Time. 800 Me po>trv. (or rather notes that aim Feebly and vainly at poetick fame,) Emplovs. shut out from more important views, Fast 1bv the banks of the slow-winding Ouso; Content if thus sequester'd I may raise 805 A monitor's though not a poet's praise, And while 1 teach an art too little known, To close life wisely, may not waste my own i I I I I I U _ I ------ -- - I~_~ — I I I I 11 I I II ---------— ~ — - -- - -~-~ --- —--- - - -— ~ --- -- ------- - I - I TIIE YEARLY DISTRESS, OK, TITHING TIME AT STOCK, IN ESSEX. Verses addressed to a country clergyman, complaining of the disagreeableness of the day annually appomted for receiving the dues at the parsonage. COME, ponder well, for 'tis no jest, To laugh it would be wrong, The troubles of a worthy priest, The burden of my song. The priest he merry is and blithe, Three quarters of the year, But, oh! it cuts him like a sithe, When tithing timne draws neal. [Io then is full of frights and fears, As one at point to die, And long before the day appears, lie heaves up many a sigh. For then the farmers come, jog, jog, Along the miry road, Each heart as heavy as a log, To make their payments good. I I I I i - --- --— 1- -- - - - - -- 172 TEIE EARLY DISTRESS. In sooth, the sorrow of such days Is not to be express'd, When lie that takes, and he that pays, Are both alike distress'd. Now all unwelcome at his gates The clumsy swains alight, With rueful faces and bald patesHle trembles at the sirght. And well he may, for well he knows Each bumpkin of the clan, Instead of paying what lie owes, ~~~I lWill cheat him if he can. j;I~ So in they come-each makes his leg, And flings his head before, And looks as if he came to beg, i And not to quit a score. l '" r "And how does miss and mademi do, j! $~ " TThe little boy, and all?" i All tight and well. And how do you "Good Mr. What-d'ye-call?" The dinner comes, and down they sit Wore e'er such hungry folk? There's little talking, and no wit; It is no time to joke. One wipes his nose upon his sleeve, One spits upon the floor, Yet not to give offence or grieve, Holds up the cloth before. The punch goes round, and they are dull And lumpish still as ever; Like barrels with their bellies full, They only weigh the heavier. I. _ _ -.L -- ILr-LC --- —C --- —-- --------------— " -------------- -~ ----- ---- -C TlE YEARLY DISTRESS. 173 At length the busy time begins, t Colme, neighbours, we must wagr-" The money chinks, down drop their chins, Each lugging out his bag. One talks of mildew and of frost, And one of storms of hail, And one of pigs, that he has lost By maggots at the tail. Quoth one, " A rarer man than you " In pulpit none shall hear: " But yet, methinks, to tell you true, " You sell it plaguy dear." O why are farmers made so coarse Or clergy made so fine? A kick that scarce would move a hore, May kill a sound divine. Then let the boobies stay at home; 'Twould cost him, I dare say, Less trouble taking twice the sim Without the j y — -- -- -- —..F -_ _... I.e i i I I I i i i i I I I I ( 174 ) SONNET ADDRESSED TO HENRY COWPER, ESQ. On his emphatical and interesting delivery of tle defence of Warren Hastings, Esq. in the House of Lords. COWPER. whose silver voice, task'd sometimes hard Legends prolix delivers in the ears, (Attentive when thou read'st,) of England's peers, Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward. Thou wast not heard with drowsy disregard, Expending late on all that length of plea Tly gen'rous pow'rs, but silence honour'd thee, Mute as e'er gaz'd on orator or bard. Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside Both heart and head; and couldst with musick sweet Of Attick phrase and senatorial tone, Like thy renown'd forefathers, far and wide Thy fame diffuse, prais'd not for utt'rance meet Of others' speech, but nagick of thy own. I - ---- --- I I I I i ( 1 - LINES, ADDRESSED TO DR. DARWIN, Authoi of " The Botanick Garden" TWO Poets,* (poets by report, Not oft so well agree,) Sweet harmonists of Flora's court! Conspire to honour Thee. They best can judge a poet's worth Who oft themselves have known The pangs of a poetick birth By labours of their own. We therefore pleas'd extol thy song Though various yet complete, Rich in embellishment as strong And learned as 'tis sweet. No envy mingles with our praise, Though, could our hearts repine At any poet's happier lays, They would-they must at thine. But we in mutual bondage kni' Of friendship's closest tie, Car graze on even Darwin's wit With an unjaundic'd eye; Adl deem tlie 3Bard, \whlw'er lie be, And howsoever known, \W'o would not twine a wreath for Thee, Unworthy of his own. Alluding to the poem by Mr. Hayley, which accompanied these lines. (I I 'I I; I I -.. I I - | I z~~~~~~~ — ~- ----— _ ---------- (176) ON MRS. MONTAGU'S FEATIER IIANG. INGS. THE Birds put off their ev'ry hue, To dress a room for Montagu. The Peacock sends his heavenly dyes, His rainbows and his starry eyes; The Pleasant plumes, which round infold His mantling neck with downy gold; The Cock his arch'd tail's azure show; And, river-blanch'd, the Swat his snow All tribes beside of Indian name, That glossy shine, or vivid flame, Wliere rises and where sets the day, Whate'er they boast of rich and gay, Contribute to the gorgeous plan, Proud to advance it all they can. This plumage neither dashing show'r, Nor blasts that shake the dripping bow'r, Shall drencl again or discompose, But, screcn'd from every storm tlat blows, It boasts a splendour ever new, Safe with protecting Montagu. To tlis same patroness resort, Secure of favour at her court, Strong Genius, from whose forge ofthought Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought, Which, though new-born, with vigour move, Like Pallas springing arm'd from Jovo I I I i I I i I i I _ -- -- --- --— _ - _c. II i i i i i i i I i I I I Ii i j d I i i I i I I I I I II -' - — '- -^ ---- ` --- - - --- --- — --- —-------— ' --- —--— c — — c` --- —-` --- -— '-` ' —'-"- — "-"'-'-" —`-`i- - -'-' -1 ON MRS. MONTAGU'S IANGINGS. J77 Imagination scatt'ring round Wild roses over furrow'd ground, Wlicl Labour of his frown beguile, And teacl Philosophy a smile- Wit flashinig on Religion's side, Wlose fires to sacred Truth applied, The gem, though luminous before, Obtrudes on human notice more, Like sunbeams on the golden height Of some tall temple playing bright- - Well-tutor'd Learning, from his books Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty, looks Their order on his shelves exact, Not more harmonious or compact Than that to which he keeps confin'd The various treasures of his mindAll these to Montagu's repair, Ambitious of a shelter there: There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit, Their ruffled plumage calm refit, (For stormy troubles loudest roar Around their flight who highest soar,) And in lier eye, and by her aid, Shine safe without a fear to fade. She thus maintains divided sway With yon bright regent of the day The pluIme and poet both, we know, Their lustre to his influence owe; And she the works of Phaobus aiding, Both poet saves and plume from fading. i i I It I, iII i i I I I jj i I - - — " --— '- ---- I — - — ------— ^-,-~ 1-..-. ^._..-.-...__._..., (178) VERSES Supposed to be written by Alezander.Selkirk, during his solitary abode on the island of Juan Fernandez. -- I. I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute; From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 0 Solitude! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place. II. I am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet musick of speech, I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain, My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me. III. Society, friendship, and love, Divinely bestow'd upon man, O had I the wings of a dove, How soon would I taste you again t My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truth, Mighlt learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth I f - - ------ ---— u, I I ------ I Ii I i I I I i I I I i I I I i i fI I i I VERSES BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK. 17i IV. Religion! what treasure untold Resides in that heavenly word! More precious tlan silver and gold, Or all that this earth can affiord. But the sound of the church-going bell These valleys and rocks never heard, Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell, Or snil'd when a sabbath appcar'd. V. Ye winds that have made me your sport, Convey to tills desolate shore Soni cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I ani never to see. VI. How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compar d with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But, alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. VII. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lair; Even here is a season of rest, And I to Iny cabin repair. There's mercy in every place, And mercy, encouraging thought I Gives even affliction a grace, And reconciles man to his lot I I~LL~C -I — I - I ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ - -- I ( 80 ) |i t VSON THE PROMOTION Gc!I EDWARD THIURLOW, ESQ. To the Lord High ChancellorshiP of England. I. ROUND Thurlow's head, in early youth, And in his sportive days, Fair Science pour'd the light of truth And Genius shed lis ray; I. See! viVtn united wonder, cried Th' experienc'd and the sage, Ambition in a boy supplied With all the skill of age! III. Discernment, eloquence, and grace, Proclaim him born to sway The balance in tile highest place, And bear the palm away. IV. The praise bcstow'd was just and wise, He sprang impetuous forth, Secure of conquest, where the prize Attends superiour worth. V. So the best courser on the plain Ere yet he starts is known, And does but at the goal obtain What all had deem'd his own. II!it i i. I i I I I II I I; i I i I I iI I i l _ - --- -- -- ----------------— 5-L-c — - --------- --- f i __ ~ ~ _ _ _ I~_ I _I i i i I I i i I i I I i i i I I I I I i I I I I i I I — ( 181 ) ODE TO PEACE. I. COME, peace of mind, delightfill guest! IRet rn and make thy downy lnst Oncte more in this sad heart: Nor riches I nor pow'r pursue, Nor hold forbidden joys in view; Ve therefore need not part. II. Where wilt thou dwell, if not witl mne, From av'rice and ambition free, And pleasure's faLtal wiles? For whom, alas! d(st thou prepare The sweets that I was wont to share, The banquet of thy smiles? III. The (rcat, the gay, shall they partake, The tlcav'n that thou alone canst mako? And wilt thou quit the stream That murmurs through the dewy mead, The grove and the sequester'd shcd To be a guest with theml IV. For theo I panted, thee I priz'd, For thee I gladly sacrific'd Whate'er I lov'd before; And shall I see thee start away, And helpless, hopeless, hear thee sayFarewecrl! we meet no more VOL. I 1; I I I I i I I _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I I I I __ _ I ______ __C ( 182) HUMAN FRAILTY. 1. WEAK and irresolute is man; The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan, To-morrow rends away. II. The bow well bent, and smart the spring, Vice seems already slain; But Passion rudely snaps the string, And it revives again. III. Some foe to his upright intent Finds out his weaker part; Virtue engages his assent, But Pleasure wins his heart. IV. Tis hero the folly of the wise Through all his heart we view; And, while his tongue the charge denies, His conscience owns it true. V. Bound on a voyage of awful length And dangers little known, A stranger to superiour strength, Man vainly trusts his own. VI. But oars alone can ne'er prevail, To reach the distant coast; The breath of Heav'n must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost. I I i i t I I~ II i i - -- - - i I I I I I -LI..- _,,,.,,.___________ ( 18:- ) TIlE MODERN PATRIOT. I. REBELLION is my theme all day: I only wish 'twould come, (As who knows but perhaps it may?) A little nearer home. II. Yon roaring boys, who rave and fight On t'other side th' Atlantick, I always held them in the right, But most so when most frantick. III. When lawless mobs insult the court, That man shall be my toast, If breaking windows be the sport, Who bravely breaks the most. IV. But, O! for him my fancy culls The choicest flow'rs she bears, Who constitutionally pulls Your house about vour ears. V. Such civil broils are my delight, Though some folks can't endure them, Who say the mob are mad outright, And that a rope must cure them. VI. A rope! I wish we patriots had Sucl strings for all who need 'emWhat! hang a man for going mad Then farewell British freedom..i ---- ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~__, ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I I I I i i __ --- ( 184) On observing some J\nrnmcs of little note recorded in the Biograplhia Britannica. OI, fond attelmpt to give a deathlless lot To names ignoble, born to be forgot! In vain, recorded in historick page, They court the notice of a future age ~ Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand Lethean gulfs receive them as they fall, And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all. So when a child, as playful children use, Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's news, The flame extinct, he views the roving fireThere goes my lady, and there goes the squire, There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk REPORT Of an adjudged Case, not to be found in any of '4, Books. I. BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, To which the said spectacles ought to beloug. I I Ii I I I I I I I 1 I t -- -------— --- ____ -- ----------------- ---- __ [} n~REPORT OF A LAW CASE. 185 So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause Witl a grcet dal of skill, and a vwig tfll of learning, j 'While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws, So fam'd for hiis talent in nicely disrcerning. III. In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find, That the Nose lhas lad spectacles always in wear, Which amounts to possession time out of mind. IV. Then holding the spectacles up to the court. Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle As wide as tile ridge of the Nose is; in short, Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle. V. Again, would your lordship a moment suppose, ('Tis a case that has happen'd, and may be again,) That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then ' VI. On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose And the Nose was as plainly iptended for them. VII. Then shifting his side, (as a lawyer knows now, HIe pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes. But what were his arguments few people know, For the court did not tliink they were equally wise VIII. So his lordslip decreed, with a grave solemn tone, Decisive and clear, without one if or butThat, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By day-light or candle-light-Eyes should be shut 1G* -1 - -- —. — c --- —-—.-I- __ __ i I I I I I I I I I I I i i; I I -— ` --- —- ------ -— ' -----— ^ --- ------ (186) ON TIHE BURNING OF LORD MANSFIEID'S LIBRARY, TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS. By the Mob, in the month of Juno, 1760 I. So then-the Vandals of our isle, Sworn foes to sense and law, hlave burnt to dust a nobler pile Than ever Roman saw! II. And Murray sighs o'er Pope and Swift, And many a treasure more, The well-judged purchase and the iftR, That grac'd his letter'd store. III. Tlcheir paes mangrled, burnt, and torn, Tlhe loss was his alone; B.lt agres yet to come slh o11 mourn The burningo of' is own II I I I ----- -------— ~ --- - ~Il~~~ (187) ON TIlE SAME. I. WfIEN Wit and Genius meet their doom In all-devouring flame, They tell us of the fate of Rome, And bid us fear the same, II. O'er.Murray's loss the muses wept, They felt the rude alarm, Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept Iis sacred head from harm. There mem'ry, like the bee, that's fed From Flora's balmy store, The quintessence of all lie read Had treasur'd up before. IV. The lawless herd, with fury blind, lave done him cruel wrong; The flow'rs are gone-but still we find The honey on his tongue. i I ii I I I I I I i i I I I I I I I i I I I I i i I i I I I I I _ _L__________I__~________ ~_______________~_ _______ _ ___^ __14_ _ ----— CI --- —------- ( 188) THEI LOVE OF TIIE WORLD REPlROVED OR, HYPOCRISY DETECTED.* THUS says the prophet of the Turi Good musselman, abstain from pork; There is a part in every swine No friend or follower of mine May taste, whate'er his inclination, Upon 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; 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; 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 ev'ry clog, Mahometans eat up the hog. * It may be proper to inform the reader, that this piect has already appeared in print, having found its;way, iholgk with some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, into the Leeds Journal, without the author's privity. i I I I I I J -— LI — _ __ _ __ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~4~ Ii i II I I III i IYPOCRISY DlI'T(T ITr) You lI1augh-'tis well-T}e t;ile npplied May make you lau1rli on t'other side, Renounce the world —tle preacher cries; 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; Soime love a concert or a race; And others shooting, and the cliacc, Revil'd and lov'd, renounc'd 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 lie: With sophistry their sauce they sweeten, Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten. ONS TIHE DEATI- OF MIn. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTOGXS BULFINCII. YE nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red With tears o'er hapless fav'rites shed O sliare Maria's grief! hTer fav'rite, even in his cage, (What will not hunger's cruel rage?) Assassin'd by a thief. I — IC~ —.~ ---- ~ ~ _ ---~ —~ ---- — C_ —~ —II-1 --- - I.I I I I I1 1i I I ii I i I I I I I I i 11 _ ___ __. _,_ _2,-__ - I- ---— `-I-^ ----- -- — U` - 190 LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCHI. Where Rhenus strays his vines among, The egg was laid from which he sprung; And, though by nature imute, Or only with a whistle blest, Well taught he all the sounds express'd Of flagelet or flute. The honours of his ebon poll Were brighter than the sleekest mole, His bosom of the hue With which Aurora decks the skies When piping winds shall soon arise To sweep away the dew Above, below, in all the house, Dire foe alike of bird and mouse, No cat had leave to dwell; And Bully's cage supported stood On props of smooth-shaven wood, Large built and lattic'd well. Well lattic'd-but the grate, alas! Not rough with wire of steel or brass, For Bully's plumage sake, But smooth with wands from Ouse's side, With which, when neatly peal'd and dried, The swains their baskets make. Night veil'd the pole; all seem'd secure, When led by instinct, sharp and sure, Subsistence to provide, A beast forth sallied on the scout, Long-back'd, long-tail'd, with whislcr'd snout, And badger-colour'd hide He, ent'ring at the study door Its ample area 'gan explore: And something in the wind t I I I I I I i I I II, I - ---- -- -~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ — -- ' I~ THE ROSE 191 Conjectur'd, snliffing round and round, Better than all the books lie found, Food chiefly for the mind. Just then, by adverse fate impress'd, A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest; In sleep he seem'd to view A rat fast clinging to the cage, And screaming at the sad presage, Awoke and found it true. For aided both by ear and scent, Right to his mark the monster wentAh muse! forbear to speak Minute the horrors that ensu'd; His teeth were strong, the cage was woodHe left poor Bully's beak. 0 had he made that too his prey; That beak, whence issu'd niany a lay Of such mellifluous tone, Alight have repaid him well I wote, For silencing so sweet a throat, Fast stuck within his own. Maria weeps-the muses mournSo when by Racchanalians torn, On Thracean lebrus' side, The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell, Iis liead alone renain'd to tell The cruel death lie died. TIHE ROSE. The Rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r Which Mary to Anna convey'd, Trhe plentiful moisture encunmber'd the flow'r And welgll'd down its beautiful head. I I I I i i II, _, i i I I I I I 192 THE DOVES. 192 TIE DOVES. The cup was all fill'd, and tlio leaves wree all wet, And it sccm'd to a fanciful view, To weep for the buds it had left with regret, On the flourishing bush where it grew I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas! I snapp'd it —;t fell to the ground. And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part Some act by the delicate mind, Regardless of wringing and breakinr a heart Already to sorrow resign'd. This elegant rose, had I slhaken it loss, Might have bloom'd with its owner a while; And the tear that is wip'd with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile TIIE DOVES. I. REAS'NING at ov'ry step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, While meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray. IL One silent eeG I wander'd late, And heard the voice of love: The turtle tlus address'd her mate, And sooth'd the list'ning dove - _ IJ I I - -- - --- - - - -- -- -- --- _- ____._ __ _I ~ ____CI _ I _ _I _1____ ~_C__I. I I I I I I I I I' I 1 TIHE DOVES. II. Our mutual bond of faith and truth, No time shall disengage, Those blessings of our early youth Shall cheer our latest age: IV. While innocence without disguise, And constancy sincere, Slall fill tile circles of tlose eyes, And mine can read them there. V. Those ills that wait on all below, Shall ne'er be felt by me, Or gently felt, and only so, As being shar'd with thee. VI. When lirghtnings flash among the trees, Or kites a;e hov'rinr near, I fear lest thee alone they seize, And know no other fear. VII. 'Tis then I feel myself a wife, And press tly wedded side, Resolv'd a union forn'd for life, Death never shall divide. VIII. But oh! if fickle and unchaste, (Forgive a transient thought,) Tlou could become unkind at last, And scorn thy present lot, IX. No need of lightnings fronl on lhigh, Or kites with cruel beak; Denied th' endearmlents of thine eye, This widow'd heart w-oiuld break VOL. I. 17 193 i I I i i i I II i 1 i I i I I I I I 11 I I ----— I 1 I~ — ~ - -- 194 A FABLIE. X. Thus sang the sweet selquestcr'd lilrl, Soft as the passing wind, And I recorded what I heard, A lesson for mankind. A FABLE. A RAVEN, while with glossy breast Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd, And, on her wicker work high mounted Her chickens prematurely counte d, (A fault philosophers might blame If quite exempted firom the same,) Enjoy'd at ease the genial day; 'Twas April, as the bumpkins say, The legislature call'd it May. But suddenly a wind as ligh As ever swept a winter sky, Shook the young leaves about her ears, And fill'd her with a thousand fears, Lest the rude blast should snap the boug), And spread her golden hopes below. But just at eve the blowing weather, And all her fears were hush'd together: And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph, 'Tis over, and the brood is safe; (For ravens, though as birds of omon They teach both conj'rers and old women, To tell us what is to befall, Can't prophesy themselves at all;) The morning came, when neighbour Hodge Who long had rnark'd her airy lodge, i I II I I II I i i i I I' - I I I i I Ii I I I I I I Il A COMPARISON. 95 Arid destin'd all the treasure there A gifl to liis expecting fair, Clilib'd like a squirrel to his dray, And bore the worthless prize away. MORA L. 'Tis Providence alone secures In ev'ry change both mine and yours Safety consists not in escape From dangers of a frightful shape; An earthquake may be bid to spare The man that's strangled by a hair. Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oft'nest in what least we dread, Frowns in the storm wvitll angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow. A COMPARISON. TIIE lapse of time and rivers is the same, Both speed their journey with a restless stream. The silent pace with which tley steal away, No wealth can bribe, no pray'rs persuade to stay Alike irrevocable both when past, And a wide ocean swallows both at last. Though each resemble each in ev'ry part, A diff'i ence strikes at length the musing heart; --- II ! ` — --— ~-~u - I I I i II i i I II i I i! 'I i I i I 1 1 iI I I 196 THE POET'S NEW YEART'S GIFT. Streams never flow in vain; where streamns,tbolnd, I low laughs the land with various pl nty crown'd ' ]But time, that should enrich tlhe nobler itind, Neglected leaves a dreary waste behind. ANOTHER. ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. SWEET stream, that winds through yonder glade, A pt emblem of a virtuous maidSilent and chaste she steals along, Far fron tie world's gay busy throng; WiVth gentle, yet prevailing fbrce, Intent upon her destin'd cours c; Graceful and useful all she does, Blessing and bless'd where'er she goes, Pure-bosom'd as that wat'ry glass, And Heav'n reilected in her face. TIlE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT. TO MIRS. (Now LADY) THIROCKMORTON. MARIA! I have ev'ry good For thee wish'd many a time, Both sad and in a cheelrful mood, But never yet in liyrrylc. I I I I i i i I I 11 I I I I i I i I -1 I I I I; i i ) I I I: I - - _ _ _ _ _ _ _ C~~ _ ~ ~ _ _ ~ ~ __~~IL ~ ___ __~~ ij II i i ODE TO APOLLO. 197 To wish thee fairer is no need, More prudent, or more sprightly, Or more ingenious, or more freed From temper flaws unsightly. What favour then not yet possess'd Can I for thee require, In wedded love already blest, To thy whole heart's desire? None here is happy but in part. Full bliss is bliss divine: There dwells some wish in ev'ry heart, And doubtless one in thine. That wish on some fair future day, Which Fate shall brightly gild, ('Tis blameless, be it what it may,) I wish it all fulfill'd. ODE TO APOLLO. On ant Inkgrlass almost dried in the sun PATRON of all those luckless brains, That, to the wrong side leaning, Indite much metre with much pains, And little or no meaning. And why, since oceans, rivers, streams, That water all the nations, Pay tribute to thy glorious beams, In constant exhalations; 17 I I I I I 11 i I I i I I i i.I i I I I I -- --- --— ~~~~~~~- 198 PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. Why, stooping from tile noon of day, Too covetous of drinlk, Apollo, hast thou stol'n away A poet's drop of ink? Ulporner into lhe vicwless air, It floats a vapour n11(w, inpell'd throughl regions dense and rare, By all the winds that blow. Ordain'd, perhaps, ere summer flies, ComLin'd with mnillions nore, To form an Iris in the skies, Though black and foul before. Illustrious drop! and happy then Beyond the happiest lot, Of all that ever pass'd my pen, So soon to be forgot. Phoebus, if such be thy design, To place it in thy bow, Give wit, that what is left may shine With equal grace below. PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. A FABLE. I SHALL not ask Jean Jaques Rosseau,' If birds conifbulate or no; * It was one of the whimnsical spectulations of this philoso. plier, tiat all fables, which ascribe reason and sp)eech to aninials, should be withheld from children, as being otlv vehicles of deception. But what clildl was ever deccived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses? i i 'ii I I 1 j1 I i II I j I ii I 11 i I I. _ -— _. __ ___ _ - - - — —'-- '` ^" `-" -' —-"' — ---- --` ----" — C__I_ ______ _ _~ LII_ __ . ---- --- ____ _ --------— --- 1t PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. 199 'Tis clear that they were always able To hold discourse-at least in table; And e'cn the child who knows no better, Than to interpret by tle letter, A story of a cock and lull, Must have a miost unconIllmon skull. It chanc'd then on a winter's day, But warm, and brighlt, and calm as May, The birds, conceiving a design To forestall sweet St. Valentine, In many an orchard, copse, and grove, Assembed on afifirs of love, And with much twitter and much chatter, Began to agitate the matter. At length a Bulfinch, who could boast More years and wisdom than the most, Entreated, op'ning wide his beak, A Imoment's liberty to speak; And, silence publickly enjoin'd, Deliver'd briefly thus his mind: My friends! be cautious how ye treat Thle subject upon which we meet; I fear we shall have winter yet. A Finch, lwhose tongue knew no control, With golden wing, and satin poll, A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried What marriage means, thus pert replied: Methinks the gentleman, quoth she, Opposite in the apple tree, By his good will would keep us single Till yonder Ieav'n and earth slhall mingle Or, (which is likelier to befall,) Till death exterminate us all. 1 marry without more ado, Mly dear Dick Redcap, what say you? Iick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short round, strutting, and sideling, I I I I I i I I I 1 I I, i I I Ii I I I I I I I i I II I I I i i i i i I i II --------- -- .- I — —, -- I_ —, _-__ -- -------------— cl --- —,. ~r 200 PAIRING TIME ANT!CIPATElD. Attested, glad, his aplrobaticn Of an immediate conjilgation. Their sentiments, so well exprsss'd, Inflnenc'd mightily the rest, All pair'd, and ach1 pair built a nest. But thougll the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast, And destiny, that som:etimes bears An aspect stern on man's affairs, Not altogether smil'd on theirs. The wind of late breath'd gently forth, Now shifted east, and east by north; Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, Could shelter them from rain or snow. Stepping into their nests, they paddled, Themselves wero chill'd, their eggs were addled, Soon ev'ry father bird and mother Grew quarrelsome, and pecl'd each other, Parted without the least regret, Except that they had never met; And learn'd, in future, to be wiser Than to neglect a good adviser. MORAL. Misses! the tale that I relate This lesson seens to carryChoose not alone a proper mate, But proper time, to marry. I i I i I I 11 II Ii i i I i I I i I I i II i i - _ __ ___ I --- —-- -~~ I I I --— ^ -U --— ` --- —--- -cc ----— ^ ---- ------ -- (201) THEI DOG AND TIIE WATER-LILY. NO FABLE. TIHE noon was shady, and soft airs Swept Ouse's silent tide, When, seap'd from literary cares, I wander'd on his side. MAy spaniel, prettiest of his race, And high in pedigree, (Two nyrmplhs* adorn'd with cv'ry grace That spaniel found for nme.) Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds, Now starting into sight, Pursu'd the swallow o'cr tlte neads W ith scarce a slower llight. It was the time when Onse display'd HIis lilies newly blown; Their beauties 1 intent survey'd, And one 1 wish'd my own. With cane extended far I sougit To steer it close to land; But still the prize, though nearly caught, Escap'd my eager hand. I I I I * Sir Robert Gunning's daughters I - - ---- - - -------- ------- I I I I I I I I II ----- ----------— - --- ----- - --- —- -'' -- —- "'-^ 202 THEI- ' POET, OYSTER, &c. Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains Witli fix'd considerate face, And puzzling set Iis puppy brains To comprchend the case. But with a cherup clear and strong, Dispersing all his dream, I thence withdrew, and follow'd long The windings oftlhe stream. My ramble ended, I return'd; Beau trotting far before, Tle floating wreath again discern'd, And plunging left the shore. I saw him with that lily cropp'd, Impatient swim to meet My quick approach, and soon lie dropp'd The treasure at my feet. Charm'd with the sight, the worll, I cried, Shall hear of this thy deed: My aog shall mortify the pride Of man's superiour breed: But chief myself 1 will enjoin, Awake at duty's call, To show a love as prompt as thine, To him who gives me all. TIHE POET, TIlE OYSTER AND SENSITIVE PLANT. AN Oyster, cast upon the shore, Was heard, though never heard before, I I I I ---- --- ------— —` --- — I __ _ C _ 1 _ 1 _ _ I I I TIlE POET, OYSTER, &c. 203 Complaining in a speecih well worded. And wortly thus to be recordedAh, l1haless wretch! condemned to dwell For ever in my native shell; Ordain'd to move when others please, Not for my own content or ease But toss'd, and bufietted about, Now in the water, and now out. 'Twere better to be borno a stone, Of rudor slape and feeling none, Than with a tenderness like mine, And sensibilities so fine! I envy that unfeeling shrub, Fast rooted against ev'ry rub. Tlhe plant he meant grew not far off, And felt tile sneer with scorn enough; Was hurt, disgusted, mortified, And with asperity replied. When, cry the botanists, and stare, Did plants call'd sensitive grow thero No matter when-a poet's muse is, To make them grow just where she chooses You shapeless nothing in a dish, You that arc but almost a fish, I scorn your coarse insinuation, And have most plentiful occasion, To wish myself the rock I view, Or such another dolt as you: For many a grave and learned clerk, A many a gay unletter'd spark, With curious touch examines me, If I can feel as well as he; And when I bend, retire, and shrink, Says-Well, 'tis more than one would think! Thus life is spent, (oh fie upon't.!) In being touch'd, and crying-Don't A poet in his ev'ningr walk, O'erheard, and check'd this idle talk I I,11 I - __ __ - -- I I I i I I _______^_____)________~__ _ _ ___ __._ 204 T'f 'E SIIRUBBERY. And your fine sense, lie said, and yours, WVhatever evil it endures, Deserves not, if so soon offended, Much to be pitied or commnendled. Disputes thoug'h short, are far too IonTr, Where both alike are in the wronr,; Your feelings in their fiull a:lonnt, Are all upon your own account. You, in your grotto work enclos'd, Complain of lieing thus expos'l; Yet nothing feel in that rourhl coat, Save whell tie knife is a.t yoIlu tlroaIt, xWhere'er driv'n bly wind or tide, Exempt from cv'ry ill b side. And as for you, my Lady Squealrmisl, Who reckon ev'ry touch a blemtish, If all the plants that can be foundl, Emibellishing the scene around, Should drop and wither where they grow, You would not feel at all-not you. The noblest minds tlleir virtue provo ny pity, sympatly, and love: These, these are feelings truly fine, And prove their owner lalf divine. His censure reach'd themn as he dfealt it, And each by shrinking show'd lie filt it. I I I I I!.I 11 TIIE SIIRUBBERlY. WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION. I. OI happy shades-to me unllest! Friendly to peace, but not to le! HIow ill the scene, tlhat ffelrs rest, And heart that cannot rest, aL-ree I I_ -------— 1. ---- ------ - — -- - _ _ _C_______U____I_____I______I_____ _ _ _r___l____ _____ IC_ _I __ THE WINTER NOSEGAY II. Tlhis glassy stream, that spreading pine Tlose alders quiv'ring to the breeze, Alight sooth a soul less hurt than mine, And please, if any tiling could please. III. But fix'd, unalterable Care Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness cv'ry where, And slights the season and the scene. IV. For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn, While peace possess'd these silent bow'rs, lHer animatin smile withdrawn, Ilas lost its beauties and its powv's V. The saint or moralist should tread This moss-grown alley, musing, slow; They seek like me the secret shade, But not like me to nourish wo! VI. Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste Alike admonish not to roam; These tell nme of enjoyments past, And those of sorrows yet to come. TIlE WINTER NOSEGAY I. WHAT Nature, alas! ha:s denied To the delicate growtlh of our isle, Art has in a measure supplicd, And winter is ldeck'd with a smllle VOL. 1 1,S 205 11 I i I I i I i i i i i: I I I ii I I I I tI II I I I I I I i I i II -- --- ~I~ - rI — ~ ~ --....I I i I I I I 11 I I i I 206 MUTUAL FORBEARANCE. See, Mary, what beauties I bring From the shelter of that sunny shed, Where thle flow'rs have the charms of the spring, Though abroad they are frozen and dead, II. 'Tis a bow'r of Arcadian sweets, Where Flora is still in her prime, A fortress to which sle retreats From tlle cruel assaults of tlhe clime While earth wears a mantle of snow, Thcse pinks are as fresh and as gay As the fairest and sweetest, that blow On the beautiful bosom of May See how they have safely surviv'd The frowns of a sky so severe; Such Mary's true love, that has liv'd Through many a turbulent year. The charms of the late blowing rose Seem'd grac'd with a livelier hlie, And the winter of sorrow best shows, The truthl of a friend such as you. MUTUAL FORBEARANCE NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MAIRRIED STATE. TIlE Lady thus address'd her spouseWhat a more dungeon is this house! By no means large enough; and was it, Yot this dull room, and that dark closet I I I i I I I II MUTUAL FORBEARANCE. 207 Those liangings with their worn out graces, Long beards, long noses, and pale faces: Are such an antiquated scene, They overwhelhn me with the spleen. Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark, Makes answer quite beside the mark: No doubt, my dear; I bade him come, Engag'd myself to be at homo, And slall expect him at the door, Precisely when the clock strikes four. You are so deaf, the lady cried, (And rais'd her voice, and frown'd beside,) You are so sadly deaf, my dear, What shall I do to make you hear? Dismiss poor Harry! he replies; Some people are more nice than wise, For one slight trespass all this stir? What if lie did ride whip and spur, 'Twas but a mile-your fav'rite horse Will never look one hair the worse. Well, I protest 'tis past all bearingChild! I am rather hard of hearingYes, truly-one rust scream and bawl 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 stife, 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 ev'ry trivial provocation? Tlhe kindest and the happiest pair Will find occasion to forbear; And something cv'ry day they live, To pity, and, perhaps, forgive. But if infirmities, that fall In common to the lot of all, -I i I I i i II I II I III iI iI I I I I ~c~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~,,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~,. I-I --— ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ -- 1~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I: - ~ --- ------— --- `-I I — -- --------- -— ' ---- 208 THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT. |i t A blemish or a sense ilnpair'd, Are crimes so little to be spar'd, Then farewell all, that must create The comfort of the wedded state; Instead of harmony, 'tis jar, And tumult, and intestine war. The love tlat cheers life's latest stage, Proof against sickness and old age, Prescrv'd by virtue from declension, Becomes not weary of attention; JBut lives, when that exteriour grace, Which first inspir'd 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 soon expels him if it is. THEI NEGRO'S COMPLAINT FORC'D from home and all its pleasures!/ | AAfric's coast I left forlorn; To increase a stranger's treasures, O'er the raging billows borne. MAen from England bought and sold me, |j {PPaid my price in paltry gold; But though slave they have enroll'd me, Minds are never to be sold I I.I I I I I I I I I I I. i i I i i i I II I I I I I ---------- -- ------ -— ~ -- ~~ --- —— ~ --- —----- - ---— ~~ --- ------- -------------- I — * I - ---L -~-s- --- ---— ~ --- —. — -----— ~ --- — ~-.- — ,._.-_., —.-_.._ -_- --- — _-. --- ~ — -- --— ~L I I i I I i. 11 TIlE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT. 209 Still in thought as free as ever, What are England's rights I ask, Me frol my delights to sever, Me to torture, me to task? Fleecy locks and black complexion, Cannot forfeit Nature's claimn Skins may differ, but afeiction Dwells in white and black the same Why did all-creating Nature M-'ke the plant for which we toilSighs must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye masters, iron-hearted, Lolling at your jovial boards; Think how many backs have smarted For the sweets your cane affords. Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, Is there one, who reigns on high? Has he bid you buy and sell us, Speaking from his throne, the sky? Ask him, if your knotted scourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means that duty urges Agents of his will to use? Hark! lie answers-wild tornadoes, Strewing yonder sea with wrecks; Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, Are the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations Afric's sons should undergo, Fix'd their tyrants' habitations Where his whirlwinds answer-No. By our blood in Afric wasted, Ere our necks receiv'd the chain; By the mis'ries that we tasted, Crossing in your barks the maie, 186* il I I i 1i.I........ — -- -.. I. — C — -~ --- —-------------- ~ -— ~~-' I iI;I i I i 210 PITY FOR POOR AFIRICANS. By our suff'rinrs since ye brought us To tim minan-dlegrading mart; All-sustain'd by patience, taught us Only by a broken heart; Deemn our nation brutes no longer, Till som-le reason ye shall find Worthier of rega rd, and strolner Than the colour of our kind. Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted pow'rs, Prove that you have human feelings, Ere you proudly question ours! PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS. Video meliorn proboque, Deteriora sequor....... I OWN I am shock'd at the purchase of slaves, And fear those who buy them and sell them are knaves; What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and groans, Is almost enough to draw pity from stones. I pity them greatly-but I must be mumFor how could we do without sugar and rum? Especially sugar, so needful we see? What, give up our desserts, our coffee, and tea! Besides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes, Will heartily thank us, no doubt, for our pains: If we do not buy the poor creatures, they will, And tortures and groans will be multiplied still. I j I I I i --------------------- ~- ~ --- — ~ -~ — ----------- -------------- - -' --- -- ---- ------ ---— ~~ - P'ITY FOR AFRICANS. If foreigners likewise w,.ould give iup lie H 1. 1(h i ' 1 trade, I,,.,ro 1 - i I I I i I I I I I I i I II 11.1. i -.. L S -~ t It I t-ll i- 1. \.-1.. -.11 'IL 1-.1 Bu't, while they g\t riches by purc)hasilng blakl. rPray tell me why we may not also go snacks? Your scruples and arg'uments brin' to my mind A story so pat, you lmay think it is coin'd On purpose to ansvwer yo(ri out of ulyI mint: l ut I can assure you 1 saw it in print: A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest, Had once his integrity put to the test; His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob, And ask'd him to go and assist in the job. lie was shock'd, sir, like you, and answer'd-" Oh no! What! rob our good neighllour! I pray you don't go; Besides, the man's poor, his orchard's his bread, Then think of his children, for they must be fed" " You speak very fine, and you look very grave, But apples we want, and aFples we'll have; If you will go witll us, you shall have a share, If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear." They spoke, and Tom ponder'd-" I see they will go; Poor man! what a pity to injure him so! Poor man! I would save himl his fruit if I could But staying behind will (o him no good. " If the matter depended alone upon me, His apples mtight hang till they dropp'd from tile tree; But since they will take them, I think I'll go to, Ho will lose none by lme, though I get a few." His scruples thus silenc'd, Tom felt more at ease, 94nd went with his comrades the apples to seize; lie blam'd and protested, but join'd in the plan: He shar'd in the plunder, but pitied the man. i 1 1 I ---I — -— I----- 1 1 1 (i I I i I i ii 1 1 i (212) THE MORNING DREAM. 'TWAS in the glad season of spring, Asleep at the dawn of the day, I dream'd what I cannot hut sing, So pleasant it seen'd as I lay. I dream'd, that on ocean afloat, Far hence to tle westward I sail'd, While the billows high lifted tile boat, And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail'd In the steerage a Nwoman I saw, Such at least was thie form that she wore, Whose beauty impress'd me with awe, Ne'er taught me by vwoman before. She sat, and a shield at her side Shed light like a sun on the waves, And smiling divinely, she cried" I go to make freemen of slaves."Then raising her voice to a strain The sweetest that ear ever heard, She sung of the slave's broken chain, Wherever her glory appear'd. Some clouds, which had over us hung Fled, chas'd by her melody clear, And nlethought while she liberty sung, 'Twas liberty only to hear. Thus swiftly dividing the flood, To a slave-cultur'd island we came, Where a demon her enemy stoodOppression his terrible name. i I II I i i I i --- _ _______1___1_1_ ____ ____ L C_ _______ TUE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW VORM. 213 In his hand, as the sign of his sway, A scourge hunr with lashes he bore, And stood looking out for his prey From Africa's sorrowful shore. But soon as approaching the land, Tlat goddess-like woman le view'd, The scourge he let fall from his hand, With blood of llis subjects imbru'd. I saw him both sicken and die, And the moment the monster expir'd, Heard shouts that ascended the sky, From thousands with rapture inspir'd. Awaking, how could I but muse At what such a dream should betide: But soon my ear caught the glad news, Which scrv'd my weak thought for a guide — That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves For the hatred she ever has slown To the black-scepter'd rulers of slaves, Resolves to have none of her own. THE NIGHITINGALE AND GLOW-WORMI A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long Had cheer'd the village with his song, Nor yet at eve his note suspended, Nor yet when eventide was cnded, Began to feel, as well lie mighit, The keen demands of appetite; I i i I ----- ------------- ----- ------------- ------— ~ --- —-- --- -- -- ------ ------------- -— ~ — —~- — -- -- --- ---------- j __ 214 TIE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM When looking eagerly around, lie spied far off upon tile ground, A something shining in the dark, And knew the glow-worm by his spark ~ So stooping down from hawthorn top, He thought to put him in his crop. The worm aware of his intent, Harangu'd him thus right eloquent. Did you admire my lamp, quoth he, As nmuch as I your minstrelsy, You would abhor to do me wrong, ji,S As much as I to spoil your song; I/ iFor 'twas the self-same pow'r divine |j I Taught you to sing, and me to shine;! S ~That you with musick, I with light, Wij tMight beautify and cheer the nriht The songster heard his short oration, And warbling out his approbation, Releas'd him as my story tells, And found a supper somewhere else. Hence jarring sectaries may learn Their real int'rest to discern; That brother should not war with brother, And worry and devour each other; But sing and sline by sweet consent, Till life's poor transient night is spent, Respecting in each other's case The gifts of nature and of grace. Tlose Christians best deserve the name, Who studiously make peace their aim, Peace both the duty and the prize Of himn that creeps, and him that flies -il.1 I I I I I I i I i I I 11 iI I I I I I I -1 11 I i I I I -. -_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ------ - . I II I I I I I i iI I I I I I i I I I I i I i I i i i i I I I i i VW --- - ---------- - I ( 215) ON A GOLDFINCH, STARVED TO DEATH 1N 1119 CAIG 1. TIME was when I was free as air, The thistle's downy seed my fare, My drink tle morning dew; I perch'd at will on ev'ry spray, My form genteel, my pluinmar gaoy, My strains for ever new. II. But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain, And form genteel, were all in vain, And of a transient date; For caught, and cag'd, and starv'd to death, In dying sighs my little brcath Soon pass'd the wiry grate. III. Thanks gentle swain, for all my woes, And thanks for this effectual close And cure of ev'ry ill! More cruelty could none express; And I, if you had shown me less, lIad been your pris'ner still. I I:7 - _ __ _ I,- - ----------- -- ~~ --- ~ ( 216 ) I: il THIE PINE-APPLE AND THE BEJE. THE pine-apples in triple row, Were basking hot, and all in blow; A bee of most discerning taste Perceiv'd the fragrance as he pass'd, On oager wing the spoiler came, And searclh'd for crannies in the frame, Urg'd his attempt on cv'ry side, To ev'ry pane his trunk applied; But still in vain, the frame was tight, And only pervious to tlhe light; Thus having wasted half tile day, Ile trimm'd his flight another way. Methinks, I said, in tlee I find The sin and nmadness of mankind. To joys forbidden man aspires, Consumes his soul witl vain desires; Folly tle spring of his pursuit, And disappointment all the fruit. While Cynthio ogles, as she passes, The nymph between two chariot glasses, She is the pine-apple, and lie The silly unsuccessful bee. The maid, who views with pensive air Tlhe show-glass fraught with glitt'ring ware, Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets, But sighs at thought of empty pockets; Like tline, her appetite is keen, But ah the cruel glass between. Our dear delirglts are often sucli, Expos'd to view but not to touclh;; ----- --- -- --- ---- -— L --- —--— I e ----— c — --- — I.,~~~~~~~~~~._,, _,.,,. _,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~,.. _,,_._.,__,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Iii 1i I! i k I i i I I I I i, IIORACE, BOOK II. ()1i) X. 21 The sihlt our tboliS-!i he.ri't i!l;tl.i':C, We loIln l)i' pino-ap)ples ill rai, s; Witl hopeless wish one looks and litr:rs; One breaks the glass, and cuts his finr.ers; But they whom trutll and wisdoh)n lead, Can gather honey fron;L weed. HORACE. BOOK II. Ol)DE X. I. RECEIVE, dear friend, the truths I teach, So shalt tlou live beyond the reach Of adverse Fortune's po'r; Not always tempt the distant deep, Nor always timorously creep Along the treach'rous sliorc. II. lie that holds fast the golden mean, And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues, that haunt the rich man's door, Imbitt'ring all his state. llI. The tallest pine feels most the pl)ow'r Of wintry blasts; the loftiest tower Comes heaviest to tlle ground; The bolts that spare the mountain's side, Iis cloud-capt eminence divido, And spread the ruin round. VOL.I. 19 Ii I; i I i i i I I I I! I I 1, i I j i I i 21t8 A REFLECTION, &e. IV. The well-infobrn'd philo)sopher Rejoices with a wholosoie febar, And hopes in spite of pain; If winter bellow from the north, Soon tile sweet spring comes dancing f.rth: And nature laughts again. V. What if thino lHeav'n be overcast, The (lark appearance ill not last; Expect a brighter sky. The God that strings the silver bow, Awakes soinetimles th.e mrrses too And lays his arrows by. VI. If hindrances obstruct thy way, Thy magnanimity display, And let thy strength be seen; But oh! if Fortune fill thy sail With more than a propitious gale, Take half thy canvass in. A REFLECTION ON TlE FOREGOING ODE AND is this all? Can reason do no more, Than bid nme shun.the deep, and dread the shore, Sweet moralist? afloat on life's rongh sea, 'The Christian has an art unknown to tlhe. IHe holds no parley3 with unmnanly fears; Where duty bids, lie confidently steers, Faces a thousand dangers at her call, And, trusting in his God, surmounts them 2s, I I I I t I I i I r i I i Il I I j k ~ ~ ~ ~ - ------- ----- - ~ --- —- ----— ~ --- ___ __ _ --- —--~LI —' — I-L "-`- -. I- ~ --- —------— ~ —~ --- --— ~ i TIIE LILY AND TIIE ROSE. i. THE Nymph must lose her female friend, If more adinir'd than sheBut where wi:l fierce contentiKon end, If flow'rs cn dissoree? VWithin tile gardcn's peacefuil scene Appear'd two lovely foes, Aspiring to tihe rank of queen, The Lily and the Rose. 111. The Rose soon redden'd into rage, And swellinor withl disdain, Appeal'd to many a poet's pngc, To prove her right to reign. IV. The Iily's height bespoke command, A fair imperial flow'r; She seem'd design'd for Flora's hand, The sceptre ofher pow'r. V. This civil bick'ring and debate The goddess chanc'd to hear, And flew to save, ere yet too late, The pride of the parterre; VI. Yours is, she said, the nobler hue, And yours the statelier mien: Anid till a third surpasses you, Let each be deem'd a queen -Ci-_ I I I III 1i ji i I i I i I i I j i I Iii i I i i I i HI i I I I I 220 LILIJUM ET ROSA. VII. Thus, sooth'd and reconcil'd, each seeks i T1S~The fairest British fair, Isj ''The seat of erpire is her cheekis, They reign united there. ii IDEM LATINE REDDITUM. I ^.,~~~~~I. HEU inimicitias quoties parit enmula forma, Quam raro pulchrr pulchra placcre potcst Scd fines ultra solitos discordia tendit, Curn flores ipsos bilis (t ira inovent. j i II. Hortus ubi dulces prebet tacitosque rccussus, Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas; Hic sibi regales Amaryllis candida culius, Illic purpureo vindicat ore Rosa. i iIII. Ira Rosam et meritis quesita superbia tangunt, Multaque ferventi vix cohibenda sinu, Dum sibi fautorum ciet undique nomina vatum, Jusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat. IV. Altior emicat ilia, et celso vertice nutat, Ceu flores inter non habilura pareuni, Fastiditrque alios, ct nata videtur in lusus h Inperii, sceptrum, Flora quod ipsa gerat. V. Nee Dea non sensit civilis murmura rixr?, C(ui cur.a est pictas paindere ruris opes. Deliciasque suas nunquain non prompta tueri, Dum licet et locus est, ut tucatur, adest. I 1 1! I I I 11 I I i I I 1 i I i i I I I i 11 i i i i H i i I I I I I I I I I I i I i I i I 11 r,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~I ........... ----. — --.................. TIE POPLAR FIELD. 221 VI. Et tibi forma datur procerior omnibus, inluit; 'Et tibi, principibus qui solet esse, color; Et d(onoc vincat quted(lan;Ir:lnosior arnblei, Et tibi regina.? im;lin, et (esto tili. VII. His ubi sedatus furor est, pelit utraque nympha;n, Qualem inter Vencres Anglia sola parit; Ilanc penes imperium est, nihil optant anplius, hujus Regnant in nitidis, et sine lite,?enis., " I H Tl E POPJ.AR. FIELD THE poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade, And the w hispering sound of the cool colonnade; The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom theicr image receives. Twelve years have elaps'd since I last took a view Of my fav'rite field, and the bank where they grew, And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat, that once lent me a shade. The blackbird has fled to another retreat, Where the lhazels afford him a screen fromn the heat, And tle scene, where his melody charm'd me before, Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. My fugitive years are all hasting away, And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head, Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can, Co muse on the perishing pleasures of man, 19" I - - - - - ~-~ -- ---- I il |j 22'2 IVIDEM LATINE REDDITUMl. i Tlhough lhis life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see, Have a being less durable even than he.* I 1I IDEM LATINE REDDITUM. POPULE.E cecidit gratissima copia silv, Conticuere ssuurri, omnisque cvanuit umbra. NullE jam levibus sc nliscenlt frondibus aurm?, i Et nula in fliivio raunorlrn ml.dit ima:'rcian cadevin ]Inem dcn tt, modlloquc parem. [,'rsit:in limec p!;ri(1d'.is vo) lit N, ntura c., vri N;: pd., quis dui rlo ti ~. c(,n t.c i;'r. E.xiirii;n, in t uellchris!;'1.-Sil0:* cf'ifnderet ullus, I'r; '!ldi voluit fi!rsitan iIla f,.elli. Sive 1usun1 lIunc Natura l'-.'n. s s 1n unl ',it illum, 1!:i frustira. ccensa est. Inu. radii(lIle dati. Pomito vos fitstius, hliunilcTs rne sperii! e, ma1ni; Qrand o Ihalbt ei minirmun r.eptiiq, quod niteat. I I li II,___,_ __.. _____ _..._._._..__.._....... _....I-__-_.._.-, —_-.. -. —. —. I ----— c- ----) —' --- —--— I --— --- —— t -- -`- -— ' — `-' — ^ -- -' -- -- — -` --- —-` --- —-— 11 —' —11 --- —----- I I I ii i ( 224 ) I TIIE GLOW-WORM. TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING. I. BENEATHI the hedge, or near the stream A worm is known to stray, Tlat shows by night a lucid bceiu, Which disappears by cday. If. Disputes have been, a.1l still prevail, From whence lii; r1 i '-"s.roccd; Some give that hl-no:i' to his tInil, Anwl otines' tfo fi) I;(dl. But this is silre —t}e aln'il of oi]glt, That kindles up the.skies, Gives him, a n odicoum of li!i'lt lroportion'd to) is sizc. IV. Perhaps indulgrent Nature mnea;nt By such a lamp bcstow'd, To bid the trav'ller, as he went, Be careful where he trod; V.' Nor crush a worm, whose useful light Might serve, however small, So show a stumbling stone by night, And save him from a fall. VI. Whate'er she meant, tnis truth divine Is legible and plain, 'Tis pow'r almighty bids hirn shine, Nor bids him shiine in vain. I I I I I.I I I I I I I i I I J'. --- —------ ` --- —I --- — -`- -` - - -- I IIi I i I! iI' I I' i! iii fi i I i; I i I I i I i Ii i I I i -— - — ^ ---cl —-"`- —-I - -`-' ---'c --- — `-"---" ---L ----- CORNICULA. 2:5 VII Ye proud and wealthy, let this theme Teach humbler thoughts to you, Since such a reptilo has its gem, And boasto its splendour too. CORNICULA. BY VINCEN'r BOlURNE NIGRAS inter aves avis e.L, qun plunrma turres Antiquas redes, celsaquc Fania colit. Nil tarn sublime cst, quiod run auda.ce volatu, Aeriis spernens inferiora, petit. (Quoz nemo ascendat, cui non vertigo ccrebrum ('rripiiat.t certe liunc seli(rit illa locum. Qu'o vix a terra tu sulspicis absque tremore, Il1a moto expers inchlinllsquc1 sefet. i,auiJna delulbri su}pra; fastig'i, ventus Ql~ua ca;li spiret de rceriOl e., docct; Ianln ea pr.r reliquis imavult, securi pericli; NeFc curat, nedunm cogitat, undle cadet. Iles indr lilnnanus, se-t simmiat per otia, spectat, " nilil ad sese', quas videt. ssc vidert. Conc srnis s:opcet:t., pla.!eaqo.le Ile'Ootia in orni, (}nnia })10ro n, is at -,tpiC'ltcr liIhet. C'l;. )l r es, quas inliraw ail.!it, si ibrs;it l audit, Pro rel),ls nilii ne'liiit, et crocitat. 111e tibi invidcal, felix (ornicu!a, pelnna, Qui sic humanis rebusse velit i I I I I I i I I Ii 11 I I I I I I I I I I 11, i I --,_,, -__-__ --- —,, ---r _ (226) II. TIIE JACKDAW. TRANSLATION OF TIHE FOREGOING. I. THERE is a bird who by his coat, And by the hoarseness of his nao'e, Might be suppos'd a crow; A (Treat frequenter of the church, Where bishop-like he finds a perch, And dormitory too. I -I1. Above the steeple shines a plate, That turns and turns to indicate Fromn what point blows the weather; Look tup-your brains begin to swim, 'Tis in the clouds-that pleases him,! o chooses it the rather. I}~ ~ ~ ~ I~~~~III. Fond of the speculative height, Thither he wings his airy flight, And thence securely sees The bustle of the raree show, jThat occupy mankind below, Secure and at his ease. Ij IV. You think, no doubt, he sits and muse On future broken bones and bruises, If tie should chance to fall. 'No: not a single thought like that Employs his plilosophick pate, Or troubles it at all I i I i I I I I I I I iI I I I I I i I I I II I I I. i - - - - - - - -- --. —c —~~~~~~~~~~~ _ _ AD GRILLUM. 227 He sees, that thits,reat roundabout, Thle world, with all its motley rout, Church, army, physick, law, Its customs, and its businesses, Is no concern at all of his, And says-what says lie?-Caw. VI. Thrice happy bird! I too have seen Much of the vanities of mnen; And, sick of having seen 'em, Would cheerfilllv these limbs resign For such a pair of wings as thine, And such a head between 'em. 1^e^~ i1 AD GRILLUM AN ACREONTICUM. BT VINC!ET BOURIB. 0 QUT mew culinr Argutulus choraules, Et hospes es canorus, Quacunquo commororie Felicitatis omen; Jucundiore cantu Slquando me salutes, Et ipse te rependant, Et ipse, qua valebo, Remunorabo musa. I -- ------ --------------------- ~,, ---- ~- ---- -- --- jI I I I i i i i I i I I i I H;I I I i Oi I i i i iI i II I I I i i I I I L 228 AD GRILLUM. II. Diceris innocensque Et gratus inquilinus; Nec victitans rapinis, Ut sorices voraces, Muresve curiosi, Furumque delicatum Vulgus domesticorunm Sed tutus in camini Recessibus, quiete Contentus ct calore. III. Beatior Cicada, Qute te referro forma, QUmB voce te videtur; Et saltitans per herbas, Unius, haud secundw,.Estatis est chorista; Tu carmen integratum, Reponis ad Dececmbrea, Lawtus per universum Incontinenter annum. IV. Te nulla Inx relinquit, Te nulla nox revisit, Non musicae vacantem, Curisve non solutum: Quin amplies canendo, Quin amplies fruendo, Etatulam, vel omni, Quam nos homuncione Absumimus querendo, Etate longiorem. I 1 I1! i I I i 11 H I i i I I I I i I I -------------------------- -- --- -- - ----- ------ - --- _ i j (229) 1II. Tl]E CRICKET. TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING. 1I~~~~~ ~.!i ^iITTLE inmate, fiill of mirth, I~I!Chirping on my kitchen hearth, \V'heresoe'er be tliine abnde, Always Iarbinger of rood, Pay me for tily warm retreat With a son(r more soft and sweet - In return tiou slalt receive Such a strain as I can give. II. Thus thy praise shall be express'd, Ilrl(nln'sivc, welcolmlt glest! While the rat is on the scout. And the inouso with curious snout, With what verilin else infest Ev'ry disli, and spoil tile best Frisking thius before tle fire, Thou hast all thine heart's diesire. III. Tihough in voice and shano they b3 Fornn'd as if akin to tlhe, i Thoui surlpassest, happ)ier 'tr, I-tIal)picst grassliopl ers thlat. a.i; i 'Tlheir's is but a sillliler'a o rs.:. Th'l'n endures the winter lotr, Uninipair'd, and shrill and clear, Melody throughlout the year. 29 I i I i I i i I I I I I I I I I I [I 11~ 230 SIMILE AGIT IN SIMILE. IV. - Neither night, nor dawn of day, Puts a period to thy play; Sing then-and extend thy span Far beyond the date of man. Wretched man whose years are spent!! 11 I ' j -I I I j I I In repining discontent, Lives not, aged though he be, Hallfa span compar'd with thee. SIMILE AGIT IN SIMILE BY VINCENT BOURNE. CRISTATUS, pictisque ad Thaida Psittacus alis, Missus ab Eoo munus amante vonit. Ancillis mandat primam formare loquelam, Archididascalim dat sibi Thais opus. Psittace, ait Thais, firigitquo sonantia molle Basia, qum docilis molle refingit avis. Jam captat, jam dimidiat tyrunculis; et Iam Integrat auditos articulatque sonos. Psittace mi pulcher pulchelle, hera dicit alumno; Psittace mi pilclicr, reddit alumnus herie. Jamque canit, ridot, deciesque agrotat in hora, Et vocat ancillas nomine quamnque suo. MNultaque scurratur inendax, et multa jocatur, Et lepido populumif detinet augurio. Nune tremulum il!udot iratrcit qlui suspicit, et PIol (Carnalis, quisi(lsis te docet, infliit, lionc est; Arnrtii. nunc stridet antis argutl-lit: instar; TResn'it, ct nebulo es, quisquis cs, i";qlit;li..;:. Q lzl:lo frit!Y!clior ty a. rn l(-. rvc i:. 'itr'! Quarnd o duo in(reniis tarn ooi' ii;,'t; ' Artllna disccrnti nulla est, res onill:-i i:',.;:.l Ardua; cum dccceat fiemnila, discat avsa. i;; I iI: I! I I ri i Ii i fI i J I I 1i ii I i i I 11 I I =_ -- - I, I- -- -- I i i i i i i i I i I i i I I I I I I I I I! 1 i 11 I II I I I I I _____. ---— --- (231) ||i IV. TIlE PARROT. TILJANSLATION OF THE FOREGOIf, IN paid p s s y I. IN painted plumes superbly drcss'd, A native of the gorgeous cast, By many a billow toss'd; Poll gains at length the British shore, Part of the captain's precious store, A present to his toast II. Belinda's maids are soon preferr'd To teach him now and then a word, As Poll can master it; But 'tis her own important charge, To qualify him more at large, And mnakeo him quite a wit. III. Sweet Poll! his doating mistress cries, Sweet Poll! the mimick bird replies; And calls aloud for sack. She next instructs him in the kiss; 'Tis now a little one, like Miss And now a hearty smack. IV. At first he aims at what he hears; And list'ninr close with both his ears, Just catches at the solund; Int soon articulates aloud, Much to the amusement of the crowd, And, stuns tlie neighbours round. -i I I HII 11 II I i i I I I i c, ----------------- i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I i I I i ------------— _ -L-4L4 - ----- ----— (- -C ----C — __ 232 TRANSLATION, &c. V. A querulous old woman's voice lis lhum'rous talent next employs, lie scolds, and gives tile lie. And now lie sings, and now is sick, ]Ierc, Sally, Susan, come, come quick, i'oor Poll is like to die! VI. lelindla an]d her bird! 'tis rare To meet with such a well-mlatch'd pair, Thel lainguage and tli tone, Each character in ev'ry part Sustain'd with so 1much grace and ar, And both in unison. VII. When children first begin to spell, And stammner out a syllable, We think theml tedious creatlure; But difficulties soon abate, When birds are to be tanght to prate, And women are the teachers. TRANSLATION op PRIOR'S CHLOE AND EUPIHELIA. 1. MERCATOR, vngiles oculos ut fallero possit, Nourine sub ficto trans mare nmittit opes; Lone soinat lilquidumnque meis Eupllelia chordis, Sed sola cexoptant to, m!la vota, Clloe, ----- ------. - - II _ ------ --— _I _ __ ___ I I i I I IiI! II HISTORY OF JOHIN ILPIN. 11. Ad speculum ornabat nitidos E hnpllelia crincs, Cilrn dixit nica lux, heus, cane, sulne lyranm. Nainque iyram juxta positalll crin carnilie vidit Suave quidcin carmen dulcisonainque lyramn III. Fila lyrm vocemque paro, suspiria surgunt, Et miscent numneris mnurinura imaesta rmeis Dumquo tume memoro laudes, Euphelia, firmni, Tota anima interea pendet ab ore Chloev IV. Sulbrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, trem; Atque Cupidinea, dixit Dea cincta corona, Heu! fallendi artem quam didicere parum. THE DIVERTING HISTORY o JOIIN GILPIN; 233 '-i i II i i I I I i I II Showing how he went further than he intended, and came safe home again. JOHN GILPIN was a citizen Of credit and renown, A trainband captain eke was he Of famous London town. John Gilpmns spouse said to her dear, Though wedded we have been Tnese twice ten tedious years, yet we No holy-day have seen. 20 " - —- — "-rr~-' —` --- —- ------ - -- --- i i i I I i I I I i I I I!: I 1 4 1 1 1 I I I II I I I i I I i _ __ ----— ~ ---- -------------—, -_..__,,, __ __ __________ ___ 234 IISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN To-morrow is our weddin.g-day, And we will then repa.ir Unto the bell at Ednlonton, All in a chaise and pair. MIv sister, and Iny sister's child, Mxysoif, and children three, W'ill fill tile clhaise; so youl must ride On hlorrweackl;a.fcr we.c H-e soon replied, I do admire Of wonankin-d Iblt one, And you are she, my dearest (lear, Therefore it shall be done. I am a linen-draper bold, As all the world doth know, And my good friend the calender Will lend his horse to go. Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, that's well said, And for that wine is dear, We will be furnish'd with our own, Which is both bright and clear. John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife; O'erjoy'd was lie to find, That though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind. The morning came, the chaise was brought, But yet was not allow'd To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud. So three doors off the chaise was stay'd, Where they did all get in; Six precious souls, and all agog To dash through thick and thin. i I I I I i I 1 11 i i! i,I I I.I I I I I I.I I I t I I I i I I I -- --------— ---~ --- —..-,---. --.I ---1 --- --- ---- ----- ---—. —.-~ --- —I —. -— 1.. I I i i I ii ITISTORY OF JOHN GI'lIN. 2 Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, Were never tflk a,.laid; The stonnes d(id rattle u:rlderneca.h, As if Clhe-pside! were ma!. John GiPC p. a.t lxii3 horp 's side Sciz'd I1:;t tIi fl,,;.-i m; lnile, And u:p h, a, ] i! I 1.'' t' ri-' c,,ltl,.,q l:! l.'. 1t'', l... ',? i jn For saddle-tree sca.rce reach'd had he, His journey to becTin, \hen turning roiud his head, he saw Three customers cone in. So down he camen; for loss of time Althoulh it rriev'd hinl sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble hinm iiuch moro. I I3' i II d; I i i I I I i II I I!I;1 II I I 'Twas long befiore the customers Were suited to their miind, Wlhen Betty screaming' came down stairs, " The wine is left behintd!" Good lack! quohll hce-yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword, When I do xc(rc.i; '. Now mistress Gilpin, (careful soul!) Had two stone tbottles found, To hold tie lirql!;r t.l:at she lov'd, And keep it saf' an(d;,oind. Eacli bhttle had a niirlirt! ear, Tironulh w-hic() the belt ho drew, And hlun, a bottle on each side, To malao his hbl:, t trh'.-. -': -"- - r._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ ---y.................. I I I 2:E IIISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. Then over all, that lie might be 'Equipp'd from top to toe, Hils lon1, red cloak!, well brush'd and neat Fi1 ~ Jlie manfully (lid throw. 11.{ NJNow see hilm mounted once again![ UI"rUpon his nli;bl)lt seed, |ii ~ Full slowly pacing o'er the stoner, 1j I{ With caution and good heed. But finding soon a smoother road ' I BnBeneath his well shod feet, 1I TliThe snorting beast began to trot,, 1 \/Which gal]'d him in his seat. ~j SSo fair and softly, John he cried, But John he cried in vain, Ij! IThat trot becacnme gallop soon, t i ~ tIn spite of curb and rein. | Ii ~ So stooping down, as needs he must i j WlWho cannot sit upright, t j, rle grasp'd the mane with both his land, 1j ~ And eke with all his might. His horse, who never in that sort iHad handled been before, Vhat thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more. Away went Gilpi:, neck or naught; Away went hat and wig; lie little dreamt when he set out, Of running such a rig. The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Like streamer long and gay, Till, loon and button failing both, At last it flow away. ll I. --- —--— ~ --- I.-L ~ - -- C- l -- q'lif ITIST(ORY OF' JOTIN (;I.PIN. 237 iThf'ln nrmithit ill people well didccrn j l1Th lie bottles lie hd slunir; A bottle swin.raijrT nt e iclh side,! jii iAs hath been said or sung.. The dors did bark, the children scream'd,j lUp) flew the windows all; jAnd ev'ry soul cried nlit, well done! As lotud as!h could bawl Away went Gilpin-who but he?. (ii IfHlis fnic nl01 so pread around, lie carries weiigt! lhe rides a race! 'Tis for a tllusand pIoundl! iAnd still, as fast as lie drew near, j(I j'Twas wolderful so view, jIow in a trice the turnpike men j Their gates wide open threw. And now as lie went bowing down HIis reeking lead full loow, iTTh bottles twain belind his back Were shatter'd at a bluw.; Down ran the wine into the road, i 1 BlMost piteous to be seen,. Which made his horse's tlanks to smoke' Ao: they had basted been. But still he seen'd to carry weight;, With leathern girdle brac'd; jFor all miht see the bottle-necks Still dangling at his waist. Thus all tlroug. merry Islington | j TlThese merry gambols ho did play, Until lie caine unto tle Wash j Of Edmonton so gay;, I I -— _ _____ _UY~___I__ ____ _ _ __ - i I I i i; i i, i; j I i i ]; i 1 I I i i I i, i r; I i I: i i i, I i i I 1 I ' i I I I i I i I i 1 ' / I I I 238 HISTORY OF JOIHN GILPIN. And there ho threw the wash about On both sides of the way, Just like unto a trundlingr mnop, Or a wild goose at play. At Edmonton his loving wife From the balcony siied Her tender husband, wvond'ring much To see how ho did ride. Stop, stop, John Gilpin-Here's the house — They all at once did cry; The dinner waits, and we are tir'd; Said Gilpin-So am I! But yet his horse was not a whit Inclin'd to tarry there; For why?-his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware. So like an arrow swift lie flew, Shot by an archer strong; So did lie fly-which brings me to The middle of my song. Away went Gilpin out of breath, And sore against his will, Till at his friend the calender's His horse at last stood still. Tho calender, amaz'd to see Ilis neiglbour in such trim, Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, And thus accosted lim: What news? what news? your tidings tell; Tell ne you must and slallSay why bareheaded you are come, Or why ycu come at all? i I i i i i i i i I I 1 i I I I iI 1 i I i Ti I i I I ~ ' I I i I 1 1 1 1 i I I i I i i i, i i i i I j 1 i i i I i ~ ' I j / I r I i I i i i I i i r i I i L-, _ ---- r~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ '~-~~~~-~~` u~~~~-~~~~~'^~~~~~`~"^-~ ~ ~~'~~"l'~ ~w`~ ~ ~ — Y~~~`~"~~- — ' --- —— ' ---~~~~~~~ --- —--— '~~~~-~~c( I --- - 1 I I I / I I 1 I I I I i I i HIISTORY OF JOHN GILPI'N. Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, And lov'd a timlely joke; And tlus unto the calender In merry guise he spoke: I camo because your horso would comne; And, if I well forbode, My hat and wig will soon be here, They are upon the road. The calender right glad to find Ilis friend in merry pin, Return'd him not a single word, But to the house went in: Whence straight he came with iat and wig A wig that flow'd behind, A hat not much the worse for wear. Each comely in its kind. He held them up, and in his turn Thus show'd his ready wit, My head is twice as biyg s Yours, They therefore needs must fit. But let me scrape the dirt away That hangs upon your faco; And stop and eat, for well you may Be in a hungry case. Said John, it is my wedding day, And all the world would stare, If wife should dine at Edmonton, And I should dine at Ware. So turning to his horse, ho said, I am in haste to dine; 'Twas for y'mr pleasure you came hero, You shall go back for mine ii I k i i ii i I I -- -, 240 I-STORY OF JOHN GILPIN. 1, | Ali, luckless speech, and bootless boast" Fjor which lie paid full dear; gi ~ ~ For, while lie spake, a braying ass Dd singr most loud and clear. li Whereat his horse did snort; as he ti~ t I lad heard a lion roar, And gallop'd off with all his might, As hie had done before. Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig; Ile lost thetll sooner than at first, For why-they were too big. Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw lHer:sbandl )postingi down Into the country far away, Sh1e 1pul1'd out ha-lfa crownr; And3t thus unto the youtlh sll said, lThat drove tliemn to tle 1ell, This shall tb yours, wlen you bring back My husband safe and well. The youth did ride, and soon did meet, Joln coming back arnain: Whom in a trice he tried to stop, By catching at his rein; But not performing what lie meant, And gladly would have done, Tho frighted steed he frighted moro, And made him faster run.! ~~I Away went Gilpir;, and away Went postboy at his heals, The postboy's horse right glad to miss Tho lumb'ring of the wheels. l i il; i 1!I I 1 i 1 i I j I i I I i r I ii r 1 I I; t:: i i I i: i i i I i j j -- --- -— ~- ------ — ~ --- —------- --—.LI Fl- - j - - - I I IlISTORY OF J"(IHN GILPIN. 211 Six rgeltlemen upon the road, Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With postboy scamp'ring in the rear, They rais'd the hue and cry:Stop tliief! stop thief! -a highwayman Not one of them was mute; And all and each that pass'd that way Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space; The toll-men thinking as before, That Gilpin rode a race. And so lie did, and won it too, For he got first to town; Nor stopp'd till where lie did get up IIe did again get down. Now let us sing, long live the king, And Gilpin long live he; And when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see! VOL. I. I I li~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~i l AN EPISTLE1 To AN AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LAIDY IN FRANCE. i Madam, A STRANGER'S purpose in these laye Is to congratulate, and not to praise. To give the creature the Creator's due Were sin in me, and an offence to you. From man to man, or o'en to woman paid Praise is the medium of a knavish trade, A coin by Craft for Folly's use design'd, Spurious, and only current with the blind. The path of sorrow, and that path alore Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown ' No trav'ller ever reach'd that blest abode, Who found not thorns and briers in the road. The World may dance along the flow'ry plain, Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain, Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread,j With unshod feet they yet securely tread; Admonish'd, scorn the caution and the friend, Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end. But he, who knew what human hearts would prove; I-How slow to learn the dictates of his love,i That, hard by nature and of stubborn will, A life of ease would make them harder still, l L__ l~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~! ----— ---Le -- — —, i --------— ~ --- — I- --- -~ --- ~ — -.^I--— ~~- - -- -----— ~ --- I — — n. — —. -I - ,_, —. ---~~~~II --- -- ^ --- —UII~ --- —---- ----------- - ------—,~~~~~~~~-, AN EPISTL' (10 A LADY. In pity to tile souls his grace design'd To rescue from the ruins of mankind, Call'd for a cloud to darken all their years, And said, " Go, spend them in thle vale of tears." O baliny gales of soul-rcvivinfr air! O salutary streams that murmur tlere! These flowing from t4lc fount of grace above, Those breath d from lips of everlastingr love. The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys; Chill blasts of trouble ni) their sprinuing joys; An envious world will interpose its frown. To mar delights superiour to its ov-. And many a pang, experiene'd still within Remind tlhem of their hated inmate, sin; But ills ofev'ry lhade and ev'ry namie, Tansform'd to blessings, miss their cruel aim; And ev'ry nmoment's calim, tllat soothes the breast, Is given in earnest of eternal rest Ah, be not sad, although tlhy lot be cast Far from the flock, and in a boundliess waste! No shepherds' tents within thy view appear, But the chief Shepherd even tliere is near; Thy tender sorrows, and thy plaintive strain Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain; Thy tears all issue from a source divine, And ev'ry drop bespeaks a Saviour thineSo once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, And drougEl on all the drooping hierbs around. I i I I! I I! I I i. I 1 i J! i I I i ii! I I 1 1 I I I i I. I — ~~ --- —- ------------- - -— ~ I I Ii I I i II I - - -- - ( 244) TO TlfI REV. W. CAWTIIORNE UNWIN, 1. UNWIN, I should but ill repay The kindness of a friend, Whose worth deserves as warm a lay As ever friendship penn'd, Thy name omitted in a page That would reclaim a vicious age. 11.. A union form'd, as mine with thee, Not rashly, nor in sport, May he as fervent in derree, And fa;llful in its sort, And may as rlcll in comtort provet As that of true fraternal love. II1. Tleo bud inserted in tile rind, The bud of peach or rose, Adorns, though difTring in its kind, The stock wheroon it grows, With flow'r as sweet, or fruit as fair, As if produc'd by Nature there. IV. Not rich, I render what I may, I seize thy name in haste, And place it in this first essay, Lest this should prove tlhe last. 'Tis where it should be-in a plan, That holds in view thle good of man. I I I I I i I I I I i II i I I _ _ _ I: - TO THE RK'V. W. C. Ur-XNWIN. 245 V. The poet's lyre, to fix his fame, Should be the poet's heart; Afftoction lights a briglhter Ilame Than ever blaz d by art. No muses on these lines attend, I sink the poet in the friend. END OF VOL. I. I I i r ---------- ---------— ^ ----lc —~ — — ---- -----— . —I ---L --.,,,,,_,.,,,,,..,.,, - I Jo I I i I i 11 I i POEM S, BY WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ. TOGETHER WVITHI lIS POSTHUMOUS P1() Fr';TRY, AND A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE BY JOHN JOHNSON, LL. D, THREE VOLUMES iN ON;. NEW EDITION. BOSTON: PHILLIPS, SAMPSON. AND COMPANY. 2(EW YORIK: JAMES C. D)EIRBY. 18.5 4. 1 — ~ --- — r~ --- — ------ -- 11. ADV ERTISEMENT. TIHE history of the following production, is Irhefy tl;; A lady, fond of blank vereo, demanded a poe01i oi' that kind from the author, and gave him the SFA for a subject. Ile obeyed; and, having much leisure, connected anotler subject with it; and pursuing the train of thought to which his situation and turn of mind led him, brought forth, at length, instead of the trifle which he at first intended, a serious affait-a Volume ' In the poem on the suDje;t of Education, he would be very sorry to stand suspected of having aimed his censure at any particular school. His objections are such as naturally apply themselves to schools in general. If there were not, as for the most part there is, wilful neglect in those who manage them, and an omission even of such discilline as they are suscepti. I I I J i - - ------ I 1 II I I I i; i l I I I / I i II I 1 l ADVERTISE1MENT. ble of, the o^;,cts are )yet too numerous for mninlte attention: and the; aching hearts of ten thousandl parents, mourning ulder th0 bitteres, o)f all disa:,pointincets. attest the truth of the allegation. His (quprrel, therefore, is with the mischief at large, and nut with any palticular instance of it. i, I II I i -. - -. _ -_ -. --- —L --- —------ -------------— L-L ---- ___ __ I I I ij CONTENTS. THE TASK, in Six books. Pago Book I. Tns Sofa,.. 7 II. The Time-piece, - * III. The Garden,.. 52 IV. The Winter Evening, - 76 V. The Winter Morning Walk, - 98 VI. The Winter Walk at noon, - 123 Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. -. 155 Tirocinium: or, a Review of Schools, - - ib. To the Reverend Mr. Newton, - - - IS0 On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture out (f Norfolk, -181 Friendship, - - -- 185 The Moralizer corrected, - 191 Cathariina, - - -- - 193 The Faithful Bird,.... 195 rhe Needless Alarm, -. 196 Boadicea,.. 200 Heroism, - - - 2)0 On a mischievous Bull, which the Owner of him sold at the Author's instance, - - 205 Annus Mpmorablis, 1789. Written in commemoration of his majesty's happy's recovery, - 206 Hymn for the use of the Sunday School at 01O ney,.. 20 I - i r 1- - fli I H I I I CONTE'Ji' sS. Pag. Stanm.., subjoined to a Pill of Mortality for tho year 178'. - - 09 The same for 1788, - - 211 The same for 1789, - - - 213 The same for 1790, - - -- 214 The same for 1792, - 216 Tlhe same for 1793,.... 213 Inscription for the tomb of Mr. Hamilton, - 220 Epitapl on a Hare ib. Epitaphium Alterunm, -.. 222 Account of the Author's treatment of lIares, - 2' 11 iS~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ tt 11~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I i I f __ __~_II__ __ LI ___ __ ______ I_ - l THE TASK. BOOK I. THlE SOFA. ARGUMENT OF TIlE FIRST BOOK. listorica. deduction of sents, from the Stool to the Sofa-A ' Schoolboy's ramble-A walk in the country-The scene descri'rd -Rural sounds as well as sights deli litful-Another walkMlistake concerning the charms of solitudte corrected-(Colontdls comnmended-Alcove, and the view from it-The willernessThe grove-The thresher-The necessity and benefit of exrcise — The works of nature superiour to, and in some instances illniitable by, art-'iho wearisomeoess of what is commonly callod a life of pleasure-Chalge of scene somctinmes expedient-A coinmoul dleciiledl, and the character of crazy Kate introluce.ldGipsies-The blessings of civilized life-That state most favourable to virtue-The South Sea islanders compassionated, hut chiefly Onai-Ilis present state of mind stipposedl-Civilized life friendly to virtue, but not great cities-Great cities, and London in particular, allowed their due praise, but censured —Fte chamipetre-The book concludes with t reflection on the fatal effects of dissipation and efleminacy upon our public measures. I SING the Sqfa. I, who lately sang Truth, Hope, and Charity,* and toucl'd with awe The solemn chords, and, with a trembling hand, Escap'd with pain from that advent'rous flight, Now seek repose upon an humbler theme; 5 The theme, though humhle, yet august and proud Th' occasion-for the fair commands tlhe song. Time was, when clothing, sumptuous or for use, Save their own painted skins, our sires had none As vol. black breeches were not; satin sinooth, 10 Or velvet soft, or plush wit.h shargy pil:o T'le lhrdy chief, upon the rug(ted rock vWasls'd by the sea, (,r on time. ranvclly tnk Se? l t mo;'J::;. \'or.. 1. I, i II I I I I I I I I II I I I -_ --- - --------------- ----.L ----. -— ~II~-^ --- —— ----L-____IIC --- —-~ — -- -~ I I I I i i 8 'THIE TASK. Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud, Pearless of wrong, repos'd his weary strength. 15 Those barb'rous a.res past, succeeded next The birthday of Invention; weak at first, Dull in design,.ind clumsy to perfo.i'n. Jiit-stools were then created; on three legs Upborne they etood. Three legs upholding firm 20 A massy Ciab, in fashion square or round. On mUch a stool immortal Alfred sat, And sway'd the sceptre of his infant realms: And such in ancient halls and mansions drear May still be seen; but perforated sore, 25 And drill'd in holes, the solid oak is found, By worms voracious eating through and through. At length a generation more refin'd Inmprov'd the simple plan; made three legs four, Gave them a twisted form vermicular, 30 And o'er the seat, with plenteous wadding stuflTd, Induc'd a splendid cover, green and blue, Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wrought And woven close, or needlework sublime. There might ye see the piony spread wide, 35 Tho full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, Lapdog and lambkin with black starirg eyes, And parrots with twin cherries in their beak. Now came the cane from India, smooth and bright, With nature's varnish; sever'd into stripes, 40 That interlac'd each other, these supplied Of texture firm a lattice-work, that brac'd Thl new machine, and it became a chair. But restless was the chair; tihe back erect Distrcss'd the weary loins, that felt no ease; 45i T'ie slipp'ry seat betrayed the sliding part That press'd it, and the feet hung dangling down, Anxious in vain to find the distant floor. These for the rich; the rest, whom Fate had plac'd In modest mediocrity, content 50 With base materials, sat on well-tann'd hides,. ------— ~ — - I i I I iiI ~~-.~~~~ —T-"'-" —' --- —------------------ I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I TiHlE SOFA. 9 Obdurate and unyieldinsr, glassy smootl, WVIt hecre and there a tlift of cri;mson yarn, Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion tix'd, If cushion miglit be cali'd, whait larder seem'd 55 Than tie firmi oak, of which the frame was form'd. No want of tindber then was felt or fear'd In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood Pond'rous and lix'd by its own massy wetight. But elbows still were wanting; these, somle say, 60 An alderman of Cripplegate contrived; And some ascribe th' invention to a priest Burly, and big, and studious of his ease. But rude at first, and not with easy slope Receding wide, they press'd against the ribs, 65 And bruis'd the side; and, elevated high, Taught the rais'd shoulders to invade the ears. long time elaps'd or e'er our rugged sires Complain'd, though inco, nom(diously pent in, And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 70 Gan mnurmur, as became the softer sex. Ingenious Fancy, never better plcas'd Than when employ'd t' accommlodate the fair, Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devis'd The soft settee; one elbow at each end, 75 And in the midst an elbow it receiv'd, United, yet divided, twain at once. So sit two kings of Brentford or one throne; And so two citizens, who take the air, Close pack'd, and smiling, in a cl.aise and ona 80 But relaxation of the languid frame, By soft rtcumbency of outstretcli'd limbs, Was bliss rescrv'd for happier days. So slow The growth of what is excellent; so hard T' attain perfection in this nether world. 85 Tlius first Necessity invented stools, Convenience next suggested elbow-chaira, And Luxury th' accomplish'd Sofa last. I i I I I,,,____ --------— ~ —I-~I --- —~C I - _ I I lII THE TASK. The nurse sleepw; sweetly, hir'd to watch the sick Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly lie, 90 Who quits the coach-box at a midnight hour, To sleep within the carriage more secure, IIis legs depending at the open door. Swveet sleep enjoys tlhe curate in his desk, The tedious rector drawling o'er his head; 95 And sweet the clerk below. But neither sleep O' lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead; Nor his, who (quits the box at midnight hour To slumber in the carriagre more secure; Nor sleep enjoy'd by curate in his desk; 100 Nor yet the dozings of the clerk, are sweet, Compar'd with the repose the Sofa yields. 0 may I live exemnted (while I live Guiltless of pamper'd appetite obscene) From pangs arthritic, that infest the too 105 Of libertine Excess. The Sofa suits The gouty limb, 'tis true: but gouty limb, Though on a Sofa, may I never feel: For I have lov'd the rural walk through lanes Of grassy swarth, close cropp'd by nibbling sheep, 110 And skirted thick with intertexture firm Of thorny boughs; have lov'd the rural walk O'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers' brink, E'er since a truant boy I pass'd my bounds T' enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames; 115 And still remember, not without regret, Of hours, that sorrow since has much endear'd, Iow oft, my slice of pocket store consun'd, Still hung'ring, pennyless, and far from home, I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws, 120 Or blushing crabs, or berries, that emboss The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. Hard fare! but such as boyisl appetite Disdains not; nor the palate, undeprav'd By culinary arts, unsav'ry deems. 