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diff --git a/old/10587-8.txt b/old/10587-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2dae24f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10587-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15709 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's +Fables; and Somerville's Chase, by Joseph Addison, John Gay, +William Sommerville + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's Fables; and Somerville's Chase + With Memoirs and Critical Dissertations, + by the Rev. George Gilfillan + +Authors: Joseph Addison, John Gay, William Sommerville + +Release Date: January 4, 2004 [EBook #10587] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF ADDISON *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + +THE + +POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +JOSEPH ADDISON; + +GAY'S FABLES; + +AND + +SOMERVILLE'S CHASE. + + + * * * * * + + + +With Memoirs and Critical Dissertations, + +BY THE + +REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. + + + * * * * * + + M.DCCC.LIX. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +ADDISON'S POETICAL WORKS. + +LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON, + + POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS:-- + + To Mr Dryden, + + A Poem to his Majesty, presented + to the Lord Keeper, + + A Translation of all Virgil's Fourth + + Georgic, except the Story of + Aristæus, + + A Song for St Cecilia's Day, + + An Ode for St Cecilia's Day, + + An Account of the greatest English Poets, + + A Letter from Italy, + + Milton's Style Imitated, in a + Translation of a Story out of + the Third Æneid, + + The Campaign, + + Cowley's Epitaph on Himself, + + Prologue to the 'Tender Husband,' + + Epilogue to the 'British Enchanters,' + + Prologue to Smith's 'Phædra and + Hippolitus,' + + Horace Ode III., Book III., + + The Vestal, + + OVID'S METAMORPHOSES:-- + + BOOK II. + + The Story of Phaeton, + + Phaeton's Sisters transformed + into Trees, + + The Transformation of Cyenus + into a Swan, + + The Story of Calisto, + + The Story of Coronis, and Birth + of Æsculapius, + + Ocyrrhoe Transformed to a Mare, + + The Transformation of Battus to + a Touchstone, + + The Story of Aglauros, transformed + into a Statue, + + Europa's Rape, + + BOOK III. + + The Story of Cadmus, + + The Transformation of Actæon + into a Stag, + + The Birth of Bacchus, + + The Transformation of Tiresias, + + The Transformation of Echo, + + The Story of Narcissus, + + The Story of Pentheus, + + The Mariners transformed to + Dolphins, + + The Death of Pentheus + + BOOK IV. + + The Story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus, + + TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE + PRINCESS OF WALES, + + TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER, ON + HIS PICTURE OF THE KING, + + THE PLAY-HOUSE, + + ON THE LADY MANCHESTER, + + AN ODE, + + AN HYMN, + + AN ODE, + + AN HYMN, + + PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII. + + +THE LIFE OF JOHN GAY + + GAY'S FABLES:-- + + INTRODUCTION.--PART I. + + The Shepherd and Philosopher + + Fable I.--The Lion, the Tiger, and the Traveller + + Fable II.--The Spaniel and the Cameleon + + Fable III.--The Mother, the Nurse, and the Fairy + + Fable IV.--The Eagle, and the Assembly of Animals + + Fable V.--The Wild Boar and the Ram + + Fable VI.--The Miser and Plutus + + Fable VII.--The Lion, the Fox, and the Geese + + Fable VIII.--The Lady and the Wasp + + Fable IX.--The Bull and the Mastiff + + Fable X.--The Elephant and the Bookseller + + Fable XI.--The Peacock, the Turkey, and the Goose + + Fable XII.--Cupid, Hymen, and Plutus + + Fable XIII.--The Tame Stag + + Fable XIV.--The Monkey who had seen the World + + Fable XV.--The Philosopher and the Pheasants + + Fable XVI.--The Pin and the Needle + + Fable XVII.--The Shepherd's Dog and the Wolf + + Fable XVIII.--The Painter who pleased Nobody and Everybody + + Fable XIX.--The Lion and the Cub + + Fable XX.--The Old Hen and the Cock + + Fable XXI.--The Rat-catcher and Cats + + Fable XXII.--The Goat without a Beard + + Fable XXIII.--The Old Woman and her Cats + + Fable XXIV.--The Butterfly and the Snail + + Fable XXV.--The Scold and the Parrot + + Fable XXVI.--The Cur and the Mastiff + + Fable XXVII.--The Sick Man and the Angel + + Fable XXVIII.--The Persian, the Sun, and the Cloud + + Fable XXIX.--The Fox at the point of Death + + Fable XXX.--The Setting-dog and the Partridge + + Fable XXXI.--The Universal Apparition + + Fable XXXII.--The Two Owls and the Sparrow + + Fable XXXIII.--The Courtier and Proteus + + Fable XXXIV.--The Mastiffs + + Fable XXXV.--The Barley-mow and the Dunghill + + Fable XXXVI.--Pythagoras and the Countryman + + Fable XXXVII.--The Farmer's Wife and the Raven + + Fable XXXVIII.--The Turkey and the Ant + + Fable XXXIX.--The Father and Jupiter + + Fable XL.--The Two Monkeys + + Fable XLI.--The Owl and the Farmer + + Fable XLII.-The Jugglers + + Fable XLIII.-The Council of Horses + + Fable XLIV.--The Hound and the Huntsman + + Fable XLV.--The Poet and the Rose + + Fable XLVI.--The Cur, the Horse, and the Shepherd's Dog + + Fable XLVII.--The Court of Death + + Fable XLVIII.--The Gardener and the Hog + + Fable XLIX.--The Man and the Flea + + Fable L.--The Hare and many Friends + + + PART II. + + Fable I.--The Dog and the Fox + + Fable II.--The Vulture, the Sparrow, and other Birds + + Fable III.--The Baboon and the Poultry + + Fable IV.--The Ant in Office + + Fable V.--The Bear in a Boat + + Fable VI.--The Squire and his Cur + + Fable VII.--The Countryman and Jupiter + + Fable VIII.--The Man, the Cat, the Dog, and the Fly + + Fable IX.--The Jackall, Leopard, and other Beasts + + Fable X.--The Degenerate Bees + + Fable XI.--The Pack-horse and the Carrier + + Fable XII.--Pan and Fortune + + Fable XIII.-Plutus, Cupid, and Time + + Fable XIV.--The Owl, the Swan, the Cock, the Spider, the Ass, + and the Farmer + + Fable XV.--The Cook-maid, the Turnspit, and the Ox + + Fable XVI.--The Ravens, the Sexton, and the Earth-worm + + SONGS:-- + + Sweet William's Farewell to Black-eyed Susan + + A Ballad, from the What-d'ye-call-it + + +SOMERVILLE'S CHASE. + +THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SOMERVILLE + + SOMERVILLE'S CHASE:-- + + Book I. + + Book II. + + Book III. + + Book IV. + + + + +LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON. + +Joseph Addison, the _Spectator_, the true founder of our periodical +literature, the finest, if not the greatest writer in the English +language, was born at Milston, Wiltshire, on the 1st of May 1672. A +fanciful mind might trace a correspondence between the particular months +when celebrated men have been born and the peculiar complexion of their +genius. Milton, the austere and awful, was born in the silent and gloomy +month of December. Shakspeare, the most versatile of all writers, was +born in April, that month of changeful skies, of sudden sunshine, and +sudden showers. Burns and Byron, those stormy spirits, both appeared in +the fierce January; and of the former, he himself says, + + "'Twas then a blast o' Januar-win' + Blew welcome in on Robin." + +Scott, the broad sunny being, visited us in August, and in the same month +the warm genius of Shelley came, as Hunt used to tell him, "from the +planet Mercury" to our earth. Coleridge and Keats, with whose song a deep +bar of sorrow was to mingle, like the music of falling leaves, or of +winds wailing for the departure of summer, arrived in October,--that +month, the beauty of which is the child of blasting, and its glory the +flush of decay. And it seems somehow fitting that Addison, the mild, the +quietly-joyous, the sanguine and serene, should come, with the daisy and +the sweet summer-tide, on the 1st of May, which Buchanan thus hails-- + + "Salve fugacis gloria saeculi, + Salve secunda digna dies nota, + Salve vetustae vitae imago, + Et specimen venientis aevi." + + "Hail, glory of the fleeting year! + Hail, day, the fairest, happiest here! + Image of time for ever by, + Pledge of a bright eternity." + +Dr Lancelot Addison, himself a man of no mean note, was the father of +our poet. He was born in 1632, at Maltesmeaburn, in the parish of _Corby +Ravensworth_, (what a name of ill-omen within ill-omen, or as Dr Johnson +would say, "inspissated gloom"!) in the county of Westmoreland. His +father was a minister of the gospel; but in such humble circumstances, +that Lancelot was received from the Grammar-school of Appleby into +Queen's College, Oxford, in the capacity of a "poor child." After passing +his curriculum there, being chiefly distinguished for his violent High +Church and Monarchical principles, for which he repeatedly smarted, he, +at the Restoration, was appointed chaplain to the garrison of Dunkirk, +and soon after he accepted a similar situation in Tangier, which had been +ceded by Portugal to Britain. In this latter post he felt rather lonely +and miserable, and was driven, in self-defence, to betake himself to the +study of the manners and the literature of the Moors, Jews, and other +Oriental nations. This led him afterwards to publish some works on +Barbary, on Hebrew customs, and Mohammedanism, which shew a profound +acquaintance with these subjects, and which, not without reason, are +supposed to have coloured the imagination of his son Joseph, who is +seldom more felicitous than when reproducing the gorgeous superstitions +and phantasies of the East. + +For eight years, old Addison lingered in loathed Tangier; nor, when +he returned to England on a visit, had he any purpose of permanently +residing in his own country. But his appointment was hastily bestowed on +another; and it was fortunate for him that a private friend stepped in +and presented him with the living of Milston, near Ambrosebury, Wilts, +worth £120 a-year. This, which Miss Aiken calls a "pittance," was +probably equivalent to £250 now. At all events, on the strength of it, +he married Jane, daughter of Dr Gulstone, and sister to the Bishop of +Bristol, who, in due time, became the mother of our poet. Lancelot was +afterwards made Prebendary of Salisbury Cathedral, and King's Chaplain +in ordinary; about the time (1675) when he took the degree of D.D. +Subsequently he became Archdeacon of Salisbury, and at last, in 1683, +obtained the Deanery of Lichfield. But for his suspected Jacobitism, he +would probably have received the mitre. He died in 1703. + +Joseph had two brothers and three sisters. His third sister, Dorothy, +survived the rest, and was twice married. Swift met her once, and with +some awe (for he, like all bullies, had a little of the coward about +him), describes her as a kind of wit, and very like her brother. The +_Spectator_ seems to have been a wild and wayward boy. He is said to have +once acted as ringleader in a "barring out," described by Johnson as a +savage license by which the boys, when the periodical vacation drew near, +used to take possession of the school, of which they barred the doors, +and bade the master defiance from the windows. On another occasion, +having committed some petty offence at a country school, terrified at the +master's apprehended displeasure, he made his escape into the fields and +woods, where for some days he fed on fruits and slept in a hollow tree +till discovered and brought back to his parents. This last may seem the +act of a timid boy, and inconsistent with the former, and yet is somehow +congenial to our ideal of the character of our poet. It required perhaps +more daring to front the perils of the woods than the frown of the +master, and augured, besides, a certain romance in his disposition which +found afterwards a vent in literature. After receiving instruction, first +at Salisbury, and then at Lichfield, (his connexion with which place +forms a link, uniting him in a manner to the great lexicographer, who was +born there,) he was removed to the Charterhouse, and there profited so +much in Greek and Latin, that at fifteen he was not only, says Macaulay, +"fit for the university, but carried thither a classical taste and a +stock of learning which would have done honour to a master of arts." He +had at the Charter-house formed a friendship, destined to have important +bearings on his after history, with Richard Steele, whose character may +be summed up in a few sentences. Who has not heard of Sir Richard Steele? +Wordsworth says of one of his characters-- + + "She was known to every star, + And every wind that blows." + +Poor Dick was known to every sponging-house, and to every bailiff +that, blowing in pursuit, walked the London streets. A fine-hearted, +warm-blooded character, without an atom of prudence, self-control, +reticence, or forethought; quite as destitute of malice or envy; +perpetually sinning and perpetually repenting; never positively +irreligious, even when drunk; and often excessively pious when recovering +sobriety,--Steele reeled his way through life, and died with the +reputation of being an orthodox Christian and a (nearly) habitual +drunkard; the most affectionate and most faithless of husbands; a brave +soldier, and in many points an arrant fool; a violent politician, and the +best natured of men; a writer extremely lively, for this, among other +reasons, that he wrote generally on his legs, flying or meditating flight +from his creditors; and who embodied in himself the titles of his three +principal works--"The Christian Hero," "The Tender Husband," and the +_Tatler_;--being a "Christian Hero" in intention, one of those intentions +with which a certain place is paved; a "Tender Husband," if not a +true one, to his two ladies; and a _Tatler_ to all persons, in all +circumstances, and at all times. When Addison first knew this original, +he was probably uncontaminated, and must have been, as he continued to +the end to be, an irascible but joyous and genial being; and they became +intimate at once, although circumstances severed them from each other for +a long period. + +In 1687 Addison entered Queen's College, Oxford; but sometime after, +(Macaulay says "not many months," Johnson "a year," and Miss Aiken "two +years,") Dr Lancaster, of Magdalene College, having accidentally seen +some Latin verses from his pen, exerted himself to procure their author +admission to the benefits of a foundation, then the wealthiest in Europe. +Our poet was first elected Demy, then Probationary Fellow in 1697, and +in the year following, Actual Fellow. During the ten years he resided +at Oxford, he was a general favourite, remarkable for his diligence in +study, for the purity and tenderness of his feelings, for his bashful and +retiring manners, for the excellence of his Latin compositions, and for +his solitary walks, pursued in a path they still point out below the elms +which skirt a meadow on the banks of the Cherwell,--a river, we need +scarcely say, which there weds the Isis. It was in such lonely evening or +Saturday strolls that he probably acquired the habit of pensive reverie +to which we owe many of the finest of his speculations in after days, +such as that in _Spectator_, No. 565, beginning, "I was yesterday, about +sunset, walking in the open fields, when insensibly the night fell upon +me," &c. + +Prose English essays, however, were as yet strangers to his pen. His +ambition was to be a poet, and while still under twenty-two, he produced +and printed some complimentary verses to Dryden, then declining in years, +and fallen into comparative neglect. The old poet was pleased with the +homage of the young aspirant, which was as graceful in expression as it +was generous in purpose. For instance, alluding to Dryden's projected +translation of "Ovid," he says, that "Ovid," thus transformed, shall +"reveal" + + "A nobler change than he himself can tell." + +This, however, although happy, starts a different view of the subject. It +suggests the idea that most translations are metamorphoses to the worse, +like that of a living person into a dead tree, or at least of a superior +into an inferior being. In Pope's "Iliad," you have the metamorphosis of +an eagle into a nightingale; in Dryden's "Virgil," you have a stately +war-horse transformed into a hard-trotting hackney; in Hoole's versions +of the Italian Poets, you have nymphs nailed up in timber; while, on the +other hand, in Coleridge's "Wallenstein," you have the "nobler change," +spoken of by Addison, of--shall we say?-a cold and stately holly-tree +turned into a murmuring and oracular oak. + +That, after thus introducing himself to Dryden, he met him occasionally +seems certain, although the rumour circulated by Spence that he taught +the old man to sit late and drink hard seems ridiculous. Dryden +introduced him to Congreve, and through Congreve he made the valuable +acquaintance of Charles Montague, then leader of the Whigs in the House +of Commons, and Chancellor of the Exchequer. + +He afterwards published a translation of that part of the "Fourth Book +of the Georgics" referring to bees, on which Dryden, who had procured a +preface to his own complete translation of the same poem from Addison, +complimented him by saying--"After his bees, my later swarm is scarcely +worth hiving." He published, too, a poem on "King William," and an +"Account of the Principal English Poets," in which he ventures on a +character of Spenser ere he had read his works. It thus is, as might have +been expected, poor and non-appreciative, and speaks of Spenser as a poet +pretty nearly forgotten. Some time after this, he collected a volume, +entitled, "Musæ Anglicanæ," in which he inserted all his early Latin +verses. + +Charles Montague, himself a poet of a certain small rank, and a man of +great general talents, became--along with Somers--the patron of Addison. +He diverted him from the Church, to which his own tastes seemed to +destine him, suggesting that civil employment had become very corrupt +through want of men of liberal education and good principles, and should +be redeemed from this reproach, and declaring that, though he had been +called an enemy of the Church, he would never do it any other injury than +keeping Mr Addison out of it. It is likely that the timid temperament of +our poet concurred with these suggestions of Montague in determining his +decision. His failure as a Parliamentary orator subsequently seems to +prove that the pulpit was not his vocation. After all, his Saturday +papers in the _Spectator_ are as fine as any sermons of that age, and he +perhaps did more good serving as a volunteer than had he been a regular +soldier in the army of the Christian faith. + +Somers and Montague wished to employ their _protégé_ in public service +abroad. There was, however, one drawback. Addison had plenty of English, +Greek, and Latin, but he had little French. This he must be sent abroad +to acquire; and for the purpose of defraying the expenses of his travels, +a pension of £300 a-year was conferred upon him. Paid thus, as few +poets or writers of any kind are, in advance, and having his fellowship +besides, Addison, like a young nobleman, instead of a parson's son, set +out upon his tour. This was in the summer of 1699. He was twenty-seven +years of age, exactly one year younger than Byron, and three years +younger than Milton, when they visited the same regions. He went first to +Paris, and was received with great distinction by Montague's kinsman, the +Earl of Manchester, and his beautiful lady. He travelled with his eyes +quietly open, especially to the humorous aspects of things. In a letter +to Montague he says that he had not seen a _blush_ from his first landing +at Calais, and gives a sarcastic description of the spurious devotion +which the example of the old repentant _roué_, Louis XIV., had rendered +fashionable among the _literati_ of France: "There is no book comes out +at present that has not something in it of an air of devotion. Dacier has +been forced to prove his Plato a very good CHRISTIAN before he ventures +upon his translation, and has so far complied with the taste of the age, +that his whole book is overrun with texts of Scripture, and the notion of +pre-existence, supposed to be stolen from two verses of the prophets." +The sincere believer is usually the first to detect and be disgusted with +the sham one; and Addison was always a sincere believer, but he had also +that happy nature in which disgust is carried quickly and easily off +through the safety-valve of a smile. + +From Paris he went to Blois, the capital of Loir-and-Cher, a small town +about 110 miles south-west of Paris. Here he had two advantages. He found +the French language spoken in its perfection; and as he had not a single +countryman with whom to exchange a word, he was driven on his own +resources. He remained there a year, and spent his time well, studying +hard, rising early, having the best French masters, mingling in society, +although subject, as in previous and after parts of his life, to fits of +absence. His life was as pure as it was simple, his most intimate friend +at Blois, the Abbe Philippeaux, saying: "He had no amour whilst here that +I know of, and I think I should have known it if he had had any." During +this time he sent home letters to his friends in England--to Montague, +Colonel Froude, Congreve, and others[1]--which contain sentences of +exquisite humour. Thus, describing the famous gallery at Versailles, with +the paintings of Louis' victories, he says: "The history of the present +King till the sixteenth year of his reign is painted on the roof by Le +Brun, so that his Majesty has actions enough by him to furnish another +gallery much longer than the first. He is represented with all the terror +and majesty that you can imagine in every part of the picture, and see +his young face as perfectly drawn in the roof as his present one in the +side. The painter has represented His Most Christian Majesty under the +figure of Jupiter throwing thunderbolts all about the ceiling, and +striking terror into the Danube and Rhine, that _lie astonished and +blasted with lightning a little above the cornice_." + +This is Addison all over; and quite as good is his picture of the general +character of the French: "'Tis not in the power of want or slavery to +make them miserable. There is nothing to be met with in the country +but mirth and poverty. Every one sings, laughs, and starves. Their +conversation is generally agreeable, for if they have any wit or sense, +they are sure to shew it. Their women are perfect mistresses in the art +of shewing themselves to the best advantage. They are always gay and +sprightly, and set off the worst faces in Europe with the best airs. +Every one knows how to give herself as charming a look and posture as Sir +Godfrey Kneller could draw her in." + +From Blois he returned to Paris, and was now better qualified, from his +knowledge of the language, to mingle with its philosophers, savants, and +poets. He had some interesting talk with Malebranche and Boileau, the +former of whom "very much praised Mr Newton's mathematics; shook his head +at the name of Hobbes, and told me he thought him a _pauvre esprit_." +Here follows a genuine Addisonianism: "His book is now reprinted with +many additions, among which he shewed me a very pretty hypothesis of +colours, which is different from that of Cartesius or Newton, _though +they may all three be true_." Boileau, now sixty-four, deaf as a post, +and full of the "sweltered venom" of ill-natured criticism, nevertheless +received Addison kindly; and when presented by him with his "Musæ +Anglicanæ," is said from that time to have conceived an opinion of the +English genius for poetry. Addison says that Boileau "hated an ill +poet." Unfortunately, however, for his judgment, it is notorious that he +slighted Shakspeare, Milton, and Corneille, and that, next to Homer and +Virgil, his great idols were Arnaud and Racine. + +In December 1700, tired of French manners, which had lost even their +power of moving him to smiles, and it may be apprehensive of the war +connected with the Spanish succession, which was about to inflame all +Europe, Addison embarked from Marseilles for Italy. After a narrow escape +from one of those sudden Mediterranean storms, in which poor Shelley +perished, he landed at Savona, and proceeded, through wild mountain +paths, to Genoa. He afterwards commemorated his deliverance in the +pleasing lines published in the _Spectator_, beginning with-- + + "How are Thy servants blest, O Lord," + +one verse in which was wont to awaken the enthusiasm of the boy Burns, + + "What though in dreadful whirls we hung, + High on the broken wave," &c. + +The survivor of a shipwreck is, or should be, ever afterwards a sadder +and a wiser man. And Addison continued long to feel subdued and thankful, +and could hardly have been more so though he had outlived _that_ +shipwreck which bears now the relation to all recent wrecks which +"_the_ storm" of November 1703, as we shall see, bore to all inferior +tempests--the loss of the _Royal Charter_,--the stately and gold-laden +bark, which, on Wednesday the 26th October 1859, when on the verge of the +haven which the passengers so much desired to see, was lifted up by +the blast as by the hand of God, and dashed into ten thousand +pieces,--hundreds of men, women, and, alas! alas! children, drowned, +mutilated, crushed by falling machinery, and that, too, at a moment when +they had just been assured that there was no immediate danger, and +when hope was beginning to sparkle in the eyes that were sinking into +despair,--sovereigns, spray, and the mangled fragments of human bodies +massed together as if in the anarchy of hell, and hurled upon the rocks. +Addison, no more than one of the escaped from that saloon of horror and +sea of death, could forget the special Providence by which he was saved; +and the hymn above referred to, and that other still finer, commencing-- + + "When all Thy mercies, O my God! + My rising soul surveys," + +seem a pillar erected on the shore to Him that had protected and redeemed +him. + +From Genoa he went to Milan, and thence to Venice, where he saw a play on +the subject of Cato enacted, and began himself to indite his celebrated +tragedy, of which he completed four acts ere he quitted Italy. On his way +to Rome, he visited the miniature mountain republic of San Marino, which +he contemplated and described with much the same feeling of interest and +amazement, as afterwards, in the _Guardian_, the little colony of ants +immortalised there. Like Swift, (whom Macaulay accuses of stealing from +Addison's Latin poem on the "Pigmies," some hints for his Lilliput,) +Addison had a finer eye for the little than for the vast. He enjoyed +Marino, therefore, and must have chuckled over the description of it in +the geography, as much as if it had been a stroke of his own inventive +pen. "Besides the mountain on which the town stands, the republic +possesses _two adjoining hills_." At Rome he did not stay long at this +time, but as if afraid of the attractions of the approaching Holy +Week--that blaze of brilliant but false light in which so many moths have +been consumed--he hurried to Naples and saw Vesuvius burning over its +beautiful bay with less admiration than has been felt since by many +inferior men. He returned to Rome and lived there unharmed during the +sickly season; thence he went to Florence, surveying with interest the +glories of its art; and in fine he crossed the Alps by Mount Cenis to +Geneva, composing on his way a poetical epistle to Montague, now Lord +Halifax. The Alps do not seem to have much delighted his imagination. +There are a few even still who look upon mountains as excrescences and +deformities, and give to Glencoe only the homage of their unaffected +fears, which is certainly better than the false raptures of others. But, +in Addison's day, admiration for wild scenery was neither pretended nor +felt. Our poet loved, indeed, the great silent starry night, and has +whispered and stammered out some beautiful things in its praise. But he +does this, so to speak, below his breath, while the white Alps, seeming +the shrouded corpses of the fallen Titans, take that breath away, and he +shudders all the road through them, and descends delightedly to the green +pastures and the still waters of lower regions. + +At Geneva, where he arrived in December 1701, he remained some time, +expecting from Lord Manchester the official appointment for which he was +now qualified. But while waiting there, he heard the tidings of King +William's death, which put an end to his hopes as well as to those of +his party. His pension, too, was stopped, and he was obliged to become a +tutor to a young Englishman of fortune. With him he visited many parts of +Switzerland and Germany, and spent a portion of his leisure in writing, +not only his "Travels," but his recondite "Dialogue on Medals,"--a book +of considerable research and great ingenuity, which was not published, +however, till after his death. From Germany he passed to Holland, where +he heard the sad intelligence that his father was no more. During his +stay in Holland, he watched with keen, yet kindly eye, the manners of +the inhabitants; and in his letters hits at their drinking habits with a +mixture of severity and sympathy which is very characteristic. Toward the +close of 1703 he returned home, and, we doubt not, felt at first desolate +enough. His father was dead, his pension withdrawn, his political patrons +out of power, and his literary fame not yet fully established. But, +on the other hand, he was only thirty-one; he had made some new and +influential friends on the Continent, particularly the eminent Edward +Wortley Montague, husband of the still more celebrated Mary Wortley +Montague, and he had in his portfolio a volume of "Travels" of some mark +and likelihood, nearly ready for the press. Besides, the Whigs, low as +they were now in political influence, were still true to their party, +and they welcomed Addison, as one of their rising hopes, into the famous +"Kit-Cat Club," an _omniumgaiherum_ of all whose talents, learning, +accomplishments, wit, or wealth were thought useful to the Whig cause. + +Addison's arrival in England seems to have synchronised or preceded the +great tempest of November 1703, to which we have already referred, and +to which he afterwards alludes in his simile of the Angel in "The +Campaign"-- + + "Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past." + +Our readers will find a sketch of this terrific tempest in the +commencement of Ainsworth's "Jack Shepherd." Macaulay says of it, "It +was the only tempest which, in our latitude, has equalled the rage of +a tropical hurricane. No other tempest was ever in this country the +occasion of a Parliamentary address, or of a national fast. Whole fleets +had been cast away. Large mansions had been blown down; one prelate had +been buried beneath the ruins of his palace. London and Bristol had +presented the appearance of cities just sacked. Hundreds of families were +thrown into mourning. The prostrate trunks of large trees, and the ruins +of houses attested, in all the southern counties, the fury of the blast." +How Addison felt or fared during this storm, we have no means of knowing. +Perhaps his timid nature shrank from it in spite of its appeal to +imagination, or perhaps the poetry that was in him triumphed over his +fears, and as he felt what _Zanga_ was afterwards to say-- + + "I love this rocking of the battlements," + +the image of the Angel, afterwards to be dilated into the vast form of +Wrath, described in the "Campaign," rose on his vision, and remained +there indelibly fixed till the time arrived when, used with artistic +skill, it floated him into fame. + +Meanwhile, he spent this winter and spring of 1703-4 in a rather +precarious manner, and like a true poet. He was lodging in an obscure +garret in the Haymarket, up three stairs, when one day the Right +Honourable Henry Boyle, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, called on him +and communicated a project that had been concocted between Godolphin and +Halifax. The Whigs were now again in the ascendant, and the battle of +Blenheim, fought on the 13th August 1704, had brought their triumph to +a climax. Halifax and Godolphin were mortified at the bad poems in +commemoration of it which poured from the press. Their feeling was +sincerely that which Byron affected in reference to Wellington and +Waterloo-- + + "I wish your bards would sing it rather better." + +They bethought themselves of Addison, and sent Boyle to request him to +write some verses on the subject. He readily undertook the task, and when +he had half-finished the "Campaign," he shewed it to Godolphin, who +was delighted, especially with the Angel, and in gratitude, instantly +appointed the lucky poet to a commissionership worth about £200 a-year, +and assured him that this was only a foretaste of greater favours to +come. The poem soon after appeared. It was received with acclamation, and +Addison felt that his fortune and his fame were both secured. + +Yet, in truth, the "Campaign" is not a great poem, nor, properly +speaking, if we except the Angel, a poem at all. It is simply a _Gazette_ +done into tolerable rhyme; and its chief inspiration comes from its +zealous party-feeling. Marlborough, though a first-rate marshal, was +not a great man, not by any means so great as Wellington, far less as +Napoleon; and how can a heroic poem be written without a hero? Yet the +poem fell in with the humour of the times, and was cried up as though it +had been another book of the Iliad. Shortly afterwards he published +his "Travels," which were thought rather cold and classical. To them +succeeded the opera of "Rosamond," which, being ill-set to music, failed +on the stage; but became, and is still, a favourite in the closet. It +is in the lightest and easiest style of Dryden,--that in which he wrote +"Alexander's Feast," and some other of his lyrics,--but is sustained for +some fifteen hundred lines with an energy and a grace which we doubt if +even Dryden could have equalled. Its verses not only move but dance. The +spirit is genial and sunny, and above the mazy motions shines the light +of genuine poetry. Johnson truly says, that if Addison had cultivated +this style he would have excelled. + +From the date of the "Campaign," Addison's life became an ascending +scale of promotion. We find him first in Hanover with Lord Halifax, then +appointed under-secretary to Sir Charles Hodges, and in a few months +after to the Earl of Sunderland. In 1708 he was elected member for +Malmesbury, and the next year he accompanied Thomas, Earl of Wharton, +Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, to that country as his secretary, and became +Keeper of the Records in Birmingham's Tower,--a nominal office worth £300 +a-year. His secretary's salary was £2000 per annum. + +Previous to this he had resumed his intimacy with Steele, to whom he lent +money, and on one occasion is said to have recovered it by sending a +bailiff to his house. This has been called heartless conduct, but the +probability is that Addison was provoked by the extravagant use made of +the loan by his reckless friend. In Parliament it is well-known Addison +never spoke; but he surrounded himself in private life with a parliament +of his own, and, like Cato, gave his little senate laws. That senate +consisted of Steele, Ambrose, Phillips; the wretched Eustace Budgell, +who afterwards drowned himself; sometimes Swift and Pope; and ultimately +Tickell, who became his most confidential friend and the depositor of his +literary remains. In mixed societies he was silent; but with a few select +spirits around him, and especially after the "good wine did the good +office" of banishing his bashfulness and taciturnity, he became the most +delightful and fascinating of conversers. The staple of his conversation +was quiet, sly humour; but there was fine sentiment, touches of pathos, +and now and then imagination peeped over like an Alp above meaner hills. +Swift alone, we suspect, was his match; but his power lay rather in +severe and pungent sarcasm, in broad, coarse, though unsmiling wit, and +at times in the fierce and terrible sallies of misanthropic rage and +despair. Addison, on leaving England, had, by his modesty, geniality, and +amiable manners, become the most popular man in the country, so much so, +that, says Swift, "he might be king an' he had a mind." + +In Ireland--although he sat as member for Cavan, and appears in +Parliament to have got beyond his famous "I conceive--I conceive--I +conceive"--(having, as the wag observed, "conceived three times and +brought forth nothing"), and spoken sometimes, if not often--he did not +feel himself at home. He must have loathed the licentious and corrupt +Wharton, and felt besides a longing for the society of London, the +_noctes coenoeque Deûm_ he had left behind him. It was in Ireland, +however, that his real literary career began. Steele, in the spring of +1709, had commenced the _Tatler_, a thrice-a-week miscellany of foreign +news, town gossip, short sharp papers _de omnibus rebus et guibusdum +aliis_, with a sprinkling of moral and literary criticism. When Addison +heard of this scheme, he readily lent his aid to it, and then, as honest +Richard admits, "I fared like a distressed prince who calls in a powerful +neighbour to his aid,--I was undone by my auxiliary." To the _Tatler_ +Addison contributed a number of papers, which, if slighter than his +better ones in the _Spectator_, were nevertheless highly characteristic +of his singular powers of observation, character-painting, humour, and +invention. + +In November 1709, he returned to England, and not long after he shared +in the downfall of his party, and lost his secretaryship. This also is +thought to have injured him in a tender point. He had already conceived +an affection for the Countess-Dowager of Warwick, who had been disposed +to encourage the addresses of the Secretary, but looked coldly on +those of the mere man and scribbler Joseph Addison, who, to crown his +misfortunes at this time, had resigned his Fellowship, suffered some +severe pecuniary losses of a kind, and from a quarter which are both +obscure, and was trembling lest he should be deprived of his small Irish +office too. Yet, although reduced and well-nigh beggared, never did +his mind approve itself more rich. Besides writing a great deal in the +_Tatler_, he published a political journal, called the _Whig Examiner_, +in which, although the wit, we think, is not so fine as in his +_Freeholder_, there is a vigour and masculine energy which he has seldom +equalled elsewhere. When it expired, Swift exulted over its death in +terms which sufficiently proved that he was annoyed and oppressed by its +life. "He might well," says Johnson, "rejoice at the death of that which +he could not have killed." + +On the 2d of January 1711, the last _Tatler_ came forth; and on the 1st +of the following March appeared the _Spectator_, which is now the main +pillar of Addison's fame, and the fullest revelation of his exquisite +genius. Without being as a whole a great, or in any part of it a profound +work, there are few productions which, if lost, would be more missed in +literature. One reclines on its pages as on pillows. The sweetness of the +spirit,--the trembling beauty of the sentences, like that of a twilight +wave just touched by the west wind's balmy breath,--the nice strokes +of humour, so gentle, yet so overpowering,--the feminine delicacy and +refinement of the allusions,--the art which so dexterously conceals +itself,--the mild enthusiasm for the works of man and God which glows in +all its serious effusions,--the good nature of its satire,--the geniality +of its criticism,--the everlasting April of the style, so soft and +vivid,--the purity and healthiness of the moral tone,--and the childlike +religion which breathes in the Saturday papers--one or two of which, such +as the "Vision of Mirza," are almost scriptural in spirit and beautiful +simplicity,--combine to throw a charm around the _Spectator_ which works +of far loftier pretensions, if they need not, certainly do not possess. +Macaulay (whom we love for his love of Addison and Bunyan more than +for aught else about his works) truly observes, that few writers have +discovered so much variety and inventiveness as Addison, who, in +the papers of a single week, sometimes traverses the whole gamut of +literature, supplying keen sarcasm, rich portraiture of character, the +epistle, the tale, the allegory, the apologue, the moral essay, and the +religious meditation,--all first-rate in quality, and all suggesting the +idea that his resources are boundless, and that the half has not been +told. His criticisms have been ridiculed as shallow; but while his +lucubrations on Milton were useful in their day as plain finger-posts, +quietly pointing up to the stupendous sublimities of the theme, +his essays on Wit are subtle, and his papers on the "Pleasures of +Imagination" throw on the beautiful topic a light like that of a red +evening west, giving and receiving glory from the autumnal landscape. + +In the end of 1712 the _Spectator_, which had circulated at one time to +the extent of 4000 copies a-day, was discontinued, and in a few weeks the +_Guardian_ supplied its place. It was two months ere Addison began to +write, and during that time it was flippantly dull; but when he appeared +its character changed, and his contributions to the new periodical were +quite as good as the best of his _Spectators_. + +In April 1713 his "Cato" was acted with immense success, and in +circumstances so well known that they need not be detailed at length. +Pope wrote the prologue; Booth enacted the hero; Steele packed the house; +peers, both Tory and Whig, crowded the boxes; claps of applause were +echoed back from High Churchmen to the members of the "Kit-Cat Club;" +Bolingbroke sent fifty guineas, during the progress of the play, to +Booth for defending the cause of liberty against a perpetual dictator, +(Marlborough;) and with the exception of growling Dennis, everybody was +in raptures. The play has long found its level. It has passages of +power and thoughts of beauty, but it has one radical fault--formality. +Mandeville described Addison as a parson in a tie-wig. "Cato" is a parson +without the tie-wig; an intolerable mixture of the patriot and the +pedant. Few would now give one of the _Spectator's_ little papers about +Sir Roger de Coverley for a century of Catos. + +In September 1713 the _Guardian_ stopped; but in June 1714 Addison, now +separated from Steele, who was carrying on a political paper called the +_Englishman_, added an eighth volume to the _Spectator_. Its contents +are more uniformly serious than those of the first seven volumes, and +it contains, besides Addison's matchless papers, some only inferior to +these, especially four by Mr Grove, a dissenting minister in Taunton. It +is recorded in "Boswell" that Baretti having, on the Continent, met with +Grove's paper on "Novelty," it quickened his curiosity to visit Britain, +for he thought, if such were the lighter periodical essays of our +authors, their productions on more weighty occasions must be wonderful +indeed! + +When George I. succeeded to the throne, Addison's fortunes began to +improve. A Council having been appointed to manage matters till the King +arrived, Addison was chosen their secretary; and afterwards he went +over again to Ireland in his old capacity, Sunderland being now +Lord-Lieutenant. Here, much as he differed from Swift in politics, he +resumed his intimacy with him,--an intimacy, considering the dispositions +of the two men, singular, as though a lamb and a flayed bear were to form +an alliance. In 1715 our poet returned to England, and obtained a seat at +the Board of Trade. Early in the year he brought out, anonymously, on the +stage his comedy of the "Drummer," which was coldly received. And towards +the close of it, he commenced a very clever periodical called the +_Freeholder_. We only met with this series a few years ago, but can +assure our readers that some of the most delectable bits of Addison are +to be found in it. There is a Tory fox-hunter yet riding along there, +whom we would advise you to join if you would enjoy one of the richest +treats of humour; and there is a Jacobite army still on its way to +Preston, the only danger connected with approaching which, is lest you be +killed with laughter. + +Shortly after occurred his famous quarrel with Pope, to which we have +already referred in our life of that poet, and do not intend to recur. +Next year Addison's long courtship came to a successful close. He +wedded the Dowager Warwick, went to reside at Holland-house, and became +miserable for life. She was a proud, imperious woman, who, instead of +seeking to wean Addison from his convivial habits, (if such habits in +any excessive measure were his,) drove him deeper into the slough by her +bitter words and haughty carriage. The tavern, which had formerly been +his occasional resort, became now his nightly refuge. In 1717 he received +his highest civil honour, being made Secretary of State under Lord +Sunderland; but, as usual, the slave soon appeared in the chariot. His +health began to break down, and asthma soon obliged him to resign his +office, on receiving a retiring pension of £1500 a-year. Next Steele +and he, having taken opposite sides in politics, got engaged in a paper +war--Steele in the _Plebeian_, and Addison in the _Old Whig_; and +personalities of a disagreeable kind passed between the two friends. In +the meantime Addison was dying fast. Dropsy had supervened on asthma, and +the help of physicians was vain. He prepared himself, like a man and a +Christian, to meet the last stern foe. He sent for Gay and asked his +forgiveness for some act of unkindness he had done him. Gay granted it, +although utterly ignorant of what the offence had been. He had probably, +on account of his Toryism, been deprived, through Addison's means, of +some preferment. He entrusted his works to the care of Tickell, and +dedicated them to Craggs, his successor in the secretaryship, in a +touching and beautiful letter, written a few days before his death. He +called, it is said, the young Earl of Warwick, his wife's son, a very +dissipated young man, and of unsettled religious principles, to his +bedside, and said, "I have sent for you that you may see how a Christian +can die." He breathed his last on the 17th June 1709, forty-seven years +old, and leaving one child, a daughter, who died, at an advanced age, at +Bilton, Warwickshire, in 1797. His funeral took place, at dead of night, +in Westminster Abbey, Bishop Atterbury meeting the procession and reading +the service by torch-light. He was laid beside his friend Montague, and +in a few months his successor, Craggs, was laid beside him. Nearly a +century elapsed ere the present monument was erected over his dust. +Tickell wrote a fine poem to his memory; and a splendid edition of his +works was published by subscription in 1721. + +Addison was cut off in the prime of life, and interrupted in some +literary undertakings and projects of great pith and moment. He had +written a portion of a treatise on the "Evidences of Christianity," and +was meditating some works, such as a "Metrical Version of the Psalms" and +a tragedy on the history of Socrates, still more suitable to his cast of +mind. + +We have already indicated our opinion alike of Addison's character and +genius, but must be permitted a few closing remarks. Both partook of the +feminine type. He was an amiable and highly gifted, rather than a strong +or great man. His shrinking timidity of temperament, his singular modesty +of manners, his quiet, sly power of humorous yet kindly observation, +his minute style of criticism, even the peculiar cast of his piety, all +served to stamp the lady-man. In taciturnity alone he bore the sex no +resemblance. And hence it is that Campbell in poetry, and Addison in +prose, are, or were, the great favourites of female readers. He had many +weaknesses, but, as in the character of woman, they appeared beautiful, +and cognate to his gentle nature. His fear of giving offence was one of +the most prominent of these. In his writings and in his life, he seems +always treading on thin ice. Pope said truly of him-- + + "He hints a fault, and hesitates dislike." + +But this was not owing to malice, but to the bashful good nature which +distinguished him. It is true, too, that he hints a beauty, and hesitates +in his expressions of love. He says himself the finest things, and then +blushes as if detected in a crime; or he praises an obvious and colossal +merit in another, and then starts at the sound himself had made. His +encomiums resemble the evening talk of lovers, being low, sweet, and +trembling. Were we to speak of Addison phrenologically, we should say +that, next to veneration, wit, and ideality, his principal faculties were +caution and secretiveness. He was cautious to the brink of cowardice. We +fancy him in a considerable fright in the storm on the Ligurian Gulf, +amidst the exhalations of the unhealthy Campagna, and while the +avalanches of the Alps--"the thunderbolts of snow"--were falling around +him. We know that he walked about behind the scenes perspiring with +agitation while the fate of "Cato" was still undecided. Had it failed, +Addison never could, as Dr Johnson, when asked how he felt after "Irene" +was damned, have replied, "Like the Monument." We know, too, that he +sought to soothe the fury and stroke down the angry bristles of John +Dennis. To call the author of the "Campaign" a coward were going too far; +but he felt, we believe, more of a martial glow while writing it in +his Haymarket garret than had he mingled in the fray. And as to his +secretiveness, his still, deep, scarce-rippling stream of humour, his +habit, commemorated by Swift, when he found any man invincibly wrong, of +flattering his opinions by acquiescence, and sinking him yet deeper in +absurdity; even the fact that no word is found more frequently in his +writings than "secret" ("secret joy," "secret satisfaction," "secret +solace," are phrases constantly occurring,) prove that, whatever else +he had possessed of the female character, the title of the play, "A +Wonder--a Woman keeps a Secret," had been no paradox in reference to him. + +Having his lips in general barred by the double bolts of caution and +secretiveness, one ceases to wonder that the "invisible spirit of wine" +was welcomed by him as a key to open occasionally the rich treasures of +his mind; but that he was a habitual drunkard is one calumny; that he +wrote his best _Spectators_ when too much excited with wine is another; +and that he "died drunk" is a third,--and the most atrocious of all, +propagated though it has been by Walpole and Byron. His habits, however, +were undoubtedly too careless and convivial; and there used to be a +floating tradition in Holland-house, that, when meditating his writings +there, he was wont to walk along a gallery, at each end of which stood a +separate bottle, out of both of which he never failed, _en passant_, to +sip! This, after all, however, may be only a mythical fable. + +While, as an author, the favourite of ladies, of the young, and of +catholic-minded critics generally, Addison has had, and has still, severe +and able detractors, who are wont to speak of him in such a manner as +this:--"He is a highly cultivated artist, but not one thought of any +vivid novelty did he put out in all his many books. You become placid +reading him, but think of Ossian and Shakspeare, and be silent. He is +a lapidary polishing pebbles,--a pretty art, but not vested with the +glories of sculpture, nor the mathematical magnitude of architecture. He +does not walk a demigod, but a stiff Anglicised imitator of French paces. +He is a symmetrical, but a small invisible personage at rapier practice." +Now, clever as this is, it only proves that Addison is not a Shakspeare +or Milton. He does not pretend to be either. He is no demigod, but he is +a man, a lady-man if you will, but the lovelier on that account. Besides, +he was cut off in his prime, and when he might have girt himself up to +achieve greater things than he has done. And although the French taste of +his age somewhat affected and chilled his genius, yet he knew of other +models than Racine and Boileau. He drank of "Siloa's brook." He admired +and imitated the poetry of the Bible. He loves not, indeed, its wilder +and higher strains; he gets giddy on the top of Lebanon; the Valley of +Dry Bones he treads with timid steps; and his look up to the "Terrible +Crystal" is more of fright than of exultation. But the lovelier, softer, +simpler, and more pensive parts of the Bible are very dear to the gentle +_Spectator_, and are finely, if faintly, reproduced in his writings. +Indeed, the principle which would derogate from Addison's works, would +lead to the depreciation of portions of the Scriptures too. "Ruth" is not +so grand as the "Revelation;" the "Song of Solomon" is not so sublime as +the "Song of Songs, which is Isaiah's;" and the story of Joseph has not +the mystic grandeur or rushing fire of Ezekiel's prophecy. But there they +are in the same Book of God, and are even dearer to many hearts than the +loftier portions; and so with Addison's papers beside the works of Bacon, +Milton, and Coleridge. + +His poetry is now in our readers' hands, and should be read with a candid +spirit. They will admire the elegance and gracefully-used learning of the +"Epistle to Halifax." They will not be astonished at the "Campaign," but +they will regard it with interest as the lever which first lifted Addison +into his true place in society and letters. They will find much to please +them in his verses to Dryden, Somers, King William, and his odes on St +Cecilia's Day; and they will pause with peculiar fondness over those +delightful hymns, some of which they have sung or repeated from infancy, +which they will find again able to "beat the heavenward flame," and start +the tender and pious tear, and which are of themselves sufficient to rank +Addison high on the list of Christian poets. + + +[Footnote 1: Among these "others" was Abraham Stanyan, plenipotentiary +extraordinary at Neufchatel at the settlement of the rival claims of the +Duke of Brandenberg, Holland, and France, to that principality. He was +afterwards ambassador to France. He married a daughter of Dr Pritchett, +Bishop of Gloucester. It is said, that, having on one occasion borrowed +a sum of money from Addison, the latter observed him to be very +subservient, agreeing with every opinion Mr A. expressed, till Addison, +provoked, and guessing the cause, said, "Stanyan, either contradict me, +or pay me my money." Our friend, Mr J. Stanyan Bigg, author of the +very brilliant poem, "Night and the Soul," is a descendant of Abraham +Stanyan.] + + + + +ADDISON'S POETICAL WORKS. + + +POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. + + +TO MR DRYDEN. + + How long, great poet, shall thy sacred lays + Provoke our wonder, and transcend our praise? + Can neither injuries of time, nor age, + Damp thy poetic heat, and quench thy rage? + Not so thy Ovid in his exile wrote; + Grief chilled his breast, and checked his rising thought; + Pensive and sad, his drooping Muse betrays + The Roman genius in its last decays. + Prevailing warmth has still thy mind possess'd, + And second youth is kindled in thy breast; +_10 + Thou mak'st the beauties of the Romans known, + And England boasts of riches not her own; + Thy lines have heightened Virgil's majesty, + And Horace wonders at himself in thee. + Thou teachest Persius to inform our isle + In smoother numbers, and a clearer style; + And Juvenal, instructed in thy page, + Edges his satire, and improves his rage. + Thy copy casts a fairer light on all, + And still outshines the bright original. +_20 + Now Ovid boasts the advantage of thy song, + And tells his story in the British tongue; + Thy charming verse and fair translations show + How thy own laurel first began to grow; + How wild Lycaon, changed by angry gods, + And frighted at himself, ran howling through the woods. + Oh, mayst thou still the noble task prolong, + Nor age nor sickness interrupt thy song! + Then may we wondering read, how human limbs + Have watered kingdoms, and dissolved in streams; +_30 + Of those rich fruits that on the fertile mould + Turned yellow by degrees, and ripened into gold: + How some in feathers, or a ragged hide, + Have lived a second life, and different natures tried. + Then will thy Ovid, thus transformed, reveal + A nobler change than he himself can tell. + +_Mag. Coll. Oxon, June 2, 1693. + The Author's age_, 22. + + + +A POEM TO HIS MAJESTY,[2] PRESENTED TO THE LORD KEEPER. + +TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR JOHN SOMERS, + +LOKD KEEPER OF THE GREAT SEAL. + + If yet your thoughts are loose from state affairs, + Nor feel the burden of a kingdom's cares, + If yet your time and actions are your own, + Receive the present of a Muse unknown: + A Muse that in adventurous numbers sings + The rout of armies, and the fall of kings, + Britain advanced, and Europe's peace restored, + By Somers' counsels, and by Nassau's sword. + To you, my lord, these daring thoughts belong, + Who helped to raise the subject of my song; +_10 + To you the hero of my verse reveals + His great designs; to you in council tells + His inmost thoughts, determining the doom + Of towns unstormed, and battles yet to come. + And well could you, in your immortal strains, + Describe his conduct, and reward his pains: + But since the state has all your cares engross'd, + And poetry in higher thoughts is lost, + Attend to what a lesser Muse indites, + Pardon her faults and countenance her flights. +_20 + On you, my lord, with anxious fear I wait, + And from your judgment must expect my fate, + Who, free from vulgar passions, are above + Degrading envy, or misguided love; + If you, well pleased, shall smile upon my lays, + Secure of fame, my voice I'll boldly raise; + For next to what you write, is what you praise. + + +TO THE KING. + + When now the business of the field is o'er, + The trumpets sleep, and cannons cease to roar; + When every dismal echo is decay'd, + And all the thunder of the battle laid; + Attend, auspicious prince, and let the Muse + In humble accents milder thoughts infuse. + Others, in bold prophetic numbers skill'd, + Set thee in arms, and led thee to the field; + My Muse, expecting, on the British strand + Waits thy return, and welcomes thee to land: +_10 + She oft has seen thee pressing on the foe, + When Europe was concerned in every blow; + But durst not in heroic strains rejoice; is + The trumpets, drums, and cannons drowned her voice: + She saw the Boyne run thick with human gore, + And floating corps lie beating on the shore: + She saw thee climb the banks, but tried in vain + To trace her hero through the dusty plain, + When through the thick embattled lines he broke, + Now plunged amidst the foes, now lost in clouds of smoke. +_20 + Oh that some Muse, renowned for lofty verse, + In daring numbers would thy toils rehearse! + Draw thee beloved in peace, and feared in wars, + Inured to noonday sweats, and midnight cares! + But still the godlike man, by some hard fate, + Receives the glory of his toils too late; + Too late the verse the mighty act succeeds; + One age the hero, one the poet breeds. + A thousand years in full succession ran + Ere Virgil raised his voice, and sung the man +_30 + Who, driven by stress of fate, such dangers bore + On stormy seas and a disastrous shore, + Before he settled in the promised earth, + And gave the empire of the world its birth. + Troy long had found the Grecians bold and fierce, + Ere Homer mustered up their troops in verse; + Long had Achilles quelled the Trojans' lust, + And laid the labour of the gods in dust, + Before the towering Muse began her flight, + And drew the hero raging in the fight, +_40 + Engaged in tented fields and rolling floods, + Or slaughtering mortals, or a match for gods. + And here, perhaps, by fate's unerring doom, + Some mighty bard lies hid in years to come, + That shall in William's godlike acts engage, + And with his battles warm a future age. + Hibernian fields shall here thy conquests show, + And Boyne be sung when it has ceased to flow; + Here Gallic labours shall advance thy fame, + And here Seneffe[3] shall wear another name. +_50 + Our late posterity, with secret dread, + Shall view thy battles, and with pleasure read + How, in the bloody field, too near advanced, + The guiltless bullet on thy shoulder glanced. + The race of Nassaus was by Heaven design'd + To curb the proud oppressors of mankind, + To bind the tyrants of the earth with laws, + And fight in every injured nation's cause, + The world's great patriots; they for justice call, + And, as they favour, kingdoms rise or fall. +_60 + Our British youth, unused to rough alarms, + Careless of fame, and negligent of arms, + Had long forgot to meditate the foe, + And heard unwarmed the martial trumpet blow; + But now, inspired by thee, with fresh delight + Their swords they brandish, and require the fight, + Renew their ancient conquests on the main, + And act their fathers' triumphs o'er again; + Fired, when they hear how Agincourt was strow'd + With Gallic corps and Cressi swam in blood, +_70 + With eager warmth they fight, ambitious all + Who first shall storm the breach, or mount the wall. + In vain the thronging enemy by force + Would clear the ramparts, and repel their course; + They break through all, for William leads the way, + Where fires rage most, and loudest engines play. + Namur's late terrors and destruction show + What William, warmed with just revenge, can do: + Where once a thousand turrets raised on high + Their gilded spires, and glittered in the sky, +_80 + An undistinguished heap of dust is found, + And all the pile lies smoking on the ground, + His toils, for no ignoble ends design'd, + Promote the common welfare of mankind; + No wild ambition moves, but Europe's fears, + The cries of orphans, and the widow's tears; + Oppressed religion gives the first alarms, + And injured justice sets him in his arms; + His conquests freedom to the world afford, + And nations bless the labours of his sword. +_90 + Thus when the forming Muse would copy forth + A perfect pattern of heroic worth, + She sets a man triumphant in the field, + O'er giants cloven down, and monsters kill'd, + Reeking in blood, and smeared with dust and sweat, + Whilst angry gods conspire to make him great. + Thy navy rides on seas before unpress'd, + And strikes a terror through the haughty East; + Algiers and Tunis from their sultry shore + With horror hear the British engines roar; +_100 + Fain from the neighbouring dangers would they run, + And wish themselves still nearer to the sun. + The Gallic ships are in their ports confined, + Denied the common use of sea and wind, + Nor dare again the British strength engage; + Still they remember that destructive rage + Which lately made their trembling host retire, + Stunned