125 -1II I!I i 11 _ r _ ----------------— ~, --- —. _ _~__ I - S I C~-~ --- --— ^ --- ----- -- I- THIlE SOFA. IlI No Sofa then awaited my return; Nor Sofa then I needed. Youth repairs His wasted spirits quickly, by long toil Incurring short fatigue; and, though our years, As life declines, speed rapidly away, 130 And not a year but pilfers as he goes Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep; A tooth or auburn lock, und by degrees Their length and colour from the locks they spare; The clastick spring of an unwearied foot, 135 That mounts the stile with ease, or leaps the fence; That play of lungs, inhaling and again Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me, Mine have not pilfer'd jet; nor yet impair'd 140 My relish of fair prospect; scenes that sooth'd Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find Still soothing, and of pow'r to charm me still. And witness, dear companion of my walks, Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive 145 Fast lock'd in mine, with pleasure such as love, Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth And well-tried virtues, could alone inspireWitness a joy that thou hast doubled long. Thou know'st my praise of nature most sincere, 150 And that my raptures are not conjur'd up To servo occasions of poetic pomp, But genuine, and art partner of' them all. Hlow oft upon yon eminence our pace Has slacken'd to a pause, and we have borne 155 The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew, While Admiration, feeding at the eye, And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene Thence, with what pleasure have we just discern'd Tlie distant plough slow moving, and beside I;Q lits lab'ring team, that swerv'd not from the track, 'Tli sturdy swain diminisl'd to a boy! Hero Ouse, slow winding through a level plain i I I I -J -- rr, __ __ __ I_ _ __________i ___ 12 THE TASK. 01 spacious meads, with cattle sprinkled o er, Conducts the eye along his sinuous course Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank, Stand, never overlook'd, our fav'rite elms, That screen the herdsman's solitary hut; While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, The sloping land recedes into the clouds; Displaying on its varied side the grace Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tow'r, Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells Just undulates upon the list'ning ear, Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote. Scenes must be beautiful, which daily view'd Please daily, and whose novelty survives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years. Praise justly due to those that I describe. Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds, That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music not unlike The dash o' Ocean on his winding shore, And lull the spirit while they fill the mind; Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast, And all their leaves fast flutt'ring, all at once. Nor less composure waits upon the roar Of distant floods, or on the softer voice Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that slip Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length In matted grass, that with a livelier green Betrays the secret of their silent course. Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, But animated nature sweeter still, To sooth and satisfy the human ear. Ten tlousand warblers cheer the day, and one The livelong night; nor these alone, whose notes I 165 7 It 170 If 175 180 185 1 190 1D5 200 I I, -. —* - __ __,,, -. -----~-^ — ---~ —~ --- —— C --- —~"- - — I~ - — ---~ -- r I I I TH'I' SOFA. 13 Nice-finger'd Art must emulate in vain, But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime In still-repeated circles, screaming loud, The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl, 205 That hails tile rising!noon, have charms for me, Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, And only there, please highly for their sake. Peace to the artist, whose ingenious thought 210 D)evis'd the weatherhouse, that useful toy! Fearless of humid air and gath'ring rains, Forth steps the man-an emblem of myself! More delicate his tim'rous mate retires. When Winter soaks the fields, and female feet, 215 Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay, Or ford the rivulets, are beet at home, The task of new discov'ries falls on nie. At such a season, and with such a charge, Once went I forthl; and found, till then unknown, 220 A cottage, whither oft we since repair: 'Tis perch'd upon the green hill top, but close Environ'd with a ring of branching elms, That overhang the thatch, itself unseen Peeps at the vale below; so thick beset 225 With foliage of such dark redundant growth, I call'd the low-roof'd lodge the peasant's nest. And, hidden as it is, and far remote From such unpleasing sounds as haunt the ear In village or in town, the bay of curs 2.) Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels, And infants clatm'rouA whether pleas'd or pain'd, Oft have I wish'd the peacefui coveret mine. Here, I have said, at least 1 should possess The poet's treasure, Silence, and indulge 23 'The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure. Vain thlought! the dweller in tlat still retreat Dearly obtains the refuge it atflrds. Its elevated site forbids the wretch VOL. II. 2 I I I II I -------- _ — - -- ----- ---------------- --- ___U,- —~- —.-.-r —r — --- —- --- -— ~cl -- - hi 14 THE TASK. To drink sweet waters of the crystal well; 2-1 Ile dips his bowl into the weedy ditch, And, heavy laden, brings his bev'rage home, Far fetch'd and little worth; nor seldom waits, Dependent on the baker's punctual call, To hear his creaking panniers at the door, 215 Angry, and sad, and his last crust consum d. o3 farewell envy of the peasant's nest If solitude make scant the means of life, Society for me!-thou seeming sweet, Be still a pleasing object in my view; '25J My visit still, but never mine abode. Not distant far, a length of colonnade Invites us. Monument of ancient taste, Now scorn'd, but worthy of a better fate. Our fathers knew the value of a screen 255 From sultry suns: and, in their shaded walks And long protracted bow'rs, enjoy'd at noon The gloom and coolness of declining day. We bear our shades about us; self-depriv'd Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, 260 And range an Indian waste without a tree. Thanks to B-nevolus*-he spares me yet These chestn its rang'd in corresponding lines; And, though himself so polish'd, still reprieves The obsolete prolixity of shade. 26.C Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) A sudden steep upcn a rustic bridge, We pass a gulf, in which the willows dip Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink. lence, ankle deep in moss and flow'ry thyme, 270 We mount again, and feel at ev'ry step Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft, Rais'd by the mole, the miner of the soil. lie, not unlike the great ones of mankind, Disfigures Earth: and, plotting in the dark, 275 John Courtney Throckmorton, Esq. of Weston Undrwood. I r -- __ ___ e - ^ - - __ __ __________,_,,,-~r --- —--~ - - I I I!I 11 I I - - THE SOFA. 15 Toils much to earn a monumental pile That may record the mischief lie has done. The summit gain'd, behold the proud alcove That crowns it! yet not all its pride secures The grand retreat from injuries impress'd 280 By rural carvers, who with knives deface The panels, leaving an obscure, rude name, In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss. So strong the zeal t' immortalize himself Beats in the breast of man, that e'en a few, 285 Few transient years, won from th' abyss abhorr'd Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize, And even to a clown. Now roves the eye; And, posted on this speculative height, Exults in its command. The sheepfold here 290 Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe. At first, progressive as a stream, they seek The middle field; but, scatter'd by degrees, Each to his choice, soon whiten all the land. Thiere from the sunburnt hayfield homeward creeps The loaded wain; while, lighten'd of its charge, 296 The wain that meets it passes swiftly by; rhie boorish driver leaning o'er his team Vocifrous, and impatient of delay. Nor less attractive is the woodland scene, 300 Diversified with trees of ev'ry growth, Alike, yet various. Here the gray sinooth trunks Ox ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine, Within the twilight of their distant shades; There, lost behind a rising ground, the wood 305 Seems sunk, and shorten'd to its topmost boughs. No tree in all the grove but has its charms, Though each its hue peculiar; paler some, And of a wannish gray; the willow such, And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf, 310 And ash far-stretching his unbrageous arm; Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still, Lprd of the woods, the long surviving oik j! r --- --------------------- -- I I I 1. - - -~ -- ------- --- --- ---- ' Il 6f THE TASK. Some glossy leav'd, and shining in the sun, The maple and the beech of oily nuts 315 Prolifick, and the lime at dewy eve Diffusing odours: nor unnoted pass The sycamore, capricious in attire, Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet lave chang'd the woods, in scarlet honours bright. O'er those, but, far beyond (a spacious map 321 Of hill and valley interpos'd between) The Ouse, dividing the well-water'd land, Now glitters in the sun, and now retires, As bashful, yet impatient to be seen. 325 | Hence the declivity is sharp and short, And such tle reascent; between then weeps A little naiad her impov'rish'd urn All summner long, which winter fills again. The folded gates would bar my progress now, 330 l ut that the lord* of this enclos'd demesne, Communicative of the good lie owns, Admits me to a share; the guiltless eye Commits no wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys. Refreshing change! where now the blazing sun? 335 3By short transition we have lost his glare, And stepp'd at once into a cooler clime. Ye fallen avenues! once more I mourn Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice That yet a remnant of your race survives. 340 Ii ow airy and how light the graceful arch, Yet awful as the consecrated roof Re-echoing pious anthems! while beneath The checker'd earth seems restless as a flood Brush'd by the wind So sportive is the light 3'15 Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance, Shadow and sunshine internlingling quick, And dark'ning, and enlight'ninZ, as the leaves Play wanton, ev'ry moment, ev'ry spot. And now, with nerves new brac'd and spirits cheer'd, * See the foregoimoi note.... _ I THE SOFA. 17 We tread the wilderness, whose well-roli'd walks, 351 With curvature of slow and easy sweepDeception innocent-give ample space To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next; Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms 355 We may discern the thresher at his task. Tliump after thump resounds the constant flail, That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls Full on the destin'd ear. Wide flies the chaff, The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist 360 Of atoms, sparkling in the noonday beam. Come hither, ye that press your beds of down, And sleep not; see him sweating o'er his bread Before he eats it.-'Tis the primal curse, But soften'd into mercy; made the pledge 365 Of cheerful days and nights without a groan. By ceaseless action all that is subsists. Constant rotation of th' unwearied wheel That Nature rides upon, maintains her health, iHe- beauty, her fertility. She dreads ' 370 An instant's pause, and lives but while she moves: Its own revolvency upholds the World, Winds fiom all quarters agitate the air, And fit thl limpid element for use, Else noxious; oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams, 375 All feel the fresh'ning impulse, and are cleans'd By restless undulation: e'en the oak Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm; He seems indeed indignant, and to feel Th' impression of the blast with proud disdain, 380 Frowning, as if in his unconscious arm lie held the thunder- but the monarch owes I is firm stability to what he scorns, More fix'd below, the more disturb'd above. Tlie law, by which all creatures else are bound, 385 Binds man, the Lord of all. H-inmself derives No mean advantage from a kindred cause, From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest easo. 2*: I —. _ I ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ - - -- ---— _ — I I ------ I I I I I ]8 THE TASK. Tlhe sedentar3 stretch their lazy length When Custom bids, but no refreshment find, 300 For none they need the languid eye, the cheek Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk, And wither'd muscle, and the vapid soul, Reproach their owner with that love of rest, To which he forfeits e'en the rest he loves. 395 Not such the alert and active. Measure life By its true worth, the comforts it affbrds, And theirs alone seems worthy of the name. Good health, and its associate in the most, Good temper; spirits prompt to undertake, 400 And not soon spent, though in an arduous task; The pow'rs of fancy and btrong thought are theirs; E'en age itself seems privileg'd in them With clear exemption from its own defects. A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front 405 The vet'ran shows, and, gracing a gray beard With youthful smiles, descends toward the grave Sprightly, and old almost without decay. Like a coy maiden, Ease, when courted most, Furthest retires-an idol, at whose shrine 410 Who oft'nest sacrifice are favour'd least. The love of Nature, and the scenes she draws, Is nature's dictate. Strange! there should be found, Who, self-imprison'd in their proud saloons, Renounce the odours of the open field 415 For the unscented fictions of the loom; Who, satisfied with only pencil'd scenes, Prefer to the performance of a God Th' inferiour wonders of an artist's hand! Lovely indeed the mimick works of Art; 420 But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire, None more admires the painter's magicki skill; Who shows me that which I shall never see, Conveys a distant country into mine, And throws Italian light on English walls. 425 But imitative strokes can do no more - ------- - ---_ -. -L- — 3lYl -rCI --- - ----------- ---------------------- -- -— ~ --- — ----- -— ^ — - ------------- -- THE SOFA. 1l Than please the eye-sweet Nature's cv'ry sense The air salubrious of her lofty hills, The cheering fragance of her dewy vales, And musick of her woods-no works of man 430 Mlay rival these, these all bespeak a pow'r Peculiar, and exclusively her own. Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast, 'Tis free to all-'tis ev'ry day renew'd; Who scorns it starves deservedly at homne. 435 He does not scorn it, wlo, imprison'd long In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey To sallow sickness, which the vapours, dank And clammy, of his dark abode have bred, Escapes at last to liberty and light: 410 His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue; His eye relumines its extinguish'd fires; He walks, he leaps, he runs-is wing'd with joy, And riots in the sweets of ev'ry breeze. lie does not scorn it, who has 'ong endur'd 445 A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs. Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflam'd With acrid salts; his very heart athirst, To gaze at Nature in her green array, Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possess'd 450 With visions prompted by intense desire; Fair fields appear below, such as he left Far distant, such as he would die to findHe seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns; 456 The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown, And sullen sadness, that o'crshade, distort, And mar, the face of Beauty, when no cause For such immeasurable wo appears, These Flora banishes, and gives the fair 460 Swcet smniles, and bloom less transient than her own. It is the constant revolutiop, stale And tasteless, of the same repeated joys, That pails and satiates, and makes languid life I 11I _. -. - 11 - _ _'_ _ _ _ _ __ __'_ - _ ___ _ - _ - - - - - 1 i I I I I I 20 T'HE TASK. A pedler's pack, that bows the bearer down. 405 Health suffers, and the spirits ebb, the heart Recoils from its own choice-at the full feast Is famish'd-finds no musick in the song, Nn) smartness in the jest; and wonders why. Yet thousands still desire to journey on, 470 Though halt, and weary of the path they tread. Tlhe paralytick, who can hold her cards, But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand, To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort Her mingled suits and sequences; and sits, 475 Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad And silent cipher, while her proxy plays. Others are dragg'd into a crowded room Between supporters; and, once seated, sit, Through downright inability to rise, 480 Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again. These speak a loud memento. Yet e'en these Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he That overhangs a torrent, to a twig. They love it, and yet loathe it; fear to die, 485 Yet scorn the purposes for which they live. Then wherefore not renounce them? No-the dread, The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame, And their invet'rate habits, all forbid. 490 Whom call we gay? That honour has been long The boast of mere pretenders to the name. The innocent are gay-the lark is gay, That dries his feathers, saturate with dew, Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams 495 Of day spring overshoot his humble nest. The peasant too, a witness of his song, Himrself a songster, is as gay as he. But save me from the gayety of those, Whose headachs nail them to a noonday bed; 500 And save me too from theirs, whose haggard eyes Flash desperation, and betray their pangs I I I I I.I i I _ __ I= L _ -LIIL-Y T'IIE SOFA. 21 For property stripp'd off by cruel chance; From gavety, that fills the bones with pain, The mouth with blasphemny, the leart with wo. 505 The earth was made so various, that the mind Of desultory man, studious of change, And pleas'd withl novelty, might be indulg'd. Prospects, however lovely, mnay be seen Till half their beauties fade: the weary sight 510 Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides off, Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes. Then snug enclosures in the shelter'd vale, Where frequent hedges intercept thle eye, Delight us; happy to renounce awlile, 515 Not senseless of its charms, what still wo love, That such short absence may endear it more. Then forests, or the savage rock, may please, That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts Above the reach of mlan. His hoary head, 520 Conspicuous many a league, the mariner Bound homeward, and in hope already there, Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist A girdle of Ialf-wither d shrubs lie slows, And at his feet the baffled billows die. 525 The conmmon, overgrown with fern, and rough With prickly gorse, that, shapeless and deforn'd, And dang'rous to tile touch, has yet its bloom, And decks itself witl ornaments of gold, Yields no unpleasing ramble; tlere the turf 530 Smells fresh, and, rich in odorif'rous herbs And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense With luxury of unexpected sweets. There often wanders one, whom better days Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimm'd 535 With lace, and hat witl splendid riband bound, A serving maid was she, and fell in love With one who left her, went to sea, and died. Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves T'o distant shores; and she would sit and weep 540 _I =- _. _ --- — _t — _ ---- I - i,,... —_ _. — -,_ — _ - _ - -~.Y I - _- ~-~-~ --- - I I I 22 THIE TASiK. At what a sailor suffers; fancy too, Delusive most where warmest wishes are, Would oft anticipate his glad return, And dream of transports she was not to know. She heard the doleful tidings of his death- 545 And never smil'd again! and now she roams The dreary waste; there spends the livelong day, And there, unless when charity forbids, The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides, Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown 550 More tatter'd still; and both but ill conceal A bosom heav'd with never-ceasing sighs. She begs an Idle pin of all she meets, And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food, 554 Though press'd witl hunger oft, or comelicr clothes, Though pinch'd with cold, asks never.-Kate is craz'd. I see a column of slow rising smoke O'ertop the lofty wood, that skirts the wild. A vagabond and useless tribe there eat Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung 560 Between two poles upon a stick transverse, Receives the morsel-flesh obscene of dog, Or vermin, or at best of cock purloin'd From his accustom'd percl. Hard faring race! They pick their fuel out of ev'ry hedge, 5G5 Which, kindled with dry leaves, just saves unquench'd The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wido Their tlutt'ring rags, and shows a tawny skin, The vellum of the pedigree they claim. Great skill have they in palmistry, and more 570 To conjure clean away the gold they touch, Conveying worthless dross into its place; Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal Strange! that a creature rational, and cast In human mould, should brutalize by choice 575 Htis nature; and, though capable of arts, By which the world might profit, and himself Sel'-banish'd from society, prefer i I I I Ii I I I c _ __ __,,,,_ __ C I I I I I i J i i I i -- --— ~ --- —I -- — ~- —C-C - --- —I —C —C~ — --- -----— ~I --- --- — --------------— ~I ---3 ~-t THE SOFA. 23 Such squalid sloth to honourable toil! Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft. 580 They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, And vex their flesh with artificial sores, Can change their whine into a mirthful note, When safe occasion offers; and with dance, And musick of the bladder and the bag, 5'2;i Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. Such health and gayety of heart enjoy Tile houseless rovers of tie sylvan world; And, breathing wholesome air, and wand'ring much, Need other physick none to heal th' effects 590 Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold. Blest lie, though undistinguish'd from the crowd By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure, Where man by nature fierce, has laid aside His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn, The manners and the arts of civil life. 596 Hlis wants indeed are many; but supply Is obvious, plac'd within the easy reach Of tomp'rate wishes and industrious hands. Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil; 600 Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns, And terrible to sight, as when she springs, (If e'er she spring spontaneous,) in remote And barb rous climes, where violence prevails, And strength is lord of all; but gentle, kind, 605 By culture tam'd, by liberty refresh'd, And all her fruits by radiant truth maturd. War and the chase engross the savage whole; War follow'd for revenge or to supplant The envied tenants of some happier spot: 610 The chase for sustenance, precarious trust Ilis hard condition with severe constraint Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth Of wisdom, proves a school, in which he learns Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate, 6lb Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside. I' - - I - ______,_..-. _,,,,,-,,~r —,~.e -~~e ------— — -- 24 THE TASK. Thus filrc the shiv'ring natives of the north, And thus the rangers of the western world, Where it advances far into the deep, Tow'rds tle antarctick. E'en the favonr'd isles C U So lately found, although the constant sin Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile, Can boast but little virtue; and inert Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain. In mnanners-victims of luxurious ease. 125 These therefore I can pity, plac'd rcn.to From all that science traces, art invents, Or inspiration teaches; and enclos'd In boundless oceans never to be pass'd By navigators uninform'd as they, 630 Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again. But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, Thee, gentle savage!* whom no love of thee Or thine, but curiosity perhaps, Or els', vain glory, prompted us to draw 635 Forth froni thy native bow'rs, to show thee here With what superiour skill we can abuse The gifts of Providence, and squander life. The dream is past; and thou hast found again Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, il4C And homestall tlatch'd with leaves. But hast thou found Their former charmss? And, having seen our state, Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports, And heard our musick; are thy silmple friendr, 644 Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights, As dear to thoo as once? And have thy joys Lost nothing by comparison with ours? Rude as thou art, (for we roturn'd thee rudo And ignorant, except of outward shiw,) C65 I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart And spiritless, as never to regret * Onai. i i II - ---- --- I- ---- -----— 2~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ --- —- r~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I I I I I i I I I I I i I ____ _.____ ___ _1 _ TIE SOFA. 25 Sweets tasted here, and left as soon1 as known. Methinks 1 see thee straying on tle beacli, And asking of the surge, that bathes thy foot, l655 If ever it has wash'd our distant shore. I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, A patriot's for his country: thou art sad At thought of her forlorn and abject state, From which no pow'r of thine can raise ler up. 660 Tlhus fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err, Perhaps errs little, when she paints thee thus. S'le tells me too, that duly ev'ry morn Thou clinib'st the mountain top, with eager eye Exploring far and wide tile wat'ry waste (;(;5 For sight of ship from England. Ev'ry speck Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale With conflict of contending hopes and fears. But comes at last the dull and dusky eve, And sends thee to thy cabin, well prepar'd 670 To dream all night of what tile day denied. Alas! expect it not. We found no bait To tempt us in thy country. Doing good, Disinterested good, is not our trade. We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought; 675 And must be brib'd to compass Earth again By other hopes and richer fruits than yours. But though true worth and virtue in the mild And genial soil of cultivated life Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, 680 Yet not in cities oft: in proud, and gay, And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow, As to a common and most noisome sewer, The dregs and feculence of every land. In cities, foul example on most minds 68 Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds, In gross and pamper'd cities. sloth, and lust, And wantonness, and gluttonous excess. In cities, vice is hidden with most ease, Or seen with least reproach; and virtue, taught 690 VoL.. II. 3 -1 -I I -- 26 ________________________THE TASK.- ~I 26 TIHE TASK. By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there Beyond th' achievement of successful flight. I do confess them nurseries of the arts, In which they flourish most; where in the beams Of warm encouragement, and in the eye 695 Of p'Jblick note, they reach their perfect size. Such London is, by taste and wealth proclain'd The fairest capital of all the world, By riot and incontinence the worst. There touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes 700 A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees All her reflected features. Bacon there Gives more than female beauty to a stone, And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips. Nor does the chisel occupy alone 705 The pow'rs of sculpture, but the style as much; Each province of her art her equal care. With nice incision of her guided steel She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil So sterile with what charms soe'er she will, 710 The richest scenery and the loveliest forms. Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye, With which she gazes at yon burning disk Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots? In London. Where her implements exact, 715 With which she calculates, computes, and scans, All distance, motion, nagnitude, and now Measures an atom, and now girds a world In London. Where has commerce such a mart, So rich, so throng'd, so drain'd, and so supplied, 720 As London-opulent, enlarg'd, and still Increasing London? Babylon of old Not more the glory of the Earth, than she, A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now. Sle has her praise. Now mark a spot or two, 725 That so much beauty would do well to purge; And show this queen of cities, that so fair, May yet be foul; so witty, yet not wise i j -- -- I - I. - s I I I I I I I 11 I TIHE SOFA. 27 It is not seemly, nor of good report, That she is slack in discipline; more prompt 730 T' avenge than to prevent the breach of law: That sle is rigid in denouncing death On petty robbers, and indulges life, And liberty, and ofttimes honour too, To peculators of the public gold: 735 Tlat thieves at home must hang; but he that puts Into his overgorg'd and bloated purse The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes. Nor is it well, nor can it come to good, Tlat, through profane and infidel contempt 740 Of holy writ, she has presum'd t' annul And abrogate, as roundly as she may, The total ordinance and will of God; Advancing Fashion to the post of Truth, And centring all authority in modes 745 And customs of her own, till sabbath rites Have dwindled into unrespected forms, And knnes and hassocks are well-nilgh divorc'd. \ God made tile country, and man made tile town. What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts 70 That can alone make sweet thle bitter draught That life holds out to all, should most abound And least be tlreaten'd in tile fields and groves? Possess ye, therefore, ye who, borne about In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue 755 But that of idleness, and taste no scenes But such as art contrives, possess ye still Your element, there only can ye shine; Tlero only minds like yours can do no harm. Our groves were planted to console at noon 760. The pensive wand'rer in their sliades. At eve The moon-beam, sliding softly in between The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, Birds warbling all the nlusick. We can spare Tlhe splendour of your lamps; they but eclipsa 765 Our softer satellite. Your songs confound.... _ _ I i - 11 Ij '1'EITHE TASK. Our more ha;nionious notes: the thrush departs Scar'd, and th' offended nightingale is Inute. There is a publick mischief il your mlirth; It piagues your country. Folly such as yours, G rac'd with a sword, and worthier of a fa;l, Mas nmade, what enemies could ne'er have done, Our arch of empire, steadfast but fbr you, | JA mutilated structure soon to ftal. I i 1S f) I i I I i I I......J --- I ____ ^____ ____ _I____ _ _ ___IL i THE TASK. BOOK II. THE TIME-PIECE. ARGUMENT OF THE SECOND BOOK. Reflections suggested by the conclusion of the former book-Peacre a among the nations recommended on the grouindl ol their conionoi fellowship in sorrow-Prlodi.ies enumerited-Sicilian earthquakes-Man rendered ohnoliolus to these calamllties by sinGo( the agent in tlmn-The philosoiphy that stops at swcondary calmes repro ved —Our own late mincarria;ee accoilnted forSatirical notice taken of our trips to Fontailnbhllaut-lut the pulpit, tnot satire, the proper engine of reflirimation —The Reverend Advertiser of engraved.sermios-Petit-maitre parson -lThe good pireacher-Pictiure of a theatrical clerical coxcoimb-ht.orytellers andl jesters in the pulpit reprovedl-Ap)o.trolplhe to popular applause-Retetnilera of ancient lphilosrophy exp)stulattd wil)Sum of the whole matter-Effects of aacerdotal mlismanagllelnent on the laity-Their folly and extravagance —The miisclhiefs of profusion —Profusion itself, with all its consequent evils, ascriled, as to its principal cause, to the want of discipline in the universities. O FOR a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rlumour of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more! My ear is pain'd, 5 My soul is sick with ev'ry day's report Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fill'd. There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart; It does not feel for man; the natural bond Of brotherhood is sever'd, as the flax, 10 3* I I I I I -- L~ -__. _ --- —--— I I I I I __ _I____ _~_I_ I_________________________________ _ __1 __I __ ~_______ --------- -~I .~ 30 THE TASK. That falls asunder at the touch of fire. Ho finds his fellow guilty of a skin Not colour'd like his own; and having pow'r T' enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause Dooms and devotes him as a lawful prey. 15 Lands intersected by a narrow frith Athhor each other. Mountains interpos'd Maike enemies of nations, who had else Like kindred drops been mingled into one. 'I'hus man devotes his brother, and destroys; 20 And worse than all, and most to be deplor'd, As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat With stripes, that Mercy with a bleeding l.arn, Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. 'I5 Tlen what is man? And what man, seeing this, And having human feelings, does not blush, And hang his head, to think himself a man? I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, 30 And tremble when I wakIe, for all the wealth Tlat sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd No: dear as freedom is, and in my heart's Just estimation priz'd above all price,. had much rather be myself the slave, 35 And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. We have no slaves at home.-Tlen why abroad? And they themselves, once ferried o'er tile wave That parts us, are emancipate and loos'd. Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs 40 Receive our air, that moment they are free; 'rley touch our country, and their shackles fall. Tlat's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud And jealous of the blessing. Spread it, then, And let it circulate through ev'ry vein 45 Of all your empire: that, where Britain's pow'r Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. Sure there is need of social intercourse, II I I I I I I - I- -- I -- ___ _,,,,. - I I I I ___ L_ _ _________ ______11 _ 1 THE TIME-PIECE. 3.. Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid, Between tho nations, in a world that seems 50 To toll the death-bell of its own,lecease, And by the voice of all its elements To preach the gen'ral doom.* When were tile winds Let slip with such a warrant to destroy? When did the waves so haughtily o'crleap 5 Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry? Fires from beneath, and meteorst from above, Portentous, unexampled, unexplain'd, Have kindled beacons in the skies; and th' old And crazy Earth has had her shaking fits f) More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. is it a time to wrangle, when the props And pillars of our planet seem to fail, And Nature with a dim and sickly eyet To wait the close of all? But grant her end ti More distant, and that prophecy demands A longer respite, unaccomplish'd yet; Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak Displeasure in his breast who smites the Earth. Or heals it, makes it languish or rejoice. And 'tis but seemly, that, where all deserve And stand expos'd by common peccancy To what no few have felt, there should be peace, And brethren in calamity should love. Alas for Sicily! rude fragments now E5 Lie scatter'd, where the shapely columns stood. Her palaces are dust. In all her streets The voice of singing and the sprightly chord Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show, Suffer a syncope and solemn pause; 80 While God performs upon the trembling stage Of hil own works his dreadful part alone. How does the earth receive him? with what signs * Alluding to the calamities in Jamaica. t August, 18. 1783. t Allutding to the fog that covered both Europe and Asia during the whole summer of 1783. -1 I 7___. I I _ _ __ _C __ 32 THE TASK. Of gratulation and delight her king? Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad, 85 Hier sweetest flow'rs, her aromatick gums, Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads? She quakes at his approach. Hier hollow womb, Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps And fiery caverns roars beneath his foot. 90 The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke, 'or lie has touch'd them. From th' extrenmest point (f: elevation down into the abyss Ilis wrath is busy, and his frown is felt. The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise, 95 Tile rivers die into offensive pools, And, charg'd with putrid verdure, breathe a gross And mortal nuisance into all the air. What solid was, by transformation strange, Grows fluid; and the fix'd and rooted earth, 100 Tormented into billows, heaves and swells, Or with vertiginous and hideous whirl Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs And agonies of human and of brute 105 Multitudes, fugitive on ev'ry side, And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene Migrates uplifted: and, with all its soil Alighting in far distant fields, finds out A new possessor, and survives the change. 110 Ocean has caught the frenzy, and, upwrought To an enormous and o'erbearing heilfht, Not by a nighty wind, but by that voice Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, 15 UJpridg'd so high, and sent on such a charge, Possess'd an inland scene. Where now the throng Tliat press'd the beach, and, hasty to depart, Look d to the sea for safety? They are gone, Gone wvitl tihe refluent wave into the deep- 12W A prince with half his people t Ancient tow'rs, I i - - - - I i I I I I I I I I H __1_1_ _ __ ___ THE TIME-PIECE. 33 And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes Where beauty oft and letter'd worth consume Life in the unproductive shades of death, Fall prone: the pale inhabitants come forth, 125 And, happy in their unfbreseen release From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy The terrours of the day that sets them free. Who, then, that has thee, would not hold thee fast Freedom! whom they that lose thee so regret, 130 That e'en a judgment, making way for thee, Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake? Such evil Sin hath wrought; and such a flame Kindled in Heav'n, that it burns down to Earth, And in the furious inquest that it makes 135 On God's behalf, lays waste his fairest works. The very elements, though each be meant The minister of man, to serve his wants, Conspire against him. With his breath he draws A plague into his blood; and cannot use 140 Life's necessary means, but lie must die. Storms rise t' o'erwheln him; or if stormy winds Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise, And, needing none assistance of the storm, Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there. 145 The earth shall shake him out of all his holds, Or make his house his grave: nor so content, Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood, And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs. What then!-were they the wicked above all, 150 And we the righteous, whose fast-anchor'd isle Mov'd not, while theirs was rock'd, like a light &ki1, The sport of every wave? No; none are clear, And none than we more guilty. But, where all Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts 155 Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark: May punish, if he please, the less, to warn The more malignant. If he spar'd not them, I I ----— _ _ C-5-r ---L I L 34 THE TASK. Tremble and be amaz'd at thine escape, Far guiltier England, lest lie spare not thee. 160 Happy the man, who sees a God emnploy'd In all the good and ill that checker life! Resolving all events, with their effects And manifold results, into the will And arbitration wise of the Supreme. 15 Did not his eye rule all things, and intend The least of our concerns; (since from the least The greatest oft originate;) could chance Find pllace in his dominion, or dispose One lawless particle to thwart his plan; 170 Then God might be surpris'd, and unforeseen Contingence might alarm him, and disturb The smooth and equal course of his affairs. Tllis trutl Philosophy, though eagle-ey'd In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks; 175 And, having found his instrument, forgets, Or disregards, or, more presumliptuous still, I)cnies the power that wields it. God proclaims Ilis hot displeasure against foolish men, Tllhat live an atleist life; involves the -Heavens 180 In tempests; quits his grasp upon the winds, And gives them all their fury; bids a plague Kindle a fiery bile upon the skin, And putrefy the breath of blooming Health. le calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend 185 lflows mildew from between his shrivell'd lips, And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines, And desolates a nation at a blast. Forth steps the spruce Philosopher, and tells Of homogencal and discordant springs, 190 And principles; of causes how they work By necessary laws their sure effects Of action and( reaction: he has found The source of the disease tlat nature feels, 41nd bids thle world take heart and banish fear. 195 I I I I V- - I- - I ~____ __I__CIL __ __ _ - L~LI~-~I I1 I I i THE TIM -PIECE. 35 Thou fool? will thy discov'ry of the cause Suspend th' effect, or heal it? Has not God Still wrought by means since first he made the world And did he not of old employ his means To drown it? What is his creation less, 200 Than a capacious reservoir of means, Formn'd for his use, and ready at his will? Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve; ask of Him, Or ask of whomsoever he has taught; Anrd learn, thougl late, the genuine cause of all. 205 ' England, with all thy faults, I love thee stillMy country! and, while yet a nook is left, Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd 210 With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, And fields without a flow'r, for warmer France With all her vines: nor for Ausonia's groves Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bow'rs. 215 To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire Upon thy foes, was never meant my task: But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart 220 As any thund'rer there. And I can feel Thy follies too; and with a just disdain Frown at effeminates, whose very looks Reflect dislonour on the land I love. How in the name of soldiership and sense, 225 Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth And tender as a girl, all essenc'd o'er With odours, and as profligate as sweet; Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath, And love when they should fight: when such as those Presume to lay their hand upon the ark 231 Of her magnificent and awful cause Time was when it was praise and boast enough I i i I I -- - --- -- -- _ ___ I I - _ ---__ --- _ --- It 3G THE TASK. In every clime, and travel where we nmight, That we were born her children. Praise enough 235 To fill th' ambition of a private nan That Chatham's lananmual was his liother-tonllue, And Wolfe's great name comnpatriot witl Ihis own. Farewell those honours. and farewell with tlremo The hope of such hereafter! They have fill'n 240 Each in his field of glory; one in armns, And one il council-Wolfe upon the lap Of smiling Victory that inoment rwon, And Chatham heart-sick of his country's shame! They mnade us many soldiers. Chathan, still 2145 Consulting England's happiness at home, 'Secur'd it by an unforgiving frown, If any wrong'd her. Wolfc, where'er lie fought, Put so much of his heart into his act, That his example had a magnet's force, 250 And all were swift to follow whom all lov'd. Those suns are set. 0 rise some other such? Or all that we have left is empty talk Of old achievements and despair of new. Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float 255 Upon thle wanton breezes. Strew the (leck With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets, That no rude savour maritime invad6 The nose of nice nobility! Breathe soft, Ye clarionets; and softer still, ye flutes; 260 That vinds and waters, lull'd by magick sounds, May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore. True, we have lost an empire-let it pass. True, we may thank the perfidy of France, That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown, 26 With all the cunning of an envious shrew. Aid let that pass-'twas but a trick of state — A bravo nman knows no nialice, but at once Aorgcts in peace thle injuries of war, Anid gives his direst foe a friend's embrace. 2?0 Andl sham'd as we havo been, to th' very beard I - ~ — ----- -- -------- ~ r - -----— ~~ --- T'HE TIME-PI-Et E. 37 I I i I I I I I I I I i i I I I i. Brav d and defied, and in our own sea prov'd Too weak for those decisive blows that once Ensur'd us mast'ry there, we yet retain Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast 275 At least superiour jockeyship, and claim The honours of the turf as all our own Go, then, well worthy of the praise ye seek, And slow the shame ve might conceal at hoieo. In foreign eyes '-be grooms and win tlie plate, 25( Where once your nobler fathers won a crown''Tis gen'rous to communicate your skill To those that need it. Folly is soon learn'd: And under such preceptors who can fail? There is a pleasure in poetick pains, 2,5 Which only poets know. The shifts and turns, Th' expedients and inventions multiform, To which the mind resorts, in cllse of terms, Though apt, yet coy, aitd difficult to winT' arrest the fleeting images, that fill 290 The mirror of the mind, and hold them fist, And force them sit, till lie has pencil'd off A faithful likeness of the forms lie views; Then to dispose his copies with such art, That each may find its most propitious light, 295 And shine by situation, hardly less Than by the labour and the skill it cost; Are occupations of the poet's mind So pleasing, and that steal away the thought, With such address from themes of sad import, 3g00 That, lost in his own musings, happy man! I-e feels the anxieties of life denied Their wonted entertainment; all retire. Such joys has lie that sings. But ah! not such, Or seldom such, the hearers of his song. 30i Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps Aware of nothing arduous in a task They never undertook, they little note His dangers or escapes, and lhaply findi VOL. 11 4 I I I - - - _ _ ___ I ---------------;33 'I1THE TASK. Their least amusement where he found the most 310 But is amusement all? Studious of song, And yet ambitious not to sing in vain, I would not trifle merely, though the world Be loudest in their praise who do no more. Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay 315 It may correct a foible, may chastise The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress, Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch; But where are its sublimer trophies found? What vice has it subdued? whose heart reclaimn'd 320 By rigour, or whom laugh'd into reform? Alas! Leviathan is not so tam'd: Laugh'd at, he laughs again; and stricken hard, Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales, That fear no discipline of human hands. 325 The pulpit, therefore-(and I name it fill'd With solemn awe, that bids me well beware With what intent I touch that holy thing)The pulpit-(when the sat'rist has at last, Strutting and vap'ring in an empty school, 330 Spent all his force, and made no proselyte) — I say tile pulpit (in the sober use Of its legitimate peculiar pow'rs) Must stand acknowledg'd, while the world shall stand, The most important and effectual guard, 335 Support, and ornament, of Virtue's cause. There stands the messenger of truth; there stands The legate of the skies! —Iis theme divine, His office sacred, his credentials clear. By him the violated law speaks out 3.10 Its thunders: and by him, in strains as sweet As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace. Hle 'stablishes the strong, restores the weak, Reclaims the wand'rer, binds the broken heart, And, arm'd himself in panoply complete 345 Of heav'nly temper, furnishes with arms Bright as his own, and trains, by every rule I. 11 ii ii i' i___ - -- - ----- I i i I i i i i I I I I I I I I - I_______ ~ TI1E TIME-PIECE. Of holy discipline, to glorious war The sacramental host of God's elect: 349 Are all such teachers?-would to Ileav'n all were! But hark-the doctor's voice!-fast wedg'd between Two empiricks he stands, and with swoln cheeks Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far Than all invective is his bold harangue, While through that publick organ of report 356 He hails the clergy; and, defying shame, Announces to the world his own and theirs! lHe teaches those to read whom schools dismiss'd, And colleges, untaught: sells accent, tone, And emphasis in score, and gives to pray'r 360 Th' adagio and andante it demands. He grinds divinity of other days Down into modern use; transforms old print To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes Of gall'ry critics by a thousand arts. 365 Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware 0, name it not in Gath!-it cannot be, That grave and learned clerks should need such aid. He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll, Assuming thus a rank unknown before- 370 Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the church! I venerate the man, whose heart is warm, Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, Coincident, exhibit lucid proof fhlat he is honest in the sacred cause. 375 To such I render more than mere respect, Whose actions say that they respect themselves. But loose in morals and in manners vain, In conversation frivolous, in dress Extreme at once rapacious and profuse; 380 Frequent in park with lady at his side, Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes; But rare at home, and never at his books, Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card; Constant at routs, familiar with a round 3S5 i I I i I \ [! - _ —_ — - --- - - --- - --— L -- -- ---- --- - - ----- - - - _; i — 40 THfE TASK Of ladysllips, a stranger to the poor; Ambitious of prefermentt for its gold, And well prepar'd, by ignorance and sloth, By infidelity and love of world, To make God's work a sinecure; a slave 390 To his own pleasures and hlls patron's pride } From such apostles, O ye mitred lheads, Preserve the church! and lay not careless hands On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn. Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, 395 Were he on Elarth, would hear, approve, and own, Paul should himself direct me. I would trace His master-strokes, and draw from hIis design. I would express himn simple, grave, sincere; In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain, 400 And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste, And natural in gesture; much impress'd Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock lie feeds May feel it too; affectionate in look, 405 And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of grace to guilty nmen. Behold the picture!-Is it like?-Like whom? The thlings that mount thle rostrum with a skip, And then skip down again; pronounce a text; 410 Cry-hemn; and, reading what they never wrote Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, And with a well-bred whisper close tlhe scene! In man or woman, but far mlost in nman, And most of all in man that ministers 415 Aird serves the altar, in my soul I loathe All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn; Object of' ny implacable disgust. Wlhat!-will a man play tricks-will he indulge A silly fond conceit of his fair form, 420 And just proportion, fashionable mien, Antd pretty face, in presence of his God } Or will lie seek to dazzle Ime with tl pes, Url I I _I i I_ ____ __ _ -- -----. -. —, -- -— I.-.-.. — --- - -! I, I: i j i I I I i i i I I I I i TIHE TI?\TE-PTE ICE. 4 As with the diamond on his lily 1hnd, And play his brilliant artlts befor'e lly eyes, 425 When I aml hungry for tile lbread of life lie mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shamles His noble office, and, instead of truth, Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock. Therefore avaunt all attitulde and stare, 4:2 And start theatrick, practis'd at the t'lass! I seek divine simplicity in him Who handles things divine, and all besides, Though learn'd with labour, and though much Admir'd By curious eyes and judgments ill-inform'd, 4321 To me is odious as the nasal twang Ileard at conventicle where worthy men, Misled by custom, strain celestial themes Througl the press'd nostril, spcctacle-bestrid. Some, decent in demeanour wlhile tley preach, 410 That task perform'd, relapse into them-selves And, having spoken wisely, at the close Grow wanton, and give proof to cv'ry eye, Whoe'er was edify'd, themselves were not! Forth conics tllc pocket-mirror. First we stroke 445 An eyebrow; next compose a straggling lock, Then witl an air most gracefully perform'd, Fall back into our seat, extelnd an arm, And lay it at its ease witll gentle care, With handkerchief in hand depending low; 450 The better hand more busy gives t.ie nose Its bergalnot, or aids th' inldebted eye With ep':ra glass, to watch tihe ioving scene, And recognise thle slow retiring fair.Now this is fulsome; and offends me more 455 Than in a churchman slovenly neglect And rustic coarseness would. A heavenly mind May be indiff'rent to lier house of clay, And slight theo ovel as benoatlh her care; 3But how a body so fantastic, trim, 460 i f;i; i I i iI. I i I I; ii i i I ii 'Ii I f I I A # II --- '~ —~~ ---~-It "I —I --- —- ---- ----— —~ --- ' --- —— ' -` - --- — " — -- i H~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ i I I 42 TIHE TASK. And quaint, il its deportment and attire, Can lodge a heav'nly mind-demands a doubt. He that negotiates between God and man, As God's ambassador, tie grand concerns Of judgment and of mercy, should beware 4 Of lightness in his speech. 'Tis pitiful To court a grin, when you should woo a soul: To break a jest, when pity would inspire Patlletick exhortation; and t' address The skittish fancy w;th facetious tales, When sent with God's commission to the heart! So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip Or merry turn in all lie ever wrote, And I consent you take it for your text, Your only one, till sides and benches fail. 4 No: lie was serious in a serious cause, And understood too well the weighty terms, That lie had ta'en in charge. Hle would not stoop To conquer those by jocular exploits, Whorm truth and soberness assail'd in vain. 0 Popular Applause! what heart of man Is proof agaillst thy sweet seducing charms? The wisest and tle best feel urgent need Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales; But swell'd into a gust-who, then, alas!, With all Ilis canvass set, and inexpert, And therefore heedless, can withstand tly pcw'r?.Praise froml tle rivcll'd lips of toothless, bald Decrepitude, and in tle looks of lean And craving Poverty, annd in the bow 4 Respectful of the snmuchl'd artificer, Is oft too welcome and may much disturb The bias of tle purpose. How unich miore, Pour'd fortl by beauty splendid and polite, In language soft as Adoration breathes? 4 Ah, spare your idol, tlink himn human still. Charms lie may have, but lie lias frailties too! Dote not too much nor spoil what ye admire. I II 165 170 175 i I i i I I i i i ISO 185 I I I i I i I I I i i i 190 195 I - ---- --- - --- -- -- ----------- TilE TlE T IME-rPI 1(I'CE. 43 All truth is fromr the se;i,[)itcrnal source Of light divine. 13ut Erypt, Grece, andl Rome, 500 Drew from the stream below. Mo. re fivour'd, we Drinlk when we choose it, at the fountain head. 'To them it flow'd mIuch mnintgled and defil'd With hurttiful errour, prejuldice, and dreams Illusive of philosophy, so call'd, 5r05 But falsely. Sages after sages strove In vain to filter off a crystal draught Pure from the lees, which often more enhanc'd The tlirst than slak'd it, and not seldom bred Intoxication and delirium wild. 510 I I t vain they push'd inquiry to the birth And spring-time of the world; ask'd, Whence is man ' Why fornmd at all and wherefore as he is? Where must lie find his maker? with what rites Adore him? Will he hear, accept, and bless? 515 5 Or does he sit regardless of his works? Has man within him an immortal seed? Or does the tomb take all? If he survive His ashes, where? and in what weal or wo? Knots worthy of solution, which alone 520 A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague And all at random, fabulous and dark, Ieft them as dark themselves. Their rules of life Defective and unsanction'd, prov'd too weak To bind the roving appetite, and lead 625 Blind nature to a God not yet reveal'd. 'Tis Revelation satisfies all doubts, Expl ins all mysteries, except ler own, And so illuminates the path of life That fools discover it, and stray no more. 63C Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir, My man of morals, nurtur'd in the shades Of Academus-is this false or true? Is Christ the abler teacher or the schools If Christ, then why resort at ev'ry turn 635 To Atllens, or to Rome, for wisdom shore - I -- -- — --- —-— ` ---- -" --- --- II-~- — --- II. II I I i I I I I i H, 44 THiE TASK. Of man's occasions, when in him reside G race, knowledge, comfort-an unftlaomn'd store? Ilow oft, whenl Paul lias serv'd us with a text, Ha;s Epictetus, Plato, Tully, )pracli'd!,54Q Men tha.t, if' now alive, would sit content And lhutmble learners of a Saviour's worth, 'Prach it wlio might. Such,was their love of truth, Tl-eir thirst of knowledge, and their candour too. And thus it is.-The pastor, either vain 51It By nature, or by flatt'ry made so, taught To gaze at his own splendour, and t' exalt Absurdly, not Ills offic, but lillself; Or uoenligliten'd and too proud to learn; Or vicious, and lnot thereltre apt to teach; 550 Perverting c.ften by the stress of lewd And loose example, wholVi he should instruct; Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace, h'lle noblest function, and discredits lmunch 'I'he brightest truths that man has ever seen. 555 For ghostly counsel; if it either fall Below tile exigence, or be not back'd With show of love, at least with hopeful proof Of some sincerity on the giver's part; Or be dishonour'd in th' exteriour form 560 And mode of its conveyance, by s.:ch tricks As move derision, or by ftlppish airs And histrionick mumn'ry tlat let down The pulpit to the level of the stage; Drops from the lips a disregarded thing. 56G The weak perhaps are mov'd, but are not taught While prejudice in men of stronger minds Takes deeper root, confiri'd by what they see. A relaxation of religion's hold Upon the roving and untutor'd heart 570 Soon follows, and, the curb of conscience snappd The laity run wild. But do they now? Note their extravagance, and be convine'd. As nations, ignorant of God, contrive — ~ --- —--------- -----— ~ ---- --- ------------------ -- - "- --— I-- - -c- -- -I --- — __ _I __ __ i__ _____ ^1_1_ I Ti'; TIME,-PIECE. A w)oden one: so we, no longer tauglt By monitors, that mother churchj supplies, Now miake our own. Posterity will ask, (If e'er posterity see verse of mine,) Sonie fifty or a hundred lustrumls hence, What was a monitor in George's days? My very gentle reader, yet unborn, Of whom I needs nust augur better tllings, Sinc:e leav'n would sure grow weary of a world Productive only of a race like ours, A nmonitor is wood-plank shaven thin. We v'ear it at our backs. There, closely brac'd Ani neatly fitted, it compresses hard The prominent and most unsightly bones, And binds the shoulder flat. We prove its use Sov'reign and most effectual to secure A form, not now gylnnastick as of yore, From rickets, and distortion, else our lot. But thus admonish'd, we can walk erectOne proof at least of manhood! while the friend Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his ch.arge. Our llabits, costlier tlan Lucullus wore, And by caprice as lmultiplied as his, Just please us wlile the fashion is at full, But cliange witl ev'ry moon. The sycophant, Who waits to dress us, arbitrates their date; Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye; Finds one ill made, another obsolete, This fits not nicely, tlat is ill conceiv'd; And, making prize of all that lie condemns, With our expenditure defrays his own. Variety's the very spice of life, 'That gives it all its flavour. We have run T'hrough ev'ry cliange, tlat Fancy at the loom Exhausted; lhas had genius to supply; And studious of Imutation still, discard A real elegance, a little us'd, For monstrous novelty and strange disguise 45 575 580 i 1 585 590 I 595 1 GOO I G05 1 0G1( I I I I 11 il I 1, I i i II 11 I Ii I I 1! 1!Ii I: I,,,,- -- -~~~~~~~~~,_,_~~~~~_,_~~~~~______ _~~~~~~~~__,____.__ -' I~~~~~~~~I i I) THE, TASK. 11~~~~~~~~~~ 46 We sacrifice to dress. till houselhld joys And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, And keeps our larder lean; puts -ut our fires; 615 And introduces hunger, frost, and wo, Where peace and hospitality miglht reign. What man that lives, and that knows how to live, Would fail t' exhibit at the publick shows A form as splendid as tile proudest there, 620 Though appetite raise outcries at the cost? A man o' th' town dines late, but soon cnouglh, With reasonable forecast and despatch, T' ensure a side-box station at half price. You think, perhaps, so delicate his dress, 625 His daily fare as delicate. Alas! lie picks clean teeth, and, busy as lie seems With an old tavern quill, is hungry yet! The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws With magick wand. So potent is tile spell, G30 Tlat none, decoy'd into that fatal ring, Unless by Heav'n's peculiar grace, escape. There we grow early gray, but never wise; There form connexions, but acquire no friend: Solicit pleasure hopcless of success; G35 Waste youth in occupations only fit For second childhood, and devote old age To sports, which only childhood could excuse. There, they are happiest who dissemble best Their weariness; and they the most polite 640 Wlio squander time and treasure with a slnile, Though at their own destruction. She tliat asks He- dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, And hates their coming. They (what can they less ) Make just reprisals; and with cringe and shrug, 645 And bow obsequious, hide their hate of her. All catch the frenzy, downward from her grace, Wlhose flambeaux flash against the morning skies, And gild our chamber ceilings as they pass, To her, who, frugal only that her thrift 6)50 II 11 I I I II i I I I I I i i I H, _ _ _ I — L- I i,__ _ _ ___ I TIlE TIME-PIECE. 47 I I I May f-ed excesses she can ill afiord, Is hackney'd home unlackey'd; who, in haste Aliglting, turrs tile key ill her ownl door, And, at the watclhnans lantern borrowing light, Finds a cold bed her only comfort left. 655 Wives beggar husbands, husbands starve their wives, On Fortune's velvet altar off'ring tup Their last poor pittance-Fortune, most severe Of goddesses yet known, and costlier far Thin all that held tleir routs in Juno's Heav'n. — 660 So fare we in tills prison-house, the World; And 'tis a fearful spectacle to see So many maniacks dancing in their chains. They gaze upon the links, that hold them fast, With eyes of' anguish, execrate their lot, 665 Then shake them in despair, and dance again ' Now basket up the family of plagues, That waste our vitals; peculation, sale Of honour, perjury, corruption, frauds By forgery, by subterfuge of law, 670 By tricks and lies as nui'rous and as keen As the necessities their authors feel: Then cast them, closely bundled, ev'ry brat At the right door. Profusion is the sire. Profusion unrestrain'd, with all tlat's base 675 In character, has litter'd all the land, And bred, within the mem'ry of no few, A priestlood, such as Baal's was of old, A people, such as never was till now.!t is a hungry vice:-it eats up all 680 rhlat gives society its beauty, strength, Uonvenience, security, and use: Vlakes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapp'd,And gibbeted, as fast as catchpole claws Can seize the slippery prey: unties the knot 685 Of union, and converts the sacred band That holds mankirnd together, to a scourge. Profusion deluging a state with lusts I i I I; I I I I i I! I I' I — - " ----e — I-` --- —- - _ _ I I I I I I i I I i I I rf --- ---- ---— 1 ---' I --- —- - -— - - - - -— ` THE TASK. Of grossest nature and of worst eifects, Prepares it for its ruin: lhardens, l)lids, 69Jt And warps, the consciences of publick men, Till they cal laugh at Virtue; mock the tools That trust them; and in th' end disclose a face, That would have shock'd Credulity herself. Unmask'd, vouchsafing this their sole excuse- 695 Since all alike are selfish, why not they? This does Profusion, and th' accursed cause Of such deep mischief has itself a cause. In colleges and halls in ancient days, When learning, virtue, piety, and truth, 700 Were precious and inculcated with care, There dwelt a sage call'd Discipline. His head, Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er, Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth, But strong for service still, and unimpair'd. 705 His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile Play'd on his lips; and in his speech was heard Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love The occupation dearest to his heart Was to encourage goodness. Ile would stroke 710 Tlhe head of modest aiid ingenious worth, That blusli'd at his own praise: and press the youth Close to his side that pleas'd him. Learning grew Beneath his care, a thriving vig'rous plant; The mind was well informed, the passions held 715 Subordinate, and diligence was choice. If e'er it chanc'd, as sometimes chance it must. That one among so many overleap'd The limits of control, his gentle eye Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke; 720 His frown was full of terrour, and his voice Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe, As left him not, till penitence had won Lost favour back again, and clos'd the breach. But Discipline, a faitllful servant long, 723 Decliii'd at length into the vale of years II j I i I I i: I I I I I I I I --— - -- I I - - ~ --- —---------— `-~ ---- --------- TIl',! TIME-PIECf' 49.I I I iI I 1. ii i I I I I A palsy struck his arin; his sparkling eye Was quenched in rhcuinls ofn;*)e; his voice, unstrung, Grew tremulous, and mov'd derision more Than rev'rence, in perverse rebellious youth. 730 So colleges;and halls neglected much Their good old friend; and Discipline at length, O'erlook'd and uneinploy'd, feil sick and died. Then Study languished, Emnulation slept, And Virtue fled. Tlhe schools became a scene 735 Of solemn larce, where Ignorance in stilts, His cap well lin'd with logick not iis own, With parrot tongue performl'd the scholar's part, Proceeding soon a tgraduated dunce. Tlien co:npromise had place, and scrutiny 740 Became stone blind; precedence went in trucK, And lie was competent whose purse was so. A dissolution of all bonds ensued; The curbs invented for the mulish mouth Of headstrong youth were broken; bars and bolts 745 Grew rusty by disuse; and massy gates Forgot their office, op'ning with a touch; Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade, The tassel'd cap and the spruce band a jest, A mock'ry of the world! What need of these 750 For gamesters, jockeys, brothelers impure, Spendthrifts, and booted sportsmen, oft'ner seen With belted waist and pointers at their heels, Than in the bounds of duty? What was learn'd, If aught was learn'd in childhood, is forgot * 755 And such expense, as pinclhes parents blue, And mortifies the lib'ral hand of love, Is squander'd in pursuit of idle sports And vicious pleot ures; buys the boy a name That sits a stirgna on his father's hIouse, 760 And cleaves through life inseparably close To himr that wears it. What can after games Of riper joys, and commerce with the world, Vol. 1. 5 I I I i i I; iII I I Ij i I I I: i ii -- -— - — 17 - I C — -~ —~ 50 TIlE TASK. The lewd vain world, that muist receive him soon, Add to such erudition, thus acquired, 765 Where science and where virtue are professed? They may confirm his habits, rivet fast His folly, but to spoil him is a task That bids defiance to th' united powers Of fashion, dissipation, taverns, stews. 770 Now blame we most the nurselings or the nurse? The children crook'd, and twisted, and deform'd, Through want of care; or her, whose winking eye And slumb'ring oscitancy mars the brood? The nurse, no doubt. Regardless of lher charge, 7'75 She needs herself correction; needs to learn That it is dang'rous sporting with the world, With things so sacred as a nation's trust, The nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge. All are not such. I had a brother once- 780 Peace to the memory of a man of worth, A man of letters, and of manners too! Of manners sweet as Virtue a!ways wears, When gay good-natured dresses her in smiles. He grac'd a college,* in which order yet 785 Was sacred; and was honour'd, lov'd, and wept By more than one, themselves conspicuous tlere. Some minds are temper'd happily, and Inix'd With such ingredients of good sense, and taste Of what is excellent in man, they thirst 790 With such a zeal to be what they approve, That no restraints can circumscribe them more Than they themselves by choice, for wisdoml's sake. Nor can example hurt them; what they see Of vice ir others but enhancing more 7)5 The charms of virtue in their just esteem. If such escape contagion, and emerge Pure from so foul a pool to shine abroad, And give the world their talents and themselves Bcne't Coll Cambridge. I_._ II I~ II II I I |i I i j I I I I i r --- ---- -- ------- -- ~- ----------------------- TIE TT.' -P IEC. 5)I Small thlankla to those wl(hos nerliiocnce or sloth 800 Expos'd t!ie;r inextlcprience to the snare, And left thiem to an undirected choice. See then the quiver broken and decay'd, In whi'b pro kept our arrows! Rusting there In wild disorder, and unfit for use, 805 What wonder, if discharg'd into the world, They shame their shooters with a randoln flight, Their points obtuse, and feathers drunk with wine! Well may the church wage unsuccessful war With such artill'ry arrn'd. Vice parries wide 810 Th' undreaded volley witli a sword of straw, And stands an impudent and fearless mark. Iave we not track'd the felon home, and found His birthplace and his dam? The country mourns, Mourns because ev'ry plague that can infest 815 Society, and that saps and worms the base Of th' edifice that policy has rais'd, Swarms in all quarters: meets tlmc eye, the ear, And suffocates the breath at ev'ry turn. Profusion breeds them; and the cause itself 820 Of that calamitous mischief has been found: Found, too, where most oftensive, in the skirts Of the rob'd pedagogue! Else let tl' arraign'd Stand up unconscious, and refute the charge. So when the Jewish leader stretch'd his arm, 825 And wav'd his rod divine, a race obscene, Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came fortn, Polluting Egypt: gardens, fields, and plains, Were cover'd with the pest; tlme streets were fill'd; The croaking nuisance lurk'd in ev'ry nook; 83( Nor palaces, nor even chambers, 'icap'd; And the land stank-so num'rous was the fry. I I I ------------- -- ----------- ,., II i1 i! II( I I i|l TIIE TASK. BOOIn II. =i ) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I THE GARDEN. j1 t ARGUMENT OF TIIE THIRD BOOK. ' elf-recollection, and reproof-Address to domestick happiness-.- ISoime actcoint of mlyselif-''lhe vtanity of 111t1y t of their Iurlsulit 'i who are reputed wise-Jus ificatio of nev crnstiros —livine i- j j lulination necessary to the rost exlpe!rt philosol)lper. —'r he;ll-! lionl, \\'hat is trutlh answerled Iv h oJthr f (ii.st ielts — )4lif e-;eick(! hui pineonsa alre:sseld igain-Few loers o tf ti clIlit y-l --- rV telIeI! hare-O(ccupat ions of a retired gentleimarn in his hga.lrlen-Ptruninl ' -Framing-G reenIlmouse-Powiens of llower seeds-Thee cnnl ry p refeirahle to the town even in th.e wvinler-I-ea!;sons sw v it i dses!ttrted at. that Rea;son —R inmci eflfcts of gai)liig'l and ol f expensive ie mprovement —Book concludes wiith aln apostroIphe to the metropolis. AS one, who long in thickets and in brakes Entanglcd, winds now tils way and now that His devious course uncertain, secling homne; Or having long mn miry ways been foil'd And sore discoenfited, fromr slough to slough 5 Irongingi, and half despairing of escape; If chance at length ho find a greensward smooth And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise, ie eherups brisk his ear-crecting steed, And winds his way with pleasure and witll ease t. So 1, designint other tlheres, and call'd T' fadorn the Sofa wih eulogiluel dtie, 1 111 ___________ _I_____ -— — __ __ __ , --- ----- -— ` — -` — — —` — i i! I~ III I I i IIj I I1 I H TIIE GAIt{t _N. 53 ro tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams, Have ranlbled wide. In country, city, scat Of academnicl fame, (h(we'er deserv'd,) 15 Lon, held, and scarcely discnga-'d at last: But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road I mean to tread. I feel myself at large, Courageous, and refrcsh'd for future toil, If toil await me, or if dangers new. Since pulpits fail, and sounding boards reflect Most part an empty ineffectual sound, What chance that I, to fame so little known, Nor conversant with men or manners much, Should speak to purpose, or with better hope 25 Crack tle satirick thong? 'Twere wiser far For me, enamour'd of sequester'd scenes, And charm'd witl rural beauty, to repose Where chance may throw me, beneath elin or vino My languid limbs; when summer sears the plains; 30 Or, when rough winter rages, on the soft And shelter'd Sofa, while the nitrous air Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth; There, undisturb'd by Folly, and appriz'd Iow great the danger of disturbing her, 35 To muse in silence, or at least confine Remarks, that gall so many, to the few My partners in retreat. I)isgust conceal'd Is ofttimes proof of wisdom, when the fault Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach. 40 Domestick happiness, thou only bliss Of Paradise, that has surviv'd the fall! Though few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure Or tasting, long enjoy thee! too infirm, Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets 45 Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup; Thou art the nurse of Virtue-in thine arms She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is, Ileav'n born, and destin'd to the skies again. 50 5*.1 III I - ---- -- - --— ---- ----II- -— ' --- -- - ` --- — --- — I-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I I;, I i I j I I 11 i I I I I H!i i i ji. Ii 11 I ii I I i Thou art not known where Pleasure is ador d, That recling goddess, with tihe zonehl.ss waist And wand!'ri;r eyes, still leaning on ihe arm Of Novelty, her fickle, raiil suppotrt; For thou art meek and constant, hlatinr change, 55 Andl finling in the caln of triuL t -tricd love, Joys that her stery raptures never yieldl. Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we Inade Of' honour, dignity, and fair renown! Till prostitution elbows us aside 60 In all our crowded streets; and senates seem Conven'd for purposes of empire less Than to release the adult'ress fiom her bond. Th' adult'ress! what a thelne for angry verse! What provocation to th' indignant heart, 05 That feels for injur'd love! but I disdain The nauseous task to paint her as she is, Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame? No:-let her pass, and, charioted along In guilty splendour, shake the publick ways; 70 The frequency of crimes has wash'd them white, And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch, Whom matrons now of character unsmirch'd And chaste themselves, are not asham'd to own. Virtue and vice had bound'ries in old time, 75 Not to be pass'd: and she that had renounced Her sex's honour, was renounc'd herself By all that priz'd it; not for prud'ry's sake But dignity's, resentful of the wrong. 'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif, 60 Desirous to return and not receiv'd But was a wholesome rigour in the main, And taught th' unblemish'd to preserve with care 'Tlat purity, whose loss was loss of all. Men too were nice in honour in those days, 85 And judg'd offenders well. Then lie that slharp'd, And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd, Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. lle that sold i i;I iI II i:1 I;I ii I i i I iI i i i i I i II I I I i I i - 9X. ---_ EI — ~ ---~ — ~ -- -— ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~, -- - -— UI~L — — TIIE GARDEN. 55 [lis country, or was wlieas slac w she requir'd His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch, 90 Paid will the blood that lie )l'id basely spar'd The price of hlis default. But now-yes, Iow NVe are become so candid and so icair So lib'ral in construction, and so rich In christiall charity, (good natulr'd age!) 95 Tliat they are sat; sinners of either sex Transgress wlat laws they may. Well dress'd, ioll bred, Well equipag'd, is ticket good enough, To pass as readily through ev'ry door. t ypocrisy, detest her as we may, 100 (And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet, May claim this merit still-that she admits The worth of what she mnimicks, with such care, And thus gives virtue indirect applause; But slie lhas burnt her mask, not needed here, 105 Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts And specious semblances have lost their use. I was a stricken deer, that left the herd Long since. With many an arrow deep infix'd My panting side was ciharg'd, when I withdrew 110 To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 'here was I found by one who had himself Been Iiurt by th' arcliers. In his side lie bore, And in his haids and feet, the cruel scars. With gentle force soliciting tile darts, 11. He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live. Since then, with few associates, in remote And silent woods I wander, far from those My former partners of the peopled scene; With few associates, and not wishing more. 120 Here mnuch I ruminate, as much I may, With other views of men and nanners now Than once, and others of a life to comeI see tllat all are wand'rers, gone astray Each in his own delusions; they are lost 125 _ ___ ___ _ ___ _ __ _.__ __ i I =~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ---- -- - --- ';i 6 G TH-E 'Al s. i| I I I I i I I I I I I In clase of fancied happiness, stiill woo' And never won. Dream aftor. dream ensues; And still they dream that they shall still succeed, And still are disappointed. Rinogs the world With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind 130 And add two thirds of the remaining half, And find the total of their hopes and fears Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay, As if created only like the fly, That spreads his motley wings in th' eye of noon, 135 To sport their season, and be seen no more. The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise, And pregnant with discoveries new and rare. Some write a narrative of wars, and feats Of heroes little known; and call tile rant 140 A history: describe the man, of whom His own coevals took but little note, And paint his person, character, and views, As they had known him from his mother's womb. They disentangle from the puzzled skein, 115 In which obscurity has wrapp'd them up, The threads of politick and shrewd design, That ran through all his purposes, and charge His mind with meanings that he never had, Or, having, kept conaeal'd. Some drill and bore 150 The solid earth, and from the strata tlere Extract a register, by which we learn, That lie who made it and reveal'd its date Tro Moses, was mistaken in its age. Sonme, more acute, and more industrious still, 1.5 Contrive creation; travel nature up To the sharp peak of her sublimest height, And tell us whence the stars; why some are fix'd, And planetary some; what gave them first Rotation, from what fountain flow'd their liglht. 6IO Great contest follows, and much learned dust Involves the combatants; each claiming truth, And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend j I I 11 I I I I i i il I I I I I I I iI I I I I~ -- ------- -— ~ — ---- ~_ ~__~_ ___________~__ ____ __ ___ ~.._____.____ _________I_L_ __ _~ Ti E GARDEN. fi7 The little wiclk of ii'e s poor shallw(, lamp In playing tricks swit nature, givinr laws 1Cf5 To distant worldis, aid triiilng in their own. Is't not a pity now, tlat tickling rheunms Should ever tease thle lungs, and blear tlhe sight Of oracles like these? Great pity, too, Tllltt Iihving w ieldled th' elements, and built 170 A thousand systeims, eathli iln his own way, They should go out in filne, and be forgot All! what is life thus spent? and wlat are they But franticl, who thus spend it? all for smokeEternity for bubbles, proves at last 175 A senseless bargain. \When I sec such games Play'd by the creatures of at pow 'r who swears Tlat hle will judge the Ea itrl, and call the fool To a slarp reck'ning, that has liv'd in vain; And when I weiglh tlis seeming wisdom well, 180 And prove it in tl' infallible result So ho!low and so false-1 feel my heart Dissolve in pity, and account the learn'd, It this be learning, lmost of all decciv'd. Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps, 185 While thoughtful man is plausibly anmused. Defend nme, tlerefore, conllrlln sense, say 1, From reveries so airy, friom tile toil Of dropping buckets into empty eclls, And growing old in drawing nothing up! 190 'Twere well, says one, sage, crudite, profound Terribly arch'd and aquiline his nose, And overbuilt with mIost imipending brows, 'Twere well, could you permlit tle World to live As tle world plases: what's tlhe World to you? 195 Mluchl. 1 was uorn of' womlan, and drew milk As sweet as charity from humlan breasts. I think, articulate-I laugh arid weep, Arid exercise all functions of a man. How then should I and any rman that lives 200 3e strangers to eacl other? Pierce imy vein, I I I I I I 1 111 H i III i i! I1 i I I I I I I I I iI I I I I 11, ii i I 'Z, _.. ___._ _ —7 ~_ — ____- - II I I_ _._ _ _ ~ THE TASK. 'lake of the crimson stream reand'ring there, And catechise it well: apply tly glass, Search it, and prove now if it be not blood Congenial with thine own: and, if it be, 2 5 What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art, To cut the link of brotherhood, by which One common Maker bound me to the kind? True; I am no proficient, I confess, 210 In arts like yours. I cannot call the swift And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds, And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath; I ",annot analyze the air, nor catch The parallax of yonder luminous point, 215 That seems half quench'd in the immense abyss ~ Such powers I boast not-neither can I rest A silent witness of the headlong rage, Or heedless folly, by which thousands die, Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine. 220 God never meant that man should scale the Heav'ns By strides of human wisdom. In his works, Though wondrous, he commands us in his word To seek him rather where his mercy shines. The mind, indeed, enlighten'd from above, 225 Views him in all; ascribes to the grand cause The grand effect; acknowledges with joy His manner, and with rapture tastes his style. But never yet did philosophick tube, That brings the planets home into the eye 230 Of observation, and discovers, else Not visible, his family of worlds, Discover him that rules them; such a veil Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth, And dark in things divine. Full often too, 23: Our wayward intellect, the more we learn Of nature, overlooks her author more; From instrumental causes proud to draw Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake 11 -11 i I I I I i I I I i I i I I I i i ii i I I i i I - - -. ----. — - - -. — ~ ---- -C __ - ( d-"- I I I II I I I I I I I I I i i I I I THE GARDE'N. 59 But if his word once teach us —shoot a ray 240 Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light; Then all is plain. Philosophy,,baptiz'd In the pure fountain of eternal love, Ias eyes indeed(; and viewing all she sees 245 As meant to indicate a God to man, Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own. Learning has borne such fruit in other days On all her branches: piety has found Friends in tile friends of science, and true pray'r 250 Hlas flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews. Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage! Sagacious reader of the works of God, And in his word sagacious. Such, too, thine, Milton, whose genius had angelick wings, 25o And fed on manna! And such thine, in whonm Our British Themis gloried with just cause, Immortal lale! for deep discernment prais'd, And sound integrity, not more than fain'd For sanctity of manners undefil'd. 260 All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades Like tlie fair flow'r dislievell'd in the wind; Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream, The man wo celebrate must find a tomb, And we tihat worship him, ignoble graves. 265 Nothing is proof against the gen'ral curse Of vanity that seizes all below. The only amaranthine flow'r on earth Is virtue; th' only lasting treasure, truth. But what is truth? 'Twas Pilate's question put 270 To Truth itself, that deign'd him no reply. And wherefore? will not God impart his light To them that ask it?-Freely-'tis his joy, His glory, and his nature, to impart. But to the proud, uncandid, insincere, 275 Or negligent inquirer, not a spark. What's that which brings contenpt upon a book, ------------------------------ ------ ----- ---- I II I I I I --- --- -- --LI — --- —— L- ---— ~- --- ---------- 60 THE TASK. And him who writes it, tlhough tlhe stvle be n.at, Tile method clear, and arguliilt exact f That mrakes a minlister in holy tninLs 2'i TIie joy of many, and the dread of more. Ilis name a th!eme for praise and for reproach: — That, while it. gives us worth in God's account, Depreciates and undoes us in our own? What pearl is it, that rich men cannot buy, 2'; That learning is too proud to gatlher up); But which tll, poor, and the despis'd of all, Seek and obtain, and often find unsoughlt; Tell me-and 1 will tell tliee Iwhat is trIitn. 0 friendly to the best pursuits of ".;!!i, 2'0 Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace Domcstick life in rural leisure pass'd! Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweets: Though many boast tlhy favours, a;nd afl'ect To understand and choose thee for their own1. 295 But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss, E'en as his first progenitor, and (quits, Though plac'd in Paradise, (for eartl has still, Some traces of her youthful beauty left) Substantial happiness for transient joy: 3O Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse The growing seeds of wisdom;l; tlat suggrest. By ev'ry pleasing image they present, Reflections such as meliorate the heart, Compose the passions, and exalt the mind; 3{'5 Scenes such as these 'tis his supreme delight To fill with riot, and defile with blood. Should seme contagion, kind to the poor brutes We persecute, annihilate thle tribes That draw the sportsman over hill and dale, 310 Fearless and wrapt away from all his cares; Should never game-fowl hatch her cggs agai:, Nor baited hoolk deceive the fish's eve; Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song, Be quell'd in all our suimmer-monthls' retreats; 315 I _ --— ~ — ~~ —~ —~ -------- --- ~-. --- ----— I — -I ---- ------ -------- il il I I I i --— ~ — - ----— c^ --- —-— cl -— "-- -- -- --- -------- -- I TIlE GARDEN. 61 Ilow mnany self-deluded nynplils and swains, VWho dream they llave a taste for fields anrd groves, j Would find them llildeous nurs'ries of the spleen, A zid crowd the rcads, impatient for tile town! They love the country, and none else, who seek, 32C For their own sake, its siience and its shade. Delights which who would leave that hlas a heart Susceptible of pity, or a mind Cultur'd and capable of sober thloiuht For all the savage din of the swiift pack 325 And clamours of the field?