with the noise, and wrapt in smoke and fire; + The waves with wide unnumbered wrecks were strow'd, + And planks, and arms, and men, promiscuous flow'd. +_110 + Spain's numerous fleet, that perished on our coast, + Could scarce a longer line of battle boast, + The winds could hardly drive them to their fate, + And all the ocean laboured with the weight. + Where'er the waves in restless errors roll, + The sea lies open now to either pole: + Now may we safely use the northern gales, + And in the Polar Circle spread our sails; + Or deep in southern climes, secure from wars, + New lands explore, and sail by other stars; +_120 + Fetch uncontrolled each labour of the sun, + And make the product of the world our own. + At length, proud prince, ambitious Louis, cease + To plague mankind, and trouble Europe's peace; + Think on the structures which thy pride has razed, + On towns unpeopled, and on fields laid waste; + Think on the heaps of corps and streams of blood, + On every guilty plain, and purple flood, + Thy arms have made, and cease an impious war, + Nor waste the lives intrusted to thy care. +_130 + Or if no milder thought can calm thy mind, + Behold the great avenger of mankind, + See mighty Nassau through the battle ride, + And see thy subjects gasping by his side: + Fain would the pious prince refuse the alarm, + Fain would he check the fury of his arm; + But when thy cruelties his thoughts engage, + The hero kindles with becoming rage, + Then countries stolen, and captives unrestored, + Give strength to every blow, and edge his sword. +_140 + Behold with what resistless force he falls + On towns besieged, and thunders at thy walls! + Ask Villeroy, for Villeroy beheld + The town surrendered, and the treaty seal'd, + With what amazing strength the forts were won, + Whilst the whole power of France stood looking on. + But stop not here: behold where Berkley stands, + And executes his injured king's commands! + Around thy coast his bursting bombs he pours + On flaming citadels and falling towers; +_150 + With hissing streams of fire the air they streak, + And hurl destruction round them where they break; + The skies with long ascending flames are bright, + And all the sea reflects a quivering light. + Thus Ætna, when in fierce eruptions broke, + Fills heaven with ashes, and the earth with smoke; + Here crags of broken rocks are twirled on high, + Here molten stones and scattered cinders fly: + Its fury reaches the remotest coast, + And strows the Asiatic shore with dust. +_160 + Now does the sailor from the neighbouring main + Look after Gallic towns and forts in vain; + No more his wonted marks he can descry, + But sees a long unmeasured ruin lie; + Whilst, pointing to the naked coast, he shows + His wondering mates where towns and steeples rose, + Where crowded citizens he lately view'd, + And singles out the place where once St Maloes stood. + Here Russel's actions should my Muse require; + And, would my strength but second my desire, +_170 + I'd all his boundless bravery rehearse, + And draw his cannons thundering in my verse: + High on the deck should the great leader stand, + Wrath in his look, and lightning in his hand; + Like Homer's Hector, when he flung his fire + Amidst a thousand ships, and made all Greece retire. + But who can run the British triumphs o'er, + And count the flames dispersed on every shore? + Who can describe the scattered victory, + + And draw the reader on from sea to sea? +_180 + Else who could Ormond's godlike acts refuse, + Ormond the theme of every Oxford Muse? + Fain would I here his mighty worth proclaim, + Attend him in the noble chase of fame, + Through all the noise and hurry of the fight, + Observe each blow, and keep him still in sight. + Oh, did our British peers thus court renown, + And grace the coats their great forefathers won, + Our arms would then triumphantly advance, + Nor Henry be the last that conquered France! +_190 + What might not England hope, if such abroad + Purchased their country's honour with their blood: + When such, detained at home, support our state + In William's stead, and bear a kingdom's weight, + The schemes of Gallic policy o'erthrow, + And blast the counsels of the common foe; + Direct our armies, and distribute right, + And render our Maria's loss more light. + But stop, my Muse, the ungrateful sound forbear, + Maria's name still wounds each British ear: +_200 + Each British heart Maria still does wound, + And tears burst out unbidden at the sound; + Maria still our rising mirth destroys, + Darkens our triumphs, and forbids our joys. + But see, at length, the British ships appear! + Our Nassau comes! and, as his fleet draws near, + The rising masts advance, the sails grow white, + And all his pompous navy floats in sight. + Come, mighty prince, desired of Britain, come! + May heaven's propitious gales attend thee home! +_210 + Come, and let longing crowds behold that look + Which such confusion and amazement strook + Through Gallic hosts: but, oh! let us descry + Mirth in thy brow, and pleasure in thy eye; + Let nothing dreadful in thy face be found; + But for awhile forget the trumpet's sound; + Well-pleased, thy people's loyalty approve, + Accept their duty, and enjoy their love. + For as, when lately moved with fierce delight, + You plunged amidst the tumult of the fight, +_220 + Whole heaps of dead encompassed you around, + And steeds o'erturned lay foaming on the ground: + So crowned with laurels now, where'er you go, + Around you blooming joys and peaceful blessings flow. + + +A TRANSLATION OF ALL + +VIRGIL'S FOURTH GEORGIC, + +EXCEPT THE STORY OF ARISTÆUS. + + Ethereal sweets shall next my Muse engage, + And this, Maecenas, claims your patronage. + Of little creatures' wondrous acts I treat, + The ranks and mighty leaders of their state, + Their laws, employments, and their wars relate. + A trifling theme provokes my humble lays. + Trifling the theme, not so the poet's praise, + If great Apollo and the tuneful Nine + First, for your bees a proper station find, +_10 + That's fenced about, and sheltered from the wind; + For winds divert them in their flight, and drive + The swarms, when loaden homeward, from their hive. + Nor sheep, nor goats, must pasture near their stores, + To trample underfoot the springing flowers; + Nor frisking heifers bound about the place, + To spurn the dew-drops off, and bruise the rising grass; + Nor must the lizard's painted brood appear, + Nor wood-pecks, nor the swallow, harbour near. + They waste the swarms, and, as they fly along, +_20 + Convey the tender morsels to their young. + Let purling streams, and fountains edged with moss, + And shallow rills run trickling through the grass; + Let branching olives o'er the fountain grow; + Or palms shoot up, and shade the streams below; + That when the youth, led by their princes, shun + The crowded hive and sport it in the sun, + Refreshing springs may tempt them from the heat, + And shady coverts yield a cool retreat. + Whether the neighbouring water stands or runs, +_30 + Lay twigs across and bridge it o'er with stones + That if rough storms, or sudden blasts of wind, + Should dip or scatter those that lag behind, + Here they may settle on the friendly stone, + And dry their reeking pinions at the sun. + Plant all the flowery banks with lavender, + With store of savory scent the fragrant air; + Let running betony the field o'erspread, + And fountains soak the violet's dewy bed. + Though barks or plaited willows make your hive, +_40 + A narrow inlet to their cells contrive; + For colds congeal and freeze the liquors up, + And, melted down with heat, the waxen buildings drop. + The bees, of both extremes alike afraid, + Their wax around the whistling crannies spread, + And suck out clammy dews from herbs and flowers, + To smear the chinks, and plaster up the pores; + For this they hoard up glue, whose clinging drops, + Like pitch or bird-lime, hang in stringy ropes. + They oft, 'tis said, in dark retirements dwell, +_50 + And work in subterraneous caves their cell; + At other times the industrious insects live + In hollow rocks, or make a tree their hive. + Point all their chinky lodgings round with mud, + And leaves must thinly on your work be strow'd; + But let no baleful yew-tree flourish near, + Nor rotten marshes send out steams of mire; + Nor burning crabs grow red, and crackle in the fire: + Nor neighbouring caves return the dying sound, + Nor echoing rocks the doubled voice rebound. +_60 + Things thus prepared---- + When the under-world is seized with cold and night, + And summer here descends in streams of light, + The bees through woods and forests take their flight. + They rifle every flower, and lightly skim + The crystal brook, and sip the running stream; + And thus they feed their young with strange delight, + And knead the yielding wax, and work the slimy sweet. + But when on high you see the bees repair, + Borne on the winds through distant tracts of air, +_70 + And view the winged cloud all blackening from afar; + While shady coverts and fresh streams they choose, + Milfoil and common honeysuckles bruise, + And sprinkle on their hives the fragrant juice. + On brazen vessels beat a tinkling sound, + And shake the cymbals of the goddess round; + Then all will hastily retreat, and fill + The warm resounding hollow of their cell. + If once two rival kings their right debate, + And factions and cabals embroil the state, +_80 + The people's actions will their thoughts declare; + All their hearts tremble, and beat thick with war; + Hoarse, broken sounds, like trumpets' harsh alarms, + Run through the hive, and call them to their arms; + All in a hurry spread their shivering wings, + And fit their claws, and point their angry stings: + In crowds before the king's pavilion meet, + And boldly challenge out the foe to fight: + At last, when all the heavens are warm and fair, + They rush together out, and join; the air +_90 + Swarms thick, and echoes with the humming war. + All in a firm round cluster mix, and strow + With heaps of little corps the earth below, + As thick as hailstones from the floor rebound, + Or shaken acorns rattle on the ground. + No sense of danger can their kings control, + Their little bodies lodge a mighty soul: + Each obstinate in arms pursues his blow, + Till shameful flight secures the routed foe. + This hot dispute and all this mighty fray +_100 + A little dust flung upward will allay. + But when both kings are settled in their hive, + Mark him who looks the worst, and, lest he live + Idle at home in ease and luxury, + The lazy monarch must be doomed to die; + So let the royal insect rule alone, + And reign without a rival in his throne. + The kings are different; one of better note, + All speck'd with gold, and many a shining spot, + Looks gay, and glistens in a gilded coat; +_110 + But love of ease, and sloth, in one prevails, + That scarce his hanging paunch behind him trails: + The people's looks are different as their kings', + Some sparkle bright, and glitter in their wings; + Others look loathsome and diseased with sloth, + Like a faint traveller, whose dusty mouth + Grows dry with heat, and spits a mawkish froth. + The first are best---- + From their o'erflowing combs you'll often press + Pure luscious sweets, that mingling in the glass +_120 + Correct the harshness of the racy juice, + And a rich flavour through the wine diffuse. + But when they sport abroad, and rove from home, + And leave the cooling hive, and quit the unfinished comb, + Their airy ramblings are with ease confined, + Clip their king's wings, and if they stay behind + No bold usurper dares invade their right, + Nor sound a march, nor give the sign for flight. + Let flowery banks entice them to their cells, + And gardens all perfumed with native smells; +_130 + Where carved Priapus has his fixed abode, + The robber's terror, and the scarecrow god. + Wild thyme and pine-trees from their barren hill + Transplant, and nurse them in the neighbouring soil, + Set fruit-trees round, nor e'er indulge thy sloth, + But water them, and urge their shady growth. + And here, perhaps, were not I giving o'er, + And striking sail, and making to the shore, + I'd show what art the gardener's toils require, + Why rosy pæstum blushes twice a year; +_140 + What streams the verdant succory supply, + And how the thirsty plant drinks rivers dry; + With what a cheerful green does parsley grace, + And writhes the bellying cucumber along the twisted grass; + Nor would I pass the soft acanthus o'er, + Ivy nor myrtle-trees that love the shore; + Nor daffodils, that late from earth's slow womb + Unrumple their swoln buds, and show their yellow bloom. + For once I saw in the Tarentine vale, + Where slow Galesus drenched the washy soil, +_150 + An old Corician yeoman, who had got + A few neglected acres to his lot, + Where neither corn nor pasture graced the field, + Nor would the vine her purple harvest yield; + But savoury herbs among the thorns were found, + Vervain and poppy-flowers his garden crown'd, + And drooping lilies whitened all the ground. + Blest with these riches he could empires slight, + And when he rested from his toils at night, + The earth unpurchased dainties would afford, +_160 + And his own garden furnished out his board: + The spring did first his opening roses blow, + First ripening autumn bent his fruitful bough. + When piercing colds had burst the brittle stone, + And freezing rivers stiffened as they run, + He then would prune the tenderest of his trees, + Chide the late spring, and lingering western breeze: + His bees first swarmed, and made his vessels foam + With the rich squeezing of the juicy comb. + Here lindens and the sappy pine increased; +_170 + Here, when gay flowers his smiling orchard dressed, + As many blossoms as the spring could show, + So many dangling apples mellowed on the bough. + In rows his elms and knotty pear-trees bloom, + And thorns ennobled now to bear a plum, + And spreading plane-trees, where, supinely laid, + He now enjoys the cool, and quaffs beneath the shade. + But these for want of room I must omit, + And leave for future poets to recite. + Now I'll proceed their natures to declare, +_180 + Which Jove himself did on the bees confer + Because, invited by the timbrel's sound, + Lodged in a cave, the almighty babe they found, + And the young god nursed kindly under-ground. + Of all the winged inhabitants of air, + These only make their young the public care; + In well-disposed societies they live, + And laws and statutes regulate their hive; + Nor stray like others unconfined abroad, + But know set stations, and a fixed abode: +_190 + Each provident of cold in summer flies + Through fields and woods, to seek for new supplies, + And in the common stock unlades his thighs. + Some watch the food, some in the meadows ply, + Taste every bud, and suck each blossom dry; + Whilst others, labouring in their cells at home, + Temper Narcissus' clammy tears with gum, + For the first groundwork of the golden comb; + On this they found their waxen works, and raise + The yellow fabric on its gluey base. +_200 + Some educate the young, or hatch the seed + With vital warmth, and future nations breed; + Whilst others thicken all the slimy dews, + And into purest honey work the juice; + Then fill the hollows of the comb, and swell + With luscious nectar every flowing cell. + By turns they watch, by turns with curious eyes + Survey the heavens, and search the clouded skies, + To find out breeding storms, and tell what tempests rise. + By turns they ease the loaden swarms, or drive +_210 + The drone, a lazy insect, from their hive. + The work is warmly plied through all the cells, + And strong with thyme the new-made honey smells. + So in their caves the brawny Cyclops sweat, + When with huge strokes the stubborn wedge they beat, + And all the unshapen thunderbolt complete; + Alternately their hammers rise and fall; + Whilst griping tongs turn round the glowing ball. + With puffing bellows some the flames increase, + And some in waters dip the hissing mass; +_220 + Their beaten anvils dreadfully resound, + And Ætna shakes all o'er, and thunders under-ground. + Thus, if great things we may with small compare, + The busy swarms their different labours share. + Desire of profit urges all degrees; + The aged insects, by experience wise, + Attend the comb, and fashion every part, + And shape the waxen fret-work out with art: + The young at night, returning from their toils, + Bring home their thighs clogged with the meadows' spoils. +_230 + On lavender and saffron buds they feed, + On bending osiers and the balmy reed, + From purple violets and the teile they bring + Their gathered sweets, and rifle all the spring. + All work together, all together rest, + The morning still renews their labours past; + Then all rush out, their different tasks pursue, + Sit on the bloom, and suck the ripening dew; + Again, when evening warns them to their home, + With weary wings and heavy thighs they come, +_240 + And crowd about the chink, and mix a drowsy hum. + Into their cells at length they gently creep, + There all the night their peaceful station keep, + Wrapt up in silence, and dissolved in sleep. + None range abroad when winds and storms are nigh, + Nor trust their bodies to a faithless sky, + But make small journeys with a careful wing, + And fly to water at a neighbouring spring; + And lest their airy bodies should be cast + In restless whirls, the sport of every blast, +_250 + They carry stones to poise them in their flight, + As ballast keeps the unsteady vessel right. + But, of all customs that the bees can boast, + 'Tis this may challenge admiration most; + That none will Hymen's softer joys approve, + Nor waste their spirits in luxurious love, + But all a long virginity maintain, + And bring forth young without a mother's pain: + From herbs and flowers they pick each tender bee, + And cull from plants a buzzing progeny; +_260 + From these they choose out subjects, and create + A little monarch of the rising state; + Then build wax kingdoms for the infant prince, + And form a palace for his residence. + But often in their journeys, as they fly, + On flints they tear their silken wings, or lie + Grovelling beneath their flowery load, and die. + Thus love of honey can an insect fire, + And in a fly such generous thoughts inspire. + Yet by repeopling their decaying state, +_270 + Though seven short springs conclude their vital date, + Their ancient stocks eternally remain, + And in an endless race their children's children reign. + No prostrate vassal of the East can more + With slavish fear his haughty prince adore; + His life unites them all; but, when he dies, + All in loud tumults and distractions rise; + They waste their honey and their combs deface, + And wild confusion reigns in every place. + Him all admire, all the great guardian own, +_280 + And crowd about his courts, and buzz about his throne. + Oft on their backs their weary prince they bear, + Oft in his cause, embattled in the air, + Pursue a glorious death, in wounds and war. + Some, from such instances as these, have taught, + 'The bees' extract is heavenly; for they thought + The universe alive; and that a soul, + Diffused throughout the matter of the whole, + To all the vast unbounded frame was given, + And ran through earth, and air, and sea, and all the deep of heaven; +_290 + That this first kindled life in man and beast, + Life, that again flows into this at last. + That no compounded animal could die, + But when dissolved, the spirit mounted high, + Dwelt in a star, and settled in the sky.' + Whene'er their balmy sweets you mean to seize, + And take the liquid labours of the bees, + Spurt draughts of water from your mouth, and drive + A loathsome cloud of smoke amidst their hive, + Twice in the year their flowery toils begin, +_300 + And twice they fetch their dewy harvest in; + Once, when the lovely Pleiades arise, + And add fresh lustre to the summer skies; + And once, when hastening from the watery sign, + They quit their station, and forbear to shine. + The bees are prone to rage, and often found + To perish for revenge, and die upon the wound + Their venomed sting produces aching pains, + And swells the flesh, and shoots among the veins. + When first a cold hard winter's storms arrive, +_310 + And threaten death or famine to their hive, + If now their sinking state and low affairs + Can move your pity, and provoke your cares, + Fresh burning thyme before their cells convey, + And cut their dry and husky wax away; + For often lizards seize the luscious spoils, + Or drones, that riot on another's toils: + Oft broods of moths infest the hungry swarms, + And oft the furious wasp their hive alarms + With louder hums, and with unequal arms; +_320 + Or else the spider at their entrance sets. + Her snares, and spins her bowels into nets. + When sickness reigns, for they as well as we + Feel all the effects of frail mortality, + By certain marks the new disease is seen, + Their colour changes, and their looks are thin; + Their funeral rites are formed, and every bee + With grief attends the sad solemnity; + The few diseased survivors hang before + Their sickly cells, and droop about the door, +_330 + Or slowly in their hives their limbs unfold, + Shrunk up with hunger, and benumbed with cold; + In drawling hums the feeble insects grieve, + And doleful buzzes echo through the hive, + Like winds that softly murmur through the trees, + Like flames pent up, or like retiring seas. + Now lay fresh honey near their empty rooms, + In troughs of hollow reeds, whilst frying gums + Cast round a fragrant mist of spicy fumes. + Thus kindly tempt the famished swarm to eat, +_340 + And gently reconcile them to their meat. + Mix juice of galls, and wine, that grow in time + Condensed by fire, and thicken to a slime; + To these, dried roses, thyme, and ccntaury join, + And raisins, ripened on the Psythian vine. + Besides, there grows a flower in marshy ground, + Its name amellus, easy to be found; + A mighty spring works in its root, and cleaves + The sprouting stalk, and shows itself in leaves: + The flower itself is of a golden hue, +_350 + The leaves inclining to a darker blue; + The leaves shoot thick about the flower, and grow + Into a bush, and shade the turf below: + The plant in holy garlands often twines + The altars' posts, and beautifies the shrines; + Its taste is sharp, in vales new-shorn it grows, + Where Mella's stream in watery mazes flows. + Take plenty of its roots, and boil them well + In wine, and heap them up before the cell. + But if the whole stock fail, and none survive; +_360 + To raise new people, and recruit the hive, + I'll here the great experiment declare, + That spread the Arcadian shepherd's name so far. + How bees from blood of slaughtered bulls have fled, + And swarms amidst the red corruption bred. + For where the Egyptians yearly see their bounds + Refreshed with floods, and sail about their grounds, + Where Persia borders, and the rolling Nile + Drives swiftly down the swarthy Indian's soil, + Till into seven it multiplies its stream, +_370 + And fattens Egypt with a fruitful slime: + In this last practice all their hope remains, + And long experience justifies their pains. + First, then, a close contracted space of ground, + With straitened walls and low-built roof, they found; + A narrow shelving light is next assign'd + To all the quarters, one to every wind; + Through these the glancing rays obliquely pierce: + Hither they lead a bull that's young and fierce, + When two years' growth of horn he proudly shows, +_380 + And shakes the comely terrors of his brows: + His nose and mouth, the avenues of breath, + They muzzle up, and beat his limbs to death; + With violence to life and stifling pain + He flings and spurns, and tries to snort in vain, + Loud heavy blows fall thick on every side, + Till his bruised bowels burst within the hide; + When dead, they leave him rotting on the ground, + With branches, thyme, and cassia, strowed around. + All this is done, when first the western breeze +_390 + Becalms the year, and smooths the troubled seas; + Before the chattering swallow builds her nest, + Or fields in spring's embroidery are dress'd. + Meanwhile the tainted juice ferments within, + And quickens as its works: and now are seen + A wondrous swarm, that o'er the carcase crawls, + Of shapeless, rude, unfinished animals. + No legs at first the insect's weight sustain, + At length it moves its new-made limbs with pain; + Now strikes the air with quivering wings, and tries +_400 + To lift its body up, and learns to rise; + Now bending thighs and gilded wings it wears + Full grown, and all the bee at length appears; + From every side the fruitful carcase pours + Its swarming brood, as thick as summer showers, + Or flights of arrows from the Parthian bows, + When twanging strings first shoot them on the foes. + Thus have I sung the nature of the bee; + While Cæsar, towering to divinity, + The frighted Indians with his thunder awed, +_410 + And claimed their homage, and commenced a god; + I flourished all the while in arts of peace, + Retired and sheltered in inglorious ease; + I who before the songs of shepherds made, + When gay and young my rural lays I play'd, + And set my Tityrus beneath his shade. + + +A SONG FOR ST CECILIA'S DAY, + +AT OXFORD. + +I. + + Cecilia, whose exalted hymns + With joy and wonder fill the blest, + In choirs of warbling seraphims, + Known and distinguished from the rest, + Attend, harmonious saint, and see + Thy vocal sons of harmony; + Attend, harmonious saint, and hear our prayers; + Enliven all our earthly airs, + And, as thou sing'st thy God, teach us to sing of thee; + Tune every string and every tongue, + Be thou the Muse and subject of our song. + + II. + + Let all Cecilia's praise proclaim, + Employ the echo in her name, + Hark how the flutes and trumpets raise, + At bright Cecilia's name, their lays; + The organ labours in her praise. + Cecilia's name does all our numbers grace, + From every voice the tuneful accents fly, + In soaring trebles now it rises high, + And now it sinks, and dwells upon the base. + Cecilia's name through all the notes we sing, + The work of every skilful tongue, + The sound of every trembling string, + The sound and triumph of our song. + + III. + + For ever consecrate the day, + To music and Cecilia; + Music, the greatest good that mortals know, + And all of heaven we have below. + Music can noble hints impart, + Engender fury, kindle love; + With unsuspected eloquence can move, + And manage all the man with secret art. + When Orpheus strikes the trembling lyre, + The streams stand still, the stones admire; + The listening savages advance, + The wolf and lamb around him trip, + The bears in awkward measures leap, + And tigers mingle in the dance. + The moving woods attended, as he play'd, + And Rhodope was left without a shade. + + + IV. + + Music religious heats inspires, + It wakes the soul, and lifts it high, + And wings it with sublime desires, + And fits it to bespeak the Deity. + The Almighty listens to a tuneful tongue, + And seems well-pleased and courted with a song. + Soft moving sounds and heavenly airs + Give force to every word, and recommend our prayers. + When time itself shall be no more, + And all things in confusion hurled, + Music shall then exert its power, + And sound survive the ruins of the world: + Then saints and angels shall agree + In one eternal jubilee: + All heaven shall echo with their hymns divine, + And God himself with pleasure see + The whole creation in a chorus join. + + + CHORUS. + + Consecrate the place and day, + To music and Cecilia. + Let no rough winds approach, nor dare + Invade the hallowed bounds, + Nor rudely shake the tuneful air, + Nor spoil the fleeting sounds. + Nor mournful sigh nor groan be heard, + But gladness dwell on every tongue; + Whilst all, with voice and strings prepared, + Keep up the loud harmonious song, + And imitate the blest above, + In joy, and harmony, and love. + + + +AN ODE FOR ST CECILIA'S DAY. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR DANIEL PURCELL. PERFORMED AT OXFORD 1699. + + Prepare the hallowed strain, my Muse, + Thy softest sounds and sweetest numbers choose; + The bright Cecilia's praise rehearse, + In warbling words, and gliding verse, + That smoothly run into a song, + And gently die away, and melt upon the tongue. + First let the sprightly violin + The joyful melody begin, + And none of all her strings be mute; + + While the sharp sound and shriller lay +_10 + In sweet harmonious notes decay, + Softened and mellowed by the flute. + 'The flute that sweetly can complain, + Dissolve the frozen nymph's disdain; + Panting sympathy impart, + Till she partake her lover's smart.'[4] + + + CHORUS. + + Next, let the solemn organ join + Religious airs, and strains divine, + Such as may lift us to the skies, + And set all Heaven before our eyes: +_20 + 'Such as may lift us to the skies; + So far at least till they + Descend with kind surprise, + And meet our pious harmony half-way.' + + Let then the trumpet's piercing sound + Our ravished ears with pleasure wound. + The soul o'erpowering with delight, + As, with a quick uncommon ray, + A streak of lightning clears the day, + And flashes on the sight. +_30 + Let Echo too perform her part, + Prolonging every note with art, + And in a low expiring strain + Play all the concert o'er again. + + Such were the tuneful notes that hung + On bright Cecilia's charming tongue: + Notes that sacred heats inspired, + And with religious ardour fired: + The love-sick youth, that long suppress'd + His smothered passion in his breast, +_40 + No sooner heard the warbling dame, + But, by the secret influence turn'd, + He felt a new diviner flame, + And with devotion burn'd. + + With ravished soul, and looks amazed, + Upon her beauteous face he gazed; + Nor made his amorous complaint: + In vain her eyes his heart had charm'd, + Her heavenly voice her eyes disarm'd, + And changed the lover to a saint. +_50 + + GRAND CHORUS. + + And now the choir complete rejoices, + With trembling strings and melting voices. + The tuneful ferment rises high, + And works with mingled melody: + Quick divisions run their rounds, + A thousand trills and quivering sounds + In airy circles o'er us fly, + Till, wafted by a gentle breeze, + They faint and languish by degrees, + And at a distance die. +_60 + + +AN ACCOUNT OF THE GREATEST ENGLISH POETS + +TO MR HENRY SACHEVERELL. APRIL 3, 1694. + + Since, dearest Harry, you will needs request + A short account of all the Muse-possess'd, + That, down from Chaucer's days to Dryden's times, + Have spent their noble rage in British rhymes; + Without more preface, writ in formal length, + To speak the undertaker's want of strength, + I'll try to make their several beauties known, + And show their verses' worth, though not my own. + + Long had our dull forefathers slept supine, + Nor felt the raptures of the tuneful Nine; +_10 + Till Chaucer first, the merry bard, arose, + And many a story told in rhyme and prose. + But age has rusted what the poet writ, + Worn out his language, and obscured his wit; + In vain he jests in his unpolished strain, + And tries to make his readers laugh in vain. + Old Spenser next, warmed with poetic rage, + In ancient tales amused a barbarous age; + An age that yet uncultivate and rude, + Where'er the poet's fancy led, pursued +_20 + Through pathless fields, and unfrequented floods, + To dens of dragons and enchanted woods. + But now the mystic tale, that pleased of yore, + Can charm an understanding age no more; + The long-spun allegories fulsome grow, + While the dull moral lies too plain below. + We view well-pleased at distance all the sights + Of arms and palfreys, battles, fields, and fights, + And damsels in distress, and courteous knights; + But when we look too near, the shades decay, +_30 + And all the pleasing landscape fades away. + Great Cowley then (a mighty genius) wrote, + O'errun with wit, and lavish of his thought: + His turns too closely on the reader press; + He more had pleased us, had he pleased us less. + One glittering thought no sooner strikes our eyes + With silent wonder, but new wonders rise. + As in the milky-way a shining white + O'erflows the heavens with one continued light; + That not a single star can show his rays, +_40 + Whilst jointly all promote the common blaze. + Pardon, great poet, that I dare to name + The unnumbered beauties of thy verse with blame; + Thy fault is only wit in its excess, + But wit like thine in any shape will please. + What Muse but thine can equal hints inspire, + And fit the deep-mouthed Pindar to thy lyre; + Pindar, whom others, in a laboured strain + And forced expression, imitate in vain? + Well-pleased in thee he soars with new delight, +_50 + And plays in more unbounded verse, and takes a nobler flight. + Blest man! whose spotless life and charming lays + Employed the tuneful prelate in thy praise: + Blest man! who now shalt be for ever known + In Sprat's successful labours and thy own. + But Milton next, with high and haughty stalks, + Unfettered in majestic numbers walks; + No vulgar hero can his Muse engage; + Nor earth's wide scene confine his hallowed rage. + See! see! he upward springs, and towering high, +_60 + Spurns the dull province of mortality, + Shakes heaven's eternal throne with dire alarms, + And sets the Almighty thunderer in arms. + Whate'er his pen describes I more than see, + Whilst every verse arrayed in majesty, + Bold, and sublime, my whole attention draws, + And seems above the critic's nicer laws. + How are you struck with terror and delight, + When angel with archangel copes in fight! + When great Messiah's outspread banner shines, +_70 + How does the chariot rattle in his lines! + What sounds of brazen wheels, what thunder, scare, + And stun the reader with the din of war! + With fear my spirits and my blood retire, + To see the seraphs sunk in clouds of fire; + But when, with eager steps, from hence I rise, + And view the first gay scenes of Paradise, + What tongue, what words of rapture, can express + A vision so profuse of pleasantness! + Oh, had the poet ne'er profaned his pen, +_80 + To varnish o'er the guilt of faithless men, + His other works might have deserved applause; + But now the language can't support the cause; + While the clean current, though serene and bright, + Betrays a bottom odious to the sight. + But now, my Muse, a softer strain rehearse, + Turn every line with art, and smooth thy verse; + The courtly Waller next commands thy lays: + Muse, tune thy verse with art to Waller's praise. + While tender airs and lovely dames inspire +_90 + Soft melting thoughts, and propagate desire; + So long shall Waller's strains our passion move, + And Sacharissa's beauties kindle love. + Thy verse, harmonious bard, and flattering song, + Can make the vanquished great, the coward strong. + Thy verse can show even Cromwell's innocence, + And compliment the storms that bore him hence. + Oh, had thy Muse not come an age too soon, + But seen great Nassau on the British throne, + How had his triumphs glittered in thy page, +_100 + And warmed thee to a more exalted rage! + What scenes of death and horror had we view'd, + And how had Boyne's wide current reeked in blood! + Or, if Maria's charms thou wouldst rehearse, + In smoother numbers and a softer verse, + Thy pen had well described her graceful air, + And Gloriana would have seemed more fair. + Nor must Roscommon pass neglected by, + That makes even rules a noble poetry: + Rules, whose deep sense and heavenly numbers show +_110 + The best of critics, and of poets too. + Nor, Denham, must we e'er forget thy strains, + While Cooper's Hill commands the neighbouring plains. + But see where artful Dryden next appears, + Grown old in rhyme, but charming even in years. + Great Dryden next, whose tuneful Muse affords + The sweetest numbers, and the fittest words. + Whether in comic sounds or tragic airs + She forms her voice, she moves our smiles or tears. + If satire or heroic strains she writes, +_120 + Her hero pleases and her satire bites. + From her no harsh unartful numbers fall, + She wears all dresses, and she charms in all. + How might we fear our English poetry, + That long has flourished, should decay with thee; + Did not the Muses' other hope appear, + Harmonious Congreve, and forbid our fear: + Congreve! whose fancy's unexhausted store + Has given already much, and promised more. + Congreve shall still preserve thy fame alive, +_130 + And Dryden's Muse shall in his friend survive. + I'm tired with rhyming, and would fain give o'er, + But justice still demands one labour more: + The noble Montague remains unnamed, + For wit, for humour, and for judgment famed; + To Dorset he directs his artful Muse, + In numbers such as Dorset's self might use. + How negligently graceful he unreins + His verse, and writes in loose familiar strains! + How Nassau's godlike acts adorn his lines, +_140 + And all the hero in full glory shines! + We see his army set in just array, + And Boyne's dyed waves run purple to the sea. + Nor Simois choked with men, and arms, and blood; + Nor rapid Xanthus' celebrated flood, + Shall longer be the poet's highest themes, + Though gods and heroes fought promiscuous in their streams. + But now, to Nassau's secret councils raised, + He aids the hero, whom before he praised. + I've done at length; and now, dear friend, receive +_150 + The last poor present that my Muse can give. + I leave the arts of poetry and verse + To them that practise them with more success. + Of greater truths I'll now prepare to tell, + And so at once, dear friend and Muse, farewell. + + +A LETTER FROM ITALY, + +TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES LORD HALIFAX, IN THE YEAR 1701. + + Salve magna parens frugum Saturnia tellus, + Magna virûm! tibi res antiquæ laudis et artis + Aggredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes. + VIRG., Geor. ii. + + While you, my lord, the rural shades admire, + And from Britannia's public posts retire, + Nor longer, her ungrateful sons to please, + For their advantage sacrifice your ease; + Me into foreign realms my fate conveys, + Through nations fruitful of immortal lays, + Where the soft season and inviting clime + Conspire to trouble your repose with rhyme. + For wheresoe'er I turn my ravished eyes, + Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise, +_10 + Poetic fields encompass me around + And still I seem to tread on classic ground; + For here the Muse so oft her harp has strung, + That not a mountain rears its head unsung, + Renowned in verse each shady thicket grows, + And every stream in heavenly numbers flows. + How am I pleased to search the hills and woods + For rising springs and celebrated floods! + To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course, + And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source, +_20 + To see the Mincio draw his watery store + Through the long windings of a fruitful shore, + And hoary Albula's infected tide + O'er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide. + Fired with a thousand raptures I survey + Eridanus[5] through flowery meadows stray, + The king of floods! that, rolling o'er the plains, + The towering Alps of half their moisture drains, + And proudly swoln with a whole winter's snows, + Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows. +_30 + Sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng + I look for streams immortalised in song, + That lost in silence and oblivion lie, + (Dumb are their fountains and their channels dry,) + Yet run for ever by the Muse's skill, + And in the smooth description murmur still. + Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire, + And the famed river's empty shores admire, + That, destitute of strength, derives its course + From thrifty urns and an unfruitful source, +_40 + Yet sung so often in poetic lays, + With scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys; + So high the deathless Muse exalts her theme! + Such was the Boyne, a poor inglorious stream, + That in Hibernian vales obscurely stray'd, + And unobserved in wild meanders play'd; + Till by your lines and Nassau's sword renowned, + Its rising billows through the world resound, + Where'er the hero's godlike acts can pierce, + Or where the fame of an immortal verse. +_50 + Oh could the Muse my ravished breast inspire + With warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire, + Unnumbered beauties in my verse should shine, + And Virgil's Italy should yield to mine! + See how the golden groves around me smile, + That shun the coast of Britain's stormy isle, + Or when transplanted and preserved with care, + Curse the cold clime, and starve in northern air. + Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments + To nobler tastes, and more exalted scents: +_60 + Even the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom, + And trodden weeds send out a rich perfume. + Bear me, some god, to Baia's gentle seats, + Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats; + Where western gales eternally reside, + And all the seasons lavish all their pride: + Blossoms, and fruits, and flowers together rise, + And the whole year in gay confusion lies. + Immortal glories in my mind revive, + And in my soul a thousand passions strive, +_70 + When Rome's exalted beauties I descry + Magnificent in piles of ruin lie. + An amphitheatre's amazing height + Here fills my eye with terror and delight, + That on its public shows unpeopled Rome, + And held uncrowded nations in its womb; + Here pillars rough with sculpture pierce the skies; + And here the proud triumphal arches rise, + Where the old Romans' deathless acts displayed, + Their base, degenerate progeny upbraid: +_80 + Whole rivers here forsake the fields below, + And wondering at their height through airy channels flow. + Still to new scenes my wandering Muse retires, + And the dumb show of breathing rocks admires; + Where the smooth chisel all its force has shown, + And softened into flesh the rugged stone. + In solemn silence, a majestic band, + Heroes, and gods, and Roman consuls stand; + Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown, + And emperors in Parian marble frown; +_90 + While the bright dames, to whom they humble sued, + Still show the charms that their proud hearts subdued. + Fain would I Raphæl's godlike art rehearse, + And show the immortal labours in my verse, + Where from the mingled strength of shade and light + A new creation rises to my sight, + Such heavenly figures from his pencil flow, + So warm with life his blended colours glow. + From theme to theme with secret pleasure toss'd, + Amidst the soft variety I'm lost: +_100 + Here pleasing airs my ravish'd soul confound + With circling notes and labyrinths of sound; + Here domes and temples rise in distant views, + And opening palaces invite my Muse. + How has kind Heaven adorned the happy land, + And scattered blessings with a wasteful hand! + But what avail her unexhausted stores, + Her blooming mountains and her sunny shores, + With all the gifts that heaven and earth impart, + The smiles of nature, and the charms of art, +_110 + While proud oppression in her valleys reigns, + And tyranny usurps her happy plains? + The poor inhabitant beholds in vain + The reddening orange and the swelling grain: + Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines, + And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines: + Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty curs'd, + And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst. + O Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright, +_120 + Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight! + Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign, + And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train; + Eased of her load, subjection grows more light, + And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight; + Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay, + Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day. + Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia's isle adores; + How has she oft exhausted all her stores, + How oft in fields of death thy presence sought, + Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought! +_130 + On foreign mountains may the sun refine + The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine, + With citron groves adorn a distant soil, + And the fat olive swell with floods of oil: + We envy not the warmer clime, that lies + In ten degrees of more indulgent skies, + Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine, + Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine: + 'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle, + And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile. +_140 + Others with towering piles may please the sight, + And in their proud aspiring domes delight; + A nicer touch to the stretched canvas give, + Or teach their animated rocks to live: + 'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate, + And hold in balance each contending state, + To threaten bold presumptuous kings with war, + And answer her afflicted neighbours' prayer. + The Dane and Swede, roused up by fierce alarms, + Bless the wise conduct of her pious arms: +_150 + Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease, + And all the northern world lies hushed in peace. + The ambitious Gaul beholds with secret dread + Her thunder aimed at his aspiring head, + And fain her godlike sons would disunite + By foreign gold, or by domestic spite; + But strives in vain to conquer or divide, + Whom Nassau's arms defend and counsels guide. + Fired with the name, which I so oft have found + The distant climes and different tongues resound, +_160 + I bridle in my struggling Muse with pain, + That longs to launch into a bolder strain. + But I've already troubled you too long, + Nor dare attempt a more adventurous song. + My humble verse demands a softer theme, + A painted meadow, or a purling stream; + Unfit for heroes, whom immortal lays, + And lines like Virgil's, or like yours, should praise. + + + + MILTON'S STYLE IMITATED, + + IN A TRANSLATION OF A STORY OUT OF THE THIRD ÆNEID. + + Lost in the gloomy horror of the night, + We struck upon the coast where Ætna lies, + Horrid and waste, its entrails fraught with fire, + That now casts out dark fumes and pitchy clouds, + Vast showers of ashes hovering in the smoke; + Now belches molten stones and ruddy flame, + Incensed, or tears up mountains by the roots, + Or slings a broken rock aloft in air. + The bottom works with smothered fire involved + In pestilential vapours, stench, and smoke. +_10 + 'Tis said, that thunder-struck Enceladus + Groveling beneath the incumbent mountain's weight, + Lies stretched supine, eternal prey of flames; + And, when he heaves against the burning load, + Reluctant, to invert his broiling limbs, + A sudden earthquake shoots through all the isle, + And Ætna thunders dreadful under-ground, + Then pours out smoke in wreathing curls convolved, + And shades the sun's bright orb, and blots out day. + Here in the shelter of the woods we lodged, +_20 + And frighted heard strange sounds and dismal yells, + Nor saw from whence they came; for all the night + A murky storm deep lowering o'er our heads + Hung imminent, that with impervious gloom + Opposed itself to Cynthia's silver ray, + And shaded all beneath. But now the sun + With orient beams had chased the dewy night + From earth and heaven; all nature stood disclosed: + When, looking on the neighbouring woods, we saw + The ghastly visage of a man unknown, +_30 + An uncouth feature, meagre, pale, and wild; + Affliction's foul and terrible dismay + Sat in his looks, his face, impaired and worn + With marks of famine, speaking sore distress; + His locks were tangled, and his shaggy beard + Matted with filth; in all things else a Greek. + He first advanced in haste; but, when he saw + Trojans and Trojan arms, in mid career + Stopp'd short, he back recoiled as one surprised: + But soon recovering speed he ran, he flew + Precipitant, and thus with piteous cries +_40 + Our ears assailed: 'By heaven's eternal fires, + By every god that sits enthroned on high, + By this good light, relieve a wretch forlorn, + And bear me hence to any distant shore, + So I may shun this savage race accursed. + 'Tis true I fought among the Greeks that late + With sword and fire o'erturned Neptunian Troy + And laid the labours of the gods in dust; + For which, if so the sad offence deserves, +_50 + Plunged in the deep, for ever let me lie + Whelmed under seas; if death must be my doom, + Let man inflict it, and I die well-pleased.' + He ended here, and now profuse to tears + In suppliant mood fell prostrate at our feet: + We bade him speak from whence and what he was, + And how by stress of fortune sunk thus low; + Anchises too, with friendly aspect mild, + Gave him his hand, sure pledge of amity; + When, thus encouraged, he began his tale. +_60 + 'I'm one,' says he, 'of poor descent; my name + Is Achæmenides, my country Greece; + Ulysses' sad compeer, who, whilst he fled + The raging Cyclops, left me here behind, + Disconsolate, forlorn; within the cave + He left me, giant Polypheme's dark cave; + A dungeon wide and horrible, the walls + On all sides furred with mouldy damps, and hung + With clots of ropy gore, and human limbs, + His dire repast: himself of mighty size, +_70 + Hoarse in his voice, and in his visage grim, + Intractable, that riots on the flesh + Of mortal men, and swills the vital blood. + Him did I see snatch up with horrid grasp + Two sprawling Greeks, in either hand a man; + I saw him when with huge, tempestuous sway + He dashed and broke them on the grundsil edge; + The pavement swam in blood, the walls around + Were spattered o'er with brains. He lapp'd the blood, + And chewed the tender flesh still warm with life, +_80 + That swelled and heaved itself amidst his teeth + As sensible of pain. Not less meanwhile + Our chief, incensed and studious of revenge, + Plots his destruction, which he thus effects. + The giant, gorged with flesh, and wine, and blood, + Lay stretched at length and snoring in his den, + Belching raw gobbets from his maw, o'ercharged + With purple wine and cruddled gore confused. + We gathered round, and to his single eye, + The single eye that in his forehead glared +_90 + Like a full moon, or a broad burnished shield, + A forky staff we dexterously applied, + Which, in the spacious socket turning round, + Scooped out the big round jelly from its orb. + But let me not thus interpose delays; + Fly, mortals, fly this cursed, detested race: + A hundred of the same stupendous size, + A hundred Cyclops live among the hills, + Gigantic brotherhood, that stalk along + With horrid strides o'er the high mountains' tops, +_100 + Enormous in their gait; I oft have heard + Their voice and tread, oft seen them as they passed, + Sculking and cowering down, half dead with fear. + Thrice has the moon washed all her orb in light, + Thrice travelled o'er, in her obscure sojourn, + The realms of night inglorious, since I've lived + Amidst these woods, gleaning from thorns and shrubs + A wretched sustenance.' As thus he spoke, + We saw descending from a neighbouring hill + Blind Polypheme; by weary steps and slow +_110 + The groping giant with a trunk of pine + Explored his way; around, his woolly flocks + Attended grazing; to the well-known shore + He bent his course, and on the margin stood, + A hideous monster, terrible, deformed; + Full in the midst of his high front there gaped + The spacious hollow where his eye-ball rolled, + A ghastly orifice: he rinsed the wound, + And washed away the strings and clotted blood + That caked within; then, stalking through the deep, +_120 + He fords the ocean, while the topmost wave + Scarce reaches up his middle side; we stood + Amazed, be sure; a sudden horror chill + Ran through each nerve, and thrilled in every vein, + Till, using all the force of winds and oars, + We sped away; he heard us in our course, + And with his outstretched arms around him groped, + But finding nought within his reach, he raised + Such hideous shouts that all the ocean shook. + Even Italy, though many a league remote, +_130 + In distant echoes answered; Ætna roared, + Through all its inmost winding caverns roared. + Roused with the sound, the mighty family + Of one-eyed brothers hasten to the shore, + And gather round the bellowing Polypheme, + A dire assembly: we with eager haste + Work every one, and from afar behold + A host of giants covering all the shore. + So stands a forest tall of mountain oaks + Advanced to mighty growth: the traveller +_140 + Hears from the humble valley where he rides + The hollow murmurs of the winds that blow + Amidst the boughs, and at the distance sees + The shady tops of trees unnumbered rise, + A stately prospect, waving in the clouds. + + +THE CAMPAIGN, A POEM. + +TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. + + Rhení pæator et Istri. + Omnis in hoc uno variis discordia cessit + Ordinibus; læctatur eques, plauditque senator, + Votaque patricio certant plebeia favori. + CLAUD. DE LAUD. STILIC. + + Esse aliquam in terris gentem quæ suâ impensâ, suo labore ac periculo + bella gerat pro libertate aliorum. Nec hoc finitimis, aut propinquæ + vicinitatis hominibus, aut terris continenti junctis præstet. Maria + trajiciat: ne quod toto orbe terrarum injustum imperium sit, et ubique + jus, fas, lex, potentissima sint. + LIV. HIST. lib. 36. + + While crowds of princes your deserts proclaim, + Proud in their number to enrol your name; + While emperors to you commit their cause, + And Anna's praises crown the vast applause; + Accept, great leader, what the Muse recites, + That in ambitious verse attempts your fights. + Fired and transported with a theme so new, + Ten thousand wonders opening to my view + Shine forth at once; sieges and storms appear, + And wars and conquests fill the important year, +_10 + Rivers of blood I see, and hills of slain, + An Iliad rising out of one campaign. + The haughty Gaul beheld, with towering pride, + His ancient bounds enlarged on every side, + Pirene's lofty barriers were subdued, + And in the midst of his wide empire stood; + Ausonia's states, the victor to restrain, + Opposed their Alps and Apennines in vain, + Nor found themselves, with strength of rocks immured, + Behind their everlasting hills secured; +_20 + The rising Danube its long race began, + And half its course through the new conquests ran; + Amazed and anxious for her sovereign's fates, + Germania trembled through a hundred states; + Great Leopold himself was seized with fear; + He gazed around, but saw no succour near; + He gazed, and half abandoned to despair + His hopes on Heaven, and confidence in prayer. + To Britain's queen the nations turn their eyes, + On her resolves the Western world relies, +_30 + Confiding still, amidst its dire alarms, + In Anna's councils and in Churchill's arms. + Thrice happy Britain, from the kingdoms rent, + To sit the guardian of the continent! + That sees her bravest son advanced so high, + And flourishing so near her prince's eye; + Thy favourites grow not up by fortune's sport, + Or from the crimes or follies of a court; + On the firm basis of desert they rise, + From long-tried, faith, and friendship's holy ties: +_40 + Their sovereign's well-distinguished smiles they share, + Her ornaments in peace, her strength in war; + The nation thanks them with a public voice, + By showers of blessings Heaven approves their choice; + Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost, + And factions strive who shall applaud them most. + Soon as soft vernal breezes warm the sky, + Britannia's colours in the zephyrs fly; + Her chief already has his march begun, + Crossing the provinces himself had won, +_50 + Till the Moselle, appearing from afar, + Retards the progress of the moving war. + Delightful stream, had Nature bid her fall + In distant climes, far from the perjured Gaul; + But now a purchase to the sword she lies, + Her harvests for uncertain owners rise, + Each vineyard doubtful of its master grows, + And to the victor's bowl each vintage flows. + The discontented shades of slaughtered hosts, + That wandered on her banks, her heroes' ghosts, +_60 + Hoped, when they saw Britannia's arms appear, + The vengeance due to their great deaths was near. + Our godlike leader, ere the stream he passed, + The mighty scheme of all his labours cast, + Forming the wondrous year within his thought; + His bosom glowed with battles yet unfought. + The long, laborious march he first surveys, + And joins the distant Danube to the Mæse, + Between whose floods such pathless forests grow, + Such mountains rise, so many rivers flow: +_70 + The toil looks lovely in the hero's eyes, + And danger serves but to enhance the prize. + Big with the fate of Europe, he renews + His dreadful course, and the proud foe pursues: + Infected by the burning Scorpion's heat, + The sultry gales round his chafed temples beat, + Till on the borders of the Maine he finds + Defensive shadows and refreshing winds. + Our British youth, with inborn freedom bold, + Unnumbered scenes of servitude behold, +_80 + Nations of slaves, with tyranny debased, + (Their Maker's image more than half defaced,) + Hourly instructed, as they urge their toil, + To prize their queen, and love their native soil. + Still to the rising sun they take their way + Through clouds of dust, and gain upon the clay; + When now the Neckar on its friendly coast + With cooling streams revives the fainting host, + That cheerfully its labours past forgets, + The midnight watches, and the noonday heats. +_90 + O'er prostrate towns and palaces they pass, + (Now covered o'er with weeds and hid in grass,) + Breathing revenge; whilst anger and disdain + Fire every breast, and boil in every vein: + Here shattered walls, like broken rocks, from far + Rise up in hideous views, the guilt of war, + Whilst here the vine o'er hills of ruin climbs, + Industrious to conceal great Bourbon's crimes, + At length the fame of England's hero drew, + Eugenio to the glorious interview. +_100 + Great souls by instinct to each other turn, + Demand alliance, and in friendship burn; + A sudden friendship, while with stretched-out rays + They meet each other, mingling blaze with blaze. + Polished in courts, and hardened in the field, + Renowned for conquest, and in council skilled, + Their courage dwells not in a troubled flood + Of mounting spirits, and fermenting blood: + Lodged in the soul, with virtue overruled, + Inflamed by reason, and by reason cooled, +_110 + In hours of peace content to be unknown, + And only in the field of battle shown: + To souls like these, in mutual friendship joined, + Heaven dares intrust the cause of humankind. + Britannia's graceful sons appear in arms, + Her harassed troops the hero's presence warms, + Whilst the high hills and rivers all around + With thundering peals of British shouts resound: + Doubling their speed, they march with fresh delight, + Eager for glory, and require the fight. +_120 + So the staunch hound the trembling deer pursues, + And smells his footsteps in the tainted dews, + The tedious track unravelling by degrees: + But when the scent comes warm in every breeze, + Fired at the near approach, he shoots away + On his full stretch, and bears upon his prey. + The march concludes, the various realms are past, + The immortal Schellenberg appears at last: + Like hills the aspiring ramparts rise on high, + Like valleys at their feet the trenches lie; +_130 + Batteries on batteries guard each fatal pass, + Threatening destruction; rows of hollow brass, + Tube behind tube, the dreadful entrance keep, + Whilst in their wombs ten thousand thunders sleep: + Great Churchill owns, charmed with the glorious sight, + His march o'erpaid by such a promised fight. + The western sun now shot a feeble ray, + And faintly scattered the remains of day; + Evening approached; but, oh! what hosts of foes + Were never to behold that evening close! +_140 + Thickening their ranks, and wedged in firm array, + The close-compacted Britons win their way: + In vain the cannon their thronged war defaced + With tracts of death, and laid the battle waste; + Still pressing forward to the fight, they broke + Through flames of sulphur, and a night of smoke, + Till slaughtered legions filled the trench below, + And bore their fierce avengers to the foe. + High on the works the mingling hosts engage; + The battle, kindled into tenfold rage +_150 + With showers of bullets and with storms of fire, + Burns in full fury; heaps on heaps expire; + Nations with nations mixed confus'dly die, + And lost in one promiscuous carnage lie. + How many generous Britons meet their doom, + New to the field, and heroes in the bloom! + The illustrious youths, that left their native shore + To march where Britons never marched before, + (O fatal love of fame! O glorious heat, + Only destructive to the brave and great!) +_160 + After such toils o'ercome, such dangers past, + Stretched on Bavarian ramparts breathe their last. + But hold, my Muse, may no complaints appear, + Nor blot the day with an ungrateful tear: + While Marlborough lives, Britannia's stars dispense + A friendly light, and shine in innocence. + Plunging through seas of blood his fiery steed + Where'er his friends retire, or foes succeed; + Those he supports, these drives to sudden flight, + And turns the various fortune of the fight. +_170 + Forbear, great man, renowned in arms, forbear + To brave the thickest terrors of the war, + Nor hazard thus, confused in crowds of foes, + Britannia's safety, and the world's repose; + Let nations, anxious for thy life, abate + This scorn of danger and contempt of fate: + Thou liv'st not for thyself; thy queen demands + Conquest and peace from thy victorious hands; + Kingdoms and empires in thy fortune join, + And Europe's destiny depends on thine. +_180 + At length the long-disputed pass they gain, + By crowded armies fortified in vain; + The war breaks in, the fierce Bavarians yield, + And see their camp with British legions filled. + So Belgian mounds bear on their shattered sides + The sea's whole weight, increased with swelling tides; + But if the rushing wave a passage finds, + Enraged by watery moons, and warring winds, + The trembling peasant sees his country round + Covered with tempests, and in oceans drowned. +_190 + The few surviving foes dispersed in flight, + (Refuse of swords, and gleanings of a fight,) + In every rustling wind the victor hear, + And Marlborough's form in every shadow fear, + Till the dark cope of night with kind embrace + Befriends the rout, and covers their disgrace. + To Donawert, with unresisted force, + The gay, victorious army bends its course. + The growth of meadows, and the pride of fields, + Whatever spoils Bavaria's summer yields, +_200 + (The Danube's great increase,) Britannia shares, + The food of armies, and support of wars: + With magazines of death, destructive balls, + And cannons doomed to batter Landau's walls, + The victor finds each hidden cavern stored, + And turns their fury on their guilty lord. + Deluded