-Detested sport, Tlat owes its pleasures to another's pain; That feeds upon tlie sobs and dying shrieks Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endued With eloquence, tlat agonies inspire, 330 Of silent tears and heart-distending sirghs? Vain tears, alas, and sighs that never find A corresponding tone in jovial souls! Well-one at least is safe. One shelter'd haro Has never heard the sanguinary yell 335 Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. Innocent partner of my peaceful home, Whom tell long years' experience of my care Has Imade at last familiar: she has lost Much of' her vigilant instinctive dread, 310 Not needfuil lcere, beneath a roof like mine. Yes-thou Inmyst eat thy bread, and lick the hand That feeds thee; thou mayst frolick on the floor At ev'ning, and at niglit retire secure To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm'd, 31I15 For I have gained thy confidence, have pledg'd All that is human in me, to protect Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. It I survive thee, I will dig thy grave; And, when I place thee in it, sighing say, 350 I knew at least one hlare that had a friend.*. * See the note at tile end. VoLr. II. t I I I I i I i i I I I i I i I I I I UI_ --— ~-YIIIIII —LIIIII ~ ----~- ---LII- ---- - -" —. I 62 TIIE TASK. How various his employments, whom tie world Calls idle; and who justly in return Esteems that busy world an idler too! Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, 35-i Delightful industry enjoy'd at home, And nature in her cultivated trim Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroadCan lie want occupation who has these? Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy? 360 Me therefore studious of laborious ease, Not slothful, happy to deceive the time, Not waste it, and aware that human life Is but a loan to be repaid with use, When He shall call his debtors to account, 365 From whom are all our blessings, business finds E'en here: while sedulous I seek t' improve, At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd, The mind lie gave me; driving it, though slack Too oft, and much impeded in its work 370 By causes not to be divulg'd in vain, To its just point-the service of mankind. lie that attends to his interiour self, That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind That hungers and supplies it; and who seeks 375 A social, not a dissipated life, Has business; feels himself engag'd t' achieve No unimportant, though a silent task. A life all turbulence and noise may seem To him that leads it wise, and to be prais'd; 380 But wisdom is a pearl with most success Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies lie that is ever occupied in storms, Or dives not for it, or brings up instead, Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. 38 -The morning finds the self-sequester'd man Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. Whether inclement seasons recommend His warm but simple home, where he enjoys III I Ii H I I ------------— ~ --- —-- -- ---------------------- _ - 11 I I j 1 i I I I i i I i i I Wi Tth r w Tl 'FTlE GARDEN. 6>3 Witlh her who;lhares 1is pleasures and his heart, 390 Sweet converse, sippingr calm the fragrant lymlph, Which neatly she prepares: then to his book \Well chosen, and not sullenly perus'd In selfish silence, but imparted, oft As aught occurs that she may smile to hear, 395 Or turn to nourishment, digested well. Or if the garden with its many cares, All well repaid, demand him, lie attends The welcome call, conscious how much the hand Of lubbard Labour needs his watchful eye, 400 O.)ft loit'ring lazily, if not o'erseen, Or nlisapplying his unskilful strength. Nor does he govern only, or direct, But much performs himself. No -works indeed, Tliat ask robust, tough sinews bred to toil, 405 Servile employ; but such as imay amuse, Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. Proud of his well-spread walls, lie views his trees, That meet, no barren interval between, Witl pleasure more than e'en tleir fruits afford; 410 Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel. These therefore are his own peculiar charge; No meaner hand may discipline the shoots, None but lis steel approach them. What is weak, Distemper'd, or has lost prolifick pow'rs, 415 Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand Dooms to the knife: nor does he spare the soft And succulent, tiat feeds its giant growth, But barren, at th' expense of neighb'ring twigs Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick 420 I With lhopeful gems. Thie rest, no portion left That may disgrace his art, or disappoint Large expectation, lie disposes neat At measur'd distances, that air and sun, Admitted freely may afford their aid, 4i2t 4nd ventilate and warm the swelling buds. {! ence summer has her riches, Autumn hence, I I I i I 11 I I I I I I _. I: i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I i I 1 iI I i i i I i i I i I I 61 THE T ASK. And hence e'cn Winter fills his wither'd lhand With blushing fruits, and plhrtly not Ilis own.* Fair recompense of labo-ur well bestow'd, 430 And wise precaution v whichl a clime so rude lMkes needful still, whose Spring is but the child Of churlish Winter, in her froward moods Di:cov'ring much the temper of her sire. For oft, as if in her the stream of mild 435 Alaternal nature had revers'd its course, She brings her infants forth with many smiles; But once deliver'd, kills thenm with a frown. lie therefore, timely warn'd, himself supplies Her want of care, screening and keeping warm 410 The plenteous bloom, tlat no rouglh blast may sweep His garlands from tlie boughs. Again, as oft As the sun peeps, and vernal airs breathe mild, The fence withdrawn, he gives them ev'ry beam, And spreads his hopes before tle blaze of day. 4135 To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd, So grateful to the palate, and when rare So coveted, else base and disesteem'dFood for the vulgar merely-is aln art That toililln ames have blut jult mlatllr'd, 450 And at tils momenrt unessay'd in song. Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice, lon1g since, Thleir eulogy; tlhose sang the Mantuan bard, And these the Grecian, ir ennobling strains; And in tly numbers, Philips, shines for aye 455 The solitary shilling. Pardon, then, Ye sage dispensers of poetick fame, Th' ambition of one meaner far, whose pow'rs, Presuming an attempt not less sublime, Pant for tile praise of dressing to the taste 460 O f critick appetite, no sordid fare, A ccunlher, while costly yet and scarce. Thie stable yields a stercoraceolts heap, I i H d i i i 1I;I h H ji i I! I! i i i I i I I i I I f i I I I " Miraturque novos fructus et non sua poma. Vi rg'. I........: ------ I — - -- -- - - — ----- -~C ---LI --- —^. i I j i I i i I I1 I i I II I Ij i TItE GARDEN. 65 Impregnated with quick.'erllnctitlg salts, And potcnt to resist tim freeizing blast: 465 For ere the beech and elin have cast their leaf Deciduous, when now November (lark Checks vegetation in the torpid plant Expos'd to his cold breath, the task begins. Warily, therefore, and with prudent heed, 470 He seeks a favour'd spot; that where lie builds Th' agglomerated pile his frame may front The sun's meridian disk, and at the back Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reces, or hedge Impervious to tie wind. First he bids spread 475 Dry fern or litter'd hay, that may imbibe Th' ascending damps; then leisurely impose, And lightly shaking it witl agile hand From the full fork, the saturated straw. What longest binds the closest forms secure 480 The shapely side, that as it rises takes, By just degrees, an overhanging breath, Shelt'ring the base with its projected eaves; Th' uplifted frame, compact at ev'ry joint, And overlaid with clear translucent glass, 485 He settles next upon the sloping mount, Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls. Ile shuts it close, and the first labour ends. Thrice must the voluble and restless Earth 490 Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth, Slow gath'ring in the midst, through the square.aass Diffus'd, attain the surface; when, behold! A pestilent and most corrosive stream, Like a gross fog Boeotian, rising fast, 495 And fast condens'd upon tihe dewy sash Asks egress? which obtain'd, the overcharg'd And drench'd conservatory breathes abroad, In volumes wheeling slow the vapour dank; And, purified, rejoices to have lost 500 Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage 5* i 1i I! i I ` ---e I I- -- - — - —--- — ' —' — I ---- — ---' — —" -- ` --- - ------ ------- C l) 'THE TASK. Tl' impatient fervour, whicli it first conceives Within its reekingi bosom, threat'niii de(ath l'o his young hopes, requires discreet delay. Experience, slow preceptress, teachingl oft 505 The way to glory by miscarriage foul,) MIlut pronlpt him, and admonisll how to catch 'I'll' aulspicious Imoment, whlen the tenper'd heat, F riendly to vital motion, may afifrd Soft fo-nentation, and invite the seed. 510 The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth, And glossy, he commits to pots of size Diminutive, well fill'd with well-prepar'd And fruitful soil, that has been treasur'd long, And dranlk no moisture from tile dripping clouds. 515 Thlese on the warm and genial earth tlat hides The smoking manure, and o'erspreads it all, He places lightly, and, as time subdues The rage of fernentation, plunges deep In the soft medium, till they stand immers'd. 520 Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick And spreading wide their spongy lobes; at first Pale, wan, and livid; but assuming soon, If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air, Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green. 525 Two leaves produc'd, two rough indented loaves, Cautious he pinches from the second stalk A pimple that portends a future sprout, And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed rhe branches, sturdy to his utmost wish; 5;0 Prolifick all, and harbingrers of more. The crowded roots demand enlargem:ent now, And transplantation in an ampler space. Indulg'd in what they wish, they soon supply Large foliage, overshadowing golden flow'rs, 535 Blown on the summnit of the apparent fruit. These lhave their sexes; and when sulmmel r shines The hee transports the fertilizing meal From flow'r to flow'r, and e'en the breathing ai I i I I i I 1I ------- -- ---- - ---------- --- I I 1'IT E (GARDEN. C;7 I Iaf'ts the rich l~rize to its coonoted use. 54 I I! i i i iI. I i I i I 1i I I I I I I Wafts tile rich prize to its apl)pointed use. 540 Not so when wilter scowls. Assistant Art Then acts in Nature's office, brinlgs to pass The glad espousals, and ensures the crop. Grudge not, ye rich, (since Luxury must have His dainties, and tlhe WVorld's more nnml'ro)us Iialf:5.' lives by contriving delicat-s fir youl) Grudge not the cost. Ye little kn;w the cerse The vigilance, the labour, and the skill, That day and night are exercis'd, and lhang Upon the ticklish balance of suspense, 550 That ye may garnish your profuse regales With summer fruits brought forth by wintry suns. Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart The process. Heat, and cold, and wind, and steam, Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming flies, 555 Minute as dust, and numberless, oft work Dire disappointment, tlhat admits no cure, And which no care can obviate. It. were long, Too long, to tell th' expedients and thle shifts, Wlhich lie that fights a season so severe 560 Devises wvlile lie guards his tender trust; And oft at last in vain. The le;rn'd and wise Sarcastick would exclaim, and judge the song Cold as its then-e, and like its tlheme tle fruit Of too much labour, worthless when produc'd. 565 Who loves a garden loves a green-house too Unconscious of a less propitious clime, There blooms exotick beauty, warm and snug, While tlie winds whistle and the snows descend The spiry myrtle with unwitlh'ring leaf 570 Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast Of Portugal and western India tlere, Tlhe ruddier orange, and tle paler lime Peep through their polish'd foliage at thle storm, Aiid seem to smile at what they need not fear. 575 The arnonum there with interininglinr flow'rs i I I I iI ji i I I I I I ii_ -_-L --- - - -- -- -.. i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I i II I II i i I i i I ii i I Ii (iS9 ''ITHE TASK. And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts Her crimson honnurs; and the spangled beau, Ficoides glitters bright the winter long. All plants of ev'ry leaf, that car endure 50S The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bite, Live there, and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, Levantine regions these; th' Azores send Their jessamine, her jessamine remote Caffraria: foreigners from many lands, 585 They frmn one social shade, as if conven'd By magick summons of th' Orphean lyre. Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass But by a master's hand, disposing well The gay diversities of leaf and flow'r, 590 Must lend its aid t' illustrate all their charms, And dress the regular yet various scene. Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van The dwarfish, in the rear retir'd, but still Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. 595 So once were rang'd the sons of ancient Rome, A noble show! wlile Roscius trod the stage; And so, while Garrick, as renown'd as he, The sons of Albion; fearing each to lose Sonme note of Nature's musick from his lips, 600 And covetous of Shakspcare's beauty, seen In ev'rv flash of his far-beaming eye, Nor taste alone and well-contriv'd display Suffice to give the narshall'd ranks the grace Of tleir complete effect. Much yet remains 605 Unsung, and many cares are yet behind, And more laborious; cares on which depend Their vigour, injur'd soon, not soon restor'd. The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'd Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, 6G0 And disappoints the roots; the slender roots Close interwoven, where they meet the vase, Must smooth be shorn away; the sapless branch, Must fly before the knife; the wither d leaf.i i HI i I I I I i i h ll i I i I I i I 11 I 11 I i I I I.,-..I _- —- --- - ------- L -- --.. — LI —~ ----~-~ --- —--- -- ------ I_ ___~______ _I__ ____~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~__ 1__~~~~~~~~~~1___ ~ ~ ~ ~ _ _~i II TIlE GARDEN. (i Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor 615 Swept witi a woman's neatness, breeding else Contagion and disseminating deatlh. Discharge but these kind offices, (and who Would spare, tlat loves thern, offices like these?) Well they repay the toil. The sight is pleased, 620 The scent reg-al'd, each odorif'rous leaf, Each op'ning blossomn, fieely breathes abroad Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets. So manifold, all pleasing in their kind, All healthful, arc th' employs of rural life. 625 Reiterated as the wheel of time Runs round; still ending, and beginning still. Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll That softly swell'd and gayly dress'd appears A flow'ry island, from the dark green lawn 630 Emerging, must be deem'd a labour due To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. Here also grateful mixture of well-match'd And sorted hues, (each giving each relief, And by contrasted beauty shining more,) 635 Is needful. Strength may wield the pond'rous spade, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home; But elegance, chief grace the garden shows, And most attractive, is the fair result Of thought, tle creature of a polish'd mind. (40 Without it all is Gothick as the scene To which th' insipid citizen resorts Near yonder heath; where industry mispent, But proud of his uncouth, ill-chosen task, Has made a Heav'n on Earth; with suns and inoons Of close-ranind stones has charg'd th' encumberd soil, G46 And fairly laid the zodiack in the dust. lie, therefore, who would see his flow'rs dispos'd Sightly and in just order, ere lie gives Thle beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, (-,650 Forecasts the fuiture whole; that, when the scene I i I I I I I i t H ii i II I i.I I I i1 i I I! --— - --- ___ ___ ------------ I I ------ ~-~ -- ---— I --- —------- i i i I i i I I I I I i i i i i I i i I 70 fIE TASK. Shall break into its preconceiv'd display, Each for itself, and all as witl one voice I Conspiring, may attest his bright design, Nor even then dismissing as perforn'd, 655 His pleasant work, may he suppose it done. Few self-supported flow'rs cnldure the wind Uninjur'd, but expect the upholding aid Of thle smooth shaven prop, and, neatly tied, Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age, CGO Fi'or int'rest sake, the living to the dead. Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffus'd And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair, Like virtue, thriving most where little seen Some more aspiring catch the neighbour slrub Gi5 With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch, Else unadorn'd, with many a gay festoon And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well The strength they borrow witl the grace they lend. All lhate the rank society of weeds, 670 Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust Th' impov'rish'd earth; an overbearing race, That, like the multitude made faction mad, Disturb good order, and degrade true worth. O blest seclusion from a jarring world, 675 Which he, thus occupied, enjoys Retreat Cannot indeed to guilty man restore Lost innocence, or cancel follies past; But it has peace, and nuch secures the mind From all assaults of evil; proving still (80 A faithful barrier, not o'erleap'd with ease By vicious Custom, raging uncontroll'd Abroad, and desolating publick life, When fierce Temptation, seconded within By traitor Appetite, and arm'd with darts 685 Temper'd in Hell, invades the throbbing breast, To combat may be glorious, and success Perhaps may crown us; but to fly is safe. Had 1 the choice of sublunary good, i, i / I I i I I I H;I i' i I i I! i I i II i I I f. I I I I II. I — ---- ----— ------— L --— -' — I THE GARlDE'N. 71 I i i i I i i I II Ii I I I I i What cou.d I wish, that I possess not here? C"0 Health, leisure, means t' improve it, friendslhip, peace, No loose or wanton, though a wand';ing muse, And constant occupation without care. Thus blest, I draw a picture of that bliss; Hopeless, indeed, that dissipated minds, 695 Anid profligate abusers of a world Created fair so much in vain for them, Shouldseek the guiltless joys that I describe, Allur'd by my report: but sure no less That self-condemn'd they must neglect the prize, 700 And what they will not taste must yet approve. What we admire we praise; and when we praise Advance it into notice, that, its worth Acknowledg'd, others may admire it too. I therefore recommend, though at the risk 705 Of popular disgust, yet boldly still, The cause of piety and sacred trutll And virtue, and those scenes which God ordain'd Should best secure them, and promote them most; Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive 710 Forsaken, or through folly not enjoy'd. Pure is thle nymph, tlough lib'ral of her smiles, And chaste, though unconfin'd, whom I extol. Not as the prince in Shushan, when lie call'd, Vain-glorious of her charnls, his Vasliti forth, 715 To grace the full pavilion. His design Was but to boast his own peculiar good, Which all might view with envy, none partake. My charmer is not mine alone; mWy sweets, And she that sweetens all my bitters too, 720 Nature, enchanting Nature, in wliose form And lineaments divine I trace a hand That errs not, and find raptures still renew'd, Is free to all men-universal prize. Strange that so fair a creature should yet want 725 Admirers, and be des\in'd to divide With meaner objects e'en the fewv she finds! I II I I i i I I i i I I J I - 1 --- I --- —--- ~I ---- -^' —C- - '-~J 72 THE TASK. Stripp'd of her ornaments, her leaves and lo;v'rs, She loses all her influence. Cities then Attract us, and neglected Nature pines 730 Abandon'd as unworthy of our love. But are not wholesome airs, though unperfmn'd By roses; and clear suns, though scarcely felt, And groves, if unharmonious, yet secure From clamour, and whose very silence charms; 735 To be prefcrr'd to srroke, to the eclipse, That metropolitan volcanoes make, Whose Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long; And to the stir of Commerce, driving slow, And thund'rng loud, with his ten thousand wheels? They would be, were not madness in the head, 741 And folly in the heart; were England now, What England was, plain, hospitable, kind, And undebauch'd. But we have bid farewell To all the virtues of those better days, 745 A nd all their honest pleasures. Mansions once Knew their own masters; and laborious hinds, Who had surviv'd the father, serv'd the son. Now, the legitimate and rightful lord Is but a transient guest, newly arriv'd, 750 And soon to be supplanted. He that saw His patrimonial timber cast its leaf, Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price To m some slrewd sharper, ere it buds again. Estates an landscapes, gaz'd upon a while, 755 Then advertis'd, and auctioneer'd away. The country starves, and they that feed th' o'ercharg'd And surfeited lewd town with lier fair d'-es, By a just judgment strip and starve 'lhemselves. The wings that waft our riches out of sight, 7GO Grow on the gamester's elbows, end tle alert And nimble motion of those rest.esi joints, Tlhat never tire, soon fans them all tway. Improvement, too, the idol of the a re, Is fed with many a victim. Lo. lie,ornes! 7GT~ i; II 11!I i i I I I I ij Il I, __,..,..,, ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~, _~~~~~~~__,~ ~ ~ ~ ~_~~~. __. ___ __~~~~~~~~~~~ I_ __ _I __ ~I_____I___ I - ------- -------------— I --- —C- — I Til'E; GAItI EN 73 Tlh' omnipotent magician, Brown, a ppears! Down falls tlle venerable pile, th' abode Of our forefathers-a grave whisker'd rar:;, But tasteless. Springs a palace in its stead, But in a distant spot; where more expos'd 77 It may enjoy th' advantage of the north, And aguish east, till time shall have transform'd Those naked acres to a shelt'ring grove. IHe speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn; Woods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise 7 75 And streama, as if created for his use, Pursue the track of his directing wand, Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow, Now murm'ring soft, now roaring in cascades- E'en as he bids! Th' enraptur'd owner smiles. 7O.0 'Tis finish'd, and yet, finish'd as it seems, | Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could show, A mine to satisfy th' enormous cost. Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealtll Ile sighs, departs, and leaves th' accomplish'd plan 7S5 That he has touch'd, retouch'd, many a long day Labour'd, and many a night pursu'd in dreams, Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the Heav'n He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy! And now perhaps the glorious hour is coiTme, 7? j When, having no stake left, no pledge t' endear, Her int'rests, or that gives her sacred cause A moment's operation on his love, He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal To serve his country. Ministerial grace 7.5, Deals him out money from the publick chest; Or, if that mine be shut, some private purse Supplies his need with a usurious lo:tn, To be refunded duly, when his vote Well-manag'd shall have earn'd its worthy price. 800 O innocent, compar'd with arts like these, Crape, and cock'd pistol, and the whistling ball Sent through the trav'ller's temples I le that finds VOL. II. 7 --- ---------------- ---------------------------!I~~~~~~~~~~~~I 74 TIHlE TASK. One drop of Ilcav'n's sweet mercy in his cup, Can dig, beg, rot, and perish, well content, 8 )5! So he may wrap himself in honest rags At his last gasp; but could not for a world Fish up his dirty and dependent bread F rom pools and ditches of the commonwea-hb. Sordid and sick'ning at his own success. b O Ambition, avarice, penury, incurr'd By endless riot, vanity, the lust Of pleasure and variety, despatch As duly as the swallows disappear, The world of wand'ring knights and squires to town London ingulfs them all! The shark is there, 816 And the shark's prey; the spendthrift, and the leech That sucks him there the sycophant, and lie Who, with bareheaded and obsequious bows, Begs a warm office, doom'd to a cold jail 820 And groat per diem, if his patron frown. The levee swarms, as if in golden pomnp Were character'd on ev'ry statesman's door,: Batter'd and bankrupt fortunes melded h erc." These are the charms that sully and eclipse 825 The charms of nature. 'Tis the cruel gripe, That lean, hard-handed Poverty inflicts, The hope of better things, the chance to win, The wish to shine, the thirst to be amus'd, That at the sound of Winter's hoary wing 830 Unpeople all our countries of such herds Of flutt'ring, loit'ring, cringing, begging, loose, And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast And boundless as it is, a crowded coop. 0 thou resort and mart of all the earth, 835 Checker'd with all complexions of mankind, And spotted witl all crimes; in whom I see Much that I love, and more that I admire, And all that I abhor; thou freckled fair, T'hat pleasest and yet shock'st me! I can la1'i:. i40 And I can uweep, can hope and can despond i I II — - ' -- - [I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~i ~~~~~~~~C ii ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ - II~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~C il II THE TASK. BOOK IV. THE WINTER EVENING j! ARGUMIENT OF THE FOUR'TH BOOK. Ile post comnes in-The newspaper is read-The Vt oIld conternplated at a distance-Alddress to XVinter —'Tf, rural;tmu!nterents of a winter evening colmpared with tht! fashliomlile (on.i'-Aildress to evenitg-A brown studyl-Fall of snow in the (vinlilngThe wagoner-A poor family piece-The rural thicf-I'tulick house-rThe multitudo of theml censured-lThe farmer's danlhter: what she was,-what she is-The simpllicity of colntry manners almost lo.st-Causes of the lanlge-D)esert io (,1' tile country by the rich-Neglect of tlhe nm ist rates-'The militia triri - cipally in fault-Tho new recruit and his tratnstirnmillion-Re-l flection on bodlies corporate-The love of rural objects natural to atl, and never to be totally extitnglished. HARK! 'tis the tNwanging horn o'er yonder bridge, Tha;t witll its wc;aris:-le hut ncldfl lengtll Bestridos tlie winltry flood; in wilich the moon Sees lefr lltrillkied flce reflected bright:lit ci ces. t1ie lierald of a noisy world, 5 Withi sp-tter'd boots, stripp'd( waist, and frozen locks, News from:ll nations Illmb'ring at his back. True to his ctlirharre, the cl()se-pack'd t1lud behind, Yet carelcsts wht,lc I, brirn,s, hiss (tie concern Is to coduci t it Lo tile (leslln'd inn; 10 Andt i;vinog' dirolpp'd ltl' cxlx)cted bag, pass on. i e wliistls' as hit (^oes, li.liht- hearted wretch. I, jj . - ~ TIHE WINTER EVENING. 77 THt1E W INTTE EVENIC 'N G.,7 Ii i I i i i II I I I i i i I I i I I I I i I I I I Cold andt yet cheerful: messenger of grief I'erhaps to thousands, and of joy to soImc; To him indiff'rent whether grief or joy. IHouses in ashes, and tile fill of stocks, Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet With tears, that trickled down the writcr's cnecks Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, Or charg'd with an'rous sighs of absent swains, Or nymphs responsive, equally affect His horse and him, unconscious of them all. But 0, th' important budget! usher'd in With such heart-shaking mrusick, who can say What are its tidings? have our troops awak'd? Or do they still, as if with opium drugrg'd, Snore to the murmurs of th' Atlantick wave Is India free? and does she wear lier plun'd And jewel'd turban with a smile of peace, Or do we grind her still? The grand debate, The popular harangue, tho tart reply, The logick, and the wisdom, and the wit, And the loud laugh-I long to know them all; I burn to set th' imprison'd wranglers free, And give thein voice and utt'rance once again. Now stir tie fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful cv'ning in. Not such his ev'ning, who with shining fice Sweats in thle crowded theatre, and, squcez'd And bor'd with elbow points through both his sides, Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage: Nor his, who patient stands till his feet tlrob, And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath Of patriots, bursting with heroick rage, Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles Tills folio of four pages happy work! 7* i, 15 I i' 3!0 I, 35 4;I I I iI II I I I i i I i I 45 50 ( ~-c --- —---- -— C --- —- - CC- ----- ----------------- - ------- - I —_CI I ----____Y-I ----_-C —CI ---— ~^ — I-. -~~~~~~~~~~~~~.-.-~~I.'- -...-~-. --.^ - - - I.. - I -.. I - - - - - -. - - I I I 78 THE TASK Which not e'en criticks criticise; that holds Inquisitive attention, vwhile I read, Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break; What is it, but a map of busy life, 55 Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns? llere runs the mountainous and craggy ridge, 'I1hat tempts Ambition. On the summit see The seals of office glitter in his eyes; j lie climbs, he pants, he grasps them! At his heels G0 Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, And with a dext'rous jerk soon twists him down, And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. H ere rills of oily eloquence, in soft Meanders lubricate the course they take; 65 The modest speaker is ashal'd and gricv'd, T' engross a moment's notice; and yet begs, Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, Iowever trivial, all that lhe conceives. Sweet bashfulness; it claims at least this praise: 70 The deartl of information and good sense That it forete'ls us always comes to pass. Cataracts of declamation thunder here; rhlere forests of no meaning spread the page, In which all comprehension wanders, lost; 75 While fields of pleasantry amuse us there With merry descants on a nation's woes. The rest appears a wilderness of strange But gay confusion; roses for the cheeks, And lilies for the brows of faded age, 80 Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the beld, I leav'n, earth, and ocean, plundered of their sweets, Nectareous essences, Olympian dews, Sermons, and city feasts, and fav'rite airs, iEthereal journeys, submarine exploits, 5 And Kattorfelto, with his hair on end At his own wonders, vond'ring for his brnad. 'Tis pleasant, throgh the loopholes of retreat, _ __ _ __ __""..... _____ JJ _,._ _, —,- ~.-..-. -..~ — ~ --- j II I _~__ _ ____ _~____ ____ ____._..___ _____~__ __ _~ ___I______C_ _ _7 _ I ___ __I _ __ ___ ___ T'IHE WINTER' EVENING. 79 To peep at such a world; to sec thle stir Of tilh great Babel, aiid nlot itel tle crowd; D9 To hear the roar she sends through all her gates At a sale distance, whcre the dyingl soun;d Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjur d ear. Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease The globe and its concerns, I seem advane'd 95 To sonle secure and more than mortal height, That liberates and exempts me tfrom tiiem all. It turns submitted to my view, turns round Wi ithI all its generations; 1 behold The tumult, and aii still. The sound of war 100 Has lost its terrours ere it reaches tle; Grieves, but alarms me not. 1 mourn the pride And av'rice that make man a wolf to illan; Hear the faint echo of those brazen tllroats, By which he speaks the language of his heart, 105 And sigh, but never tremble at the sound. He travels and expatiates, as the bee From flow'r to flow'r, so lie from land to land; The manners, customs, policy, of all Pay contribution to the store he gleans; 110 lie sucks intelligence in ev'ry clime, And spreads the honey of his deep research At his return-a rich repast for mIe. He travels, and I too. 1 tread his deck, Ascend his topmast through his peering eyes 11. D iscover countries, with a kindred heart Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes; While fancy, like the finger of a clock, j Runs the great circuit, and is still at home I Winter, ruler of th' inverted year, 120 Thy scatter'd hair with sleet like ashes fill'd, Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks Fring'd with a beard made white with othelr snows Thaln those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in clouds, A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 125 A sliding car, indebted to no wlecls, I i t... --- — -~L-. -I --- —-.- -..-I I I 'I I I I I I I I I; 1 j I/ - -- - — --- -- -----— I --- —- ---- --— I — - --- -`- ' ---------- - c`"- ------- --------— 80 TH E TASK. But urg'd by storms along its slipp'ry, ay, I love thee, all unlovely as thl':i sceii'st., And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the sun A pris'ner in the yet undawning east, 13C Short'ning his journey between morn and noon, And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, Down to the rosy west: but kindly still Compensating his loss with added hours Of social converse and instructive ease, 135 And gath'ring, at short notice, in one group The family dispers'd, and fixing thought, Not less dispers'd by daylight and its cares. I crown thee kilg of intimnate deliglits, Fireside enjoyments, hoineborn happiless, 140 And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd Retirement, and tile hours Of long, uninterrupted ev'ning know. No rattling wheels stop short before these gates, No powder'd pert proficient in the art 145 Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors Till the street rings; no stationary steeds Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound, The silent circle fan themselves, and quake; But here the needle plies its busy task, 150 The pattern grows, the well-depicted flow'r, Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn, Unfolds its bosom; buds, and leaves, and sprigs, ' And curling tendrils, gracefully dispos'd, Follow the nimble finger of the fair; 155 A wreath, that cannot fade, or flow'rs that blow With most success when all besides decay. The poet's or historian's page by one Made vocal for th' amusement of the rest: 159 The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out; And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct, And in the charming strife triumphan, t still, Beguile the nighv, and set a keener edge.I i I ii I,I I -- ---— C- ---------- -----— ----~ —CCII - --— - -r _ 5 —1 -1 — I- IL~ —~-C —CI LI —C-IC I i I TItI W INTR EVENING. On female industry: tlihe thre;ded steel Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. The volume clos'd, the custonary rites Of the last meal co'ninence. A Roman meal: Such as the mistress of tle world once found Delicious, when her patriots of high note, Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors, And under an old oak's domestick shade, Enjoy'd, spare feast! a radish and an egg. Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull, Nor such as with a frown forbids the play Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth: Nor do we madly, like an impious World, Who deem religion frenzy, and the God That made them an intruder on their joys, Start at his awful name, or deem his praise A jariing note. Themes of a graver tone Exciting oft our gratitude and love, While we retrace with Mem'ry's pointing wand, That calls the past to our exact review, The dangers we have 'scapcd, the broken snare, The disappointed foe, deliv'rance found Unlook'd for, life preserv'd, and peace restor'd-, Fruits of omnipotent eternal love. O ev'nings worthy of the gods! exclaim'd The Sabine bard. 0 ev'nings, I reply, More to be priz'd and coveted than yours, As more illumin'd, and with nobler truths, That 1, and mine, and those we love, enjoy. Is Winter hideous in a garb like this? Needs he the tragick fur, the smoke of lamps, The pent-up breath of an unsav'ry throng, To thaw him into feeling, or the smart And snappisl dialogue, that flippant wits Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile? The self-complacent actor, when he views (Ste;,ling a sidelong glance at a full house) The slope of faces, from the loor to th' roof I 81 165 170 I 175 180 185 190 195 200 i I I I iI I I I I ---- I - --------- - ----- -C --- —— " ---- -- ----- C- --- _,._ __..._ --- --- ------ ------— ~ --- —-- -- - --- -— r —_.,_ ----. —~-2 - 82 TTIIE TASK. (As if one master spring controll'd them all,) Relax'd into a universal gril, Sees not a count'nance there, that speaks of joy 205 h-alf so refin'd or so sincere as ours. Cards were superfluous here, with all tlle tricks That idleness has ever yet contriv'd To fill the void of an unfurnisl'd brain, To palliate dulness, and give time a shove. 210 Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, Unsoil'd, and swift, and of' a sillen sound; But tile world's Time is Time in masquerade! Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledg'd, With motley plumes; and where the peacock shows His azure eyes, is tinctur'd black and red 216 With spots quadrangular of diamond form, Ensanguin'd hearts, clubs typical of strife, And spades, the emblem of untimely graves. What should be, and what was an hourglass once, 220 Becomes a dicebox, and a billiard mace Well does the work of his destructive sithe. Thus deck'd, he charms a World whom Fashion blinds To his true worth, most pleas'd when idle most: Whose only happy, are their idle hours. 225 E'en misses, at whose age their mothers wore The backstring and the bib, assume the dress Of womanhood, sit pupils in the sclool Of card devoted Time, and, night bly night, Plac'd at some vacant corner of the board, 230 Learn ev'ry trick, and soon play all the game. But truce with censure. Roving as I rove, Where shall I find an end, or how proceed? As he that travels far oft turns aside, To view some rugged rock or mould'ring tow'r, 235 Which seen, delights him not; then coming home Describes and prints it, that the world may know How far he went for what was nothing worth. So I, witl brush in hand and pallet spread, With colours nmix'd for a far diffrent use, 2-10 I, I iI I i i i I I - - - - - - -- --- -- II I H - _ - - -- -- I TIlE WINTER EVENING. 83 I Paint cards, and dolls, and cv'ry idle thing, That Farncy finds in her excursive flights. Come, Ev'ning, once again, season of peace, Return, sweet Ev'ning, and continue long! Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, 245 With matron step slow-moving, while the Night Treads on thy sweeping train; one hand employ'd In letting tall the curtain of repose On bird and beast, the other charg'd for man With sweet oblivion of the cares of day: 250 Not siumlptuously adorn'd, nor needing aid, Like Ihomely-featur'd Night, of clust'ring gems, A star or two, just twinkling on thy brow, Suffices thee; save that the moon is tliine No less than hers, not worn indeed on high 255 With ostentatious pageantry, but set With modest grandeur in thy purple zone, Resplendent less, but of an ampler round. Come then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm, Or make mne so. Composure is thy gift; 260 And, whether I devote thy gentle hours To books, to Inusick, or the poet's toil; To weaving nets for bird-alluring fruit; Or twining silken threads round ivory reels, Wlen they command whom man was born to please; I slight tlee not, but make thee welcome still. 26C Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze With lights, by clear reflection multiplied From many a mirror, in which he of Gath, Goliath, might have seen his giant bulk 270 Whole without stooping, tow'ring crest and all, My pleasures, too, begin. But me perhaps The glowing hearth may satisfy awhile With faint illumination, that uplifts rhe shadows to the ceiling, there by fits 275 Dancing uncouthly to the quiv'ring flame, Not undelightful is an hour to me So spent in parlour twilight: such a gloom I --- —--------------- I I 1 - _ __ __ ___1____ 11__ _1____LI~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-C —~~~~~ 84 THE TASK. Suits well the thoughtful or untlhinking mind, The mind contempiative, with some new theme 280 Pregnant, or indispos'd alike to all. Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial pow'rs, That never feel a stupor, know no pause, Nor need one; I am conscious, and confess Fearless, a soul that does not always think. 285 Me oft has Fancy, ludicrous and wild, Sooth'd witl a waking dream of houses, tow'rs, Trees, churches, and strange visages, express'd In the red cinders, while with poring eye I gaz'd, myself creating what I saw. 290 Nor less amus'd have I quiescent watch'd Tlhe sooty films that play upon the bars Pendulous, and foreboding in tlle view Of superstition, prophesying still, Though still deceiv'd, some stranger's near approach. 'Tis thus the understanding takes repose 296 In indolent vacuity of thought, And sleeps, and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the face Conceals the mood lethargick with a mask Of deep deliberation, as the man 300 Were task'd to his full strength, absorb'd and lest Thus oft, reclin'd at ease, I lose an hour At ev'ning, till -t length the freezing blast That sweeps tlh holted shutter, summons home The recollected now'rs; and snapping short 305 The glassy threads, with which the Fancy weaves l er brittle toils. restores me to myself. How calm is my recess; and how the frost, Rag;ng abrond, and the rough wind, endear Tile silence and the warmth enjoy'd within! 310 I saw the woods and fields at close of day, A variegated show; the meadows green, Though fiaded; and the lands, where lately wav'd The golden harvest, of a mellow brown, Upturn'd so lately by the forceful share. 315 I saw far off the weedy fallows smile i i III III i I I I I i! II i! i i i I I I 11 j I I I.I I --- --- - ------— ~ --- —----— --- —cI —. - I. - -, I i I I j I i I I i I TiHE WINTER EVENING. 85 With verdure not unprofitable, graz'd By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each His fav'rite herb: while all the leafless groves That skirt th' horizon wore a sable hue, 320 Scarce notic'd in the kindred dusk of eve. To-morrow brings a change, a total change! Which even now, though silently perform'd, And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face Of universal nature undergoes. 325 Fast falls a fleecy show'r: tlhe downy flakes Descending, and with never-ceasing lapse, Softly alighting upon all below, Assimilate all objects. Earth receives Gladly the thick'ning mantle; and the green 330 And tender blade, that fear'd the chilling blast, Escapes unhurt beneatl so warm a veil. In such a world, so thorny, and where none Finds happiness unblighted, or, if found, Without some thistly sorrow at its side; 3 It seenis the part of wisdom, and no sin Against the law of love, to measure lots With less distinguisl'd than ourselves; that thus We may with patience bear our moderate ills, And sympathize with others suff'ring more. 340 Ill fares the trav'ller now, and he that stalks In pond'rous boots beside his reeking team The wain goes heavily, impeded sore By congregated loads adhering close To the clogg'd wheels; and in its sluggish pace 345 Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide, While ev'ry breath, by respiration strong Forc'd downward, is consolidated soon Upon their jutting chests. He, torr'd to bear 350 The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, With half shut eyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teeth Presented bare against the storm, plods on. One hand secures his hat, save when witli b(,th VOL. Il. 8 I I i j II k -- I __ ___I __ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~__L~- ----- _ ___~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 86 THE TAS'SK. lie orandishes hii3 pliant length (of whip, 35.5) Resounding oft, and never heard in vain, O happy; and in my account denied That sensibility of pain witl whlich Refinement is endu'd, thrice happy thou! Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed 360 The piercing cold, but beels it unirupaiir'd. The learn'd finger never need explore Thy vig'rous pulse; and toe unlheathful east, Tlat breathes the spleen, and searcwhes Cv'ry bone Of the infirmi, is whoiesonme air to th;ie. 3C5 Thy days roll on exempt from houslehold care; Thy wagon is thy wife; and the poor be:tsts, That drag the dull companion to and fro, Thine helpless charge, dependent on t1 ly care. All, treat them kindly; rude as thou ll ppcar'st, 370 Yet 1ohow that thou liast mercy! which the great, With needless hurry whirl'd from place to place, Humane as they would seemn, not.alwkays sholw. Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, Such claim compassion in a nighit like tils, '75 And have a friend in ev'ry feeling heart. Warm'd, while it lasts, by labour, all (lay long They brave the season, and yet find at eve, Ill clad, and fed but sparely, time to cool. The frugal housewife tremblels vwhell she lirhts 3Q0 Her ecanty stock of brushiwood blazing clear, But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys. The few small embers left she nurses well; And. while ler infant race, with outspread hands And crowded knees, sit cow'ring o'er the sparks, 3.:5" Retires, content to quake, so they be warmid The man feels least, as more inur'd than she To winter, and the current in his veins More briskly mov'd by his severer toil; Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs. 3.90 The taper soon extinguish'd, which I saw Dangled along at the cold finger'3 end i I i k Il, i I I; I 1 i I ii I: I"j I _ I __ ___ i i I i i I i I TIlIE VWINTIER EVENING. 87 Just when the,day declin'd: and t.!e lrown loaf Lodg'd on the shelf l lf eaten witlout sauce Of sav'ry cheese, or butter, costlier still; 395 Sleep seenis their only retfuge: for, alas! Where penury is felt tlme thought is clain'd, And sweet colloquial pleasures arc but few! With all this thrift they thrive not. All tlhe care, Ingenious Parsimony takes, but just 400 Saves the small inventory, bed, and stool, Skillet, and old carv'd chest, from publick sale. They live, and live without extorted alms From grudging hands: but ot]er boast have none, To sooth their honest pride, that scorns to beg, 405 Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love. I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair, For ye are worthy; choosing rather far A d(ry but independent crust, lard earn'd, And eaten with a sigh, than to endure 410 The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs Of knaves in office, partial in the work Of distribution; lib'ral of their aid To clainrous Importunity in rags, But ofttimes deaf to suppliants, who would blush 415 To wear a tatter'd garb, hrovever coarse, Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth: These ask with painful shyness, and, refus'd Because deserving, silently retire! But be ye of good courage! Time itself 420 Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase; And all your numerous progeny, well train'd, But helpless, in few years shall find their hands, And labour too. Meanwhile ye shlall not want What, conscious of your virtues, we can spare, 425 Nor what a wealthier than ourse'ves may send. I nman tlhe nan, who, when the distant poor Need lielp, denies them nothinlg but his name. But poverty wit Irnost, who whimper forth Their long complaints, is self-inflicted wo; 430 -I I I I I I I il I I I I 1 I~~_ ___ I I I I i i i i --- --- -------— ` --- —--— I --- —- I -- 88 THET7 TASK. The effect of laziness or sottish.waiste. Now goes the nightly thief plro wlirg aln road For plunder; much solicitous how best [-Ie may compensate for a d;y of sloth By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong. 435 Wo to the gard'ner's pale, the farmer's hedge, Plash'd neatly, and secur'd with driven stakes Deep in the loamy bank. Uptorn by strength, Resistless in so bad a cause, but lame To better deeds, lie bundles up the spoil, 4.10 An ass's burden, and, when laden miost And heaviest, light of foot, steals fast away Nor does the bordered hovel better guard The well-stack'd pile of riven logs and roots From his pernicious force. Nor will lie leave 415 Unwrench'd the door,:.owever well secur'dl WVhere Chanticleer amidst his haraml sleeps In unsuspecting pomip. Twitch'd from the perch, HIe gives the princely bird, with all his wives, To his voracious bag, struggrling in vain, 450 And loudly wond'ring at the sudden change. Nor this to feed his own. 'Twere some excuse Did pity of their suff'rings warp aside His principle, and tempt him into sin For their support, so destitute. But they 455 Neglected, pine at hone; themselves, as moore Expos'd than others, with less scruple made His victims, robb'd of their defenceless all. Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst Of ruinous ebriety, that prompts 4(;0 His ev'ry action, and imbrutes the man. O for a law to noose the villain's neck Who starves his own; who persecutes tle blood He gave them in his children's veins, and hltes And wrongs the woman lie has sworn to love! 465 Pass where we may, through city or through town, Village or hamlet, of this nerry land, Though lean and beggar'd. every twenticth pace I i i I Ii i i I I I I -7 -- ' -- - --- - ----— 4, ITHlE WINTER EVENING. 89 Conducts thl' unguIlrded nose to slich a wlhifl O f stale dcbauclicl, forth-issuingl f'rom tlhe sties 47Q? That law has licens'd, as lakes 'l'cuip'rance reel Tliere sit, involv'd and lost il curlring cltlds Of Indian filue, and guzzling deep,, tile boor, The lackey, and the groo; the craftsman there Tales a lethean leave of all his toil; 475 I Smith, cobbler, joiner, lie that plies the shears, And lie that kneads the dough; all loud alike, All learned and all drunk! the fiddle screams Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd Its wasted tones and harmony unheard, 480 Fierce the dispute, whate'er the tlenme; while she, Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, Perch'd on the signpost, holds with even hand Her undecisive scales. In this she lays A weiglit of ignorance; in tlat, of pride; 485 And smiles delighted with the eternal poise. Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound, The cheek distending oatl, not to be prais'd As ornamental, musical, polite, Like tlose which modern scnators employ, 490 Whose oath is rhet'rick, and wlho swear for fame! Belold tle schools, in lwhicl plebeian minds, Once simple, are initiated in arts Whicth.ome may practise with politer grace, Burt none with readier skill!-'Tis here they lcern The road that leads from coinpetence and peace 496 To indigence and rapine; till at last i ociety, grown weary of the load, Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out. But censure profits little; vain th' attempt 500 To advertise in verse a publick pest, That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds H is hlngry acres, stinks, and is of use. Th' excise is fatten'd with the rich result Of all ttis riot; and ten thousand casks, 505 For ever diibbling out their baso contents, 8* I I I I iI I 90 TIlE: TASK. Touch'd by the Mida1s fint-o.r of tlhe state, Bleed gold for ministers to spo(rt taway. Drink, and be miiad then; 'tis your country bids! Gloriously drunk, obey th' imlportant call! 510 Her cause demands th' assistance of your throats; Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more. Would I had fall'n upon those happier days That poets celebrate: those golden times, And those Arcadian scenes that Maro sings, 515 And Sidney, warbler of poetick prose. Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts That felt their virtues: Innocence, it seems, From courts dismiss'd, found shelter in tlhe gro.es, The footsteps of simplicity, impress'd 523 Upon the yielding herbage, (so they sing ) Then were not all effac'd; then speech profane, And manners profligate, were rarely found, Observ'd as prodigies, and soon reclaim'd. Vain wish! those days were never; airy dreams 5,5 Sat for the picture: and the poet's hand, Imparting substance to an empty shade, Iinpos'd a gay delirium for a truth. Grant it: I still must envy them an age That favour'd such a dream: in days like these 530 Inpossible when Virtue is so scarce, That to suppose a scene where she presides Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief No: we are polish'd now. The rural lass, WI'iom once her virgin modesty and grace, 53 | Her artless manners, and her neat attire. So dignified, that she was hardly less Than the fair shepherdess of old romance,,s seen no more. The character is lost! Her head, adorn'd with lappets pinn'd aloft., 54Q And ribands streaming gay, superbly rais'd, And magnified beyond all human size, Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's linnd l For more than half the tresses it sustains: I I I i -— ~ — ~ L — -- C- - - ~ - - - C I. 1 1 1 1 i i i ii, i I I I i I i I I I Ii I i i I i i i i i i I i i i I I I i I I II i I I I TIlE WINTER EVENING. 91 [Ier elbows rullled. anl iher tott'ring form 545 ill propp'd upon fFrench heels; she lIight be deeni'd (But that the basket dangfling on lier arm Interprets licr Inore truly) of a rank Too proud for dairy work, or sale of eggs — Expect her soon witl footboy at her heels, 550.No longer blushing for her awkward load, IHer train and her umbrella all her care The town has ting'd the country; and the stain Appears a spot upon a vestal's robe, 'hll worse for what it soils. The fashion runs 555 JDown into scenes still rural; but, alas, Scones rarely grac'd with rural manners now! Timie was when in the pastoral retreat Th' unguarded door was safe; men did not watch T' invade another's right, or guard their own. 560 Tlen sleep was undisturb'd by fear, unscar'd By drunken howlings; and the chilling tale Of midnirght murder was a wonder heard With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes. Buit farewell now to unsuspicious nights, 665 And sluhmbers unalarm'd! Now, ere you sleep, See that your polisl'd arms be prim'd with care, And drop the night-bolt;-ruffians are abroad; And tle first larum of the cock's shrill throat May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear 570 To horrid sounds of hostile feet witlhin. E'en daylight has its dangers; and the walk Through patlless wastes and woods, unconscious once Of other tenants than nelodious birds, Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold. 575 Lamented change! to which full nanly a causo lnvet'rate, hopeless of a cure, conspires. The course of human things from good to ill, From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails. Icrease'of pow'r begets increase of wealth; 580 WVealtl luxury, and luxury excess; Eaxces., the scrofulous and itchy plague, I I I I I I 11 I I I i 11 d I I I - Ii I i - 2- ----- — ~ --- — -— --- — -— ' -- -- --- ~ --- — --- --— ' —' —-` ---~~c`-" - -I - f I 02 Ti(. 1IJ 1TASIK. A i I I II i That seizes first tile opilent, descends To tile next rank contal,;ious, and inl tihme Taints downward all tle gradillted l scale 585 Of order, from the chariot to tile plo-ug11. The ricl, and they that have an arm to check The license of the lowest in degree, )esert their office; and themselves, intent On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus 590 To all the violence of lawless hands Resign the scenes their presence might protect. Authority herself not seldom sleeps, q hough resident, and witness of' the wrong. Thle plulmp convivial parson often bears 595 The mlagisterial sword in vain, and lays His rev'rence and his worship both to rest On the same cushion of habitual sloth. Perhaps timidity restrains his arm; When he should strike lie trembles, and sets free, COO Himself enslav'd by terrour of the bandTh' audacious convict whom he dares not bind. Perhaps though by profession ghostly pure, He, too, may have Ins vice, and somnctimes prove Less dainty than becomes his grave outside C05 In lucrative concerns. Examine well His milk-white hand; tle palm is harldly cleanBut here and there an ugly smutch appears. Foh! 'twas a bribe that left it: he ihas toach'd Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here C10 Propitious, pays his tribute, game or fish, Wild fowl or venison: and his errand speeds. But faster far, and more than all the rest, A noble cause, which none, wlho bears a spark Of publickt virtue, ever wish'd renov'd, (15 Works the deplor'd and mischievous eflect. 'Tis universal soldiership has stabb'd The heart of merit in the meaner class. Arms, through thle vanity and brainle:ss rage Of those that bear them, in vwhatever cause, 6f20 i I i j I I: i; i r I! ii i i i! i 1 I i I i I i i I il I i I I i i: I I11 I i I I I I — ~ --- —----. -~I- ~.- -~ —_.1 c - - ----— ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~- -I ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~ I I i i I I;i "' 1 1E 11 N V"INTF,11k, EN"EINING. 93 Seem most at variance w-ith all lnoral rrood, And incolrpl)tible with serious thoulhlt. Thel clown, tlle child of 1nalture. wit!hout guile, Blest witl an infant's ignorance of 11 But his own sinil)e p)leasures; 1now and then 625 A wrestling match, a fiot-race, or a fair; Is balloted, and trembles at the news: Sheepish lie doffs his hlat, and mull bling swears A bible oath to he whace'cr they please, To do he knows not what. The task pcrform'd 620 That instant ie becomes the sergeant's care, his pupil, and his torment, and his jest. Ilis awkward gait, Ihis introverted toes, Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks, Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees, 635 Unapt to learn, nnd forr'd of sttubborn stuff, -le yet by slow degrees puts off Ilimiself, Grows conscious of' a clange, and likes it well: lie stlands erect: Iis slouchl beco:mes a walk; He steps right onward, martial in his a.ir, 640 His form and mnovement; is as smart albove As meal and larded locks can make him; wears His liat, or his plumr'd ielmnet, with a grace; And, Ilis three years of hreroship expir'd, Returns indignant to the sliglhted plough. 645 HIe hates tlhe field, in which no fife or drum Attends him; drives his cattle to a march; And sigils for the smart comrades lie has left. Twere well if his exteriour change were allBut with his clumsy port the wretlch has lost 650 His ignoranr..e and hlarmless rmanners too. To swear, to game, to drink; to sihow at home By lewdness, idleness, and sabbath breach, The great proficiency lie made abroad; T' astonisl, and to grieve his gazing friends; 655 To break somle maiden's and ihis mother's heart: To be a pest where lie was usefiul once; Are his sole aim, and all his glory, now I II I I I — I --- —--- -- I ____ ___ _IIC__ ~_ __I__________ ___I __ ___ _I________ ____~__ ___ _ 94 THE TASK. Man in society is like a tlow'r Bilowni in its native bed; tis there alone G60 "lls faculties, exlpanded in full bloom, Shine out.; there onlly reachll tlheir proper use. Bit mlan, associated and leagrued witlh inai Jy regal warralnt or self-join'd by bond For int'rest sake, or swarminnr into clans G. f:l etcatin one head for purposes of war, lLke tlow'rs selected from the rest, arld bound And bundled close to fill some crowded vase, i Fades rapidly, and, by compression marr'd, Contracts defilelent not to be enldur'd. 670 H ence charter'd boroughs are such publick plagues In all their private functions, once combin'd, IBecome a loathsome body, only fit For dissolution, hurtful to the main. 675 Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin Against tie charities of doiliestic k life, Incorporated, seem at once to lose Their nature; and, disclaiming all regard For mercy and the common rights of man, G80 Build factories with blood, conducting trade At the sword's point, and dying the wlhite robe Of innocent commercial Justice red. Ience, too, the field of glory, as the world Misdeems it, dazzied by its bright array, 685 With all its majesty of thund'ring pomp, Enchanting musick, and immortal wreaths, Is but a school, where thoughtlessness is taught On principle, wlere foppery atones For folly, gallantry for ev'ry vice. C90 But slighted as it is, and by thle great Abandon'd, and, which still I More regret, infected with tle manners and tle m11)des It knew not once, the country wins mie still. I never fram'd a wish, or fori'd a plan, G69 T'lt flatter'd me with hopes of earthly bliss, i' -----— I=- - - 1: I iI I iIII i Ii i i I I I ii iI il i ii I11 i; I i:!I! I i i I 11 h Ii I 1 i 11 H 1, 1 i II iI I i; I Ii I 11 I I I i 11 I I iI I i.i i __ 1 --P — - - - I! II i i i i I i I t I I i I i I T' i 1'N'1' 'I i IVK NG. 95!But there I laid the scene. There early stray'd My fancy, ere yet liberty of choico Had found me, or the hope of being free. My very dreams were rural; rural too 709 The first-born efforts of ny youthful muse, Sportive and jingling her poetick bells, Ero yet her ear was mistress of their pow'rs. No bard could please me but whose lyre was tun'd To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats 705 Fatigu'd me, never weary of the pipe Of Tityrus, assembling, as lie sang, The rustick throng beneath his fav'rite beech. Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms: New to my taste, his Paradise surpass'd 710 The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue To speak its excellence. I danc'd for joy. I marvell'd much that, at so ripe an age As twice seven years, his beauties had then first Engag'd my wonder; and admiring still, 715 And still adnmirinrg, with regret suppos'd The joy half lost, because not sooner found. There, too, enamour'd of the life I lov'd, Pathetick in its praise, in its pursuit Detcrmin'd and possessing it at last, 720 With transports such as favour'd lovers feel, I studied, priz'd, and wish'd that I had known, Ingenious Cowley! and, though now rcclaim'd By modern lights from an erroneous taste, I cannot but lament tly splendid wit 725 Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools. [ still revere thee, courtly though retir'd; Tlhougil stretch'd at ease in Chertsey's silent bow'rs, Not unemploy'd; and finding rich amends For a lost world in solitude and verse. 730 'Tis born with all: the love of Nature's works Is an ingredient in the comnpound mlan, Infus'd at the creation of the kind. And, tliough th' Almnighty Maker has througlLtort I i II I i i i!1 I i i I I.;II - I~ - ~~_ ~ __ I q; l "THE TASK. Discriminated each iiorn each, by strok:es 7;':' And touches of his hand, with so much art Diversified, that two were never found Twins at all points-yet tlis obtains in all That all discern a beauty in his works, And all can taste the: minds that have been f.rill:' And tutor'd vith a relish more exact, 7 1 Bu3t none wit.iout some relish, none unmov'd. It is a flame that dies not even there, Where nothing feeds it: neither business, crov.wm, Nor habits of luxurious city lieb, 7 5 Whatever else they smotler of true worth In human bosoms, quench it or abate. The villas, with which London stands begirt, Like a swarth Indian witl his belt of beads Prove it. A breath of unadult'rate air C The glimpse of a green pasture, how tley cheer The citizen, and brace his languid frame! E'en in the stifling bosom of the town A garden, in which nothing thrives, lhas ch]arms That sooth the rich possessor; much consol'd, 7 That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well He cultivates. These serve him with a hint That Nature lives; that sight-refreshing green Is still the liv'ry she delights to wear, 70(i Though sickly samples of th' exub'rant whole. What are the casements lin'd with creeping herbs, The prouder sashes fronted with a range Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed, The Frenchman's darling?* are they not all proofs, That man, immur'd in cites, still retains 7t6 His inborn inextinguishable thirst Of rural scenes, compensating his loss By supplemental shifts, the best lie may? The most unfurnish'd with the means of life. 770 And they, that never pass tleir brick-wall bounds, * Mig)iollete. I i I! I i I II I! I; i!i i ii: i I i; i I I I I I I I I -i I Ir I~ _~ ____ r! I i! 1i!i. i I I I I i 7TrE WINTER EVENING. To ra"ge 1he fields, and treat their lungs witn air, Yet ftul thle burning instinct; over head Suspend their crazy boxes planted thick, And water'd duly. Thlerf the pitcher stands A fiagment, and the spoutless teapot there; Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets The country, with what ardour lie contrives A peep at Nature, when lie can no more. -lail, therefore, patroness of health and ease, And contemplation, heart-consoling joys, And harmless pleasulres in the throng'd abode Of multitudes unknown! hail, rural life Address himself who will to the pursuit Of honours, or emolument, or fame; I shall not add myself to such a chase, Thwart his attempts, or envy his success. Some must be great. Great offices will have Great talents. And God gives to ev'ry man The virtue, temper, understanding, taste, That lifts him into life, and lets him fall Just in the niche he was ordain'd to fill. To tlih deliv'rer of an injur'd land Ile gives a tongue t' enlarge upon, a heart To feel, and courage to redress, her wrongs; To monarchs dignity; to judges sense; To artists ingenuity and skill; To nie, an unambitious mind, content In tile low vale of life, that early felt A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long Found here that leisure and that ease 1 wish'd VQL. II. 9 775 780 I i 785 790 795 800 I I __ -- --- ---- ~ --- —--------- -~ — --- I I' I i _ I~~~~ --- —— ~~~~ — - ~I BOOK V THE WINTER MORNING WALK. Ii i ARGUMIENT OF TIHE FIFTIH OOK. A frosty morning-The foddering of cattle-The woodman arid his dog-Tile poultry-Wlyinsical efltcts of a frostt at virerfall -The empress of Russia's pallace of ice,-Anmlscrilnt, (f nionarchts —War, one tof tlihcn-V'ars, lwhInceo-And wlhe(nt monarchy-1The evils of it —English at;l Frncl(h loyalty cooltr;tAed — The Bastile, und a prisoner thelre —Ihihrrtv the clxef 'r!conimendlation of this country —Modern patlriotistl lliestitl(lat)be, and why-The perislihale),ature ol' tlle 'est Itall nn inistittions -Spirituial libe)rty not lCrislhIalCe-TThe slavish slate of nian hy nature —Deliver iirn, Doist, if you can-Grace must. to it-Tio respective merits of patriots iand martyrs sttted-Tilir different treatment-Happy freedom of the iman whon grace in;aks tfeeHis ielish of tile works of God-Address to the Creator. 'TIS morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb Ascending, fires th' horizon; while the clouds That crowd away before the driving wind, More ardent as the disk emerges more, Resemble most some city in a blaze, 5 Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale, And, tinging all with his own rosy iuc, From ev'ry herb and ev'ry spiry blade Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field. 10 Mine spindling into longitude immense, In spite of gravity, and sage remark I I I i i 1; i i iI I i --- -- -- ------------- I -- - -- - -- - ------ --- -- -- - - I 'T-I THE W'INTER AMOINING WALK. 99 i lhat I myself,-l but a foleting shade, Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance, I view the muscular proportion'd liml 15 Tranlsform'd to a lean shank. The shapeless pair, As tney dcsign'd to nmock 1me, at mly side, Take step for step; and, as I near approach The cottage, walk along the plaster'd wall, I'repost'rous sight! tlic legs without the man. 20 The verdure of tlhe plain lies buried deep lBeneath the dazzling deluge; and the bents, And coarser grass, upspearing o'er the rest, Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine Conspicuous, and il bright apparel clad, 25 And, fledg'd with icy feathers, nod superb. Thle cattle mourn in corners, where the fence S Screens thlem, and seemrn half petrified to sleep In unrecurnbent sadness. There they wait I Their wonted fodder; not like hung ring man, 30 Fretful if unsuplied; but silent, meek, And patient of the slow-pac'd swain's delay. j II from the stack carves out thle accustoln'd load, Dee] plunging, and again deep-plunlging oft, Ilis broad keen knife into tle solid mass; 35 SlSmooth as a wall the upright rennant stands, With such undeviating and even force lie severs it away; no needless care, ILest storm should overset the leaning pile I Deciduous, or its own unbalanc'd weight. 40 Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern'd Tile cheerful haunts of man; to wield the axe, And drive the wedge, in yonder forest drear, Fronl morn to eve his solitary task. Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears 45 And tail cropp'd short, half lurcheir and half curllis dog attends limr. Close belinid lis heel Now creeps he, slow; aiid Inow, with mitatly a frisk Wide-scamp'ring, snathelis up the drit,;ed sIow With iv'ry teeth, or ploughs it with his snout; 5Q i I I I ______________ '4~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I~~ — C I I I I I I i i I H i I I 100 TlHE TASK. Then shakes his powder'd coat, and barks for joy. Heedless of all his pranks, tile sturdy clurl Moves right toward the mark; nor stops for aught, B3It now and then witll pressure of Ilis tllumlll T' adjust the fragrant charge of' a short tube, 55 That fumes beneath his nose: tile trailing cloud Streams far behind him, scenting all the air. Now from the roost, or from the neighb'ring pale Whlere diligent to catch the first faint gleam Of smiling day, they gossip'd side by side, GO Come trooping at the housewife's well known call Tlue feather'd tribes domestick. Half on wing, And half on f'ot, they brush the fleecy flood, Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge. The sparrows peep, and quit the shelt'ring caves, 65 To seize the flir occasion; well they eye Tile scatter'd grain, and tlhievislhly resolv'd T' escape th' impending fasmine, often scar'd As oft return-a pert voracious kind. Cl-an riddance quickly Imande, one only care 70 Remains to each, the scarcli of sunny nook, Or shled impervious to the blast. l.esign'd To sad necessity, the cock foregoes His wonted strut; and, wading at thieir head With well-consider'd steps, seems to resent 75 His alter'd gait, and stateliness retrencl id. How find tile myriads, that in sutmmer clheer The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs, Due sustenance, or where subsist they now? Earth yields tlhem naught; th' imprison'd worm is safe t0 Beneath the frozen clod; all seeds of herbs Iie cover'd close; and berry-bearing thorns, That feed the thrush, (whatever some suppse,) Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. Tile long-protracted rigour of tlie year 85 Thins all their nmn'rous flocks. In clunks and hles Tell thousand seek an unmolested end, ------— ' -c ---~, - --- f, ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~H I i I I i I i I i i i I I i i: I i I i Ii i i 1. iI I i I 11 I I 1 i I. I 11 I i; I I i I I 11 I I THE WINTElR IMORNING WALK. 101 AJ instinct prompts; self-buried ere they (tie. The very rooks and daws firsal;e the lie lds, Wlhere neither grub, nor root, nor earth1 nrt, now f 0 Repays their labour Imore; and perch'd aloft By the way-side, or stalkiing in tle path, Lean pensioners upon the trav'ller's track, Pick up their nauseous dole, though sweet to them, Of voided pulse or half-digested grain. 95 The streams are lost amid tle splendid blank, O'erwhehning all distinction. On the flood, Indurated and fix'd, the snowy weight Lies undissolv'd; while silently beneath, And unperceiv'd, thc current steals away. 100 Not so where, scornful of a cleck, it leaps The mill-dam, dashes on the restless wheel, And wantons in tlie pebbly gulf below: No frost can bind it there: its utmost force Can but arrest the liglt and smoky mist, 105 That in its fall the liouid sheet throws wide. And see where it has hung the embroider'd banks With forms so various, that no pow'rs of art, Tlhe pencil, or the pen, may trace the scene Here glitt'ring turrets rise, upbearing high, 110 (Fantastick misarrangement!) on the roof Large growth of what may seem the sparkling trees And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops That trickled down the branches, fast congeal'd, Shoot into pillars of pellucid length, 115 And prop the pile they but adorn'd before. Hero grotto within grotto safe defies The sunbeam; there, emboss'd and fretted wild, rhe growing wonder takes a thousand shapes Capricions, in which fancy seeks in vain 120 rhe likeness of some object seen before. Thus Nature works as if to mock at Art, rid in defiance of her rival pow'rs; 3y these fortuitous and ran oin strokes Performing such inimitable fiats; 125 9 * I I ItI I I I I i I I I I II I I I I I I II I I — ' ---I ----c --- --``^ - --- -'- - -" — - ^ --- —-'- — -' 102 THE TASK. As she with all her rules can never reach. Less worthy of applause, though more admir'd, Because a novelty, the work of man, Irnp)erial mistress of the fur-clad Russ, Thy most nagnficent and mighty freak, 130 The wonder of tile North. No forest fell When thou wouldst build; no quarry sent its stores, T enrich thy walls: but thou didst hew tile floods, And make thy marble of the glassy wave. In such a palace Aristieus found 135 Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale Of his lost bees to her maturnal ear: In such a palace poetry might place The armoury of Winter; where his troops, The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet 140 Skin-piercing volley, blossom-bruising hail, And snow, that often blinds the trav'ller's course, And wraps him in an unexpected tomb. Silently as a dream the fabrick rose; No sound of hammer or of saw was there: 145 Ice upon ice, thle well-adjusted parts Were soon conjoin'd, nor other cement ask'd Than water interfus'd, to make them one. Lamps gracefully dispos'd, and of all hues, Illumin'd ev'ry side: a wat'ry light r10( Glealm'd through the clear transparency, that seeni'd Another moon new ris'n, or meteor fall'n From Heav'n to Eartti, of lambent flame serene So stood the brittle prodigy; though smooth And slipp'ry thle materials, yet frost-bound 155 Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within That royal residence might well befit, For grandeur or for use. Long wavy wreaths Of flow'rs that fear'd no enemy but warmth, ilush'd on the pannels. Mirror needed none IGO Where all was vitreous; but in order due Convivial table and commodious sea. (What seem'd at least commodious seat) were there I ------------------ -- ----- ----- -— ~ --- —-- -1- ---- -—. --- —- — ---— c ---- --------— ~ THE WINTER MORNEING; WAILK. 1(3 Sofa, and couch. and hig'l-l)bilt thronle august. The sanme lubicity was fiind in all, 165 And all was moist to tile warn touch; a scene Of evanescentt glory, once a stream, And soon to slide into a stream again. Alas! 'twas but a mortifying stroke Of undesign'd severity, that glanc'd, 170 (Made by a mnonarch,) on her own estate, On human grandeur and the courts of kings. 'Twas transient in its nature, as in slow 'Twas durable; as worthless, as it seem'd Intrinsically precious; to tile foot 175 Treach'rous and false; it smil'd, and it was cold. Great princes have great play-tllings. Some have |I0 T play'd At hewing mountains into men, and some At building human wonders mountain-high. Some have amus'd the dull, sad years of life, 160 (Life spent in indolence, and therefore sad,) With schemes of monumental fame; and sought By pyramids and mausolean pornp, Short liv'd themselves, t' immortalize thlir bones. Some seek diversion in the tented field, 185 And make tle sorrows of mankind their sport. But war's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at. Nations would do well, T' extort their trunchleons from the puny hands Of heroes, whose infirm and baby minids 190 Are gratified with iischief; and wlho spoil, Because men suffer it, their toy, the world. When Babel was confounded, and the great Confcd'racy of projectors wild and vain Was split into diversity of tongues, 195 Then, as a Fl-hphlerd separates his flock, These to time ipland, to the valley those, God drove asunder, and assign'd their lot To all the nations. Ample was tie boon fie gave them, in its distribution fair 200 I _ -... _ _.__.. _..... _.~._ _.._ _ _. _ _ _ _. i I I! i 1 1i i i i " Ii I I il I I II I. I 104 TIE TASK. II II I i i 11 I i i, i qi i.I I. I i i! 1 j k11 i! i I!i Ain equal; and lie hade them dwell in peace. Peace was awhile thleir care; they plough'd, and sow'd And reap'd tneir plenty without grudge or strife. But violence can never longer sleep Than human.ll passions please. Jn every heart 205 Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war; Occasion needs but fan then, and they blaze. Catin Iad already shed a brother's blood: The deluge \vash'd it out; but left unquench'd The seeds of murder in the breast of man. 210 Soon by a righteous judgment in the line Of his descending progeny was found Tie first. artificer of death; the shrewd Contriver, who first sweated at the forge, And lorc'd the blunt and yet unbloodied steel 215 To a keen edge, and made it bright for war. Jlim, Tubal nam'd, tle Vulcan of old times, The sword and falchion their inventor claim; And the first smith was the first murd'rer's son. His art surviv'd the waters; and ere long, 220 When man was multiplied and spread abroad In tribes and,clans, and had begun to call These imeadows and.tihat range of lills his own, Thle tasted sweets of property begat Desire of more; and industry in some, 225 T' improve and cultivate tleir just demesne, Made others covet what they saw so fair. Thus war began on Earth: tlhese fought for spoil, And tlose in self-defence. Savage at first 'The on.,et. and irregular. At length` 230 One eminent above tle rest for strength, For stratagem, for courrage, or for all, Was chosen leader; him they serv'd in wvar, And him in pet;ce, for sake of warlike leeds, Rev'renc'd no less. Who could with him compare? Or who so worthy to control themselves, 236 As lie, whose prowess had subdlu'd their foes Thus war, affirding field for the display I I I I I I I i i Ii I I I I - i i I I i f I I I i 4 i I i I II i I I II Ij ----— I ----c —I --- _, ----ccc.l —I -—.~-c —c --- —- - ------------- - --- —--------- __ _. ----------------— 1 7~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I i 11 II1 I III I: I I I!I i H i! i I I I I i I - - THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 105 Of virtue, made one chicf, whom tinmes of peace, Which have their exigencies too, and call 240 'or skill in government, at lengtih made king. King was a name too proud for man to wear With modesty and meekness; and the crown So dazzling in their eyes, who set it on, Was sure t' intoxicate the brows it bound 245 It is the abject property of most, That, being parcel of the common mass, And destitute of means to raise themselves, They sink, and settle lower than they need. They know not what it is to feel within 250 A comprehensive faculty, that grasps Great purposes with ease, that turns and wields, Almost without an effort, pl.ans too vast For their conception, which they cannot move. Conscious of imlpotence they soon grow drunk 255 With gazing, when they see an able man Step forth to notice; and, besotted thus, Build him a pedestal, and say, '" Stand there. "And be our admiration and our praise." They roll themselves before him in the dust, 260 Then most deserving in their own account When most extravagant in his applause, As if, exalting hiin, they rais'd thenmselves. Thus by degrees, sclf-cleated of their sound And sober judgment, that he is but man, 2C5 They demi-deify and fume him so, That in due season he forgets it too. Inflated and astrut with self conceit, Ile gulps the windy diet; and cre long, Adopting their mistake, profoundly thinks 270 The world was made in vain, if not for him. Thenceforth they are his cattle; drudges, born To bear his burdens, drawing in his gears, And sweating in his service, his caprice Becomes the soul tlhat animates thenm ll. 275 I-le deenis a thousand, or ten thousand lives, I I I!I I II I I i i I i i | ii |! i i c__ -— ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I i I i II 1i i I i i I i i: i - i i i 1 10(3 '1'THIE TASK. Spent in the purchase of renown for hin, An easy reck'ning: and thcy think the same. Tilus kings were first invented, and thus kings Were burnisl'd into heroes, 1and becamne 2 The arbiters of this terraqueous swamp; Storks among frogs, that have but croak'd and died Strange, that such folly, as lifts bloated man To eminence, fit only for a god, Should ever drivel out of human lips, 2 E'en in thd cradled weakness of the world! Still stranger much, that, when at length mankind Had reach'd the sinewy firmness of their youth, And could discriminate and argue well On subjects inoro mysterious, they were yet 21 Babes in the cause of freedom, and should fear And quake before the gods themselves liad ma',: But above measure strange, that neither proo' Of sad experience, nor exanmples set By some whose patriot virtue has prcvail'(d, 2 -Can even now, when they are grown mature In wisdom, and witl philosophick deeds Familiar, serve t' emancipato the rest! Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone To rev'rence what is ancient, and can plead 3C A course of long observance for its use, That even servitude, the worst of ills, Because deliver'd down from sire to son, Is kept and guarded as a sacred tiling. But is it fit, or can it bear the shock k Of rational discussion, that a man, Compounded and made up like other men Of elements tumultuous, in whom lust And folly in as ample measure meet As iii the bosoms of the slaves he rules, 31 Shlould be a despot absolute, and boast Liillmscltf the only freemiinn of his Irnd? Should, wllen he plea.ses. and on whom he will, Wage war, witli any or w'ith no pretence 30 35 )5 )5 1 1 1 i i r i I i I j I I 1 I i i ' 1 i I: I i i; i i i i i I I I I I I I i I I I i i i i ' I i ii i I r I r i I i I 10 0 C __ __ _ _ ________ ___~_~_ __~I__ ___ ___~_ i, --- — ` --- —---- ------------------------ -- -- — ~ — -- — ~ -------- -— r, i i iI I I! i i 'i'T I WINTEI I MORNING(; ALK. I Of provocation giv'n, or iworir sustain'd, And force the beg-garly last doit l)y ineans; rThat his own humour dictates, from the clutch Of' Poverty, that thus he may procur-o His thousands, weary of penurious life, A splendid opportunity to die? Say ye, who (with less prudence than of old Jotham ascrib'd to his assemlbled trees In politick convention) put your trust I' th' shadow of a bramble, and, reclin'd In fancied peace beneath his dang'rous branch, ' Rejoice in him, and celebrate his sway, Where find ye passive fortitude? Whence springs Your self-denying zeal, that holds it good To stroke the prickly grievance, and to hiann His thorns with streamers of continual praise? 3 We too are friends to loyalty. We love The king who loves the law, respects his bounds, And reigns content within them: hiim we servo Freely andt with delight, who leaves us free: But recollecting still that he is man, 3 We trust him not too far. King thougl h lie be, And king in England too, he may be weak And vain enough to be ambitious still; May exercise amiss his proper pow'rs, Or covet more than freemen choose to grant' 3 Beyond that mark is treason. tlo is ours, T' administer, to guard, t' adorn the state,, But not to warp or change it. We are his, To serve hiln nobly in the common cause, True to the death; but not to be his slaves. 3 Markl now the diff'rence, ye that boast your love Of kings, between your lovalty and ours. We love the man; the paltry pageant, you: We the clief patron of the commonwealth; You, the regardless author of its woes: 3 We, for tle sake of liberty, a king; You, chains and bondage for a tyrant's sake:;I1 I 1)7I 1)hI.5I 120 130 35 I I Ii i I i 140 *15._ - ---------- - c — — c-. ~U__ __ ___ _I_ ____ __ I_ _ __I__ ____ 06r THE TASK. Our love is principle, and has its root In reason; is judicious, manly, free; Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to the rod, 355 And licks the foot that treads it in the dust. Were kingship as true treasure as it seems, Sterling, and worthy of a wise man's wish, I would not be a king to be belov'd Causeless, and daub'd with undisccrning praise, 360 Where love is mnere attachment to the tirone, Not to the man who fills it as he ought. Wlhose freedom is by suffrance, and at will Of a superiour, he is never free. Who lives, and is not weary of a life 365 E xpos'd to manacles, deserves them well. The state that strives for liberty, though foil'd, And forc'd to abandon what she bravely sought, Deserves at least applause for her attempt, And pity for her loss. But that's a cause 370 Not often unsuccessful: pow'r usurp'd Is weakness when oppos'd; conscious of wrong, 'Tis pusillanimous and prone to flight. But slaves, that once conceive the glowing thought Of freedom, in that hope itself possess 375 All that the contest calls for; spirit, strength, The scorn of danger, and united hearts; T'he surest presage of the good they seek.* Then shame to manhood, and opprobrious more To France, than all her losses and defeats, 380 Old or of later date, by sea or land, Her house of bondage, worse than that of old Which God aveng'd on Pharaoh-the Bastile Ye horrid tow'rs, th' abode of broken hearts: Yo dungeons, and ye cages of despair, 38 That monarchs have supplied from age to age * The author hopes that he shall not be censured for unnecessarywarmth upon so interesting a suljeet. lie is aware, that it is become almost fashionahle, to ctigmatize s1uch sentiments as no better than empty declamation; but it is an ill symptom, and peculiar to modern times. l, s:i i 1 f i ii I/ i i ' i i I i I ii I i j j i I, I i r; 1 i I: i i 1 1 I i i r I i I ' i j j k.. - I _ _ _ ___ - - THE WINTER MORNING TWALK. 109 With musick. such as suits their sov'rcign carsThe sighs and groans of miserable men! There's not an English heart that would not leap To hear that ye were fall'n at last; to know That e'en our enemies, so oft employ'd In forging chains for us, themselves were free. For he who values Liberty, confines His zeal for her predominance within No narrow bounds; her cause engages him 3 Wherever pleaded. 'Tis the cause of man. There dwell the most forlorn of human kind, Immur'd though unaccus'd, condemn'd untried, Cruelly spar'd, and hopeless of escape. There, like the visionary enmblem seen 4 By him of Babylon, life stands a stamp, And, filleted about with hoops of brass, Still lives, though all his pleasant boughs are gone. To count the hour-bell and expect no change; And ever as the sullen sound is heard, 4 Still to reflect, that, though a joyless note To him whose moments all lave one dull pace, Ten thousand rovers in the world at large Account it musick; that it summons somn To theatre, or jocund feast, or ball; 4 The wearied hireling finds it a release From labour; and the lover, who has chid Its long delay, feels ev'ry welcome stroke Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delightTo fly for refuge from distracting thought 4 To such amusements as ingenious wo Contrives, hard shifting, and without her tools To read engraven on the mouldy walls, In stagg'ring types, his predecessor's tale, A sad memorial, and subjoin his own- 4 To turn purveyor to an overgorg'd And bloated spider, till the pamper'd pest Is made familiar, watches his approach, Comos at his call, and serves him for a friendVOL. II. 1() 90 00 05 I I 10 I 5 { 20 - - - --- —-------— - _LII __ _ _ 110 THE TASK. To wear out time in numb'ring to and fro 425 The studs that thick emboss his iron door; Tlen downward and then upward, then aslant, And then alternate; with a sickly hope By dint of change to give his tasteless task Some relish; till the sum, exactly found 430 Il all directions, he begins againO coi:fortless existence! hemm'd around With woes, which who that suffers would not kneel And beg for exile, or the pangs of death? That man should thus encroach on fellow man, 435 Abridge him of his just and native rights, Eradicate him, tear him from his hold Upon th' endearments of domestick life And social, nip his fruitfulness and use, And doom him for perhaps a heedless word 440 To barrenness, and solitude, and tears, Moves indignation, makes the name of king, (Of king whom such prerogative can please) As dreadful as the Maniclean god, Ador'd through fear, strong only to destroy. 