prince! how is thy greatness crossed, + And all the gaudy dream of empire lost, + That proudly set thee on a fancied throne, + And made imaginary realms thy own! +_210 + Thy troops that now behind the Danube join, + Shall shortly seek for shelter from the Rhine, + Nor find it there: surrounded with alarms, + Thou hopest the assistance of the Gallic arms; + The Gallic arms in safety shall advance, + And crowd thy standards with the power of France, + While to exalt thy doom, the aspiring Gaul + Shares thy destruction, and adorns thy fall. + Unbounded courage and compassion joined, + Tempering each other in the victor's mind, +_220 + Alternately proclaim him good and great, + And make the hero and the man complete. + Long did he strive the obdurate foe to gain + By proffered grace, but long he strove in vain; + Till fired at length, he thinks it vain to spare + His rising wrath, and gives a loose to war. + In vengeance roused, the soldier fills his hand + With sword and fire, and ravages the land, + A thousand villages to ashes turns, + In crackling flames a thousand harvests burns. +_230 + To the thick woods the woolly flocks retreat, + And mixed with bellowing herds confus'dly bleat; + Their trembling lords the common shade partake, + And cries of infants sound in every brake: + The listening soldier fixed in sorrow stands, + Loth to obey his leader's just commands; + The leader grieves, by generous pity swayed, + To see his just commands so well obeyed. + But now the trumpet, terrible from far, + In shriller clangors animates the war, +_240 + Confederate drums in fuller consort beat, + And echoing hills the loud alarm repeat: + Gallia's proud standards, to Bavaria's joined, + Unfurl their gilded lilies in the wind; + The daring prince his blasted hopes renews, + And while the thick embattled host he views + Stretched out in deep array, and dreadful length, + His heart dilates, and glories in his strength. + The fatal day its mighty course began, + That the grieved world had long desired in vain: +_250 + States that their new captivity bemoaned, + Armies of martyrs that in exile groaned, + Sighs from the depth of gloomy dungeons heard, + And prayers in bitterness of soul preferred, + Europe's loud cries, that Providence assailed, + And Anna's ardent vows, at length prevailed; + The day was come when heaven designed to show + His care and conduct of the world below. + Behold, in awful march and dread array + The long-expected squadrons shape their way! +_260 + Death, in approaching terrible, imparts + An anxious horror to the bravest hearts; + Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife, + And thirst of glory quells the love of life. + No vulgar fears can British minds control: + Heat of revenge and noble pride of soul + O'erlook the foe, advantaged by his post, + Lessen his numbers, and contract his host. + Though fens and floods possessed the middle space, + That unprovoked they would have feared to pass, +_270 + Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia's bands, + When her proud foe ranged on their borders stands. + But, O my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find + To sing the furious troops in battle joined! + Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous sound + The victor's shouts and dying groans confound, + The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies, + And all the thunder of the battle rise. + 'Twas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was proved, + That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, +_280 + Amidst confusion, horror, and despair, + Examined all the dreadful scenes of war; + In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, + To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, + Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, + And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. + So when an angel by divine command + With rising tempests shakes a guilty land, + Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed,[6] + Calm and serene he drives the furious blast; +_290 + And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, + Hides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm. + But see the haughty household-troops advance! + The dread of Europe, and the pride of France. + The war's whole art each private soldier knows, + And with a general's love of conquest glows; + Proudly he marches on, and, void of fear, + Laughs at the shaking of the British spear: + Vain insolence! with native freedom brave, + The meanest Briton scorns the highest slave; +_300 + Contempt and fury fire their souls by turns, + Each nation's glory in each warrior burns, + Each fights, as in his arm the important day + And all the fate of his great monarch lay: + A thousand glorious actions, that might claim + Triumphant laurels, and immortal fame, + Confused in clouds of glorious actions lie, + And troops of heroes undistinguished die. + O Dormer, how can I behold thy fate, + And not the wonders of thy youth relate! +_310 + How can I see the gay, the brave, the young, + Fall in the cloud of war and lie unsung! + In joys of conquest he resigns his breath, + And, filled with England's glory, smiles in death. + The rout begins, the Gallic squadrons run, + Compelled in crowds to meet the fate they shun; + Thousands of fiery steeds with wounds transfixed + Floating in gore, with their dead masters mixed, + Midst heaps of spears and standards driven around, + Lie in the Danube's bloody whirlpools drowned, +_320 + Troops of bold youths, born on the distant Soane, + Or sounding borders of the rapid Rhône, + Or where the Seine her flowery fields divides, + Or where the Loire through winding vineyards glides; + In heaps the rolling billows sweep away, + And into Scythian seas their bloated corps convey. + From Blenheim's towers the Gaul, with wild affright, + Beholds the various havoc of the fight; + His waving banners, that so oft had stood, + Planted in fields of death, and streams of blood, +_330 + So wont the guarded enemy to reach, + And rise triumphant in the fatal breach, + Or pierce the broken foe's remotest lines, + The hardy veteran with tears resigns. + Unfortunate Tallard![7] Oh, who can name + The pangs of rage, of sorrow, and of shame, + That with mixed tumult in thy bosom swelled! + When first thou saw'st thy bravest troops repelled, + Thine only son pierced with a deadly wound, + Choked in his blood, and gasping on the ground, +_340 + Thyself in bondage by the victor kept! + The chief, the father, and the captive wept. + An English Muse is touched with generous woe, + And in the unhappy man forgets the foe. + Greatly distressed! thy loud complaints forbear, + Blame not the turns of fate, and chance of war; + Give thy brave foes their due, nor blush to own + The fatal field by such great leaders won, + The field whence famed Eugenio bore away + Only the second honours of the day. +_350 + With floods of gore that from the vanquished fell, + The marshes stagnate, and the rivers swell. + Mountains of slain lie heaped upon the ground, + Or 'midst the roarings of the Danube drowned; + Whole captive hosts the conqueror detains + In painful bondage and inglorious chains; + Even those who'scape the fetters and the sword, + Nor seek the fortunes of a happier lord, + Their raging king dishonours, to complete + Marlborough's great work, and finish the defeat. +_360 + From Memminghen's high domes, and Augsburg's walls, + The distant battle drives the insulting Gauls; + Freed by the terror of the victor's name, + The rescued states his great protection claim; + Whilst Ulm the approach of her deliverer waits, + And longs to open her obsequious gates. + The hero's breast still swells with great designs, + In every thought the towering genius shines: + If to the foe his dreadful course he bends, + O'er the wide continent his march extends; +_370 + If sieges in his labouring thoughts are formed, + Camps are assaulted, and an army stormed; + If to the fight his active soul is bent, + The fate of Europe turns on its event. + What distant land, what region, can afford + An action worthy his victorious sword? + Where will he next the flying Gaul defeat, + To make the series of his toils complete? + Where the swoln Rhine, rushing with all its force, + Divides the hostile nations in its course, +_380 + While each contracts its bounds, or wider grows, + Enlarged or straitened as the river flows, + On Gallia's side a mighty bulwark stands, + That all the wide extended plain commands; + Twice, since the war was kindled, has it tried + The victor's rage, and twice has changed its side; + As oft whole armies, with the prize o'erjoyed, + Have the long summer on its walls employed. + Hither our mighty chief his arms directs, + Hence future triumphs from the war expects; +_390 + And though the dog-star had its course begun, + Carries his arms still nearer to the sun: + Fixed on the glorious action, he forgets + The change of seasons, and increase of heats: + No toils are painful that can danger show, + No climes unlovely that contain a foe. + The roving Gaul, to his own bounds restrained, + Learns to encamp within his native land, + But soon as the victorious host he spies, + From hill to hill, from stream to stream he flies: +_400 + Such dire impressions in his heart remain + Of Marlborough's sword, and Hochstet's fatal plain: + In vain Britannia's mighty chief besets + Their shady coverts, and obscure retreats; + They fly the conqueror's approaching fame, + That bears the force of armies in his name, + Austria's young monarch, whose imperial sway + Sceptres and thrones are destined to obey, + Whose boasted ancestry so high extends + That in the pagan gods his lineage ends, +_410 + Comes from afar, in gratitude to own + The great supporter of his father's throne; + What tides of glory to his bosom ran, + Clasped in the embraces of the godlike man! + How were his eyes with pleasing wonder fixed + To see such fire with so much sweetness mixed, + Such easy greatness, such a graceful port, + So turned and finished for the camp or court! + Achilles thus was formed with every grace, + And Nireus shone but in the second place; +_420 + Thus the great father of almighty Rome + (Divinely flushed with an immortal bloom, + That Cytherea's fragrant breath bestowed) + In all the charms of his bright mother glowed. + The royal youth by Marlborough's presence charmed, + Taught by his counsels, by his actions warmed, + On Landau with redoubled fury falls, + Discharges all his thunder on its walls, + O'er mines and caves of death provokes the fight, + And learns to conquer in the hero's sight. +_430 + The British chief, for mighty toils renowned, + Increased in titles, and with conquests crowned, + To Belgian coasts his tedious march renews, + And the long windings of the Rhine pursues, + Clearing its borders from usurping foes, + And blessed by rescued nations as he goes. + Treves fears no more, freed from its dire alarms; + And Trærbach feels the terror of his arms, + Seated on rocks her proud foundations shake, + While Marlborough presses to the bold attack, +_440 + Plants all his batteries, bids his cannon roar, + And shows how Landau might have fallen before. + Scared at his near approach, great Louis fears + Vengeance reserved for his declining years, + Forgets his thirst of universal sway, + And scarce can teach his subjects to obey; + His arms he finds on vain attempts employed, + The ambitious projects for his race destroyed, + The work of ages sunk in one campaign, + And lives of millions sacrificed in vain. +_450 + Such are the effects of Anna's royal cares: + By her, Britannia, great in foreign wars, + Ranges through nations, wheresoo'er disjoined, + Without the wonted aid of sea and wind. + By her the unfettered Ister's states are free, + And taste the sweets of English liberty: + But who can tell the joys of those that lie + Beneath the constant influence of her eye! + Whilst in diffusive showers her bounties fall, + Like heaven's indulgence, and descend on all, +_460 + Secure the happy, succour the distressed, + Make every subject glad, and a whole people blessed. + Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse, + In the smooth records of a faithful verse; + That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail, + May tell posterity the wondrous tale. + When actions, unadorned, are faint and weak, + Cities and countries must be taught to speak; + Gods may descend in factions from the skies, + And rivers from their oozy beds arise; +_470 + Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays, + And round the hero cast a borrowed blaze. + Marlborough's exploits appear divinely bright, + And proudly shine in their own native light; + Raised of themselves, their genuine charms they boast, + And those who paint them truest praise them most. + + +COWLEY'S EPITAPH ON HIMSELF. + +TRANSLATED BY MR ADDISON. + + From life's superfluous cares enlarged, + His debt of human toil discharged, + Here Cowley lies! beneath this shed, + To every worldly interest dead; + With decent poverty content, + His hours of ease not idly spent; + To fortune's goods a foe profess'd, + And hating wealth by all caress'd. + 'Tis true he's dead; for oh! how small + + A spot of earth is now his all: +_10 + Oh! wish that earth may lightly lay, + And every care be far away; + Bring flowers; the short-lived roses bring, + To life deceased, fit offering: + And sweets around the poet strow, + Whilst yet with life his ashes glow. + + + PROLOGUE TO THE TENDER HUSBAND.[8] + + SPOKEN BY MR WILKS. + + In the first rise and infancy of Farce, + When fools were many, and when plays were scarce, + The raw, unpractised authors could, with ease, + A young and unexperienced audience please: + No single character had e'er been shown, + But the whole herd of fops was all their own; + Rich in originals, they set to view, + In every piece, a coxcomb that was new. + But now our British theatre can boast + Drolls of all kinds, a vast, unthinking host! +_10 + Fruitful of folly and of vice, it shows + Cuckolds, and cits, and bawds, and pimps, and beaux; + Rough country knights are found of every shire; + Of every fashion gentle fops appear; + And punks of different characters we meet, + As frequent on the stage as in the pit. + Our modern wits are forced to pick and cull, + And here and there by chance glean up a fool: + Long ere they find the necessary spark, + They search the town, and beat about the Park; +_20 + To all his most frequented haunts resort, + Oft dog him to the ring, and oft to court, + As love of pleasure or of place invites; + And sometimes catch him taking snuff at White's. + Howe'er, to do you right, the present age + Breeds very hopeful monsters for the stage; + That scorn the paths their dull forefathers trod, + And wont be blockheads in the common road. + Do but survey this crowded house to-night:-- + Here's still encouragement for those that write. +_30 + Our author, to divert his friends to-day, + Stocks with variety of fools his play; + And that there may be something gay and new, + Two ladies-errant has exposed to view: + The first a damsel, travelled in romance; + The t'other more refined; she comes from France: + Rescue, like courteous knights, the nymph from danger; + And kindly treat, like well-bred men, the stranger. + + +EPILOGUE TO THE BRITISH + +ENCHANTERS.[9] + + When Orpheus tuned his lyre with pleasing woe, + Rivers forgot to run, and winds to blow, + While listening forests covered as he played, + The soft musician in a moving shade. + That this night's strains the same success may find, + The force of magic is to music joined; + Where sounding strings and artful voices fail, + The charming rod and muttered spells prevail. + Let sage Urganda wave the circling wand + On barren mountains, or a waste of sand, +_10 + The desert smiles; the woods begin to grow, + The birds to warble, and the springs to flow. + The same dull sights in the same landscape mixed, + Scenes of still life, and points for ever fixed, + A tedious pleasure on the mind bestow, + And pall the sense with one continued show; + But as our two magicians try their skill, + The vision varies, though the place stands still, + While the same spot its gaudy form renews, + Shifting the prospect to a thousand views. +_20 + Thus (without unity of place transgressed) + The enchanter turns the critic to a jest. + But howsoe'er, to please your wandering eyes, + Bright objects disappear and brighter rise: + There's none can make amends for lost delight, + While from that circle we divert your sight. + + +PROLOGUE TO SMITH'S[10] PHÆDRA AND HIPPOLITUS. + +SPOKEN BY MR WILKS. + + Long has a race of heroes fill'd the stage, + That rant by note, and through the gamut rage; + In songs and airs express their martial fire, + Combat in trills, and in a fugue expire: + While, lull'd by sound, and undisturb'd by wit, + Calm and serene you indolently sit, + And, from the dull fatigue of thinking free, + Hear the facetious fiddle's repartee: + Our home-spun authors must forsake the field, + And Shakspeare to the soft Scarletti yield. +_10 + To your new taste the poet of this day + Was by a friend advised to form his play. + Had Valentini, musically coy, + Shunn'd Phædra's arms, and scorn'd the proffer'd joy, + It had not moved your wonder to have seen + An eunuch fly from an enamour'd queen: + How would it please, should she in English speak, + And could Hippolitus reply in Greek! + But he, a stranger to your modish way, + By your old rules must stand or fall to-day, +_20 + And hopes you will your foreign taste command, + To bear, for once, with what you understand. + + +HORACE.-ODE III., BOOK III. + +Augustus had a design to rebuild Troy, and make it the metropolis of the +Roman empire, having closeted several senators on the project: Horace is +supposed to have written the following Ode on this occasion. + + The man resolved, and steady to his trust, + Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just, + May the rude rabble's insolence despise, + Their senseless clamours and tumultuous cries; + The tyrant's fierceness he beguiles, + And the stern brow, and the harsh voice defies, + And with superior greatness smiles. + Not the rough whirlwind, that deforms + Adria's black gulf, and vexes it with storms, + The stubborn virtue of his soul can move; +_10 + Not the red arm of angry Jove, + That flings the thunder from the sky, + And gives it rage to roar, and strength to fly. + Should the whole frame of nature round him break, + In ruin and confusion hurled, + He, unconcerned, would hear the mighty crack, + And stand secure amidst a falling world. + Such were the godlike arts that led + Bright Pollux to the blest abodes; + Such did for great Alcides plead, +_20 + And gained a place among the gods; + Where now Augustus, mixed with heroes, lies, + And to his lips the nectar bowl applies: + His ruddy lips the purple tincture show, + And with immortal strains divinely glow. + By arts like these did young Lyæus [11] rise: + His tigers drew him to the skies, + Wild from the desert and unbroke: + In vain they foamed, in vain they stared, + In vain their eyes with fury glared; +_30 + He tamed them to the lash, and bent them to the yoke. + Such were the paths that Rome's great founder trod, + When in a whirlwind snatched on high, + He shook off dull mortality, + And lost the monarch in the god. + Bright Juno then her awful silence broke, + And thus the assembled deities bespoke. + 'Troy,' says the goddess, 'perjured Troy has felt + The dire effects of her proud tyrant's guilt; + The towering pile, and soft abodes, +_40 + Walled by the hand of servile gods, + Now spreads its ruins all around, + And lies inglorious on the ground. + An umpire, partial and unjust, + And a lewd woman's impious lust, + Lay heavy on her head, and sunk her to the dust. + Since false Laomedon's tyrannic sway, + That durst defraud the immortals of their pay, + Her guardian gods renounced their patronage, + Nor would the fierce invading foe repel; +_50 + To my resentment, and Minerva's rage, + The guilty king and the whole people fell. + And now the long protracted wars are o'er, + The soft adulterer shines no more; + No more does Hector's force the Trojans shield, + That drove whole armies back, and singly cleared the field. + My vengeance sated, I at length resign + To Mars his offspring of the Trojan line: + Advanced to godhead let him rise, + And take his station in the skies; +_60 + There entertain his ravished sight + With scenes of glory, fields of light; + Quaff with the gods immortal wine, + And see adoring nations crowd his shrine: + The thin remains of Troy's afflicted host, + In distant realms may seats unenvied find, + And flourish on a foreign coast; + But far be Rome from Troy disjoined, + Removed by seas from the disastrous shore; + May endless billows rise between, and storms unnumbered roar. +_70 + Still let the cursed, detested place, + Where Priam lies, and Priam's faithless race, + Be cover'd o'er with weeds, and hid in grass. + There let the wanton flocks unguarded stray; + Or, while the lonely shepherd sings, + Amidst the mighty ruins play, + And frisk upon the tombs of kings. + May tigers there, and all the savage kind, + Sad, solitary haunts and silent deserts find; + In gloomy vaults, and nooks of palaces, +_80 + May the unmolested lioness + Her brinded whelps securely lay, + Or couched, in dreadful slumbers waste the day. + While Troy in heaps of ruins lies, + Rome and the Roman Capitol shall rise; + The illustrious exiles unconfined + Shall triumph far and near, and rule mankind. + In vain the sea's intruding tide + Europe from Afric shall divide, + And part the severed world in two: +_90 + Through Afric's sands their triumphs they shall spread, + And the long train of victories pursue + To Nile's yet undiscovered head. + Riches the hardy soldier shall despise, + And look on gold with undesiring eyes, + Nor the disbowelled earth explore + In search of the forbidden ore; + Those glittering ills concealed within the mine, + Shall lie untouched, and innocently shine. + To the last bounds that nature sets, +_100 + The piercing colds and sultry heats, + The godlike race shall spread their arms; + Now fill the polar circle with alarms, + Till storms and tempests their pursuits confine; + Now sweat for conquest underneath the line. + This only law the victor shall restrain, + On these conditions shall he reign; + If none his guilty hand employ + To build again a second Troy, + If none the rash design pursue, +_110 + Nor tempt the vengeance of the gods anew. + A curse there cleaves to the devoted place, + That shall the new foundations raze: + Greece shall in mutual leagues conspire + To storm the rising town with fire, + And at their armies' head myself will show + What Juno, urged to all her rage, can do. + Thrice should Apollo's self the city raise, + And line it round with walls of brass, + Thrice should my favourite Greeks his works confound, +_120 + And hew the shining fabric to the ground; + Thrice should her captive dames to Greece return, + And their dead sons and slaughtered husbands mourn.' + But hold, my Muse, forbear thy towering flight, + Nor bring the secrets of the gods to light: + In vain would thy presumptuous verse + The immortal rhetoric rehearse; + The mighty strains, in lyric numbers bound, + Forget their majesty, and lose their sound. + + + + THE VESTAL. + + FROM OVID DE FASTIS, LIB. III. EL. 1. + + Blanda quies victis furtim subrepit ocellis, &c. + + As the fair vestal to the fountain came, + (Let none be startled at a vestal's name) + Tired with the walk, she laid her down to rest, + And to the winds exposed her glowing breast, + To take the freshness of the morning-air, + And gather'd in a knot her flowing hair; + While thus she rested, on her arm reclined, + The hoary willows waving with the wind, + And feather'd choirs that warbled in the shade, + And purling streams that through the meadow stray'd, +_10 + In drowsy murmurs lull'd the gentle maid. + The god of war beheld the virgin lie, + The god beheld her with a lover's eye; + And by so tempting an occasion press'd, + The beauteous maid, whom he beheld, possess'd: + Conceiving as she slept, her fruitful womb + Swell'd with the founder of immortal Rome. + + + + OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. + + BOOK II. + + THE STORY OF PHÆTON. + + The sun's bright palace, on high columns raised, + With burnished gold and flaming jewels blazed; + The folding gates diffused a silver light, + And with a milder gleam refreshed the sight; + Of polished ivory was the covering wrought: + The matter vied not with the sculptor's thought, + For in the portal was displayed on high + (The work of Vulcan) a fictitious sky; + A waving sea the inferior earth embraced, + And gods and goddesses the waters graced. +_10 + Ægeon here a mighty whale bestrode; + Triton, and Proteus, (the deceiving god,) + With Doris here were carved, and all her train, + Some loosely swimming in the figured main, + While some on rocks their dropping hair divide, + And some on fishes through the waters glide: + Though various features did the sisters grace, + A sister's likeness was in every face. + On earth a different landscape courts the eyes, + Men, towns, and beasts, in distant prospects rise, +_20 + And nymphs, and streams, and woods, and rural deities. + O'er all, the heaven's refulgent image shines; + On either gate were six engraven signs. + Here Phaëton, still gaining on the ascent, + To his suspected father's palace went, + Till, pressing forward through the bright ahode, + He saw at distance the illustrious god: + He saw at distance, or the dazzling light + Had flashed too strongly on his aching sight. + The god sits high, exalted on a throne +_30 + Of blazing gems, with purple garments on: + The Hours, in order ranged on either hand, + And days, and months, and years, and ages, stand. + Here Spring appears with flowery chaplets bound; + Here Summer in her wheaten garland crowned; + Here Autumn the rich trodden grapes besmear; + And hoary Winter shivers in the rear. + Phoebus beheld the youth from off his throne; + That eye, which looks on all, was fixed on one. + He saw the boy's confusion in his face, +_40 + Surprised at all the wonders of the place; + And cries aloud, 'What wants my son? for know + My son thou art, and I must call thee so.' + 'Light of the world,' the trembling youth replies, + 'Illustrious parent! since you don't despise + The parent's name, some certain token give, + That I may Clymene's proud boast believe, + Nor longer under false reproaches grieve.' + The tender sire was touched with what he said. + And flung the blaze of glories from his head, +_50 + And bid the youth advance: 'My son,' said he, + 'Come to thy father's arms! for Clymene + Has told thee true; a parent's name I own, + And deem thee worthy to be called my son. + As a sure proof, make some request, and I, + Whate'er it be, with that request comply; + By Styx I swear, whose waves are hid in night, + And roll impervious to my piercing sight.' + The youth transported, asks, without delay, + To guide the Sun's bright chariot for a day. +_60 + The god repented of the oath he took, + For anguish thrice his radiant head he shook; + 'My son,' says he, 'some other proof require, + Rash was my promise, rash is thy desire. + I'd fain deny this wish which thou hast made, + Or, what I can't deny, would fain dissuade. + Too vast and hazardous the task appears, + Nor suited to thy strength, nor to thy years. + Thy lot is mortal, but thy wishes fly + Beyond the province of mortality: +_70 + There is not one of all the gods that dares + (However skilled in other great affairs) + To mount the burning axle-tree, but I; + Not Jove himself, the ruler of the sky, + That hurls the three-forked thunder from above, + Dares try his strength; yet who so strong as Jove? + The steeds climb up the first ascent with pain: + And when the middle firmament they gain, + If downward from the heavens my head I bow, + And see the earth and ocean hang below; +_80 + Even I am seized with horror and affright, + And my own heart misgives me at the sight. + A mighty downfal steeps the evening stage, + And steady reins must curb the horses' rage. + Tethys herself has feared to see me driven + Down headlong from the precipice of heaven. + Besides, consider what impetuous force + Turns stars and planets in a different course: + I steer against their motions; nor am I 89 + Born back by all the current of the sky. +_90 + But how could you resist the orbs that roll + In adverse whirls, and stem the rapid pole? + But you perhaps may hope for pleasing woods, + And stately domes, and cities filled with gods; + While through a thousand snares your progress lies, + Where forms of starry monsters stock the skies: + For, should you hit the doubtful way aright, + The Bull with stooping horns stands opposite; + Next him the bright Hæmonian Bow is strung; + And next, the Lion's grinning visage hung: +_100 + The Scorpion's claws here clasp a wide extent, + And here the Crab's in lesser clasps are bent. + Nor would you find it easy to compose + The mettled steeds, when from their nostrils flows + The scorching fire, that in their entrails glows. + Even I their headstrong fury scarce restrain, + When they grow warm and restive to the rein. + Let not my son a fatal gift require, + But, oh! in time recall your rash desire; + You ask a gift that may your parent tell, +_110 + Let these my fears your parentage reveal; + And learn a father from a father's care: + Look on my face; or if my heart lay bare, + Could you but look, you'd read the father there. + Choose out a gift from seas, or earth, or skies, + For open to your wish all nature lies, + Only decline this one unequal task, + For 'tis a mischief, not a gift you ask; + You ask a real mischief, Phaëton: + Nay, hang not thus about my neck, my son: +_120 + I grant your wish, and Styx has heard my voice, + Choose what you will, but make a wiser choice.' + Thus did the god the unwary youth advise; + But he still longs to travel through the skies, + When the fond father (for in vain he pleads) + At length to the Vulcanian chariot leads. + A golden axle did the work uphold, + Gold was the beam, the wheels were orbed with gold. + The spokes in rows of silver pleased the sight, + The seat with party-coloured gems was bright; +_130 + Apollo shined amid the glare of light. + The youth with secret joy the work surveys; + When now the morn disclosed her purple rays; + The stars were fled; for Lucifer had chased + The stars away, and fled himself at last. + Soon as the father saw the rosy morn, + And the moon shining with a blunter horn, + He bid the nimble Hours without delay + Bring forth the steeds; the nimble Hours obey: + From their full racks the generous steeds retire, +_140 + Dropping ambrosial foams and snorting fire. + Still anxious for his son, the god of day, + To make him proof against the burning ray, + His temples with celestial ointment wet, + Of sovereign virtue to repel the heat; + Then fixed the beaming circle on his head, + And fetched a deep, foreboding sigh, and said, + 'Take this at least, this last advice, my son: + Keep a stiff rein, and move but gently on: + The coursers of themselves will run too fast, +_150 + Your art must be to moderate their haste. + Drive them not on directly through the skies, + But where the Zodiac's winding circle lies, + Along the midmost zone; but sally forth + Nor to the distant south, nor stormy north. + The horses' hoofs a beaten track will show, + But neither mount too high nor sink too low, + That no new fires or heaven