445 'Tis liberty alone, that gives the flow'r Of fleeting life its lustre and perfiume; And we are weeds without it. All constraint, Except what wisdom lays on evil men, Is evil: hurts the faculties, impedes - 450 Their progress in the road of science; blinds Tho eyesight of Discovery; and begets, Tn those that suffer it, a sordid mind, Boestial, a meager intellect, unfit To be the tenant of man's noble form. 455 Thee therefore still, blameworthy as thou art, With all thy loss of empire, and though squeez'd By publick exigence, till annual food Fails for the craving hunger of the state, Thee I account still happy, and the chief 460 Among the nations, seeing thou art free; My native nook of earth! Thy clime is rude, - - _ ___ I__I _____ _ly i, c ----------------- — ~ --- —-~ --- —---- -----— ----. --- —--- 11 11 I I I I i iI I I I I I I I I I - 1 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 11l Replete with vapours, and disposes much All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine: Thine unadulterate manners arc less soft 41;5 And plausible than social life requires, And thou hast need of discipline and art, To give thee what politer France receives From Nature's bounty-that humane address And sweetness, without which no pleasure is 470 In converse, either starv'd by cold reserve, Or flush'd by fierce dispute, a senseless brawl. Yet, being free, I love thee: for the sake Of that one feature can be well content, Disgrac'd as thou hast been, poor as thou art, 475 To seek no sublunary rest beside. But once enslav'd, farewell! I could endure Chains no where patiently; and chains at home, Where 1 am free by birthright, not at all. Tlen what were left of roughness in the grain 480 Of British natures, wanting its excuse That it belongs to freemen, would disgust And shock me. I should then with double pain Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime; And, if I imust bewail the blessing lost, 485 For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, I would at least bewail it under skies Milder, among a people less austere; In scenes, whlich having never known me free, Would not reproach me with the loss 1 felt. 490 Do I forebode impossible events, And tremble at vain dreams? Heav'n grant I may! But th' age of virtuous politicks is past, And we are deep in that of cold pretence. Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere, 495 Ann we too wise to trust them. He that takes Deep in his soft credulity the stamp Design'd by loud declaimers on the part Of liberty, (thenselves the slaves of lust,) incurs derision for his easy faith 600 I:. 'Z ~ - - - -` — - - - 112 TIE TASK. And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough. For when was publick virtue to be found, Where private was not? Can he love the whole, Who loves no part? He be a nation's friend, Who is in truth the friend of no man there? 60 Can he be strenuous in his country's cause, Who slights the charities, for whose dear sake That country, if at all, must be belov'd? 'Tis therefore "ober and good men are sad For England's glory, seeing it wax pale 510 And sickly, while her champions wear their hearts So loose to private duty, that no brain Healthful and undisturb'd by factious fumes, Can dream them trusty to the gen'ral weal. Such were they not of old, whose temper'd blades 515 Dispers'd the shackles of usurp'd control, And hew'd them link from link; then Albion's sons Were sons indeed; they felt a filial heart Beat high within them at a mother's wrongs; And, shining each in his domestick sphere, 520 Shone brighter still, once call'd to publick view. 'Tis therefore many, whose sequester'd lot Forbids their interference, looking on Anticipate perforce some dire event; And seeing the old castle of the state, 525 That promis'd once more firmness, so assail'd, That all its tempest-beaten turrets shake, Stand motionless expectants of its fall. All has its date below; the fatal hour Was rogistcr'd in Hcav'n ere time began. 530 We turn to ldust, and all our mightiest works Die too: the deep foundations that we lay, Time ploughs them up, and not a trace remains. We build with what we deem eternal rock; A distant age asks where the fabrick stood; 535 And in the dust, sifted and search'd in vain The undiscoverable secret sleeps. But there is yet a liberty, unsung I 'I '.__ -a - = I I i I I I I TlHl WINTER MORNING WALK. 113 By poets, and by senators unprais'd, Which inonarchs cannot grant, nor all the pow'rs 540 Of Earth and Hell confed'rate take away: A liberty, which persecution, fraud, Oppression, prisons, have no powv'r to bind Which whoso tastes can be enslav'd no more. 'Tis liberty of heart deriv'd from Ileav'n, 515 Bought with his blood, who gave it to mankind, And scal'd with the same token. It is held By charter, and that charter sanction'd sure By th' unimpeachable and awful oath And promise of a God. His other gifts 55 All bear the royal stamp that speaks them his, And are august! but this transcends them all. His other works, the visible display Of all-creating energy and might, Are grand, no doubt, and worthy of the word 555 That, finding an interminable space Unoccupied, has fill'd the void so well, And made so sparkling what was dark before. But these are not his glory. Man, 'tis true, Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene, 660 Might well suppose th' artificer divine Meant it eternal, had lie not llimself Pronounc'd it transient, glorious as it is, And, still designing a more glorious far, Domn'd it as insufficient for his praise. 565 These therefore are occasional, and pass; Form'd for the confutation of the fool, Whose lying heart disputes against a God; That office serv'd, they must be swept away Not so the labours of hli love: they sliin 570 In other hcav'ns thlan these that we behold, And fade not. There is Paradise that fears No forfeiture, and of its fruits lie sends Large prelibatiun oft to saints below. Of these the first in order, and tle pledge, 575 4.nd confident assurance of the rest, 10* I i I i I i 1,, __ -- I I I I I 114 THE TASK. Is liberty; a flight into his arms, Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way, A clear escape from tyrannising lust, And full inirmunity from penal wo. 580 Chains are the portion of revolted man, Stripes, and a dungeon; and his body serves The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul, Opprobrious residence, he finds them all. Propense his heart to idols, he is held 585 In silly dotage on created things, Careless of their Creator. And that low And sordid gravitation of his pow'rs To a vile clod, so draws him, with such force Resistless from the centre he should seek, 590 That he at last forgets it. All his hopes Tend downward; his ambition is to sink, To reach a depth profounder still, and still Profounder, in the fathomless abyss Of folly, plunging in pursuit of death. 59C But ere lie gain the comfortless repose Hle seeks, and acquiescence of his soul In IIeav'n-renouncing exile, ho enduresWhat does he not, from lusts oppos'd in vain, And self-reproaching conscience? He foresees 600 The fatal issue to his health, fame, peace, Fortune, and dignity; the loss of all That can ennoble man and make frail life, Short as it is, supportable. Still worse, Far worse than all the plagues with which his sine Infect his happiest moments, he forbodes C06 Ages of hopeless nis'ry. Future death, And death still future. Not a hasty stroke, Like that which sends him to the dusty grave: But unrepealable, enduring, death. 610 Script ure is still a trumpet to his fears: What none can prove a forgery, may be true, What none but had men wish exploded, must That scruple checks him. Riot is not loud II I I j -, I i — - ---- ---- THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 115 Nor drunk enough to drown it In the midst 6 i5 Of laughter his compunctions are sincere; And lie abhors the jest by which he shines. Remorse begets reform. His master-lust Falls first before his resolute rebuke, And seems dethron'd and vanquisl'd. Peace ensues, But spurious and short liv'd: the puny child 621 Of self congratulating Pride begot On fancied Innocence. Again he falls, And fights again; but finds, his best essay A presage ominous, portending still 625 Its own dishonour by a worse relapse. Till Nature, unavailing Nature, foil'd So oft, and wearied in the vain attempt, Scoffs at her own performance. Reason now Takes part with appetite, and pleads the cause 630 Perversely, which of late she so condemn'd; With shallow shifts and old devices, worn And tatter'd in the service of debauch, Cov'ring his shame from his offended sight. " Hath God indeed giv'n appetites to man, 635 And stor'd the earth so plenteously with means To gratify the hunger of his wish; And doth he reprobate, and will he damn The use of his own bounty? making first So frail a kind, and then enacting laws 640 So strict, that less than perfect must despair? Falsehood! which whoso but suspects of truth, Dishonours God, and makes a slave of man. Do they themselves, who undertake for hire The teacher's office, and dispense at large 645 Their weekly dole of edifying strains, Attend to their own musick? have they faith In what, with such solemnity of tone And gesture, they propound to our belief? Nay -Conduct hath the loudest tongue. The voice Is but an instrument, on which the priest 651 May play what tune he pleases. In the deed,.... II I~~______ ___________ _______ ~~~ _______~___ ___~~~_I__ 1_ _^^___C_~ 116 TIIE TASK. The unequivocal, authnctick deed, We find sound argument, we read the heart." Such reas'nings (if that name must needs belong T' excuses in which reason has no part) 65Ga Serve to compose a spirit well inclin'd To live on terms of amity with vice, And sin without disturbance. Often urg'd, (As often as, libidinous discourse 660 Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes Of theological and grave import,) They gain at last his unreserv'd assent; Till, harden'd his heart's temper in the forge Of lust, and on the anvil of despair, 665 He slights the strokes of conscience. Nothing moves, Or nothing much, his constancy in ill; Vain tamp'ring has but foster'd his disease; 'Tis desp'rate, and he sleeps the sleep of death. Haste, now, philosopher, and set him free. 670 Charm the deaf serpent wisely. Make him hear Of rectitude and fitness, moral truth How lovely, and the moral sense how sure, Consulted and obey'd, to guide his steps Directly to the first and only fair. 675 Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the pow'rs Of rant and rhapsody in virtue's praise; Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand, And with poetick trappings grace thy prose, Till it out-mantle all the pride of verse.- 680 Ah, tinkling cymbal, and high sounding brass, Smitten in vain! such musick cannot charm The eclipse, that intercepts truth's heav'nly beam And chills and darkens a wide wand ring soul. The still small voice is wanted lie must speak, 685 Whose word leaps forth at once to its eftbet; Who calls for things that are not, and they come. Grace makes the slave a freeman. 'Tis a change That turns to ridicule the turgid speech And stately tone of moralists, who boast 690 I = __ _ ____ _ I i I i i I I I THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 117 As if, like him of fabulous renown, They had indeed ability to smooth The shag of savage nature, and were each An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song; But transformation of apostate man 605 From fool to wise, from earthly to divine, Is work for Him that made liim. He alone, And he by means in philosophick eyes Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves The wonder; humanizing what is brute 700 In the lost kind, extracting from the lips Of asps their venom, overpow'ring strength By weakness, and hostility by love. Patriots have toil'd, and, in their country's cause Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve, 705 Receive proud recompense. We give in charge Their names to the sweet lyre. Th' historick muse, Proud of the treasure, marches with it down To latest times; and Sculpture, in her turn, Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass 710 To guard them, and t' immortalize her trust: But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid, To those who, posted at the shrine of Truth, Have fall'n in her defence. A patriot's blood, Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed, 715 And, for a time, ensure to his lov'd land The sweets of liberty and equal laws; But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize, And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed lIt confirmation of the noblest claim- 720 Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, To walk with God, to be divinely free, To soar, and to anticipate the skies. Yet few remember them. They liv'd unknown, Till persecution dragg'd them into fame, 725 And chas'd them up to Heaven. Their ashes flew -No marble tells us whither. With their names No bard embalms and sanctifies his song: i L rr — II --- 118 THE TASK. And history, so warm on meaner themes, Is cold on this. She execrates indeed 730 The tyranny that doom'd them to the fire, But gives the glorious suffrers little praise.* lHe is the freeman whom the truth rmakes free, And all are slaves beside. Tlere's not a chain That hellish foes, confed'rate for his harm, 735 Can wind around him, but he casts it off With as much ease as Samson his green witles. lie looks abroad into the varied field Of nature, and though poor, perhaps, compar'd With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, 740 Calls the delightful scenery all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his, And the resplendent rivers. His t' enjoy With a propriety that none can feel, But who, with filial confidence inspir'd, 741 Can lift to heav'n an unpresumptiuous eye, And smiling say-" My Father mIade them all!" Are they not his by a peculiar right, And by an emphasis of int'rest his, Wlhose eye they fill with tears of holy joy, 750 Whose heart witl praise, and whose exalted mind With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love, That rlann'd, and built, and still upholds a world So cloth'd with beauty for rebellious man Yes-ye Inay fill your garners, ye that reap 755 The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good In senseless riot; bilt ye will not find In feast or in the chase, in song or dance, A liberty like his, who, unimpeach'd Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, 760 Appropriates nature as his Father's work, And has a richer use of yours than you. He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth Of no mean city; plann'd or ere tile hills * See Hume. I _ - -^I --- —- 1 __ -------- -- I ct ---- -- ~ I I I THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 119 1 are built, the fountains open'd, or the sea, 765 %V ith all his roaring multitude of waves. H.s freedom is the same in ev'ry state; Ai.d no condition of this changeful life, So manifold in cares, whose ev'ry day Brings its own evil with it, makes it less: r70 For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain, Nor penury, can cripple or confine. No nok so narrow, but he spreads them there With ease, and is at large. Th' oppressor holds Ilis body bound; but knows not what a range 775 His spirit takes, unconscious cf a chain; And that to bind him is a vain attempt, Whom God delights il, and in whom He dwells. Acquaint thyself with God, if thou would'st taste His works. Admitted once to his embrace, 780 Thlu shalt perceive that thou wast blind before: Thine eye shall be instructed; and thine heart, Made pure, shall relish with divine delight, Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. Brutes graze the mountain-top, with faces prone, 785 And eyes intent upon the scanty herb It yields them; or, recumbent on its brow, Ruminate heedless of the scene outspread Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away From inland regions to the distant main. 790 Man views it, and admires; but rests content With what he views. The landscape has his pralse, But not its author. Unconcern'd who form'd The Paradise he sees, he finds it such, And such well pleas'd to find it, asks no more. 795 Not so the mind that has been touch'd from Heav'n, And in the school of sacred wisdom taught To read His wonders, in whose thought the world, Fair as it is, existed ere it was. Nor for its own sake merely, but for his 800 Much more who fashion'd it, he gives it praise; Praise that from earth resulting, as it ought, I I i i i I I 1 - - -- _ --- ---- — ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I __ _ _ ~I 120 THE TASK. To earth's acknowledg'd sov'reign, finds at once Its only just proprietor in Him. The soul that sees him, or receives sublim'd 80 New faculties, or learns at least t' employ More worthily the powers she own'd before, Discerns in all things what, with stupid gaze Of ignorance, till then she overlook'd, A ray of heavenly light, gilding all forms I80 Terrestrial in the vast and the minute; The unambiguous footsteps of the God, 'Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. Much conversant with Heaven, she often holds 815 With those fair ministers of light to man, That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp, Sweet conference. Inquires what strains were they With which Heaven rang, when every star, in hiete To gratulate the new-created earth, 820 Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God Shouted for joy.-" Tell me, ye shining hosts, That navigate a sea that knows no storms, Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud, If from your elevation, whence ye view 826 Distinctly scenes invisible to man, And systems, of whose birth no tidings yet Have reach'd this nether world, yo spy a race Favour'd as ours; transgressors from the womb And hasting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise, 830 And to possess a brighter Heaven than yours? As one, who, long detain'd on foreign shores, Pants to return, and when he sees afar Ils country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd rocks, From the green wave emerging, darts an eye 835 Radiant with joy toward the happy land; So I with animated hopes behold, And many an aching wish, your beamy fires, That show like beacons in the blue abyss, Ordain'd to guide th' embodied spirit home 840 — ~ --- —----- ---- ----- ------- --- ------— ~ --- — --— ~ - - __ 7 - I I I i I THE WINTER MORNING WALK 121 From toilsome life to never-ending rest. Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires That give assurance of their own success, And that, infus'd from I-eaven, must thither tend." So reads lie Nature, whom the lamp of truth 845 Illuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious Word! Which whoso sees, no longer wanders lost, With intellects benma'd in endless doubt, But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built With means that were int, till by thee employ'd, 850 Worlds that had never been, hadst thou in strength Been less, or less benevolent than strong. They are thy witnesses, who speak thy pow'r And goodness infinite, but speak in ears That hear not, or receive not their report. 855 In vain thy creatures testify of thee, Till thou proclaim thyself. Theirs is indeed A teaching voice; but 'tis the praise of thine, That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn, And with the boon gives talents for its use. 860 Till thou art heard, imaginations vain Possess the heart, and fables false as hell: Yet deem'd oracular, lure down to death The uninform'd and heedless souls of men. We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind, The glory of thy work; which yet appears 866 Perfect and umnimpeachabla of blame, Challenging human scrutiny, and prov'd Then skilful most when most severely judg'd. But chance is not; or is not where thou reign'st: 870 Thy providence forbids that fickle pow'r (If pow'r she be, that works but to confound) To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can Instruction, and inventing to ourselves 875 Gods such as guilt makes welcome; gods that sleep, Or disregard our follies, or that sit Amus-d spectators of this bustling stage. VOL. II. 11 I I ~ -- ------ - I l _ ---- -- - _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~C-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ —4 L~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~. 22 THIE TASK. Thee we reject, unable to abide Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure, 880 Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause, For which we shunn'd and hated thee before. Then we are free. Then liberty, like day, Breaks on the soul, and by a flash fronm eav'n Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. 885 A voice is heard that nmortal ears hear not, Till thou hast touch'd them; 'tis the voice of song, A loud Hosanna sent from all thy works; Which he that hears it, with a shout repeats, And adds his rapture to the general praise 890 In that blest moment, Nature, throwing wide Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile 'he author of her beauties, who, retir'd Behind his own creation, works unseen By the impure, and hears his pow'r denied. 895 Thou art the source and centre of all minds, Their only point of rest, eternal Word! From thee departing, they are lost, ard rove At random, without honour, hope, or peace. From thee is all that sooths the life of man, 900 His high endeavour, and his glad success, His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. But O thou bounteous Giver of all good, Thou art of all thy gifts thyself tho crown! Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor; 90)5 And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. I III I I.I i ii I I I I I )I I I i I I.1 i I i I.I - I - --- -— -— I -- -- I'-'I- — --1 -- -- _ - __ ______ -- -- -— ^ --- —------ -— r ------ --- I I I I I I I THE TASK. BoOK i T. TIIE WINTER WALK AT NOON. ARGUMENT OF THE SIXTH BOOK fIells at a distance-'heir cflfect-A fine noon in winter-A sheltered walk-Aled itation b(-.ttr tlhan books-Our fitniliarity with the course of 'Nalure Intilkes it alplcar leIss wondertfl than it isThe transformation ti;h, Spring elltects in ia shrubbery, ldes ribed -A mistake concerningl thie curse of Nature corrected —God mainitains it 1by an unremit ted act-The amusementas fashionablo at this hour of the dlay relprovedf-Aniials happy, a delightful sighit-O)rigin of ciicelty to animals-'That it is a great crimln proved from Scripturec-T'Ilit proof illustrated by a taleA line drawn between the lawful and tl lawfuil destruction of thein-Their good and,tjo:!'! properties insisted on-Apiology for the encomiums )bestoswed )y tli: autlhor on anituals-lnetance. of man's extravagant praise of mant-The groans of the resvtion slhall have aii end-A view taken of the icstoration of all liings —An invocalt ion and an invitation of Ilim vho shall briig it to p:ss-'The retired lmen vilndicated froun the charge of usolessliess-Conclusion. THERE is in souls a sympathy with sounds, And as tle imind is pitch'd, the ear is pleas'd With melting airs or martial, brisk, or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies, 5 How soft the nmsick of those village bells, Falling at intervals upon the ear fn cadence sweet, now dying all away, Now pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous, as the gatle comes on! 10 It I........ _ _ ------- --------- - -- - - ---- ---- ----------------------- -L~~~~~- I i I I I I L 124 THE TASK. With easy force it opens all the cells Where Icme'ry slept. Wherever I hlve heard A kindred melody, the scene recurs, And with it all its pleasures and its pains. Such comprehensive views the spirit takes, 15 That in a few short moments I retrace (As in a map tile voyager his course) The v indings of my way through many years. Short as in retrospect the journey seems, It seem'd not always short; tile rugged path, 20 And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn, Mov'd many a sigh at its disheart'ning length. Yet feeling present evils, while the past Faintly impress the mind or not at all, How readily we wish time spent revok'd, 25 That we might try the ground again, where once (Through inexperience as we now perceive) We miss'd that happiness we might have found! Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend! A father, whose authority, in show 30 When most severe, and must'ring all its force, Was but the graver countenance of love; Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lcw'r, And utter now and then an awful voice, But had a blessing in its darkest frown, 35 Threat'ning at once and nourishing the plant. We lov'd, but not enough, the gentle hand That rear'd us. At a thoughtless age, allur'd By ev'ry gilded folly, we renounc'd his shelt'ring side, and wilfully forewent 40 That converse which we now in vain regret. How gladly would the man recall to life The boy's neglected sire! a mother too, That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still, Might he denimnd them at the gates of death. 45 Sorrow has, since they went, subdu d and tam'd The playful humour: he could now endure, I-limself grown sober in the vale of tears,) i I I I THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 125 And feel a parent's presence no restraint. But not to understand a treasure's worth, 50 Till time has stol'n away the slighted good, Is cause of llalf the povery we feel, And makes the World the wilderness it is. The few that pray at all, pray oft amiss, And, seeking grace t' improve the prize they hold, 55 Would urge a wiser suit than asking more. The night was winter in its roughest mood; The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon Upon the southern side of the slant hills, And where the woods fence off the northern blast, 60 The season smiles, resigning all its rage, And has tle warmth of May. The vault is blue Without a cloud, and wlite without a speck The dazzling splendour of the scene below. Again the harmony co.mes o'er the vale; 65 And through the trees I view th' embattled tow'r, Whence all the musick. I again perceive The soothing influence of the wafted strains, And settle in soft musings as I tread The walk, still verdant, under oaks and elms, 70 Whose outspread branches overarch the glade. The roof, though moveable through all its length As the wind sways it, has yet well suffic'd, And, intercepting in their silent fall The frequent fakes, has kept a path for me. 75 No noise is here, or none that hinders thought The red-breast warbles still, but is content With slender notes, and more than half suppress'd: Pleas'd with his solitude, and flitting light From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes 60 From many a twig the pendent drops of ice, rhat tinkle in the witherd leaves below. Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft, Charms more than silence. Meditation here May think down hours to moments. Here the heart 83 May give a useful lesson to the head, 11* I I i i i i.A _ - --- --- --- --------------- -I. C-..-. ----CLI-C ----C- ---~l -- -- -- I I __ _____I^ __________I____ ____ __L _~_ 1 126 THIEi TAS1K. And Learning wiser grow without his books. Knowledge and Wisdom, far from being one, Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells In heads replete witli thoughts of other men; 90 XVisdom in minds attentive to their own. Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, The mere materials with which Wisdom builds, Till smooth'd, and squar'd, and fitted to its place, IDoes but encumber whom it seems t' enrich. 95 Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much; Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. Books are not seldom talismans and spells, By which the magick art of shrewder wits Iold an unthinking multitude enthrall'd. 1 0 Some to the fascination of a name, Surrender judgment hood-wink'd. Some the style Infatuates, and through labyrinths and wilds Of errour leads them, by a tune entranc'd. While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear 105 The insupportable fatigue of thought, And swallowing, therefore, without pause or choice The total grist unsifted, husks and all. But tree and rivulets, whose rapid course Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer, 110 And sheep-walks populous with bleating lambs, And lanes, in which the primrose ere her time Peeps through the moss, that clothes the hawthorn root, Deceive no student. Wisdom there, and truth, Not shy, as in the world, and to be won 115 By slow solic tation, seize at once The roving thought, and fix it on themselvs. What prodigies can pow'r divine perfirm More grand than it produces year by year, And all in sight of inattentive man? 120 Familiar with th' effect, we slight the cause, And in the constancy of Nature's course, Tile regular return of genial months,.h 11 i 11 11 I. I I I I I I i I II I I I i I i I i I I II I J ------------ -— I ---- I --- _ --- —— C^ I I I I I I I I i i I I THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 127 And renovation of a faded world, See nought to wonder at. Should God again, 125 As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race Of th' undcviating and punctual sun, How would the world admlire! But speaks it less An agency divine, to make him know His moment when to sink and when to rise, 130 Age after age, than to arrest his course? All we behold is miracle; but seen So duly, all is miracle in vain. Where now the vital energy, that mov'd While summer was, the pure and subtle lymph 135 Through th' imperceptible meand'ring veins Of leaf and flow'r? It sleeps; and th' icy touch Of unprolifick winter has impress'd A cold stagnation on th' intestine tide. But let the months go round, a few short months, 140 And all shall be restor'd. These naked shoots, Barren as lances, among which the wind Makes wintry musick, sighing as it goes, Shall put their graceful foliage on again, And. more aspiring, and with ampier spread, 145 Shall boast new charms, and more than they have lost. Then each in its peculiar honours clad, Shall publish even to the distant eye Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich In streaming gold; syringa, iv'ry pure: 150 The scentless and the scented rose; this red And of a humbler growth, tile other* tall, And tlirowing up into the darkest gloom Of neighb'ring cypress, or more sable yew, Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf, 155 That the wind severs from the broken wave; The lilack, various in array, now white, Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set With purple sp;kes pyramidal, as if Studious of ornament, yet unresolv'd 160 + The Guelder Rose. I I I — 3 —.-__ -----~ ----— - --- —------ -~ --- —-------------- -— IZ ---- I- -CI ---~ ---~CII — I-.. I. - - - -- -- --- -. — -------- --..... - -- - --- - ~ - -- ~ - - jj i I I I I I I I 11 128 THIE TASK. Which hue she most approv'd, she chose them all; Copious of flowers, the woodbine, pIalo and wan, But well compensating her sickly looks With never cloying odours, early and late; Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm lo5 Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods, That scarce a leaf appears; mezercon, too, Though leafless, well-attir'd and thick beset With blushing wreaths, investing every spray; Althaa with the purple eye; the broom 170 Yellow and bright, as bullion unalloy'd, Her blossoms; and luxuriant above all The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, The deep dark green of whose unvarnish'd leaf Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more 175 The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars.These have been, and these shall be in their day, And all this uniform uncolour'd scene Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load, And flush into variety again. 180 From dearth to plenty, and from death to life, Is Nature's progress, when she lectures man In heav'nly truth; evincing, as she makes The grand transition, that their lives and works A soul in all tlings, and that soul is God. 185 The beauties of the wilderness are his, That makes so gay the solitary place, Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms, That cultivation glories in, are his. lIe sets the bright procession on its way, 190 And marshals all the order of the year; lie marks the bounds, which winter may not pass, And blunts his pointed fury; in Its case, Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ, Uninjur'd, with inimitable art; 1(;5 And, ere one flow'ry season fades and dies, Designs the blooming wonders of the next. Some say that in tle origin of' things, II ii I; Ii 11 I I i I I I I I i i i i I i I I 1 1 1 i i i I i I I - -- -- ~ --- ----.- 171: z - - -- .I I I I I I I I I -'" --- —----------- -- --- —` —` ---I —` ` - ' ----" --- --- — -- ` —` ----— --- - THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 129 When all creation started into birth, The infant elements rcceiv'd a law 200 From which they swcrv'd not since. That under force Of that controlling ordinance they move, And need not His inmmediate hand who first Prescrib'd their course, to regulate it now. Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God 205 Th' encuinbrance of hi3 own concerns, and spare The great artificer of all tlat moves The stress of a continual act, the pain Of' unremitted vigilance and care, As too laborious and severe a task. 210 So man, the moth, is not afraid, it seems, To span omnipotence, and measure might That knows'no measure, by the scanty rule And standard of his own, that is to-,'ay, And is not ere to-morrow's sun go down. 215 But how should matter occupy a charge, Dull as it is, and satisfy a law So vast in its demands, unless impell'd To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force, And under pressure of sonic conscious cause? 220 The Lord of all, himself through all diffus'd, Sustains, and is the life of all that lives. Nature is but a name for an effect, Whose cause is God. He feeds the secret fire, By which the mighty process is mIaintain'd, 225 Who sleeps not, is not weary; in wlhose sight Slow circling ages arc as transient days; Whose work is without labour; whose designs No flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts; And whose beneficence no charge exhausts. 230 Him blind antiquity profan'd, not serv'd, With self-taught rites, and under various names, Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan, And Flora, and Vertumnus; peopling earth With tutelary goddesses and gods, 23c Thlat were not; and commending as they would - __~ _I _ _____ _ ~_ _ _ ______ _____ _____I__ __ _ __________ __________~_ I I i I 130 THE TASK. To eacl some province, garden, field, or grove. But all are under one. One spirit —His Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding browsRules universal nature. Not a flower 2010 But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain, Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires Tleir balmy odours, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, In grains as countless as the seaside sands, 215 The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. Happy who walks with him! whom what he finds Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower, Of what he views of beautiful or grand In nature, from the broad majestick oak 250 To the green blade that twinkles in the sun, Prompts with remembrance of a present God His presence, who made all so fair, perceiv'd, Makes all still fairer As with him no scene Is dreary, so with him all seasons please. 255 Though winter had been -.one, had man been true And earth be punish'd for its tenant's sake, Yet not in vengeance; as this smiling sky, So soon succeeding such an angry night, And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream 260 Recov'ring fast its liquid musick, prove. Who, then, that has a mind well strung and tan d To contemplation, and within his reach A scene so friendly to his fav'rite task, Would waste attention at the checker'd board. 265 His host of wooden warriours to and fro Marching and countermarching, with an eye As fix'd as marble, with a forehead ridg'd And furrow'd into storms, and with a hand Trembling, as if eternity were hung 270 In balance on his conduct of a pin? Nor envies he aught more their idle sport, Wlo pant with application misapplied To trivial toys, and, pushing iv'ry balls I I I I I I I ---- --- ----— 2-I - --- -- — J ------— I —` -` —I--— _ -- L —LI - — ~' TIE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 131 Across a velvet level, feel a joy 275 Akin to rapture, when the bauble finds Its destin'd goal, of difficult access. Nor deemis he wiser him, who gives his noon To miss, the mnercer's plague trom shop to shop Wand'ring, and litt'ring with unfolded silks 280 The polish'd counter, and approving none, Or promising with smiles to call again. Nor him, who by his vanity seduc'd, And sootli'd into a dream, that he discerns Tle diff'rence of a Guido from a dhub, 285 Frequents the crowded auction: station'd there As duly as the Langford of the show, With glass at eye, and catalogue in hand, And tongue accomplish'd in the fulsome cant And pedantry tlat coxcombs learn with ease: 290 Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls, He notes it in his book, tlen raps his box, Swears 'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate, That he has let it pass-but never bids! Iere unmolested, through whatever sign 295 The sun proceeds, I wander. Neither mist, Nor freeZing sky nor sultry, checking me, Nor stranger intermeddling \with my joy. E'cn in the spring and playtime of the year, That calls tle unwonted villager abroad With all her little ones, a sportive train, 'To gather kingcups in the yellow mead, And prink their hair with daisies, or to pick A clchap but wholes)oie salad froin tle brook — TI ase slades are all lny own. T'le tii'rous hare, GrowNi so t.unili',r with her fr(lueint u",st, 306 Scarce shuis i.ne; '.d the st. k-dv2, unoalarn'd, S'is,; i, r i.l t: i!,,i';'h 1,;' s'::uld'J I-r.\','; tirol! li. I essl'::!;: iL s:::::;' '-sl,'ily o'in, '31 V 'liert', onl:.^ S'fi k i' v';;.l i::,;i ii.itii:d g!t-iYts, 1.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~i1B 11 i I I I -- II~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ - I LY — __ 132 THE TASK. I-e has outslept the winter, ventures forth, To frisk awhile, and bask in the warml sun, The squirrel, flippant, pert, and fill of play; 315 lHe sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, Ascends the ncighb'ring beech; there whisks his brush, And perks his cars, and stamps, and cries aloud, With all the prettiness of feign'd alarm, And anger insignificantly fierce. 320 The heart is hard in nature, and unfit For human fellowship, as being void Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike To love and friendship both, that is not plcas'd With sight of animals enjoying life, 325 Nor feels their happiness augment his own. Tihe bounding fawn, that darts across the glade When none pursues, through mere delight of heart And spirits buoyant with excess of glee; The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet, 330 That skims the spacious meadow at full speed, Then stops, and snorts, and, throwing higrh his heels, Starts to the voluntary race again The very kine that gambol at high noon, The total herd receiving first from one, 335 That leads the dance, a summons to be gay, Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth Thlir efforts, yet rcsolv'd, with one consent, To give such act and utt'ranco as they may To ecstasy too big to be suppress'd- 3-19 These, and a thousand images of bliss, With which kind Nature graces ev'ry scene, Where cruel nian defeats not her desigl, Impart to the benevolent, 'who,wNish All that are capable of pleasure lileas'd, 345 A far superiour haplpiness to t llcirs, The comfort of a reasnlnblle joy. Mlan scarce had ris'n, obedlint to his call Who f)rm'd hinm froiln tihe dltst, his fulturc gr;ive, Wheln ie was crownr' as never king was ince. c 50) I I 11 I I I II 11 h i I fi I I II I i I.I i i i i i I I I I I i -1 I --- -- ----------------------- -— ~ --- --- ------------ --. -- ~ --- -— --- —---- 1 — I THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 133 God set the diadem upon his head, And angel choirs attended. Wond'ring stood The new-made monarch, while before him pass'd, All happy, and all perfect in their kind, The creatures, sunmon'd from their various haunts, To see their sov'reign, and confess his sway. 350 Vast was his empire, absolute his pow'r, Or bounded only by a law, whose force 'Twas his sublimest privilege to feel And own-the law of universal love. 300 He rul'd with meekness, they obey'd with joy; No cruel purpose lurk'd within his heart, And no distrust of his intent in theirs. So Eden was a scene of harmless sport, Where kindness on his part who rul'd the whole, 365 Begat a tranquil confidence in all, And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear. But sin marr'd all; and the revolt of man, That source of evils not exhausted yet, Was punish'd with revolt of his from him. 370 Garden of God, how terrible the change Tly groves and lawns then witness'd! Ev'ry heart, Each animal, of ev'ry name, conceiv'd A jealousy and an instinctive fear, And, conscious of some danger, either fled 375 Precipitate the loath'd abode of man, Or growl'd defiance in such angry sort, As taught him too to tremble in his turn. Thus harmony and fainily accord Were driv'n from Paradise; and in that hour 380 The seeds of cruelty, that since have swell'd To such gigantick and enormous growth, Were sown in human nature's fruitful soil. Hence date the persecution and the pain, That man inflicts on all inferiour kinds, 4$ Regariless of their plaints. To make him sport, To graLify the frenzy of his wratl, Or his base gluttony, are causes good Vou. lI. 12 11I 1 1 1! I I i I I i I I I - - - - - - - - ___ ____ - - I c, -. — --- — , I ~~__CI_~_ ~Il^-CI --- —~ --- —- --- —— ~Y------- -- _ 134 THE TASK. And just in his account, why bird and beast Should suffer torture, and the streams be died 39 With blood of their inhabitants impal'd. Earth groans beneath the burden of a war Wag'd with definceless innocence, while he, Not satisfied to prey on all around, Adds tenfold bitterness to death by pangs 395 Needless, and first torments ere he devours. Now happiest they that occupy the sceres The most remote from his abhorr'd resort, Whom once, as delegate of God on earth, They fear'd, and as his perfect image, lov'd. 400 The wilderness is theirs, with all its caves, Its hollow glens, its thickets, and its plains, Unvisited by man. There they are free, And howl and roar as likes them, uncontroll'd; Nor ark his leave to slumber or to play. 405 Wo to the tyrant, if he dare intrude Within the confines of their wild domain: The lion tells him-I am monarch hereAnd if he spare him, spares him on the terms Of royal mercy, and through gen'rous scorn 410 To rend a victim trembling at his foot. In measure, as by force of instinct drawn, Or by necessity constrain'd, they live Dependent upon man; those in his fields, These at his crib, and some beneath his roof. 415 They prove too often at how dear a rate He sells protection-Witness at his foot The spaniel dying for some venial fault Under dissection of the knotted scourge; Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells 420 Driv'n to the slaughter, goaded, as he runs, To madness; while the savage at his heels Laughs at the frantick suffrer's fury, spent Upon the guiltless passenger o'erthrown. Ho too is witness, noblest of tie train 45 Tlhat wait on man. the flight-performing horse t _. -— ~ — l~~- - I i I I I I I I I I i I I I I ____ _______ ____ _ ~________ __ __ _ ___ _ __ I__ II___ I I i - I I TIlE WINTER WALK AT NOON. Wihl unsuspecting readiness he takes His rnurd'rcr on his back, and, push'd all day With bleeding sides and flanks that heave for Efe, To the far distant goal arrives and dies. So little mercy shows who needs so much! Does law, so jealous in the cause of man, Denounce no doom on the delinquent? None. I He lives and o'er his brimning beaker boasts (As if barbarity were high desert,) Th' inglorious feat, and clamorous in praise Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose The honours of his matchless horse his own. But many a crime, deem'd innocent on earth, Is register'd in Ileav'n; and these no doubt, Have each their record, with a curse annex'd. Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, But God will never. When he charg'd the Jew T' assist his foe's down-fallen beast to rise; And when the bush-exploring boy, that seiz'd The young, to let the parent bird go free; Prov'd he not plainly, that his meaner works Are yet his care, and have an int'rest all, All, in the universal Father's love? On Noah, and in him on all mankind, Thlie charter was conferr'd by which we hold The flesh of animals in fee, and claim O'er all we feed on pow'r of life and death. But read the instrument, and mark it well: I'Th' oppression of a tyrannous control Can find no warrant there. Feed then, and yield, j Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous, through sin, Feed on the slain, but spare the living brute? The Governor of all. himself to all 80 bountiful, in whose attentive ear The unfledg'd raven and the lion's whelp Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs Of hunger unassuag'd, has interpos'd, Not seldom, his avenging arm, to smite 1 135 130 435 440 445 450 455 460, I. - - - - - - -- - -. - - - - - - - - _ _ I ~ ~ _~ __~__~ I__ I__ _ _ I ~_ I l] I I I I I i i il II I 136 THE TASK. Th' injurious trampler upon Nature's law, 465 That claims forbearance even for a brute. He hates the hardness of a Balaam's heart; And, prophet as he was, he might not strike 'lhe blameless animal, without rebuke, 011 which he rode. Her opportune offence 470 Sav'd him, or the unrelenting seer had died. Hle sees that human equity is siack To interfere, though in so just a cause: And rmakes the task his own. Inspiring dumb And helpless victims with a sense so keen 475 Of injury, with such knowledge of their strength And such sagacity to take revenge, That oft the beast has seem'd to judge the man. An ancient, not a legendary tale, By one of sound intelligence rehears'd, 480 (If such who plead for Providence may seem In modern eyes,) shall make the doctrine clear. Where England, stretch'd towards the setting sun, Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave, Dwelt young Misagathus; a scorner he 485 Of God and goodness, atheist in ostcllt, Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce. lie journey'd: and his chance was, as he went, To join a trav'ller, of far different note, Evander, fain'd for piety, for years 490 Deserving honour, but for wisdom more. Fame had not left the venerable man A stranger to the manners of the youth, Whose face, too, was familiar to his view. Their way was on the margin of the land, 495 O'er the green summit of the rocks, whose base B'eats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high. Tlie charity that warm'd his heart, was mov'd At sight of the man-monster. With a smile G;elltle and affable, and full of grace, 500 As feilrf'il of offending whom he wish'd lMu,:!h to persuade, he plied his ear with truths I I I I I I --- —~ —CI --- _-. ~ ~ ~ - - - - i I THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 137 Not harldly thunder'd forth, or rudely press'd, But, like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet " And dost thou dream," th' inpenetrable iman 505 Exclaim'd, " that me the lullabies of age, And fantasies of dotards, such as thou, Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me? Mark now the proof 1 give thee, that the brave Need no such aids as superstition lends 510 " To steel their hearts against the dread of death.' He spoke, and to the precipice at hand Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks, And the blood thrills and curdles at the tlought Of such a gulf as he design'd his grave. 515 But though the felon on his back could dare The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed Declin'd the death, and wheeling swiftly round, Or ere his hoof had press'd the crumbling verge, Baffled his rider, sav'd against his will. 520 The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd By med'cine well applied, but without grace The heart's insanity admits no cure. Enrag'd the more, by what might have reform'd His horrible intent, again he sought 525 Destruction, with a zeal to be destroy'd, With sounding whip, and rowels died in blood, But still in vain. The Providence that meant A longer date to the far nobler beast, Spar'd yet again th' ignobler for his sake. 530 And now, his prowess prov'd, and his sincere Incurable obduracy evinc'd, His rage grew cool, and, pleas'd perhaps t' have earn'd So cheaply, the renown of that attempt, Wit looks of some complacence he resum'd 535 Iis road, deriding much the blank amaze Of good Evander, still where he was left Fix'd motionless, and petrified witt dread. So on they far'd. Discourse on other themes Ensuing seem'd t' obliterate the past; 5410 12* I F I I _ ___1_1 ______________ __ _ __ ~_____ 38 THE TASK. And tamer far for so much fury shown, (As is the course of rash and fiery men,) The rude companion smil'd, as if tralnslrm'dBut 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near An unsuspected storm. His hour was come. 545 The impious challenger of Pow'r divine Was now to learn, that Heav'n, though slow to wrath, Is never with impunity defied. 1lis horse, as he had caught his master's mood, Snorting, and starting into sudden rage, 550 Unbidden, and not now to be controll'd, Rush'd to the cliff, and, having reach'd it, stood. At once the shock unseated him: he flew Sheer o'er the craggy barrier; and immers'd Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not, 555 The death he had deserv'd, and died alone. So God wrought double justice; made the fool The victim of his own tremendous choice, And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. I would not enter on my list of friends, 560 (Though grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility,) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. An inadvertent step may crush the snail That crawls at ev'ning in the publick path; 565 But he that has humanity, forewarn'd, Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, And charg'd perhaps with venom, that intrudes, A visitor unwelcome, into scenes 570 Sacred to neatness and repose, th' alcove, The chamber, or refectory, may die: A necessary act incurs no blame. Not so when, held within their proper bounds, And guiltless of offence, they range the air, 575 Or take their pastime in the spacious field: There they are privileg'd; and he that hunts Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong, I - --------— ~ --- —-----— ~ --- — — —I — -~ ---- -- -- - ----- -- -- - - ------ ------ --- I i I i I TIlE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 139 Disturbs the economy of' Nature's realm, Who, when she fbrn'd, design'd them an abode. 50! The sum is this: If man's convenience, health, Or safety, interfere, his rights and clailms Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. Else they are all-the meanest things that areAs free to live, and to enjoy that life, 5i5 As God was free to form them at the first, Wlo in his sov'reign wisdom made them all. Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons To love it too. The spring time of our years Is soon dislionour'd and defil'd in most 9b0 By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots, If unrestrained, into luxuriant growth, Than cruelty, most dev'lish of them all. Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule 595 And righteous limitation of its act, By which Heav'n moves in pard'ning guilty man; And he that shows none, being ripe in years, And conscious of the outrage he commits, Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn. 600 Distinguish'd much by reason, and still more By our capacity of grace divine, From creatures, that exist but for our sake, Which having serv'd us, perish, we are held Accountable; and God some future day 605 Will reckon with us roundly for th' abuse Of what lie deems no mean nor trivial trust. Superiour as we are, they yet depend Not more on human help than we on theirs. Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were giv'n 610 In aid of our defects. In some are found Sucl teachable and apprehensive parts, That man's attainments in his own concerns, Match'd with th' expertness of the brutes in theirs, Are ofttimes vanquish'd and thrown far behind. 615 Some show that nice sagacity of smell, I i I " -— I —`^ --- ---- ---` -I-`-I —- --- -.-, 140 THE TASK And read with such discernment, in the port And figure of the man, his secret aim, That oft we owe our safety to a skill We could not teach, and must despair to learn. But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop To quadruped instructers many a good And useful quality, and virtue too, Rarely exemplified among ourselves. Attachment never to be wean'd, or chang'd By any change of fortune: proof alike Against unkindness, absence, and neglect; Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat Can move or warp; and gratitude for small nnd trivial favours, lasting as the life, nd glist'ning even in the dying eye. Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms Wins publick honour; and ten thousand sit Patiently present at a sacred song, Commemoration mad; content to hear (O wonderful effect of nmusick's power!) Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake! But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve(For, was it less, what heathen would have dar'd To strip Jove's statue of lis oaken wreath, And hang it up in honour of a man?) Much less might serve, when all that we design Is but to gratify an itching ear, And give the day to a musician's praise. Itemember Handel? Who, that was not born Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets, Or can, the more than Homer of his ago? Yes-we remember him; and while we praise A talent so divine, remember too That His most holy book from whom it came Was never meant, was never us'd before, To buckram out the me-n'ry of a man. But hush!-the Muse perhaps is too severe And with a gravity beyond the size 620 625 630 635 610 645 65C.I i I I I I I I I I i I I II I i I i I _4 C____^_____^ ___________________________ __ _____________ll__C____ — ^) --- — --- _ ---- -— ^ — -—.~-. — ---- ______ I^ ---U-l - [ I I I I I I I I I I i I I I I - THE WINTER WALK Al NOON. 141 And measure of th' offence, rebukes a deed 655 Less impious than absurd, and owing niore To want of judgment than to wrong design So in the chapel of old Ely House, When wand'ring Charles, who meant to be the third, Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, (60 The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce, And eke did roar right merrily, two staves, Sung to theo praise and glory of King Geoge! -Man praises man: and Garrick's mem'ry next, When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made 665 The idol of our worship while he liv'd The God of our idolatry once more, Shall have its altar; and the world shall go In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. The theatre too small, shall suffocate 670 Its squeez'd contents, and more than it admits Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return Ungratified; for there some noble lord Shall stuff his shoulders with King Richard's bunch, Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak, 675 And strut, and storm, and straddle, stamp, and stare, To show the world how Garrick did not act. For Garrick was a worshipper himself; He drew the liturgy, and fram'd the rites And solemn ceremonial of the day, 680 And call'd the world to worship on the banks Of Avon, fam'd in song. All, pleasant proof That piety has still in human hearts Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. The mIulb'rry tree was hung with blooming wreaths; The mulb'rry tree stood centre of the dance; 686 The mulb'rry tree was hymn'd with dulcet airs; And from his touchwood trunk the mulb'rry tree Supplied such relicks as devotion holds Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. 690 So 'twas a hallow'd time: decorum reign'd, And mirth without offence. No few return'd, i I I i I ' --- —--------- - - - `II- -------- i I 142 THE TASK. Doubtless, much edified, and all refresh'd. -Man praises man. The rabble all alive From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, 695 Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes. Some shout him, and some hang upon his car, To gaze in's eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy: 700 While others, not so satisfied, unhorse The gilded equipage, and turning loose His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve. Why? what has charm'd them? Hath he saved the state? No. Doth he purpose its salvation? No. 705 Enchanting novelty, that moon at full, That finds out ev'ry crevice of the head That is not sound, and perfect, hath in theirs Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near, And his own cattle must suffice him soon. 716 Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise, And dedicate a tribute, in its use And just direction sacred, to a thing Doomn'd to the dust, or lodg'd already there. Encomium in old time was poet's work; 715 But poets, having lavishly long since Exhausted all materials of the art, The task now falls into the publick hand; And I contented with an humbler theme, Have pour'd my stream of panegyrick down 710 The vale of Nature, where it creeps and win&s Among her lovely works with a secure And unambitious course, reflecting clear, If not the virtues, yet the worth of brutes. And I am recompensed, and deem the toils 725 Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine May stand between an animal and wo, And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. The groans of Nature in this nether world, -i I I I I i.1 i I I I 11!I i I I I I i I I i I i i i 11 I j S ---- ---- -------- --- ---, f a I i I _ _I _ ____ ____I_ __I_ I _I - - - ---- --------- -Y - -- TIlE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 113 Which heav'n has heard for ages, have an end 7~30 Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung, Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lanmp; The time of rest, the promis'd sabbath, comes Six thousand years of sorrow have well nig Fulfill'd their tardy and disastrous course 735 Over a sinful world; and what remains Of this tempestuous state of human things Is merely as the working of a sea Before a calm that rocks itself to rest; For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds 740 The dust that waits upon his sultry march, When sin liath mov'd him, and his wrath is hot, Shall visit earth in mercy; shall descend Propitious in his chariot pav'd with love; And what his storms have blasted and detac'd 745 For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet Not to be wrong'd by a mere mortal touch; Nor can the wonders it records be sung To meaner musick, and not suffer loss. 750 But when a poet, or when one like me, Happy to rove among poetick flow'rs, Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, Such is the impulse and the spur he feels, 755 To give it praise proportion'd to its worth, That not t' attempt it, arduous as he deems The labour, were a task more arduous still. 0 scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, Scenes of accomplish'd bliss! which who can sec, 76f Though but in distant prospect, and not feel His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the joy? Rivers of gladness water all the earth, And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field 765 Laughs with abundance; and the land, once lean, I I I — —c --- —-~~- --- -~-~ - - —~- ------- -~~ ---~~ —r ~. ----^r~. — — -----------— ~ ----~ — 2 -—, — --- —- — ---~ —1 --- ——, - -- — ~ — ----- - ii -- -------.'l II f I, I I I II I I I.i I 144 THE TASK. Or fertile only in its own disgrace, Exults to see its thistly curse repeal'd. The various seasons woven into one, And that one season an eternal spring, 770 The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, For there is none to covet, all are full. The lion, and the libbard, and the bear, Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon Together, or all gambol in the shade 775 Of the same grove, and drink one common stream; Antipathies are none. No foe to man Lurks in the serpent now; the mother sees, And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand Stretch'd forth to daily with the crested worm, 780 To stroke his azure neck, or to receive The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. All creatures worship man, and all mankind One Lord, one Father. Errour has no place; That creeping pestilence is driv'n away; 785 The breath of Heav'n has chas'd it. In the heart No passion touches a discordant string, But all is harmony and love. Disease Is not: the pure and uncontaminate blood Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. 790 One song employs all nations; and all cry, " Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!" The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other, and the mountain tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy, 795 Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round. Behold the measure of the promise fill'd; See Salem built, the labour of a God! Bright as a sun the sacred city shines; 800 All kingdoms and all princes of the earth Flock to that light; the glory of all lands Flows into her; unbounded is her joy. I i I I I I I.0 I I I _ _ _ _ I__ I_ ___ C _______ - - THE WINTER WAIK AT NOON. 145 And endless her increase. Thy rams are there Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there;* 805 The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, And Saba's spicy groves pay tribute there. Praise is in all her gates; upon her walls, And in her streets, and in her spacious courts, Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there 810 Kneels with the native of the farthest west; And.Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand, And worships. Her report has travell'd forth Into all lands. From ev'ry clime they coime To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, 815 O Sion! an assembly such as Earth Saw never, such as Heav'n stoops down to see. Thus heav'nward all things tend. For all were once Perfect, and all must be at length restor'd. So God has greatly purpos'd; who would else 820 In his dishonour'd works himself endure Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress. Haste, then, and wheel away a shatter'd world, Ye slow-revolving seasons! we would see (A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) 825 A world, that does not dread and hate his laws, And suffer for its crime; would learn how fair The creature is, that God pronounces good; How pleasant in itself what pleases him. Here ev'ry drop of honey hides a sting: 830 Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flow'rs And e'en the joy, that haply some poor heart Derives from Heav'n, pure as the fountain is, Is sullied in the stream, taking a taint From touch of human lips, at best impure. 83o O for a M orld in principle as chaste As this is gross and selfish! over which Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and proweators of the Arabs in the prophetick Scripture here alluded to, mitay be reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large. VOL. II. 13 _,_...... 1 __ __ __ - i I I I I i i 14i THE TASK. Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway, 'hat govern all things here, slhould'ring aside 'The meek and modest Truth, and forcing her 8f1 'o seek a refuge from the tongue of Strife In nooks obscure, far from the ways of' imen; Where Violence shail never lift tlhe sword, Nor Cunning justify the proud man's wrong, Leaving the poor no remledy but tears: 845 Where lie that fills an office, ehall esteem Thl occasion it presents of doing good MhIre than the perquisite: where Law shall speak Seldonm, and never but as Wisdom prompts Ard Equity; not jealous more to guard 850 A worthless form tlian to decide aright: Wht-re Fashion shall not sanctify abuse, Nor smooth Good-breeding (supplemental grace) With lean performance ape the work of love! Come, then, and, added to thy many crowns, 8&5 Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth, Thou who alone art worthy! It was thine By ancient covenant, ere Nature's birth; And thou hast made it thine by purchase since; And o'erpaid its value with thy blood. 860 Thy saints proclaim thee king; and in their hearts Thy title is engraven with a pen Dipp'd in the fountain of eternal love. Thy saints proclaim thee king; and thy delay Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see 66i The dawn of thy last advent, long desir'd, YWould creep into the bowels of the hills, And llee for safety to the falling rocks. hlle very spirit of the wold is tir'd )f its own taunting question, ask'd so long, 870 " Wnere is the promise of your Lord's approach?" The infidel has shot his bolts away, Till his exhausted quiver yielding none, He gleans the blunted shafts, that have recoil'd, And aims them at the shield of Truth again. 875 i; I iI I i - -— ` - I - ~, - ---c- --- —---- -.- — ' -.-^~- —l-C- I-U ~.ILL —I —~ ---~ ----I" --- -------— ~". ----~- I --- —-~ ---------- — )- ----C- — L-^-~~ ---T~I i I I I I i I 1! I I I i i I THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. i,7 'rhe veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands, That hides divinity from mortal eyes; And all the mysteries to faith propos'd, Insulted and traduc'd are cast aside, As useless, to the moles and to the bats. 8 fJ They now are deem'd the faitllful, and are prais'd Who, constant only in rejecting Thee, Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal, And quit their office for their errour's sake. Blind and in love with darkness! yet e'en those 885 Worthy, compar'd with syco phants, who knee Thy name adoring, and then preach thee man; So fares thy church. But how thy church may fare The world takes little thought. Who will may preach, And what they will. All pastors are alike 890 To wand'ring sheep, resolv'd to follow none. Two gods divide them all-Pleasure and Gain; For these they live, they sacrifice to these, And in their service wage perpetual war 894 With Conscience and with Thee. Lust in their hearts, And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth To prey upon each other; stubborn, fierce, High-minded, foaming out their own disgrace. Thy prophets speak of such; and noting down The features of the last degen'rate times, 900 Exhibit every lineament of these. Come, then, and, added to thy many crowns, Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest, Due to thy last and most effectual work, Thy word fulfill'd, the conquest of a world! 905 He is the happy man, whose life e'en now Shtow somewhat of that happier life to come; Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state, Is pleas'd with it, and, were he free to choose, Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the fruit Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith, 911 Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one Content indeed to sojourn while he must I.1 I I -- -— L. —... -----— ~ --- —------ ------------ - - ----- ------- _7 C --- —---— - -~ -`..- - -L - -. —-.--^.- --- - - —.- - -C1 - — -. -..._._ _I,_... .. ._ _. I i I I i i i I I i i I I I i i i 148 TIIE TASK. Belowv the skies, but having there his h nmo. The world o'erlooks him in her busy search 915 Of objects more illustrious in her view; And occupied as earnestly as she, Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the World. She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not; lie seeks not hers, for lie has prov'd them vain. 920 Iio cannot skim the ground like summer birds Pursuing gilded flies; and such lie deems lHer honours, her emoluments, her joys. Therefore in contemplation is his bliss, Whose pow'r is such, that whom she lifts from earth She makes familiar with a Hleav'n unseen, 926 And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd. Not slothful he, though seeming unemployed, And censur'd oft as useless. Stillest streams Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird 930 That flutters least is longest on the wing. Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has rais'd, Or what achievements of immortal fame He purposes, and he shall answer-None. His warfare is within. There, unfatigu'd, 935 His fervent spirit labours. There he fights And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself, And never-with'ring wreaths, compar'd with which, The laurels that a Cesar reaps are weeds. Perhaps the self-approving, haughty world, 940 That as she sweeps him with her whistling sillk Scarce deigns to notice him, or if she see, Deems him a cipher in the works of God, Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes 945 ler sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring And plenteous harvest, to the pray'r he makes, When, Isaac like, the solitary saint Walks forth to meditate at eventide, And think on her who thinks not for herself. 960 Forgive him, then, thou bustler in concerns I I i I i I I I II - ---- -,,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~,,~~~~~~.1,( i I I I I I TIHl, WINTER WALK AT NOON. 149 Of little worth, an idler in the best, If, author of no mischief and somie good, He seeks his proper happiness by means That may advance, but cannot hinder, tlline. 955 Nor, though he tread the secret path of life, Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease, Account him an encunmbrance on tlhe state, Receiving benefits, and rend'ring none. Ilis sphere, though humble, if that humble sphere Shine with his fair example; and though small 91i His influence, if that influence all be spent In soothing sorrow, and in quenching strife, In aiding helpless indigence in works From which at least a grateful few derive 965 Some taste of comfort in a world of wo; Then let the supercilious great confess IHe serves his country, recompenses well The state beneath the shadow of whose vine He sits secure, and in the scale of life 970 Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place. The man, whose virtues are more felt than seen, Must drop indeed the hope of publick praise; But he nay boast, what few tlat win it can, That if his country stand not by his skill, 975 At least his follies have not wrought her fall. Polite Refinement otfers him in vain 1ier golden tube, through which a sensual World Draws gross imllllrity, and likes it well, The neat conveyance hiding all the offence. 980 Not tlat he peevislhly rejects a mode, Because that World adopts it. If it bear The stanmp and clear impression of good sense, And be not costly more than of true worth lie puts it on, and for decorum sake 985 Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she. She judges of refinement by the eye; I-He, by the test of conscience, and a heart Not soon deceiv'd; aware, that what is base 13* I i I I I I I I I - f Cc ~ ~ - -- - - ---— r~ I I I i i II I I I f I l -._ ____.___ _ ~ ---_- ------------ ~ -------- ------ ~ --- —--------- - ^ ---~ ---- -~^ — — ~-~ --- —-~~ - -~ ---- —^ ---~ r -~~- ~ --- —-r --- —--------— ^ --- —-- L ---— ~ 150 TIE TASK. No polish can make sterling; and that vice, 990 Though well pcefum'd and elegantly dress'd, Like an unburied carcass trick'd with flcx'rs, Is but a garnish'd nuisance, fitter far For cleanly riddance than for fair attire. So life glides smoothly and by stealth away, 99.5 More golden than that age of fabled gold Renown'd in ancient song; not vex'd with care Or stain'd with guilt, beneficent, approv'd Of God and man, and peaceful in its end. So glide my life away! and so at last, 1000 My share of duties decently fulfill'd, May some disease, not tardy to perform Its destin'd office, yet with gentle stroke, Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat, Beneath the turf that I have often trod. 1005 It shall not grieve me then, that once, when call'd To dress a Sofa with the flow'rs of verse, I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair, With that light Taskl; but soon, to please her more, Whom flowers alone I knew would little please, 1010 Let fall th' unfinish'd wreath, and rov'd for fruit; Rov'd far, and gather'd much; some harsh, 'tis true, Pick'd from the thorns and briars of reproof, But wholesome, well digested; grateful some To palates that can taste ilmmortal truth; 1015 Insipid else, and sure to be despis'd. But all is in His hand whose praise I seek. In vain the poet sings, and the World hears, If he regard not, though divine the theme. 'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime 1020 And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre, To charm His car whose eye is on the heart, Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, Whose approbation —prosper even mine. I I I I I I i I I I_ ----- - -- I ( 1t1 ) AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. DEAR JOSEPH-five and twenty years agoAlas, how time escapes 'tis even soWith frequent intercourse, and always sweet, And always friendly, we were wont to cheat A tedious hour-and now we never meet i As some grave gentleman in Terence says, ('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days,) Good lack, we know not what to-morrow bringsStrange fluctuation of all human things! True. Changes will befall, and friends may part But distance only cannot change the heart; And, where I call'd to prove th' assertion true, One proof should serve-a reference to you. Whence comes it, then, that in the vane of life, Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife, We find the friends we fancied we had won, Though num'roas once, reduw'd to few or none? Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch? No; gold they seem'd, but they were never such. Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe, Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge, Dreading a negative, and overaw'd Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad. Go, fellow,-whither?-turning short aboutNay-Stay at home-you're always going out. Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end.For what?-An please you, sir, to see a friend.A friend! Horatio cr.ie, and seem'd to startYea, marry shalt thou, and with all my heart I I -— U- ---. -L --- — — ~ --- -- -~ ~~-~ --- -~- -— r I I I _ I __ *_ _ ____I__ I_ _I_ ____ __ __ __ _~ __ _ _ ___ ___ __ __q_ _ _~___ - 152 EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. And fetch my cloak; for, though the night be raw, T'll see him too-the first I ever saw. I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, And wis his plaything often when a child; But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close, Else lie was seldom bitter or morose. Perhaps his confidence just then betray'd, llis grief might prompt him with the speech he made Pulhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth, The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. Ilowe'er it was, his language, in my mind Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind. But not to moralize too much, and strain, To prove an evil, of which all complain, (I hate long arguments verbosely spun,) One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. Once on a time, an emp'ror, a wise man, No matter where, in China or Japan, Decreed, that whosoever should offend Against the well-known duties of a friend, Convic' ed once, should ever after wear But half a coat, and show his bosom bare. The punishment importing this, no doubt, That all was naught within, and all found out 0 happy Britain! we have not to fear Such hard and arbitrary measure here; Else; could a law like that. which I relate, Once have the sanction of our triple state, Some few, that I have known in days of old, Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold; While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow Might traverse England safely to and fro, An honest man, close button'd to the chin, Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within. I I - _ - -- -_ I!-' -- ' --- -I -' -' 4 I I g - r o a I r o J t] - Ob,I - 0-4 0 0 O q 0 S. iI I I I i I l I. ~ ~ ~ ~ - -. --.-.. - - - TO THE REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UNWIN, RECTOR OF STOCK IN ESSEI, 'THE TUTOR OF IIS TWO SONS, TIHE FOLLOWING POEM, RECOMMENDING PRIVATE TUITION, IN PREFERENCE TO AN EDUCATION AT SCHOOL, IS INSCRIBED, BY HIS AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, WILLIAM COWPER I I i i 1 i I Olmy, Nov. 6, 178 I i _ __ _ __ _ I i I I I I I I TIROCINIUM. IT is not from his form, in which we trace Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace, That man, the master of this globe, derives His right of empire uvtr all that lives. That form, indeed, th' associate of a mind 5 Vast in its pow'rs, ethereal in its Kilu — That form, the labour of almighty skill, Fram'd for the service of a freeborn will, Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control, But borrows all its grandeur from the soul. 10 lHere is the state, the splendour, and the throne, An intellectual kingdom, all her own. For her the Mern'ry fills her ample page With truths pcur'd down from ev'ry distant age For hier amasses an unbounded store, 15 The wisdom of great natlons, now no more; Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil; Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil; When copiously supplied, then most enlarg'd, Still to be fed, and not to be surchatrg'd. 20 For her the Fancy, roving unconfin'd, The present muse of ev'ry pensive mind, Works magick wonders, adds a brighter hue To Nature's scenes than Nature ever knew. At her command winds rise, and waters roar, 9 Aaain she lays them slumbering on the shore; I i i I I I i I I,z - _ ------------------------------------— ' I __I __ __ _ _ _____ I_ __ 15;G TIROCINIUM: OR, With flow'r and fruit the wilderness supplies, Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise. For her the Judgment, urmpire in the strife, That Grace and Nature have to wage through life, 30 Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill, Appointed sage preceptor to the will, Condemns, approves, and with a fiithful voice Guides the deciscii of a doubtful choice. Why did the fiat of a God give birth 35 To yon fair Sun, and his attendant Earth? And when, descending, he resigns the skies, Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise, Whom Ocean feels through all his countleo waves, And owns her pow'r on ev'ry shore he laves 40 Why do the seasons still enrich the year, Fruitful and young as in their first career? Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze; Summer in haste the thriving charge receives 45 Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves, Till Autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews Die them at last in all their glowing hues'Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste, Pow'r misemployed, munificence misplac'd, 50 Had not its author dignified the plan, And crown'd it with the majesty or man. Thus form'd, thus plac'd, intelligent, and taught, Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought, The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws 55 Finds in a sober moment time to pause. To press th' important question on his heart, " Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art?" If man be what he seems, this hour a slave, The next mere dust and ashes in the grave; GO Endu'd with reason only to descry His crimes and follies with an aching eye; With passions, just that he may prove, with pain, The force he spends against their fury vain; I I _ __~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ i d. ~ --- —---- 11 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 157 And if, soon after hlving burn'd, by turns, 65 With ev'ry lust with which frail Nature burns. His being end where death desolves the bond, The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond; Then he of all that Nature has brought forth, Stands self-impeach'd the creature of least worth, 70 And useless while he lives and when he dies, Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies. Truths, that the learn'd pursue with eager thought, Are not important always as dear bought, Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, 75 A childish waste of philosophick pains; But truths, on which depends our main concern, That 'tis our shame and mis'ry not to learn, Shine by the side of ev'ry path we tread With such a lustre, he that runs may read. 80 'Tis true, that if to trifle life away Down to the sunset of their latest day, Tlen perish on futurity's wide shore, like fleeting exhalations, found no more, Were all that Heav'n requir'd of human kind, 85 And all the plan their destiny design'd, What none could rev'rence all might justly blame, And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame. But reason heard, and nature well perus'd, At once the dreaming mind is disabus'd. 90 If all we find possessing earth, sea, air, Reflect his attributes who plac'd them there, Fulfil the purpose, and appear design'd Proofs of the wisdom of the all-seeing Mind, 'Tis plain the creature, whom he chose t' invest 95 With kingship and dominion o'er the rest, Receiv'd his nobler nature, and was Made Fit for the pow'r in which he stands array'd; Tlat first, or last, hereafter, if not here, Ile too might manae his author's wisdom clear, 100 Praise him on earth, or, obstinately dumb, Suffer his justice in a world to come. VoL. II. 14 >I ^ - 1- ----- I -132 15$ TIROCINIIUM: OR, This once believ'd, 'twere logick nisalpplicd, To prove a consequence by none denied, That we are bound to cast the minds of youth 105 Betimes into the mould of heav'nly truth, That taught of God they may indeed be wise, Nor, ignorantly wand'ring, miss the skies. In early days the conscience has in most A quickness, which in later life is lost: 110 Preserv'd from guilt by salutary fears, Or, guilty, soon relenting into tears. Too careless often, as our years proceed, What friends we sort with, or what books we re ad, Our parents yet exert a prudent care, 115 To feed our infant minds with proper fare; And wisely store the nurs'ry by dcrrees With wholesome learning, yet acquir'd with ease. Neatly secur'd from being soil'd or torn Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn, 120 A book, (to please us at a tender age 'Tis call'd a book, though but a single page.) Presents the pray'r the Saviour deign'd to teach, Which children use, and parsons-whcn they preach. Lisping our syllables, we scramble next 15 Through moral narrative, or sacred text; And learn with wonder how this world began, Who made, who marr'd, and who has ransom'd man. Points which, unless the Scripture made them plain, The wisest heads might agitate in vain. 130 0 thou, whom, borne on fancy's eager wing Back to the season of life's happy spring, I pleaa'd remember, and, while rmem'ry yet lolds fast her office here, can ne'er forget; Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale 135 Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail; Whose hum'rous vein, strong sense, and simple stylet May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile; Witty, and well employ'd, and like thy Lord, Speaking in parables his slightd word; 140 I; I III.-.-. — ------- ---- ---- --- - -- -------------- - I - ~ __~_~LI___ L i i I II I I I I I I i i I A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS 159 I name thee not, lest so despis'd a name Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame, Yet e'en in transitory life's late day, That mingles all my brown with sober gray, Revere the man, whlose Pilgrim marks the road, 145 And guides thie progress of the soul to God. 'Twere well with most, if books, that could engage Tleir childhood, pleas'd them at a riper age; The man approving what had charm'd the boy, Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy; 10 And not with curses on his lieait, who stole Tlhe gem of truth from his unguarded soul. Tile stamp of artless piety impress'd By kind tuitionn n his yielding breast, Thie youth now bearded, and yet pert and raw, 155 Regards with scorn, though once receiv'd with awe; And, warp'd into the labyrinth of lies, That babblers, call'd philosophers, devise, Blasphemnes his creed, as founded on a plan Replete with dreams, unworthy of a man 160 Touch but his nature in its ailing part, Assert the native evil of his heart, His pride resents the charge, although the proof Rise in his forehead,* and seem rank enough; Point to the cure, describe a Saviour's cross 165 As God's expedient to retrieve his loss, Tle young apostate sickens at the view, And hates it with the malice of a Jew. low weak the barrier of mere Nature proves, Oppos'd against the pleasures Nature loves! 170 Wlile self-betray'd and wildfully undone, She longs to yield, no sooner woo d than won. Try now the merits of this bless'd exchange, Of modest truth for wit's eccentiick range. TLm.3 was, he clos'd as he began the day 175 Wtith decent duty, not ashamn'd to pray: I I I I " See 2 Clirun. cl. xxvi. ver. 19...,,,,.-,_ _ _ ',,, ~ I i I -- - - ---- - -- - - - - - -~ --- - -'" - - - — '.- - -- '- - - -.. ~-~v- -, —, I 160 TIROCINIUM: OR, The practice was a bond upon his heart, A pledge lie gave for a consistent part; Nor could lie dare presumptuously displease A pow'r confess'd so lately on his knees. 180 But now farewell all legendary tales, The shadows fly, philosophy prevails; Pray'r to the winds, and caution to the waves; Religion makes thee free by nature slaves! Priests have invented, and the world admird I18 What knavish priests promulgate as inspir'd; Till Reason, now no longer overaw'd, Resumes her powers, and spurns the clumsy fraud, And, common sense diffusing real day, The meteor of the Gospel dies away 190 Such rhapsodies our shrewd discerning youth Learn from expert inquirers after truth; Whose only care, might truth presume to speak, Is not to find what they profess to seek. And thus, well-tutor'd only while we share 195 A mother's lectures and a nurse's care; And taught at schools much mythologick stuff,* But sound religion sparingly enough; Our early notices of truth, disgrac'd, Soon lose their credit, and are all eftac'd. 200 Would you your son should be a sot or dunce, Lascivious, headstrong, or all these at once; That in good time the stripling's finish'd taste For loose expense, and fashionable waste, Should prove your ruin and his own at last; 205 Train him in publick with a mob of boys, Childish in mischief only and in noise, Else of a mannish growth, and five in ten In infidelity and lewdness men. * The author begs leave to explain. Sensible that without such knowledge neither the ancient poets nor historiams can he tasted, or indeed understood, he does not nmean to censure the pains that are taken to instruct a sehol boy in the r'ligion of the Heathen, but merely that neglect of Christian culture, which leaves him shamefully ignorlant of his ov:n. I I I I i I I I I I I I i I I U - - --- —` --- —-----— - — - -I -— ---* 111 --- __ _..._ _..___.._____ _ I __ ii- I-" — ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~ - -5 - i i I i i A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 161 There shall he learn, ere sixteen winters old, 210 That authors are most useful, pawn'd or sold; That pedantry is all that schools impart, But taverns teach the knowledge of the heart; There waiter Dick, with Bacchanalian lays, Shall win his heart, and have his drunken praise, 215 His counsellor and bosom friend shall prove, And some street-pacing harlot his first love. Schools, unless discipline were doubly strong, Detain their adolescent charge too long; The management of tyroes of eighteen 220 Is difficult, their punishment obscene. The stout tall captain, whose superiour size The minor heroes view with envious eyes, Becomes their pattern, upon whom they fix Their whole attention, and ape all his tricks. 225 Ilis pride, that scorns t' obey cr to submit, With them is courage; his effront'ry, wit. Ilis wild excursions, window-breaking feats, Robb'ry of gardens, quarrels in the streets, 229 His hairbreadth 'scapes, and all his daring schemes, Transport them, and are made their fav'rite themes. In little bosoms such achievements strike A kindred spark: they burn to do the like: Thus half accomplish'd ere he yet begin To show the peeping down upon his chin; 235 And, as maturity of years comes on, Made just th' adept that you design'd your son, T' ensure the perseverance of Lis course, And give your monstrous project all its force, Send him to college. If lie there be tam'd, 24G Or in one article of vice reclaimnd, Where no regard of ord'nances is shown Or look'd for now, the fault must be his own, Some sneaking virtue lurks in him, no doubt, Where neither strumpots' charms nor drinking bout, Nor gambling practices, can find it out. 246 Such youtld of spirit, ar.d that spirit too, 14 * l I t II — ~-~L —~C ----— ~ —5 ----_- —. --- —-. _ __-_ _ — _ —._ --- —I _ _._ -— —_- ----~- -- --— `--' --- —` --- —- ------- ---- ' --- —— --- —----------- --- ~ 162 TIROCINIUM: OR, Ye nurs'ries of our boys, we owe to you: Though from ourselves the mischief Imore proceeds, For publick schools 'tis publicl, folly feeds. 