or earth infest; + Keep the mid-way, the middle way is best. + Nor, where in radiant folds the Serpent twines, +_160 + Direct your course, nor where the Altar shines. + Shun both extremes; the rest let Fortune guide, + And better for thee than thyself provide! + See, while I speak the shades disperse away, + Aurora gives the promise of a day; + I'm called, nor can I make a longer stay. + Snatch up the reins; or still the attempt forsake, + And not my chariot, but my counsel take, + While yet securely on the earth you stand; + Nor touch the horses with too rash a hand. +_170 + Let me alone to light the world, while you + Enjoy those beams which you may safely view.' + He spoke in vain: the youth with active heat + And sprightly vigour vaults into the seat; + And joys to hold the reins, and fondly gives + Those thanks his father with remorse receives. + Meanwhile the restless horses neighed aloud, + Breathing out fire, and pawing where they stood. + Tethys, not knowing what had passed, gave way, + And all the waste of heaven before them lay. +_180 + They spring together out, and swiftly bear + The flying youth through clouds and yielding air; + With wingy speed outstrip the eastern wind, + And leave the breezes of the morn behind. + The youth was light, nor could he fill the seat, + Or poise the chariot with its wonted weight: + But as at sea the unballast vessel rides, + Cast to and fro, the sport of winds and tides; + So in the bounding chariot tossed on high, + The youth is hurried headlong through the sky. +_190 + Soon as the steeds perceive it, they forsake + Their stated course, and leave the beaten track. + The youth was in a maze, nor did he know + Which way to turn the reins, or where to go; + Nor would the horses, had he known, obey. + Then the Seven Stars first felt Apollo's ray + And wished to dip in the forbidden sea. + The folded Serpent next the frozen pole, + Stiff and benumbed before, began to roll, + And raged with inward heat, and threatened war, +_200 + And shot a redder light from every star; + Nay, and 'tis said, Bootes, too, that fain + Thou wouldst have fled, though cumbered with thy wain. + The unhappy youth then, bending down his head, + Saw earth and ocean far beneath him spread: + His colour changed, he startled at the sight, + And his eyes darkened by too great a light. + Now could he wish the fiery steeds untried, + His birth obscure, and his request denied: + Now would he Merops for his father own, +_210 + And quit his boasted kindred to the Sun. + So fares the pilot, when his ship is tossed + In troubled seas, and all its steerage lost, + He gives her to the winds, and in despair + Seeks his last refuge in the gods and prayer. + What could he do? his eyes, if backward cast, + Find a long path he had already passed; + If forward, still a longer path they find: + Both he compares, and measures in his mind; + And sometimes casts an eye upon the east, +_220 + And sometimes looks on the forbidden west. + The horses' names he knew not in the fright: + Nor would he loose the reins, nor could he hold them tight. + Now all the horrors of the heavens he spies, + And monstrous shadows of prodigious size, + That, decked with stars, lie scattered o'er the skies. + There is a place above, where Scorpio, bent + In tail and arms, surrounds a vast extent; + In a wide circuit of the heavens he shines, + And fills the space of two celestial signs. +_230 + Soon as the youth beheld him, vexed with heat, + Brandish his sting, and in his poison sweat, + Half dead with sudden fear he dropped the reins; + The horses felt them loose upon their manes, + And, flying out through all the plains above, + Ran uncontrolled where'er their fury drove; + Rushed on the stars, and through a pathless way + Of unknown regions hurried on the day. + And now above, and now below they flew, + And near the earth the burning chariot drew. +_240 + The clouds disperse in fumes, the wondering Moon + Beholds her brother's steeds beneath her own; + The highlands smoke, cleft by the piercing rays, + Or, clad with woods, in their own fuel blaze. + Next o'er the plains, where ripened harvests grow, + The running conflagration spreads below. + But these are trivial ills; whole cities burn, + And peopled kingdoms into ashes turn. + The mountains kindle as the car draws near, + Athos and Tmolus red with fires appear; +_250 + Oeagrian Hæmus (then a single name) + And virgin Helicon increase the flame; + Taurus and Oete glare amid the sky, + And Ida, spite of all her fountains, dry. + Eryx, and Othrys, and Cithgeron, glow; + And Rhodope, no longer clothed in snow; + High Pindus, Mimas, and Parnassus sweat, + And Ætna rages with redoubled heat. + Even Scythia, through her hoary regions warmed, + In vain with all her native frost was armed. +_260 + Covered with flames, the towering Apennine, + And Caucasus, and proud Olympus, shine; + And, where the long extended Alps aspire, + Now stands a huge, continued range of fire. + The astonished youth, where'er his eyes could turn, + Beheld the universe around him burn: + The world was in a blaze; nor could he bear + The sultry vapours and the scorching air, + Which from below as from a furnace flowed, + And now the axle-tree beneath him glowed: +_270 + Lost in the whirling clouds, that round him broke, + And white with ashes, hovering in the smoke, + He flew where'er the horses drove, nor knew + Whither the horses drove, or where he flew. + 'Twas then, they say, the swarthy Moor begun + To change his hue, and blacken in the sun. + Then Libya first, of all her moisture drained, + Became a barren waste, a wild of sand. + The water-nymphs lament their empty urns, + Boeotia, robbed of silver Dirce, mourns; +_280 + Corinth, Pyrene's wasted spring bewails, + And Argos grieves whilst Aniymone fails. + The floods are drained from every distant coast, + Even Tanaïs, though fixed in ice, was lost. + Enraged Caicus and Lycormas roar, + And Xanthus, fated to be burned once more. + The famed Meeander, that unwearied strays + Through mazy windings, smokes in every maze. + From his loved Babylon Euphrates flies; + The big-swoln Ganges and the Danube rise +_290 + In thickening fumes, and darken half the skies. + In flames Ismenos and the Phasis rolled, + And Tagus floating in his melted gold. + The swans, that on Cayster often tried + Their tuneful songs, now sung their last, and died. + The frighted Nile ran off, and under-ground + Concealed his head, nor can it yet be found: + His seven divided currents all are dry, + And where they rolled seven gaping trenches lie. + No more the Rhine or Rhone their course maintain, +_300 + Nor Tiber, of his promised empire vain. + The ground, deep cleft, admits the dazzling ray, + And startles Pluto with the flash of day. + The seas shrink in, and to the sight disclose + Wide, naked plains, where once their billows rose; + Their rocks are all discovered, and increase + The number of the scattered Cyclades. + The fish in shoals about the bottom creep, + Nor longer dares the crooked dolphin leap; + Gasping for breath, the unshapen phocæ die, +_310 + And on the boiling wave extended lie. + Nereus, and Doris with her virgin train, + Seek out the last recesses of the main; + Beneath unfathomable depths they faint, + And secret in their gloomy regions pant, + Stern Neptune thrice above the waves upheld + His face, and thrice was by the flames repelled. + The Earth at length, on every side embraced + With scalding seas, that floated round her waist, + When now she felt the springs and rivers come, +_320 + And crowd within the hollow of her womb. + Uplifted to the heavens her blasted head, + And clapped her hands upon her brows, and said; + (But first, impatient of the sultry heat, + Sunk deeper down, and sought a cooler seat:) + 'If you, great king of gods, my death approve, + And I deserve it, let me die by Jove; + If I must perish by the force of fire, + Let me transfixed with thunderbolts expire. + See, whilst I speak, my breath the vapours choke, +_330 + (For now her face lay wrapt in clouds of smoke,) + See my singed hair, behold my faded eye + And withered face, where heaps of cinders lie! + And does the plough for this my body tear? + This the reward for all the fruits I bear, + Tortured with rakes, and harassed all the year? + That herbs for cattle daily I renew, + And food for man, and frankincense for you? + But grant me guilty; what has Neptune done? + Why are his waters boiling in the sun? +_340 + The wavy empire, which by lot was given, + Why does it waste, and further shrink from heaven? + If I nor lie your pity can provoke, + See your own heavens, the heavens begin to smoke! + Should once the sparkles catch those bright abodes, + Destruction seizes on the heavens and gods; + Atlas becomes unequal to his freight, + And almost faints beneath the glowing weight. + If heaven, and earth, and sea together burn, + All must again into their chaos turn. +_350 + Apply some speedy cure, prevent our fate, + And succour nature, e'er it be too late.' + She ceased; for, choked with vapours round her spread, + Down to the deepest shades she sunk her head. + Jove called to witness every power above, + And even the god whose son the chariot drove, + That what he acts he is compelled to do, + Or universal ruin must ensue. + Straight he ascends the high ethereal throne, + From whence he used to dart his thunder down, +_360 + From whence his showers and storms he used to pour, + But now could meet with neither storm nor shower. + Then aiming at the youth, with lifted hand, + Full at his head he hurled the forky brand, + In dreadful thunderings. Thus the almighty sire + Suppressed the raging of the fires with fire. + At once from life and from the chariot driven, + The ambitious boy fell thunder-struck from heaven. + The horses started with a sudden bound, + And flung the reins and chariot to the ground: +_370 + The studded harness from their necks they broke, + Here fell a wheel, and here a silver spoke, + Here were the beam and axle torn away; + And, scattered o'er the earth, the shining fragments lay. + The breathless Phaëton, with flaming hair, + Shot from the chariot, like a falling star, + That in a summer's evening from the top + Of heaven drops down, or seems at least to drop; + Till on the Po his blasted corpse was hurled, + Far from his country, in the western world. +_380 + + + PHÆTON'S SISTERS TRANSFORMED INTO TREES. + + The Latian nymphs came round him, and amazed + On the dead youth, transfixed with thunder, gazed; + And, whilst yet smoking from the bolt he lay, + His shattered body to a tomb convey; + And o'er the tomb an epitaph devise: + 'Here he who drove the Sun's bright chariot lies; + His father's fiery steeds he could not guide, + But in the glorious enterprise he died.' + Apollo hid his face, and pined for grief, + And, if the story may deserve belief, +_10 + The space of one whole day is said to run, + From morn to wonted even, without a sun: + The burning ruins, with a fainter ray, + Supply the sun, and counterfeit a day, + A day that still did nature's face disclose: + This comfort from the mighty mischief rose. + But Clymene, enraged with grief, laments, + And, as her grief inspires, her passion vents: + Wild for her son, and frantic in her woes, + With hair dishevelled, round the world she goes, +_20 + To seek where'er his body might be cast; + Till, on the borders of the Po, at last + The name inscribed on the new tomb appears: + The dear, dear name she bathes in flowing tears, + Hangs o'er the tomb, unable to depart, + And hugs the marble to her throbbing heart. + Her daughters too lament, and sigh, and mourn, + (A fruitless tribute to their brother's urn,) + And beat their naked bosoms, and complain, + And call aloud for Phaëton in vain: +_30 + All the long night their mournful watch they keep, + And all the day stand round the tomb, and weep. + Four times revolving the full moon returned; + So long the mother and the daughters mourned: + When now the eldest, Phaëthusa, strove + To rest her weary limbs, but could not move; + Lampetia would have helped her, but she found + Herself withheld, and rooted to the ground: + A third in wild affliction, as she grieves, + Would rend her hair, but fills her hands with leaves; +_40 + One sees her thighs transformed, another views + Her arms shot out, and branching into boughs. + And now their legs and breasts and bodies stood + Crusted with bark, and hardening into wood; + But still above were female heads displayed, + And mouths, that called the mother to their aid. + What could, alas! the weeping mother do? + From this to that with eager haste she flew, + And kissed her sprouting daughters as they grew. + She tears the bark that to each body cleaves, +_50 + And from their verdant fingers strips the leaves: + The blood came trickling, where she tore away + The leaves and bark: the maids were heard to say, + 'Forbear, mistaken parent, oh! forbear; + A wounded daughter in each tree you tear; + Farewell for ever.' Here the bark increased, + Closed on their faces, and their words suppressed. + The new-made trees in tears of amber run, + Which, hardened into value by the sun, + Distil for ever on the streams below: +_60 + The limpid streams their radiant treasure show, + Mixed in the sand; whence the rich drops conveyed, + Shine in the dress of the bright Latian maid. + + + THE TRANSFORMATION OF CYCNUS INTO A SWAN. + + Cycnus beheld the nymphs transformed, allied + To their dead brother on the mortal side, + In friendship and affection nearer bound; + He left the cities and the realms he owned, + Through pathless fields and lonely shores to range, + And woods, made thicker by the sisters' change. + Whilst here, within the dismal gloom, alone, + The melancholy monarch made his moan, + His voice was lessened, as he tried to speak, + And issued through a long extended neck; +_10 + His hair transforms to down, his fingers mee + In skinny films, and shape his oary feet; + From both his sides the wings and feathers break; + And from his mouth proceeds a blunted beak: + All Cycnus now into a swan was turned, + Who, still remembering how his kinsman burned, + To solitary pools and lakes retires, + And loves the waters as opposed to fires. + Meanwhile Apollo, in a gloomy shade + (The native lustre of his brows decayed) +_20 + Indulging sorrow, sickens at the sight + Of his own sunshine, and abhors the light: + The hidden griefs, that in his bosom rise, + Sadden his looks, and overcast his eyes, + As when some dusky orb obstructs his ray, + And sullies in a dim eclipse the day. + Now secretly with inward griefs he pined, + Now warm resentments to his grief he joined, + And now renounced his office to mankind. + 'E'er since the birth of time,' said he, 'I've borne +_30 + A long, ungrateful toil without return; + Let now some other manage, if he dare, + The fiery steeds, and mount the burning car; + Or, if none else, let Jove his fortune try, + And learn to lay his murdering thunder by; + Then will he own, perhaps, but own too late, + My son deserved not so severe a fate.' + The gods stand round him, as he mourns, and pray + He would resume the conduct of the day, + Nor let the world be lost in endless night: +_40 + Jove too himself descending from his height, + Excuses what had happened, and entreats, + Majestically mixing prayers and threats. + Prevailed upon, at length, again he took + The harnessed steeds, that still with horror shook, + And plies them with the lash, and whips them on, + And, as he whips, upbraids them with his son. + + + THE STORY OF CALISTO. + + The day was settled in its course; and Jove + Walked the wide circuit of the heavens above, + To search if any cracks or flaws were made; + But all was safe: the earth he then surveyed, + And cast an eye on every different coast, + And every land; but on Arcadia most. + Her fields he clothed, and cheered her blasted face + With running fountains, and with springing grass. + No tracks of heaven's destructive fire remain, + The fields and woods revive, and nature smiles again. +_10 + But as the god walked to and fro the earth, + And raised the plants, and gave the spring its birth, + By chance a fair Arcadian nymph he viewed, + And felt the lovely charmer in his blood. + The nymph nor spun, nor dressed with artful pride; + Her vest was gathered up, her hair was tied; + Now in her hand a slender spear she bore, + Now a light quiver on her shoulders wore; + To chaste Diana from her youth inclined, + The sprightly warriors of the wood she joined. +_20 + Diana too the gentle huntress loved, + Nor was there one of all the nymphs that roved + O'er Mænalus, amid the maiden throng, + More favoured once; but favour lasts not long. + The sun now shone in all its strength, and drove + The heated virgin panting to a grove; + The grove around a grateful shadow cast: + She dropped her arrows, and her bow unbraced; + She flung herself on the cool, grassy bed; + And on the painted quiver raised her head. +_30 + Jove saw the charming huntress unprepared, + Stretched on the verdant turf, without a guard. + 'Here I am safe,' he cries, 'from Juno's eye; + Or should my jealous queen the theft descry, + Yet would I venture on a theft like this, + And stand her rage for such, for such a bliss!' + Diana's shape and habit straight he took, + Softened his brows, and smoothed his awful look, + And mildly in a female accent spoke. + 'How fares my girl? How went the morning chase?' +_40 + To whom the virgin, starting from the grass, + 'All hail, bright deity, whom I prefer + To Jove himself, though Jove himself were here.' + The god was nearer than she thought, and heard, + Well-pleased, himself before himself preferr'd. + He then salutes her with a warm embrace, + And, ere she half had told the morning chase, + With love inflamed, and eager on his bliss, + Smothered her words, and stopped her with a kiss; + His kisses with unwonted ardour glow'd, +_50 + Nor could Diana's shape conceal the god. + The virgin did whate'er a virgin could; + (Sure Juno must have pardoned, had she view'd;) + With all her might against his force she strove; + But how can mortal maids contend with Jove! + Possessed at length of what his heart desired, + Back to his heavens the exulting god retired. + The lovely huntress, rising from the grass, + With downcast eyes, and with a blushing face + By shame confounded, and by fear dismay'd, +_60 + Flew from the covert of the guilty shade, + And almost, in the tumult of her mind, + Left her forgotten bow and shafts behind. + But now Diana, with a sprightly train + Of quivered virgins, bounding over the plain, + Called to the nymph; the nymph began to fear + A second fraud, a Jove disguised in her; + But, when she saw the sister nymphs, suppress'd + Her rising fears, and mingled with the rest. + How in the look does conscious guilt appear! +_70 + Slowly she moved, and loitered in the rear; + Nor slightly tripped, nor by the goddess ran, + As once she used, the foremost of the train. + Her looks were flushed, and sullen was her mien, + That sure the virgin goddess (had she been + Aught but a virgin) must the guilt have seen. + 'Tis said the nymphs saw all, and guessed aright: + And now the moon had nine times lost her light, + When Dian, fainting in the mid-day beams, + Found a cool covert, and refreshing streams +_80 + That in soft murmurs through the forest flow'd, + And a smooth bed of shining gravel show'd. + A covert so obscure, and streams so clear, + The goddess praised: 'And now no spies are near, + Let's strip, my gentle maids, and wash,' she cries. + Pleased with the motion, every maid complies; + Only the blushing huntress stood confused, + And formed delays, and her delays excused; + In vain excused; her fellows round her press'd, + And the reluctant nymph by force undress'd. +_90 + The naked huntress all her shame reveal'd, + In vain her hands the pregnant womb conceal'd; + 'Begone!' the goddess cries with stern disdain, + 'Begone! nor dare the hallowed stream to stain:' + She fled, for ever banished from the train. + This Juno heard, who long had watched her time + To punish the detested rival's crime: + The time was come; for, to enrage her more, + A lovely boy the teeming rival bore. + The goddess cast a furious look, and cried, +_100 + 'It is enough! I'm fully satisfied! + This boy shall stand a living mark, to prove + My husband's baseness, and the strumpet's love: + But vengeance shall awake: those guilty charms, + That drew the Thunderer from Juno's arms, + No longer shall their wonted force retain, + Nor please the god, nor make the mortal vain.' + This said, her hand within her hair she wound, + Swung her to earth, and dragged her on the ground. + The prostrate wretch lifts up her arms in prayer; +_110 + Her arms grow shaggy, and deformed with hair, + Her nails are sharpened into pointed claws, + Her hands bear half her weight, and turn to paws; + Her lips, that once could tempt a god, begin + To grow distorted in an ugly grin. + And, lest the supplicating brute might reach + The ears of Jove, she was deprived of speech: + Her surly voice through a hoarse passage came + In savage sounds: her mind was still the same. + The furry monster fixed her eyes above, +_120 + And heaved her new unwieldy paws to Jove, + And begged his aid with inward groans; and though + She could not call him false, she thought him so. + How did she fear to lodge in woods alone, + And haunt the fields and meadows once her own! + How often would the deep-mouthed dogs pursue, + Whilst from her hounds the frighted huntress flew! + How did she fear her fellow-brutes, and shun + The shaggy bear, though now herself was one! + How from the sight of rugged wolves retire, +_130 + Although the grim Lycaon was her sire! + But now her son had fifteen summers told, + Fierce at the chase, and in the forest bold; + When, as he beat the woods in quest of prey, + He chanced to rouse his mother where she lay. + She knew her son, and kept him in her sight, + And fondly gazed: the boy was in a fright, + And aimed a pointed arrow at her breast, + And would have slain his mother in the beast; + But Jove forbade, and snatched them through the air +_140 + In whirlwinds up to heaven, and fixed them there: + Where the new constellations nightly rise, + And add a lustre to the northern skies. + When Juno saw the rival in her height, + Spangled with stars, and circled round with light, + She sought old Ocean in his deep abodes, + And Tethys; both revered among the gods. + They ask what brings her there: 'Ne'er ask,' says she, + 'What brings me here, heaven is no place for me. + You'll see, when night has covered all things o'er, +_150 + Jove's starry bastard and triumphant whore + Usurp the heavens; you 'll see them proudly roll + In their new orbs, and brighten all the pole. + And who shall now on Juno's altars wait, + When those she hates grow greater by her hate? + I on the nymph a brutal form impress'd, + Jove to a goddess has transformed the beast; + This, this was all my weak revenge could do: + But let the god his chaste amours pursue, + And, as he acted after Io's rape, +_160 + Restore the adulteress to her former shape. + Then may he cast his Juno off, and lead + The great Lycaon's offspring to his bed. + But you, ye venerable powers, be kind, + And, if my wrongs a due resentment find, + Receive not in your waves their setting beams, + Nor let the glaring strumpet taint your streams.' + The goddess ended, and her wish was given. + Back she returned in triumph up to heaven; + Her gaudy peacocks drew her through the skies, +_170 + Their tails were spotted with a thousand eyes; + The eyes of Argus on their tails were ranged, + At the same time the raven's colour changed. + + + THE STORY OF CORONIS, AND BIRTH OF ÆSCULAPIUS. + + The raven once in snowy plumes was dress'd, + White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast, + Fair as the guardian of the Capitol, + Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl; + His tongue, his prating tongue, had changed him quite + To sooty blackness from the purest white. + The story of his change shall here be told: + In Thessaly there lived a nymph of old, + Coronis named; a peerless maid she shined, + Confessed the fairest of the fairer kind. +_10 + Apollo loved her, till her guilt he knew, + While true she was, or whilst he thought her true. + But his own bird, the raven, chanced to find + The false one with a secret rival joined. + Coronis begged him to suppress the tale, + But could not with repeated prayers prevail. + His milk-white pinions to the god he plied; + The busy daw flew with him, side by side, + And by a thousand teasing questions drew + The important secret from him as they flew. +_20 + The daw gave honest counsel, though despised, + And, tedious in her tattle, thus advised: + 'Stay, silly bird, the ill-natured task refuse, + Nor be the bearer of unwelcome news. + Be warned by my example: you discern + What now I am, and what I was shall learn. + My foolish honesty was all my crime; + Then hear my story. Once upon a time, + The two-shaped Ericthonius had his birth + (Without a mother) from the teeming earth; +_30 + Minerva nursed him, and the infant laid + Within a chest, of twining osiers made. + The daughters of King Cecrops undertook + To guard the chest, commanded not to look + On what was hid within. I stood to see + The charge obeyed, perched on a neighbouring tree. + The sisters Pandrosos and Herse keep + The strict command; Aglauros needs would peep, + And saw the monstrous infant in a fright, + And called her sisters to the hideous sight: +_40 + A boy's soft shape did to the waist prevail, + But the boy ended in a dragon's tail. + I told the stern Minerva all that passed, + But for my pains, discarded and disgraced, + The frowning goddess drove me from her sight, + And for her favourite chose the bird of night. + Be then no tell-tale; for I think my wrong + Enough to teach a bird to hold her tongue. + 'But you, perhaps, may think I was removed, + As never by the heavenly maid beloved: +_50 + But I was loved; ask Pallas if I lie; + Though Pallas hate me now, she won't deny: + For I, whom in a feathered shape you view, + Was once a maid, (by heaven, the story's true,) + A blooming maid, and a king's daughter too. + A crowd of lovers owned my beauty's charms; + My beauty was the cause of all my harms; + Neptune, as on his shores I went to rove, + Observed me in my walks, and fell in love. + He made his courtship, he confessed his pain, +_60 + And offered force when all his arts were vain; + Swift he pursued: I ran along the strand, + Till, spent and wearied on the sinking sand, + I shrieked aloud, with cries I filled the air + To gods and men; nor god nor man was there: + A virgin goddess heard a virgin's prayer. + For, as my arms I lifted to the skies, + I saw black feathers from my fingers rise; + I strove to fling my garment to the ground; + My garment turned to plumes, and girt me round: +_70 + My hands to beat my naked bosom try; + Nor naked bosom now nor hands had I. + Lightly I tripped, nor weary as before + Sunk in the sand, but skimmed along the shore; + Till, rising on my wings, I was preferred + To be the chaste Minerva's virgin bird: + Preferred in vain! I now am in disgrace: + Nyctimene, the owl, enjoys my place. + 'On her incestuous life I need not dwell, + (In Lesbos still the horrid tale they tell,) +_80 + And of her dire amours you must have heard, + For which she now does penance in a bird, + That, conscious of her shame, avoids the light, + And loves the gloomy covering of the night; + The birds, where'er she flutters, scare away + The hooting wretch, and drive her from the day.' + The raven, urged by such impertinence, + Grew passionate, it seems, and took offence, + And cursed the harmless daw; the daw withdrew: + The raven to her injured patron flew, +_90 + And found him out, and told the fatal truth + Of false Coronis and the favoured youth. + The god was wroth; the colour left his look, + The wreath his head, the harp his hand forsook: + His silver bow and feathered shafts he took, + And lodged an arrow in the tender breast, + That had so often to his own been pressed. + Down fell the wounded nymph, and sadly groaned, + And pulled his arrow reeking from the wound; + And weltering in her blood, thus faintly cried, +_100 + 'Ah, cruel god! though I have justly died, + What has, alas! my unborn infant done, + That he should fall, and two expire in one? + This said, in agonies she fetched her breath. + The god dissolves in pity at her death; + He hates the bird that made her falsehood known, + And hates himself for what himself had done; + The feathered shaft, that sent her to the fates, + And his own hand that sent the shaft he hates. + Fain would he heal the wound, and ease her pain, +_110 + And tries the compass of his art in vain. + Soon as he saw the lovely nymph expire, + The pile made ready, and the kindling fire, + With sighs and groans her obsequies he kept, + And, if a god could weep, the god had wept. + Her corpse he kissed, and heavenly incense brought, + And solemnised the death himself had wrought. + But, lest his offspring should her fate partake, + Spite of the immortal mixture in his make, + He ripped her womb, and set the child at large, +_120 + And gave him to the centaur Chiron's charge: + Then in his fury blacked the raven o'er, + And bid him prate in his white plumes no more. + + OCYRRHOE TRANSFORMED TO A MARE. + + Old Chiron took the babe with secret joy, + Proud of the charge of the celestial boy. + His daughter too, whom on the sandy shore + The nymph Chariclo to the centaur bore, + With hair dishevelled on her shoulders came + To see the child, Ocyrrhöe was her name; + She knew her father's arts, and could rehearse + The depths of prophecy in sounding verse. + Once, as the sacred infant she surveyed, + The god was kindled in the raving maid, +_10 + And thus she uttered her prophetic tale; + 'Hail, great physician of the world, all hail; + Hail, mighty infant, who in years to come + Shalt heal the nations and defraud the tomb; + Swift be thy growth! thy triumphs unconfined! + Make kingdoms thicker, and increase mankind. + Thy daring art shall animate the dead, + And draw the thunder on thy guilty head: + Then shalt thou die; but from the dark abode + Rise up victorious, and be twice a god. +_20 + And thou, my sire, not destined by thy birth + To turn to dust, and mix with common earth, + How wilt thou toss, and rave, and long to die, + And quit thy claim to immortality; + When thou shalt feel, enraged with inward pains, + The Hydra's venom rankling in thy veins'? + The gods, in pity, shall contract thy date, + And give thee over to the power of Fate.' + Thus, entering into destiny, the maid + The secrets of offended Jove betrayed; +_30 + More had she still to say; but now appears + Oppressed with sobs and sighs, and drowned in tears. + 'My voice,' says she, 'is gone, my language fails; + Through every limb my kindred shape prevails: + Why did the god this fatal gift impart, + And with prophetic raptures swell my heart! + What new desires are these? I long to pace + O'er flowery meadows, and to feed on grass: + I hasten to a brute, a maid no more; + But why, alas! am I transformed all o'er? +_40 + My sire does half a human shape retain, + And in his upper parts preserves the man.' + Her tongue no more distinct complaints affords, + But in shrill accents and mishapen words + Pours forth such hideous wailings, as declare + The human form confounded in the mare: + Till by degrees accomplished in the beast, + She neighed outright, and all the steed expressed. + Her stooping body on her hands is borne, + Her hands are turned to hoofs, and shod in horn; +_50 + Her yellow tresses ruffle in a mane, + And in a flowing tail she frisks her train. + The mare was finished in her voice and look, + And a new name from the new figure took. + + THE TRANSFORMATION OF BATTUS TO A TOUCHSTONE. + + Sore wept the centaur, and to Phoebus prayed; + But how could Phoebus give the centaur aid? + Degraded of his power by angry Jove, + In Elis then a herd of beeves he drove; + And wielded in his hand a staff of oak, + And o'er his shoulders threw the shepherd's cloak; + On seven compacted reeds he used to play, + And on his rural pipe to waste the day. + As once, attentive to his pipe, he played, + The crafty Hermes from the god conveyed +_10 + A drove, that separate from their fellows strayed. + The theft an old insidious peasant viewed, + (They called him Battus in the neighbourhood,) + Hired by a wealthy Pylian prince to feed + His favourite mares, and watch the generous breed. + The thievish god suspected him, and took + The hind aside, and thus in whispers spoke: + 'Discover not the theft, whoe'er thou be, + And take that milk-white heifer for thy fee.' + 'Go, stranger,' cries the clown, 'securely on, +_20 + That stone shall sooner tell;' and showed a stone. + The god withdrew, but straight returned again, + In speech and habit like a country swain; + And cries out, 'Neighbour, hast thou seen a stray + Of bullocks and of heifers pass this way? + In the recovery of my cattle join, + A bullock and a heifer shall be thine.' + The peasant quick replies, 'You'll find 'em there, + In yon dark vale:' and in the vale they were. + The double bribe had his false heart beguiled: +_30 + The god, successful in the trial, smiled; + 'And dost thou thus betray myself to me? + Me to myself dost thou betray?' says he: + Then to a touchstone turns the faithless spy, + And in his name records his infamy. + +THE STORY OF AGLAUROS, TRANSFORMED INTO A STATUE. + + This done, the god flew up on high, and passed + O'er lofty Athens, by Minerva graced, + And wide Munichia, whilst his eyes survey + All the vast region that beneath him lay. + 'Twas now the feast, when each Athenian maid + Her yearly homage to Minerva paid; + In canisters, with garlands covered o'er, + High on their heads their mystic gifts they bore; + And now, returning in a solemn train, + The troop of shining virgins filled the plain. +_10 + The god well-pleased beheld the pompous show, + And saw the bright procession pass below; + Then veered about, and took a wheeling flight, + And hovered o'er them: as the spreading kite, + That smells the slaughtered victim from on high, + Flies at a distance, if the priests are nigh, + And sails around, and keeps it in her eye; + So kept the god the virgin choir in view, + And in slow winding circles round them flew. + As Lucifer excels the meanest star, +_20 + Or as the full-orbed Phoebe, Lucifer, + So much did Herse all the rest outvie, + And gave a grace to the solemnity. + Hermes was fired, as in the clouds he hung: + So the cold bullet, that with fury slung + From Balearic engines mounts on high, + Glows in the whirl, and burns along the sky. + At length he pitched upon the ground, and showed + The form divine, the features of a god. + He knew their virtue o'er a female heart, +_30 + And yet he strives to better them by art. + He hangs his mantle loose, and sets to show + The golden edging on the seam below; + Adjusts his flowing curls, and in his hand + Waves with an air the sleep-procuring wand; + The glittering sandals to his feet applies, + And to each heel the well-trimmed pinion ties. + His ornaments with nicest art displayed, + He seeks the apartment of the royal maid. + The roof was all with polished ivory lined, +_40 + That, richly mixed, in clouds of tortoise shined. + Three rooms, contiguous, in a range were placed, + The midmost by the beauteous Herse graced; + Her virgin sisters lodged on either side. + Aglauros first the approaching god descried, + And as he crossed her chamber, asked his name, + And what his business was, and whence he came. + 'I come,' replied the god, 'from heaven, to woo + Your sister, and to make an aunt of you; + I am the son and messenger of Jove, +_50 + My name is Mercury, my business, love; + Do you, kind damsel, take a lover's part, + And gain admittance to your sister's heart.' + She stared him in the face with looks amazed, + As when she on Minerva's secret gazed, + And asks a mighty treasure for her hire, + And, till he brings it, makes the god retire. + Minerva grieved to see the nymph succeed; + And now remembering the late impious deed, + When, disobedient to her strict command, +_60 + She touched the chest with an unhallowed hand; + In big-swoln sighs her inward rage expressed, + That heaved the rising Ægis on her breast; + Then sought out Envy in her dark abode, + Defiled with ropy gore and clots of blood: + Shut from the winds, and from the wholesome skies, + In a deep vale the gloomy dungeon lies, + Dismal and cold, where not a beam of light + Invades the winter, or disturbs the night. + Directly to the cave her course she steered; +_70 + Against the gates her martial lance she reared; + The gates flew open, and the fiend appeared. + A poisonous morsel in her teeth she chewed, + And gorged the flesh of vipers for her food. + Minerva loathing turned away her eye; + The hideous monster, rising heavily, + Came stalking forward with a sullen pace, + And left her mangled offals on the place. + Soon as she saw the goddess gay and bright, + She fetched a groan at such a cheerful sight. +_80 + Livid and meagre were her looks, her eye + In foul, distorted glances turned awry; + A hoard of gall her inward parts possessed, + And spread a greenness o'er her cankered breast; + Her teeth were brown with rust; and from her tongue, + In dangling drops, the stringy poison hung. + She never smiles but when the wretched weep, + Nor lulls her malice with a moment's sleep, + Restless in spite: while watchful to destroy, + She pines and sickens at another's joy; +_90 + Foe to herself, distressing and distressed, + She bears her own tormentor in her breast. + The goddess gave (for she abhorred her sight) + A short command: 'To Athens speed thy flight; + On cursed Aglauros try thy utmost art. + And fix thy rankest venoms in her heart.' + This said, her spear she pushed against the ground, + And mounting from it with an active bound, + Flew off to heaven: the hag with eyes askew + Looked up, and muttered curses as she flew; +_100 + For sore she fretted, and began to grieve + At the success which she herself must give. + Then takes her staff, hung round with wreaths of thorn, + And sails along, in a black whirlwind borne, + O'er fields and flowery meadows: where she steers + Her baneful course, a mighty blast appears, + Mildews and blights; the meadows are defaced, + The fields, the flowers, and the whole year laid waste; + On mortals next and peopled towns she falls, + And breathes a burning plague among their walls, +_110 + When Athens she beheld, for arts renowned, + With peace made happy, and with plenty crowned, + Scarce could the hideous fiend from tears forbear, + To find out nothing that deserved a tear. + The apartment now she entered, where at rest + Aglauros lay, with gentle sleep oppressed. + To execute Minerva's dire command, + She stroked the virgin with her cankered hand, + Then prickly thorns into her breast conveyed, + That stung to madness the devoted maid; +_120 + Her subtle venom still improves the smart, + Frets in the blood, and festers in the heart. + To make the work more sure, a scene she drew, + And placed before the dreaming virgin's view + Her sister's marriage, and her glorious fate: + The imaginary bride appears in state; + The bridegroom with unwonted beauty glows, + For Envy magnifies whate'er she shows. + Full of the dream, Aglauros pined away + In tears all night, in darkness all the day; +_130 + Consumed like ice, that just begins to run, + When feebly smitten by the distant sun; + Or like unwholesome weeds, that, set on fire, + Are slowly wasted, and in smoke expire. + Given up to Envy, (for in every thought, + The thorns, the venom, and the vision wrought). + Oft did she call on death, as oft decreed, + Rather than see her sister's wish succeed, + To tell her awful father what had passed: + At length before the door herself she cast; +_140 + And, sitting on the ground with sullen pride, + A passage to the love-sick god denied. + The god caressed, and for admission prayed, + And soothed, in softest words, the envenomed maid. + In vain he soothed; 'Begone!' the maid replies, + 'Or here I keep my seat, and never rise.' + 'Then keep thy seat for ever!' cries the god, + And touched the door, wide-opening to his rod. + Fain would she rise, and stop him, but she found + Her trunk too heavy to forsake the ground; +_150 + Her joints are all benumbed, her hands are pale, + And marble now appears in every nail. + As when a cancer in her body feeds, + And gradual death from limb to limb proceeds; + So does the dullness to each vital part + Spread by degrees, and creeps into her heart; + Till, hardening everywhere, and speechless grown, + She sits unmoved, and freezes to a stone. + But still her envious hue and sullen mien + Are in the sedentary figure seen. +_160 + + + EUROPA'S RAPE. + + When now the god his fury had allayed, + And taken vengeance of the stubborn maid, + From where the bright Athenian turrets rise + He mounts aloft, and reascends the skies. + Jove saw him enter the sublime abodes, + And, as he mixed among the crowd of gods, + Beckoned him out, and drew him from the rest, + And in soft whispers thus his will expressed. + 'My trusty Hermes, by whose ready aid + Thy sire's commands are through the world conveyed, +_10 + Resume thy wings, exert their utmost force, + And to the walls of Sidon speed they course; + There find a herd of heifers wandering o'er + The neighbouring hill, and drive them to the shore.' + Thus spoke the god, concealing his intent. + The trusty Hermes on his message went, + And found the herd of heifers wandering o'er + A neighbouring hill, and drove them to the shore; + Where the king's daughter, with a lovely train + Of fellow-nymphs, was sporting on the plain. +_20 + The dignity of empire laid aside, + (For love but ill agrees with kingly pride,) + The ruler of the skies, the thundering god, + Who shakes the world's foundations with a nod, + Among a herd of lowing heifers ran, + Frisked in a bull, and bellowed o'er the plain. + Large rolls of fat about his shoulders clung, + And from his neck the double dewlap hung. + His skin was whiter than the snow that lies + Unsullied by the breath of southern skies; +_30 + Small shining horns on his curled forehead stand, + As turned and polished by the workman's hand; + His eye-balls rolled, not formidably bright, + But gazed and languished with a gentle light. + His every look was peaceful, and expressed + The softness of the lover in the beast. + Agenor's royal daughter, as she played + Among the fields, the milk-white bull surveyed, + And viewed his spotless body with delight, + And at a distance kept him in her sight. +_40 + At length she plucked the rising flowers, and fed + The gentle beast, and fondly stroked his head. + He stood well pleased to touch the charming fair, + But hardly could confine his pleasure there. + And now he wantons o'er the neighbouring strand, + Now rolls his body on the yellow sand; + And now, perceiving all her fears decayed, + Comes tossing forward to the royal maid; + Gives her his breast to stroke, and downward turns + His grisly brow, and gently stoops his horns. +_50 + In flowery wreaths the royal virgin dressed + His bending horns, and kindly clapped his breast. + Till now grown wanton, and devoid of fear, + Not knowing that she pressed the Thunderer, + She placed herself upon his back, and rode + O'er fields and meadows, seated on the god. + He gently marched along, and by degrees + Left the dry meadow, and approached the seas; + Where now he dips his hoofs and wets his thighs, + Now plunges in, and carries off the prize. +_60 + The frighted nymph looks backward on the shore, + And hears the tumbling billows round her roar; + But still she holds him fast: one hand is borne + Upon his back, the other grasps a horn: + Her train of ruffling garments flies behind, + Swells in the air and hovers in the wind. + Through storms and tempests he the virgin bore, + And lands her safe on the Dictean shore; + Where now, in his divinest form arrayed, + In his true shape he captivates the maid; +_70 + Who gazes on him, and with wondering eyes + Beholds the new majestic figure rise, + His glowing features, and celestial light, + And all the god discovered to her sight. + + +BOOK III. + +THE STORY OF CADMUS. + + When now Agenor had his daughter lost, + He sent his son to search on every coast; + And sternly bid him to his arms restore + The darling maid, or see his face no more, + But live an exile in a foreign clime: + Thus was the father pious to a crime. + The restless youth searched all the world around; + But how can Jove in his amours be found? + When tired at length with unsuccessful toil, + To shun his angry sire and native soil, +_10 + He goes a suppliant to the Delphic dome; + There asks the god what new-appointed home + Should end his wanderings and his toils relieve. + The Delphic oracles this answer give: + 'Behold among the fields a lonely cow, + Unworn with yokes, unbroken to the plough; + Mark well the place where first she lays her down, + There measure out thy walls, and build thy town, + And from thy guide, Boetia call the land, + In which the destined walls and town shall stand.' +_20 + No sooner had he left the dark abode, + Big with the promise of the Delphic god, + When in the fields the fatal cow he viewed, + Nor galled with yokes, nor worn with servitude: + Her gently at a distance he pursued; + And, as he walked aloof, in silence prayed + To the great power whose counsels he obeyed. + Her way through flowery Panope she took, + And now, Cephisus, crossed thy silver brook; + When to the heavens her spacious front she raised, +_30 + And bellowed thrice, then backward turning, gazed + On those behind, till on the destined place + She stooped, and couched amid the rising grass. + Cadmus salutes the soil, and gladly hails + The new-found mountains, and the nameless vales, + And thanks the gods, and turns about his eye + To see his new dominions round him lie; + Then sends his servants to a neighbouring grove + For living streams, a sacrifice to Jove. + O'er the wide plain there rose a shady wood +_40 + Of aged trees; in its dark bosom stood + A bushy thicket, pathless and unworn, + O'errun with brambles, and perplexed with thorn: + Amidst the brake a hollow den was found, + With rocks and shelving arches vaulted round. + Deep in the dreary den, concealed from day, + Sacred to Mars, a mighty dragon lay, + Bloated with poison to a monstrous size; + Fire broke in flashes when he glanced his eyes; + His towering crest was glorious to behold, +_50 + His shoulders and his sides were scaled with gold; + Three tongues he brandished when he charged his foes; + His teeth stood jagy in three dreadful rows. + The Tyrians in the den for water sought, + And with their urns explored the hollow vault: + From side to side their empty urns rebound, + And rouse the sleepy serpent with the sound. + Straight he bestirs him, and is seen to rise; + And now with dreadful hissings fills the skies, + And darts his forky tongues, and rolls his glaring eyes. +_60 + The Tyrians drop their vessels in their fright, + All pale and trembling at the hideous sight + Spire above spire upreared in air he stood, + And gazing round him, overlooked the wood: + Then floating on the ground, in circles rolled; + Then leaped upon them in a mighty fold. + Of such a bulk, and such a monstrous size, + The serpent in the polar circle lies, + That stretches over half the northern skies. + In vain the Tyrians on their arms rely, +_70 + In vain attempt to fight, in vain to fly: + All their endeavours and their hopes are vain; + Some die entangled in the winding train; + Some are devoured; or feel a loathsome death, + Swoln up with blasts of pestilential breath. + And now the scorching sun was mounted high, + In all its lustre, to the noonday sky; + When, anxious for his friends, and filled with cares, + To search the woods the impatient chief prepares. + A lion's hide around his loins he wore, +_80 + The well-poised javelin to the field he bore, + Inured to blood, the far-destroying dart, + And, the best weapon, an undaunted heart. + Soon as the youth approached the fatal place, + He saw his servants breathless on the grass; + The scaly foe amid their corps he viewed, + Basking at ease, and feasting in their blood, + 'Such friends,' he cries, 'deserved a longer date; + But Cadmus will revenge, or share their fate.' + Then heaved a stone, and rising to the throw +_90 + He sent it in a whirlwind at the foe: + A tower, assaulted by so rude a stroke, + With all its lofty battlements had shook; + But nothing here the unwieldy rock avails, + Rebounding harmless from the plaited scales, + That, firmly joined, preserved him from a wound, + With native armour crusted all around. 97 + The pointed javelin more successful flew, + Which at his back the raging warrior threw; + Amid the plaited scales it took its course, +_100 + And in the spinal marrow spent its force. + The monster hissed aloud, and raged in vain, + And writhed his body to and fro with pain; + And bit the spear, and wrenched the wood away; + The point still buried in the marrow lay. + And now his rage, increasing with his pain, + Reddens his eyes, and beats in every vein; + Churned in his teeth the foamy venom rose, + Whilst from his mouth a blast of vapours flows, + Such as the infernal Stygian waters cast; +_110 + The plants around him wither in the blast. + Now in a maze of rings he lies enrolled, + Now all unravelled, and without a fold; + Now, like a torrent, with a mighty force, + Bears down the forest in his boisterous course. + Cadmus gave back, and on the lion's spoil + Sustained the shock, then forced him to recoil; + The pointed javelin warded off his rage: + Mad with his pains, and furious to engage, + The serpent champs the steel, and bites the spear, +_120 + Till blood and venom all the point besmear. + But still the hurt he yet received was slight; + For, whilst the champion with redoubled might + Strikes home the javelin, his retiring foe + Shrinks from the wound, and disappoints the blow. + The dauntless hero still pursues his stroke, + And presses forward, till a knotty oak + Retards his foe, and stops him in the rear; + Full in his throat he plunged the fatal spear, + That in the extended neck a passage found, +_130 + And pierced the solid timber through the wound. + Fixed to the reeling trunk, with many a stroke + Of his huge tail, he lashed the sturdy oak; + Till spent with toil, and labouring hard for breath, + He now lay twisting in the pangs of death. + Cadmus beheld him wallow in a flood + Of swimming poison, intermixed with blood; + When suddenly a speech was heard from high, + (The speech was heard, nor was the speaker nigh,) + 'Why dost thou thus with secret pleasure see, +_140 + Insulting man! what thou thyself shalt be?' + Astonished at the voice, he stood amazed, + And all around with inward horror gazed: + When Pallas, swift descending from the skies, + Pallas, the guardian of the bold and wise, + Bids him plough up the field, and scatter round + The dragon's teeth o'er all the furrowed ground; + Then tells the youth how to his wondering eyes + Embattled armies from the field should rise. + He sows the teeth at Pallas's command, +_150 + And flings the future people from his hand. + The clods grow warm, and crumble where he sows; + And now the pointed spears advance in rows; + Now nodding plumes appear, and shining crests, + Now the broad shoulders and the rising breasts: + O'er all the field the breathing harvest swarms, + A growing host, a crop of men and arms. + So through the parting stage a figure rears + Its body up, and limb by limb appears + By just degrees; till all the man arise, +_160 + And in his full proportion strikes the eyes. + Cadmus surprised, and startled at the sight + Of his new foes, prepared himself for fight: + When one cried out, 'Forbear, fond man, forbear + To mingle in a blind, promiscuous war.' + This said, he struck his brother to the ground, + Himself expiring by another's wound; + Nor did the third his conquest long survive, + Dying ere scarce he had begun to live. + The dire example ran through all the field, +_170 + Till heaps of brothers were by brothers killed; + The furrows swam in blood: and only five + Of all the vast increase were left alive. + Echion one, at Pallas's command, + Let fall the guiltless weapon from his hand; + And with the rest a peaceful treaty makes, + Whom Cadmus as his friends and partners takes: + So founds a city on the promised earth, + And gives his new Boeotian empire birth. + Here Cadmus reigned; and now one would have guessed +_180 + The royal founder in his exile blessed: + Long did he live within his new abodes, + Allied by marriage to the deathless gods; + And, in a fruitful wife's embraces old, + A long increase of children's children told: + But no frail man, however great or high, + Can be concluded blessed before he die. + Actæon was the first of all his race, + Who grieved his grandsire in his borrowed face; + Condemned by stern Diana to bemoan +_190 + The branching horns, and visage not his own; + To shun his once-loved dogs, to bound away, + And from their huntsman to become their prey. + And yet consider why the change was wrought, + You'll find it his misfortune, not his fault; + Or if a fault, it was the fault of chance: + For how can guilt proceed from ignorance? + + + THE TRANSFORMATION OF ACTÆON INTO A STAG. + + In a fair chase a shady mountain stood, + Well stored with game, and marked with trails of blood. + Here did the huntsmen till the heat of day + Pursue the stag, and load themselves with prey; + When thus Actæon calling to the rest: + 'My friends,' says he, 'our sport is at the best. + The sun is high advanced, and downward sheds + His burning beams directly on our heads; + Then by consent abstain from further spoils, + Call off the dogs, and gather up the toils; +_10 + And ere to-morrow's sun begins his race, + Take the cool morning to renew the chase.' + They all consent, and in a cheerful train + The jolly huntsmen, loaden with the slain, + Return in triumph from the sultry plain. + Down in a vale with pine and cypress clad, + Refreshed with gentle winds, and brown with shade, + The chaste Diana's private haunt, there stood + Full in the centre of the darksome wood + A spacious grotto, all around o'ergrown +_20 + With hoary moss, and arched with pumice-stone. + From out its rocky clefts the waters flow, + And trickling swell into a lake below. + Nature had everywhere so played her part, + That everywhere she seemed to vie with art. + Here the bright goddess, toiled and chafed with heat, + Was wont to bathe her in the cool retreat. + Here did she now with all her train resort, + Panting with heat, and breathless from the sport; + Her armour-bearer laid her bow aside, +_30 + Some loosed her sandals, some her veil untied; + Each busy nymph her proper part undressed; + While Crocale, more handy than the rest, + Gathered her flowing hair, and in a noose + Bound it together, whilst her own hung loose. + Five of the more ignoble sort by turns + Fetch up the water, and unlade their urns. + Now all undressed the shining goddess stood, + When young Actæon, wildered in the wood, + To the cool grot by his hard fate betrayed, +_40 + The fountains filled with naked nymphs surveyed. + The frighted virgins shrieked at the surprise, + (The forest echoed with their piercing cries,) + Then in a huddle round their goddess pressed: + She, proudly eminent above the rest, + With blushes glowed; such blushes as adorn + The ruddy welkin, or the purple morn; + And though the crowding nymphs her body hide, + Half backward shrunk, and viewed him from aside. + Surprised, at first she would have snatched her bow, +_50 + But sees the circling waters round her flow; + These in the hollow of her hand she took, + And dashed them in his face, while thus she spoke: + 'Tell if thou canst the wondrous sight disclosed, + A goddess naked to thy view exposed.' + This said, the man began to disappear + By slow degrees, and ended in a deer. + A rising horn on either brow he wears, + And stretches out his neck, and pricks his ears; + Rough is his skin, with sudden hairs o'ergrown, +_60 + His bosom pants with fears before unknown. + Transformed at length, he flies away in haste, + And wonders why he flies away so fast. + But as by chance, within a neighbouring brook, + He saw his branching horns and altered look, + Wretched Actæon! in a doleful tone + He tried to speak, but only gave a groan; + And as he wept, within the watery glass + He saw the big round drops, with silent pace, + Run trickling down a savage hairy face. +_70 + What should he do? Or seek his old abodes, + Or herd among the deer, and skulk in woods? + Here shame dissuades him, there his fear prevails, + And each by turns his aching heart assails. + As he thus ponders, he behind him spies + His opening hounds, and now he hears their cries: + A generous pack, or to maintain the chase, + Or snuff the vapour from the scented grass. + He bounded off with fear, and swiftly ran + O'er craggy mountains, and the flowery plain; +_80 + Through brakes and thickets forced his way, and flew + Through many a ring, where once he did pursue. + In vain he oft endeavoured to proclaim + His new misfortune, and to tell his name; + Nor voice nor words the brutal tongue supplies; + From shouting men, and horns, and dogs he flies, + Deafened and stunned with their promiscuous cries. + When now the fleetest of the pack, that pressed + Close at his heels, and sprung before the rest, + Had fastened on him, straight another pair +_90 + Hung on his wounded haunch, and held him there, + Till all the pack came up, and every hound + Tore the sad huntsman, grovelling on the ground, + Who now appeared but one continued wound. + With dropping tears his bitter fate he moans, + And fills the mountain with his dying groans. + His servants with a piteous look he spies, + And turns about his supplicating eyes. + His servants, ignorant of what had chanced, + With eager haste and joyful shouts advanced, +_100 + And called their lord Actæon to the game: + He shook his head in answer to the name; + He heard, but wished he had indeed been gone, + Or only to have stood a looker-on. + But, to his grief, he finds himself too near, + And feels his ravenous dogs with fury tear + Their wretched master, panting in a deer. + + +THE BIRTH OF BACCHUS. + + Actæon's sufferings, and Diana's rage, + Did all the thoughts of men and gods engage; + Some called the evils which Diana wrought, + Too great, and disproportioned to the fault: + Others, again, esteemed Actæon's woes + Fit for a virgin goddess to impose. + The hearers into different parts divide, + And reasons are produced on either side. + Juno alone, of all that heard the news, + Nor would condemn the goddess, nor excuse: +_10 + She heeded not the justice of the deed, + But joyed to see the race of Cadmus bleed; + For still she kept Europa in her mind, + And, for her sake, detested all her kind. + Besides, to aggravate her hate, she heard + How Semele, to Jove's embrace preferred, + Was now grown big with an immortal load, + And carried in her womb a future god. + Thus terribly incensed, the goddess broke + To sudden fury, and abruptly spoke. +_20 + 'Are my reproaches of so small a force? + 'Tis time I then pursue another course: + It is decreed the guilty wretch shall die, + If I'm indeed the mistress of the sky; + If rightly styled among the powers above + The wife and sister of the thundering Jove, + (And none can sure a sister's right deny,) + It is decreed the guilty wretch shall die. + She boasts an honour I can hardly claim; + Pregnant, she rises to a mother's name; +_30 + While proud and vain she triumphs in her Jove, + And shows the glorious tokens of his love: + But if I'm still the mistress of the skies, + By her own lover the fond beauty dies.' + This said, descending in a yellow cloud, + Before the gates of Semele she stood. + Old Beroe's decrepit shape she wears, + Her wrinkled visage, and her hoary hairs; + Whilst in her trembling gait she totters on, + And learns to tattle in the nurse's tone. +_40 + The goddess, thus disguised in age, beguiled + With pleasing stories her false foster-child. + Much did she talk of love, and when she came + To mention to the nymph her lover's name, + Fetching a sigh, and holding down her head, + ''Tis well,' says she, 'if all be true that's said; + But trust me, child, I'm much inclined to fear + Some counterfeit in this your Jupiter. + Many an honest, well-designing maid, + Has been by these pretended gods betrayed. +_50 + But if he be indeed the thundering Jove, + Bid him, when next he courts the rites of love, + Descend, triumphant from the ethereal sky, + In all the pomp of his divinity; + Encompassed round by those celestial charms, + With which he fills the immortal Juno's arms.' + The unwary nymph, insnared with what she said, + Desired of Jove, when next he sought her bed, + To grant a certain gift which she would choose; + 'Fear not,' replied the god, 'that I'll refuse +_60 + Whate'er you ask: may Styx confirm my voice, + Choose what you will, and you shall have your choice.' + 'Then,' says the nymph, 'when next you seek my arms, + May you descend in those celestial charms, + With which your Juno's bosom you inflame, + And fill with transport heaven's immortal dame.' + The god surprised, would fain have stopped her voice: + But he had swrorn, and she had made her choice. + To keep his promise he ascends, and shrouds + His awful brow in whirlwinds and in clouds; +_70 + Whilst all around, in terrible array, + His thunders rattle, and his lightnings play. + And yet, the dazzling lustre to abate, + He set not out in all his pomp and state, + Clad in the mildest lightning of the skies, + And armed with thunder of the smallest size: + Not those huge bolts, by which the giants slain, + Lay overthrown on the Phlegræan plain. + Twas of a lesser mould, and lighter weight; + They call it thunder of a second-rate. +_80 + For the rough Cyclops, who by Jove's command + Tempered the bolt, and turned it to his hand, + Worked up less flame and fury in its make, + And quenched it sooner in the standing lake. + Thus dreadfully adorned, with horror bright, + The illustrious god, descending from his height, + Came rushing on her in a storm of light. + The mortal dame, too feeble to engage + The lightning's flashes and the thunder's rage, + Consumed amidst the glories she desired, +_90 + And in the terrible embrace expired. + But, to preserve his offspring from the tomb, + Jove took him smoking from the blasted womb; + And, if on ancient tales we may rely, + Enclosed the abortive infant in his thigh. + Here, when the babe had all his time fulfilled, + Ino first took him for her foster-child; + Then the Niseans, in their dark abode, + Nursed secretly with milk the thriving god. + + +THE TRANSFORMATION OF TIRESIAS. + + 'Twas now, while these transactions passed on earth, + And Bacchus thus procured a second birth, + When Jove, disposed to lay aside the weight + Of public empire and the cares of state, + As to his