250 The slaves of custom and establish'd mode, With packhorse constancy we keep the road, Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, True to the jingling of our leader's bells. To follow foolish precedents, and wink 255 With both our eyes, is easier than to think; And such an ago as ours balks no expense, Except of caution, and of common sense; Else sure notorious fact and proof so plain, Would turn our steps into a wiser train. 260 I blame not those who, with what care they can, O'erwatch the num'rous and unruly clan; Or, if I blame, 'tis only that they dare Promise a work, of which they must despair. Have ye, ye sage intendants of the whole, 265 A ubiquarian presence and controlElisha's eye, that, when Gehazi stray'd, Went with him, and saw all the game he play'd? Yes —ye are conscious; and on all the shelves Your pupils strike upon, have struck yourselves. 270 Or if, by nature sober, ye had then, Boys as ye were, the gravity of men; Ye knew at least, by constant proofs address'd To ears and eyes, the vices of the rest. But ye connive at what ye cannot cure, 275 And evils, not to be endur'd, endure, Lest pow'r exerted, but without success, Should make the little ye retain still less. Ye once were justly fam'd for bringing forth Undoubted scholarship and genuine worth; 280 And in the firmament of fame stiil bilues A glory, bright as that of all the signs, Of poets rais'd by you, and statesmen, and divines. Peace to them all! those brilliant times are fled, And no such lights are kindling in their stead. 285 I - I i I i i U _ _ _ I i I A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 163 Our striplings shine indeed, but with such rays, As set the midnight riot in a blaze; And seem, ifjudg'd by their expressive looks, Deeper in none than in their surgeons books. Say, Muse, (for education made the soln, 290 No muse can hesitate, or linger long,) What causes move us, knowing as we raust, That these m.enageries all fail their trust, To send our sons to scout and scamper there, While colts and puppies cost us so much care 295 Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, We love the play-place of our early days; The scene is touching, and the heart is stone That feels not at that sight, and feels at none. The wall on which we tried our graving skill, 300 The very name we carv'd subsisting still; The bench on which we sat while deep employ'd, Tho' mangled, hack'd, and hew'd, not yet destroy'd, The little ones, unbotton'd, glowing hot, Playing our games, and on the very spot; 305 As happy as we once, to kneel and draw The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw; To pitch the ball intc the grounded hat, Or drive it devious with a dext'rous pat; The pleasing spectacle at once excites 310 Such recollection of our own delights, That, viewing it, we seem almost t' obtain Our innocent sweet simple years again. This fond attachment to the well-known place, Whence first we started into life's long race, 315 Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it e'en in ago, and at our latest day. Hark! how the sire of chits, whose future share Of classick food begins to be his care, With his own likeness plac'd on either knee, 320 Indulges all a father's heart-felt glee; And tells them, as lie strokes their silver locks, 'tat they must soon learn Latin, and to box; I - --,-1.,,,,._,._.,_,,_,,,,,_,_ I ZZT-' --- -^-`- - -- —` --- —---— ' --- —-- -~~~ --- — — ~ --- —------— — ~ --- ----------— ~ — --- —--. --- —-s.. 164 TIROCiNIUM: OR, Then turning, he regales his list'ning wife With all the adventures of his early life; 325 His skill in coachmanship, or driving chaise, In bilking tavern bills, and spouting plays; What shifts he us'd, detected in a scrape, Ihow he was flogg'd or had the luck t' escape; What sums he lost at play, and how he sold 330 Watch, seals, and all-till all his pranks are told. Ietracing thus his frolicks, ('tis a name That palliates deeds of folly and of shame?) He gives the local bias all its sway; Resolves that where he play'd his sons shall play, 335 And destines their bright genius to be shown Just in the scene where he display'd his own. The meek and bashful boy will soon be taught, To be as bold and forward as he ought; The rude will scuffle through witl ease enough, 340 Great schools suit best the sturdy and the rough. Ah happy designation, prudent choice, Th' event is sure; expect it, and rejoice! Soon see your wish fulfill'd in either childThe pert made perter, and the tame made wild. 345 The great, indeed, by titles, riches, birth, Excus'd th' encumbrance of more solid worth, Are best dispos'd of where with most success They may acquire that confident address, Those habits of profuse and lewd expense, 350 That scorn of all delights but those of sense, Which, though in plain plebeians we condemn, With so much reason all expect from them. But families of less illustrious fame, Whose chief distinction is their spotless name, 355 Whose heirs, their honours none, their income small, Must shine by true desert, or not at all, WV hat dream they of, that with so little care They risk their hopes, their dearest treasure there They dream of little Charles or William grac'd 360 With wig prolix, down llowing to his waist: c — CZ —~ I I I I i I ii i - — --- —-II — -- ----- - ------ -----— s —--er,lL,, - -I 1 I. — ---- - - ' — - — 1 -- -- -- - A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 165 They see th' attentive crowds his talents draw: They hear him speak-the oracle of law. The father, who designs his babe a priest, Dreams him episcopally such at least; 365 And while the playful jockey scours the room Briskly, astride upon the parlour broom, In fancy sees him more superbly ride In coach with purple lin'd, and mitres on its side. Events improbable and strange as these, 370 Which only a parental eye foresees, A publick school shall ltrin.r to pass with ease. But how! Resides such virtue in tihut air, As must create an appetite for pray'r? And will it breathe into him all the zeal, 375 That candidates for such a prize should feel, To take the lead and be the foremost stil In all true worth and literary skill? " Ah, blind to bright futurity, untaught The knowledge of the world, and dull of thought t Church-ladders are not always mounted best 380 By learned clerks, and Latinists profoss'd. Th' exalted prize demands an upward look, Not to be found by poring on a book. Small skill in Latin, and still less in Greek, 385 Is more than adequate to ail I seek. Let erudition grace him or not grace, 1 give the bauble but the second place; His wealth, fame, honours, all that I intend, Subsist and centre in one point-a friend. 390 A friend, whate'er he studies or neglects, Shall give him consequence, heal all defects. His intercourse with peers and sols of peers, There dawns the splendour of his future years: In that bright quarter his propitious skies 395 Shall blush betimes, and there his glory rise. Your Lordship and Your Grace! wlat school can teach A rhet'rick equal to those parts of upeech! What need of Homer's verse, or Tally's prose, i,__________________ I I I 166 TIROCINIUMI: OR, Sweet interje-tions! if he learn but those i' 400 Let rcv'rend churls his ignorance rebuke, Who starv'd upon a dog's-ear'd Pentateuch, The paison knows enough, who knows a duke." Egregious purpose! worthily begun xIn barb'rous prostitution of your son; 405 Press'd on his part by means that would disgrace A scriv'ner's clerk, or footman out of place, And ending, if at last its end be gain'd, In sacrilege, in God's own house profan'd! It may succeed; and, if his sins should call 410 For more than common punishment, it shall; The wretch shall rise, and be the thing on earth Least qualified in honour, learning, worth, To occupy a sacred awful post, In which the best and worthiest tremble most. 415 The royal letters are a thing of course, A king, that would, might recommnend his \orse; And deans, no doubt, and chapters with one voice, As bound in duty, would confirm the choice. Behold your bishop; well he plays his part, 420 Christian in name, and infidel in heart, Ghostly in office, earthly in his plan, A slave at court, elsewhere a lady's nman. Dumb as a senator, and as a priest A piece of mere church furniture at best; 425 To live estrang'd from God his total scope, And his end sure, without one glimpse of hope. But fair although and feasible it seem, Depend not much upon your golden dream: For Providence, that seems concern'd t' exempt 430 The hallow'd bench from absolute contempt, In spite of all the wrigglers into place, Still keeps a seat or two for worth.nd grace; And therefore 'tis that though the sight be rare, We sometimes see a Lowth or Bagot there. 435 Besides, school-friendships are not always found, 'Though fair in promise, permanent and solnn'; I 1! - _ ___ --— cl-L --- —---- -- i A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 167 rhe most disint'rested and virtuous minds, In early years connected, time unbinds, New situations give a dif rent cast 440 Of habit, inclination, temper, taste; And he that seeni'd our counterpart at first, Soon shows the strong similitude revers'd. Young heads are giddy, and young hearts are warm, And make mistakes for manhood to reform. 445 Boys are at best but pretty buds unblown, Whose scent and hues are rather guess'd than known; Each dreams that each is just what he appears, But learns his errour in maturer years, When disposition, like a sail unfurl'd, 450 Shows all its rents and patches to the world If, therefore, e'en when honest in design, A boyish friendship may so soon decline, 'Twere wiser sure t' inspire a little heart With just abhorrence of so mean a part, 455 Than set your son to work at a vile trade For wages so unlikely to be paid. Our publick hives of puerile resort, That are of chief and most approv'd report, To such base hopes, in many a sordid soul, 460 Owe their repute in part, but not the whole. A principle, whose proud pretensions pass Unquestion'd, though the jewel be but glassThat with a world, not often over nice, Ranks as a virtue, and is yet a vice; 465 Or rather a gross compound, justly tried, Of envy, hatred, jealousy, and pride — Contributes most perhaps t' enhance their fame And emulation is its specious name. Boys, once on tire with that contentious zeal, 470 Feel all the rage that female rivals feel; The prize of' beauty in a woman's eyes Not brighter than in theirs the scholar's prize The spirit of that competition burns With all varieties of ill by turns; 475 I i I i I -- ---- -- -- -------— ~ --- —--— ----~-~I - ~~, ~~ _~_ --- —— ~~~~ ---~~I --- —- ~-~~-LIC~-. 168 TIROCINIUM: OR, Each vainly magnifies his own success, Resents his fellow's, wishes it were less, Exults in his miscarriage if he fail, Deems iis reward too great if he prevail, And labours to surpass him day and night, 480 Less for improvement than to tickle spite. The spur is pow'rful, and I grant its force; It pricks the genius forward in its course, Allows short time for play, and none for sloth; And, felt alike by each, advances both: 485 But judge, where so much evil intervenes, The end, though plausible, not worth the means. Weigh, for a moment, classical desert Against a heart deprav'd and temper hurt; Hurt, too, perhaps, for life; for early wrong, 490 Done to the nobler part, affects it lolng; And you are stanch indeed in learning's cause, If you can crown a discipline, that draws Such mischiefs after it with much applause. Connexion form'd for interest, and endcar'd 495 By selfish views, thus censur'd and cashier'd: And emulation, as engend'ring hate, Doom'd to a no less ignominious fate: The props of such proud seminaries fall, The Jachin and the Boaz of them all. 5o3 Great schools rejected then, as those that swell Beyond a size that can be manag'd well, Shall royal institutions miss the bays, And small academies win all the praise? Force not my drift beyound its just intent, 505 I praise a school as Pope a government; So take my judgment in his language dress'd, " Whate'er is best administer'd is best." Few boys are born with talents that excel, But all are capable of living well; 510 Then ask not, Whether limited or large? But, Watch they strictly, or neglect their charge? I I I I I I I i I I --- - ---- ---- I_ _____I.__ ____ ___ _ 7 _ _ I~ — -- - - I A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 165 If anxious only, that their boys may learn, While morals languish, a despis'd concern, The great and small deserve one common blame, 515 Diff'rent in size, but in effect the same. Much zeal in virtue's cause all teachers boast, Though motives of mere lucre sway the most; Therefore in towns and cities they abound, For there tile game they seek is easiest found; 520 Though there, in spite of all that care can do, Traps to catch youth are more abundant too. If shrewd, and of a well-constructed brain, Keen in pursuit, and vig'rous to retain, Your son come forth a prodigy of skill; 525 As, wheresoever taught, so form'd he will; The pedagogue, with self-complacent air, Claims more than half the praise as his due share. But if, with all his genius, he betray, Not more intelligent than loose and gay, 630 Such vicious habits as disgrace his name, Threaten his health, his fortune, and his fame; Though want of due restraint alone have bred The symptoms, that you see with so much dread: Unenvied there, he may sustain alone 535 The whole reproach, the fault was all his own. O 'tis a sight to be with joy perus'd, By all whom sentiment has not amls d, New-fangled sentiment, the boasted grace Of those who never feel in the right place; 640 A sight surpass'd by none that we can show, Though Vestris on one leg still shine below; A father blest with an ingenuous son, Father, and frier.d, and tutor, all in one; How!-turn again to tales long since forgot, 545 Esop, and Phaedrus, and the rest?-Why not? He will nut blush, that has a father's heart, To take in childish plays a childish part; But bends his sturdy back to any toy That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy; 550 VOL. II. 15.-Z I I _ __ ____1_1_____ _ __ ___ lh 170 TIROCINIUM: OR, Then why resign into a stranger's hand A task as much within your own command, That God and Nature, and your int'rest too Seem with one voice to delegate to you? Why hire a lodging in a house unknown i55 For one, whose tend'rest thoughts all hover round your own? This second weaning, needless as it is, How does it lac'rate both your heart and his! Th' indented stick, that loses day by day Notch after notch, till all are sinooth'd away, 560 Bears witness, long ere his dismission come, With what intense desire he wants his home. But though the joys he hopes beneath your roof Bid fair enough to answer in the proof, Harmless, and safe, and nat'ral, as they are 565 A disappointment waits him even there: Arriv'd, he feels an unexpected change, He blushes, hangs his head, is shy and strange; No longer takes, as once, with fearless ease, His fav'rite stand between his father's knees, 570 But seeks the corner of some distant seat, And eyes the door, and watches a retreat; And, least familiar where he should be most, Feels all his happiest privileges lost. Alas, poor boy!-the natural effect 675 Of love by absence chill'd into respect. Say, what accomplishments, at school acquir'd, Brings he to sweeten fruits so undesir'd? Thou well deserv'st an alienated son, Unless thy conscious heart acknowledge-none; 5M None that, in thy domestick snug recess, He had not made his own with more address, Though some, perhaps, tlht shock thy feeling mind, And better never learn'd, or left behind. Add, too, that, thus estrang'd, thou canst obtain 585 By no kind arts his confidence again; I I - -1 I I... - -- - ---- --- II I;I I I II i I 1i I I A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 171 TI'hat here begins with most that long complaint Of filial frankness lost, and love grown faint; Which, oft neglected in life's waning years A parent pours;nto regardless ears. 690 Like caterpillars dangling under trees By slender threads, and swinging in the breeze, Which filthily bewray and sore disgrace The boughs in which are bred th' unseemly race: While ev'ry worm industriously weaves 595 And winds his web about the rivell'd leaves; So num'rous are the follies that annoy The mind and heart of ev'ry sprightly boy; Imaginations noxious and perverse, Which admonition can alone disperse, 600 Th' encroaching nuisance asks a faithful hand, Patient, affectionate, of high command, To check the procreation of a breed Sure to exhaust the plant on which they feed. 'Tis not enough, that Greek or Roman page, 606 At stated hours, his freakish thoughts engage; E'en in his pastimes he requires a friend To warn, and teach him safely to unbend O'er all his pleasures gently to preside, Watch his emotions, and control their tide; 610 And levying thus, and with an easy sway, A tax of profit from his very play, T' impress a value not to be eras'd, On moments squander'd else, and running all to waste And seems it nothing in a father's eye, 615 That unimprov'd those many moments fly And is he well content his son should find No nourishment to feed his growing mind, But conjugated verbs, and nouns deelin'd? For such is all the mental food purvey'd 620 By publick hacknies in the schooling trade; Who feed a pupil's intellect with store Of syntax, truly, but with little more; -I I I - --- ------ - ~___I____~_ --- —- _-~I -.1l I I I I i i I I 172 TIROCINIUM: OR, Dismiss their cares, when they dismiss their flock, Machines themselves, and govern'd by a clock. (25 Perhaps a father, bless'd with any brains, Would deem it no abuse, or waste of pains, T' improve this diet, at no great expense, With sav'ry truth and wholesome common sense: To lead his son, for prospects of delight, 630 To some not steep, though philosophick height, 'Thence to exhibit to his wond'ring eyes Yon circling worlds, their distance and their size, The moons of Jove, and Saturn's belted ball, And the harmonious order ofthem all; 635 To show him in an insect or a flow'r Such microscopick proof of skill and pow'r, As, hid from ages past, God now displays, To combat atheists with in modern days; To spread the earth before him, and commend 640 With designation of the fingers' end, Its various parts to his attentive note, Thus bringing home to him the most remote; To teach his heart to glow with gen'rous flame, Caught from the deeds of men of ancient fame; 645 And, more than all, with commendation due, To set some living worthy in his view, Whose fair example may at once inspire A wish to copy what he must admire. Such knowledge gain'd betimes, and which appears Though solid, not too weighty for his years, 651 Sweet in itself, and not forbidding sport, When health demands it, of athletick sort, Would make hirn-what some lovely boys have been, And more than one, perhaps, that I have seen — 655 An evidence and reprehension both Of the mere school-boy's lean and tardy growth Art thou a man professionally tied, With all thy faculties elsewhere applied, Too busy to intend a meaner care, 660 lThan how t' enrich thyself, and next thine heir: I I I i I I I II - - ---— C'' --- — I - ----— ~c-" r __ _~ ___ __ __ _ _ __ _ i i If I I A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 173 Or art thou (as, though rich, perhaps thou art) But poor in knowledge. having none t' impart' Behold that figrure, neat. though plainly clad; His sprightly mingled with a shade of sad; CG5 Not of a nimble tongue, though now and then Heard to articulate like other men; No jester, and yet lively in discourse, His phrase well chosen, clear, and full of force And his address, if not quite French in ease, (70 Not English stiff, but frank, and form'd to please: Low in the world because he scorns its arts; A man of letters, manners, morals, parts; Unpatronis'd, and therefore little known; Wise for himself and his few friends alone- G75 In him thy well-appointed proxy see, Arm'd for a work too difficult for thee; Prepar'd by taste, by learning, and true worth, To form thy son, to strike his genius forth; Beneath thy roof, beneath thine eye, to prove 680 The force of discipline when back'd by love; To double all thy pleasure in thy child, HIis mind inform'd, his morals undefil'd. Safe under such a wing, the boy shall show No spots contracted among grooms below, 685 Nor taint his speech with meannesses design'd By footman Tom for witty and refin'd. There, in his commerce with the liv'ried herd, Lurks the contagion chiefly to be fear'd; For since, (so fashion dictates,) all who claim 090 A higher than a mere plebeian fame, Find it expedient, come what mischief may, To entertain a thief or two in pay, (And they that can afford th' expense of more, Some half a dozen, and some half a score,) 695 Great cause occurs, to save him from a band So sure to spoil him, and so near at hand; A point secur'd, if once he be supply'd With some such Mentor always at his side. 15 * I I I I I - I- - ~" -.. I ___, A, I I i i i I I I I i i I --— ~ --- —^I —~-^ — r~ --- —-~-- ---- -— ~- ---— --- — c- --- ----- -- - 174 TIROCINIUM: OR, Are such men rare? perhaps they would abound, 700 Were occupation easier to be found, Were education, else so sure to fail, Conducted on a manageable scale, Arnd schools, that have outliv'd all just esteem, Exchang'd for the secure domestick scheme.- 705 But, having found him, be thou duke or earl, Show thou hast sense enough to prize the pearl, P nd, as thou wouldst th' advancement of thino heir In all good faculties beneath his care, Respect, as is but rational and just, 710 A man deem'd worthy of so dear a trust. Despis'd by thee, what more can lie expect From youthful folly than the same neglect? A flat and fatal negative obtains, That instant, upon all his future pains; 715 His lessons tire, his mild rebukes offend, And all th' instructions of thy son's best friend Are a stream chok'd, or trickling to no end. Doom him not then to solitary meals; But recollect that he has sense, and feels: 720 And that, possessor of a soul refin'd, An upright heart and cultivated mind, His post not mean, his talents not unknown, He deems it hard to vegetate alone. And, if admitted at thy board he sit, 725 Account him no just mark for idle wit; Offend not him, whom modesty restrains From repartee, with jokes that he disdains; Much less transfix his feelings with an oath; Nor frown, unless he vanish with tle cloth. 730 And, trust me, his utility may reach To more than he is hir'd or bound to teach; Much trash unutter'd, and some ills undone, Through rev'rence of the censor of thy son. But, if thy table be indeed unclean, 735 Foul with excess, and with discourse obscene, i i I I I'r__ =.~ ---I, — _. — ' I Il A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 17, And thou a wretch, whom, foll'wing her own plan The world accounts an honouralhe man, Because forsooth thy courage has been tried And stood the test, perhaps on the wrong side; 740 Though thou hadst never grace enough to prove That any thing but vice could win tliy love;Or hast thou a polite, card-playing wife, Chain'd to the routs that she frequents for life; Who, just when industry begins to snore, 7 5 Flies, wing'd with joy, to some coach-crowded door; And thrice in every winter throngs thine own With half the chariots and sedans in town, Thyself meanwhile e'en shifting as thou mayst, Not very sober though, nor very chaste; 750 Or is thine house, though less superb thy rank If not a scene of pleasure, a mere blank, And thou at best, and in thy sob'rest mood, A trifler, vain and empty o;'all good; Though mercy for thyself thou canst have none, 755 Hear Nature plead, show mercy to thy son. Sav'd from his home, where every day brings forth Some mischief fatal to his future worth, Find hinm a better in a distant spot, Within some pious pastor's humble cot, 760 Where vile example, (yours 1 chiefly mean, The mIost seducing, and the oft'nest seen,) May never more be stamp'd upon his breast, Nor yet perhaps incurably impress'd. Wliere early rest makes early rising sure, 765 l)isease or comes not, or finds easy cure Prevented much by diet neat and plain; Or, if it enter, soon starv'd out again: Where all th' attention of his faithful host, Discreetly limited to two at most, 770 May raise such fruits as shall reward his care, And not at last evaporate in air; Where, stillness aiding study, and his mind Servne,, and to his hduties muchl inclin'd, i _ _ i I I 176 TIROCINIUM. OR, Not occupied in day-dreams, as at home, 775 Of pleasures past, or follies yet to comIIe, Hls virtuous toil may terminate at last In settled habit and decided taste.But whom do I advise? the fashion led, Th' incorrigibly wrong, the deaf, the dead, 780 Whom care and cool deliberation suit Not better much than spectacles a brute; Who, if their sons some slight tuition share, Deem it of no great moment whose, or where; Too proud t' adopt the thoughts of one unknown 765 And much too gay t' have any of their own. But courage, nman! methought the muse replied Mankind are various, and the world is wide: The ostrich, silliest of the feather'd kind, And forn'd of God without a parent's mind, 790 Commits her eggs, incautious, to the dust, Forgetful that the foot may crush the trust; And, while on publick nurs'ries they rely, Not knowing, and too oft not caring, why, Irrational in what they thus prefer 795 No few, that would seem wise, resemble her. But all are not alike. Thy warning voice May here and there prevent erroneous choice; And some perhaps, who, busy as they are, Yet make their progeny their dearest care, 800 (Whose hearts will ache, once told what ills may reach Their offspring, left upon so wild a beach,) Will need no stress of argument t' enforce Tl' expedience of a less advent'rous course; The rest will slight thy counsel or condemn; 805 But they have human feelings-turn to them. To you then, tenants of life's middle state, Securely plac'd between the small and great. Whose character, yet undebauch'd, retains Two thirds of all the virtue that remains, 810 I I I I I I I I I j! I I- I- - -------- -,, I1 __LI._ _ A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 177 Who, wise yourselves, desire your son should learn Your wisdom and your ways-to you t turn. Look round you on a world perversely blind: See what contempt is fall'n on human kind; See wealth abus'd, and dignities misplac'd, 815 Great titles, offices, and trusts disgrac'd, Long lines of ancestry, renown d of old, Their noble qualities all quench'd and cold; See Bedlam's closeted and hand-cuff'd charge Surpass'd in frenzy by the mad at large; ' 820 See great commanders making war a trade, Great lawyers lawyers without study made: Churchmen, in whose esteem their best employ Is odious, and their wages all their joy; Who, far enough from furnishing their shelves 825 With gospel lore, turn infidels themselves; See womanhood despis'd, and manhood sham'd With infamy too nauseous to be nam'd; Fops at all corners, lady-like in mien, Civeted fellows, smelt ere they are seen, 830 Else coarse and rude in manners, and their tongue On fire with curses, and with nonsense hung, Now flush'd with drunkenness, now with whoredom pale, Their breath a sample of last night's regale; See volunteers in all the vilest arts 835 Man well endow'd, of honourable parts, Design'd by Nature wise, but self-made fools, All these, and more like these, were bred at schools, And if it chance, as sometimes chance it will, That though school-bred the boy be virtuous still; 840 Such rare exceptions, shining in the dark Prove, rather than impeach, the just remark: As here and there a twinkling star descried, Serves but to show how biack is all beside. Now look on him, whose very voice in tone 845 Just echoes thine, whose features are thine own, i I I i i I I C`s ' --- —-— ---- 178; TIROCINIUM: OR, Ind stroke his polish'd cheek of purest red, And lay thine hand upon his flaxen head, And say, My boy, th' unwelcome hour is come, When thou, transplanted from thy genial home, 850 Must find a colder soil and bleaker air, And trust for safety to a stranger's care; What character, what turn thou wilt assume From constant converse with I know not whom; Who tliere will court thy friendship, with wliat views, And, artless as thou art, whom thou wilt choose; 856 Though much depends on what thy clioice shall be, Is all chance-medley, and unknown to me. Canst thou: the tear just trembling on thy lids, And while the dreadful risk foreseen forbids; 860 Free too, and under no constraining force, Unless the sway of custom warp thy course; Lay such a stake upon the losing side Merely to gratify so blind a guide? Thou canst not! Nature, pulling at thine heart, 865 Condemns th' unfatherly, th' imprudent part. Thou wouldst not, deaf to Nature's tend'rest plea, Turn him adrift upon a rolling sea, Nor say, Go thither, conscious that thcre lay A br< jd of asps or quicksands in his way; 870 Then, only govern'd by the selfsame rule Of nat'ral pity, send him not to school. No-guard him better. Is he not thine own, Thyself in miniature, thy flesh, thy bone? And hop'st thou not, ('tis ev'ry father's hope,) 875 That since thy strength must with thy years elope, And thou wilt need some comfort to assuage lIealth's last farewell, a staff in thine old age, That then, in recompense of all thy cares, Thy child shall show respect to thy gray hairs,. 880 Befriend thee, of all other friends bereft, And give thy life its only cordial left! Aware then how much danger intervenes, To compass that good end forecast the means, I I I I I I I I I I I I I 11 I i_~ '- --- — -- — I--`--1 — U-` -- ----- -I - - ro ~i I I I I A REVIEW OF SCIOO1IS. 179 His heart, now passive, yields to tly comrll;nd; bif Secure it thine, its key is in thine hand. If thou desert thy charge, and throw it wide, Nor heed what guest there enter and abide, Complain not if attachments lewd and base Supplant thee in it, and usurp thy place 890 But, if thou guard its sacred chambers sure From vicious inmates and delights impuie, Either his gratitude shall hold him fast, And keep him warm and filial to the last; Or, if he prove unkind, (as who can say S But, being man, and therefore frail, he may?) One comfort yet shall cheer thine aged heart, Howe'er he slight thee, thou hast done thy part. 0 barb'rous! wouldst thou with a Gothick hand Pull down the schools-what -all th' schools i' th' land; 900 Or throw them up to li~'ry nags and grooms, Or turn them into shops and auction rooms? A captious question, sir, (and yours is one,) Deserves an answer similar or none. Wouldst thou, possessor of a flock, employ, 905 (Appris'd that he is such,) a careless boy, And feed him well, and give hin handsome pay, Merely to sleep, and let them run astray Survey our schools and colleges, and see A sight not much unlike my simile. 910 From education, as the leading cause, The publick character its colour draws; Thence the prevailing manners take their cast, Extravagant or sober, loose or chaste. And, though I would not advertise themn yet, 915 Nor write on each-This building to be let, Unless the world were all prepar'd t' embrace A plan well worthy to supply their place; Yet, backward as they are, and long have boeen, To cultivate and keep the mtorals clean, 920 I I i I % --- —---- - -- -- ~ I - - -- - -- - ~ —c 'I '(180) TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON. I~~~~~~~I The wildest wind that blows, E sallows in ther felt nor feard by the Secure o f their reposeless win And bees in hives as idly wait But man, all of early Spring.d awak The gloomy scene surveys. 1a. With present ills hifrost that binds t ahe stre The wildest wind that blows, Are neiter felt nor fear'd the mead, Secure of their repose. But man, all feeli and ary ourn; The gloomy scene surveys! Witlh present ills his heart must aches And pant for b-rirhter days. Old Winter, halting o'er thie mriead, BidY me and Mlary nlourn; But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head, And whispers your return. V. Then April with her sister May, Shall chase him from the bow'rs, And weave fresh garlands ev'ry diy To crown the smiling hours. VI. And if a tear, that speaks regret, Of happier times, appear, A glimpse of joy, that we hlave met, Shall shine and dry the tear. t I I I I I i I I I I l I~ _ I - - ( 181) On the receipt of my Motner's Picture:mt of J'orfolk, the gift of my cousin nnt]lt od/tarn. 0 TIAT those lips had language! Life has pass'd With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smile 1 see, The same, that oft in childhood solac'd 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, (Bless'd 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, 0 welcome guest, though unexpected here! Who bidd'st me honour with an artless spng, Affectionate, a mother lost so iong. I 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, Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream, that thou art she. My mother! when I learn'd 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 gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss, Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in blissAh, that maternal smile! it answers-Yes. I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day, VOL. II. 10 - --------- IfkI, Ii; t I I =, ---^ —.I —c —.- ---------— ~ --- —- ----------- ----- -— ~ ----— ~ —~- ~ --- —------- ------- - ---- --- — --- —-- 182 ON TIlE RECEIPT OF I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And turning from my nurs'ry window, drew A llong, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! But was it such?-It was-where thou art gore Adicus and farewells are a. sound unknovwn May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more! Thy maidens, griev'd themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd, And disappointed still, was still deceiv'd. By expectation ev'ry day beguil'd, Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till all my stock of infant sorrows spent, I lcarn'd at last submission to my lot, iBut though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot. Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod mv nurs'ry floor; Anid wlhere the gard'ncr, Robin, dny by day, Drew me to school along the publick way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap, Tis now become a hist'ry little known, rhat once we call'd the past'ral house our own. Short-liv'd possession! but the record fair, That mem'ry keeps of all the kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effac'd A thousand other themes less deeply trac'd. Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, That thou mightst 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 t All this, and more endearing still than all, Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, i i! I I il i:i,, ---------- _. --- —L- ---~~ —CI --- —-C - f I I I.i i I 1 I I i I I ----- I --- -------------------- MY MOTIER'S PICTURE Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and breais That humour interpos'd too often makes; All this still legible in nern'ry's page, And still to be so to my latest age, Adds joy to duty, makes Ine glad to pay Such honours to thee as my numbers may: Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, Not scorn'd in Heav'n, though little notiot'd here. 183 Could Time, his flight revers'd, restore the hours, When, playing with thy vesture's tissu'd flow'rs, The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I prick'd 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 days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? I would not trust my heart-the dear delight Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I mightBut no-whlat here we call our life is such, So little to be lov'd, and thou so much, That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast, (The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd,) Shoots into port at some weil-haven'd 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 icenlse play Around her fanning light her streamers gay; So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd thle shore, "L Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,"* And thy lov'd consort on the dang'rous tide Of life long since has ancllor'd by thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distress'd* Garth. 1 1 I I I I I II I I ii iIi 1 I 1I 1 1 I I I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ---~ Il -- = -- I I I i I II I 184 ON 'I'IiE RECEIPT OF, &c. Mo howling blasts drive devious, tempcst-toss'd, Sails ripp'd, scams op'ning wide, and compass lost, And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosp'rous course. Yet O 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 enthron'd, and rulers of the Earth; But higher far my proud pretensions riseThe son of parents pass'd into the skies. And now farewell-Time unrevok'd has run His wonted course, yet what I wisl'd is done, By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seem t' have liv'd my childhood o'er again; To have renew'd the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violatil g thine; And while the wings of Fancy still are free, And 1 can view this mimick show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theftThyself remov'd, thy pow'r to sooth me left. I - I I I I I I I I I i I I I I I I I I FRIENDSIIIP. WhTAT virtue, or wnat mental grace, But men unqualified and base Will boast it their possession? Profusion apes the nobler part Of liberality of heart, And dulncss of discretion. If ev'iy polish'd gem we find Illuminating lieart or mind, Provoke to imitation; No wonder friendship does the same. That jewel of the purest flame, Or rather constellation No knave but boldly will pretend The requisites tlat form a friend, A real and a sound one; Nor any fool, 1h would ( eceivc, But proves as ready to believe, And dream that he Iad found one. Candid, and generous, and just, Boys care but little whom they trust, An errour soon correctedFor who but learns in riper years, That man, when smoothest lie appear Is most to be sus!eoct ed? But here again a danger lies, Lest, having misapplied our eyes, And taken traslh for treasures We should unwarily conclude Friendsllip a false ideal good, A mere Utopian pleasure. 1('; I i: I I Io i l il.1 I I Ii I I I 11 I i I i i i - _ __ ___ ___ __ CI____~ eG6 FRIENDSEIP. An acquisition rather rare Is yet no subject of despair; Nor is it wise complaining, If either on forbiddden ground, Or where it was not to be found, We sought without attaining. No friendship will abide the test, That stands on sordid interest, Or mean self-love erected: Nor such as may awhile subsist, Between the sot and sensualist, For vicious ends connected. Who seeks a friend should come dispos'd T' exhilit in full bloom disclos'd The graces and the beauties, That form the character lie seeks For 'tis a union that bespeaks Reciprocated duties. Mutual attention is implied, And equal truth on either side, And constantly supported; 'Tis senseless arrogance t' accuse Another of sinister views, Our own as much distorted. But will sincerity suffice? It is indeed above all price, And must be made the basis; But ev'ry virtue of tle soul Mlust constitute the charming wholej All slining in tlicir places. A fretful teniper will divide The closest knot that may be tied, By ceaseless sllarp corrosion; A temper passionate and fierce May suddenly your joys disperse At one immense explosion. I I II -- - -— -C-C-~ --- —-- __ u —~ I --- — -- $ - I I I I FRIENDSIIP. 187 In vain the talkative unite In hopes of permanent delightThe secret just committed, Forgetting its important weight, They drop through mere desire to prate, And by themselves outwitted. How bright soe'er the prospect seems, All thoughts of friendship are but dreams If envy chance to creep in; An envious man, if you succeed, May prove a dang'rous foe indeed, But not a friend worth keeping. As envy pIr.cs at good possess'd, So jealousy looks forth distress'd On good, that seems approaching; And if success his steps attend, Discerns a rival in a friend, And hates him for encroaching. Hence authors of illustrious name Unless belied by common fame, Are sadly prone to quarrel, To deem the wit a friend displays A tax upon their own just praise, And pluck each other's laurel. A man renown'd for repartee, Will seldom scruple to make free With friendship's finest feeling; Will thrust a dagger at your breast, And say he wounded you in jest, By way of balm for healing. Whoever keeps an open ear For tattlers, will be sure to hear The trumpet of contention; Aspersion is the babbler's trade, To listen is to lend him aid, And rush into dissension. i::..... - -- -- 183 FRIENDSHIP. A friendship, that in frequent fits Of controversial rage emits Thle sparks of disputation, Like hland in hand insurance plates, Most unavoidably creates Tile thought of conflagration. Some fickle creatures boast a soul True as a needle to the pole, Their humour yet so various, They manifest their whole lifo through The needle's deviations too, Their love is so precarious. The great and small but rarely meet On terms of amity complete, Plebeians must surrender And yield so much to noble folk, It is combining fire with smoke, Obscurity with splendour. Some are so placid and serene (As Irish bogs are always green,) They sleep secure front waking: And are indeed a bog that bears Your unparticipated cares Unmov'd and without quaking. Courtier and patriot cannot mix Their het'rogeneous politicks, Without an effervescence, Like that of salts with lemon juice, Which does not, yet like that produce A friendly coalescence. Religion should extinguish strife, And make a calm of human life; But friends that chance to differ On points which God has left at large, How freely will they meet and charge No combatants are stiffer. I I I i i I --- -_ - -- - r --- --— C ~- --------------- ---- I I I i I I 11 FRIENDSHIP. 189 To prove at last my main intent Needs no expense of argument, No cutting and contrivingSeeking a real fiiend we seem T' adopt the chemist's golden dream, With still less hope of thriving. St metimes the fault is all our own, Some blemish in due time made knorwn By trespass or omission; Sometimes occasion brings to light Our friend's defect long hid from sight, And even from suspicion. Then judge yourself, and prove your man As circumspectly as you can, And, having made election, Beware no negligence of yours, Such as a friend but ill endures, Enfeeble his affection. That secrets are a sacred trust, That friends should be sincere and just, That constancy befits them, Are observations on the case, That savour much of common-place, And all the world admits them. But 'tis not timber, lead, and stone, An architect requires alone, To finish a fine buildingThe palace were but half complete, If he could possibly forget The carving and the gilding. The man that hails you Tom or Jack And proves by thumps upon your baclk Iow he esteems your merit, Is such a friend, that one had need Be very much his friend indeed, To pardon or to bear it. I l - - - -~ ---— ~ ~ -- I~- C — 5 - ____,It 19 FRIENDSIIP As similarity of mind, Or something not to be defin'd. FirSt fixes our attention: So manners decent and polite, Tle same we practis'd at first sigh Must save it from declension. Some act upon this prudent plan, Say little, and hear all you can." Safe policy, but hatefulSo barren sands imbibe the show'r, But render neither fruit nor flow r Unpleasant and ungrateful. The mal I trust, if shy to me, Shalll find me as reserv'd as lie, No subterfuge or pleading Shall win my confidence againI will by no means entertain A spy on my procecding. These samples —fr alas! at last These are but samples, and a taste Of evils yet unmention'dI Iay prove the task a task indeed, In which 'tis much if we succeed, However well intention'd. 'Pursue the search, and you will find Good sense and knowledge of mankind To be at least expedient, And, after summing all the rest, Religion ruling in the breast A principal ingredient. The noblest Friendship ever shown The Saviour's history makes known, Though some have turn'd and turn'd it; And whether being craz d or blind, Or seeing with a biass'd mind, Have not, it seems, discern'd it I I I I i i I i i i i I II -1.I - -- - ---.,_,,_, C______ _____ __I ___ ____ _ 11 I II 1! THE MORALIZER CORRECTED. 191 O Friendship! if my soul forego Thy dear delights while here below To mortify and grieve me, May I myself at last appear Unworthy, base, and insincere, Or may my friend deceive me! TIIE MORALIZER CORRECTED A TALE. A HERMIT, (or if 'chance you hold That title now too trite and old,) A man, once young, who liv'd retir'd As hermit could have well dcsir'd, His hours of study clos'd at last, And finsli'd his concise repast, Stoppled his cruise, replac'd his book Within his customary nook, And, staff in hand, set forth to share The sober cordial of sweet air, Like Isaac, with a mind applied To serious thought at cv'ning tide. Autumnal rains had made it chill, And from the trees that fring'd his hill, Shades slanting at the close of day Cllill'd more his else delightful way, Distant a little nile lie spied A western bank's still sunny side, And right toward the favour'd place Proceeding with his nimblest pace, In hope to bask a little ye., Just reacl'd it when the sun was set 11 i I I I I I I I I i I i I I i I I I I I I I I I I I _ I I" I1_U_ _ _ __ 192 THE MORALIZER CORRECTED. Your hermit, young and jovial sirs! Learns something from whate'er occurs — And hence, lie said, my mind computes The real worth of man's pursuits His object chosen, wealtll, or fame, Or other sublunary game, Imagination to his view Presents it deck'd with ev'ry hue That can seduce him not to spare His pow'rs of best exertion there, But youth, health, vigour, to expend On so desirable an end. Ere long approach life's ev'ning shades, The glow that fancy gave it fades; And, earn'd too late, it wants the grace That first engag'd him in the clase. True, answer'd an angelick guide, Attendant at the senior's sideBut whether all the time it cost, To urge the fruitless chase be lost, Must be decided by the worth Of that which call'd his ardour forth. Trifles pursu'd, whate'er th' event, Must cause him shame or discontentA vicious object still is worse, Successful there lie wins a curse. But he, whom e'en in life's last stage Endeavours laudable engage, Is paid, at least in peace of mind, And sense of having well design'd; And if, ere he attain his end, His sun precipitate descend, A brighter prize than that he meant Shall recompense his mere intent. No virtuous wish can bear a date Either too early or too late ----------- i -~-cl --------- ------------------------ ----------------- --- A CATIIARINA. ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON, (NOW MRS. COURTN'EY.) SIE came-she is gone-we have metAnd meet perhaps never again The sun of that moment is set, And seems to have risen in vain Catharina has fled like a dream(So vanishes pleasure, alas!) But has left a regret and esteem, That will not so suddenly pass. The last ev'ning ramble we made, Catharina, Maria, and I, Our progress was often delay'd By the nightingale warbling nigh. We paus'd under many a tree, And much she was charm'd with a tong Less sweet to Maria and me, Who so lately had witness'd her own. My numbers that day she had sung, And gave them a grace so divine, As only her musical tongue Could infuse into numbers of mine. The longer I heard, I csteein'd The work of my fancy the more, And e'er to myself never seem'd So tuneful a poet be.fore. VOL. II. 17 j 1 I I il i --- -- --- —c-,, I_____ I__ __I_ __I___ _ CI __ I _ ___ ___ - - 194 CATIIARTNA Though the pleasures of London exceed In number the da-ys of the year, Catharina, did nothing impede, Would feel herself happier here; For the close-woven arches of limes On the banks of our river, I know, Are sweeter to her many times Than aught that the city can show. So it is, when tle mind is er;md'd With a well-jidging taste froml above, Then whether In)ellishl'd or rlude 'Tis nature alone that we love; The achievements of art may anuse, May even our wonder excite, But groves, hills, and vallies, diffuse A lasting, a sacred delight. Since, then, in the rural recess Catharina alone can rejoice, May it still be her lot to possess The scene of her sensible choice! To inhabit a mansion remlote From the clatter of street-pacing steeds, And by Philomel's annual note To measure the life that sle leads. With her book, and her voice, and her lyre To wing all her moments at home; And with scenes that new rapture inspire, As oft as it suits her to roan; She will have just the life she prefers, With little to hope or to fear, And ours would be pleasant as hers, Might we view her enjoying it hero, III I II I i I i I I I I I. I I i i I I I J I i i I -1 I --- —-e - -- ---— -I --- -- ----- _, --- —--— L — - L __ _1_1__ __CCC ___ __ IL_ ___ ___I I I I I I I!I I I TIIE FAITIFUL BIRD. TIlE green house is my summer seat; My shrubs displac'd from that retreat Enjoy'd the open air; Two Goldfinches, whose sprightly song, Iad been their mutual solace long, Liv'd happy pris'ners there. They sang as blithe as finches sing, Tlhat flutter loose on golden wing, And frolicl where they list; Strangers to liberty, 'tis true, But that delight they never knew And therefore cever miss'd. But nature works in every breast, WVith force not easily suppress'd; And Dick felt some desires, That after many an effort vain, Instructed him at length to gain A pass between his wires. The open windows seem'd t' invite The freeman to a farewell flight: But Tom was still colfin'd: And Dick, although his way was clear Was much too gen'rous and sincere, To leave his friend behind. So settling on his cage, by play, And chirp, and kiss he seel'd to say, You must not live aloneNor would lie quit that chosen stand, Till I, with slow and cautious hand, Return'd him to his own I I i I i I I i I c, II ---- -- -- - C~-Ch~ —~-* --- ----— c ~ —~ --- —-- I I - I- -------- --— _l-L --- — ---LI - -- -C ----~ —_ I i I I I 196 TIlE NEEDLESS ALARM O ye who never taste the joys Of Friendship, satisfied with noise, Faldango, ball, and rout! Blush, whenl I tell you how a bird, A plison witlj a friend preferr'd To liberty without. TIlE NEEDLESS ALARM. A TALE. THERE is a field, through which I often pass Thick overspread with moss and silky grass, Adjoining close to Kilwick's eclioinr wool, Where oft the bitch fox hides her hapless brood, Reserv'd to solace many a neighb'ring squire, That he may follow them through brake and brier, Contusion, hazarding of neck, or spine, Which rural gentlemen call sport divine. A narrow brook, by rushy banks conceal'd Runs in a bottom, and divides the field; Oaks intersperse it, that had once a head, But now wear crests of oven-wood instead; And where the land slopes to its wat'ry bourn, Wide yawns a gulf beside a ragged thorn; Bricks line the sides, but shiver'd long ago, And horrid brambles intertwine below; A hollow scoop'd, I judge, in ancient time, For baking earth, or burning rock to lime. Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red, With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed; Nor autumn yet had brush'd from ev'ry spray, With her chill hand the mellow leaves away; i I I I II 11 I _e ----— ~ --- —--------------- 'I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(! I Ii I I _I_ _I_ I_ I __I_ THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 197 IJut corn was hous'd, and beans were in the stack; Now therefore issu'd forth tlhe spotted pack, With tails high liounted, ears hung low, and throats, With a whole gamut fill d of heav'nly notes, For which, alas! my destiny severe, Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear. The sun, accomplishing his early larch, His lamp now planted on Heav'n's topmost arch, When, exercise and air my only aim, And hleedless whither, to that field I came, Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found, Or with the high-rais'd horn's melodious clang All Kilwick* and all Dingledcrry' rang. Sheep graz'd the field; some with soft bosom press'd The herb as soft, while nibbling stray'd the rest; Nor noise was heard but of the hasty brook, Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook. All secm'd so peaceful, that, from them convey'd, To me their peace by kind contagion spread. But when the huntsman with distended check, 'Gan make his instrument of musick speak, And from within the wood that crash was heard, Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd, The sleep recumbent, and the sheep that graz'd, All huddling into phalanx, stood and gaz'd, Admiring, terrified, the novel strain, Then cours'd the field around, and cours'd it round again; But, recollecting with a sudden thought, That flight in circles urg'd advanc'd them nought, They gather'd close around the old pit's brink, And thought agaln-but knew not what to think. - * Two woods belonging to Jonn Throckmnorton, Esq. 17*. I --— C --- —C_ ~ —~ --- —------------ C ---cyl I I 198 THE NEEDLESS ALARM. The man to solitude accustom'd long Perceives in every thing that Lives a tongue, Not animals alone, but sl.rubs and trees, Have speech for him, and understood with ease; After long drought when rains abundant fall, Ile hears the herbs and flow'rs rejoicing all; Knows what the freshnless of their hue implies, flow glad they catch the largess of the skies; But, with precision nicei still, the mind lie scans of ev'ry locomotive kind; Birds of all feather, beasts of ev'ry name, That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame; The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears lave all articulation in his ears; lie spells them true by intjition's light, And needs no glossary to set him right. Thils truth premis'd was needful as a text, To win due credence to what follows next. Awhile they mus'd; surveying ev'ry face, Thou hadst suppos'd them of superiour race; Their periwigs of wool, and fears combin'd Stamp'd on each countenance such marks of mind, 'hat sage they seem'd as lawyers o'er a doubt, Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out; Or academick tutors, teaching youths, Sure ne'er to want them, mathematiek truths; When thus a mutton, statelicr tlhan the rest, A ram, the ewes and wethers sad, address'd. Friends! we have liv'd too long. I never heard Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fcar'd. Could 1 believe, that winds for ages pent In Earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, And from their prison-house below arise, With all these hideous lhowlings to the skies, I could be much compos'd, nor should appear, For such a cause, to feel the sliglhtest fcar IIi j ii I Ij I. _______ ------------— ~ — — ~-~ ----... ---.-.. L --- --- --- i I i I i i i i i i i i I I I I I f - THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 199 Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders ro.l'd All night, me resting quiet in the fold, Or heard we that tremendous bray alone, I could expound the melancholy tone; Should deem it by our old companion made, The ass; for he, we know, lhas lately stray'd, And being lost, perhaps, and wand'ring wide, Might be suppos'd to clamour for a guide. But ah! these dreadful yells what soul can hear That owns a carcass and not quake for fear? Demons produce them doubtless, brazen-claw'd, And fang'd with brass, tlle d&nlons are abroad, 1 hold it therefore wisest and most fit, That, life to save, we leap into the pit. Him answer'd then his loving mate and true, But more discreet than lie, a Cambrian ewe. How! leap into the pit our life to save? To save our life leap all into the grave? For can we find it less? Contemplate first The depth how awful! falling there we burst; Or should the brambles, interpos'd, our fall In part abate, that happiness were small: For witl a race like theirs no chance I see Of peace or case to creatures clad as we. Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray, Or be it not, or be it whose it may, And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues Of demons utter'd from whatever lungs, Sounds are but sounds, and till the cause appear, We have at least commodious standing here. Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast From Earth or lIell, we can but plunge at last. While thus she spake, I fainter heard the peals, For Reynard, close attended at his heels By panting dog, tir'd man, and spatter'd horse, Through mlere good fortune, took a diff'rent course I - I-L I --- — -- - — - - --- —LI ' I I i I I i i I' 200 BOAI)ICEA. The flock grew calm again, and I toe road Foll'wing, that led me to my own abode. Much wonder'd that the silly sheep had found Such cause ofterrour in an empty sound, So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound. MORAL. Beware of desp'rato steps. The darkest day, Live till to-morrow, will have pass'd away. BOADICEA An ODE. 1. WHEN the British warriour queen, Bleeding fron the Roman rods, Sought with an indignant mien, Counsel of her country's gods. [I. Sage beneath the spreading oak Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Ev'ry burning word he spoke Full of rage, and full of grief IlI. Princess! if our aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrnnts 'Tis because resentment ties All the terrours of our ton:i?'fs. II I I i I I i i I I - II IC~ --- --- -- - - - - -CLI ---~ BOADICEA. Rome shan. perish-write that word In the blood tlat she hast spill'd; Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd, Deep in ruin as in guilt. V. Rome, for empire far renown'd, Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride slall kiss the ground — Hark! the Gaul is at her gates VI. Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a soldier's namo; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize -larnmony the patli to fame. VII. 'hen the progeny that springs From the forests of' c.r!aid, Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings Shall a wider world commnand. VIII. Regions Ctesar never knew Thy posterity siall sway; Where his eagles never flw, None invincible as they. IX. Such the bard's prophetick words, Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending as he swept the chords Of his sweet but awful lyra X. She, with all a monarch's pride, Felt them in her bosom glow; Rush'd to battle, fought, and died; Dying hurl'd themi at the foe. 201 II I i i I -- --------- -- i i 11 I 1!I Ii i I ii I; I I I _ICL_ ~-.II --- —— ^ — C 202 -HEROISM XI. Ruffians, pitiless as proud, Heav'n awards the vengeance due' Empire is on us bestow'd, Shame and ruin wait for you. HEROISM. THERE was a time when tEtna's silent fire Slept unperceiv'd, the mountain yet entire; When, conscious of no danger fiom below, She tower'd a cloudcapt pyramid of snow. No thunders shook with deep intestine sound The blooming groves tlat girdled her around. Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines, (Unfelt the fury of those bursting mlines,) The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assur'd, In peace upon her sloping sides natur'd. When on a day, like that of the last doom, A conflagration lab'ring in her womb, She teem'd and heav'd with an infernal birtlh, That shook the circling seas and solid earth. Dark and voluminous the vapours rise, And hang tleir horrours in the neighb'ring skies, While through the stygian veil that blots thle day, In dazzling streaks the vivid lightnings play. But O! what muse, and in what pow'rs of song, Can trace the torrent as it burns along? Havock and devastatlion ' the van, It marches o'er the prostrate works of man, Vines, olives, herbage, forests, disappear, And all the clatrms of a Sicilial \-'tar i I I i I I I I I I U ---— ' -— ~- -----— ^ --- —- -~ --- —-, _ ~ -- HEROISM. 203 Revolving seasons fruitless as they pass, See it an uninform'd and idle mass; Without a soil t' invite the tiller's care, Or blade that might redeem it from despair. Yet tirme, at length, (what will not time achieve?) Clothes it with earth, and bids tie produce live. Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade, And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade. O bliss precarious and unsafe retreats, O charming Paradise of short-liv'd sweets! The self-same gale tlat wafts the fragrance round, Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound: Again the mountain feels the imprison'd foe, Again pours ruin on the vale below. Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore, That only future ages can restore. Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honour draws, Who write in blood the merits of your cause, Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence, Glory your aim, but justice your pretence; Behold in IEtna's emblematick fires The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires. Fast by the stream that bounds your just domain. And tells you where ye have a right to reign, A nation dwells, not envious of your throne, Studious of peace, their neighbours' and their own. Ill-fited race! how deeply must they iue Their only crime, vicinity to you! The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad. Through the ripe harvest lies their dcstin'd road. At ev'ry step benc;atl their feet they tread The life of multitudes, a nation's bread! Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress Bof;re them, and behind a wilderness. Famine, and Pestilence, her first-born son, Attend to finish wlhat the sword becruln I I 11 I -— --- —-— ---- - - — -- II 1 11__4 __ C\ 204 HEROISM. And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn, And Folly pays, resound at your return. A calm succeeds-but Plenty, with her train Of heart-felt joys, succeeds not soon again, And years of pining indigence must show What scourges are tle gods that rule below. Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees, (Such is his thirst of opulence and ease,) Plies all the sinews of industrious toil, Gleans up the refuse of the gen'ral spoil, Rebuilds the tow'rs, that sinok'd upon the plain, And the sun gilds the shining spires again. Increasing commerce and reviving art Renew the quarrel on the counu'ror's part; And the sad lesson must be learn'd once mroro, That wealth within is ruin at the door. What are ye, monarchs, l!urell'd heroes, say, But JEtnas of the sufi'rix)g world ye s-way Sweet Nature, stripp'd of her embiroider'd robe, Deplores the wasted regions of her globe; And stands a witness at Truth's awfil bar, To prove you there destroyers as ye are. O place me in some HIeav'n-protected isle, Where Peace, and Equity, anti Freedom smile Where no volcano pours his fiery flood, No crested warriour dips his plume in blood; Where Pow'r secures what Industry hias won; Where to succeed is not to be undone; A land, that distant ty~r;^ hate in vain, In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign I I I I I-_ - - - --— --- —- -- ----- .., — -- - -- -- -.. 7= I I (205) ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL, WHICH THE OWNER OF I11H SOLD AT THE AUTHOR'S INSTANCE. GO-thou art all unfit to share The pleasures of this place With such as its old tenants are, Creatures of gentler race. The squirrel here his hoard provides Aware of wintry storms, And wood-peckers explore the sides Of rugged oaks for worms. The sheep here smooths the knotted thorn With frictions of her fleece; And hero I wander eve and morn, Like her, a friend to peace. Ah!-I could pity thee exil'd From this secure retreatI would not lose it to be styl'd The happiest of the great. But thou canst taste no calm delight; Thy pleasure is to show Thy magnanimity in fight, Thy prowess-therefore goI care not whether east or north, So I no more may find thee; The angry muse thus sings thee forth, And claps the gate behind thee. VOL. II. 18 I I I.I I I I I 15 _ _ __ __ _ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~C_ _L__II_ __~~~~~~~~~~- (206) ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789. WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF HIS MAJESTY'I HAPPY RECOVERY. 1 RANSACK'D for a theme of song, Much ancient chronicle, and long; I read of bright embattled fields, Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields, Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast Prowess to dissipate a host; Through tomes of fable and of dream I sought an eligible theme, But none I found, or found them shar'd Already by some happier bard. To modern times, with Truth to guide IMy busy search, I next applied; Here cities won, and fleets dispers'd, Urg'd loud a claim to be rehears'd, Deeds of unperishing renown, Our fathers' triumphs and our own. Thus, as the bee, from bank to bow'r, Assiduous sips at ev'ry flow'r, But rests on none, till that be found, Where most nectareous sweets abound-. So I, from theme to theme display'd In many a page historick stray'd, Siege after siege, fight after fight Contemplating with small delight, (For feats of sanguinary lhu Not always glitter in my view,) I I. — — ~r — --- ---- -------— c I - - - - - - - - -. - - - ________________ - - _________________________________ I 11 I I I I I I i L ANNUS IMEMORABII1S. 207 Till, settlin g on the current year, I found the far-sought treasure near; A theme for poetry divine, A theme t' ennoble even mine, In memorable eiohlty-nine. The spring of eighty-nine shall be An era cherish'd long by me, Which joyful I will oft record, And thankful at my frugal hoard; For then the clouds of eighty-eight That threaten'd England's trembling state With loss of what she least could spare, IHer sovereign's tutelary care, One breath of Heaven, that cried-Restore! Chas'd, never to assemble more; And far the richest crown on earth, If valued by its wearer's worti, The symbol of a righteous reign Sat fast on George's brows again. Then peace and joy again possess'd Our Queen's long agitated breast; Such joy and peace as can be known By suff'rers like herself alone, Who, losing, or supposing lost, The good on earth they valu'd most, For that dear sorrows' sake forego All hope of happiness below, Then suddenly regain the prize, And flash thanksgivings to the skies! O Queen of Albion, queen of isles' Since all thy tears were chang'd to smiles, The eyes that never saw thee shine With joy not unallied to thine, Transports not chargeable with art Illumle the land's remotest part, I __ ___ I —I_ -___ — _-.- -. ---- - i 1 2n8 HYMN. And strangers to the air of courts, Botll in their toils and at their sports, Tie ha1piness of answer'd pray'rs, That gilds thy features, show in theirs. if they who on thy state attend, Awe-struck, before thy presence bend, 'Tis but the natural effect Of grandeur that ensures respect; 1l1tt she is something more than queen, Who is belov'd where never seen. I IIYMN, /1I i For the use of the Sunday School at Olncy. I| IHE;AR, Lord, the song of praise and pray'r In heav'n thy dwelling place, From infants made the publick care, And taught to seek thy face. Thanks for thy word and for thy day, And grant us, we implore, Never to waste, in sinful play Thy holy sabbaths more. Thanks that we hear-but 0 impart To each desires sincere, That we may listen with our heart, And learn as well as hear. For if vain thoughts the minds engage Of older far than ve, What hope that at our heedless age, Our minds should e'er be free? I "I ---- ---- - !. ----— I ---- ---— ----,- ------ ^. - -, -_ _,._ .- - --— ~- --- __ I! I i j I I I I I I STANZAS. Much hope, if thou our spirits take Under thy gracious sway, Who canst the wisest wiser make, And babes as wise as tley. 209 Wisdom ad bliss thy word bestows, A sun that ne'er declines, And be thy mercies shower'd on those, Who plac'd us where it shines. STANZAS Subjoined to the Yearly Bill of Mortality of the Parish of All-Saints, Xorthampton,* Anno Domini 1787. Pallida Mors, aquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas Rcgumque turrcs. Horace. Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door Of royal halls, and hovels of tne poor. WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run The Nen's barge-laden wave, All these, life's rambling journey done, Have found their home, the grave. Was man, (frail always) made more frail Than in foregoing years? Did famine or did plague prevail, That so much death appears? ' Composed for John Cox, p;a'lsi c!clrk of iN'ortamiton..S. I I I I I I. I i i I I i — ~L.;L=- -':~ — ~ — ~- ---l —L- -- -~YI I~ — —~,L................. 11 I I I I I i I I I _ ______ _~____I___~ ___ ______ _____~____I____ ____ _____ -- - 210 BILL OF lMOl'rALITY No; tnese were vig'rous as their sires, Nor plague nor famine came; This a:.nual tribute Death requircs, And never waves his claim. Like crowded forest-trees we stand, And some are mark d to fall; The axe will smite at God's command, And soon shall smite us all. Green as the bay-tree, ever green, With its new fliage on, Tl.e gay, the thoughtless, have I seen, I pass'd-and they were gone. Read, ye that run, the awful truth, With which I charge my page; A worm is in the bud of youth, And at the root of age. No present health can health ensure For yet an hour to come; No med'cine, though it oft can eure, Can always balk the tomb. And O! that humble as my lot, And scorn'd as is my strain, These truths, though known, too much forgot, I may not teach in vain. So prays your clerk with all his heart, And ere he quits the pen, Begs you for once to take his pait, And answer all-Amen! i I I --- —-_-' --- —LI — --- — I I i I I I I I I (211) ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE' YEAR 178S Quod adest, memento Componere (equus. Cimtera fluminis Ritu fcrunter. I lorace. Improve the present hour, for all beside Is a mere feather on a torrent's tide. COULD I, from Heav'n inspir'd, as sure presage To whom the rising year shall prove his last, As 1 can number in my punctual page, And item down the victims of the past; How each would trembling wait the mournful shect On which the press Imighrt stamp himn next to die, And reading here his sentence, how replete With anxious mneaning, hcav'nward turn his eye Time tlen would seem more precious tlan the joys In which he sports away the treasure now; And pray'r more seasonable tlan the noise Of drunkards, or the musick-drawing bow. Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore, Forc'd to a pause, would feel it good to think, Told that his setting sun must rise no more. i. 1 i II; I 1! i i i I II I, 212 BILL OF MORTALITY. Ah self-deceiv'd! Could I prophetick say Who next is fated, and who next to fall, The rest might then seem privileg'd to play; But namling none, the voice now speaks to ALL. Observe the dappled foresters, how light They bound and airy o'er the sunny gladeOne falls-the rest, wide scatter'd with affright, Vanisl at once into the darkest shade.;Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn'd, Still need repeated warnings, and at last, A thousand awful admonitions scorn'd, Die self-accus'd of life run all to wasto? Sad waste! for which no after-thrift atones, Tho grave admits no cure for guilt or sin; Dew-drops may deck the turf that hides the bones, But tears of godly grief ne'er flow within. Learn then ye living! by the mouths be taught Of all these sepulchres, instructers true, That, soon or late, death aiso is your lot, And the next op'ning grave iray yawn for you, i I!_ I I! I_ _ __ _ __ __I_ I j I I (213) ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR TIE YEAR 1789.....Placidaque ibt dcmuun nmorte quievit. VIRG. There calm at length he breath'd his soul away. " MOST delightful hour by man Experienc'd here below, The liour that terminates his span, lis folly, and his wo! Worlds slould not bribe me back to tread Again life's dreary waste, To see again my day o'erspread With all the gloomy past. My home henceforth is in the skies, Earth, seas, and sun, adieu! All Heav'n unfolded to my eyes, 1 have no sight for you." So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd Of faith's supporting rod, Then breath'd his soul into its rest, The bosom of his God. Iie was a man among the f( Sincere on virtue's side; And all his strength from Scripture drew, To hourly use applied. i.I 11 -4~ ---------- I - - I I 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 I I i 214 BILL OF MORTALITY. That rule he priz'd, by that he fear'd, liH hated, hop'd, and lov'd; Nor ever frown'd, or sad appear'd But when his heart had rov'd. For he. was frail as thou or I, And evil felt within But when he felt it heav'd a sigh, And loath'd the thought of sin. Such liv'd Aspasio; and at last Call'd up from Earth to Heav'n, The gulf of death triumphant pass'd, By gales of blessing driv'n. His joys be mine, each Reader cries, When my last hour arrives: They shall be yours, my verse replies, Such only be your lives. ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR TIlE YEAR 1790. Ne commonentem recta syerne. Buchanan Despise not my good counsel. lIE who sits from day to day, Where the prison'd lark is hung, Heedless of his loudest lay, Iardly knows that he has sung. i ii i! --- L ' — - -----------. __ _ BILL OF MORTALITY. Where the watchman in his round Nightly lifts his voice on high, None, accustom'd to the sound, Wakes the sooner for his cry. So your verseman I and clerk, Yearly in my song proclaim Death at hand-yourselves his niarkAnd the foes unerring aim. Duly at my time I come, Publishing to all aloudSoon the grave must be your homie, And your only suit, a slroud. But the monitory strain, Oft repeated in your ears, Seems to sound too much in vain, Wins no notice, wakes no fears. Can a truth, by all confess'd 01' such magnitude and weight, Grow, by being oft impress'd, Trivial as a parrot's prate? Pleasure's call attention wins, Iear it often as we may; Now as ever seem our sins, Though committed every day. Death and Judgment, Heaven and hIellThese alone, so often heard, No more move us than the bell, When some stranger is interr'd. O then, ere the turf or tonmb Cover us from every eye, Spirit of instruction come, Make us learn, that we must (lie. 2i1 I-, I.~_ C_ ~ __ (216 t ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 17t2. Feliz, qui potuit rerum cornoscere causas, Atque metus omnes et incxorabiie fatumn Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Jclherontis avari! Virg Happy the mortal, who has trac'd effects To their first cause, cast fear beneath his feet: And death, and roaring Hell's voracious fires THANKLESS for favours from on Iighl Alan thinks he fades too soon; Though 'tis his privilege to die, Would he improve the boon. But he, not wise enough to scan His best concerns aright, Would gladly stretch life's little span To ages, if he might. To ages in a world of pain, To ages, where he goes Gall'd by aflliction's heavy chain, And hopeless of repose. Strange fondness of the human heart, Enamour'd of its harm! Stranga worid, that costs it so much sinai't And still has pow'r to charm. I I i! it I t I I i I I i I I I (I -- ~ _ — ~-2 - — r"~ - - - I I i I I I II I I i i I - - - BILL OF MORTALITY. 217 Whence has the world her magick pow'r? Why deem we death a foe? Recoil from wearv lit's best hour, And covet longer wo? The cause is Conscience-Conscience oft Her tale of guilt renews; Her voice is terrible, though soft, And dread of death ensues. Then, anxious to be longer spar'd, Man mourns his fleeting breath: All evils then seem light, compar'd With the approach of Death. 'Tis Judgment shakes him, there's the fear That prompts the wish to stay: He has incurr'd a long arrear, And must despair to pay. Pay!-follow Christ, and all is paid. His death your peace ensures; Think on the grave where he was laid, And calm descend to yours. VOL. II. 19 - - F (218) ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, ron THE YEAR 1793. De sacris autem hoc sic una sententia, ut conserventwr. Cic. de Leg. But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that things sacred be inviolate. He lives, who lives to God alone And all are acad besite, For other source than God is none Whence life can be supplied. To live to God is to requite Ilis love as best we may: To make his precepts our delight,. His promises our stay. But life, within a narrow r'lhg Of giddy joys compris'd, Is falsely nam'd, and no such thing, But rather death disguis'd. Can life in them deserve the name, Who only live to prove For what poor toys they can disclaim An endless life above. Who much diseas'd, yet nothing feel; Much menac'd. nothing dread, Have wounds, which only God can heal, Yet never ask his aid? 9,, --- -- -- - - --- _ _ _I BILL OF MORTALITY. 219 Who deem his house a useless place, Faith want of commnon sense; And ardour in the Christian race, A hypocrite's pretence? Who trample order; and the day, Which God asserts his own, Dishonour with unhallow'd play, And worship chance alone? If scorn of God's commands, impress'd On word and deed, imply The better part of man unbless'd With life that cannot die; Such want it, and that want uneur'd Till man resigns his breath, Sleaks him a criminal, assur'd Of everlasting death. Sad period to a pleasant course! Yet so wvill God rcpav Sabbaths profan'd without remorse, And mercy cast awav. I (.__ ___ I 4 I i i I I i I (220) INSCRIPTION, FOR T;HE TOMlB CF MIR. HAMILTON. PAUSE here, and think: a monitory rhyme Demands one moment of thy fleeting time. Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein; Seems it to say-" Hlealth here has long to relgr?" Hast thou the vigour of thy youth? an eye That beams delight? a heart untauglht to sigh? Yet fear. Youth, ofttimes healthful and at ease, Anticipates a day it never sees; And many a tomb, like Ha'milton's, aloud Exclaims, " Prepare thee for an early shroud." -QQEPITAPH ON A IIARE. HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue:, Nor swifter grayhound follow, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, Nor ear heard huntsmnan's halloo, Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, Who, nurs'd with tender care, And to domnestick bounds cnfiii'd, Was still a wild Jack-hare Ii I I i I I I I i I I I I i I II I i I I i!f " -" - -- - I EPITAPH ON A HARE. 22t Though duly from my hand he took lis pittance ev'ry night, He did it with a jealous look, And, when he could, would bite, His diet was of wheaten broad, And Inilk, and oats, and straw; Thistles, or lettuces instead, With sand to scour his maw. On twigs of hawthorn he regal'd, On pippen's russet peel, And, when his juicy salads fail'd, Slic'd carrot pleas'd him well. A turkey carpet was his lawn Whereoll he lov'd to bound, To skip and gambol like a tkwn, And swing his rump around. His frisking was at ev ning hours, For then lie lost his fear, But most beoire approaching show'rs, Or when a storin drew near. Eight years and five round rolling moons He thus saw steal away, Dozing out all his idle noons, And ev'ry night at play. I kept him for his humour's sake, For he would oft beguile My heart of thoughts, that made it ache, And force me to a smile. liBt now bcneath this walnut shade He finds his long last home, And waits, in snug concealment laid, Till gentler Puss shall come 19" I -_ _ _ - i I I- i I lI i i 222 EPITAPH1UM ALTERUM. He, still more aged, feels the shocks, From which no care can save, And, partner once of Tiney's box, Must soon partake his grave. EPITAPIIIUM ALTERUM. Hic etiam jacet, Qui totum novcnnium vixit, Puss. Siste paulisper, Qui prateriturls cs, Et tecum sic reputa- Hunc neque cannis venaticus, Nec plumbuln missile, Ncc laqueus, Nec imbres ninii, Confecore: Tamen mortuus estEt moriar ego. f --- ~II~-~ —.-~ ---....,,j PI_ _ __ _ _ _ _ 1 i I I I ( 223 ) THE FOL.LOWING ACCOUNT OF TIHE TREATMENT OF It!s HIARES WAS INSERTED BY MR. COWPER IN rTI. (il:NTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE,, WHENCE IT IS TRANSCRIEED). IN the year 1774, being much indisposed both in mind and body, incapable of diverting myself eitlher with company or books, and yet in a con.itionl that made some diversion necessary, I was glad of any thing that would engage my attention without ftitiguing it The children of a neighhbolr of mine had a leveret given them ior a plaything; it was at that time about three months old. Understanding better how to tease the poor creature than to feed it, and soon becoming weary of their charge; they readily consented that their father, who saw it p'l. nrg and growing leaner every day, should otfer it lo my acceptance. I was willing enough to take the prisoner under my protection, perceiving that, in the management of such an animal, and in the attempt to tame it, I should find just that sort of employment which my case required. It was soon known amnong the rneighbours that 1 wns pleased with the present; and the consequence was, that in a short time I had as many leverets offered to me as would have stocked a paddock. I undertook tile care of three, which it is necessary that I should hero distinguish by the names I gave them —Puss, Tiney, and Bess. Notwithstanding the two feminine appellatives, I must inform you that they were all males. Imnlediately commencing carpenter, I built them houses to sleep in; each had a separate apartment, so contrived, that their ordure would pads through the bottoln of it; an earthen pan placed under each received w\hatsoever fell, which being duly emptied and washefd, they were thus kept perfectly- sweet and clean. 1 t!lio daytime they had (ile ran;^e of a hll, and;I.t nih;lt r. I I I I I I I I I i Ii I i I ------------- - — C — -- — ~~~-. ( 224 ) tired, each to his own beu, never intruding into that of another. Puss grew presently familiar, would leap into my lap, raise himself upon his hinder feet, and bite the hair from my temples. He would suffer me to take him up, and to carry him about in my arms, and has more than once fallen fast asleep upon ny knee. lie was ill three days, during which time I nursed hlil, kept him apart from his fellows, that they might not niolest him, (for, like many other wild animals, they persecute one of their own species that is sick,) and by constant care, and trying him with a variety of herbs, restored him to perfect health. No creature could be more grateful than my patient after his recovery; a sentiment which he most significantly expressed by licking my hand, first the back of it, tlen the palm, then every finger separately, then between all the fingers, as if anxious to leave no part of it unsaluted; a ceremony which he never performed but once again upon a similar occasion. Finding hini extremely tractable, I made it my custom to carry him always after breakfast into the garden, where he hid himself generally under the leaves of a cucumber vine, sleeping or chewing the cud till evening: in the leaves also of that vine ho found a favourite repast. I had not long habituated him to this taste of liberty, before he began to be inpatient for the return of the time when he might enjoy it. He would invite me to the garden by drumming upon my knee, and by a look of such expression, as it was not possible to misinterpret. If this rhetorick did not immediately succeed, lie would take the skirt of my coat between his teeth, and pull at it with all his force. Thus Puss night be said to be perfectly tamed, the shyn'ss of his nature was done away, and on the whole it was visible by many symptoms which I have not room to enumerate, that lie was hap pier in human society than when shut up with his na tural companions. - - -1-U--)~~-LILIIUII —L~~~IIU _ I ___ ,. —. --- --- —^~L- — ---~ ---~ --- —rrr- ---~ — _ II Ii I i ( 225 ) Not so Tiney; upon him the kindest treatment had not the least effect. He, too, was sick, and in his sickness had an equal share of my attention; but if after his recovery I took the liberty to stroke him, he woulc grunt, strike with his fore feet, slring forward, and bite. He was, however, very entertaining in his way; even his surliness was matter of mirth; and irn his play he preserved such an air of gravity, and pe foI ined his feats with such a solemnity of manner, that in him, too, I had an agrecable companion. Bess, who died soon aiter he was full grown, and whose death was occasioned by his being turned into his oox, which had been washed, while it was yet damp, was a hare of great humour and drollery. Puss was tamed by gentle usage; Tiney was not to be tanmed at all: and Bess had a courage and confidenc3 that nade him tame from the beginning. I always admitted them into the parlour after supper, when the carpet afflrding their feet a firm hold, they would frisk, and bound and play a thousand gambols, in which Bess, being remarkably strong and fearless, was always superiour to the rest, and proved himself the Vestris of the party. One evening the cat, being in the room, had the hardiness to pat Bess upon the cheek. an indignity which he resented by drumming upon ler hank with such violence, that the cat was happy to escape from under his paws, and hide herself. I describe these animials as having each a character of his own. Such tlLey were in fact, and theii countenances were so expressive of thlat hanracter, that, when I looked only on the face of cither, I immediately knew which it was. It is saidl tlat a s!hep. herd, however numerous his flock, so(ln bec,,nes sln familiar witlh their features, that lie ca;n, by tlhat indication only, distinguish each from all the rest; anid yet, to a coimmon observer, thle difference is hardly perceptible. I doubt not that the same discrinl:mltion in tli- cast of countenances would be discoverable in I I I I '-~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~ I I I i i I i i i I I - - __ __ ( 226 ) hares, and am persuaded that among a thousand of Ilihem, no tv" could be found exactly similar; a circumstance little suspected by thoue who have not had opportunity to observe it. These creatures have a singular sagacity in discovering the minutest alteration that is made in the place to which they are accustomed and instantly apply their nose to the examination of a new object. A small hole being burnt in tlhe carpet, it was mended with a patcl, and that patch in a moment underwent the strictest scrutiny. They seem, too, to be very much directed by the smell in the choice of their favourites; to some persons, though they saw tJlem daily, they could never be reconciled, and would even scream when they attempted to touch them; but a miller coining in, engaged their affections at once his powdered coat had charms'that were irresistible. It is no wonder that my intimate acquaintance with these specimens of the kind, has taught me to hold the sportsman's amusement in abhorrence: he little knows what amiable creatures he persecutes, of wlat gratitude they are capable, how cheerful they are in their spirits, what enjoyment they have of life, and that, impressed as they seem with a peculiar dread of ian, it is only because man gives themi peculiar cause for it. That I may not be tedious, I will just give a short summary of these articles of diet that suit them best. I take it to be a general opinion that they graze, but it is an erroneous one; at least grass is not their stapIle; they seem rather to use it medicinally, soon quitting it for leaves of almost any kind. Sowthistle, dandclion, and lettuce, are their favourite vegetables, esipecially the last. I discovered by accident that fine white sand is in great estimation with themn; I suppose a; a digestive. It happened that I was cleaning a bird care while the hares were with me: I placed a pot filled with such sand upon the floor, which, being lt. o)lre directed to by a strong instinct, they devoured vr'1ancioslyl;si:ce that lilne I have generally taken 71 I I i I I I I - II — -— ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _.:- - 9 -- -1 --- —-----— '11"-""-~1-~ --- --- -- ---- -- I t 227 ) care to see t,.m well supplied with it. They account green corn a delicacy, both blade and stalk, but the ear they seldom eat: straw of any kind, especially wheat straw, is another of their dainties; they will feed greedily upon oats, but if furnished with clean straw never want them; it serves them also for a bed, and if shaken up daily, will be kept sweet and dry for a considerable time. They do not indeed require aromatick herbs, but will eat a small quantity of them with great relish, and are particularly fond of the plant called musk: they seem to resemble sheep in this, that if their pasture be too succulent, they are very subject to the rot: to prevent which, I always made bread their principal nourishment, and, filling a pan with it cut into small squares, placed it every evening in their chambers, for they feed only at evening, and in the night: during the winter, when vegetables were not to be got, I mingled this mess of bread with shreds of carrot, adding to it the rind of apples cut extremely thin; for, though they are fond of the paring, the apple itself disgusts them. These, however, not being a sufficient substitute for the juice of summer herbs, they must at this time be supplied with water; but so placed, that they cannot overset it into their beds. I must not omit, that occasionally they are mucl pleased with twigs of hawthorn and of the common brier, eating even the very wood whepr it is of considerablo theckr.css. Bess, I have said, died young; Tiney lived to be nine years old, and died at last. I have reabon to think, of some hurt in his loins by a fall: Puss is still iving, and has just completed his tenth year, disco vering no signs of decay, nor even of age, except that he is grown more discreet and less frolicksome tlan he was. I cannot conclude without observing, that 1 have lately introduced a dog to his acquaintance —a spaniel that had never seen a hare. to a hare that head never seen a spaniel. I did it with great caution, but I _o __ -—.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I I I I I ___~__-~ --- —~ —~ —~ —~ ---CIW-~ —~ ---^..-N —L-LI ---~- — UCCII ~"~ —- — - -- ( 228 ) there was no real need of it. Puss discovered no token of fear, nor Marquis tle least Rvyi.ptoJn of hostility. There is, therefore, it should seern. ro.natural antipathy between dog and hare, but the pu.r.dlt of the one occasions the flight of the othel, a d che dog pursues because he is trained to it; they eat bread at the same time out of the same hand, and are il all respects sociable and friendly. I should not do complete justice to my subject, did I not add, that they have no ill scent belonging to them; that they are indefatigably nice in keeping themselves clean, for which purpose nature has firnished them with a brush under each foot; and that they are never infested by any vermin. May 28, 1784. Memorandum found among Mr. Cowper's papers. Tuesday, Marcn 9. 1786 This day died poor Puss, aged eleven years eleven months. He aied between twelve and one at noon, ot mere old age, and apparently without pain. I I i I I I I ENDI oF vOL. U. I -- --,_. .C - - - - I p 0 E ]\? i POELMl\'S, BY WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ. TOGETHER WVII HIS POSTHUMOUS PO(ERY, AND A SKETCH OF llIS LIFE BY JOHN JOHNSON, LL. D, THREE VOLUMES iN {)MI;. NEW EDITION. BOSTON: PHILLIPS, SAEMPSON, AND COMPANY. >E W Y01,K: JAAMES C. D:EI BY. I I.I ~C I - __ __ I TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EARL SPENCER. MY LORD, A GENERAL request having encouraged me to become the Editor of a more complete collection of the posthumous compositions of mry revered relation, the poet COWPER, tlan has hitherto appeared, I consider it as my duty to the deceased, to inscribe the volume that contains them to his exalted friend, by whom the genius of the poet was as justly appreciated, as the virtles of the moralist were effectually patronized. It would be impertinent in me to attempt any new encormiumn on a writer so highly endeared to every cultivated mind in that country which it was the favourite exercise of his patriotick spirit to describe and to celebrate: but I may be allowed to observe, that one of the few additions inserted in this collection will be particularly welcome to every reader of sensibility, as an eulogy on that attractive quality so gracefully visible in all the writings of Cowper. Permit me to close this imperfect tribute of my respect, by saying, it is my deep sense of those important services, for which the afflicted poet was indebted to the kindness of LORD SPENCER, that impels me to the liberty I am now taking, of thus pubickly declaring myself Your Lordship's Iighly obliged, and Very faithful servant, JOHN JOHNSON. IL -- - I i i i PREFACE. IT is incumbent on me to apprize the reader tnat, by far the greater part of the poems to i hich I have now the honour to introduce him, have been already published by Mr. Hayley. That endeared friend of the deceased poet having enriched his copious and faithful life of him with a large collection of his minor pieces soon after his death, and having since given to the world a distinct edition of his Translations fromr the Latin and Italian verses of Milton, every thing seeimed to be accomplished that the merits and mermory of a poet, so justly popular as Cowper, appeared to require. But of late years a fresh and detached collection of all his poems being wished for by his friends, I was flattered by their request, tlat I would present them to the publick as the editor of his third poetical volume. Having accepted this honourable invitation, my first care was to assemble as many of the editions of the two former volumes as I could possibly meet with, that nothing might be admitted into their projected companion which the publick already possessed iin them. With one slight exception I believe I secured that desirable point. My next employment was to make such a copious but careful selection fromn tio unpublished poetry of Cowper, which I happily possessed, and which I had only imparted to a few friends, as, while it gratified his admirers, might in no instance detract from his poetical reputation. I should tremble for the hazard to which my partiality to tihe comnpofitions of my beloved relation exposed me in discharging this part of my office, if I did not hope to find in - J ---c --- —---— c ^- --- —---— ' ------— ` -- - I i I I I, = -. PREFACE. F the reader a fondness of the same kind, and if 1 were not assured that a careless or slovenly habit, in the production of his verses, has never been imputed to the author of the Task. The materials of the volume being thus provided, the ascertaining their dates was my remaining concern. In a few instances I found them affixed to the poems by their author; a few more I collected from intimations in his letters; but in several, the difficulty of discovering them pressed upon myself. This was especially the case with the very interesting additional poem addressed by Cowper to an unknown lady on reading " the Prayer for Indifference." Of the existence of these verses I had not eveh heard till I was called on to superintend the volume, in which they make their first publick appearance. 1 am inclined to believe, that during the ten years of my domestick intercourse with the poet, they had never occurred to his recollection. He appears to have imparted them only to his highly valued and affectionate relative, the Reverend Martin Madan, brother of the late Bishop of Peterborough, from whose Common-place Book they were transcribed by his daughter, and kindly communicated to me. There being nothing in Mr. Madan's copy of these verses from which their date could be inferred, it was only by a minute comparison of the poem itself with the various local and mental circumstances, which his life exhibits, that 1 was enabled to discover the year of their production. Tlno labour attending this and other instances of research, in which I have been obliged to engage for the purpose of ascertaining the dates of several minor poems, will be best understood by those who are practically acquainted with similar investigations. After all, there are some of which no diligence of mine could develope the exact time; but with the greater number I trust their proper order of succession has been care fully secured to them. 1* -I _.. 1 - F I I ~~~ ---- -~ — c --- —-C --- —--- — ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~1 6 PREFACE. From this brief account of the volume befole the reader, I pass on to the memoir of its author Had I not already embarked in a preparation of the poems, when I was requested to prefix a sketch of the poet's life, an unaffected distrust of my ability to achieve it would have precluded me from making such an attempt; but a peculiar interest in these relicks of Cowper having been wrought into my feelings, while I was arranging them for the press, I was unwilling to shrink from a?roposed task, by which I might hope to contribute, in some degree, to the expanding renown of my revered relation. I therefore venture to advance on the only path in the wild field of biography, in which my humblo steps could accompany Cowper, namely, that in which I could simply " retrace (As in a map, the voyager his course,) The windings of his way through many years." Into this path it might seem presumptuous in me to invite those whom my kind and constant friend, Mr. Hlayley, has made intimately acquainted with Cowper, by his extensive and just biography; but to such readers as happen not to have perused his more copious work, I may venture to recommend the following " Map of Cowper's Life," as possessing one of its prime characteristicks, namely, fidelity of delineation. Bedford, April, 1815 I; I I j1 11 - - 'J~~._ ~ _ . —C~CI-C --- —------— ~ —c --- —-----._-_ ----^ —_ C ~- — —C`- -.- ---- ------— ---- ---------— ~ ---- -I-I ----- -- i i II I I I i CONTENTS. SKETCH of the Author's life - - 13 Verses written on finding the Heel of a Shoe 62 Stanzas on the First Publication of Sir Charles Grandison - - - - 63 Epistle to Robert Lloyd, Esq. - - 64 Fifth Satire of the First Book of Horace - 67 Ninth Satire of the First Book of Horace 74 Address to Miss —, on reading the prayer for Indifference - - 79 Translation from Virgil - - 82 Ovid. Trist. Lib. V. Eleg. XII. - - 94 A Tale founded on a Fact - - 96 Translation of a Simile in Paradise Lost - 98 Translation of Dryden's Epigram on Milton ib. To the Rev. Mr. Newton, on his Return from Ramsgate - - 99 Love Abused - ib. Poetical Epistle to Lady Austen - - 100 From a letter to the Rev. Mr. Newton - 1C4 The Colubriad - - - 105 On Friendship - - - 10 On the Loss of the Royal George - - 112 In Submersionem Navigii, cui Georgius Regalis Nomen, inditum. - fl4 Song on Peace - 115 Song, written at the request of Lady Austen 11G Verses from a Poem entitled Valediction - 117 In Brevitatem Vite Spatii Hominibus concessi 119 On the Shortness of Human life - ib, I I i i I I 9 ~ I._ - -- - ----- —,- ---- ------- ----------— ~ --- ~~ZL3111 --- —-— )C-~~ —~L --- -- I I I II I I I I i I I I I _ __ _____ _IIL _ II___L I — ~ -------— I,* 8 CONTENTS. Epitaph on Johnson - - 120 To Miss C, on her Birth-day - ib. Gratitude - - 21 The Flatting Mill 123 Lines for a Memorial of Ashley Cowpcr, Esq. 124 On the Queen's Visit to London - - i. The Cock-fighter's Garland - - 127 On the Benefit received by his Majesty from Sea-Bathing - - 130 Hor. Lib. I. Ode IX. - - - ib. Hor. Lib. I. Ode XXXVII. - - 131 Hlor. B. I. Ode XXXVII. - - - 132 TIor. Lib. II. Ode XVI. - - - ib. Latin Verses to the Memory of Dr. Lloyd - 134 The same in English - - 135 To Mrs. Throckmorton - - - 136 Inscription for a Stone erected at the sowing of a Grove of Oaks - - - 137 Another, for a Stone erected on a similar occasion 138 Hymn for the Sunday School at Olney ib. On the late indecent Liberties taken with the Remains of Milton - - - 139 To Mrs. King - - - - 141 Anecdote of Homer - - - 142 In Memory of the late J. Thornton, Esq. - 144 The Four Ages..145 The Judgment of the Poets - - 147 To Charles Diodati - - 150 On the Death of the University Beadle at Cambridge.... 15 3 On the Death of the Bishop of Winchester -.14 To his Tutor, Thomas Young. - 157 O0n the Approach of Spring - - 1(61 To Charles Diodati. - - 165 Composed in the Author's Nineteenth Year 168 Epigram.-On the Inventor of Guns - 171 Epigram.-To Leonora, singing at Rome 172 Epigram. —To the same - ib. I I I i I I - - _____ --- CONTENTS. 9 Tlhe Cottager and his Landlord - - 173 To Christiana, Queen of Sweden - - On the Death of a Physician - 171 On the Death of the Bishop of Ely - 17 i Nature unimpaired by Time - - 17H On the Platonick Idea - - - To his father -. -. - To Salsillus, a Roman Poet. - 17 To Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa 1 ' On the Death of Damon - - - 13 An Ode addressed to Mr. John Rouse - 2i:3 Sonnet - - 2-07 Sonetto - - - i). Sonnet - - 2(08 Sonetto -- ib. Canzone - -. 209 Canzone ib Sonnet.-To Charles Diodati - - 21 Sonetto - - - - ib. Sonnet 11 Sonetto - - - - - i). Sonnet -. - - 212 Sonetto - —. i). Epitaph on Mrs. M. Higgins, of Weston - 213 The Retired Cat - - ib. Yardley Oak - - - 217 To the Nightingale - - - 222 Lines written for Insertion in a collection of Hand-writings and Signatures made by Miss Patty, Sister of Hanna.l More - 2:3 Epitaph on a Redbreast - ih. Sonnet to W. Wilberforce, Esq. - 224 Epigram -. 225 To Dr. Austin -. 226 Sonnet, addressed to William Hayley, Esq. 227 Catharina - - - 228 An Epitaph - 2'29 Epitaph on Fop - - 23 II i L --- — - -~ i.~ L -L C I I I I i I I I I I 5. 10 CONTENTS. Sonnet to George Romncy, Esq. - 23C On receiving Hlayley's Picture - - 231 Epitaph on Mr. Chester, of Chicheley - 2:2 On a Plant of Virgin's bower - - i To my cousin, Anna Bodham - - 233 Inscription for an Hermitage in the Author's Garden - - - 234 To Mrs. Unwin ib To John Johnson - - 235 To a young Friend - - - 26 A Tale..- - ih To William Hayley, Esq. - - 2.10 On a Spaniel, called Beau, killing a Bird - 241 Beau's Reply - -- - 242 Answer to Stanzas addressed to Lady Hesketh 243 To the Spanish Admiral, Count Gravina - ib. On Flaxmnan's Penelope - - 244 On receiving Heyne's Virgil - - - i. To Mary - -... 24 Montes Glaciales - 47 On the Ice Islands - 24!) The Castaway - - - 2 51 Thrax - - - 253 The Thracian - - - 254 Mutua Benevolentia - ib. Reciprocal Kindness - - - 256 Manuale - - - 2r57 A Manual - - - 258 Enigma. - - - 2(i0 An Enigma -. - 2(1 Passeres Indigene - -. 2(2 Sparrows self-domesticated - - 2(3 Nulli te facias nimis sodalem - - 2(1 Famniliarity Dangerous - ib. Ad Rubeculam lnvitatio - - - 2C Invitation to the Redbreast - - 2(); Strade Philomela -- - - 2'; Strada's Nightingale - - - ib j - i — - -- c --- —`-cucl:., - I I ~-CILI~I --- — ----— ~ --- —-CI C~ Anus Sacularis Ode on the Death of Victoria Forensis The Cause Won Bombyx - The Silk Worm Innocens Prmedatrix The Innocent Thief Denneri Anus Denner's Old Woman Lacryme Pictoris The Tears of a Painti Spe Finis The Maze Nemo Miser nisi comI No Sorrow peculiar to Linax The Snail Eques Academicus The Cantab The Salad, by Virgil From the Greek of Ji On the same, by Palaa An Epitaph Another Another Another By Callimachus On Miltiades On an Infant By Heraclides On the Reed To Health On the Astrologers On an Old Woman On Invalids On Flatterers On the Swallow ONTENTS. jI -* 2(-268 a Lady - 270 271 * - - 272 * * * ib..... * 273 274 -~ o~* * ib. - * 276 277 * - * 277 278 or - - * ib. - -* - 280.... * *- ib. paratus * * il. the Sufferer * * 81 -*~ * o~ ~ ib. - * - 263.... ib. flianus -* 289 Ldas * * ib.....* * ~ 290 * * * * ib. * * 2.)1 * * * ib. ib...* * 293 294... ib. - -.295 * - ib. (". @ ~~~~~~i3 I i I I i 11 ---- ------ — - ------- -I --- , --- — I i 12 CONTENTS. On late acquired Wealth - 26 On a True Friend ib. On a Bath, by Plato j* On a Fowler, by Isiodorus 2!7 On Niobe - ib. On a Good Man - i). On a Miser.... 2 Another - * ib. Another - - - ib. On Female Inconstancy 29!! On the Grasshopper - ib On Hermocratia - -. 300 Fron Menander. ib. On Pallas, bathing.3( 31 To Demosthenes. * 3402 On a Similar Character - ib. On an Ugly Fellow * * 303 On a Battered Beauty * - ib. On a Thief * ib. On Pedigree - 304 On Envy. ib,. By Philemon... 305 By Moschus. * 30G In Ignorantem arrogantem Linum * 307 On one Ignorant and Arrogant *. ib. Prudens Simplicitas. ib. Prudent Simplicity.. ib. Ad Amicum Pauperum. - ib. To a Friend in Distress ib. Lex Talionis *. 308 Retaliation -. ib. De Ortu et Occasu.. ib. Sunset and Sunrise. * ib. Lepus multis Amicus. *. 309 Avarus et Plutus. 311 Papilio et Limax * 312 I I I i I - I SKETCH OF TIIE LIFE OF COWPER. WILLIAM CoPPER, the subject of the following brief Memoir, was born at Great Berkhamstead, in Hert. fordshire, on the fifteenth of November, 1731. Hie father, the Rev. John Cowper, D. D. Rector of that place, and one of the chaplains of King George tile Second, married Anne, daughter of Roger Donne, Esq. of Lodham-hall, in the county of Norfolk. She died in childbed on the thirteenth of November, 17:17; and lie of a paralytick seizure on the tenth of July, 1756. Of five sons and two daughters, the issue of this marriage, William and John only survived their parents: the rest died in their infancy. Such was his origin;-but it must be added, that the highest blood of the realm flowed in the veins of the modest and unassuming Cowper. It is perhaps already known that his grandfather, Spencer Cowper, was Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, and next brother to William, first Earl Cowper, and Lord High Chan. cellor of England: but his mother was descended through the tfamilies of Hippesley of Throughley, in Sussex, and Pellet of Bolney, in the same county from the several noble houses of West, Knollys, Carey, Bullen, Howvard, and Mowbray;:an so by four different lines from Ienry the Third king of England. Distinctions of this nature can ahed no additional lustre V'Or. 0 -I I i i i i I i I I I I f - -I______ II i i i i I I I I 14 SKETCH OF THE on the memory of Cowper; but genius, however exalted, disdains not, while it boasts not, the splendour of ancestry; and royalty itself may be flattered, and perhaps benefited, by discovering its kindred to such piety, such purity, such talents as his. The simplicity of the times that witnessed the childhood of Cowper, assigned him his first instruction at a day-school in his native village. Tie reader may re- collect an allusion to this circumstance in his beautiful Monody on the receipt of his mother's Picture, " the gard'ner Robin, day by day Drew me to school along tile publick way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap." On the death of the beloved parent, who is so tenderly commemorated in that exquisite poem, and who just lived to see him complete his sixth year, ie was placed under the care of Dr. Pitman, of Market-street, a few miles distant from the paternal roof. At this respectable academy he remained till he was eight years of age, when the alarming appearance of specks on both his eyes induced his father to send him to the house of' a female oculist in London. Her attempts, however, to relieve him, were unsuccessful, and at the expir;tion of two years he exchanged her residence for that of Westminister-school, where, sometime afterwards a remedy was unexpectedly provided for him in the small-pox, which, as he says in a letter to Mr. Hay!ey, ~' proved the better occulist of the two." What degree of proficiency, as to the rudiments of education, he carried with him to this venerable establishment, at the head of which was Dr. Nichols, does not appear, but that he left it in the year 1749, with scholastick attainments of the first order, is beyond a doubt. After spending three months with his father at Berkhampstead, he was placed in the family of a Mr. Chap. man, a solicitor, in London, with a view to his instruc I - - __,r - 1i _ I_ ___ I ___ _ ______ -- _-4-. LIFE OF COWPER. 15 lion in the practice of the law. To this gentleman he was engaged by articles, for three years. The opportunities, however, which a residence in the house of his legal tutor afforded him, for attaining the skill that lie was supposed to be in search of, were so far from attaching hini to legal studies, that he spent the greater part of his time in the house of a near relation. This lie playfully confesses in' the following passage of a letter to a daughter of that relative, more than thirty years after the time he describes: " I did actually live three years with Mr. Chapman, a solicitor, that is to say, I slept three years in his house; but I lived, that is to say, I spent my days in Southampton-row, as you very I! well remember. There was 1, and the future Lord Chancellor, constantly employed from morning to night in giggling and making giggle, instead of studying the law. Oh fie, cousin! how could you do so?" The subject of this sprightly remonstrance was the lady Hesketli, who so materially contributed to the comfort of the dejected poet in his declining years, and the chancellor alluded to was lord Thurlow. This trifling anecdote is no otherwise worthy of record, t than as it may serve to show, that the profession which his friends had selected fir him, had nothing in it congenial with the mind of Cowper. The three years for which he had been consigned to the office of the solicitor being expired, at the age of twenty-one he took possession of a set of chambers in the Inner Temple. By this step he became, or rather ought to have become, a regular student of law; but it soon appeared that the higher pursuits of jurisprudence were as little capable of fixing his attention, as the elementary parts of that science had proved. It is not to be supposed, indeed, that at tils naturer age, he continued those habits of idleness and dissipation wlich have already been noticed; but it is certain, from a colloquial account of his early years, with which lie lavoured his friend Mr. IHayley, that literature. ard li __ _ __ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ __ _ _ __ _ _ I i I I I I I I II _ - -— ^ --- —-- - -- 1-L- """""""""""""""""""" I-~I —Ic I^ I I (G SKETCH OF THE particularly of a poetical kind, was his principal pulr suit in the Temple. In the cultivation of studies so agreeable to his taste, he could not fail to associate occasionally with such of his Westminster school-fellows as were resident in London, and whom he knew to be eminent literary characters. The elder Colinan, Bonnel Thornton, and Lloyd, were especially of this description. With these, therefore, he seems to have c.ntracted the greatest intimacy, assisting the two former in their periodical publication, The Connoisseur; and the latter, as Mr. Hayley conjectures, in the works vwhich his slender finances obliged him to engage in. The Duncombes also, father and son, two amiable scholars of Stocks, in Hertfordshire, and intimate friends of his surviving parent, were among the writers of the time, to whose poetical productions Cowper c(ltributed. In short, the twelve years which he s;ent in the Temple, were, if not entirely devoted to classical pursuits, yet so niuchl engrossed by tlhem as to acid little or nothing to tile slender stock of legal klnowledge wlhicli he had previously acquired in tihe house of the solicitor. The prospect of a professional income of his own acquiring, under circumstances like these, beirng out of the question, and his patrimonial resources being nearly exhausted, it occurred to him, towards the end of the above-mentioned period, that not only was his long cherished wish of settling in matrimonial life, thus painfully precluded, but he was even in danger of persoinal want. It is not unlikely that his friends were aware of tle probability of such an event, froom the uniform inattention he had shown to his legal stzudies, for in the thirty-first year of his age they procured ilim a nomination to the offices of readingr-clerk and clerk of the private Committees in the House of Lords But lie was by no means qualified for discharging the duties annexed to either of these employmentts; nature Laving assigned him such an extreme tenderness of' I I I I i i i I II I ---- ---— _ I _I___ __I___ L _____ 1 l LIFE OF COWPER 17 suirit, as, to use his own powerful expression, nmade a pub:ick exlilbition of himself, under any circumstances, " mortal poison" to him. No sooner, therefbre, had lie adverted to the consequence of his accepting so cnspicuous an appointment, the splendour of which lie confesses to have dazzled him into a momentary consent, than, it forcibly striking him at the same time, that such a favourable opportunity for his marrying might never occur again, his mind became the seat of the most conflicting sensations. These continued and increased, for the space of a week, to such a painful deglee, that secing no possible way of recovering any measure of his former tranquillity, except by resigning the situation which the kindness of his friends had,rocured him, he most earnestly entreated that they would allow him to do so. To this, though with great reluctance, they at length consented, he having offered to exchange it for a much less lucrative indeed, but as ho flattered himself, a less irksome office. which was also vacant at that time, namely, the clerkship of the journals in the House of Lords. The return of something like composure to the mind of Cowper was the consequence of this arrangement between him and his friends. It was a calm however but of short duration; for he had scarcely been possess ed of it three days, when an unhappy and unforeseen inqident not only robbed him of this semblance of corn fort, but involved him in more than his forme' distress. A dispute in parliament, in reference to the last mentioned appointment, laid him under the formidable necessity of a personal appearance at the bar of the house of Lords, that his fitness for the under taking might be publickly acknowledged. The treni. bling apprehension with which the timid and exquisitely sensible mind of this amiable man could not fail to look forward to an event of this sort, rendered every intermediate attempt to prepare himself for the examination completely abortive and the conseious ' t I I__~, --- — I ---- -~ I I I 18 SKETCH OF THE ness that it did so, accumulated his terrours. These had risen, in short, to a confusion of mind so incornpatible with the integrity of reason, when the eve of the dreaded ceremony actually arrived, that his intellectual powers sunk under it. He was no longer himself. In this distressing. situation it was found necessary, in the month of December, 1763, to remove hii to St. Alban's; from whence, through the skilful and humane treatment of Dr. Cotton, under whose care he was placed, his friends hoped that ho would soon return in the fill enjoyment of his former faculties. In the most material part of their wish it pleased God to indulge them, his recovery being happily effected in some what less than eight months. Instead, however, of revisiting the scenes in which his painful calamity had first occurred, he remained with his amiable physician nearly a twelve month after lie had pronounced his cure: and that from motives altogether of a devotional kind. On this part of the poet's history it may be proper to observe that although, if viewed as an originating cause, the subject of religion had not the remotest ccnnexion with his mental calamity; yet no sooner liad the disorder assumed the shape of hJypoi'hondriasis, which it did in a very early stage of its progress, than those sacred truths which prove an unfailing source of the most salutary contemplation to heo undisturbed mind, were, through tie influence of that distorting medium, converted into a vehicle of inltellectual pcison. A most erroneous and unhappy idea has occupied the minds of some persons, that those views of christianity which Cowper adopted, and of wliich, when enjoyii:g the intervals of reason, he was so brigh't an c(rnIllmc.,nt had actually contributed to excito tne nnalady viilh which he was afflicted. It is capable of the clearlst demonstration, that nothing was further firm the truo h. I I I - -_ ~.1~ -— ~ -— r.w-~u~l-~~ ---H~r-~)~ —L -T--L — . —-, i i I II I II I I LIFE OF COWPER. 1: J On tile contrary, all those alleviations of sorrow, those delightful anticipations of heavenly rest. tliose healii]( consolations to a wounded spirit, of which le was permitted to taste, at the periods when uninterruptedl re:sol resumed its sway, were unequivocally to be asc; — ed to the operation of those very principles and view s of religion, which, in the instance before us, hiave been charged with producing so opuosite an e:;'it. The primary aberrations of his mental faculties WC (J wholly to be attributed to other causes. But ti1e time was at hand, when, by the happy inteorpositiol: of a gracious Providence, he was to be the favou;redi subject of a double emancipation. The captivity o;f his reason was about to terminate; and a bonldaerthough hitherto unmentioned, yet of a much longer standing, was on the point of being exclanged for ite delightful of all freedom. " A liberty unsung By poets, and by senators unprais'd; * *w k * I F'en "liberty of heart,* derliv'd from heav'n: Bjouglht with His blood who gave it to mankind, And seal'd with the samie token!"t To the invaluable blessing of such a change he was as yet a stranger. He lhad been for some time convinced, and that on scriptural grounds, how much he stood in need of it, from a perception of the fetters with which, so long as lie was capable of enjoying them, the pleasures of the world and of sense had bound his heart; but till the IIoment of his affliction, he had remained spiritually a prisoner. The hour was now come when his prison-doors were to be unfolded; wlhen " he that openeth and no man slhulttetll," was to give himn a blessed experience of whiat " Is lilerty: a fl;g-gt irnto iJis t!rms Ere yet moritli!y's firn tliren..s give way, Rolm. vii.21 I t 'le Task, Book V. I I i i i ----- - - ---- --------- -~ --- - -- --- --— ~~ --- —--------- ----— ~II ___.,.;,..,^-L- ccl ----I. --- —--- ---- - - 20 SKETCH OF THE A clear escape fronm tyrannising" sin, " And full immunity fiom peeial wo!"* On the 25th of July, 1764, his brother, the Rev. John Cowper, Fellow of Bennet College, Cambridge, having been informned by Dr Cotton, that his patient was greatly amended, came to visit hin. Tile first sight of so dear a relative in the enjoyment of health and happiness, accompanied as it was with an instantaneous reference to his own very different lot, occasioned in the breast of Cowper many painful sensations. For a few moments, the cloud of despondency which had been gradually removing, involved his mind in his former darkness. Light, however, was approaching. His brother invited him to walk in the garden; where so effectually did lie protest to him, that tle apprehensions he felt were all a delusion, that lie burst into tears, and cried out, ' Jf it be a delusion, then am I the happiest of beings." During the remainder of tlhe day, whicli he spent with this affectionate brother, the truth of the above assertion became so increasinglyr evident to him, that when lie arose the next morning, he was perfectly well. This. howvever, was but a part of the happinesa which the memorable day we are now arrived at h:l.; in store for the interesting and amiable Cowper. Before lie left the room in which he had oreakfasted, he observed a Bible lying in the window-seat. He took it up. Except in a single instance, and that two months before. lie had not ventured to open one since the early days of his abode at St. Alban's. But the time was j now come when he might do it to purpose. The profitable perusal of that divine book had been provided for in tle most effectual manner, by the restoration at once of the powers of his understanding, and the sufavourable circumstances, he opened the sacred vo. I|I '^ TI'he TI'ask, Book V Ii I I 11 I i! i i _ __,,,..,. ,,I._,,,,. _.~_._...L,-,,-,., —C ---~I —UILC — --- -~.-. C-~ I _ II i I - ~ --------------------------— ~ -- - — --—.-e -— --- —---------- - --- LIFE OF COWPER. 21 ume at that passage of tle epistle to the Romans, where the apostle says, that Jesus Christ is " set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God." To use the expression employed by Cowper himself, in a written docu- j rment from which this portion of his history is extracted, he "received strength to believe it;" to see the suitableness of the atonement of his own necessity, and to embrace the gospel with gratitude and joy. That the happiest portion of Cowper's life was that on which he had now entered, appears partly from his own account of the first eighteen months of the succeeding period, and partly from the testimony of anl endeared friend, in a letter to the writer of this brie' menoir; a friend, who, during the six or seven years that immediately followed, was seldom removed froni him four hours in the day. But not to anticipate what remains to be otlered, the devotional spirit of his late skilful physician, and now valuable host, Dr. Cotton, was so completely in unison witl the feelings of Cow- per, that l:e did not take his departure from St. Alban's till the 17th of June, 1765. During the latter part of his residence there, and subsequent to the happy change just described, he exhibited a proof of the interesting and scriptural character of those views of religion which he had embraced in the composition of two lhymns. Tlese hymns he himself styled " speci mens" of his " first christian thoughts;" a circun stance which will greatly enhance their value in the minds of those to whom they have been long endearedl by their own intrinsick excellence. The subject of tlhe first of these hymns is taken from Revelation, xxi. 5. "Behold, I make all things new," and begins, " How blest thy creature is, O God." The second under thiu title of" Retirement," begins " Far from the world, 0 Lord, I flee." I -~ --- —— ^~ ---- -------— L ---L-C~ ---~~ _CI —_ --- —— ~.-.- ~ --- -------- '-^~-^-. j I -r~ — ^~~. --- I-~C --- —~C ----~~ 1 I i! I I I I I I r '22 SKETCH OF THE Early in the morning of the day above-mentioned, he set out for Cambridge, on his way to Huntingdon, the nearest place to his own residence, at which his brother had been able to secure him an asylum. He adverts with peculiar emphasis to the sweet conmmunion with his divine Benefactor, which though not alone, he enjoyed in silence during the whole of this journey; on the Saturday succeeding which, he re paired with his brother to his destination at Hunting don. No sooner had Mr. John Cowper left him, and re turned to Cambridge, than, to use his own words, " finding himself surrounded by strangers, in a place with which he was utterly unacquainted, his spirits began to sink, and he felt like a traveller in the midst of an inhospitable desert, without a friend to comfort, or a guide to direct him. He walked forth towards tho close of the day, in this melancholy frame of mind, and having wandered a mile from the town, he was enabled to trust in Him who careth for the stranger, and to rest assured that wherever He might cast his lot, the God of all consolation would still be near him. To the question which the foregoing pathetick passage will naturally give rise in every feeling mnind, namely, why was not Mr. Cowper advised, instead of hazarding his tender and convalescent spirit among the strangers of luntingdon, to recline it on the bosom of his friends in London? it is incumbent on the writer to venture a reply. It is presumed, therefore, that no inducement to his return to them, which, with a view to their mutual satisfaction, his affectionate relatives, and most intimate friends could devise, was either omitted on their part, or declined without reluctance on his. But in the cultivation of the religious principles which, with the recovery of his reason, he had lately imbibed, and which in so distinguished a manner it had pleased God to bless, to the re-esta. I I I I I i i H I! i i i i i I I I I I I ----- -' ---c-. -— ^ —_IL —LCI -— CI- ~ —~-^ — -C-~-. --- —--- - —^ —.~ --— II -^^-.- - ^ ----C ---~ ----^ --- —----— ---1IIC- -L~ I I I i I - - -------- - -- -~~~1I I -------------------- - -— rl~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ LIFE OF COWPER. 23 lrsnment1. ' his peace, he had an interest to provide fbir or a ucn ut higher order. This it was that inclined hlili | 6, li,^ tf seclusion: a measure in the adoption of l '.ch, t!ihogh in ordinary cases, lie is certainly not t- Le quotdl as an example: yet cornsidering the cxtrmie peculiarity of his own, it seems equally certain th1.t he is not tn be censured. There can be no doubht indeed, from the following passage of his poem on Ilctirement, that had his mind been the repository of less exquisitely tender sensibilities, he would have returned to his duties in tne Inner Temple: ': Truth is not!ocal, God alike pervades And fills the wor!d of traffick and the shades, And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes, Or scorn'd where business never intervenes." Of the first two months of his abode in Huntingdon, nothing is recorded, except that he gradually mixed with a few of its inhabitants, and corresponded with some of his early friends. But at the end of that time, as he was one day coming out of church, after morningr prayers, at which he appears to have been a constant attendant, he was accosted by a young, gentleman of engaging manners, who exceedingly desired to cultivate his acquaintance. This pleasing youth, known afterwards to the publick as the Rev. William Cawthorne Unwin, Rector of Stock, in Essex, to whom the author of the Task inscribed his poem of Tirocinium, was so intent upon accomplishing the object of his wishes, that when he took leave of the interesting stranger, after sharing his walk under a row of trees, he had obtained his permission to drink tea with him that day. This was the origin of the introduction of Cowper to the family of the Rev. Morley Unwin, consisting of himself, his wife, the son already named, and a daugh 1 II i I I i -- -- --— lc- II --- —— -- i! i __ _______ ----- --- ----,-I ---- ---------- 24 SKETCH OF THE ter an event, which, when viewed in connexion wit'. his remaining years, will scarcely yield, in importance, to any feature of his life. Concerning these engaring persons, whose general hlabits of life, and especially whose piety rendered them the very associate.s that Cowper wanted, he thus expresses himself in a letter, written two months after, to one of his earliest and warmest friends; " Now I know them, 1 wonder that I liked Huntingdon so well before I knew them, and am apt to think I should find every place disagreeable that had not an Unwin belonging to it." The house which Mr. Unwin inhabited was a large and convenient dwelling in the High-street in whic'h he had been in the habit of receiving a few domestick pupils to prepare them for the University. At thle division of the October Term, one of these students being called to Cambridge, it was proposed that the solitary lodging which Cowper occupied should be excha(lnged for the possession of the vacant place. On the I th oi' November, therefore, in the sanle year, lie coilmenced his residence in this agreeable family. But the calamitous death of Mr. Unwin, by a fall frolm his horse, as he was going to his church on a Sunday morning, the July twelvemonth following, proved the signal of a further removal to Cowper, who, by a series of providential incidents, was conducted with the family of his deceased friend to the town of Olney, in Buckinghanshire, on the 14th of October 17;7. Tlie instrument whom it pleased God principally to employ in bringing about this important event, was thle Rev. John Newton, then curate of that parish, anld afterwards rector of St. Mary Woolnoth in London: a most exemplary divine, indetfatigable in the dischlarge of his ministerial duties; in which, so far as was consistent w'lh the province of a laynman, it became the happi. nos of Cowper to strengthen his hands. Joseph Hill, Esq. 11 i i I I i I I I I I I \1 - - ---- --- - ----- --------- - - i i I _ _ _I LIFE OF COWPER'. 2 Great was tile value which Cowper set on tile friendehip and intercourse which for some years he had tl:e privilege of enjoying with the estimable author of Cardiphonia. This appears by the following passage ill one of his letters to that venerable pastor; "The hon.our of your prefice, prefixed to my poems, will be on lmy side; for surely to be known as the fricnd of a much favoured minister of God's word, is a more illustrious distinction in reality than to have the friendship of any poet in the world to boast of." A correspondent testimony of the estimation in which our poet wa:s held by his friend Mr. Newton is clearly deducible froim, the introductory words of the preceding sentence; and is abundantly furnished in the preface itself. A very interesting part of the connexion thus happily established between Mr. Cowper and Mr. Newton, was afterwards brought to light in the publication of the Olney Hymns, which was intended as a mmoniumnint of the endeared and joint labours of these exemplary christians. To this collection Mr. Cowper contributed sixty-eight compositions. From the conmmencement of his residence at Olnev till January, 1773, a period of five years and a quarter, it does not appear that there was any material interruption eitler of the health or religious comfort of this excellent man. His feel'ings, however, must have received a severe shock in February, 1770, when lie was twice summoned to Cambridge by the illness of his be loved brother, which terminated fatally on thel 20th of the following month. How far this afflictive cvc:nt might conduce to such a melancholy catastrophe, it is impossible to judge; but certain it is, that at this period a renewed attack of hik former hypochondriacal comiplaint took place. L' is remarkable that the prevailing distortion of his ^.tlicted imagination became then nol only inconsistent witih the dictates of right reason, but was entirely at variance with every distinrrushini r haracteristick of that religion which had so lImg prov VOL. IIl. 3 -7 I I I I L I _ __ -- U —I — ---. i I - _ _____ 1I__C '26 SKETCH OF TIIE ed the incitement to his useful labours, and the sourc.e of his mental consolations. Indeed, so powerful and so singular was the effect produced on his mind by the influence of the malady, that while for many subsequent years it admitted of his exhibiting the most masterly and delightful display of poetical, epistolary, and conversational ability, on the greatest'variety of subjects, it constrained him from that perind, both in his conversation and letters, studiously to abstain from every allusion of a religious nature. Yet no one could doubt that the hand and heart from which, even under so mysterious a dispensation, such exquisite descriptions of sacred truth and feeling afterwards prnceeded must have been long and faithfully devoted to his God and Father. The testimonies of his real piety were manifested to others, when least apparent to himself But where it pleased God to tlrow a veil over the Inmntal and spiritual consistency of this excellent and afflicted man, it would ill become us rudely to invade the divine prerogative by attempting to withdraw it. Under the grievous visitation above-mentioned, Mrs. Unwin, whom he had professed to love as a mother, was as a guardian angel to this interesting sufferer. Day and night she watched over him. Inestimable likewise was the friendship of Mr. Newton: " Next to the duties of my ministry," said that venerable pastor, in a letter to the author of this memoir, more than twenty years afterwards, " it was the business of my life to attend him." For more than a twelvemonth subsequent to this attack, Cowpcr seems to have been totally overwhelmed by the vehemence of his disorder. But in March, 1774, he was so far enabled to struggle with it, as to seek amusement in the taming his three hares, and in the construction of boxes for them to dwell in. From mechanical amusements he proceeded to epistolary employment, a specimen of which, addressed to his friend Mr. Unwin who had been some years settled at Stock, I i I I I I I I i I I I I -- --- I — --- --- _ __ _ _ I I i I I, --- — —, ---— II LIFE OF COWPER. 27 in Essex, in the summer of 1778, shows that lie had, in a great measure, recovered his admirable faculties. In 1779 he accompanied Mrs. Unwin in a post-chaise to view the gardens of Gayllurst; an excursion of which he informs her son in a playful letter. In the autumn of this year we find him reading the Biography of Johnson, and, with the exception of what he terms his " unmerciful treatment of Milton," expressing himself " well entertained" with it. One of his earliest amusements, in 1780, was the composition of the beautiful fable of " The Nightingale and the Glow-worm;" after which he betook himself to the drawing of landscapes: an employment of which he grew passionately fond, though he had never been instructed in the art. This attachment to the pencil was particularly seasonable, as in the midst of it he lost his friend Mr. Newton, who was called to the charge of St. Mary Woolnoth, in London. With a provident care, however, for his future welfare, this excellent man obtained his permission to introduce to him the Rev. William Bull, of Newport Pagnell, who from that time regularly visited him once a fortnight: and whom Cowper afterwards described to his friend Unwin, as " a man of letters and of genius, master of a fine imagination, or rather not master of it;" who could be " lively without levity, and pensive without dejection." As the year advanced, Hume's History, and the Biographia Britannica engaged his attention, though the amusements of the garden were his chief resource, and had banished drawing altogether. These, with the frequent exercise of his epistolary talent, and the occasional production of a minor piece of poetry, in the composition of which the entertainment of himself and his friends was his only aim, led him to the important month of December, in this year, when he was to sit down with the secret intention of writing for the publick; an intention, however, which his extreme humility took care to couple in his mind with --- I — --- " ' --- —- -` - -- — cl —'^- -----— —- -- I --------------------- -- I I i i I I I I I I I l!I 28 SKETCH OF TIIE this proviso, that a bookseller could he found who would run the risk of publishing his productions. Between that time and March, 1781, the fonr first of his larger poems were completed; namely, Table Talk, The Progress of Errour, Truth, and Expostulation These, together with the snall pieces contained in tle earliest edition of that volume, were sent to the press in the following May: Mr. Johnson, of St. Pauls Church-yard, who had been recommended to the poet by Mr. Newton, having, as he informed his friend at Stock, " heroically' set all peradventures at defiance," as to the expense of printing, ' and taken the whole charge upon himself." The operation of the press, however, had scarcely commenced, when it was suggested to the author, tllat the season of publication being so far elapsed, it would be adviseable to postpone the appearance of his book till the ensuing winter. This delay was productive of two advantages; it enabled him to correct the press himself, and nearly to double the quantity of the proiected volume; to which, by the 24th of June, lie had added the poem of Hope; by the 12th of July, that of Charity, and by the 19th of October, those of Conversation and Retirement. Whilst the poet was occupied in the extension of his work, there arrived at the neighbouring village of Clifton, a lady who was, in due time, to make a most agreeable addition to his society, and to whom the publick were afterwards indebted for the first suggestion of the Sofa, as they were also to Mrs. Unwin for that of the Progress of Errour, as a subject for Cowper's muse. The writer alludes to Lady Austen, the widow of Sir Robert Austen, Baronet, whose first introduction to the poet and his friends occurred in the summer of 17,l; a memorable era in the life of Cowper. The limits, however, of a contracted narrative, such as this professes to be, will only allow me here to introduce tle brief character of this accomplished lady, which Cow___ -___ 1I I I I I I i I I I i I I 4 - TIE LIFE OF COWPER. 29 per despatched to his friend Unwin, in the month of August of this year; namely, " that she had seen much of the world, understood it well, had high spirits, a lively fancy, and great readiness of conversation." The frequent visits of this pleasing associate to her new acquaintance at Olney, gave rise to that familiar epistle in rhyme, which the poet addressed to hler oil her return to London; it is dated December 17, 7I S1. The last month of that year, and the two first of thle year following, appear to have been employed by Cowper in correcting the press, in epistolary correspondence, and in desultory reading. The year 1782 was also an eventful period in the life of the poet. In March his first volume issued from tile press. In the summer Mr. Bull engaged him in the translation of Madam Guion; and by means of a small portable printing-press, given him by Lady Austen, who had returned from London to Clifton, he became a printer as well as a writer of poetry. In October of the same year, the pleasant poem of John Gilpin sprang up, like a mushroom, in a night. The story on which it is founded, having been related to him by Lady Austen, in one of their evening parties, it was versified in bed, and presented to her the next morning in the shape of a ballad. Before the close of the year Lady Austen was settled in the parsonage at Olney. The consequence of this latter arrangement was a more frequent intercourse between the lady and her friends. Mr. Unwin, indeed, is informed, in a letter which he received from Mr. Cowper in January, 1783, that " they passed their days alternately at each other's chateau." This eventually led to the publication of the Task La(ly Austen, as an admirer of Milton, was fond of blank verse. She wished to engage Cowper in thait species of composition. For a long time he declined it. The lady, however, persevered, till, in June or July of the same year. he promised to write if she A I I I Ii I - - -------- ---— — --- — - --- — -- ~~- -— -' ' — "-" -~' ----'-' — — ----`` --- —- -- I q 30 SKETCH OF TIlE would furnish the subject. " O!" she replied, " you can never be in want of a subject; you can write upon any: —write upon this sofa!" " The poet," says Mr. iHavley, " obeyed her command, and from tile lively repartee of familiar conversation arose a poem of many thousand verses, unexampled perhaps both in its origin and excellence I A poem of such infinite variety, tlat it seems to include every subject, and every style, without any dissonance or disorder; and to have flowed without effort, from inspired philanthropy, eager to impress upon the hearts of all readers whatever may lead them most happily to the full enjoyment of hu man life, and to the final attainment of heaven." The progress of this enchanting performance appears to have been this. The first four books, and part of the fifth, were written by the 22d of February, 1784; the final verses of the poem in September following; and in tile beginning of October the work was sent to the press. The arrangements with the bookseller were entrusted to Mr. Unwin. During the period of its production, the evenings of the poet appear to have been constantly devoted to a course of diversified readHmg to the ladies. Such as Hawkesworth's Voyages, L'Estrange's Josephus, Johnson's Prefaces, Tle Tllcological Miscellany, Beattie's and Blair's Lectures, the " Folio of four Pages," and the Circumnnavigationls of Cook. This may in some measure account for tile comparatively slow execution of the latter part of the work, and indeed of the wlole, with reference to tile former volume. But the following passage of a letter to Mr. Newton, dated October 30, 1784, will explain it more fully. " I mentioned it not sooner," namelyl that he was engaged in tlie work, '; because, aliiist to the last, I was doubtful whether I should ever brii'l it to a conclusion, working often in such distress (if mind, as while it spurred me to the work, at the samle time threatened to disqualify me for it " After it:var I I I I i I i I i I I II I I I I I I I L I --------------— e -- --- --— -L-' -------- -- - -- I __U _____ _I___ _I __ ~_C~ I I I I i I LIFE 014 COWPER.;.1 sent to the press, le added the poem of Tirocinium, two hundred lines of which were written in 17S2, and the remainder in October and November, 1764. On lte 21st of this month he began his translation of Homer, which, together with the completion of' The Task, proves the year 17d4 to have been an active period in the life of Cowper. A no less striking occurrence of that year was the termination of his intercourse with Lady Austen. For a just statement of that sudden event, which, while it by no means lowered the character of either of the ladies, exceedingly elevated that of Cowper, the reader is referred to the biography of Hayley. The year 1785 was marked by the publication of the seccx.d volume of his poems in June or July, containing The Task, Tirocinium, The Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. and the diverting History of John Gilpin; also, by the production of many excellent letters, among which those to his cousin, lady Hesketh, who had lately returned from a residence in Italy, and renewed her correspondence witl him on the appearance of his second volume, are peculiarly interesting. With the exception of a few of' his smaller pieces, his poetical employment this year was confined to the translation of Homer. The same may be said of the succeeding year, which, however, was distinguished by three remarkable occurrences: the arrival of lady Hesketh, at Olney, in June Cowper's removal to the Lodge in the adjoining village of Weston Underwood, in November; and the deal h of Mr. Unwin, in the same month. To the first,f these events he thus alludes in a letter to Mr. I lill, "My dear cousin's arrival here, as it could not fail to do, made us happier than we ever were at Olney. tler great kindness in giving us her company is a cordial that I shall feel the effect of, not only while she is here, but while I live;" to the second, thus, in a letter to the same friend, " I find myself here situated exactly 1 II - - I I i i i I II - ----------------------— __ --- ---- - _ I 32 SKETCH OF THE to my mind. Weston is one of the prettiest villages in England, and the walks about it, at all seasons of the year, delightful. I know that you will:ejoice witl me in the change that we have made, and for which I am altogether indebted to lady Hesketh;" and to the third, thus, in concluding a letter to that l-dy, " So farewell my friend Unwin! The first man for whom 1 conceived a friendship after my removal from St. Alban's, and for whom I cannot but still feel a friendship, though I shall see thee with these eyes no more." Early in January, 1787, he was attacked with a nervous fever, which obliged him to discontinue his poetical efforts till the October following. A few days after the commencement of this indisposition, he received a visit from a stranger, which he thus notices in a letter to lady Hesketh: " A young gentleman called here yesterday, who came six miles out of his way to see me. He was on a journey to London from Glasgow, having just left the University there. He came, I suppose, partly to satisfy his own curiosity, but chiefly, as it seemed, to bring me the thanks of some of the Scotch Professors for my two volumes. His name is Rose, an Englishman. Your spirits being good, you will derive more pleasure from this incident than I can at present, therefore I send it." This interesting and accomplished character was afterwards of singular use to Cowper, during a friendship which originated in the above visit, and which was terminated only by the death of the poet. As an early instance of this utility, and that with reference to the paramount wants l' the mind, he introduced his new acquaintance to the p.Jetry of Burns, with which he was so much pleased as to read it twice. It was succeeded in the office of relieving his depressed spirits by the Latin Argenis of Barclay; The Travels of Savary into Egypt; Memoirs du Baron de Tott; Fenn's Original Letters; The Letters of Frederick of Bohemia; Merroirs of d'Henri do Lorraine, Due de Guise; and The Letters of his young relative _ I I i — - ----— 5 --- —----------- --------- --- - ~~r - --------------— c --- -------- ---- -- --- i I I I I - ------- -- -- LIFE OF COWPER. 33 Spencer Madan, to Priestley. In allusion to this inter. val of cessation from the labours of the pen, he says in a letter to Mr. Rose, " When I cannot walk, I read, and read perhaps more than is good for me. But I cannot be idle. The only mercy that I show myself in this respect is, that I read nothing that requires much closeness of application." Conversing, however, with men and things, through the medium of books, was not his only resource in this season of illness. He had an infinitely better medicine of this kind, in the society of his valuable friends at the Hall, and the many pleasing acquaintances to which their hospitality introduced him. Indeed the kindness of Sir John and hady Throckmorton, always a cordial to the spirits of Cowper from the time he knew them, was especially such under his present circumstances. As a proof of its happy influence on the mind of the poet, he was enabled in the autumn to resume his translation of Ilomner, which, with the renewal of his admirable letters to several friends, and the production of his first mortua.ry verses for the clerk of Northampton, comprised all his literary performances to the conclusion of the year. In 1788 his venerable uncle, Ashley Cowper, Esq. the father of lady Hesketh, died at the age of eightyseven; an event which he pathetically alludes to in several of the letters of this period, and the ill effect of which on his spirits was happily prevented by the successive visits at the lodge of the Rev. Matthew Powley and his amiable partner, the daughter of Mrs. Unwin; his old friends the Newtons, Mr. Rose, and lady Hesketh. The reappearance at the Lodge of the two last mentioned visiters is recorded in his letters of 17S), which was also devoted to Homer and the muse. In January, 1790, the writer of this sketch, who had hitherto enjoyed no personal intercourse with his relative, but for whom, ten years after, was reserved tho melancholy office of closing his eyes, introduccd him I I I I I I i (114 ~ -— C I ----- -- - I I i 34 SKETCH OF THE self to the poet as the grandson of his mother's bro. ther, the Rev. Roger Donne, late rector of Catfield, in Norfolk. His total ignorance of what had befallen that branch of his family, during the twenty-seven years of his retirement from the world, would of itsel. have secured his attention to a visiter so circumstanc ed, even if his heart had been a stranger to the hospitable virtues. But as no human bosom was ever more under the influence of those blessed qualities than Cowpcr's, the reception which his kinsman met with was peculiarly pleasing. The consequence was a repetition of his visit in the same year, and indeed the passing of the chief of his academical recesses at the Lodge, and his clerical leisure afterwards, till, by the appointment of Providence, he transplanted this interesting man with his enfeebled companion into Norfolk, as will appear in the sequel of these pages. Perceiving that his new and valuable acquaintance dwelt with great pleasure on the memory of his mother, the kinsman of Cowper, on his return home, was especially careful to despatch to him her picture, as a present from hiscousin, Mrs Bodham. To the arrival of this portrait, an original in oils, by Heins, he thus adverts in a letter to that lady, dated February 27, 1790; " The world could not have furnished you with a present so acceptable to me as the picture which you have so kindly sent me. I received it the night before last, and viewed it a\ ith a trepidation of nerves and spirits somei wlhat akin to what I should have felt had the dear original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it, ar.d hIung it where it is the last object that I see at night. and of course the first on which I open my eyes in the morning." The receipt of this picture gave rise to the Monody so justly a favourite with the public, when it appeared in the later editions of his poems. On the 25th of August, in this year, he completed his translation of the Iliad and Odyssey of Homer into blank verse, which he had begun on the 21st of Noveiar i i ~ ~ _ _- __ _- ~ (____I__ __I_ __I_ ___ 1 __ I I I LIFE OF COWPER. 3. ber, 17'4. During eight months of this time lie was hindered by indisposition, so that he was occupied in the work, on the whole, five years and one month On the 8th o' September the writer of this narrative had the gratification to convey it to St. Paul's Church-yard, with a view to its consignment to the press; during its continuance in which, the translator gave the work a second revisal. The Iliad wa's dedicated to his young noble relative, earl Cowper; and the Odyssey to the illustrious lady of whom he thus writes to his kinsman of Norfolk, on the 2.th of November, 1790: " We had a visit on Monday from one of the first women in the world; in point of character, I mean, and accomplish ments, the dowager lady Spencer. I may receive, perhaps, some honours hereafter, should my translt tion speed according to my wishes and the pains I have taken with it; but shall never receive any that I shall esteem so highly. She is indeed worthy to whom 1 should dedicate; and may but my Odyssey prove as worthy of her, I shall have nothing to fear from tlhe critics." Lady Hesketh also paid him this year her usual visit, which extended into the next. The year 1791 was marked by the completion of the second revisal of his Homer, on the 4th of MTlarch; and by the return of the last proof-sheet of that work to the publisher on the 12tl of June. Also by the commencement of his correspondence with the poet Hurdis; the salggestion of the Four Ages, Infancy, Youtl, Manhood, and Old Age, as a subject for l]is muse, by his very pleasing and well informed clerical neighbour, Mr. Buchanan of Ravenstone; and the seasonable visit of three of his Norfolk relations, Mrs. Balls, Miss Johnson, and her brother in the vacant period between the conclusion of his employment as translator of Homer, and the beginning of a new literary engagement, which he thus announces to Mr. Rose, on the 14tL of September of this year: " A Milton, that is to rival, and, if possible, to exceed in splenldur I _ - r. -- ----------------— I -- - ----------- I I i I I 36 SKETCH OF THE Boydell's Shakspeare, is in contemplation, and I am in the editor's office, Fuseli is the painter. My business will be to select notes front others, and to write origi. nal notes; to translate the Latin and Italian poens, and to give a correct text." lie addressed himself to the work with diligence, and by the end of the year had advanced to the Epitaphium Damonis. In the early part of 179)2 he had to encounter the loss of his agreeable associates at Weston-hall, the death of Sir Robert Throckmorton having accasioned their removal to a seat in Oxfordshire; an event which ihe tenderly alludes to in concluding a letter to the poet Ilurdis. His engagement with Milton, the society of lady Hesketh, and of his friend Plose, but more especially the consideration of who was to succeed his old neighbours in the hospitable mansion, namely, the next brother of the Baronet,* who was on the eve of marriage with Catharina, the favourite of the poet, supported his spirits at this trying period. The next remarkable feature in the history of Cowper, is the commencement of his correspondence with Mr. Haylcy. The limits of this narative will not admit of a detail of the singular circumstances which gave rise to it, but it was scarcely entered upon, before, in writing to lady Hesketh, Cowper says of his new epistolary acquaintance, " I account him the clief acquisition that my own verse has ever procured me." In the following May, a personal interview took place between the two poets, thus noticed by Cowper in writ. ing to his kinsman of Norfolk: " Mr. Hayley is here on a visit. We have formed a friendship that I trust will last for life." A few days after, Mrs. Unwin was struck with the palsy, which deprived her of the power of articulation, and the use of her right hand and arm. Under the pressure of this domestick affliction, he thus writes to Lady Hesketh; " It has happened * Georga Courtenay T'lrockmorton, Esq. now Mr. Courte. nay. I i II r - - _ _ __ _ __., I I I I I i ___ ~_ I_ LIFE OF COWPER. 37 well, tlat of all men living, the man most qualified to assist and comfort me, is her, though till within these few days I never saw him, and a few weeks since had no expectation that I ever should. You have already guessed that I mean Hayley!" Early in June, Mr. I-ayley left the Lodge, having obtained a promise from its inhabitants, that if it should please God to continue the convalescent symptoms of Mrs Unwin, which had begun to be exhibited, they would visit Earthalm in the course of tlhe suimmier. The new guest of Cowper was succeeded by the writer of this sketch, who, without consulting the poet, ventured to introduce to him Abbott the Painter, one of the most successful artists of that period, in securing to a portrait the likeness of its original. In allusion to the fidelity of the copy he was then producing, Cowper playfully says, in a letter to Mr. Hayley, Abbott is painting me so true, Thlat (trust me) you would stare, Aiid hardly know at the first view, If I were here, or lhere. In the beginning of August, the party set out on their way to Eartham, where they arrived on the evening of the third day, and wlere the most cordial and affectionate reception that it was possible for guests to meet with, awaited them from the owner of tlhat elegant villa. This had a happy effect upon the spirits of Cowper, which had been in some measure depress. ed by the romantick moonlight scenery of the Sussex hills, over which he had just passed, and whose bold and striking outline so far surpassing any images of the kind with which the last thirty years had preserted him,,urried back his recollection to those times when lie had scarcely known what trouble was. In this delightful retreat lie remained till about the middle of the following montn, his kind host doing VOL. II.. 4 I 11 I I I I I I I I i I I I I (I I ___ --— ~ --- —--------- — i.-~ — 38 SKETCH OF THIlE every tling that even the purest fraternal friendship could dictate for the comfort of the poet and his in- firm companion; who were both benefited by his benevolent exertions, the one considerably in spirits, and the other somewhat in health. During tile visit of Cowper to Earthan, a fine head of hiin in crayon was executed by Ronney, who joined the party, as did also that ingenious novelist and pleasing poetess Charlotte Smith, the "friendly Carwardine," of' Earl's Colne Priory, and the author of " The Village j Curate," soon after the arrival of the giests firo( Weston. Their society was also enlivened by the endearing attentions of the amiable and accomplished youth, for whose future enjoyment, after a lite of professional labour, the scenery of Eartham had been so fondly embellished by an affectionate parent, but. to whom Providence allotted an early grave in the very same year and month in which the illustrious visiter of his beloved father was consigned to the tomb. The literary engagements of Cowper while lie resided at Eartham, are thus noticed by his faitlhfil liographer: " The morning hours, that we cculd bestow upon books, were chiefly devoted to a coimplete rcvisal and correction of all the translations which Inv friend had finished, from the Latin and Italian poetry of Milton: and we generally amused ourselves after dinner in forming together a rapid metrical versioi of Andreini's Adamno But the constant care which the delicate health of Mrs. Unwin required, rendered it impossible for us to be very assiduous in study." The termination of their visit to Mr. Hayley being arrived, a journey of four days restored the party to the lodge at Weston; but not the poet to a resumption of his Miltonick employment. In addition to the above-mentioned obstacle, the habi. of study had so totally left him, that instead of beginning his dissertations on the Paradise Lost, as he had intended, he thus writes to this kinsman, who had returned I II - I _ I I i I _I _ 1_1__ _ II VI___ ______ -------— ~ LfFE OF COWPER. 39 into Norfolk: " I proceed exactly as when you were here-a letter now and then before breakfast, and the rest of my time all holy-day: if holy-day it may be called that is spent chiefly in moping and musing, and forecasting the fashion of uncertain evils.'" On the 4th of March, 17!93, he says in a letter to his friend, the Reverend Walter Bagot: " While the winter lasted I was miserable with a fever on my spirits; when the spring began to approach, I was seized with an inflammation in my eyes; and ever since I have been qble to use them, have been employed in giving more last touches to Homer, who is on the point of going to the press again." At the request of his worthy bookseller, he added explanatory notes to his revision; in allusion to which lie writes in May to his friend Rose. "I breakfast every morning or seven or eight pages of the Creek commentators. For so much am I obliged to read in order to select perhaps three or four short notes for the readers of my translation." iHe says to Mr. Hayley, in the same month, " I rise at six every morning, and fag till near eleven, when I breakfast.I cannot spare a moment for eating in the early part of the morning, having no other time to study." The truth is that his grateful affectionate spirit devoted all the rest of the day, from breakfast, to the helpless state of his aflmicted companion; of whose similar attentions to his own necessities lie had had such abundant experience. There can be no doubt that an arrangement of this sort was highly prejudicial to the health of Cowper, and that it hastened the approach of tle last calamitous attack with which this interesting sufferer was yet to be visited. For the present, however, he was supported under it; writing pleasantly thus to Mr. Hayley in October; "On Tuesday, we expect company-Mr. Rose, and Lawrence the painter. Yet cnce more my patience is to be exercised, and once more I t.m made to wish that my face had been I I,,, -- — I -------- Ii 40 SKETCH OF THE moveable, to put on and take off at; leas'are. so as to be portable in a band-box, and sent to the artist." I In the following month Mr. Hayley paid his second visit to Weston, where he found the writer of this narrative and Mr. Rose. " The latter," says tle biographier of Cowper, " came recently fron tie seat of lord Spencer, in Northamptonshire, and commnissioned by that accomplished nobleman to invite Cowpcr and his guests to Althorpe, where my friend Gibbon was to make a visit of considerable continuance. All tile guests of Cowper now recommended it to him very strongly to venture on this little excursion, to a house whose master he most cordially respected, and whose library alone might be regarded as a magnet of very powerful attraction to every elegant scholar. I wished," continues Mr. Hayley, " to see Cowper and Gibbon personally acquainted, necause I perfectly knew the real benevolence of both; for widely as they might differ on one important article, they were both able and worthy to appreciate and enjoy the extraordinary mental powers of each other. But the constitutional shyness of the poet conspires with the present infirm state of Mrs. Unwin to prevent their meeting. lie sent Mr. Rose and me to make his apology for decliuing so honourable an invitation." In a few days from this time the guests of Cowper left him, and before the end of the year he thus writes to his friend of Eartham: " It is a great relief to mo that nly Miltonick labours are suspended. 1 am now busied in transcribing the alterations of Homer, having finished the whole revisal. I must then write a new preface, which done, I shall endeavour immediately to descant on ' The Four Ages.' " Instead, however, of recording the prosecution of this poem, as the work of the beginning of the follow ing year, it becomes the painful duty of the author o: this memoir to exhibit the truly excellent and pitiable I. I I I I I I I I I I _'J I i I I I LIFE OF COW1PER. 41 subject of it as very differently employed, and as cominencing his descent into those depths of affliction from which his spirit was only to emerge by departing from the earth. Writing to Mr. Rose, in January, 1794, lie says, '" I have just ability enough to transcribe, which is all that I can do at present: God knows that I write at this moment under the pressure of sadness not to be described." It was a happy circumstance that lady Iesketh had arrived at Weston a few weeks previous to this calamitous attack, the increasing infirmities of Cowper's aged companion, Mrs. Unwin, having reduced her to a state of second childhood. Towards the end of February, the care of attending to his afflicted relative was for a short time engaged in by the writer of these pages, who had scarcely returned to his professional duties, when, in consequence of an affectionate summons from Cowper's valuable neighbour, and highly respected friend, the Rev. Mr. Greatheed of Newport Pagnel, Mr. Hayley repaired to the Lodge. During the continuance of his visit, which was extended to several weeks, all expedients were resorted to, which the most tender ingenuity could devise, to promote the object which had given rise to it. But though the efforts of this cordial and tried friend to restore the poet to any measure of cheerfulness, were altogether ineffectual, yet, as a reward for his humanity, it pleased God to refresh his benevolent spirit, at this time, by the success of a plan for the benefit of Cowper, the idea of which had originated with himself. The circumstance alluded to is thus related by the biographer of the poet: " It was on the 23d of April, 1794, in one of those melancholy mornings, when his compassionate friend lady Hesketh and myself were watching together over this dejected sufferer, that a letter from Lord Spencer arrived at Weston, to announce the intended grant of such a pension from his majesty to Cowper, as would ensure in honourable competence for the residue of his life. This intelligence produced 4d J I - --- ``- 1 —` —`` ---` --- " —^I-I --- —-~ -I --- --- —-— ,,,,_, I I I I - f __ ___ ------ - -- -------------------- 42 SKETCII OF TI I I in the friends of the poet very lively emotions of de. light, yet blended with pain almost as powerful; fr it was painfil, in no trifling degree, tc reflect, that these desirable smiles of good fortune could not impart even a faint glimmering of joy to the dejected invalid. "His friends, however, had the animating lhpe, tlat a day would arrive when they might see him receive witl a cheerful and joyous gratitude, this royal recompense for merit universally acknowledged. They knew that when he recovered his suspended faculties, he must be particularly pleased, to find himself chiefly indebted for his good fortune to the active benevolence of that nobleman, who, though not personally acquainted with Cowper, stood, of all his noble friends, the highest in his estecm." " Ie was unhappily disabled," continues his biographer, " from feeling thle fivour lie received, but an annuity oftliree hundred a year was graciously secured to him, and rendered payable to his friend Mr. Rose, as the trustee of Cowper." Another extract from Mr. Ilayley will advance the memoir to the close of the poet's residence in Buckinghamslhire. " From the time when I left my unlappy friend at Weston, in the spring of tlho year 17!4, lie remained there, under the tender vigilance of his affectionate relation, lady Hesketh, till the latter end of July, 1795;-a long season of the darkest depression I in which the best medical advice, and tlhe influence of time, appeared equally unable to lighten that afflictive burthen which pressed incessantly on his spirits." A few weeks prior to the last mentioned period the task of superintending this interesting sulferer was again shared with Lady Hesketh by Ijer former associate from Norfolk; to whom it forcib y occurred, one day, as lie reflected on the inefficacy of the air and scenery of Weston in promoting the return of health to llis revered relation, that perhapls a sumnmer's residence by the sea-side might restore lhi n to the en I - - -C-L --- —----- I. II I i I i I I I I I LIFE OF COWPER. -13 joyment of that invaluable blessing. Lady Hesketh, to whom he communicated this idea, being of the same opinion, arrangements were speedily made for his conducting the two venerable invalids from Buckinghamshire into Norfolk, whom, after a residence there of a few months, he hoped to reconduct to the Lodge.n amended health and spirits. It was a singularly happy circumstance that in this projected departure from his beloved Weston, neither Cowper, nor Mrs. Unwin, nor either of their friends, thought of any thing further than a temporary absence. For had the measure been suggested under tile idea of a final separation from that endeared residence, which was eventually found to have been the intention of Providence, the anguish of Cowper in passing for the last time over tle threshold of his favourite retirement, and in taking leave of Lady Ilesketh for ever, might not only have proved fatal to the delicate hea;th of his affectionate relative, but have so extended itself to the breast of his conductor, as to have deprived him of the necessary fortitude for sustaining so long a journey with so helpless a charge. Nothing of the kind, however, having entered into the calculation of either party, both the setting out for Norfolk, on Tuesday the 28th of July, 1795, and the subsequent travelling thither of three days, were unattended with any peculiarly distressing circumstances. As it was highly important to guard against the cffect of noise and tumult on the shattered nerves of the desponding traveller, care was taken that a relay of horses should be ready on tile skirts of the towns of Bedford and Cambridge, by which means he passed through those places without stopping. On the evening of the first day, the quiet village of St. Neots, near Eaton, afforded as convenient a resting-place for the party as could have been desired; and the peaceful moonlight scenery of the spot, as Cowper walked with his kinsman up and down the church-yard, had so I I _______.._.___ ___....1 --- —11-^ ---- ------------ ___ _____,, _ -- ------------- f I I II I - 11, I 44 SKETCH OF TIlE favourable an effect on his spirits, that he conversed with him, with much composure, on the subject of Thomson's Seasons, and the circumstances under which they were probably written. This gleam of cheerfulness with which it pleased God to visit the afflicted poet, at the commencement of his journey, though nothing that may at all compared with it was ever again exhibited in his conversation, is yet a subject of grateful remembrance to the writer of this sketch; for though it vanished, from the breast of Cowper, like the dew of the morning, it preserved the sunshine of hope in his own mind, as to tile final recovery of his revered relative; and that cheering hope never forsook him till the object of his incessant care was sinking into the valley of the shadow of death. At the close of the second day's journey, the poet and his aged companion found in the solitary situation of Barton Mills a convenient place to rest at; and the third day brought them to North Tuddenham, in Nor folk. Here, by the kindness of the reverend Leonard Shelford, they were comfortably accommodated with an untenanted Parsonage House in which they were received by Miss Johnson and Miss Perowne; the residence of their conductor, in the market-place of East Dercham, being thought unfavourable to the tender spirits of Cowper. Of the latter of these ladies, MIr. Hayley says, with equal truth and felicity of exprcssion, "Miss Perowne is one of those excellent beings whom nature seems to have formed expressly for the purpose of alleviating the sufferings of the aflicted; tenderly vigilant in providing for the wants of sickness, and resolutely firm in administering such relief as tile most intelligent compassion can supply. Cowp r speedily observed and felt the invaluable virtues of Iiis new attendant; and during the last years of his life he honoured her so far as to prefer her personal assistanco to that of every individual a lound him." As the season of the year was particularly faivour-. -~ ---~" I ` I I I I I I I I I I I I i i. L _II_ _^I_ L__ LIFE OF COWPER. 45 able for walking, the poet was prevailed on, by his 4 kinsman, to make frequent excursions of this sort in the retired vicinity of Tuddenhamn Parsonage; one of wnich he extended to the house of his cousin, Mrs. Bodham, at Mattis-hall. The sight of his own portrait, painted by Abbott, in one of the apaitinents cf that residence, awakening in his mind a recollection of thi comparatively happy moments in which he sat for the picture, extorted from him a passionately expressed wish, that similar sensations might yet return. It being fondly hoped by his kinsman, that not only this wish, but many more of the same kind, and those most sanguine, conceived by himself, might be realized by a removal to the sea-side, lie conducted the two invalids on the 1!th of August, 1795, to the village of Mundsley, on the Norfolk coast. They had been there but a short time, when his companion perceived tlat there was something inexpressibly soothing to the spiril of Cowper in the monotonous sound of the breakers. This induced him to confine the walks of the poet, whom dejection precluded from the exercise of all choice whatever, or at least the expression of it, almost wholly to the sands, which at Mundsley are remarkably firm and level; till an incident occurred vwhich introduced them to the inland, but still pleasing walks of that vicinity. The circumstance alluded to is stated in the following letter, which, after a long suspension of epistolary employment, the poet addressed to Mr Buchanan. " It shows," as Mr. Ilayley observes, the severity of his depression, but shows also that faint gleams of pleasure could occasionally break through the settled darkness of melancholy." It is introduced with a quotation from the Lycidas of Milton. " To interpose a little ease, Let my frail thoughts dally with false surmise." - - C _ CII_ I I I I I i I i I j ( 99 ) TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON ON lIS RETURN FROM RAMSGATE. [Oct. 1780.] THAT ocean you have late survey'd, Those rocks I too have seen, But I afflicted and dismay'd, You tranquil and serene. You from the flood-controlling steep Saw stretch'd before your view, With conscious joy, the threat'ning deep, No longer such to you. To me, the waves that ceaseless broke Upon the dang'rous coast, HIoarsely and ominously spoke Of all my treasure lost. Your sea of troubles you have past, And found the peaceful shore; 1, tempest toss'd, and wreck'd at last, Come home to port no more. LOVE ABUSED. WHAT is there in the vale of life IHalf so delightful as a wife, When friendship, love, and peace combine To stamp the marriage bond divine? ____ ___ _____ _ ___ _A__ — I i I I I I i I I I'. T... — ** — - - - t 100 AN EP)JSTILE TO LADY AUSTIN. i1 The stream of pure and geniune love Derives its current firom above; And eartl a second Eden shows, Where'er the healing water flows; But ah, if fiomn the dy1kes and drains Of sensual nature's fev'rish veins, Lust, like a lawless headstrong flood, Impregnated witlh ooze and muld, Descending fast on every side, Once mingles with the sacred tide, Farewell the soul-enliv'ning scene ' The banks that wore a smiling green, With rank defilement overspread, Bewail their flow'ry beauties dead. The stream polluted, dark, and dull, Diffits'd into a Stygian pool, Through life's last melancholy years Is fed with overflowing tears: Complaints supply the zephyr's part, And sighs that heave a breaking heart. I I I A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LA)Y AUSTEN. Dec. 17, 1781. DEAR ANNA-between friend and friend, Prose answers every common end; Serves, in a plain and homely way, T' express th' occurrence of the day; Our health, the weather, and the news; What walks we take, what books we chooso, And all the floating thoughts we find Upon the surface of tlme mind. --- --- - -I- I --- - --- -' `- — -I --- —-^- -- --- — ` --- — -----— ~ --- -- I. i I I I I I.1 I I I AN EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTEN. I01 But when a poet takes the pen, Far more alive than other men, lie feels a gentle tingling come Down to his finger and his thumb, Deriv'd from nature's noblest part, The centre of a glowing heart: And this is what the world, who knows No flights above the pitch of prose, His more sublime vagaries slighting, Denominates an itch for writing. No wonder I, who scribble rhyme To catch the triflers of the time, And tell them truths divine and clear, Which, couch'd in prose, they will not hear; Who labour hard to allure and draw The loiterers I never saw, Should f-l that itching, and that tingling With all my purpose intermingling, To your intrinsick merit true, When call'd t' address myself to you. Mysterious are his ways, whose rt-ver Brings forth that unexpected hour When minds, that never met before, Shall meet, unite, and part no more: It is the allotment of the skies, The hand of tile Supremely Wise, That guides and governs our affections, And plans and orders our connexions: Directs us in our distant road, And marks the bounds of our abode. Thus we were settled when you found us, Peasants and children all around us, Not dreaming of so dear a fiiend, Deep in tile abyss of Silver-End.* * A! obscure part of Oluey, adijoin: ig to the resiaence ol Cowper, which faced llie market-place 9* - I I I I I I i I I I I I i I I I I I i i I — - i I ~ ____ I1 ii II I 1 r i, i I 102 AN EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTEN Thus Martha, c'en against her will. Perch'd on the top of yonder hill; And you, tlhough you must needs prefer The fairest. scenes of sweet Sancerre,* Are come from distant Loire, to choose A cottage on the banks of Ouse. T'his page of Providence quite new, And now just op'ning to our view, Employs our present thoughts and pain To guess, and spell, what it contains: But day by day, and year by year, Will make the dark enigma clear; And furnish us, perhaps, at last, Like other scenes already past, With proof, that we, and our affairs, Are part of a Jehovah's cares: For God unfolds, by slow degrees, The purport of his deep decrees; Sheds every hour a clearer light In aid of our defective sight; And spreads at length before tile soul A beautiful and perfect whole, Which busy man's inventive brain Toils to anticipate, in vain. ii I I 11! I I; Ii i I i i! I 1 I I I si i I, 1 1 S:ay, Anna, had you never known The beauties of a rose full blown, Could you, tho' luminous your eye, IB lookingr on the bud, descry, Or guess, with a prophetick power, The future splendour of the flower? Just so, th' Omnipotent who turns;,i TThe system of a world's concerns,;: j}'eFromn mere minutie can educe Events of most important use; And bid a dawvniin sky display $i! T'I'h blaze of a meridian day. l,,y Aistei's residetnce in France!i 1 1I,.,! _ _L_I__~I_Il__ __11____ __ ____ __~_ I_____ _I ___ ___ II __I_ ___~ _ _ IC____ ___I_ AN EPISTIL'E TO LADY AUSTEN. 103 The works of man tend, one anid all, As needs they must, froml great to small, Anld vanity absorbs at lengthl The monuments of' hulman strength. But who can tell how..st tile plan Which this day's incident began! Too small, perhaps, t1he light occasion, For our dim-sighted observation; It pass'd unnotic'd, as the bird That cleaves the yielding air unheard. And yet may prove, when understood, An harbinger of endless good. Not that I deem, or mean to call Friendship a blessing cheap or small. But merely to remark, that ours, Like some of nature's sweetest flowers, Rose from a seed of tiny size, That seem'd to promise no such prize; A transient visit intervening, And made almlost without a meaning, (Hardly thle effect of inclination, Much less of pleasing expectation,) Produc d a friendship, then be.gun, That has cemented us in one; And plac'd it in our pow'r to prove, By long fidelity and love, That Solomon has wisely spoken: " A threefold cord is not soon broken.' I I I I 11I I I I I I I I II -, _,,,,,,_,,._,., ----- _ I I ~.___ _____ __ __ _ ___5C_ _ _ (104) FROM A LETTER TO THE REV. iMR. NEWTON Late Rector of St. Mary W1oolnoth [Dated May 28, 1782.] SAYS the pipe to the snuff-box, I can't understand What the ladies and gentlemen see in your face That you are in fashion all over the land, And 1 am so much fallen into disgrace. Do but see what a pretty contemplative air I give to the company-pray do but note 'emYou would think that the wise men of Greece were all there, Or, at least, would suppose them the wise men of Gotham. My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses, While you are a nuisance where'er you appear; There is nothing but sniv'ling and blowing of noses, Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to hear. Then lifting his lid in a delicate way, And op'ning his mouth with a smile quite engaging The box in reply was heard plainly to say, What a silly dispute is this we are waging! If you have a little of merit to claim, You may thank the sweet-smelling Virginian weed And I, if I seem to deserve any blame, The before-mentioned drug in apology plead. Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own, No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus, We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone, But of any thing else they may choose to put in us I..~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~. I I - _ __ _ _I _ _I [ 105] THE COLUBRIAD I [17.] i I i Cosr by the threshold of a door nail'd fast, Three kittens sat: each kitten look'd aghast. I passing swift, and inattentive by, At the three kittens cast a. careless eye; Not much concern'd to know what they did there Not deeming kittens worth a poet's care. But presently a loud and furious hiss Caus'd me to stop, and to exclaim " what's this?" When lo' upon the threshold met my view, With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue, A viper, long as Count do Grasse's queue. Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws, )arting it full against a kitten's nose; Who, having never seen, in field or house, The like, sat still and silent as a mouse: j OOnly projecting, witl attention due, I-ler whisker'd face, she ask'd himn, " who are you On to the hall went 1, with pace not slow, But swift as lightning, for a lonIr Dutch hoc: With which well arm'd I htasi.eu'd to the spot, To find the viper, but I found him not. And turning up the leaves and shrubs around, Found only, tlat he was not to be i;und. But still the kittens sitting as beforc, Sat watching close the bottom of the door " I hope," said I, " the villain I would kill, Has slipp'd between the door, and the door's sill; And if I inake despatch, and follow hard, No doubt but I shdll find him in the yard:" For long ere now it should have been rehears'd, Twas in tho garden that I found hill first. I Ii i I I ---- - - = ---- ---— L ---C_._ 106 ON FRIENDSHIP. Ev'n there I found him, there tile full-grown cat His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat; As curious as the kittens erst had been To learn what this phenomenon might mean. Fill'd with heroick ardour at the sight, And fearing every moment he would bite, And rol our household of our only cat, That was of age to combat with a rat; With outstretch'd hoe I slew him at the door, And taught him NEVER TO CO)ME THERE NO 5OiRE ON FRIENDSHIP. Amicitia nisi inter bonos esse non potest.... Cicero [1782.] WHAT virtue can we name, or grace, But men unqualified and base Will boast it their possession Profusion apes the noble part Of liberality of heart, And dulness of discretion. But as the gem of richest cost Is ever counterfeited most, So, always, imitation Employs the utmost skill she can. To counterfeit the faithful man, The friend of long duration. Some will pronounce me too severeBut long experience speaks me clear; Therefore that censure scorning,.I I I i i i i i i - j — I-~- - -----— ~ -------- I x- - __ _ _ __ __ 11_ ________ __I__ _ ___ 1 I i ON FRIENDSHIIP. 107 1 will proceed to mark the shelves, On which so many dash themselves, And give the simple warning. Youth, unadmonish'd by a guide, Will trust to any fair outside: An errour soon corrected; For who, but learns, witl riper years, That man, when smoothest he appears, Is most to be suspected! But here again a danger lies Lest, thus deluded by our eyes, And taking trash for treasure, We should, when undeceiv'd, conclude Friendship, imaginary good, A mere Utopian pleasure. An acquisition, rather rare, Is yet no subject of despair; Nir should it seem distressful, If either on forbidden ground, Or, where it was not to be found, We sought it unsuccessful. No friendship will abide the test That stands on sordid interest Arid IUin sell-lovu Uo,-..cu Nor such, as may awhile subsist 'Twixt sensualist and sensualist, For vicious ends connected. Who hopes a friend, should have a heart, IIimself, well furnish'd for the part, And ready on occasion To show the virtue that he seeks; For 'tis an union that bespeaks A just reciprocation. I I Ii I I ~~. ~c ( 98 ) TRANSLATION OF A SIMILE IN PARADISE LOST. [June, 1780. S o when, from mountain tops, the dusky clouds ".ascending, 4-c." Quales aerii montis de vertice nubes Curn surgunt, et jam Boree tumida ora quierunt, Ccelum hilares abdit, spissa caligine, vultus: Turn si jucundo tandem sol prodeat ore, Et crocco montes et pascua lumine tingat, Gaudent omnia, aves mulcent conccntibus agros, J'alatuque ovium coles vallesque resultant. TRANSLATION OF DRYDEN'S EPIGRAM ON MILTON u Three Poets, in three distant ages boru, 4-c " [July, 1780.] Ti:s tlia, sed longe distantia, saecula vates Ostentant tribus o gentibus oximios Grecia sublimcm, cull mnjestato disertum Roina tulit, felix Anglia utrique parom. Partubas ex binis Natura oxhausta, coacta cst, Tcrtius ut fieret, consociaic duos. i I _ - -L ---- 1~~ -_1 _I ---- -- ----------— _ C_ IIIL_ __ I i I I q I Ii ii ( 99 ) TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON ON HIS RETURN FROM RAMSGATE. [Oct. 1780.] THAT ocean you have late survey'd, Those rocks I too have seen, But I afllicted and dismay'd, You tranquil and serene. You from the flood-controlling steep Saw stretclhd before your view, AWith conscious joy, the threat'ning deep, No longer such to you. To me, the waves that ceaseless broke Upon the dang'rous coast, Hoarsely and ominously spoke Of all my treasure lost. Your sea of troubles you have past, And found the peaceful shore; 1, tempest toss'd, and wreck'd at last, Come home to port no more. LOVE ABUSED. I I i I i I II I'I I I t WHAT is there in the vale of life Ialf so delightful as a wife, When friendship, love, and peace combine To stamp the marriage bond divine? I I I I — I IiI t00 AN EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTIN. The stream of pure and geniune love Derives its current fr)om above; And earth a second Eden shows, Where'er the healing water flows; But ah, if fionm the dykes and drains Of sensual nature's fev'rish veins, Lust, like a lawless headstrong flood, Inpregnated with ooze and mud, Descending fast on every side, Once mingles with the sacred tide, Farewell the soul-enliv'ning scene' The banks that wore a smilinr green, With rank defilement overspread, Bewail their flow'ry beauties (lead. The stream polluted, dark, and dull, Diffts'd into a Stygian pool, Through life's last melancholy years Is fed with overflowing tears: Complaints supply the zephyr's part, And sighs that heave a breaking heart. A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LAI)Y AUSTEN. Dec. 17, 1781. DEAR ANNA-between friend and friend, Prose answers every common end; Serves, in a plain and homely way, T' express th' occurrence of the day; Our health, the weather, and the news; What walks we take, what books we chooso, And all the floating thoughts we find Upon the surface of the mind.;.!I i II Ij I I I I I Ii I I I I I.1 i I I I_ AN EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTE'.N. 101 But when a poet takes the pen, Far more alive than other men, lie feels a gentle tingling coino Down to his finger and his thumb, Deriv'd from nature's noblest part, Thie centre of a glowinlg heart: And this is what the world, who knows No flights above the pitch of prose, His more sublime vagaries slighting, Denominates an itch for writing. No wonder I, who scribble rhyme To catch the triflers of the time, And tell them truths divine and clear, Which, couch'd in prose, they will not hear; Who labour hard to allure and draw The loiterers I never saw, Should f,-l that itching, and that tingling With all my purpose intermingling, To your intrinsick merit true, When call'd t' address myself to you. Mysterious are his ways, whose r,-ver Brings forth that unexpected hour When minds, that never met before, Shall meet, unite, and part no more: It is the allotment of the skies, The hand of the Supremely Wise, That guides and governs our affections, And plans and orders our connexions: Directs us in our distant road, And marks the bounds of our abode. Thus we were settled when you found us, Peasants and children all around us, Not dreaming of so dear a friend, Deep in tile abyss of Silver-End.* * An obscure part of Olney, ad.join: ig to the residence ol Cowper, which faced lie market-place 9* - I I I II 11 I I i I I I i! I i I I I I I i i = - ----- ~ 102 AN EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTEN jThus Martha, c'en against ller will. Perch'd on the top of yonder hill; \ \ dAnd you, though you must needs prefer |1 'Tile fairest scenes of sweet Sancerre,* Are come from distant Loire, to choose \' \i A cottage on the banks of Ouse. 'This page of Providence quite new,, j,inAnd now just op'ning to our viewv, jEmploys our present thoughts and paint lffj! To guess, and spell, what it contains But day by day, and year by year, lWill make the dark enigma clear; 'i|! And furnish us, perhaps, at last, Like other scenes already past, I; ~ VWith proof, that we, and our affairs, Are part of a Jehovah's cares: fi i iFor God unfolds, by slow degrees,; tl'fThe purport of his deep decrees; '| lSheds every hour a clearer light 't In aid of our defective sight; (' IAnd spreads at length before the soul A beautiful and perfect whole, Which busy man's inventive brain;',j{ Toils to anticipate, in vain.?! ~ ~Say, Anna, had you never known;I The beauties of' a rose full blown,,i; Could you, thl' luminous your eye, tjl 13ly lookingl on the bud, descry, ti '~Or guess, with a prophetick power, j 1'llThe future splendour of the flower? Just so, th' Omnipotent who turns iThe system of a world's concerns,;/ l'Froin mere minutie can educe jii ~IEvents of most important use; ii ~Andri bid a dawning sky display ~ T'i'lu:l blaze of a meridian day. I *'1 I[,-'lv! Auslteli's residence in France _ _I _,__ =',, _ _ ~ ~ ~ _ ~~ II_ _ __ I~ _~C__ _ _ _ i I I I AN EPIS'TI", TO LADY AUSTEN. 103 The works of man tend, one and all, As needs they rlust, from tireat to small, Antd vanity absorbs at lcngth The monuments of human strength. But who can tell how vcust tile plan Which this day's incident began! Too small, perhaps, the 6light occasion, For our dim-sighted observation; It pass'd unnotic'd, as the bird That cleaves the yielding air unheard. And yet may prove, when understood, An harbinger of endless good. Not that I deem, or mean to call Friendship a blessing cheap or small. But merely to remark, that ours, Like some of nature's sweetest flowers, Rose from a seed of tiny size, That seem'd to promise no such prize; A transient visit intervening, And made almost without a meaning, (HIardly tle effect of inclination, Much less of pleasing expectation,) Produc'd a fiiendship, then begun, That has cemented us in one; And plac'd it in our pow'r to prove, By long fidelity and love, That SolomonJ has wisely spoken: <" A threefold cord is not soon broken.w i i I I I. 1 I IfI I I I 1; I I I I I I I.1 i ___ ----— ~L ---~ --- -- _, _ __I_ ___ ____ ____ ___ _ ___ ___ (104) FROM A LETTER TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON Late Rector of 't. Mary lWoolnoth [Dated May 28, 17S82.] SAYS the pipe to the snuff-box, I can't understand What the ladies and gentlemen see in your face That you are in fashion all over the land, And I am so much fallen into disgrace. Do but see what a pretty contemplative air I give to the company-pray do but note 'emYou would think that the wise men of Greece were all there, Or, at least, would suppose them the wise men of Gotham. ]My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses, While you are a nuisance where'er you appear; There is nothing but sniv'ling and blowing of noses, Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to hear. Then lifting his lid in a delicate way, And op'ning his mouth with a smile quite engaging The box in reply was heard plainly to say, What a silly dispute is this we are waging! If you have a little of merit to claim, You may thank the sweet-smelling Virginian weed And I, if I seem to deserve any blame, The before-mentioned drug in apology plead. Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own, No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus, We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone, But of any thing else they may choose to put in us ---------------------- ------ 'r~~~~~~~i I _ _ ~ _ _ _ _ _I~ - [105] 1THE COLUBRIAD i I r [17'2.] 1 CI.osr by the threshold of a door nail'd fast, Three kittens sat: each kitten look'd aghast. I passing swift, and inattentive by, At the three kittens cast a careless eye; Not much concern'd to know what they did there; j Not deeming kittens worth a poet's care. But presently a loud and furious hiss Caus'd Ime to stop, and to exclaim " what's this?" When lo' upon tile threshold met my view, With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue, A viper, long as Count de Grasse's queue. Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws, Darting it full against a kitten's nose; 5 W ho, having never seen, in field or house, 1 The like, sat still and silent as a mouse: Only projecting, witl attention due, Iler whisker'd face, she ask'd hinl, " who are you j On to tile hall went I, with pace not slow, But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoc: With which well arm'd I hasteu'd to the spot, To find the viper, but I found him nrot. And turning up the leaves and shrubs around, Found only, that he was not to be ibund. But still the kittens sitting as beforc, Sat watching close the botto:u of the door j "I hope," said I, " the villain I would kill, j las slipp'd between the door, and the door's sill; j And if 1 make despatch, and follow lard, No doubt but I shall find him in the yard:" For long ere now it should h;ve been rchears'd, Twas in the garden that I found him first. I I ---------- -- 2,,,, -- I ~ ~ ~ __ _ _ I I 106 ON FRIENDSHIP. Ev'n there 1 found him, there the full-grown cat His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat; As curious as the kittens erst had been To learn what this phenomenon might mean. Fill'd with heroick ardour at the sight, And fearing every moment he would bite, And rob our household of our only cat, That was of age to combat with a rat; With outstretch'd hoe I slew him at the door, And taughlt himi NEVER TO COME THERE NO MORE ON FRIENDSI IP. Amicitia nisi inter bonos esse non potest.... Cicero [1782.] WHAT virtue can we name, or grace, But men unqualified and base Will boast it their possession Profusion apes the noble part Of liberality of heart, And dulness of discretion. But as the gem of richest cost Is ever counterfeited most, So, always, imitation Employs the utmost skill she cani To counterfeit the faithful man, The friend of long duration. Some will pronounce me too severeBut long experience speaks me clear; Therefore that censure scorniag, I I I I I I I i I I ___________ --- - -- I - 9 'e -- --- -- -- I I 1 1 ON FRIENDSIIIP. 107 I will proceed to mark the shelves, On which so many dash themselves, And give the simple warning. Youth, unadmonish'd by a guide, Will trust to any fair outside: An errour soon corrected; For who, but learns, with riper years, That man, when smoothest lie appears, Is most to be suspected! Bllt here again a danger lies Lest, thus deluded by our eyes, And taking trash for treasure, We should, when undeceiv'd, conclude Friendship, imaginary good, A mere Utopian pleasure. An acquisition, rather rare, Is yet no subject of despair; Njr should it seem distressful, If either on forbidden ground, Or, where it was not to be found, We sought it unsuccessful. No friendship will abide the test That stands on sordid interest And muwail seilt-ovao C, Io VCu Nor such, as may awhile subsist 'Twixt sensualist and sensualist, For vicious ends connected. Who hopes a friend, should have a heart, IIimself, well furnish'd for the part, And ready on occasion To show the virtue that he seeks; 'or 'tis an union that bespeaks A just reciprocation. I - 108 FFRIENDSHIP. A fretful temper will divide The closest knot that may be tied, By ceaseless sharp corrosion A temper passionate and fierce Mlay suddenly your joys disperse I I I At one immense explosion. Ill vain the talkative unite With hope of permanent delight, The secret just committed: They drop throtugh mere desire to prate, Forgetting its important weight, And by themselves outwitted. How bright soe'er the prospect seems, All thoughts of friendship are but dreams If envy chance to creep inl; An envious man, if you succeed, May prove a dang'rous foe indeed, But not a friend worth keeping. As envy pines at good possess'd, So jealousy lools forth distress'd On good that seems approaching And, if success his steps attend, Discerns a rival in a friend, And hates hinm l r encroaching. Hence authors of illustrious name, (Unless belied by common fame,) Are sadly prone to quarrel; To deem the wit a friend displays So much of loss to their own praise, And pluck each other's laurel. A man renowned for repartee, Will seldom scruple to make free With friendship's finest feeling, i I j/ Ii Ii i 1 I (' ~~~~~~~~~- ~~~~~~*2-~~~~~~~~~~I! _ ___. 11~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I _ I I I;I.I I FRITENDSHIIP. 109 Will thrust a dagger at your breast And tell you, 'twas a special jest, By way of barlm fir lIealir. Beware of tattlers; keep your car.Close stopp'd against the tales they bear; Fruits of tleir own invention; The separation of chief 'tricnds Is wlat their kindness most intends; i Tlheir sport is your dissension. Friendship that wantonly admits A joco-serious play of wits In brilliant altercation, Is union such as indicates, Like hand-in-hand insurance-plates, Danger of conflagration. Some fickle creatures boast. a soul True as the needle to the pole; Yet shifting, like tle weather, The needle's constancy forego For any novelty, and show Its variations rather Insensibility makes some Unseasonably deaf and dumb, When most you need tncir pity; 'Tis waiting till the tears shall fall From Gog and Magog in Guildlall, Those playtlings of the city. The great and small but rarely meet On terms of amity complete: Th' attempt would scarce be madder, Should any, from the bottom, hope At one huge stride to reach the top Of an erected ladder. VOL. 1il. 1; I c. ---- - -----— '"-'"- ----~'~'— '- — ---" —'I ---- -- ---- -- ----------------- I' I. - - -- I I... -- ~~~~~~ --- —.; i 110 FPRIENDSHIP. Cour.ier and patriot cannot mix Their het'rogeneous politicks Without an effervescence, Such as of salts with lemon juice But which is rarely known t' induces Like that, a coalescence. Religion should extinguish strife, And make a calm of human life But even those who differ Only on topicks left at large, How fiercely will they meet and charge No combatants are stiffer. To prove, alas! my main intent, Needs no great cost of argument, No cutting and contriving; Seeking a real friend, we seem T' adopt the chymist's golden dream With still less hope of thriving. Then judge, or ere you choose your marn As circumspectly as you can, And, having made election, See that no disrespect of yours, Such as a friend but ill endures, Enfeeble his affection. It is not timber, lead, and stone, An architect requires alone, To finish a great building; The palace were but half complete, Could he by any chance forget The carving and the gilding, As similarity of mind, Or something not to be defin'd, First rivets our attention; i I I 11 I II _ _ - _ __ 7 - I l FRIENDSHIP. 111 So, manners decent and polite, The same we practis'd at first sight, Alust save it from declension The man who hails you Tom —or Jack, And proves by thumiping on your b;,ck His sense of your great merit, Is such a friend,.lhat one had need Be very much his friend indeed, To pardon, or to bear it. Some friends make this their prudent plan"Say little, and hear all you can?' Safe policy, but hateful. So barren sands imbibe the show'r, But render neither fruit nor fl(,w'r Unpleasant and ungrateful They whisper trivial things, and small; But, to co(mlllunicate at all Things serious, deemi improper; Their feculence and frol.h they show, But keepl their best contents below, Just like a simill'rilg copper. These samples (for alas! at last These are but samples, and a taste Of evils yet unmentioned) May prove the task, a task indeed, In which 'tis much, if we succeed, However well-intpntion'd. ] Pursue the theme, and you shall find A disciplin'd and furnish'd mind To be at least expedient, And after summing all the rest, Religion ruling in tile breast A principal inirrcdient. I;- --- - ~ ~ - - -- - I I 1 112 TIIE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GcEORGE. True friendship lhas, in short, a grace More than terrestrial in its face, That proves it heav'n-doscended: Man's lovo of woman not so pure, Nor, when sincerest, so secure To ]h.-t till life is ended ON TIIE LOSS OF TIIE ROYA 1 G EOlRt; E [To the March in Scipio.] WRITTEN WHEN TIE NEWS ARRIVED [SepItember, 1762.] TOLL for the brave! The brave that are no more, All sunk beneath tle wave, Fast by their native shore! Eight hundred cf the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid 1her onl her side. A land breeze shook tile shrouds, And sle was overset; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew compllete. Toll for tile brave Brave Kelplellflt is gonc: His last sea-fight is fougllt; lis work of glory done I I i i, i i I I i I ii I i i i I, I 1 i i; j i I I ) i i; i 1 I I I / i; I i i I / j I I i I I I I 1 I I F. I I I I I i I i I i TIHE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. 113 A was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock; Slhe sprang no fatal leak; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in his sheath; His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down, With twico four hundred men. Weigh tlhe vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup, The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full-charg'd with England's thunder, And plough tlhe distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'cr; And he and Ins eight hundred, Shall plougt tWe wave no more. 10 I ---------— ---^ --- — --- I I i I t i I ( 114 ) i i il H 11, I I i I I I I 1 1 1; II;i I1 IJ! I Iiil 1 ( 1 I Ii I H h II H I k IN SUBMERSIONEM NAVIGLI, CUI GEORGIUS REGALIS NOMEN, [NDITULM. PLANGIMIUS fortes. Periere fortes, Patrium propter periere littus His quater centum; subito sub alto iEquore mersi. Navis, iinitens lateri, jacebat, Malus ad suinmas trepidabat undas, Cum levis, funes qualiens, ad imumn Depulit aura. Plangimus fortes. Nimis, lieu, caducam Fortibus vitam volncrc parc;e, Nee sinunt ultra tibi nos recentes Ncctcro laurus.I Magne, qui nomen, licet incanorum, Traditum ex multis atavis tulisti! At tuos olim memiorabit ecvumn Onine triumlphos. Non hycems illos furibunda mersit, Non mari in clauso scopuli latentes, Fissa non rimis abies, nee atrox Abstulit ensis. Navitae sed tumn ninium jocosi Voco falleba.nt hilari laborerm, Et quiesccbat calarnoque dextral imnplevcrat heros. Vos, quibus cordi cst grave opus piunque, flumidum ex alto spolium levate, Et putrescentes sub auli ainic(os Rdedito 1ailis! _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ *1 _CI_ _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I_~_ ___~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ r~~~~ I115 ON PEACE. Iii quidem (sic dis plucuit) fuere: Sed ratis, nonduii put.ris, ire possit Rursus in bellumi, Britonuinque nomne Tollere ad astra SONG ON PEACE. WnITTEN IN THE SUMMER OF 1783, AT TIIE REQUESI OF LADY AUSTEN', WHL) GAVE THE SENTIMENT. Air —" JMyfond shepherds of late," 4c. No longer I follow a sound; No longer a dreami I pursue: O happiness ' not to be found, Unattainable treasure, adieu! I have sought thee in splendour and dress, In the regions of pleasure and taste; I have sought thee, and seem'd to possess, But have prov'd thee a vision at last. An humble ambition and hope The voice of true wisdoml inspires: 'Tis sufficient, if Peace be tle scope, And the suinniit of all our desires. Peace may be the lot of tihe ind That seeks in it meekness and love; But rapture and bliss arc confin'd To th glorified spirits above. I i I I tI I I I i I I, __ _ I_ __,,: i i i i i I i I 1 1 1 - --? - ~CLI --- ( 11G ) SONG.*.air- " The Lass of Patlze's Mill.' WHEN all within is peace, How nature seems to smile I Delights that never cease, The live-long day beguile. From morn to dewy eve, With open hand she showers Fresh blessings to deceive, And sooth the silent hours. It is content of heart Gives nature power to please; The mind that feels no sinart, Enlivens all it sees; Can make a wint'ry sky Seem bright as smiling May, And evening's closing eve As peep of early aay. The vast majestick globe, So beauteously array'd In nature's various robe, With wondrous skill display'd, Is to a mourner's heart A dreary wild at best; It flutters to depart, And longs to be at rest. * Also written at the request of Ludy Austen. I I I i I I I I I I 41 I1 i I I iI i I I I I I i I- - ---- i I I I I ii I i Ii i i I I i I I iI I I i i I I I I I i i ( 117 ) I I I 11 I I II ) I VER 1SES SELECTED FROM AN OCCASIO.NAL POEMl, ENTIll.D VALEDICTION. [Jovrenber, 1783.] OiH Friendshl p! Cordial of the hmnan breast So little felt, so fervently profcss'd! Thy blossoms deck our unsuspecting years; The promise of delicious fruit appears: We hugr the hopes of constancy and truth, Such is the folly of our dreaming youtlh; But soon, alas! detect the rash mistake That sanguine inexperience loves to make, And view witlh tears tl' expected harvest lost, Decay'd by time, or witler'd by a frost. Whoever undertakes a friend's great part Should be renew'd in nature, ipure in heart, Prepared for martyrdom, and strong to prove A thousand ways the force of genuine love. He may be call'd to give up healtl and gain, T' exchange content for trouble, ease for pain, To echo sigh for sigh, and groan for groan, And wet lis cheeks with sorrows not his own. Tlie heart of man, for sucl a task too frail, Vhen most relied on, is most sure to fail; And, summnon'd to partake it.s flllow's wo, Starts from its office, like a broken bow. Vot'ries of blusiness, and of Ipleasure, prove Faithless alike ini friendship nnd in love. F I I I I ---------------— ` --- - - -- - 118 FROM THE POEMN OF VALEDICTION Retir'd from all the circles of the gay, And all the crowds, tlat bustle life away, To scenes, where competition, envy, strife, Beget no thuntler-clouds to trouble life. Let m1e, the cllhrge of some good angel, find One, who has known, and has escaped mankind; Polite, yet virtuous, who has brought away The manners, not the morals, of the day: With him, perhaps with her, (for men have known No firmer friendships than the fair have shown,) Let me enjoy, in some unthought-of spot, All former friends forgiven, and forgot, Down to the close of life's fast fading scene, Union of hearts, without a flaw between. 'Tis grace, 'tis bounty, and it calls for praise, If God give health, that sunshine of our days And if he add, a blessing shared by few, Content of heart, more praises still are dueBut if he grant a friend, that boon possess'd Indeed is treasure, and crowns all the rest; And giving one, whose heart is in the skies, Born from above, and made divinely wise, He gives, what bankrupt nature never can, Whose noblest coin is light and brittle man, Gold, purer far than Ophir ever knew, A soul, an image of himself, an' therefore true I I iI Ii I I I I I I.- CI_ __ L_ I I I I I I I I.II TIIE SHOR1TNESS OF HUMAN [.IFE. 11J IN ]REVITATEM VITAE SPATII HOMINIBUS CONCESSI. BY DR. JORTIN. [IEI mihi! Lege rata sol occidit atquc resurgit, Lunaqulo mutate reparat dispendia formae, Astraque, purpurei telis extincta diei, Rursus nocte vigent. Humiles tclluris alunni Graminis herba verens, et florum picta propago, Quos crudelis hyems lethali tabe peredit, Cumi Zephyri vox blanda vocat, rediitque sereni Temperies anni, foecundo, e cespite surgunt. Nos domini rcrum, nos, magna et pulchra ninati, Cumr breve ver vitae robustaque transiit mtas, Dcficimus; nec nos ordo revolubilis auras Reddit in aethereas, tumuli neque claustra resolvit ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE. TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING. [January, 1 784.] SuNs that set, and moons that wane, Rise, and are restor'd again, Stars that orient day subdues, Night at her return renews. Herbs and flowers, tie beauteous birth Of the genial womb of earth, Suffer but a transient death From Iho winter's cruel breath 11 I I I -- I _~ - i I I _ __ __ 120 TO MISS C —, ON HER BIRTTH-DAY Zephyr speaks; serener skies Warm the glebe, and they arise. We, alas! Eartls haughty kings, We, that promise mighty things, Losing soon life's happy prime, Droop, and fade, in little time. Spring returns, but not our bloom, Still 'tis winter in the tomb. EPITAPH ON JOIINSON. [January, 1785.] HREn Johnson lies-a sage by all allow'd, Whom to have bred, may well make England proud Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught; The graceful vehicle of virtuous thouglt; Whose verse may claim-grave, imasculine, and strong, Superiour praise to thl mere poet's song; Who many a noble gift from Heav'n possess'd, And faith at last, alone worth all the rest. O man, immortal by a double prize, By fame on carth-by glory in the skies! TO MISS C —, ON HER BIRl -T-DAY [178G;.] How many between east and west, Disgrace their parent earth, Whoso deeds constrain us to detest The day that give them birth ' I I -- -- - I - l GRA 'TITUDE. 121 Not so when Stella's natal morn Revolving months restore, We can rejoice that she was born, And wish her born once more GRATITUDE. ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH. [17S6.] THIS cap, that so stately appears, With riband-bound tassel on high, Which seems by the crest that it rears Ambitious of brushing the sky: This cap to my cousin I owe, She gave it, and gave me beside, Wreatlh'd into an elegant bovw, The riband with which it is tied. This wheel-footed studying chair, Contriv'd both for toil and repose, Wide-elbow'd and wadded with hair, In which I both scribble and doze, Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes, And rival in lustre of that In whicji, or astronomy lies, Fair Cassiopeia sat: These carpets, so soft to the foot, Caledonia's traffick and pride, Oh, spare them, ye knights of the boot Escaped from a cross-country ride! This table and mirror within, Secure from collision and dust, At which I oft shave cheek and chin And periwig nicely adjust VOL. 11J. 11 I I --- ---- "--' 122 GRATITUD IE. This moveable structure of shelves, For its beauty admired, and its use, And charged with octavos and twelves, The gayest I had to produce. Where, flaming in scarlet and gold, My poems enchanted 1 view, And hope, in due time to belold JMy Iliad and Odyssey too: This china, that decks the alcove, Which here people call a buffet, But what the gods call it above, Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet; These curtains, that keep the room warm Or cool, as the season demands, These stoves that for pattern and form, Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands: All these are not half that I owe To one, from her earliest youth To me ever ready to show Benignity, friendship, and truth; For time, the destroyer declar'd And foe of our perishing kind, If even her face he has spar'd, Much less could he alter her mind. Thus compass'd about with the goods And chattels of leisure and ease, I indulge my poetical moods, In many such fancies as these; And fancies I fear they will seemPoets' goods are not often so fine; The poets will swear that I dream, When I sing of the splendour of mine I I - -- -I - __ __ -- - -- I I I I _ __I L ( 123 ) rilE FLATTING-MILL. AN ILLUSTRATION. WHEN a bar of pure silver, or ingot of gold, hs sent to be flatted or wrought into length, It is pass'd between cylinders often, and roll'd In an engine of utmost mechanical strength. Thus tortur'd and squeezed, at last it appears Like a loose heap of riband, a glittering show, Like nlusick it tinkles and rings in your ears, And, warm'd by the pressure, is all in a glow. This process achieved, it is doom'd to sustain The thump-after-thump-of a gold-beater's mallet; And at last is of service in sickness or pain To cover a pill for a delicate palate. Alas for the poet! who dares undertake To urge reformation of national illIis head and his heart are both likely to ache With the double employment of mallet and mill. If he wish to instruct, he must learn to delight, Smooth, ductile, and even, his fancy must flow, Must tinkle and glitter like gold to the sight, And catch in its progress a sensib.e glow. After all, he must beat it as thin and as fine As the leal that unfolds what an invalid swallows, For truth is unwelcome, however divine, And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows.. —I _ _ - - —I --- —---- --- —— ~ — ----— ~ ---r -~4-CL I ---------- — ~ --- —------------------ LINES |j Io r rCOMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF |A ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ. i, IMMEDIAT'.ElY AFTER FIlS 11)U A11, Bi Y IIIS NEPHEW, WILLIAM OF WESTON I | [June, 1788.] FA^:wEXLI.! endued with all that could engrare | All hearts to love thlee, 1both in youth and agte! In prime of life, for sprightliness enroll' Anionge the gay, yet virtuous as the old In life's last stage 0 blessings rarely foundP leasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd; i h 'liroujgh every period of this changeful state, j Unchang'd thyself —wise, good, atlectionate ' Marble may flatter; and lest this should seem O'ercharg'd with praises on so dear a theme, Although thy worth be more th.n half supprest, Love shall be satisfied, and veil Ite rest. ij,~~ ~ ON THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON, THE NIGHT OF THlE 17th MARCH, 1789. WHEN, long sequester'd from his throne, IGeorge took his seat again, By right of worth, not blood alone, Entitled here to reirn. IIII I il 1 i i I 1! I I I II I i I i, I I I _ I - - -~~lrm~~-llrJIr~I -; — - p — - cr — r - ------:_ -\ ll L —L-~ LI - ---- I — ~C-~~~--~-CILIII ---L-~L —L -- THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LOND(Oi; 125 Then Loyalty, with all his lamps New trilmn'd, a gallant show! Chasing the darkness, and the damps, Set London in a glow. 'Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares, Which forn'd the chief display, These most resembling cluster'd stars, Those the long milky way. Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires, And rockets flew, self-driv'n, To hang their momentary fires Amid the vault of Heav'n. So, fire with water to compare, The ocean serves, on high Up-spouted by a whale in air, T' express unwieldy joy. Had all the pageants of the world In one procession join'd, And all the banners been unfurl'd That heralds e'er design'd. For no such sight had England's Queen Forsaken her retreat, Where, George recover'd, made a scene Sweet always, doubly sweet. Yet glad she came that night to prove, A witness undescri'd, How much the object of her love Was lov'd by all beside. Darkness the skies had mantled o'er, In aid of lier design — Darkness, O Queen ne'er call'd before To veil a deed of tlline! 11 * IF- _-_126 '-HE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON. On borrow'd wheels away she flies, PResolv'd to be unknown, And gratify no curious eyes That night, except her own. Arriv'd, a night like noon she sees, And hears the million hum; As all by instinct, like the bees, Had known their sov'reign come. Pleas'd she beheld aloft pourtray'd On many a splendid wall, Emblems of health, and heav'nly aid, And George the theme of all. Unlike the enigmatick line, So difficult to spell, Which shock Belshazzar at his wine, The night his city fell. Soon, wat'ry grew her eyes a.d dim, But with a joyful tear, None else, except a pray'r for him: t1)j \George ever drew from her. It was a scene in ev'ry part Like those in fable feign'd, And seem'd by some magician's art Created and sustain'd. But other magick there, she knew, Had been exerted none, To raise such wonders in her view, Save love of George alone. That cordial thought her spilit cheer'd, And through the cumb'rous throng Not else unworthy to be fear d, Convey'd her calm along. II I I I I I i I I 1 1 H I il 4. _ i- - ~ ~ — ~ THE COCK-FIGHITER'S GARLAND. 127 So, ancient poets sav serene j i?lThe sea-maid rides tlhe waves, Apd fearless of the bIillowy scene H ler peaceful bosom laves. With more than astronomick eyes She view'd the sparkling show; One? Georgian star adorns the skies, 1 Site myriads found below Yet let the glories of a nigh Like that once seen, suffice, Hcav'n grant us no such future sight, Such previous wo the price!!I~~~~~~~~~~} i i i COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND..,I~ I~~[May, 179.] MusE-Hlide his name of whom I s:ng Lest his surviving house thou bring, For his sake, into scorn; Nor speak the School from which he drew The much or little that he knew, Nor place where he was born. That such a man once was, may seem Worthy of record (if the theme Perchance may credit win) For proof to man, what man may provJ, If grace depart, and demons move The source of guilt within. i I 1I. _ _ _ _ -— ___________ I Ii I I I i I I I __c, _ 128 THE COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND. This man (for since the howling wild Disclaims him, Mall he must be styl'd) Wanted no good below, Gentle he was, if gentle birtl Could make him such, and he had worth, If wealth can worth bestow. In social talk and ready jest He shone superiour at the feast, And qualities of mind Illustrious in the eyes of those Whose gay society he chose, Possess'd of every kind. Methinks 1 see him powder'd red, With bushy locks his well-dress'd head Wing'd broad on either side, The mossy rose bud not so sweet His steed superb, his carriage neat As lux'ry could provide. Can such be cruel!-Such can be Cruel as hell, and so is le! A tyrant, entertain'd With barb'rous sports, whose fell delight Was to encourage mortal fight 'Twixt birds to battle train'd. One feather'd champion he possess'd, Iis darling far beyond the rest, Whiich never knew disgrace, Nor e'er had fought, but he made flow The life-blood of his fiercest foe, The Ctesar of his race. It chanced, at last, when, on a day, He push'd him to the desp'rate tray His courage droop'd, l!e fled, I i I I I I _ -- c.-. --- —-- ----— I --- — - ----— --- —--- THE COCK-FIGH1TER'S GARLAND 129 jhe Master storm'd, the pri;:e was lost, And, instant frantick at the coet.: lie doom'd his f'a'rite decad. He seiz'd him fast, xnd from the pit Flew to his kitchen, snatch'd the spit, Si' '1And, bring me cord, he cried- The cord was brought, and at his word, To tlat dire implement the bird, Alive and struggling, tied. The horrid sequel asks a veil, And all the tcrrours of the tale That can he, shall be, sunk- Led by the suff'rer's screams aright, Ilis shock'd companions view the sight, And him witl fury drunk. All, suppliant beg a milder fate For the old warriour at the grate: Ie, deaf to pity's call, Whirl'd round him rapid as a wheel fHis culirary club of steel, Death menacing on all. i*,\ But vengeance hung not far remote, For whilp he stretcl'd his clam'rous threat, And heav'n and earth defied, Big with a cnrse too closely poent, That struggled vainly for a vent, He totter'd, reel'd, and died. Tis not for us, with rash surmise, To point the judgments of the skies, But judgments plain as this, That, sent for Man's instruction, bring A written label on their wing, 'Tis hard to read amiss. i (!**!. F1 - -- ---- - I I I i I [I I j I I I 130 TRANSLATIONS FROM hIORACE. ON THE BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY FROM SEA-BATIING, IN T'1E YEAR 1789. O SOV'REIGN of an isle renown u For undisputed sway Wherever o'er yon gulf [profournd Her navies wing their way. With juster claim she builds at length Her empire on the sea, And well may boast the waves her strength Which strength restored to Thee. TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. IOR. LIB. I. ODE IX. Vides, ut alta stct nive candiddm Soracte.. SEE'ST thou yon mountain laden with deep snow, The groves beneath their fleecy burthen bow, The streams congeal'd forget to flow, Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile Of fuel on the hearth; Broach the best cask, and make old winter smile With seasonable mirth. I -- II I I i C i TRANSLATIONS FROM IIORA0CE. 131 This be our part-let Heav'n dispose the rest If Jove command, the winds shall sleep, That now wage war upon the foamy deep, And gentle gales spring from the balnmy West E'en let us shift to-morrow as we may, When to-morrow's past away, We at least shall have to say, We have liv'd another day; Your auburn locks will soon be silvcr'd o'er, Old age is at our heels, and youtl returns no Inoro IIOR. LIB. I. ODE '3S. I'ersicoS odi, puer, o/?pp aratus. Boy, I hate their empty shows, Persian garlands 1 detest, Bring not me the late-blown rose, Ling'ring after all the r. *: Plainer myrtle pleases me, Thus out-stretch'd befoeatil nly vine Myrtle more becoming thieo, Waiting with thy master s wine. I - ----- - --- - I il I I I I I - -- ---------— ~------------ -- 132 TRANSLATIONS FROM HOIRAC('. Englir.h S'opphlicks have been attnmpted, but 'with rlttl& success. because in our lanloutaner we have no certain rules by which to determine the quantity. Th Jfollou'ing veersion was made merely in the 2way of e:xperimnent how far it might be possible to imitate a Latin Sapphick in English, without any attention to that cir curmstance. HOR. B. I. ODE 38. BoY! I detest all Persian fopperies Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting, Task not thyself with any search, I charge thee, Where latest roses linger. Bring me alone (for thou wilt find that readily) Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparago Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking Beneath my vine's cool shelter. HOR. LIB. 1I. ODE 16. Otium Divos rogat in patenti. EASE is the weary merchant's pray'r, Who ploughs by night the Egean flood. When neither moon nor stars appear. Or faintly glimmer through the cloud. For ease the Mede with quiver graced, For ease the Thracian helo s:ghs, Delightful ease all pant to taste, A blessing which no treasure buys ii I I, — ~ - -- - -- --------------------- I __ I __ TRANSLATIONS FIROM HORiACE. 133 For neither gold can lull to rest, Nor all a Consul's guard beat off, The tumults of a troubled breast, The cares that haunt a gilded roof. Happy the man, whose table shows A few clean ounces of old plate; No fear intrudes on his repose, No sordid wishes to be great. Poor short-liv'd things, what plans we lay All, wly forsake our native homne! To distant climates speed away: For self sticks close where'er we roam. Care follows hard; and soon o'ertakes The well rigg'd ship, the warlike steed, Her destin'd quarry ne'er forsakes, Not the wind flies with half her speed. From anxious fears, of future ill Guard well the cheerful, happy Now; Gild even your sorrows with a smile, No blessing is unmix'd below. Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds, Thy num'rous flocks around tlhee grazs, And the best purple Tyre affords Thy robe magnificent displays On me indulgent Heav'n bestow'd A rural mansion, neat and small, This Lyre; and as for yonder crowd, The happiness to hate them all. VOL. III. 1'2.~_ _________ 1 ___ I I I I _C_ 134 TO THE MENIORY OF DR.,l.tOVl) I make no apology for the introduction of the fol lowingr lines, though I have?zevcr learned lwho wrote them. Their elegance will sufficiently recommend themn to persons of classical taste and erudition, a:nd I sh.a!l le happy if the English version that they have rcccive: d from me, be found not to dishonour themn. Iffection for the memory of the worthy man whom they cctcbratc, alone prompted ve to this endeavour. I. CO I'PER. VERSES THE MEMORY OF DR. LLOYD, PPOKEN AT TIIE WESTMINSTER ELECTION NEXT AFTER HIS DECEASE. ABIIT senex! periit senex amabilis! Quo non fuit jucundior. Lugete vos, altas quibus maturior Senem colendum prwstitit, Seu quando, viribus valentioribus Firmoque fretus pectoro, Florertiori vos juventute excolens Cura fovebal patria. Sen qlua!ldo firactus, jamque donatus rude, Vultu sod usque blandulo, Mist.ere graulebat suas facetias His annuis leporlbus. Vixit probus, puraque simplex indole Blandisque coiris Inrribus, 11 i I. 11 I I I i I II I I i I I,_-U ---- __ = -- I __ i I I I I I I U_ I ___ _ ___; TO THE MEMORY OF DR. LLOYD. 13% Et dives tequa mentc-charus omnibus, Unius* auctus munere. Ite tituli! meritis beatioribus Aptate laudes debitas! Nec invidebat ille, si quibus favens Fortuna plus arriserat. Placide senex! levi quiescas cespite, Etsi superbum nec vivo tibi Decus sit inditum, nec mortuo Lapis notatus nomine. THIE SAME IN ENGLISH. OUR good old friend is gone, gone to his rest, Whose social converse was, itself, a feast, O ye of riper age, who recollect How once ye loved, and eyed him with respect. Both in the firmness of his better day, While yet he ruled you with a father's sway, And when, impair'd by time, and glad to rest, Yet still with looks in mild complacence dress'd, le took his annual seat, and mingled here Iis sprightly vein with yours-now drop a tear. In morals blameless as in manners meek, He knew no wish that lie might blush to speak, But, happy in whatever state below, And richer than the rich in being so, Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a nceed At length from One,t as made him rich i)ndred. l* e was ushler and iunder-inaster of Vestminrster near fiftj years. ani reticred from his occupation when le was near se. venrty, witlh a handsome pension from the king. t See the note in the Latin copy. I I I I - -- - -- ___ iI I I i I I i - ---- --- - 136 TO MRS. THROCKMORTON. Hence then, ye titles, hence, not wanted hero Go, garnish merit in a brighter sphere, The brows of those whose more exalted lot He could congratulate, but envied not. Light lie the turf, good Senior! on thy breast, And, tranquil as thy mind was, be thy rest! Tho' living, thou hadst more desert than fame, And not a stone, now, chronicles thy name. 0*TO MRS. THROCKMORTON, ON HXR BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE:S ODE, AD LIBRUM SUUM. (February, 1790.] MARIA, could Horace have guess'd What honour awaited his ode, To his own little volume address'd, The honour which you have bestow'd, Who have traced it in characters here So elegant, even, and neat, He had laugh'd at the critical sneer Which he seems to have trembled to meet. And sneer, if you please, he had said, A nymph shall hereafter arise, Who shall give me, when you are all dead, The glory your malice denies. Shall dignity give to my lay, Although but a mere bagatelle; And even a poet shall say, Nothing ever was written so well. I _ __ - -- -- -- -— I- -— ~ - 137 INSCRIPTION For a Stone erected at the Sowing of a Grove of Oaks at Chillington, the seat of T. Gziord, Esq. 1790. [June, 1790.] OTHER stones the era tell, When some feeble mortal fell; I stand here to date the birth Of those hardy sons of Earth. Which shall longest brave the sky, Storm and trost-these oaks or I? Pass an age or two away, I must moulder and decay, But the years that crumble me Shall iuvigorate tie tree, Spread its branch, dilate its size, Lif'its summit to the skies. Cherish honour, virtue, truth, So shalt thou prolong thy youth. Wanting these, however fast Man be fix'd and form'd to last He is lifeless even now, Stone at heart, ard cannot grow. 12^ I i II 11 I - _ - = I V i I I I - — L ----_ (138) ANOTHER, For a Stone erected on a similar occasion at the same place in thefollowing year. [June, 1790.] READER! Belold a monument That asks no sigh or tear, Though it perpetuate the event Of a great burial hero. Anno 1791. HYMN, FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY. [July, 1790.] HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and pray'r, In heaven thy dwelling-place, From infants, made the publick care, And taught to seek thy face! Thanks for thy Word and for thy Day; And grant us, we implore, Never to waste in sinful play TbI holy Sabbath more. Thanks that we hear-but oh impart To each desire sincere, That we may listen witl our heart, And learn as well as hear I - ----— " ---'-`-- -` —' -" -'- ---- I ---- ------ ~CI-C- --- -- 1 STANZAS. 139 For if vain thoughts the minds engage Of elder far than we, What hope that at our heedless age Our minds should e'er be free! Much hope, if thou our spirits take Under thy gracious sway, Who canst the wisest wiser make, And babes as wise as they. Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows, A sun that ne'er declines; And be thy mercies show'r'd on those Who plac'd us where it shines.* STANZAS On the late indecent Liberties taken with the Remains of the great Milton-Anno 1780. [Auggust, 1790 j " ME too, perchance, in future days, Tile sculptur'd stone shall show With Paphian myrtle or with bays Parnassian on my brow. Note by the Editor. This Hymn was written at tile request of the Rev. James Bean, thent Vicar of Oli'y, to he sung by the children of the Sunday Schools of that town, after a Charity Sermonl, preached at the Parish Church for their benefit, on Sunday, July 31, 1790. I,,,. " ---- ------— I-^ —._. I 111__ _____C4 I10 STANZAS. But I, or ere that season come, Escaped from every care, Slall reach my refuge in the tomb, And sleep securely there."* So sang, in Roman tone and style, The youthful bard, ere long Ordain'd to grace his native isle With her sublimest song. Who then but must conceive disdain, Hearing the deed unblest Of wretches who have dar'd profane His dread sepulchral rest? Ill fare the hands that heav'd the stones Where Milton's ashes lay, That trembled not to grasp his bones, And steal his dust away! O ill-requited bard! neglect Thy living worth repaid, And blind idolatrous respect As much affronts the dead. * Forsitan et nostros ducat de marmore vultus Nectens aut Paphia myrti aut Parnasside lauri Fronde comas...At ego secura pace quiescam. Alilton in,Mas, __ __ (141) TO MRS. KING of Her kind Present to the Author, a Patch-work Coup. telpane of her own making. [August 14, 1790.] THE Bard, if e'er he feel at all, Must sure be quicken'd by a call Both on his heart and head, To pay with tuneful thanks the care And kindness of a lady fair, Who deigns to deck his bed. A bed like this, in ancient time, On Ida's barren top sublime, (As Homer's Epick shows) Compos'd of sweetest vernal flow'rs, Without the aid of sun or show'rs, For Jove and Juno rose. Less beautiful, however gay, Is that which in the scorching day Receives the weary swain Who, laying his long sithe aside, Fleeps on some bank with daisies pied, Till rous'd to toil again. What labours of the loom I see! Looms numberless have groan'd for me Should ev'ry maiden come To,cramble for the patch that bears The impress of the robe she wears, The bell would toll for some. I. - I I i I I I i I i i, I i i I I I I I i I ---- -- 142 ANECDOTE OF HOMER. And oh, what havock would ensue' This bright display of ev'ry hue All in a moment fled! As if a storm should strip the bow'rs Of all their tendrils, leaves, and flow'rs — Each pocketing a shred. Thanks, then, to ev'ry gentle fair Who will not come to peck me bare As bird of borrow'd feather, And thanks, to One, above them all, The gentle Fair of Pertenliall, Who put the whole together. [October, 1790.] * Certain Potters, while they were busied in baking their ware, seeing Homer at a small distance, and having heard much said of his wisdom, called to him, and promised him a present of their commodity, and of such other things as they could afford, if he would sing to them, when he sang as fol. lows I PAY me my price, Potters! and I will sing Attend, O Pallas! and with lifted arm Protect their oven; let the cups and all The sacred vessels blacken well, and baked With good success, yield them both fair renown ' Note by the Editor. No title is prefixed to thij piece: but it appears to be a translation of one cf thlt Ertypayapara of Homer, called '0 Kaplvos, or the Furnace. The prefatory lines are from the Greek of fierodotus, or ohoever was the Author of the Life. of Iomer ascrzbed to him i c --— — "II' U _IIIC _ _CY_ _ - I I ANECDOTE OF HOIMER. 143 And profit, whether in the market sold, Or street, and let no strife ensue between us. But, oh, ye Potters! if witl shameless front, Yo falsify your promise, then I leave No mischief uninvok'd t' avenge the wrong. Come Syntrips, Smaragus, Sabactes come, And Asbetus, nor let your direst dread, Omodamus, delay! Fire seize your house, May neither house nor vestibule escape, hMay ye lament to see confision mar And mingle the whole labour of your hands, And may a sound fill all your oven, such As of a horse grinding his provender, While all your pots aln flagons bounce within. Come hither also, daughter of the sun, Circe the Sorceress, and with thy drugs Poison themselves, and all that they liavo made Come also, Chiron, with thy num'rous troop Of Centaurs, as well those who died beneath The club of Hercules, as who escaped, And stamp their crockery to dust; down fall Their chimney; let them see it with their eyes. And howl to sec the ruin of their art, While I rejoice; and if a potter stoop To peep into his furnace, may the fire Flash in his f.ce and scorch it, that all men Observe, thenceforth, equity and good faith I I I I I i I I I i.1 I I I_. _ _ _.~ - I I I I~~~- - ~ -- - - ( 144 ) IN MEMORY OF THE LATE JOHN TIORNTON, ESQ. [November, 1790 1 POETS attempt the noblest task they can, Praising the Author of all good in matl, And, next, commemorating Worthies lost, The Dead in whom that good abounded most. Thee, therefore, of commercial fame, but more Famed for thy probity from shore to shore, Thee, THORNTON! worthy in some page to shine, As honest, and more eloquent than mine, I mourn; or, since thrice happy thou must be, The world, no longer thy abode, not thee. Thee to deplore, were grief mispent indeed; It were to weep that goodness has its meed, That there is bliss prepared in yonder sky, And glory for the virtuous, when they die. What pleasure can the miser's fondled board, Or spendthrift's prodigal excess afford, Sweet as the privilege of healing wo By virtue suffer'd combating below? That privilege was thine; Heav'n gave thee means T' illumine with delight the saddest scenes, Till thy appearance chased the gloom, forlorn As midnight, and despairing of a morn, Thou hadst an industry in doing good, Restless as his who toils and sweats for food; I - - - = I~ I) C --- —------ -- -- THE FOUR AGES. 1,15 Av'rice, in thee, was the desire of wealth By rust unperishable or by stcalth, And if the genuine worth of gold depend On application to its noblest end, Tline had a value in the scales of Heav'n, Surpassing all that mine or mint had giv'n. And, though God made thee of a nature prone To distribution boundless of thy own, And still by motives of religious force Impell'd thee more to that heroick course, Yet was thy liberality discreet, Nice in its choice, and of a tempered heat; And though in act unwearied, secret still, As in some solitude the summer rill Refreshes, where it winds, the faded green, And cheers the drooping flowers, unheard, unseen Such was thy Charity; no sudden start, After long sleso ot toassion in the heart, But steadfast principle, and, In its kind, Of close relation to th' eternal mind. Traced easily to its true source above, To him, whose works bespeak his nature, Love. Thy bounties all were Christian, and I make This record of thee for the Gospel's sake; That the incredulous themselves may see Its use and power exemplified in thee. TIIE FOUR AGES. [.4 brieffragnent of an extensive projected Poem. [May, 1791.] "I could be well content, allow'd the use Of past experience, and the wisdom glean'd From worn-out follies, now acknowlcdg'd such, To recommence life's trial in tle hopo Of fewer crrours, on a second )roof"' VOL. IIl. 13 I I I I __ ___ __I_ 1_1_ - __ --- -----------------------— ~; I 14b THE FOUR AGLES Thus, while gray evening lull'd the wind, and calI'd Fresh odours from the shubb'ry at my side, Taking my lonely winding walk, I mus'd, And held accustom'd conference with my heart, When, from within it, thus a voice replied. "Couldst thou in truth? and art thou taught at length This wisdom, and but this, from all the past Is not the pardon of thy long arrear, Time wasted, violated laws, abuse Of talents, judgments, mercies, better far Than opportunity vouchsaf'd to err With less excuse, and haply, worse eib.ct?" I heard, and acquiesced; then to and fro Oft pacing, as the mariner his deck, My grav'lly bounds, from self to human kind I pass'd, and next consider'd — what is Man? Knows he his origin? can he ascend By reminiscence to his earliest date? Slept he in Adam? and in those from him Through num'rous generations, till he found At length his destin'd moment to be born? Or was he not, till fashion'd in the wcmb? Deep myst'ries both! which schoolmen much have toii'd To unriddle, and have left them myst'ries still. It is an evil incident to man, And of the worst, that unexplor'd he leaves Truths useful and attainable with ease, To search forbidden deeps, where myst'ry lies Not to be solv'd, and useless if it might. Myst'ries are food for angels; they digest With ease, and find them nutriment; but man, While yet he dwells below, must stoop to glean His manna from the ground, or starve and die I i I I I i I - --- Il~ ----L --- —-____-_I ---- ___-_ 'IIE JUDGMENT OF THIE POETS. [Maly, 1791.] Two nymphs, both nearly of an age, Of num'rous charms possess'd, A warm dispute once chanc'd to wage, Whose temper was the best. The worth of each had been complete Had both alike been mild. But one, although her smile was sweet. Frown'd oftencr than she smii'd. And in her humour, when she frown'd Would raise her voice and roar, And shake with fury to the ground The garland that she wore. The other was of gentler cast, From all such frenzy clear, Her frowns were seldom known to last, And never prov'd severe. To poets of renown in song The nymphs referr'd the cause, Who, strange to tell, all judg'd it wrong, And gave misplaced applause. They gentle call'd, and kind and soft, The flippant and the scold, And though she chang'd her mood so oft, That failing left untold. ( I I I H i I I I I I I _ __ ____ - - - - - 148 TIlE JUI)GMENT OF TlIE POIET No judges, sure, were e'er so mad, Or so resolv'd to errIn short, the charms her sister had They lavi:sh'd all on her. Then thus the god whom fondly they Their great inspirer call, Was heard, one genial irummer's day, To reprimand them all. "Since thus ye have combin'd," he said, " My favourite nymph to slight, Adorning May, that peevish maid, With June's undoubted right. "The Minx shall for your folly's sake Still prove herself a shrew, Shall make your scribbling fingers ache, And pinch your noses btue. -— e --— I I i I i I] - ~ -~~ --- — -------- ~'~ TRANSLATIONS OF TUB LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS MILTON. Begun, September, 1791. Finished, March, 1792.j 130 I I I 1 1 ------ -- - ~ --- ——;I; ( 150 ) TRANSLATIONS OF THE LATIN POEMS, &c. &c. ELEGIES. ELEGY I. TO CIARLES DIODATI. AT length, my friend, the far sent letters come Charged with thy kindness, to their destin'd home; They come, at length, from Dcva's Western side Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide. Trust me, my joy is great that thou shonldst be, Though born of foreign race, yet born for me, And that my sprightly friend, now free to roam, Must seek again so soon his wonted ihome. 1 well content, where Thames with rcfluent tide, My native city laves, meantime reside, Nor zeal nor duty, now, my steps impel To reedy Cam, and my forbidden cell. Nor aught of pleasure in those fields have I, That, to the musing hard; all shlade deny. I _________ -p ---~- ---. i I I i i I I _ __ C__ _I_ I_ _ TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 15.. 'Tis time, that I, a pedant's threats disdain, And fly from wrongs my soul will ne'er sustain. If peaceful days, in letter'd leisure spent, Beneath my father's roof, be banishment, Then call me banish'd, I will nc'cr refuse A name expressive of the lot I choose. I would, tlat, exiled to the Pontick shore, Rome's hapless bard had sluler'd nothing more. lie theln had equall'd even Iomer's lays, And Virgil! thou hadst won but second praise For here I woo the muse; with no control, And here my books-my life-absorb me whole lHere too I visit, or to smile, or weep, Tle winding theatre's majestick sweep, The grave or gay colloquial scene recruits My spirits, spent in learning's long pursuits; Whether some senior shrewd, or spendthrift heir Suitor, or soldier, now unarm'd, be there, Or soime coif'd brooder o'er a ten years' cause, Thunder the Norman gibb'rish of the laws. The lacqucy, there, oft dupes tle wary sire, Aid, artful, speeds th' enamour'd son's desire. There, virgins oft, unconscious wlat they prove. What love is, know not, yet unknowing; love. Or, if impassion'd Tragedy wield Ihigh The bloody sceptre, give her locks to fly Wild as the winds, and roll her haggard eye, I gaze, and grieve, still cherishing my grief, At times, e'en bitter tears! yield sweet relief. As when from bliss untasted torn away, Some youth dies, hapless, on his bridal day, Or when the ghost, sent back to slades below, Fills the assassin's lieart with vengeful wo, When Troy, or Argos, the dire scene affords, Or Creon's hall laments its guilty lords. Nor always city-pent, or pent at home, I dwell; but, whe'i sprin- calls mo forth to r(am I J - — '- — ------ -— --- - - I I I I I b5 TRANSLATIONS FRONM MILTON.;xpatiate in our proud suburban shades Df branching elm, that never sun pervades. Here many a virgin troop I may descry, Like stars of mildest influence, gliding by. Oh forms divine! Oh looks that might inspire E'en Jove himself, grown old, with young desire Oft have I gazed on gem-surpassing eyes, Out-sparkling every star that gilds the skies. Necks whiter than the ivory arm bestowed By Jove on Pelops, or the milky road! Bright locks, Love's golden snare! these falling low Those playing wanton o'er the graceful brow! Cheeks too, more winning sweet than after show'r Adonis turn'd to Flora's fav'rite flower! Yield, heroines, yield, and ye who shar'd th' embrace Of Jupiter in ancient times, give place! Give place, ye turbann'd fair of Persia's coast! And ye, net less renown'd, Assyria's boast! Submit, ye nymphs of Greece! ye, once the bloom Of Ilion! and all ye, of haughty Rome. Who swept, of old, her theatres with trains Redundant, and still live in classick strains! To British damsels beauty's palm is due, Aliens! to follow them is fame for you. Oh city, founded by Dardanian hands, Whose towering front the circling realm commands, Too blest abode! no loveliness we see In all thle earth, but it abounds in thee. The virgin multitude that daily meets, Radiant with gold and beauty, in thy streets, Out-numbers all her train of starry fires, With which Diana gilds th'y lofty pi;es. Fame says, that wafted hither by her doves, With all her host of quiver-bearing loves, Venus, preferring Paphian scenes no Imore, Hlas fix'd her empire on thy nobler shore. Blut lest the sightless boy enforce my stay, leave these happy walls; 'vIile yeat I may I I I I I i I I I i I i I I I i I I i II li TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 153 Immortal Moly shall secure my heart From all the sorc'ry of Circmaan art, And 1 will e'en repass Cam's reedy pools To face once more tlic warfare of tlie schools. Meantime accept this trifle! rhymes though few, Yet such as prove tlly friend's reem)mbrance true ELEGY 11. ON TIlE DEATH OF TIIE UNIVERSITY BEADLE AT CAMBUI'DGIE. Composed by ilton in the 1]7th year of his arge THEE, whose refulgcnt ~'taft, and summons clear, Minerva's flock long time was wont t' obey, Although thyself an herald, famous here, Tlie last of heralds, Death, las snatch'd away. HIe calls on all alike, nor even deigns To spare tle office, tliat himself sustains. Tliy locks were whiter than the plumes display'd By Leda's paramour in ancient time, But thou wast worthy ne'er to have decay'd, Or /Eson-like, to know a second primie, Worthy, for whoni some goddess sliall have won New life, oft kneeling to Apollo's son. Commission'd to convene, with!Iasty call, The gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou stand! So stood Cyllenius erst in PriMu'ls lhall, Wingr-footed Inessenger 0of J:;ve's commanld I I I II i I I I -1 I.,,,,..,_, i 54 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. And so Eury bates, when he address'd To Peleus' son, Atrides' proud behest. Dread queen of sepulchlres! whose rig'rous laws And watchfiLl eyes, run through the realms below Oh oft too adverse to Minerva's cause! Too often to the muse not less a foe! Choose meaner marks, and with more equal aim Pierce useless drones, earth's burthen, and its shamn Flow, therefore, tears for him, from ev'ry eye, All ye disciples of tile muses, weep! Assembling, all, in robes of sable die, Around his bier, lament his endless sleep! And let complaining elegy rehearse, In every school, her sweetest, saddest verse ELEGY III. ON TIHE DEATI {';i~~ }OF THE BISHOP OF WINCIESTER. Composed in the Author's 1711 year. SILENT I sat, dejected, and alone, Making, in thought, the publick woes my own, When, first, arose the inmae in.my breast Of England's suffering by that scourge, tlhe Pest! I I I II i i J Lm, I __ _ _ _11_1_ _ I__)_ - - I i I I II iI!I I11 11 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 1 IHow death, his fun'ral torch and sithe in hand, Entering the lordliest mansions of the land Has laid the gen-illuin'd palace low, And levell'd tribes of nobles at a blow. I, next, dcplor'd the fam'd paternal pair, Too soon to ashes turn'd, and empty air The hicroes next, whom snatch'd into the skies, All Belgia saw, and followed with her sighs, But thee far most I mourn'd, regretted most, Winton's chief shepherd, and her worthiest boast! Pour'd out in tears I thus complailing sail; " Death, next in pow'r to him, who rules the dead' Is't not enough that all the woodlands yield To thy fell force, and ev'ry verdant field, That lilies, at one noisome blast of thine, And e'en the Cyprian queen's own roses pine, That oaks themselves, although the running rill Suckle their roots, must wither at thy will, That all the winged nations, even those, Whose heav'n-directed flight the future shows. And all the beasts, that in dark fbrests stray, And all the herds of Proteus are thy prey. Ah envious! arm'd with pow'rs so unconfin'd! Why stain thy hands with blood of human kind? Why take delight with darts, that never roam, To chase a heav'n-born spirit from her home;" While thus 1 mourn'l the star of evening stood, Now newly ris'n above the western flood, And Plhmbus, from his morning-goal, again Had reach'd the gulfs of the Iberian main. I wisll'd repose, and, on Ily couch declin'd, Took early rest, to night and sleep resign'd. When-Oh for words to paint what I beheld' I seen'd to wander in a spacious field, Where all the champaign glow'd witl purple light Like tlat of sun-rise on the mountain helighlt I I I I I 1i _ __ ll _ _I ~-~ --- —------ Z --- ---— ~ 156 TRANSLATIONS FROM M11LTON. Flowers over all the field, of every hue That ever Iris wore, luxuriant grew. Nor Chloris, with whom am'rous Zephyrs play, E'cr dress'd Alcinous' garden half so gay. A silver current, like the Tagus, roll'd O'er golden sands, but sands of purer gold, With dewy airs Favonius fann'd the tlow'rs, With airs awaken'd under rosy bow'rs. Such, poets feign, irradiated all o'cr The sun's abode on India's utmost shore. While I, that splendour, antd tile mingled lhiado Of fruitful vines, with wonder fix'd survey'd, At once, with looks that beam'd celestial grace, The seer of Winton stood before my filce. His snowy vesture's hem descending low His golden sandals swept, and pure as snow New-fallen shone the mitre on his brow. Where'er he trod, a tremulous sweet sound Of gladness shook the fluow'ry scene around. Attendant angels clap their starry wings, The trumpet shakes the sky, all;sthler rings, Each chants his welcomee, folds him to his breast, And thus a sweeter voice tlhan all the rest: "Ascend, my son! thy falther's kingdo sllare! My son! henceforth be freed from ev'ry care!" So spale the voice, and at its tender close With psalt'ry's sound th' angelick band arose. Then night retired, and clas'd by dawning day The visionary bliss pass'd all away. mnourn'd my banish'd sleep, with fond concern; Frequent to me imay dreams like 1iis return.1 I I I I I I I '._, - __ __ - C_ I__ C _ _ __ I1 ( 157 ) ELEGY IV. TO HIS TUTOR, THOMAS YOUNG, CHAPLAIN TO THE ENGLISH FACTORY AT IAMBURG. Written in the.Juthor's lSth year. IHENCE my epistle-skim the deep-fly o'er Yon smooth expanse to the Teutonick shore! Haste-lest a friend should grieve for thy delayAnd tile gods grant, that nothing thwart thy way 1 will myself invoke the king, who binds, Injiis Sicanian echoing vault, the winds, With Doris and her nymphs, and all the throng Of azure gods, to speed thee safe along. But rather, to ensure thy happier haste, Ascend Medea's chariot, if thou may'st; Or that, whlence young Triptolemus of yore Descended, welcome on the Scythian shore The sands, that line the German coast, descried, To opulent Hamburga turn aside! So called, if legendary farme be true, From Haina, whom a club-arm'd Cimbrian slew! There lives, deep-learn'd and primitively just, A faithful steward of his Christian trust, My friend, and favourite inmate of my heart, That now is forced to want its better part! What mountains now, and seas, alas! how wide' From rme this other, dearer self divide; Dear as the sage renown'd for moral truth To the prime spirit of the attick youth Vol.. III. 14 I - i I 158 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON Dear as the Stagyrite to Ammon's son, His pupil, who disdain'd the world he won! Nor so did Chiron, or so Phxonix sline In young Achilles' eyes, as he in mine. First led by him thro' sweet Aonian shade, Each sacred haunt of Pindus I survey 'a, And favour'd by the muse whom I iniplor'd, Thrice on my lip the hallow'd stream I ponr'd. But thrice the sun's resplendent chariot roll'd To Aries, has new ting'd his fleece with gold, And Cliloris twice has dress'd the meadows gay, And twice has summer parch'd their bloom away, Since last delighted on his looks I hung, Or my ear drank the musick of his tongue; Fly, therefore, and surpass the tempest's speed; Aware thyself, that there is urgent need! Him, entering, thou shalt haply seated see Reside his spouse, his infants on his knee. Or turning, page by page, witl studious look, Some bulky father, or God's holy book. Or minist'ring (which is his weightiest care) To Christ's assembled flock their heavenly flaro. Give him, whatever his employment be, Such gratulation as he claims from me! And, with a downcast eye, and carriage mleek, Addressing him, forget not thus to speak! " If, compass'd round with arms, thou cnin3t altctid To verse, verse greets thee from a distant:-erild. Long due, and late, I left the English shore; But make me welcome for that cause the more! Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer The slow epistle came, though late, sincere But wherefore this? why palliate I the deco For which the culprit's self could hardly plead? Self-charged, and self-condernn'd, his proper part 1ie feels neglected, with an aching heart: ----- - --- C ____ _________I --- —----- - 1 I I I II I i TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 159 But thou forgive-delinquents, who confess, And play forgiveness, merit anger less; From timid foes, the lion turns away, Nor yawns upon or rends a crouching prey: Even pike-wielding Thracians learn to spare, Won by soft influence of a suppliant prayer; And hla.v'n's dread thunderbolt arrested stands By a cheap victim, and uplifted hands. Long had lie wish'd to write, but was withheld, And writes at last, by love alone compell'd, For fame, too often true, when she alarms, Reports thy neighbouring fields a scene of arms; Thy city against fierce besiegers barr'd, And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepar'd. Enyo wastes thy country wide around, And saturates with blood the tainted ground; Mars rests contented in his Thrace no more, But goads his steeds to fields of German gore. The ever verdant olive fades and dies, And peace, the trumpet-hating goddess, flies, Flies from that earth which justice long had left, And leaves the world of its last guard bereft. Thus horrour girds thee round. Meantime alone Thou dwell'st, and helpless in a soil unknown; Poor and receiving from a foreign hand The aid denied thee in thy native land. Oh, ruthless country, and unfeeling more Than thy own billow-beaten chalky shore! Leav'st thou to foeign care the worthies, giv'n By Providence to guide thy steps to Heav'n His ministers commission'd to proclaim Eternal blessings in a Saviour's name! Ah then most worthy, with a soul unfed, In Stygian night to lie for ever dead. So once the venerable Tislibite stray'd An exil'd fugitive from shade to shade, II -- - I I i II i - - -- 160 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. When, flying Ahab, and his fury wife, In long Arabian wilds he shelter'd life; So, from Philippi, wander'd forth forlorn Cilician Paul, with sounding scourges torn; And Clrist himself so left, and trod no more, The thankless Gergesenes' forbidden shore. But thou take courage! strive against despair! Quake not with dread, nor nourish anxious care Grim war indeed on every side appears, And thou art menac'd by a thousand speais; Yet none shall drink thy blood, or shall offend, E'en the defenceless bosom of my friend. For thee the AEgis of thy God shall hide, Jehovah's self shall combat on thy side; The same, who vanquish'd, under Sion's tow'rs At silent midnight, all Assyria's pow'rs, The same who overthrew in ages past, Damanscus' sons that laid Samaria waste! Their king lie fill'd, and them with fatal fears, By mimick sounds of clarions in their ears. Of hoofs, and wheels, and neighings from afar Of clashing armour, and the din of war. Thou, therefore, (as tile most afflicted) may Still hope, and triumph o'er the evil day; Look forth, expecting happier times to come And to enjoy, once more, thy native home I 1 1 1 I - --------------- I _ I t -5 --- —- --- —- --- - - I t 11 ) ELEGY V. ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. WrZtten in the Author's 20th Year. TIME, never wand'ring from his annual round, Bids Zephyr breathe the spring, and thaw the grounid Bleak winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain, And earth assumes her transient youth again. Dream I, or also to the spring belong Increase of genius, and new pow'rs of song? Spring gives them, and how strange soe'er it seems. Impels me now to some harmonious themes. Castalia's fountain and the forked hill By day, by night, my raptur'd fancy fill; My bosom burns and heaves, I hear within A sacred sound, that prompts me to begin. Lo! Phcebus comes, with his bright hair he blends The radiant laurel wreath; Phoabus descends; I mount, and, undepress'd by cumb rous clay, Through cloudy regions win my easy way; Rapt through poetick shadowy haunts I fly ~ The shrines all open to my dauntless eye, My spirit searches all the realms of light, And no Tartarean gulfs elude my sight. But this ecstatick trance-this glorious storm Of inspiration-what will it perform? Spring claims the verse, that with his influence glows, And shall be paid with what himself bestows. 14 * i I -c — ____ _ ____ -- ____,__ _ I I I I - -- --— C ------— LC I - 162 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. llou, veil'd with op'ning foliage, lead'st the throng Of feather'd minstrels, Philomel! in song; Let us, in concert, to the season sing, Civick, and sylvan heralds of the spring! With notes triumphant, spring's approach declare To spring, ye Muses, annual tribute bear! The Orient left, and AVthiopia's plains, The sun now northward turns his golden reins; Night creeps not now; yet rules with gentle sway; And drives her dusky horrours swift away; Now less fatigued, on this ethereal plain Bootes follows his celestial wain; And now the radiant sentinels above, Less num'rous, watch around the courts of Jove, For, with the night, force, ambush, slaughter fly And no gigantick guilt alarms the sky. Now haply says some shepherd, while he views, Recumbent on a rock, the redd'ning dews, This night, this surely, Plhobus iniss'd the fair, Who stops his chariot by her am'rous care. Cynthia, delighted by the morning's glow, Speeds to the woodland, and resumes her bow, Resigns her beams, and glad to disappear, Blesses his aid, who shortens her career. Come-Pholbus cries-Aurora come-too late Thou ling'rest slumb'ring with thy wither'd mate Leave him, and to Hymettu's top repair! Thy darling Cephalus expects thee there. The goddess, with a blush, her love betrays, But mounts, and driving rapidly, obeys. Earth now desires thee, Phocbus! and t' engage Thy warm embrace, casts off the guise of age; Desires thee, and deserves; for who so sweet, When her rich bosom courts thy genial heat? Her breath imparts to ev'ry breeze that blows, Arabia's harvest, and the Paphian rose. - I - -- - ---- —` _ I iii i I. TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 1. IHer lofty front she diadems around With sacred pines, like Ops on Ida crown'd: Her dewy locks, with various flow'rs new-blown, She interweaves, various, and all her own. For Proserpine, in such a wreath attir'd, Tenarian Dis himself with love inspir'd. Fear not, lest, cold and coy, the nymph refuse Herself, with all her sighing Zephyrs, sues; Each courts thee, fanning soft his scented wing, And all her groves with warbled wishes ring. Now, unendow'd and indigent, aspires, The am'rous Earth to engage thy warm desires, But, rich in balmy drugs, assist thy claim, Divine Physician! to that glorious name, If splendid recompense, if gifts can miove Desieo in thee, (gifts often purchase love,) She offers all the wealth her mountains hide, And ail that rests beneath the boundless tide. How oft, when headlong from the heav'nly steep, She sees thee playing in the western deep, How oft she ciies-" Ah Phoebus! why repair Thy wasted force, why seek refreshment ther! Can Tethys win thee? wherefore shouldst thou lave A face so fair in her unpleasant wave Come, seek my green retreats, and rather choose To cool thy tresses in nwy crystal dews, The grassy turf shall y:'ed thee sweeter rest; Come, lay thy evening goriej on my breast, And breathing fresh, throLgh many a humid rose Soft whispering airs shall lull thee to repose ' No fears I feel like Semele to die, Nor let thy burning wheels appi ach too nigh, For thou canst govern then, here therefore rest And lay thy evening glories on nim breast?" 33 I3 iI 'I Thus breathes the wanton earth her anm'rous flame, And all her countless offspring feel the same; I" -- I___I__ __ ______ __ _^__ _ _ __~__ _ _____ _ __ _I __I__ I^__ ___ __ ZIU_ 164 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. For Cupid now through every region strays, Bright'ning his faded fires with solar rays, His new-strung bow sends forth a deadlier sound, And his new-pointed shafts more deeply wound; Nor Dian's self escapes him now untried, Nor even Vesta at her altar-side; His mother too repairs her beauty's wane, And seems sprung newly from the deep again. Exulting youths the Hymeneal sing, With Hymen's name roofs, rocks, and valleys, ring; Ho, new-attired, and by the season dress'd, Proceeds, all fragrant, in his saffron vest. Now, many a golden-cinctur'd virgin roves To taste the pleasures of the fields and groves, All wish, and each alike, some fav'rite youth Hers in tie bonds of Hymeneal truth. Now pipes the shepherd through his reeds again, Nor lhillis wants a song, that suits the strain, With songs the seaman hails the starry sphere, And dolphins rise from the abyss to hear; Jove feels himself the season, sports again With his fair spouse, and banquets all his train. Now too the Satyrs, in the dusk of eve, Their mazy dance through flow'ry meadows weave And neither god nor goat, but both in kind, Silvanus wreath'd with cypress, skips behind, The Dryads leave their hollow sylvan cells To roam the banks, and solitary dells; Pan riots now; and from his amorous chafe Ceres and Cybele seem hardly safe, And Faunus, all on fire.o reach the prize, In chase of sonie enticing Oread dies; She bounds before, but fears too swift a bound, And hidden lies, but wishes to jo found. Our shades entice th' Immortals from above, And some kind pow'r presides o'er every grovo; And long, ye pow'rs. o'er every grove preside, For all is safe, and bliss, where ve abide! I ii 1 - ------- --- - --- ----- _. II I I I I I 1 r -~ TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 165 Return, O Jove! the age of gold restoreWhy choose to dwell where storms and thunders roar At least, thou, Phoebus! moderate thy speed! Let not the vernal hours too swift proceed, Command rough winter back, nor yield the pole Too soon to Night's encroaching long control' ELEGY V1. TO CHARLES DIODATI, Who, while lie spent his Christmas in the country, sent the Author a poetical epistle, in which he requested that his verses, if not so good as usual, might be excused on account of the many feasts to which his friends invited him, and which would not allow him leisure to finish them as he wished. WIrH no rich viands overcharg'd, I send IIealth, which perchance you want, my pamper'd friend; But wherefore should thy muse tempt mine away From what she loves, from darkness into day? Art thou desirous to be told how well I love thee, and in verse? verse cannot tell. For verse has bounds, and must in measure move, But neither bounds nor measure knows my love. -low pleasant, in tny lines described, appear December's harmless sports, and rural cheer! French spirits kindling with cerulean fires, And all such gambols as the time inspires Think not that wine against good verse offends, The muse and Bacchus have been always friends, I I --- cc -- ------------ - ------— I ---- -----— --- I i I Il II I I I I 166 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. Nor Phebus blushes sometimes to be found With ivy, than with laurel, crown'd. The Nine themselves ofttimes have join'd the song And revels of the BacChanalian throng; Not even Ovid could in Scythian air Sing sweetly-why? n) vine would flourish there. What in brief numbers sung Anacreon's muse? Wine, and thi rose, that sparkling wine bedews. Pindar with Bacchus glows-his every line Breathes the rich fragrance of inspiring wine, While, with loud crash o'erturn'd, the chariot lies, And brown with dust the fiery courser flies. The Roman lyrist steep'd in wine his lays So sweet in Glycera's, and Chloe's praise. Now to the plenteous feast and mantling bowl Nourish the vigour of thy sprightly soul; The flowing goblet makes thy numbers flow, And casks not wine alone, but verse bestow. Thus Phoebus favours, and the arts attend, Whom Bacchus. and whom Ceres, both befriend. What wonder, then, thy verses are so sweet, In which these triple powers so kindly meet! The lute now also sounds, with gold inwrought, And touch'd with flying fingers nicely taught, In tap'stried halls, high roof'd, the sprightly lyre Directs the dancers of the virgin choir. If dull repletion fright the Muse away, Sights, gay as these, may more invite her stay; And, trust me, while the iv'ry keys resound, Fair damsels sport, and perfumes steam around, Apollo's influence, like ethereal flame, Shall animate at once thy glowing frame, And all the Muse shall rush into thy breast, By love and musicl's blended pow'rs possess'd, For numerous power's like Elegy befriend, Hear her sweet voice, and at her call attend; Her Bacchus, Ceres, Venus, all approve, And, with his blushing mother, gentle Love ' =______________________,,________._____1__ I I i I TRANSLATIONS FROM I,'ILTO)N. 1,7 Hence to such bards we grant the copious usc Of banquets, and the vine's delicious juice. But they who demi-gods and heroes praise, And feats perform'd in Jove's mrnre youtlful days, Who now the counsels of high heaven explore, Now slades, that echo the Cerberean roar, Simply let these, like him of Samos live, Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give In beechen goblets let their bev'rage shine, Cool from the crystal spring, their sober wine ' Tlheir youth should pass, in innoce:nce, se(culre From stain licentious, and in manners pure, Pure as the priest, when rob'd in white lie standll:, The fresh lustration ready in his hands. Thus Limus liv'd, and thus, as poets write, Tiresias, wiser for his loss of sirght' Thus exil'd Chalcas, thus the bard of Thra;:c, Melodious tamer of the savage race I Thus train'd by temp'rance, Holmer led, of yore, His chief of Ithaca from shore to shore, Through magick Circe's monester-peopled reign, And shoals insidious with the syren train; And through the realt.ls, where grizzly spectres dwell: Whose tribes he fetter d in a gory speill For these are sacred bards, and, from above, Drink large infusions from the mind of Jove! Wouldst thou, (perhaps 'tis hardly worth thine ear, Wouldst thou be told my occupation here? The promised King of peace employs my pen, Th' eternal cov'nant made for guilty men, The new-born Deity with infant cries Fiilinfr the sordid hovel, where he lies; The hymning angels, and the herald star, That led the Wise, who sought him from afar, And idols on their own unhallow'd slore Dash'd, at his birth, to he revei d no nore: I I _ _ -— I___ __ - _-___ ____ _____ _____ I I I I I _ _L_ _ 1__1_ _ 1C8 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. This theme on reeds of Albion 1 rehearse: The dawn of that blest day inspir'd thli verse, Verse, that reserv'd in secret shall attend Thy candid voice my critick, and my friend ELEGY VII. Composed in the.iuthor's 19th year. As yet a stranger to the gentle fires, That Amathusia's smiling queen inspires, Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts, And scorn'd his claim to rule all human hearts. " Go, child," I said, " transfix the tim'rous dove' An easy conquest suits an infant love; Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be Sufficient triumph to a chief like thee! Why aim thy idle arms at human kind? Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind." The Cyprian heard, and, kindling into ire, (None kindles sooner) burn'd with double fire. It was the spring, and newly risen day Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the first of May; My eyes, too tender for the blaze of light, Still sought the shelter of retiring night, When love approach'd in painted plumes array'd, Th' insidious god his rattling darts betray'd, Nor less his infant features and the sly, Sweet intimations of his threat'ning eye. Such the Sigeian boy is seen above, Filling the goblet for imperial Jove; - - I — - -I _ I I II ___ _~ TRANSLATIONS FRIOM MIILTON. I;! Such lie, on whom the nymphs test ow'd their ch(;lriins, IIylas, who perish'd in a Naiad's arms, Angry he seem'd, yet graceful in his ire, And added threats, not destitute of fire. " My power," he said, " by others' pain alone, 'Twere best to learn: now learn it by tihy uw.n ' With those, who feel my power, that pow'r attest' And in thy anguish be my sway con!ess'd! I vanquish'd Pliebus, though returning vain From this new triumph o'er the Python slaiin, And, when lie tlinks on Daphne, even he Will yield the prize of archery to me. A dart less true the Parthian horseman sped, Behind him kill'd, and conquer'd as he fled; Less true th' expert Cydonian, and less true The youth, whose shaft his latent Procris slew. Vanquish'd by me see huge Orion bend, By me Alcides, and Alcides' friend. At me should Jove himself a bolt design, His bosom first should bleed transfix'd by nille. But all thy doubts this shaft will best expla.ii, Nor shall it reach thee with a trivial pain, Thy Muse, vain youth! shall not thy lpeae mensure, Nor Plhebus' serpent yield the wound a cure." Hta spoke, and, waving a bright shaft in air, Sought the warm bosom of the Cyprian fair. That thus a child should bluster in my ear, L'rovok'd my laughter, more than mov'd my fear. I slnni'd not, therefore, publick haunts, but stray d Careless in city, or suburban shade; \ Ald passing, and repassing, nymphs, that mov'd With grace divine, beheld where'er I rov'd. Bright shlone the vernal day, with double blaze, As beauty gave new force to Phlebus' rays; BILy no) grave scruples check'd I freely ey'd The ldang'rous shliw: rashI youth my ly oly gide VoL.. III. 1 I I I ---,, - I _ __ _ _ _ ___ __ _ _ _ ___I________ ___ I 170 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. And many a look of many a fair unknown Met full unable to control nmy own. But one I mark'd, (then peace forsook my breast,) One-Oh how far superiour to the rest! What lovely features! such the Cyprian queen Herself might wish, and Juno wish her imen. The very nymph was she, whom when I dar'd Iis arrows, Love, had even then prepard! Nor was himself remote, nor unsupply'd With torch well-trimm'd and quiver at his side Niw to her lips he clung, her eyelids now, Then settled on her cheeks, or on her brow, And with a thousand wounds from ev'ry part Pierc'd, and transpierced, my undefended heart, A fever, new to me, of fierce desire, Now seiz'd my soul, and I was all on fire, But she, the while, whom only I adore, Was gone, and vanish'd, to appear no more. In silent sadness I pursue my way; I papse, I turn, proceed, yet wish to stay, And while I follow her in thought, bemoan With tears, my soul's delight so quickly flown. When Jove had hurl'd him to the Lenmnian coast, So Vulcan sorrow'd for Olympus lost: And so Oeclides, sinking into night, From the deep gulf!ook'd up to distant light. Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remair Who cannot cease to love, yet love i? vain? Oh could I once, once more behold the fair, Speak to her, tell her of the pansJ I Deat, terhaps she is not adamant, wtobtd show Perhaps some pity at my tale of wo. Oh inasupicious flame-'tis mine to prove A matchless instance of disastrous love. Ah spare me, gentle pow'r!-If such thou be, Let not thy deeds, and nature, disagree. I I I I I II - -- -- -~ --- ------------ --- -, --- — - -— " —llL — ----L —.-^I1C-. — -— _L -- l - -L - --- —---— II- I-U - I I I I I I I I I TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 171 Spare me, and I will worship at no shrine With vow and sacrifice, save only thine. Now I revere thy fires, thy bow, thy darts: Now own thee sov'reign of all urnan hearts. Remove! no-grant me still tis raging wo! Sweet is the wretchedness that lovers know But pierce hereafter (should I chance to see One destin'd mine) at once both her and me. Such were the trophies, that, in earlier days, By vanity seduced, I toil'd to raise, Studious, yet indolent, and urg'd by youth, That worst of teachers! from the ways of truth; Till learning taught me, in his shady bowr, To quit love's servile yoke, and spurn his pow'r. Then, on a sudden, the fierce flame suppress'd, A frost continual settled on my breast, Whence Cupid fears his flames extinct to see. And Venus dreads a Dioniede in me. EPIGRAMS. ON THE INVENTOR OF GUNS. PRAISE in old time the rage Prometheus won, Who stole ethereal radiance from the sun; But greater he, whose bold invention strove To emulate the fiery bolts of Jove. [The poems on the subject of the Gunpowder Treason I have not translated, both because the matter of theml is unpleasant, and because they are written with an asperity, which, however it might be warranted in Milton's days, would be extremely unseasonable now.] I i I i I I I I (172) TO LEONORA SINGING AT ROME.* ANOTXHE Leonora once inspir'd Tasso, with fatal love to phrensy fir'd; But how much happier liv'd he now, were lie, Pierc'd with whatever pangs for love of thee! Since could he hear that heavenly voice of thine, With Adriana's lute of sound divine, Fiercer than Pentheus, though his eye might roll, Or idiot apathy benumb his soul, You still, with medicinal sounds, might cheer His senses wandering in a blind career; And sweetly breathing through his wounded breast, Charm, with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to rest TO THE SAIME. NAPLES, too credulous, ah! boast no Imore The sweet-voic'd Siren buried on thy slore, That, when Parthenope deceas'd, she gave IHer sacred dust to a Chalcidick grave, For still she lives, but has excliang'd the hoarse Pausilipo for Tiber's placid course, Where, idol of all Rome, she now in chains (f magick song, both gods and imen detains. I have traislated only two of the three poetical complJi ments addressed to Leonora, as they alppear to nle far supe riour to what I have omittcd. ____________________________________________________ b~~~~~~ I — ----— ~ (173) TIHE COTTAGER AND IIS LANDI)LOIRD A FABLE. A PEAsANT to his lord paid yearly court, Presenting plippins, of so ricl a sort, That he, displeas'd to have a part alone, Remov'd the tree, that all might be his own The tree, too old to travel, though before So fruitful, wither'd, and would yield no more. The 'squire, perceiving all his labour void, Curs'd his own pains, so foolishly employ'd, And " Oh," he cried, " that I had liv'd content With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant! My av'rice has expensive prov'd to me, Has cost me both my pippins and my tree" TO CHRISTIANA, QUEEN OF SWEDEN, WITH CROMWELL'S PICTURE. CHrls'rIANA, maiden of heroick mien! Star of the north! of northern stars the queen Behold what wrinkles I have earn'd, and how The iron casque still chafes my vet'ran brow, While following fate's dark footsteps, I fulfil The dictates of a hardy people's will. But soften'd, in thy sighlt, my looks appear, Not to all Queens or Kings alike severe 15 11 i II i ) L — -- ----— ~ —~ — - - I 11 I I I I I I i 11I i I I _CI ___ _ __Y I__ ( 174 ) MISCELLANEOUS POEMS ON THE DEATH OF THE VICE-CHANCELLOR, A PHYSICIAN. LEARN, ye nations of the earth, The condition of your birth, Now be taught your feeble state! Know that all must yield to fate! If the mournful rover, Dcath, Say but once-" resign your breath 1" Vainly of escape you dream, You must pass the Stygian stream. Could the stoutest overcome Death's assault, and baffle doom, Hercules had both withstood Undiseas'd by Nessus' blood. Ne'er had Hector press'd the plain By a trick of Pallas slain, Nor the chief to Jove allied By Achilles' phantom diod. Could enchantments life prolong. Circe sav'd by mnagicli sonr, Still had liv'd; n e-qutl skill HIad preserv'd Mcdra still. I I I I I II I I I II I I I I I i 11 - ------------— "I- — - - ---------- -----— '- ---- - - -— ` - — -^ — — ` _ __~~~__ ~~ __~ C~~ _. TRANSLATIONS FR OM MILTON. 175 Dwelt in herbs, and drugs, a pow'r To avert man's dcstin'd hour, Learn'd Machoan should have known Doubtless to avert his own. Chiron had surviv'd the smart Of the hEydra-tainted dart, And Jove's bolt had been, with ease, Foil'd by Asclepiades. Thou too, sage! of whom forlorn Helicon and Cirrha mourn, Still hadst fill'd thy princely place Regent of the gowned race. Hadst advanc'd to higher fame Still, thy much-ennobled name, Nor in Charon's skiff explor'd The Tartarean gulf abhorr'd. But resentful Proserpine, Jealous of thy skill divine, Snapping short thy vital thread, Thee too number'd with the dead Wise and good! untroubled be The green turf that covers thee! Thence, in gay profusion, grow All the sweetest flow'rs that blow Plato's consort bid thee rest Eacus pronounce thee blest: To her home thy shade consign Make Elysium ever thine!. I — -- ___ __ __ __ — '- - -- - ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ --- ~ ~ -~- - --- I I I I I I i I I I ------- -— -- ------- -- - "`- -- '^ -- I'- ---'-^ --- ----— " F -- -- ( 176 ) ON TIHE DEATH OF TIIE BISHOP OF ELY ]'ritten in the q7uthor's 17th year. MY lids with grief were tumid yet, And still my sullied cheek was wet With briny dews, profusely shed For venerable Winton dead: When Fame, whose tales of saddest sound, Alas! are ever truest found, The news through all our cities spread Of yet another mitred head By ruthless fate to death consign'd, Ely, the honour of his kind! At once, a storm of passion heav'd My boiling bosom, much I griev'd, But more I rag'd at ev'ry breath Devoting Death himself to death. With less revenge did Naso teem, When hated Ibis was his theme; With less, Archiluchus, denied The lovely Greek, his promis'd bride. But lo! while thus I execrate, Incens'd the minister of fate, Wondrous accents, soft, yet clear, Wafted on the gale I hear. " Ah, much deluded! lay aside Thy threats, and anger misapplied! Art not afraid with sounds like these, T' offend, where thou canst not appease. ---- ----— ~~ --- —------— ~ - --------- ---------------- 1 ---- ------- - --- ------- ----------- _ i I I I I I I i I I -— e ------------- -_ --- --- —-~- — ---L-.- -- ----— s --- —--— ~ --~ — -— ~ — ~~^ —u — --- — TRANSLATIONS FRiOM MILTON. 177 Death is not (wherefore dream'st thou thus?) The son of Niglit and Erebus: Nor was of fell Elrynuris born On uulfs, where Chla,)s rules forlorn But, sent from Gd, his presence leaves, To gather home his ripen'd sheaves, To call encumber'd souls away From fleshly bonds to boundless day, (As when the winged hours excite, And summon forth the morning-light) And each to convoy to her place Before th' Eternal Father's face. But net the wicked-them, severe Yet just, from all their pleasures nere He hurries to the realms below, Terrifick realms of penal wo! Myself no sooner heard his call, Than 'scaping through my prison-wall, I bade adieu to bolts and bars, And soar'd, with angels, to the stars, Like him of old, to whom 'twas giv'n To mount, on fiery wheels, to IIeav'n Bootes' wagon, slow with cold, Appall'd me not; nor to behold The sword, that vast Orion draws, Or ev'n the Scorpion's horrid claws, Beyond the sun's bright orb I fly, And, far beneath my feet, descry Night's dread goddess, seen with awe, Whom her winged dragons draw. Tlius, ever wond'ring at my speed, Augmented still as I proceed, I pass the planetary sphere, The Milky Way-and now appear Heav'n's crystal battlements, her doop Of massy pearl, and em'rald floor. I i.1 ~c, -- I ii -- --- ------- -- - 178 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON But here I cease. For never can The tongue of once a mortal man In suitable description trace I ii iThe pleasures of that happy place; \1 \I Suffice it, that those joys divine ji;~ Are all, and all for ever, mine!" NATURE UNIMPAIRED BY T'1.11M AH, how the human mind wearies herself i ith her own wand'rings, and, involv'd in gloom Ililpenetrable, speculates amniss Mi easuring, in her folly, tlings divine By human; laws inscrib'd on adamant B! y laws of man's device, and counsels fix'd F or ever, by the hours, that pass;lld die. HIow!-shall the face of nature then be plough'd Into deep wrinkles, and shall years at last On the great Parent fix a sterile curse? Shall even she confess old age, and halt, And, palsy-smitten, shake her starry brows? Shall foul Antiquity with rust and drought, And Famine, vex the radiant worlds above? Shall Time's unsated maw crave and ingulf The very Heav'ns, that regulate his flight? And was the Sire of all able to fence I s works, and to uphold the circling worlds, But, through improvident and heedless haste, Let slip th' occasion?-so then-all is lostAnd in some future evil hour, yon arch Shall crumble, and come thund'ring down, the po!ea Jar in collision, the Olymnpan liing I I I I I I i I i i i i I I I I I I 1 1 TRANSLATIONS FROIM MILITON. 179 Fall with his throne, and Pallas, holding forth Tile terrours of the Gorgon shield in vain, Shall rush to the abyss, like Vulcan hurl'd Drwn into Leinnos, through the gate of Heav'n Thou also, with precipitated wheels, Phoebus! thy own son's fall shalt imitate, With hideous ruin shalt impress the deep Suddenly, and the flood shall reek, and hiss At the extinction of the lamp of day. Then too shall Htemus, cloven to his base, Be shatter'd, and the huge Ceraunian hills, Once weaponis of Tertarean Dis, immers'd In Erebus, shall fill himself with fear. No. The Almighty Father surer laid His deep foundations, and providing well For tile event of all, the scales of Fate Suspended, in just equipoise, and bade His universal works, from age to age, One tenour hold, perpetual, undisturb'd Hence tle prime mover wheels itself about Continual, day by day, and with it bears In social measure swift the heav'ns around. Not tardier now is Satan than of old, Nor radiant less the burning casque of Mlars, Phebus, his vigour unimpair'd, still shows Th' effulgence of his youth, nor needs the god A downward course, that he may warm the valos; But, ever rich in influence, runs his road, Sign after sign, through all the heav'nly zone. Beautiful, as at first, ascends the star From odorif'rous Ind, whose office is To gather home betimes th' ethereal flock, To pour them o'er the skies again at eve, And to discriminate tlhe nilght and day. Still Cynthia's changeful horn waxes, and waines, Alternate, and withl arites ext:s ed still I ~~~~~~~~__ --— ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I I I_ __ _~1__~__)___ - ------------ - - - 180 TRANSLATIONS FRO1M MILTON. She welcomes to her breast her broiler's beams, Nor have the elements deserted yet Their functions; thunder, with as loud a stroke As erst, smites through the rocks, and scnaters them The east still howls, stiil the relentless north Invades the shudd'ring Scythian, still lie breathes The winter, and still rolls the stornis along. 'hle king of ocean, withl his wonted force, Beats on Pelorus, o'er the deep is heard T'he hoarse alarm of Triton's sounding shell, Nor swim the monstcrs of the Egean sea In shallows, or beneath diminish'd waves. Th-ou too, thy ancient vegetative pow'r Enjoy'st, O Earth! Narcissus still is sweet, And Phmbus! still thy favourite, and still Thy fav'rito Cytherea! both retain Their beauty, nor the mountains, ore-enrich'd For punishment of man. with purer gold Teem'd ever, or with brighter gems the Deep Thus, in unbroken series, all proceeds And shall, till wide involving either pole, And the immensity of yonder heav'n, The final flamnes of destiny absorb ne world consum'd in one enormous pyre I i 1I I I - - - i -I ___ ----- ( 181 ) ON THE PLATONICK IDEA, AS IT WAS UNDERSTOOD BY ARISTOTLE. YE sister pow'rs, who o'er the sacred groves Preside, and thou, fair mother of then all, Mnemosyne! and, thou, who in thy grot Immense, reclin'd at leisure, hast in charge The archives, and the ord'nances of Jove, And dost record the festivals of heav'n, Eternity!-inform us who is He, That great original by nature chos'n To be the archetype of human kind, Unchangeable, immortal, with the poles Themselves coeval, one, yet ev'ry where, An image of the god, who gave him being? Twin-brother of the goddess born from Jove. He dwells not in his father's mind, but, though Of common nature with ourselves, exists Apart, and occupies a local home. Whether, companion of the stars, he spend Eternal ages, roaming at his will From sphere to sphere the tenfold heav'ns, or dwell On the moon's side that nearest neighbours earth, Or torpid on the banks of Lethe sit Among the multitude of souls ordain'd To flesh and blood, or whether (as may chance) That vast and giant model of our kind In some far distant region of this globe Sequester'd stalk, with lifted head on high O'ertow'ring Atlas on whose shoulders rest The stars, terrifick even to the gods. Vo)l.. 1I (;i, I I- ~ ~ ~ ~ - ------------ _ ~ ___ _____ ____ _____~_ C_ -- -- ------ ---------- I J82 TRANSLATIONS FROM MiLTON. Never the Theban seer, whose bllindness prov d His best illumination, him behe.ld In secret vision; never him the son Of Plcione, amid the noiseless niglit Descending, to the proplict-cloir reveal'd; Ilini never knew th' Assyrian priest who yet The ancestry of Ninus chronicles, And Belus, and Osiris, far renown'd; Nor even tlrice great Hermes, alt.iiou!rli silli'd So deep in nlyst'ry, to the worshippers Of Isis show'd a prodigy like himi And thou, who hast inmmortaliz'd the shades Of Academus, if the schools receiv'd Th'is monster of the fancy first from thee, Either recall at once the banisll'd bards To thy republick, or thyself evinc'd A wilder fabulist, go also forth. TO HIS FATHER. OH that Pieria's spring would tlro Illy breast 'our its inspiring influence, and rush No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood! That, for mny venerable Father's sake, All meaner themes renounc'd, m!y muse, on wings Of duty borne, might reach a loftier strain. For thee, my Father! howsoe'er it please, She frames this slender work, nor know I aught, That may thy gifts more suitably requite; Though to requite them suitably would ask Returns much nobler, and surpassing far The meagre stores of verbal gratitude i i i I I I I 'I IIj I i I i II i! II I I` I --- —------- ------ _ --- —-LL --- —----- - --- __ ----— ~I --- L TRIANSLATIONS FROM MILTON 183 But, such as I possess, I send thee all, This page presents thee in their full amount With tly son's treasures, and the sum is nought, Nought, save the riches thlat from airy drean In secret grottos, ard in laurel bow'rs, I have, by golden Clio's gift, acquir'd. Verse is a work divine; despise not thou Verse therefore, which evinces (nothing more) Man's heavenly source, and which, retaining still Some scintillations of Promethean fire, lBespeaks hin animated from above. Tlhe Gods love verse; tile infernal pow'rs themselves Conifess the inlluenc6 of verse, which stirs The lowest deep, and binds in triple chains Of adamant both Plato and tle Shades. In verse the Delphick priestess, a.nld tlle pale Tremnulous Sybil, make the future know!n, And he wlio sacrifices on the shrine Hangs verse, both when lie smites tlhe tliret'ning bull And when lie spreads his reeking entrails wide To scrutinize the Fates envelop'd there. We too, ourselves, what time we seek again Our native skies, and one eterna.l now Shall be the only measure of our being, Crowi'd all with gold, and chanting to the lyre Harmonious verse, shall range the courts al)ove And make the starry firmament resound And, even now, the fiery spirit pure That wheels yon circling orbs, directs, himself, Their mazy dance with melody of verse Unutt'rable, immortal, hearing which IHuge Ophinclus holds his hiss suppress'd, Orion soften'd, drops his ardent blade, And Atlas stands unconscious of his load. Verse grac'd of old the feasts of kings, ere yet Luxurious dainties, destin'd to tle gulf Immense of gluttony, were known, and ere II I i i I H I I I I I I I I i i I A -------— ---- ------ --— I- --— I.__,____._-I-. — —II- --- -- II I I I I i I i I I i i I II 11 I.; I i i i I i I 1 1 II II I I II II II I 184 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON Lyamus delug'd yet the temp'rate board. Then sat the bard a customary guest To share the banquet, and, his length of locks With beechen honours bound, proposed il verse, The characters of heroes, and their deeds, To imitation, sang of Chaos old, Of nature's birth, of gods that crept in search Of acorns fall'n, and of the thunderbolt Not yet produc'd from Etna's fiery cave. And what avails, at last, tune without voice, Devoid of matter? Such may suit perhaps The rural dance, but such was ne'er the song Of Orpheus, whom the streams stood still to hear And the oaks follow'd. Not by chords alone Well touch'd, but by resistless accents more, To sympathetick tears the ghosts themselves He mov'd; these praises to his verse he owes. Nor thou persist, I pray thee, still to slight The sacred Nine, and to imagine vain And useless, pow'rs by whom inspir'd, thyself Art skilful to associate verse with airs Harmonious, and to give the human voice A thousand modulations, heir by right Indisputable of Arion's fame. Now say, what wonder is it, if a son Of thine delight in verse, if so conjoin'd In close affinity, we sympathize In social arts, and kindred studies sweet? Such distribution of himself to us Was Phcebus' choice: thou hast thy gift, and I Mine also, and between us we receive, Father and Son, the whole inspiring God. No! howsoe'er the semblance thou assume Of hate, thou hatest not the gentle Muse, My father! for thou never J.ad'st me tread The beaten path, and broad, that lead'st right on - I I I I ij i I I I i I I 1 1 i I __ _1______1_ _ _____ ___ __ ____ _____1_1__ TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 185 To opulence, nor didst condemn thy son To the insipid clamours of the bar, To laws voluminous, and ill observ'd; But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill My mind with treasure, led'st me far away From city-din to deep retreats, to banks And streams Aonian: and, with free consent, Didst place me happy at Apollo's side. I speak not now, on more important themes Intent, of common benefits, and such As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts, MIy Father! who, when 1 had open'd once The stores of Roman rhetorick, and learn'd 'The full-ton'd language of the eloquent Greeks. ~'Whose lofty musick grac'd the lips of Jove, Thyself didst counsel me to add the flow'rs That Gallia boasts, those too, with which the smooti Italian his degen'rate speech adorns, That witnesses his mixture with the Goth; And Palestine's proplhtick songs divine To sum the whole, whate'er the heav'n contains, The earth beneath it, and the air between, The rivers and the restless deep may all Prove intellectual gain to me, my wish Concurring with thy will; science herself, All cloud remov'd, inclines her beauteous head, And offers me the lip, if, dull of heart, I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon. Go now, and gather dross, ye sordid minds, That covet it; what could my Father more? What more could Jove himself, unless he gave His own abode, the heav'n, in which he reigns? More eligible gifts than these were not Apollo's to his son, had they been safe, As they were insecure, who made the boy The world's vice-luminary, bade him rule The radia %t chariot of the day, and bind 16 I I I I I I -- ---- -- -- - 7 -- - -_____ I i __ __ _L___ -------------- I --------------- ---~ --- - ---.- — --- — --- ' --- —- --- — 186 TRANSLATrI(OS FROM MILTON. To his young brows his own all-dazzling wreath. I therefore, although last and least, my place Among the learned in the laurel grove Will hold, and where the conqu'ror's ivy twines, Henceforth exempt from the unletter'd throng Profane, nor even to be seen by such. Away, then, sleepless Care, Complaint, away, And, Envy, with thy "jealous leer malign!" Nor let the monster Calumny shoot forth Her venom'd tongue at me Detested foes! Ye all are impotent against my peace, For I am privileg'd, and bear my breast Safe, and too high, for your viperean wound. But thou! my Father, since to render thanks Equivalent, and to requite by deeds Thy liberality, exceeds my power, Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts, And bear them treasur'd in a grateful mind! Ye too, the favourite pastime of my youth, My voluntary numbers, if ye dare To hope longevity, and to survive Your master's funeral, not soon absorb'd In the oblivious Lethaean gulf, Shall to futurity perhaps convey This theme, and by these praises of my sire Improve the Fathers of a distant age! III i i I I!. II I I Ii il;i I i i i I i I; i i: i I I; i I ii i,.;~_~- ___-.-. --- — I ~- c- ~ —~ ----~ ---- --- I I I I i I I i I i I I i I I I I _I_ __ ____ I___C_ __ _ ____ __ __ _ _ ( 187 ) TO SALSILLUS, A ROMAN POET MUCH INDISPOSED The original is written in a measure called Scazon, which signifies limping, and the measure is so denominated, because, though in other respects lambick, it terminates with a Spondee, and has consequently a more tardy movement. The reader will immediately see that this property of the Latin verse cannot be imitated in English MY halting Muse, that dragg'st by choice along Thy slow, slow step, in melancholy song, And lik'st that pace, expressive of thy cares, Not less than Diopcia's sprightlier airs, When, in the dance, she beats, with measur'd tread, IHeav'n's floor, in front of Juno's golden bed; Salute Salsillus, who to verse divine Prefers, with partial love, such lays as mine. Thus writes that Milton then, who wafted o'er From his own nest, on Albion's stormy shore, Where Eurus, fiercest of the ]Eolian band, Sweeps, with ungovern'd rage, the blasted land, i Of late to more serene Ausonia came To view her cities of illustrious nrme!o, i I I I I i I I I I I I I I I I I I. --- —-~ ----~ --- —. ----.--. --- --— ~-~- ------— ~ —~ --- —----- ---- -. —. — --- -. —..-. ----.. --- ——..- -.. -~. — -- — ~ --- —-- — ~ --- -— ~ ----------- --- -- I I I I i I I I i I I I 11 i i I i i i i i i I I 188 TRANSLATIONS F ROIM MILTON. To prove himself a witness of the truth, How wise her elders, and how learn'd her youth. Much good, Salsillus! and a body firee From all disease, tlat Milton asks for thee, Who now endur'st the languor, and the pains, That bile inflicts, diffused through all thy veins, Relentless malady! not mov'd to spare By thy sweet Roman voice, and Lesbian air! Health, Hebe's sister sent us from the skies, And thou, Apollo, whom all sickness flies, Pythius, or Pwean, or what name divine Soe'er thou choose, haste, heal a priest of thine! Ye groves of Faunus, and ye hills, that melt With vinous dews, where meek Evander dwelt! If aught salubrious in vour confines grow, Strive which shall soonest heal your poet's wo, That, render'd to the Muse he loves, agamn He may enchant the meadows with his strain. Numa, reclin'd in everlasting case, Amid the shade of dark ernbow'ring trees, Viewing with eyes of unabated fire Iis lov'd Egeria, shall that strain admire: So sooth'd, the tumid Tiber shall revere The tombs of kings, nor desolate tile year, Shall curb his waters witl a friendly rein, And guide thens harmless, till they meet the main. II 11, I I I I I I ' --- —-- --- ~ --- —- -- ~ ~ ~ ~ ------ _ _1_1__1___ CII_ __ ______~__ _l____r__________^____ll_ _____ _C_ L I i I ( 189 ) i II i i I I II I! I I Ih ii TO GIOVANNI BATTISTA MANSO, MIARQUIS OF VILLA. MILTON'S ACCOUNT OF MANSO. Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa, is an Italian nobleman of the highest estimation among his countrymen, for genius, literature, and m:ilitary accomplishments. To him Torquato Tasso addressed his Dialogues on Friendship, for he was much the friend of Tasso, who has also celebrated him among the other Princes of his country, in his poem, entitled, Gerusalemme Conquistata, book xx. Fra cavalier magnanimi, e cortesi, Risplende il Manso. During the Author's stay at Naples, he received at the hands of the Marquis a thousand kind offices anf civilities, and, desirous not to appear ungrateful, sent hiln this poem a short time before his departure from that city. THESE verses also to thy praise the Nine, Oh Manso! happy in that theme, design, For, Gallus and Maecenas gone, they see None such besides, or whom they love as thee; And, if my verse may give the meed of fame, Thine too shall prove an everlasting name. Already such, it shines in Tasso's page (For thou wast Tasso's friend) from age to age, II I 1 1 1 1 i I I iI I/ ___________________-J _ I _ _W - 190 TRANSLATIONS FROM M5ILTON. And, next, the Muse consign'd (not unaware Hfow high the charge) Marino to thy care, Who, singing to the nymphs, Adonis' praise, Boasts thee the patron of his copious lays. To thee alone the poet would entrust I-is latest vows, to thee alone his dust; And thou with punctual piety hast paid, In labour'd brass, thy tribute to his shade. Nor this contented thee-but lest the grave Should aught absorb of theirs which thou couldst save, All future ages thou hast deign'd to teach The life, lot, genius, character of each, I Eloquent as the Carian sage, who true To his great theme, the life of Homer drew. I, therefore, though a stranger youth, who come Chill'd by rude blasts, that freeze my northern home, Thee dear to Clio, confident proclaim, And thine, for Phcebus's sake, a deathless name. Nor thou, so kind, wilt view with scornful eye A muse scarce rear'd beneath our sullen sky, Who fears not, indiscreet as she is young, To seek in Latium hearers of her song. We too, where Thames with his unsullied waves The tresses of the blue-hair'd Ocean laves, Hear oft by night, or, slurnb'ring, seem to hear, O'er his wide stream, the swan's voice warbling clear, And we could boast a Tityrus of yore, Who trod, a welcome guest, your happy shore. Yes-dreary as we own our Northern clime, E'en we to Phcebus raise the polish'd rhyme, We too serve Phoebus; Phoebus has receiv'd (If legends old may claim to be believ'd) No sordid gifts fromn us, the golden ear, The burnish'd apple, ruddiest of the year, I I ii I; I I i I I_: --- —----— — I — - ----- -I --- —II ----, -, ~ I -- ----- --- - - -------- --- --------------- -C --- —~ ---- LI I - I I I I II I I I I. TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 191 The fragrant crocus, and to grace his fane, Fair damsels chosen from the Druid train; Druids, our native bards in ancient time, Who gods and heroes prais'd in hallow'd rhyme! Hence, often as the maids of Greece surround Apollo's shrine with hymns of festive sound, Tlhey name the virgins who arriv'd of yore, With British off'rings, on the Delian shore, Loxo, from giant Corineus sprung, Upis, on whose blest lips the future hung, And Hlecaerge, with the golden hair, All deck'd with Pictish hues, and all with bosoms bare Thou, therefore, happy sage, whatever clime Shall ring with Tasso's praise in after-time, Or with Marino's, shalt be known their friend, And with an equal flight to fame ascend. The world shall hear how Plhebus, and the Nine, Were inmates once, and willing guests of thine. Yet Phoebus, when of old constrain'd to roam The earth, an exile from his heavenly home, Enter'd, no willing guest, Admetus' door, Though Hercules had ventur'd there before. But gentle Chiron's cave was near, a scene Of rural peace, cloth'd with perpetual green. And thither, oft as respite he requir'd From rustick clamours loud, the god retir'd. There, many a time, on Peneus' bank reclin'd At some oak's root, with ivy thick entwin'd, Won by his hospitable friend's desire, He sooth'd his pains of exile with the lyre. Then shook the hills, then trembled Peneus' shore Nor (Eta felt his load of forests more; The Upland elmns descended to the plain, And soften'd lynxes wonder'd at the strain. Well may we thinkl, O de;er to all above! Thy birth distinguisll'd by the ssmile of Jove; I I I I 2- — —cl_,.__I, _ K.__ _ _ I~~~~~~~~~~ __II_ C~~~~~-1- 192 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. And that Apollo shed his kindliest pow'r, And Maia's son, on that propitious hour, Since only minds so born can comprehend A poet's worth, or yield that worth a friend. Hence, on thy yet unfaded cheek appears The ling'ring freshness of thy greener years; Hence, in thy front and features, we admire Nature unwither'd, and a mind entire. Oh might so true a friend to me belong, So skill'd to grace the votaries of song. Should I recall hereafter into rhyme The kings and heroes of my native clime, Arthur the chief, who even now prepares, In subterraneous being, future wars, With all his martial knights, to be restor'd, Each to his seat, around the fed'ral board, And Oh, if spirit fail me not, disperse Our Saxon plund'rers, in triumphant verse ' Then, after all, when, with the past content, A life I finish, not in silence Spent, Should he, kind mourner, o er my death-bed bend, I shall but need to say-" Be yet my friend!" He, too, perhaps, shall bid the marble breathe To honour me, and with the graceful wreath, Or of Parnassus, or the Paphian isle, Shall bind my brows-but I shall rest the while Then also, if the fruits of faith endure, And virtue's promis'd recompense be sure, Born to those seats, to which the blest aspire By purity of soul, and virtuous fire, These rites, as Fate permits, I shall survey With eyes illumin'd by celestial day, And, every cloud from my pure spirit driven, Joy in the bright beatitude of Heaven ' i i I I ii i Ii I I i i - - - ----- -------------- .I I 11 I Ii I I I I 1 1. - - - _ _ _ _ - - - -I- - - - -, - - -, - ( 193) ON THE DEATH OF DAMON. THE ARGUMENT. Thyrsis and Damon, shepherds and neighbours, had always pursued the same studies, and had, from their earliest days, been united in the closest friendship. Thyrsis, while travelling for improvement, received intelligence of the death of Damon, and, after a time, returning and finding it true, deplores himself, and his solitary condition, in this poem. By Damon is to be understood Charles Diodati, connected with the Italian city of Lucca by his father's side, in other respects an Englishman; a youth of un common genius, erudition, and virtue. YE Nymphs'of Himera, (for ye have shed, Erewhile for Daplnis, and for Hylas dead, And over Bion's long-lamented bier, The fruitless meed of many a sacred tear,) Now through the villas lav'd by Thames, rehearse Tlhe woes of Thyrsis in Sicilian verse, What sighs he heav'd, and how with groans profound He made the woods and hollow rocks resound, Young Damon dead; nor even ceas'd to pour His lonely sorrows at the midnight hour. VoL. 111. 17 I I I I i 1 I I i II I i i I i i H i I 11 i;1 i 1 i I ___ -- F ---------— IUIIII _~ __ -- = 194 TRANSIATIONS FROM MILTON. The gre.en wheat twice had nodded in the ear, And golden harvest twice enriched the year, Since Damon's lips had gasp'd for vital air The last, last time, nor Thyrsis yet was there; For he, enamour'd of the Muse, remain'd In Tuscan Fiorenza long detain'd, But, stor'd at length with all he wish'd to learn, For his flock's sake now hasted to return, And when the shepherd had resumn'd his seat At the eln's root, within his old retreat, Then 'twas his lot, then, all his loss to know, And, from his burthen'd heart, lie vented thus his wo. " Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts ire due To other cares, than those of feeding you. Alas, what deities shall I suppose In heaven, or earth, concern'd for human woes, Since, O my l)amon! their severe decree So soon condemns nle to regret of thee! Depart'st thou thus, thy virtues unrepaid With fame and honour, like a vulgar shade? Let him forbid it, whose bright rod controls, And sep'rates sordid from illustrious souls, Drive far the rabble, and to thee assign A happier lot; with spirits worthy thine! " Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. Whate'er befall, unless by cruel chance, The wolf first give me a forbidding glance, Thou shalt not moulder undeplor'd, but long Thy praise shall dwell on every shepherd's tongue To Daphnis first tley shall delight to pay, And, after him, to thee the votive lay, While Pales shall the flocks and pastures love, Or Faunus to frequent the field or grove, --- I I I I I --- --- ---- —. --- —- - I I I 1i k I i i I I i i 1 i I - ------------- --------- - -— ` --- —--— --- — TRANSILATIONS FROM MILTON. 195 At least, if ancient piety and truth, With all the learned labours of thy youth, May serve thee aught, or to have left behind A sorrowing friend, and of the tuneful kind. "Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. Yes, Damon! such thy sure reward shall be, But al, what doom awaits unhappy me? Who, now, my pains and perils shall divide, As thou wast wont, for ever at my side, Both when the rugged frost annoy'd our feet, And when the herbage all was parch'd with heat; Whether the grim wolf's ravage to prevent, Or the huge lion's, arm'd with darts we went? Whose converse, now, shall calm my stormy day, With charming song, who now beguile my way? " Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. In whom shall I confide? Whose counsel find A balmy med'cine for my troubled mind? Or whose discourse, with innocent delight, Shall fill me now, and cheat the wint'ry night, While hisses on my hearth the pulpy pear, And black'ning chestnuts start and crackle there, While storms abroad the dreary meadows whelm, And the wind thunders thro' the neighb'ring elm. "Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. Or who, when summer suns their summit reach, And Pan sleeps hidden by the shelt'ring beech, When shepherds disappear, nymphs seek the sedge, And the streteh'd rustick snores beneath the hedge. I I I I I -II `- I --- —- -- -- ,,,_. _,,, _-____ i I I I ---— J-^- -- - --- -- ----- ----------- --— --- —I-~I --- -I- - -LI — illl 196 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. Who then shall render me thy pleasant vein Of Attick wit, thy jests, thy smiles again? I " Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. Where glens and vales are thickest overgrown With tangled boughs, I wander now alone, Till night descend, while blust'ring wind and show'r Beat on my temples through the shatter'd bow'r. "Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are |!) ~ Jdue To other cares, than those of feeding you. Alas! what rampant weeds now shame my fields, And what a mildew'd crop the furrow yields? hMy rambling vines, unwedded to the trees, Bear shrivell'd grapes, my myrtles fail to please, Nor please me more my flocks; they, slighted turn Tleir unavailing looks on me, and mourn. " Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due To other cares, than those of feeding you /Egon invites me to the hazel grove, Amyntas on the river's bank to rove, And young Alphesibaeus to a seat Where branching elms exclude the mid-day heat. H' ere fountains spring-here mossy hillocks rise; H ere Zephyr whispers, and the stream replies.'i Thus each persuades, but, deaf to every call, I gain the thickets, and escape them all. i " Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are |~I ~ due To other cares, than those of feeding you. Then Mopsus said, (the same who reads so well h'lie voice of birds, and what the stars foretell, 1=ZZZTZ7I --- ` --- —----------------- --------------- — ~ —..... 1 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 197 For he by chance had noticed my return,) ' What means thy sullen mood, this deep concern Ah Thyrsis! thou art either craz'd with love, Or some sinister influence from above; Dull Saturn's influence oft the shepherds rue; His leaden shaft oblique has pierc'd thee through' " Go, go, my lambs, unpastur'd as ye are; My thoughts are all now due to other care. Tho nymphs amaz'd, my melancholy see, And, ' Thyrsis!' cry-' what will become of thes! What wouldst thou, Thyrsis? such should not appear Thle brow of youth stern, gloomy, and severe; Brisk youth should laugh, and love-alh, shun the fate Of those, twice wretched mopes! who love too late!" " Go, go, my lambs, unpastur'd as ye are; My thoughts are all now due to other care. Egle with Hyas came, to sooth my pain, And Baucis' daughter, Dryope, the vain, Fair Dryope, for voice and finger neat Known far and near, and for her self-conceit; Chloris too came, whose cottage on the lands That skirt the Idumanian current, stands; But all in vain they came, and but to see Kind words, and comfortable, lost on me. " Go, go, my lambs, unpastur'd as ye are; My thoughts are all now due to other care. Ah blest indiff'rence of the playful herd, None by his fellow chosen, or preferr'd! No bonds of amity the flocks enthral, But each associates, and is pleas'd with all; So graze the dappled deer in num'rous droves, And all his kind alike the zebra loves; The same law governs, where the billows roar, And Proteus' shoals o'erspread tle desert shore; I! ~ ~ '7 I I I I I I I I I I I I i 1 1 1 1 _ I_ _____I______C_____I___ I ____ _ ^_ ___ I --- rr --— -' ------------------ _j' I I 198 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON The sparrow, meanest of the feather'd race, H is fit companion finds in every place, With whom ho picks the grain that suits him best, Flirts here and there, and late returns to rest, And whom if chance the falcon make his prey, Or hedger with his well aim'd arrow slay, For no such loss the gay survivor grieves: New love he seeks, and new delight receives, We only, an obdurate kind, rejoice, Scorning all others, in a single choice. We scarce in thousands meet one kindred mind, And if the long-sought good at last we find, When least we fear it, Death our treasure steals, And gives our heart a wound that nothing heals. (Go, go, my lambs, unpastur'd as ye are; My thoughts are all now due to other care. Ah, what delusion lur'd me from my flocks, To traverse Alpine snows, and rugged rocks Wlat need so great had I to visit Rome, Now sunk in ruins, and herself a tomb? Or, had she flourish'd still, as when of old, For her sake Tityrus forsook his fold, What need so great had I t' incur a pause Of thy sweet intercourse for such a cause, For such a cause to place the roaring sea, Rocks, mountains, woods, between my friend and nme Else, had I grasp'd thy feeble hand, compos'd Thy decent limbs, thy drooping eye-lids clos'd, And, at the last, had said-' Farewell-ascendNor even in the skies forget thy friend!' "Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare; My thoughts are all now due to other care. Although well-pleas'd, ye tuneful Tuscan swains! My mind the mem'ry of your worth reta;ns, Yet not your worth can teach me less to mourn My Dalnon lost. He too was Tuscan born AtI A______. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ `-.-..,.. _-. —...... ----~ --- —---- -`~~ <-:::c-1" --- _- _ - - - ~ —; - ~ -- ~ - - - I I i I I i I I I___ _____ II _ L _ -__. __.. __-_ _____ ------- - - - _.~ - - _ ___ - - i ___ _1 _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~5___~~ ~~~~~1 11!Ii 1 Ii 1 TRANSLATIONS FROIM MILTON. Born in your Lucca, city of renown! And wit possess'd, and genius, like your own. Oh how elate was I, when stretch'd beside The murnl'ring course of Arno's breezy tide, Beneath the poplar grove I pass'd my hours, Now cropping myrtles, and now vernal flow'rs, And hearing, as I lay at ease along, Your swains contending for the prize of song! I also dar'd attempt (and, as it seems, Not much displeas'd attempting) various themes, For even I can presents boast from you, The slepherd's pipe, and ozier basket too. And Dati, and Francini, botli have made My name familiar to the bcechen shade, And they are learn'd, and each in ev'ry place Renown'd for song, and both of Lydian race 19I I i II 11 i i I I i II I:1, j '; Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare, My thoughts are all now due to other care. While bright the dewy grass with moon-beams slhole, And I stood hurdling in my kids alone, How often have I said (but thou hadst found Ere then thy dark cold lodgment under ground Now Damon sings, or springes sets for hares Or wicker-work for various use prepares! How oft, indulging fancy, have I plann'd New scenes of pleasure, that I hop'd at hand, Call'd thlee abroad as I waj wont, and cried' What lioa! my friend-come lay thy task aside, Haste, let us forth together, and beguile The heat, beneath yon whisp'ring shades awlhile Or on the margin stray of Colne's clear flood, Or where Cassibelan's grey turrets stood! There thou shalt cull me simples, and shalt teach Thy friend the lname, and healing pow'rs of each, From the {all blue-bell to the dwarfish weed, Wlhat the dry land, and what the marshes breed, ij ~ I~ 1CU~. —."-'-_.. ''L~.T:2__.~-,:-7 -:..'_:,: 7:22:-"' -''~ I i i i I I I I I I I-, _._______ _1__1__ _________ I_ _ __ _ _I_______ ____ __ I___ __ -Ii 200 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. For all their kinds alike to thee are known, And the whole art of Galen is thy own.' Ah, perish Galen's art, and wither'd be The useless herbs, that gave not health to thee! Twelve evenings since, as in poetick dream 1 ineditating sat some statelier theme, The reeds no sooner touch'd my lip, though. new, And unassay'd before, than wide they flew, Bursting their waxen bands, nor could sustain The deep-ton'd musick of the solemn strain; And I am vain perhaps, but I will tell How proud a theme I chose-ye groves, farewell fiI, " Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare; MIvy thoughts are all now due to other care. 11 O f Brutus, Dardan chief, my song shall be, HIow with his barks he plough'd the British sea, First from Rutupia's tow'ring hcadland seen, And of his consort's reign, fair Imogen; Of Brcnnus, and Belinus, brothers bold, And of Arviragus, and how of old Our hardy sires, th' Armorican controll'd And of the wife of Gorlois, who, surpris'd By Utler, in her husband's form disguis'd, (Such was the force of Merlin's art) became Pregnant with Arthur of heroick fame. These themes I now revolve-and Oh-if Fate Proportion to these themes my lengthen'd date, Adieu, my shepherd's:.eed-yon pin-trce bough Shall be thy future home, there danLjle thou orgotten and disus'd, unless ere long, 'Thou change thy Latian for a British song; A Britisl?-even so-the pow'rs of inan Are bounded; little is the most he can: And it shall well suffice me, and shall le Fllame, and proud recompense enough for nie, I' IUsa, golden-hair'd, my verse may learnl, 11' Alain: bending o'er his crystal urln l~ ~~~~ — -ll~- — ~-~ --- — I I I I I I I I I; I -----— ~ -" --- —- —- --- YIIIIUII __ __ _ - e - TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 201 Swift-whirling Abra, Trent's o'ershadow'd stream, Thames, lovelier far than all in my esteem, Tamar's ore-tinctur'd flood, and, after these, The wave-worn shores of utmost Orcades. "Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare; My thoughts are all now due to other care. All this I kept in leaves of laurel-rind Enfolded safe, and for thy view designed, This-and a gift from Manso's hand beside, (Manso, not least his native city's pride,) Two cups, that radiant as their giver shone, Adorn'd by sculpture with a double zone. The spring was graven there; here slowly wind The Red-sea shores, with groves of spices lin'd; Her plumes of various hues amid the boughs The sacred, solitary Phoenix shows; And watchful of the dawn, reverts her head, To see Aurora leave her wat'ry bed. — In other part, th' expansive vault above, And there too, even there, the God of Love With quiver arm'd he mounts, his torch displays A vivid light, his gem-tipt arrows blaze, Around his bright and fiery eyes he rolls, Nor aims at vulgar minds, or little souls, Nor deigns one look below, but aiming high, Sends every arrow to the lofty sky; Hence forms divine, and minds immortal, learn The pow'r of Cupid, and enamour'd burn. " Thou also, Damon, (neither need I fear That hope delusive,) thou art also there; For whither should simplicity like thine Retire, where else such spotless virtue shine? Thou dwell'st not (thought profane) in shades below, Nor tears suit thee-cease then my tears to flow, Away with grief: on Damron ill-bestow'd Vlho, pure himself, has found a pure abode, I II II I i I Iit I 1i -~ ----~ --- —-------------------- -I ------- --- ------- - ------------ --------- — ~ — ---- ~ — I ------- -'-`---------------- II/ I I ki i i i I i i il i III Ht I I 202 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. Has pass'd the show'ry arch, henceforth resides With saints and heroes, and from tlowinr tides Quaffs copious immortality, and joy, With hallow'd lips!-Oh! blest without alloy, And now enrich'd, with all that faith can claim Look down, entreated by whatever name, If Damnon please thee mnost, (that rural sound Shall oft with echoes fill the groves around,) Or if Diodatus, by which alone In those ethereal mansions thou art known. Thy blush was maiden, and thy youth the taste Of wedded bliss knew never, pure and chaste, The honours, therefore, by divine decree The lot of virgin worth are given to thee; Thy brows encircled with a radiant band. And the green palm-branch waving In thy hand, Thou in immortal nuptials shalt rejoice, And join with seraphs thy according voice, Where rapture reigns, and the ecstatick lyre Guides the blest orgies of the blazing choir." -I 11 I I I,i I 11 I I Ct iI I I I I i i I i i i i I I i I I __ __ __ __ -------------- ( 203 ) AN ODE ADDRESSED TO MR. JOHN ROUSE, LIBRARIAN, OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, On a lost Volume of my Pecms, which he desired me to replace, that he might add them to my other Works deposited in the Library. THIS Ode is rendered without rhyme, that it niilht more adequately represent the original, which, as Milton himself informs us, is of no certain measure It may possibly for this reason disappoint the reader; though it cost the writer more lalour than the translation of any other piece in the whole collection. STROPHF. MY two-fold book! single in show But double in contents, Neat, but net curiously adoin'd, Which, in his early youth, A poet gave, no lofty one in truth, Although an earnest wooer of the MuseSay while in cool Ausonian shades, -- --- — --- I I i __ _ __I_ __^_ L_ __ ___ ~___ __ _I_~___ _I_ __ ___I____ C___ __ ______ ___ ___ 204 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON Or British wilds he roaml'd, Striking by turns his native lyre, By turns the Daunian lute, And stepp'd almost in air.ANTISTROPIHE. Say, little book, what furtive hand Thee from thy fellow-books convey'd, What time, at the repeated suit Of my most learned friend, I sent thee forth an honour'd traveller, From our great city to the source of Thames, Cwerulean sire! Where rise the fountains, and the rapture ring Of the Aonian choir, l)urable as yonder spheres, And through the endless lapse of years Secure to be admnir'd? STROPHE II. Now what God, or Demigod, For Britain's ancient Genius mov'd, (If our afflicted land Have expiated at length the guilty sloth Of her degen'rate sons) Shall terminate our impious feuds, And discipline, with hallow'd voice recall Recall the Muses too, Driv'n from their ancient seats In Albion, and well nigh from Albion's shore, And with keen Phlebean shafts Piercing th' unseemly birds, Whose talons menace us, Shall drive the Harpy race from Helicon ufhr.: I r t Ij I I i I r r I I i I i I I i - - --- — ll — —^ —-u — --- `-Uc --- —- -- " I i I I i i i - --- —— — — I^ ---- --- —-I ---I- --- — — -- -— L- --- - -— ' ---`I- — ` -' ---- --r --- —----— ---- TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON.,, '., ANTIST''OP H E. But thou, my book, though thou lhast stray'd Whether by trcach'ry lost, Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault, From all thy kindred books, To some dark ce.l, or cave forlorn, Where thou cndur'st, perllaps, The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand!, Be comfortedFor lo! again the splendid hope appears That thou may'st yet escape The gulfs of Lethe, and on oary vwines Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove! STROPHIE III. Since Rouse desires thee, and comlplains That, though by promise his, Thou yet appear'st not in thy place Among the literary noble stores Giv'n to his care, But, absent, leav'st his numbers incomplete, lie, therefore, guardian vigilant Of that unperishing wealth, Calls thee to the interiour shrine, his charge, Where he intends a richer treasure far Than Ion kept (Ion, Erectheus' son Illustrious, of the fair Creusa born) In the resplendent temple of his God, Tripods of gold and Delphick gifts di;ine. ANTISTPOFPIE. Haste, then, to the pleasant groves, The Muses' f;v'rite haunt: Resume thy station in Apollo's dome VoLr. Ill. i -- I I I I i I '. , 26 TRANSLAT'IONS FROM MJILTON 11 ]~I T~~IDearer 1.o lIimi Than Delos, or the fork'd Parinassian lill!' Exult ing go, Since now a splendid lot is also tlline, And thou art sought by my propitiouns frieindl; lt l ~ For there thou shalt be readI 6With autlors of exalted note, The ancient glorious lights of Greece and RIoml.e EPODE. Ye then, my works, no longer vain, And wortlless deemi'd by e!i Whate'er thlis sterile genius has produc'd, Expest, at last, the rage of envy spent, An unmolested happy home, (Gift of kind Hlermes, and my watchful fiiend, Where never flippant tongue profane Shall entrance find, And whence the coarse unletter'd mutlitude Slhall babl)le ftr remote. PIerhaps somre future distant age, Li'ess ting'd with prejldice, and( better taught, Shall furnish mlinds of pcri'r To judge more equally. Then, malice silenced in the tomb, Cooler heads and sounder hearts, Thanks to Rouse. if auglht of praise I merit sh;ll with candout weigh the claim II _ __ __. _____ _1____1_ - -------------------- I I!I ( 2o7 ) I TRANSLATIONS i i THE ITALIAN POEMS. i'i~ SONNET. i FAI Lady, whose harmonious name the Rhine, Tlhrough all his grassy vale, delights to hear, Basc were indeed the wretchl, who could forbea. To love a spirit elegant as thine, That manifests a sweetness all divine, Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare, I And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are, Temp'ring thy virtues to a softer shlile. When gracefully thou speak'st or singest gay, Such strains, as might the senseless forest move, Alh then-turn each his eyes, and cars, away, i Who feels himself unworthy of thy love'.i Grace can alone preserve him, cre the dart j Of fond desire yet reacih his inmost heart. SONETTO. DONNA lcggiadra, il cui bcl nome honora i I'hrbosa val di Rheno, c il nobil varco, Ilene c colui d'ogni valore scarce, Qual tuo spirto gcntil non ilnarnora; Cie dolcemcnte mostra si di fuora De sui atti soavi giammnai parco, _,5......... I........... — - _....... 208 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. F i don,' chc son d'arnor sactte ed arco, L a onde 1 alta tua virtu s'infiora. Quando tu vaga parli, o licta canti, Clit mover possa duro alpestre legno, Guardi ciascnn a gli occhi, cd a gli orecchi i L'entrata, cli di tre si truova indcgno; Grazia sola di su gli vaglia, innanti Che'l disio amoroso al cuor s'invecchi. SONNET. As on a hill-top rude, when closing day i Inbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair Waters a lovely foreign plant with caro, Borne from its native genial airs away, That scarcely can its tender bud display: So, on my tongue these accents, new, and rare, Are flow'rs exotick, which Love waters there, While thus, O sweetly scornful! I essay Thy praise, in verse to British cars unknown, And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain; So love aas will'd, and ofttimes love has shown, That what he wills, he never wills in vain. Oh that this hard and sterile breast mirght be, To Him, who plants from Hieav'n, a soil as fi ec! SONETTO. QUAL in colle aspro, al imbrunir di sera, L'avvez7a giovinetta pastorella Va bagnlando I'lerbetta strana e oella, (Chie mal si spande a disusata spera, Fuor di sla natia alma primavcra; Cosi Amor meco insu. la lingua sslella D)esta il fior novo di strania favella,.Nlcltre io di te vez7zsamente altera,!_ _ __ _ ___ _ ___ _______! I! - i,,i 'I'TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON 209 Canto, dal tnio buon popol non inteso. i E'l bel Tamigi cangio col bel Arno, Amor lo volse, ed io a 1 altrui peso, Seppi. ch'Anior cosa lai volse indarno, Deh! flbs' il iio cuor lonto, cl dliro seno, Ai chi pianta dal cicl, si buon terreno i 1j/ |~~CANZONE. They mock my toil-the nymphs and am'rous swamin And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry, Love-songs in language that thou little know'st? -lHow dar'st thou risk to sin(r these foreign strains Say truly. Find'st not oft thy purpo)se cross'd; j And that tl)y fairest flowers, here 'ade a; d dit '. Thien w'itrli iretence of admiratioin li.'h- Thee other shores expect, and other tides, Rivers, on whose grassy sides Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to hind Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides; Why then this burthen, better far declin'd? Speak, Muse! for me.-The fair one said, who guides My willing heart, and all my fancy's flights, " This is tle language, in which Love delilghts" i I i i i I1! I I I I I I II 11 CANZONE. RinoNxsl donne, e giovani amorosi M' accostandosi attorno, e perche scrivi, Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana Vcrseggfiando d' amor, e come t' nsi? Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai vana, 1E le pensieri lo miglior t' arrivi; Cosi nii vanl burlando, altri rivi Altri lidi t'as)ettan, ed altre onde Nelle cui verdi sponde i I I I I I Ii I I I I i i I i i I I i I k i I! 210 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. Spuntati ad hor, a la tua chionia L' imnmortal guiderdon d' eterne frondi Perche allc spalln tue sovcrchia somn. Canzon, dirotti, e tu per me rispondi Dice mia Donna, c'l suo dir e il mio crors Questa e lingua, di cui si vanta Amor& SONNET TO CHARLES DIODATI. CirATr Es-and I say it wond'ri.ng-tiou miast know 'l'hat I, who once assurn'd a zcornful air, And scoff'd at love, am fall'oi in his snare, (Full many an upright man has fallen so) Yet think me not thus dlzz!ed by the flow Of golden locks, or damask cheek: more rare The heart-felt beauties of ry foreign fair; A mien imajestick, with dark brows that show The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind; Words exquisite, of idioms more than one, And song, whose fascinating pow'r might bind, And from her sphere draw down the lab'ring lMoon With such fire darting eyes, that should I fill My ears with wax, she would enchant me still. SONETTO. DIODA rs, e te'l diro con maraviglia, Quel ritroso io, ch'amor spreggiar solea, E de suoi lacci spesso mi ridea, Gia caddi, ov'huom dabben talhor s'impiglia Ne treccie d' oro, ne guancia vermiglia M' abbaglian si, ma sotto nuova idea Pellegrina bellezza, che'l cuor bea, It II Ii I: i| iI TRANSLATIONS FROM M ILTON. Portarnenti alti honesti, e nelle ciglia Qucl sereno fuilgor d'amabil noro, Parole adorne, di ling'ua piu d'una. E'l cantar, die di mezzo!'hicnispero Traviar ben puo la faticosa Luna, E degli occlii suoi avvcnta si gran fuoco, Che l'incerar gli oreechi mi fia poco. 211! Ii SONNET. LADY! It cannot be, but that thine eyes Must be my sun, such radiance they display, And strike me c'en as Phlebus him, whose way Through horrid Lybia's sandy desert lies. Meantime, on that side steamy valpours rise Where most I suffer. Of what kind are they, New as to me they are, I cannot say, But deem them, in the lover's language —sighs. Some, though with pain, my bosom close conIcels, Which, if in part escaping thence, they tend To soften thine, thy coldness soon congeals, While others to my tearful eyes ascend, Whence my sad nights in show'rs are ever drowe I, Till my Aurora comes, her brow with roses bouhnn. SONETTO. PEUR certo i bei vostr'occhi, Donna mia, Esser non puo, che non sian lo mio sole, Si mi percuoton forte, come ei suole Per larene di Libia, chi s'invia: Mentre un caldo vapor (ne senti pria) Da quel lato si spinge, ove mi duole, Che forse amanti nelle lor parole, Chiaman sospir; io non so chdie si sia: Parte rinchiusa, e turbida si cela Scosso miil petto, e poi n'uscendo pocr Quivi (l' attorno o s'aghiccia, o s I I I I ____ _~_LI_______ _____________ _____ ____ _ __ _ IC__ I______ L1__~_~_~_ i 212 TRANSLATIONS Ft'ROM I I,TON. M a qnanto a gli occhi giunge a trovar loco I ~ Tutte le nott.i a ine suol fiar piovose Finclie mia A!,a tivicn, colna di rose. j'~i, |SONNET. E.NAi.OUR'U, artless, young, on foreign grounld, Uncertain whither from myself to fly, To thee, dear lady, with aln huinbl si^li Let me devote my heart, which I have found By certain proofs, not few, intrepid, sound, |il ~ Good, and addicted to conceptions high. When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky; It rests in adamant self-wrapt around, I As safe from envy, and from outrage rude, From hopes and fears, that vulgar minds abuse, As fond of genius, and fix'd fortitude, Of the resounding lyre, and every Muse. Weak you will find it in one only part, Now pierc'd by Love's inmmedicable dart. SONETTO. GIOVANE piano, e semplicetto amante,. ~~i {Poi che fuggir me stesso in dubbio sone, MIadonna, a voi del mio cuor 1 humil dono Faro divoto; io certo a prove tante L'hebbi fedele, intrepido, costante De pensieri leggiadro, accorto, e buono; Quando rug(rc il gran mondo, e scocca il t uonni | i:-;'S arina di se, e d' intero diainalte,;Taunto dcl ftrse, e a' invidia siclro, 1)i lil '..i, c p r 1aIuze al sp.p- i!:e C.Ltiinto d'i(l.cll _io, e d' il'.o valor vrgo, E di cctra sonora. e delle Mus e: S,)l trovere!.e in t,. ';:irte!iii"n d(iero, e?ve Ainor:nise l'inss. ili aiiro. i I II --— --- —---— I- --I- --1- --- 1-11- --- -— 1- --- I- II ----- —^ —-- — I-. —~-,-,-.,-,, — ~ -~ —,-~ -~ ---~ —~-~~-I-`~ --- —-- I --- —-- L _____ _I__ L_ 1 ~ — ---- —' I I — -- - - - -— I-I' -— — -- I I i I i i I i i ( 13 ) EPITAPI[ ON I MRS. M II1GGINS, OF WESTON. [1791.] LAURELS may flourish round the conqu'ror's tomh But happiest they, who win the world to coime: Believers have a silent field to fight, And their exploits are veil'd from human sight, They in some nook, where little known they dwell, Kneel, p'ay in faith, and rout the hosts of Hell; Eternal:riumphs crown their toils divine, And all those triumphs, Mary, now are thine TIE RETIRED CAT. [1791.] A POET'S Cat, sedate and grave As poet well could wish to have, Was much addicted to inquire For nooks to which she might retire, And where, secure as mouse in chink, She might repose, or sit and think. I know not where she caught the trick — Nature perhaps herself had cast her In sucl a mould PrniosorPHrqu, j Or else she lcarn'd it of her Master I i _ I- ~, ___-_ —___ -I-. --- — -- - _(__ __ ___I_ _ 11_1____ __ _ _ ____ __ __ ______ ___ __ _ _____ _ ____II__^__ I I I I "'1'1 TIlE RETIRED CAT. Sometimes ascending, debonair, An apple-tree, or lofty pear, Lodg'd with convenience in the fork, She watch'd the gard'ner at his work, Somctimes her ease and solace sougiht In an old empty wat'ring pot, There, wanting nothing, save a fan, To seem some nymph in her sedan Apparel'd in exactest sort, And ready to be borne to court. But love of change it senes has place Not only in our wiser race; Cats also feel, as well as we, That passion's force, and so did she. Iler climbing, slie began to find, Exposed lier too much to the wind, And the old utensil of tin Was cold and conifbrtless witllin: She, therefore, wisll'd instead of those Some place of more scrdne repose, Where neither cold might come, nor air Too rudely wanton with her hair, And sought it in the likeliest mode Within her master's snug abode A draw'r, it chane'd at bottom li'd With linen of the softest kind, With such as merchants introduce From India, for the ladies' use, A draw'r impending o'er the rest, Half open in the topmost chest, Of deptl; enough, and none to spare, Invited her to slumber there: Puss with delight, beyond expression, Survey'd the scene, and took possession: Recunmbent at lier ease, ore long, And lull'd by her own huidrunml sg, =.: -~- - -. —~ I i II I I i I II I I I I i I!I I:II III 11 i I, il 1 1! I i I! I I H Ii Ii ii ii. k;I I I I I I I1! i 'I i il I I i i l I i il i I i l I I i |i THE RETIRED CAT. 215 She left the cares of' lif behindl, And slept as she would sleep ler last, 'When in came, housewifely inclin'd, The chamnbermaid, and shut it fast, By no malignity iinpiel'd, But all unconscious whom it held. Awaken'd by the shock;, (cried puss) " Was ever cat attended thus! The open draw was left 1 see, l Merely to prove a nest for me, For soon as 1 was well compos'd, Then came the maid, and it was clos'd. low smooth these 'kerchiefs and how sweet' Oil what a delicate retreat! I will resign myself to rest Till Sol declining in the west, Shall call to supper, when no doubt, Susan will come and let me out." The evenilng came, the sun descended, And Puss remair'd still unattended. 'The night roll'd tardily away, (With her indeed 'twas never day,) The sprightly norn her course renew'd, Tle evening gray again ensu'd, And Puss came into minid no more, Than if entomb'd the day before. With hunger pinch'd, and pinch'd for room, She now presag'd approaching doom, Nor slept a single wink, or purr'd, Conscious of jeopardy incurrd! That night, by chance, the poet watching, Heard an inexplicable scratching; his noble heart went pit-a-pat, And to himself lie said- " what's that?" -- -— ~._ ____-~ --- —--------------!t -- 1 —,_,,__ ________ __._.__.___. -_._-_ -_-I ---.,-cLU --- -.UI-. -__._ . --- —--—. -- -- — - --— — 216 TlE RETIRED CAT. He drew the curtain at his side, And forth he peep'd, but nothing spied. Yet, by his ear directed, guess'd Something imiprison'd in the chest, And, doubtful what, with prudent care Resolv'd it should continue there. At length a voice winch well lie knew, A longl and melancholy mew, Saluting his poetick ears, Consol'd him, and dispell'd his fears; He left his bed, he trod the floor, |j1 H-e 'gan in haste the draw'rs t' explore, i. The lowest first, and without stop The rest in order to the top. | For 'tis a truth well known to most, l 'I'lThat whatsoever thing is lost, We seek it, ere it come to light, In ev'ry cranny but the right. Forth skipp'd the cat, not now replete As erst with airy self-conceit, Nor in her own fond apprehension A theme for all the world's attention, But modest, sober, cur'd of all Her notions hyperbolical, And wishing for a place of rest, Any thing rather than a clest. Then stepp'd the poet into bed With this reflection in his head. MORAL. Beware of too sublime a sense Of your own worth and consequence, The maii who dreams himself so great, And his importance of such weight, jI IiaThat all around in all that's done 1~I Must move and act for Him alone, We learn in school of' tribulation The folly of his expectation. I I I i I I I I 1;.- --- -- - -- -- ---- _CI_ ________C __ _I__ _ ___________ ___ ----— -L ---c` — — --- —- -I-' --- -- — " I I I Ii I II i I i i H ( 217) iI I II I ~i YARDLEY OAK. [1791.] SunvIvon sole, and hardly such, of nil, That. once liv'd here, thy brethren, at lmy birth, (Since which I numnber threescore winters past,) A sllatter'd vct'ran, hollow-trulnk'd perlaps, As now, and witl excoriate forks deforn, Relicks of Ages! Could a mind, imbued With truth from Heaven, created thing adore, I might with rev'rence kpcel, and worship thee. It seems idolatry with some excuse, lWhen our forefather Druids in their oaks Imagin' d sanctity. The conscience, yet Unpurified by an authentick act Of amnesty, the meed of blood divine, lov'd not the light, but, gloomy, into gloom Of thickest shades, like Adam after taste Of fruit proscrib'd, as to a refuge, fled. Thou wast a bauble once; a cup and ball, Which babes might play withl; and the thievish jay, Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd The Auburn nut that held thee, swallowing downv Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs, And all thine embryo vastncss at a gulp. But Fate thy growth decreed autumnal rains Beneath thy parent tree nellow'd the soil Desirn'd thy cradle; and a skippingr deer, Witl pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, lrel-ar'd Tlhe soft receptacle, in which, secure, Tly rudiments should sleep the winter througl' Vo.. III. I:) il) Ii i II il I I i! I i. i I -- ------- ------------------- r ( i I I I I i II 11.1 I II I 218 YARDLEY OAK. So Fancy dreams. Disprove it, if ve can, Ye reas'ners broad awake, whose busy search Of argument, employ'd too oft amiss, Sifts half the pleasures of short life away! Thou fell'st mature: and in the loanry clod Swelling with vegetative force instinct Didst burst thine egg, as theirs tlh fableld Tvwis, Now stars; two lobes, protrudin(g, pair'd exact; A leaf succeeded, and another leaf, And, all the elements thy puny grnowth Fost'ring propitious, thou becaln'st. a twig. Who liv'd when thou wast such? Ohl, c.luldst thiou speak, As in Dodona once thy kindred trees Oracular, I would not curious, ask The future, best unknow;n, but at thy mouth Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past. By thee I might correct, erroneous oft, The clock of history, facts and events Timing more punctual, unrecorded fe.ts Recov'ring, and misstated setting rightDesp'rate attempt till trees shall speak again! Time made thee what thou wast, king of' the wr,ods And Time hatl miade thee what thou art-a cave For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading bourghs O'erllung the champaign; and the num'rous flocks That graz'd it, stood beneath that ample cope Uncrowded, yet safb-shelter'd from the storm. No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast outliv'd Thy popularity, and art becorno (Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth. i I t '. - - ---- -- - --— c --- —-— -1 -— c'c -I-c-- U- ----— ^- ---- -r -'L-c- -`-'-` -- - ---- — " — - ii II IF YARDL1.Y OAK. 219 VWhile thus tlrough all tie stages thou hlast ipshl'd Of treeship-first a seed'ling, lid in 'rrass; Then twig; then saplin-l; and, as cent'ry roll'd Slow after century, a giant-bulk Of girth enormous, with moss cushion'd root Uplieav'd above tle soil, and:;ides eulboss'd Wit.h prominent wens globuse-till at the last l'he rottenness, which time is charlg'd to inflict On other mighty ones, found also thec. What exhibitions va lous ha1th tle worid Witness'd of mutability.'1 all That we account most durable below! Change is the diet on which all subsist, Created changeable, and change at last Destroys them. Skies uncertain now the lheat Transmitting cloudless, and the solar beam Now quenching in a boundless sea of clouds- Calm and alternate storml, Inmisture!and drouglht, Invigorate by turns the sprinocs of life j In all that live, plant, anill;l, and man, And in conclusion mar th.:nui. Nature's threads, Fine passing thought, e'cn in her coarsest works; Delight in agitation, yet sustain The force, that agitates, not unimpair'd But, worn by frequent impulse, to the cause Of their best tone their dissolution owe. Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still The great and little of thy lot, thy growth From almost nullity into a state Of matchless grandeur, and declension thenc;-, Slow, into such magnificent decay. Time was, when, settling on thy leaf, a fly Could shake thee to the root-and time has been When tempests could not. At thy filrmest a(ge Thou liadst within thy bole solid contents, That mirght have ribb'd tile i;idts and plank'dl thle deck!1 --— "'- — --- --"" ---- --- —-- --— I --- — -------— J i I i/ I I I i h I!~ I.._, _ _ ----- --------- - -----— . -~ ---- --- ----— L —c — ----2, _, 220 IARDI, EY OAK. Of sonic flagg'd admlliral; and tortuous arms, Thle shipwright's d(I t;rlln treasure, (lidst present To the four-quarter'd winds, robust and bold,! Warp'd into tough I;nee-timlber," many a load But tlle axe spar'd tihe. In those thriftier days Oaks fi:ll not, hewn I / thousands, to supply The bottomless demands of contest, wag'dr For senatorial honours. Thus to Tinue The task was left to whittle thee away With his sly scythe, whose ever nibbling edge, Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more, )isjoinintg from the rest, has, unobserv'd, Aclliev'd a labour, which hiad far and wide, By man perform'd, made all the forest ring. Embowell'd now, and of thy ancient self Possessing nought but the scoop'd rind, tliat seems An lugoe throat, calling to tile clouds for drink, Which it would give in rivulets to thy root. Thou temptest none, but rather much forbidd'st The feller's toil; which thou couldst ill requite. Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, A quarry of stout spurs, and knotted fangs, Which, crook'd into a thousand whinisies, clasp The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect. So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet Fails not, in virtue and ill wisdomn laid, Though all the superstructure, by the tooti Pulveriz'd of venality, a shell Stands now, and semnilance only of itself! Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent ther off loncr since, and roveis of the forest wild * Knee-Timber is found in tlie crooked arms of oak, which, ov reason of their dLsilortion, are easily adljusted to the uiigle forined wliere tlih deck and llie ship's sidles lcct. i I i I II I - i U I~~~~~~-__~_ II I I i i I i ii t t I YARDLEY OAK. 221 With bow and shaft, ha; e burnt them. Some have left A splinter'd stump, bleach'd to a snowy white; IAn, some, memnorial none where once they grew. Yet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth Proof' not contemptible of what she can, Even wvlhore death predomninates. The spring Finds thee not less alive to her sweet forco Than yonder upstarts of the neighb'ring wood, So much thy juniors, wlo their birth receiv'd H-alf a millennium since the date of thine. But since, although well qualified by age To teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voice May be expected from tlee, seated here On thy distorted root, with hearers none Or prompter, save the scene, 1 will perform Myself the oracle, and will discourse In my own ear suclI matter as I may. One man alone, the father of us all, Drew nor his life fronm wno: an; never gaz'd, With mute unconsciousness of what he saw, On all around him; learn'd not by degrees, Nor ow'd articulation to his ear: But, moulded by his 1Mak.-r into man At once, upstood intelligent, survey'd All creatures, with precision understood Their purport, uses, properties, assigned To eacn his nlame significalnt, and, fil'd With love and wisdom, rendered back to Ileav'n In praise harlmonious the first air he drew. Ile was excus'd the penalties of dull Minority. No tutor charg,'d his hand V ith the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his mind With problems. History, not wanted yet, Lc.m'd on her elbow, watching Time, whose course, Eventful, should supply her with a theme --,19. I I I i I i i II -....._., ~ ---- - -.....-. -..... —. _..-... ---.- _ fi_ -- I I I iI 'I I I I I i i I 11 11 1i I I I I II I I I I I i I I11, I - -------- -- -------- -- - - ----------- -- - ---- ------- --- ------—. --- —— I. ---.. --- —- --- —--------—. cl —, ( 222 ) I I 1i TO TIHE NIGHTINGALE, WHICH TIlE AUTHOR HEARD SING ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY. [1792.] WHENCE is it, that amaz'd I hear From yonder wither'd spray, This foremost morn of all the year, The melody of May? And why, since thousands would be proud Of such a favour shown, Am 1 selected from the crowd, To witness it alone? Sinr'st thou, sweet P'lilonel, to me, For that I also longr Ila ie practis'd in the groves like thco, Tllhoughl not like tlhee in song? Or sn^g'st thou rather um der force Of some divine cor nand, Comllmision'd to presage a courso Of happier days at hand. Thrice welcome, then! for many a long And joyless year have 1, Aa thou to-day, put firtlh Ily soig B3cneath a wintry sky. But thee no wintry skies can harm, Who only need'st to sirg, To make ev'n January charli, And cv'ry seasomn Spriri-. I I H 1 1 1 1 7 ___ _ - _ _ _ _ _ L _j I (223 ) II IZN~LINES, IIritten for insertion, in a collection of lal(w-ilrititffs and signaftures made 1)y Aliss Patty, sister oj I Hnna/h More. \\// [l7IL[March 6) 17C2.] INs vain to live from age to age While modern bards endeavour, I write my name in Patty's page, And gain my point for ever. W. COWPER I EPITAPII oN. free but tame R:edbreast, a favourite oJ! ~~I J~tMiss Sally Hurdis. 11{j~ C~[Mnarch, 1792.] THESE are not dew-drops, these are tears, And tears by Sally shed For absent Robin, who she fears, With too much cause, is dead. One morn he came not to her hand As he was wont to come, And on her finger perli'd, to stand Picking his breakfast crurib. ~ i~~~~~~~~~~~t I ___________________ ___________ I. I I i I I 224 SONNET. Alarm'd, she call'd him, and perplex'd She sought him but in vain, That day lie came not, nor tie next, Nor ever came arain. She, therefore, raised him here a tomb, Though where he fell, or how, None knows, so secret was his doom, Nor where le mnoulders now. lad lialf a score of coxcombs died In social Robin's stead, Poor Sally's tears had soon been dried, Or haply never shed. But Bob was neither rudely bold, Nor spiritlessly tame; Nor was, like theirs, his bosom co!d. But always in a flame. SONNET TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ES(Q. i'r 1 i I I I I I [.Spril 16, 1792.] Tur country, Wilberforce, with just disdain, Hears thee by cruel men and impious calI'd Fanatick, for thy zeal to loose the cnthrall'd Fronm exile, publick sale, and slav'ry's cl:hin. IFriend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fe:tter gall'd, Fear not lest lalbour such aa thine be evain. i I i I i I - - ---- - ----- - --- -.- - I - —. -I-.- - - - -===7 -,. i I i i i I I I - I-~~~~~~- 1 — ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ -- ------— ~~~~~~~~~~~I I I i I 11 1 I I i i I I i II i i I I I I I i i i 1 I I I II I i i I! i, I i I I I II I i H 'II I i (I i I, E PIGRAM n.. 225 Thou lhast achiev'd a. part; hast gain'd tile ear Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause; Hope smiles, joy springs, and tlo' cold caution pause P. nd weave delay, the better hour is near That shall remunerate tly toils severe By peace for Afric, fernc'd with British laws. Enjoy what thou lhast won, esteem and love From all the just on earth, and all the blest above. EPIGIRASI. P'rinted in thle Aorthamtpton Mercury.) To purify their wine some people bleed A lamb into the barrel, and succeed; No nostrum, planters say, is half so good To make fine sugar, as a ntcgro's blood. Now lan.ils and netlroes both are Iharmless things, And thence perhaps this wondrous virtue springs, 'Tis in tho blood of innocence aloneGood cause why planters never try their own I i I I I i I I I i I III i I I I I I --- — ---- -— `- --- --— I --- —--^`- —- --- --— --- ( 226, 1 Ift. AUSTIN, OF1 CECII-STREE'', LONDON. [.May 20(, 1792.] A USTIN! accept a grateful verse fron m e, The poet's treasure, no inglorious fee e| Lov'd by the Muses, thy ingenuous minid Pleasing requital in my verse may find; Verse oft has dash'd the scythe of time aside,I Immortalizing names which else had died; And 0! could I commr.nd tile glittering cwallih With which sick kings are glad to purchase health i Yet, if extensive famle, and sure to live, Were in the power of verse like mine to give, I would not recompense his art with less, ' Who, giving Mary health, heals my distress. i I Friend of my friend!* I love thee, tho' unknown, And boldly call thee. bointr his, my own. 1'~i ijB H~tMayley. I|. I ' - I l J __I__ _______ __________I___~_ _____ II_ __11____ __I_ _ _I____ __ __ _ ___ _______II______ I I I I I I 11 i i!. I I I I I i I II i I i I 1 I I I i I I (W27) SONN.-IT, ADDRLESSED TO WILLIAM IHAYLEY, ESQ. [June 2, 17)2.] HAYLEY-thy tenderness fraternal shown, In our first interview, delightful guest! To Mary and me for her dear sake distress'd, Such as it is has made my heart thy own, Though heedless now of new engagements grown: For threcscore winters make a wintry breast, And 1 had purpos'd ne'er to go in quest Of Friendship more, except with God alone. But thou hast won me; nor is God my foe, Who, ere this last afflictive scene began, Sent thee to mitigate the dreadful blow, My brother, tby vhose sylpathy I know Thy true deserts intallibly to scan, Not more t' admire the bard than love the man. I i i i I i i i i:1 i Ii 11 II;I i i i i i I I II, I I' i I I I , --- —---------— LII --- —--~ ---L ---- I I ( 228 ) I j CATHARINA: THE SECOND PART. On her.Mfarriagfe to George Courtcn',y,!; \L [June, 17)2.1 j i BELIEVE it or not, as you choose. The doctrine is certainly trie. That the tuture is known to tile mluse. And poets are oracles too. I did but express a desire, To see Catharina at nhome, At the side of my friend George's firo, And lo-she is actually comne. Such prophecy some may despise, But the wish of a poet and friend Perhaps is approv'd in tile skies, And therefore attains to its end. 'Twas a wish that flew ardently fortl From a bosom effectually warm'd With the talents, the graces, and worth Of the person for whom it was forn'd Maria* would leave us, I knew, To the grief and regret of us all, But less to our grief could we view Catharina the Queen of thle lall. And therefore I wish'd as I did, And therefore this union of hands Not a whisper was heard to forbid, But all cry-Amen-to the banns * Lady Throckmorton.!1 I._ - ------ -- --- ---- ------ - -------- __ ___ ________ _ __ _ _ _ 1__1__ ______ _ __ _____ _______ I I I I I I! I I AN EPITAPH. Since therefore I seem to incur No danger of wishing in vain, When making good wishes for IHer, I will e'en to my wishes agrninWith one I have made her a Wife, And now I will try with another. Which I cannot suppress for my liteHow soon 1 can make her a Mother -Q0*AN EPITAPH. [172.] HIERE lies one who never drew Blood himnself, yet many slew; (ave the gun its aim, and figure 1\Made in field, yet ne'er pu!l'd trigger, Armed men have gladly made Hlim their guide, and Iimi obey'd At his signified desire, Would advance, present, and Fire — Stout he was, and large of limb, Scores have fled at sight of him; And to all this fame he rose Only following his Nose. Neptune was he call'd, not Ile Who controls the boist'rous sea, But of happier command, Neptune of the firrow'd land; And your wonder vain to shorten, Pointer to Sir Jolh7 Throckmorton. 229 I I I I I I i I i I I i I I VOL. III. 20 I; I: i I I I ---— ~ --- —- --— ~- ----— ----~ ---- - — ~ — ---- - ------ --~ --- —---- ( 2;30 ) ON FOP, LADY TIlI.OCKMI DnTO). EPITAPH A DOG BELONGING TO I I I [Jugfust, 1792.] THOUvGo once a puppy, and though Fop by nnnec, Here moulders One whose bones some honmour cl'imi No sycophant, although.f spaniel race, And tholugh no hound, a martyr to the chaseYe squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice, Your haunts no longer echo to his voice; This record of his fate exulting- view, IIe (lied worn out with vain pursuit of yoe1. " Yes-" the indignant shade of Fop replic — "And worn with vain pursuit, Man also dies." SONNET TO GEORGE ROMNEY: ESQ. ON I; II h i i i Ii j! I I 1 j i i i i 1. iI I I.i II I I i I 11 I I II I I I I I I I HIls pzcture of me in Crayons, drawn at Earthamn in the 61st year of my age, and in the months of.qugust and September, 1792. [October, 1792.] ROMNEY, expert infallibly to trace On chart or canvass, not the form alono And semblance, l)ut, however faintly shown, The mind's impression too on every face I I I --- —-- c^ — -. — i 11 I i ii i i 1! i H I:I i I I H;I i i i!! i i. I 11 i! I i I: i!! I. I I I 1 I! 1, I i I I. I ON RECEIVING HAYLEY'S 'ICTURE. 231 With str, kes tlat time oulght never to erase Thou hast so pencill'd mine, tlat though I own The subject worthless, I have never known The artist shining with superiour grace. But this I mark-that symptoms none of wo In thy incomparable work appear. Well-1 am satisfied it should be so, Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear: For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see When I was Hlavlcy's guest, and sat to Thee? ON REtCEIVING HAYLEY'S PICTURE. [January, 1793.] IN langlMge warm as could be breath'd or penn'd, Thy picture speaks th' Original, my Friend, Not by those looks that indicate thy mindThey only speak thee Friend of all mankind; Expression here more soothling stil I see, Tlat Friend of all a partial Friend to me 11 I II I III:_. --- -. ~ - ~ - - ----- ~~ - -- -— ~ --- -------- ~ ----- --- - - ( 232) EPITAPII ON MR CHESTER, OF CIIICIIELEY. [p ril 1793.] TEARS flow, and cease not, where tlhe good man lies, Till all who knew him follow to the skies. Tears therefore fall where Chester's ashes slaeep; l-[im wife, friends, brothers, children, servants, weep, And justly —few shall ever tni transcend As husband, parent, brotler, mlaster, friend. ONI A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S BOWEVR' DESIGNED TO COVER A GARDEN-SEAT. [Springr of 1793.] THiRIVE, gentle plant; and weave a bow'r For Mary and for me, And deck with many a splendid flow'r Thy foliage large and free. Thou cam'st from Eartham, and wilt shade (If truly I divine) Some future day tl' illustrious head Of Him who made thee mine....J - ----— ------- ---— ` -I — -------- --— ' — - -I --- —---------- ' --- ____ _ _ _I___ _____I_ _____ ______ _ _ _ _1____1____1_ - - I \ TO ANNEI BODIIAMI. 2'33 Should Daphne show a jealous frown, And envy seize tle Bay, Affirminc none so fit to crown Suchl honour'd brows as they, Thy cause with zeal we shall derfend, And with convincing pow'r; For why should not the Virgin's Friend B3e crown'd with Virgin's bow'r? W I w I i Receiving from her a yetwork Purse, made by herself.,II [ay 4, 17i,3.] MY gentle Anne, whom heretofore, When I was young, and thou no more Than plaything for a nurse, jI I danc'd and fondled on my knee, i A kitten both in size and glee, I thank thee for my purse. Gold pays the worth of all things here: B ut not of love;-that gem s too dear For richest rogues to win it; I, therefore, as a proof of love, Esteem thy present far above The best thlin;s kept within it. 2_0 - I I I I I i I i i r-r I I i I I II i i i I I I i I I I I II Ii I1 i ii i I I I i ii iI Ii II i I i I I I I I - I I - ----— - ` — --- —- --- —---— ~- --------------- --- ----—. --- —--- ----------- --— __ — ---- ----- ( 234 ) INSCRIPTION For an Hlermita(ge in the.author's Garden [May, 1793.] Tinis cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, Built, as it has been, in our waning years; A rest afforded to our weary feet, Preliminary to-the last retreat. TO MRS. UNWIN. [May, 1793.] MARY! I want a lyre with other strings, Such aid from heav'n as sonme have feign'd they drew, An eloquence scarce giv'n to mortals, new And undebas'd by praise of meaner things, That ere through age or wo I shed my wings, 1 may record thy worth with honour due, In verse as musical as thou art true, And that immortalizes whom it sings. But thou hast little need. There is a book By seraphs writ with beams of:eav'nly light, On which the eyes of God not rarely look, A clronicle of actions just and bright; There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare tlce mine. I I I I I I.I I i I I il I I I II ( 235)! 7ro I i I I I JOHN JOIINSO(N, ON Hits plresenting me with an antique bust of Inomci [May, 1793.] KINSMAN belov'd and as a son, by me! When I behold this fruit of thy regard, T':e sculptur'd form of my old fav'rite bard, I rev'rence feel for him, and love for tlee, Joy too and grief. Much joy that there should be Wise men and learn'd, who grudge not to reward W:tn some applause my bold attempt and hard, Whi"h others scorn: Criticks by courtesy. The grief is this, that sunk in Homer's mine 1 loose my precious years now moon to fail, Handling his gold, which, howsoe'er it shine, Proves dross, when balanc'd in the Christian scalo. Be wiser thou-likeour forefather DONNE, Seek heav'nly wealth, and work for God alone. li I i I 1 I i. —c- - I ~;_ ~ -. --- —_ ^~ —_-_-___ _ _ _ _ __1- ~ -.._ -. _ ~ __. iI I j (236 ) ~~I ~~~~ 'TO i t A YOUNG FRIEND, 1.....1 Ilis arriving att Cambridge wet, wolen ne rain h:tld fallen there. [May, 1793.]! 11 Gideon's fleece, which drencl'd with delw lla ji;~ ~ found, ' While moisture none refresh'd tlhe herbs around, Might fitly represent the Church endow'd With heav'nly gifts, to heathens not allow'd;. In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high, Thy locks were wet when other's locks were dry. Hleav'n grant us half the omen-may we see Not drought on others, but mucn dew on thee I -, i [June, 179".] But where, howevcr bleak the view, Some better thingrs ore found. I 11 I I ii I ii I1 III i1 I ~- - - --- - - - i A TALE. 237 For husbailn there and wife may boast ''heir union undcfil'd. And false ones are as rare almost As hedge-rows in the wild. In Scotland's realm, forlorn and bare, The hist'ry chanc'd of lateThis hist'ry of a wedded pair, A chaffinch and his mate. The spring drew near, each felt a breast With genial instinct fill'd; They pair'd and would have built a nest, But found not where to build. The heath uncovcr'd, and the moor3, Except with snow and sleet, Sca-beaten rocks, and naked slores Could yield them no retreat. Long time a breeding-place tlcey sought, Till both grew vex'd and tir'd; At length a ship arriving, brought The good so long desir'd. A ship! could such a restless tliing Afford them place of rest? Or was tlhe merchant charg'd to bring Ths homeless birds a nest? Hush-silent hearers profit mostThis racer of the sea Prov'd kinder to;hem than tie coast, It serv'd them with a Tree. But such a tree! 'twas sllaven deal, The tree they call a Mast, And had a hollow withl a wheel Throughi which the tackle pass'd I I I1 I II i I I --- ---------- -- - - -- - ~~ ~ - --- ------- ~ --- ---- --------- -- -- ----- -------- - — ~ — i I I I i i i i i I i i i I i i I i I 238 A TALE.!'1 ~ Within that cavity aloft, 1i1~ tTheir roofless home they fix'd, jI t~Form'd with materials neat and soft, 3Bents, wool, and feathers mix'd. }i~j 0Four iv'ry eggs soon pave its floor;! With russet specks bedight --- The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore And lessens to the sight. ~I TiThe mother-bird is gone to sea As she had chlang'd her kind; But goes the male; ';rVa wiser, h1 Is doubtless left behindl? No-soon as firom ashore lie s;aw The winged mansion move,! He flew to reach it, by a law i 11~~i jOf never-failing love. Tl'hen perching at his consort's side, Was briskly borne along, ~i i 'The billows and the blast defied, And cheer'd her with a song. The seaman with sincere deliglht, His feather'd shipmates eyes, Scarce lest exulting in the sight Than when he tows a prize. For seamen much believe in signs, And from a chance so new, Each some approaching good divines, And may his hopes be true! lail honour'd land! a desert where Not even birds can lide, Yet p.rent of tllis loving pair Whom nothing could divide. 1I I 1; i I i I I I I i I i I I! - -- ---- ------------- -- -- ---- ---- --— ~ --- --------------------- -- --- ------------ - I A TAIE. And ye who, rather than resirn Your matrimonial plan, Were not afraid to plough the brine In company with Man. For whose lean country much disdain We English often show, Yet from a richer nothing gain But wantonness and wo. Be it your fortune, year by year, The same resource to prove, And may ye, sometimes landing h'rc, Instruct us how to love ' This Tale is founded on an article (tf intfll("ierr t'hi' t// A uthor' Jund in the Bucking-hamlsh ire Ik lf.id.;:' S