queen in nectar bowls he quaffed, + 'In troth,' says he, and as he spoke he laughed, + 'The sense of pleasure in the male is far + More dull and dead than what you females share.' + Juno the truth of what was said denied; + Tiresias therefore must the cause decide; +_10 + For he the pleasure of each sex had tried. + It happened once, within a shady wood, + Two twisted snakes he in conjunction viewed; + When with his staff their slimy folds he broke, + And lost his manhood at the fatal stroke. + But, after seven revolving years, he viewed + The self-same serpents in the self-same wood; + 'And if,' says he, 'such virtue in you lie, + That he who dares your slimy folds untie + Must change his kind, a second stroke I'll try.' +_20 + Again he struck the snakes, and stood again + New-sexed, and straight recovered into man. + Him therefore both the deities create + The sovereign umpire in their grand debate; + And he declared for Jove; when Juno, fired + More than so trivial an affair required, + Deprived him, in her fury, of his sight, + And left him groping round in sudden night. + But Jove (for so it is in heaven decreed, + That no one god repeal another's deed) +_30 + Irradiates all his soul with inward light, + And with the prophet's art relieves the want of sight. + + +THE TRANSFORMATION OF ECHO. + + Famed far and near for knowing things to come, + From him the inquiring nations sought their doom; + The fair Liriope his answers tried, + And first the unerring prophet justified; + This nymph the god Cephisus had abused, + With all his winding waters circumfused, + And on the Nereid got a lovely boy, + Whom the soft maids even then beheld with joy. + The tender dame, solicitous to know + Whether her child should reach old age or no, +_10 + Consults the sage Tiresias, who replies, + 'If e'er he knows himself, he surely dies.' + Long lived the dubious mother in suspense, + Till time unriddled all the prophet's sense. + Narcissus now his sixteenth year began, + Just turned of boy, and on the verge of man; + Many a friend the blooming youth caressed, + Many a love-sick maid her flame confessed: + Such was his pride, in vain the friend caressed, + The love-sick maid in vain her flame confessed. +_20 + Once, in the woods, as he pursued the chase, + The babbling Echo had descried his face; + She, who in others' words her silence breaks, + Nor speaks herself but when another speaks. + Echo was then a maid, of speech bereft, + Of wonted speech; for though her voice was left, + Juno a curse did on her tongue impose, + To sport with every sentence in the close. + Full often, when the goddess might have caught + Jove and her rivals in the very fault, +_30 + This nymph with subtle stories would delay + Her coming, till the lovers slipped away. + The goddess found out the deceit in time, + And then she cried, 'That tongue, for this thy crime, + Which could so many subtle tales produce, + Shall be hereafter but of little use.' + Hence 'tis she prattles in a fainter tone, + With mimic sounds, and accents not her own. + This love-sick virgin, overjoyed to find + The boy alone, still followed him behind; +_40 + When, glowing warmly at her near approach, + As sulphur blazes at the taper's touch, + She longed her hidden passion to reveal, + And tell her pains, but had not words to tell: + She can't begin, but waits for the rebound, + To catch his voice, and to return the sound. + The nymph, when nothing could Narcissus move, + Still dashed with blushes for her slighted love, + Lived in the shady covert of the woods, + In solitary caves and dark abodes; +_50 + Where pining wandered the rejected fair, + Till harassed out, and worn away with care, + The sounding skeleton, of blood bereft, + Besides her bones and voice had nothing left. + Her bones are petrified, her voice is found + In vaults, where still it doubles every sound. + + +THE STORY OF NARCISSUS. + + Thus did the nymphs in vain caress the boy, + He still was lovely, but he still was coy; + When one fair virgin of the slighted train + Thus prayed the gods, provoked by his disdain, + 'Oh, may he love like me, and love like me in vain!' + Rhamnusia pitied the neglected fair, + And with just vengeance answered to her prayer. + There stands a fountain in a darksome wood, + Nor stained with falling leaves nor rising mud; + Untroubled by the breath of winds it rests, +_10 + Unsullied by the touch of men or beasts: + High bowers of shady trees above it grow, + And rising grass and cheerful greens below. + Pleased with the form and coolness of the place, + And over-heated by the morning chase, + Narcissus on the grassy verdure lies: + But whilst within the crystal fount he tries + To quench his heat, he feels new heats arise. + For as his own bright image he surveyed, + He fell in love with the fantastic shade; +_20 + And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmoved, + Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he loved. + The well-turned neck and shoulders he descries, + The spacious forehead, and the sparkling eyes; + The hands that Bacchus might not scorn to show, + And hair that round Apollo's head might flow, + With all the purple youthfulness of face, + That gently blushes in the watery glass. + By his own flames consumed the lover lies, + And gives himself the wound by which he dies. +_30 + To the cold water oft he joins his lips, + Oft catching at the beauteous shade he dips + His arms, as often from himself he slips. + Nor knows he who it is his arms pursue + With eager clasps, but loves he knows not who. + What could, fond youth, this helpless passion move? + What kindle in thee this unpitied love? + Thy own warm blush within the water glows, + With thee the coloured shadow comes and goes, + Its empty being on thyself relies; +_40 + Step thou aside, and the frail charmer dies. + Still o'er the fountain's watery gleam he stood, + Mindless of sleep, and negligent of food; + Still viewed his face, and languished as he viewed. + At length he raised his head, and thus began + To vent his griefs, and tell the woods his pain. + 'You trees,' says he, 'and thou surrounding grove, + Who oft have been the kindly scenes of love, + Tell me, if e'er within your shades did lie + A youth so tortured, so perplexed as I? +_50 + I who before me see the charming fair, + Whilst there he stands, and yet he stands not there: + In such a maze of love my thoughts are lost; + And yet no bulwarked town, nor distant coast, + Preserves the beauteous youth from being seen, + No mountains rise, nor oceans flow between. + A shallow water hinders my embrace; + And yet the lovely mimic wears a face + That kindly smiles, and when I bend to join + My lips to his, he fondly bends to mine. +_60 + Hear, gentle youth, and pity my complaint, + Come from thy well, thou fair inhabitant. + My charms an easy conquest have obtained + O'er other hearts, by thee alone disdained. + But why should I despair? I'm sure he burns + With equal flames, and languishes by turns. + Whene'er I stoop he offers at a kiss, + And when my arms I stretch, he stretches his. + His eye with pleasure on my face he keeps, + He smiles my smiles, and when I weep he weeps. +_70 + Whene'er I speak, his moving lips appear + To utter something, which I cannot hear. + 'Ah wretched me! I now begin too late + To find out all the long-perplexed deceit; + It is myself I love, myself I see; + The gay delusion is a part of me. + I kindle up the fires by which I burn, + And my own beauties from the well return. + Whom should I court? how utter my complaint? + Enjoyment but produces my restraint, +_80 + And too much plenty makes me die for want. + How gladly would I from myself remove! + And at a distance set the thing I love. + My breast is warmed with such unusual fire, + I wish him absent whom I most desire. + And now I faint with grief; my fate draws nigh; + In all the pride of blooming youth I die. + Death will the sorrows of my heart relieve. + Oh, might the visionary youth survive, + I should with joy my latest breath resign! +_90 + But oh! I see his fate involved in mine.' + This said, the weeping youth again returned + To the clear fountain, where again he burned; + His tears defaced the surface of the well + With circle after circle, as they fell: + And now the lovely face but half appears, + O'errun with wrinkles, and deformed with tears. + 'All whither,' cries Narcissus, 'dost thou fly? + Let me still feed the flame by which I die; + Let me still see, though I'm no further blessed.' +_100 + Then rends his garment off, and beats his breast: + His naked bosom reddened with the blow, + In such a blush as purple clusters show, + Ere yet the sun's autumnal heats refine + Their sprightly juice, and mellow it to wine. + The glowing beauties of his breast he spies, + And with a new redoubled passion dies. + As wax dissolves, as ice begins to run, + And trickle into drops before the sun; + So melts the youth, and languishes away, +_110 + His beauty withers, and his limbs decay; + And none of those attractive charms remain, + To which the slighted Echo sued in vain. + She saw him in his present misery, + Whom, spite of all her wrongs, she grieved to see. + She answered sadly to the lover's moan, + Sighed back his sighs, and groaned to every groan: + 'Ah youth! beloved in vain,' Narcissus cries; + 'Ah youth! beloved in vain,' the nymph replies. + 'Farewell,' says he; the parting sound scarce fell +_120 + From his faint lips, but she replied, 'Farewell.' + Then on the unwholesome earth he gasping lies, + Till death shuts up those self-admiring eyes. + To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires, + And in the Stygian waves itself admires. + For him the Naiads and the Dryads mourn, + Whom the sad Echo answers in her turn; + And now the sister-nymphs prepare his urn: + When, looking for his corpse, they only found + A rising stalk, with yellow blossoms crowned. +_130 + + +THE STORY OF PENTHEUS. + + This sad event gave blind Tiresias fame, + Through Greece established in a prophet's name. + The unhallowed Pentheus only durst deride + The cheated people, and their eyeless guide, + To whom the prophet in his fury said, + Shaking the hoary honours of his head; + 'Twere well, presumptuous man, 'twere well for thee + If thou wert eyeless too, and blind, like me: + For the time comes, nay, 'tis already here, + When the young god's solemnities appear; +_10 + Which, if thou dost not with just rites adorn, + Thy impious carcase, into pieces torn, + Shall strew the woods, and hang on every thorn. + Then, then, remember what I now foretell, + And own the blind Tiresias saw too well.' + Still Pentheus scorns him, and derides his skill, + But time did all the promised threats fulfil. + For now through prostrate Greece young Bacchus rode, + Whilst howling matrons celebrate the god. + All ranks and sexes to his orgies ran, +_20 + To mingle in the pomps, and fill the train. + When Pentheus thus his wicked rage express'd; + 'What madness, Thebans, has your soul possess'd? + Can hollow timbrels, can a drunken shout, + And the lewd clamours of a beastly rout, + Thus quell your courage? can the weak alarm + Of women's yells those stubborn souls disarm, + Whom nor the sword nor trumpet e'er could fright, + Nor the loud din and horror of a fight? + And you, our sires, who left your old abodes, +_30 + And fixed in foreign earth your country gods; + Will you without a stroke your city yield, + And poorly quit an undisputed field? + But you, whose youth and vigour should inspire + Heroic warmth, and kindle martial fire, + Whom burnished arms and crested helmets grace, + Not flowery garlands and a painted face; + Remember him to whom you stand allied: + The serpent for his well of waters died. + He fought the strong; do you his courage show, +_40 + And gain a conquest o'er a feeble foe. + If Thebes must fall, oh might the Fates afford + A nobler doom from famine, fire, or sword! + Then might the Thebans perish with renown: + But now a beardless victor sacks the town; + Whom nor the prancing steed, nor ponderous shield, + Nor the hacked helmet, nor the dusty field, + But the soft joys of luxury and ease, + The purple vests, and flowery garlands, please. + Stand then aside, I'll make the counterfeit +_50 + Renounce his godhead, and confess the cheat. + Acrisius from the Grecian walls repelled + This boasted power; why then should Pentheus yield? + Go quickly, drag the audacious boy to me; + I'll try the force of his divinity.' + Thus did the audacious wretch those rites profane; + His friends dissuade the audacious wretch in vain; + In vain his grandsire urged him to give o'er + His impious threats; the wretch but raves the more. + So have I seen a river gently glide, +_60 + In a smooth course and inoffensive tide; + But if with dams its current we restrain, + It bears down all, and foams along the plain. + But now his servants came besmeared with blood, + Sent by their haughty prince to seize the god; + The god they found not in the frantic throng + But dragged a zealous votary along. + + +THE MARINERS TRANSFORMED TO DOLPHINS. + + Him Pentheus viewed with fury in his look, + And scarce withheld his hands, while thus he spoke: + 'Vile slave! whom speedy vengeance shall pursue, + And terrify thy base, seditious crew: + Thy country and thy parentage reveal, + And why thou join'st in these mad orgies tell.' + The captive views him with undaunted eyes, + And, armed with inward innocence, replies. + 'From high Meonia's rocky shores I came, + Of poor descent, Acætes is my name: +_10 + My sire was meanly born; no oxen ploughed + His fruitful fields, nor in his pastures lowed. + His whole estate within the waters lay; + With lines and hooks he caught the finny prey. + His art was all his livelihood; which he + Thus with his dying lips bequeathed to me: + In streams, my boy, and rivers, take thy chance; + There swims,' said he, 'thy whole inheritance. + 'Long did I live on this poor legacy; + Till tired with rocks, and my own native sky, +_20 + To arts of navigation I inclined, + Observed the turns and changes of the wind: + Learned the fit havens, and began to note + The stormy Hyades, the rainy Goat, + The bright Täygete, and the shining Bears, + With all the sailor's catalogue of stars. + 'Once, as by chance for Delos I designed, + My vessel, driven by a strong gust of wind, + Moored in a Chian creek; ashore I went, + And all the following night in Chios spent. +_30 + When morning rose, I sent my mates to bring + Supplies of water from a neighbouring spring, + Whilst I the motion of the winds explored; + Then summoned in my crew, and went aboard. + Opheltes heard my summons, and with joy + Brought to the shore a soft and lovely boy, + With more than female sweetness in his look, + Whom straggling in the neighbouring fields he took. + With fumes of wine the little captive glows, + And nods with sleep, and staggers as he goes. +_40 + 'I viewed him nicely, and began to trace + Each heavenly feature, each immortal grace, + And saw divinity in all his face. + "I know not who," said I, "this god should be; + But that he is a god I plainly see: + And thou, whoe'er thou art, excuse the force + These men have used; and, oh! befriend our course!" + "Pray not for us," the nimble Dictys cried, + Dictys, that could the main-top-mast bestride, + And down the ropes with active vigour slide. +_50 + To the same purpose old Epopeus spoke, + Who overlooked the oars, and timed the stroke; + The same the pilot, and the same the rest; + Such impious avarice their souls possessed. + "Nay, heaven forbid that I should bear away + Within my vessel so divine a prey," + Said I; and stood to hinder their intent: + When Lycabas, a wretch for murder sent + From Tuscany, to suffer banishment, + With his clenched fist had struck me overboard, +_60 + Had not my hands, in falling, grasped a cord. + 'His base confederates the fact approve; + When Bacchus (for 'twas he) began to move, + Waked by the noise and clamours which they raised; + And shook his drowsy limbs, and round him gazed: + "What means this noise?" he cries; "am I betrayed? + All! whither, whither must I be conveyed?" + "Fear not," said Proreus, "child, but tell us where + You wish to land, and trust our friendly care." + "To Naxos then direct your course," said he; +_70 + "Naxos a hospitable port shall be + To each of you, a joyful home to me." + By every god that rules the sea or sky, + The perjured villains promise to comply, + And bid me hasten to unmoor the ship. + With eager joy I launch into the deep; + And, heedless of the fraud, for Naxos stand: + They whisper oft, and beckon with the hand, + And give me signs, all anxious for their prey, + To tack about, and steer another way. +_80 + "Then let some other to my post succeed," + Said I, "I'm guiltless of so foul a deed." + "What," says Ethalion, "must the ship's whole crew + Follow your humour, and depend on you?" + And straight himself he seated at the prore, + And tacked about, and sought another shore. + 'The beauteous youth now found himself betrayed, + And from the deck the rising waves surveyed, + And seemed to weep, and as he wept he said; + "And do you thus my easy faith beguile? +_90 + Thus do you bear me to my native isle? + Will such a multitude of men employ + Their strength against a weak, defenceless boy?" + 'In vain did I the godlike youth deplore, + The more I begged, they thwarted me the more. + And now by all the gods in heaven that hear + This solemn oath, by Bacchus' self, I swear, + The mighty miracle that did ensue, + Although it seems beyond belief, is true. + The vessel, fixed and rooted in the flood, +_100 + Unmoved by all the beating billows stood. + In vain the mariners would plough the main + With sails unfurled, and strike their oars in vain; + Around their oars a twining ivy cleaves, + And climbs the mast and hides the cords in leaves: + The sails are covered with a cheerful green, + And berries in the fruitful canvas seen. + Amidst the waves a sudden forest rears + Its verdant head, and a new spring appears. + 'The god we now behold with open eyes; +_110 + A herd of spotted panthers round him lies + In glaring forms; the grapy clusters spread + On his fair brows, and dangle on his head. + And whilst he frowns, and brandishes his spear, + My mates, surprised with madness or with fear, + Leaped overboard; first perjured Madon found + Rough scales and fins his stiffening sides surround; + "Ah! what," cries one, "has thus transformed thy look?" + Straight his own mouth grew wider as he spoke; + And now himself he views with like surprise. +_120 + Still at his oar the industrious Libys plies; + But, as he plies, each busy arm shrinks in, + And by degrees is fashioned to a fin. + Another, as he catches at a cord, + Misses his arms, and, tumbling overboard, + With his broad fins and forky tail he laves + The rising surge, and flounces in the waves. + Thus all my crew transformed around the ship, + Or dive below, or on the surface leap, + And spout the waves, and wanton in the deep. +_130 + Full nineteen sailors did the ship convey, + A shoal of nineteen dolphins round her play. + I only in my proper shape appear, + Speechless with wonder, and half dead with fear, + Till Bacchus kindly bid me fear no more. + With him I landed on the Chian shore, + And him shall ever gratefully adore.' + 'This forging slave,' says Pentheus, 'would prevail + O'er our just fury by a far-fetched tale: + Go, let him feel the whips, the swords, the fire, +_140 + And in the tortures of the rack expire.' + The officious servants hurry him away, + And the poor captive in a dungeon lay. + But, whilst the whips and tortures are prepared. + The gates fly open, of themselves unbarred; + At liberty the unfettered captive stands, + And flings the loosened shackles from his hands. + + +THE DEATH OF PENTHEUS. + + But Penthcus, grown more furious than before, + Resolved to send his messengers no more, + But went himself to the distracted throng, + Where high Cithæron echoed with their song. + And as the fiery war-horse paws the ground, + And snorts and trembles at the trumpet's sound; + Transported thus he heard the frantic rout, + And raved and maddened at the distant shout. + A spacious circuit on the hill there stood, + Level and wide, and skirted round with wood; +_10 + Here the rash Pentheus, with unhallowed eyes, + The howling dames and mystic orgies spies. + His mother sternly viewed him where he stood, + And kindled into madness as she viewed: + Her leafy javelin at her son she cast, + And cries, 'The boar that lays our country waste! + The boar, my sisters! aim the fatal dart, + And strike the brindled monster to the heart.' + Pentheus astonished heard the dismal sound, + And sees the yelling matrons gathering round: +_20 + He sees, and weeps at his approaching fate, + And begs for mercy, and repents too late. + 'Help, help! my aunt Autonöe,' he cried; + 'Remember how your own Actæon died.' + Deaf to his cries, the frantic matron crops + One stretched-out arm, the other Ino lops. + In vain does Pentheus to his mother sue, + And the raw bleeding stumps presents to view: + His mother howled; and heedless of his prayer, + Her trembling hand she twisted in his hair, +_30 + 'And this,' she cried, 'shall be Agave's share,' + When from the neck his struggling head she tore, + And in her hands the ghastly visage bore, + With pleasure all the hideous trunk survey; + Then pulled and tore the mangled limbs away, + As starting in the pangs of death it lay. + Soon as the wood its leafy honours casts, + Blown off and scattered by autumnal blasts, + With such a sudden death lay Pentheus slain, + And in a thousand pieces strowed the plain. +_40 + By so distinguishing a judgment awed, + The Thebans tremble, and confess the god. + + +BOOK IV. + +THE STORY OF SALMACIS AND HERMAPHRODITES. + + How Salmacis, with weak enfeebling streams + Softens the body, and unnerves the limbs, + And what the secret cause, shall here be shown; + The cause is secret, but the effect is known. + The Naïads nursed an infant heretofore, + That Cytherea once to Hermes bore: + From both the illustrious authors of his race + The child was named; nor was it hard to trace + Both the bright parents through the infant's face. + When fifteen years, in Ida's cool retreat, +_10 + The boy had told, he left his native seat, + And sought fresh fountains in a foreign soil; + The pleasure lessened the attending toil. + With eager steps the Lycian fields he crossed, + And fields that border on the Lycian coast; + A river here he viewed so lovely bright, + It showed the bottom in a fairer light, + Nor kept a sand concealed from human sight. + The stream produced nor slimy ooze, nor weeds, + Nor miry rushes, nor the spiky reeds; +_20 + But dealt enriching moisture all around, + The fruitful banks with cheerful verdure crowned, + And kept the spring eternal on the ground. + A nymph presides, nor practised in the chase, + Nor skilful at the bow, nor at the race; + Of all the blue-eyed daughters of the main, + The only stranger to Diana's train: + Her sisters often, as 'tis said, would cry, + 'Fie, Salmacis, what always idle! fie, + Or take thy quiver, or thy arrows seize, +_30 + And mix the toils of hunting with thy ease.' + Nor quiver she nor arrows e'er would seize, + Nor mix the toils of hunting with her ease. + But oft would bathe her in the crystal tide, + Oft with a comb her dewy locks divide; + Now in the limpid streams she viewed her face, + And dressed her image in the floating glass: + On beds of leaves she now reposed her limbs, + Now gathered flowers that grew about her streams: + And then by chance was gathering, as she stood +_40 + To view the boy, and longed for what she viewed. + Fain would she meet the youth with hasty feet, + She fain would meet him, but refused to meet + Before her looks were set with nicest care, + And well deserved to be reputed fair. + 'Bright youth,' she cries, 'whom all thy features prove + A god, and, if a god, the god of love; + But if a mortal, bless'd thy nurse's breast, + Bless'd are thy parents, and thy sisters bless'd: + But, oh! how bless'd! how more than bless'd thy bride, +_50 + Allied in bliss, if any yet allied. + If so, let mine the stolen enjoyments be; + If not, behold a willing bride in me.' + The boy knew nought of love, and, touched with shame, + He strove, and blushed, but still the blush became: + In rising blushes still fresh beauties rose; + The sunny side of fruit such blushes shows, + And such the moon, when all her silver white + Turns in eclipses to a ruddy light. + The nymph still begs, if not a nobler bliss, +_60 + A cold salute at least, a sister's kiss: + And now prepares to take the lovely boy + Between her arms. He, innocently coy, + Replies, 'Or leave me to myself alone, + You rude, uncivil nymph, or I'll begone.' + 'Fair stranger then,' says she, 'it shall be so;' + And, for she feared his threats, she feigned to go; + But hid within a covert's neighbouring green, + She kept him still in sight, herself unseen. + The boy now fancies all the danger o'er, +_70 + And innocently sports about the shore, + Playful and wanton to the stream he trips, + And dips his foot, and shivers as he dips. + The coolness pleased him, and with eager haste + His airy garments on the banks he cast; + His godlike features, and his heavenly hue, + And all his beauties were exposed to view. + His naked limbs the nymph with rapture spies, + While hotter passions in her bosom rise, + Flush in her cheeks, and sparkle in her eyes. +_80 + She longs, she burns to clasp him in her arms, + And looks, and sighs, and kindles at his charms. + Now all undressed upon the banks he stood, + And clapped his sides and leaped into the flood: + His lovely limbs the silver waves divide, + His limbs appear more lovely through the tide; + As lilies shut within a crystal case, + Receive a glossy lustre from the glass. + 'He's mine, he's all my own,' the Naiad cries, + And flings off all, and after him she flies. +_90 + And now she fastens on him as he swims, + And holds him close, and wraps about his limbs. + The more the boy resisted, and was coy, + The more she clipped and kissed the struggling boy. + So when the wriggling snake is snatched on high + In eagle's claws, and hisses in the sky, + Around the foe his twirling tail he flings, + And twists her legs, and writhes about her wings. + The restless boy still obstinately strove + To free himself, and still refused her love. +_100 + Amidst his limbs she kept her limbs entwined, + 'And why, coy youth,' she cries, 'why thus unkind! + Oh may the gods thus keep us ever joined! + Oh may we never, never part again!' + So prayed the nymph, nor did she pray in vain: + For now she finds him, as his limbs she pressed, + Grow nearer still, and nearer to her breast; + Till, piercing each the other's flesh, they run + Together, and incorporate in one: + Last in one face are both their faces joined, +_110 + As when the stock and grafted twig combined + Shoot up the same, and wear a common rind: + Both bodies in a single body mix, + A single body with a double sex. + The boy, thus lost in woman, now surveyed + The river's guilty stream, and thus he prayed: + (He prayed, but wondered at his softer tone, + Surprised to hear a voice but half his own:) + You parent gods, whose heavenly names I bear, + Hear your Hermaphrodite, and grant my prayer; +_120 + Oh grant, that whomsoe'er these streams contain, + If man he entered, he may rise again + Supple, unsinewed, and but half a man! + The heavenly parents answered, from on high, + Their two-shaped son, the double votary; + Then gave a secret virtue to the flood, + And tinged its source to make his wishes good. + + + +TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS OF WALES,[12] + +WITH THE TRAGEDY OF CATO, NOV. 1714. + + The Muse that oft, with sacred raptures fired, + Has generous thoughts of liberty inspired, + And, boldly rising for Britannia's laws, + Engaged great Cato in her country's cause, + On you submissive waits, with hopes assured, + By whom the mighty blessing stands secured, + And all the glories that our age adorn, + Are promised to a people yet unborn. + No longer shall the widowed land bemoan + A broken lineage, and a doubtful throne; +_10 + But boast her royal progeny's increase, + And count the pledges of her future peace. + O, born to strengthen and to grace our isle! + While you, fair Princess, in your offspring smile, + Supplying charms to the succeeding age, + Each heavenly daughter's triumphs we presage; + Already see the illustrious youths complain, + And pity monarchs doomed to sigh in vain. + Thou too, the darling of our fond desires, + Whom Albion, opening wide her arms, requires, +_20 + With manly valour and attractive air + Shalt quell the fierce and captivate the fair. + O England's younger hope! in whom conspire + The mother's sweetness and the father's fire! + For thee perhaps, even now, of kingly race, + Some dawning beauty blooms in every grace, + Some Carolina, to heaven's dictates true, + Who, while the sceptred rivals vainly sue, + Thy inborn worth with conscious eyes shall see, + And slight the imperial diadem for thee. +_30 + Pleased with the prospect of successive reigns, + The tuneful tribe no more in daring strains + Shall vindicate, with pious fears oppressed, + Endangered rights, and liberty distressed: + To milder sounds each Muse shall tune the lyre, + And gratitude, and faith to kings inspire, + And filial love; bid impious discord cease, + And soothe the madding factions into peace; + Or rise ambitious in more lofty lays, + And teach the nation their new monarch's praise, +_40 + Describe his awful look and godlike mind, + And Cæsar's power with Cato's virtue joined. + Meanwhile, bright Princess, who, with graceful ease + And native majesty, are formed to please, + Behold those arts with a propitious eye, + That suppliant to their great protectress fly! + Then shall they triumph, and the British stage + Improve her manners and refine her rage, + More noble characters expose to view, + And draw her finished heroines from you. +_50 + Nor you the kind indulgence will refuse, + Skilled in the labours of the deathless Muse: + The deathless Muse with undiminished rays + Through distant times the lovely dame conveys: + To Gloriana[13] Waller's harp was strung; + The queen still shines, because the poet sung. + Even all those graces, in your frame combined, + The common fate of mortal charms may find, + (Content our short-lived praises to engage, + The joy and wonder of a single age,) +_60 + Unless some poet in a lasting song + To late posterity their fame prolong, + Instruct our sons the radiant form to prize. + And see your beauty with their fathers' eyes. + + + +TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER[14] ON HIS PICTURE OF THE KING.[15] + + Kneller, with silence and surprise + We see Britannia's monarch rise, + A godlike form, by thee displayed + In all the force of light and shade; + And, awed by thy delusive hand, + As in the presence-chamber stand. + The magic of thy art calls forth + His secret soul and hidden worth, + His probity and mildness shows, + His care of friends and scorn of foes: +_10 + In every stroke, in every line, + Does some exalted virtue shine, + And Albion's happiness we trace + Through all the features of his face. + Oh may I live to hail the day, + When the glad nation shall survey + Their sovereign, through his wide command, + Passing in progress o'er the land! + Each heart shall bend, and every voice + In loud applauding shouts rejoice, +_20 + Whilst all his gracious aspect praise, + And crowds grow loyal as they gaze. + This image on the medal placed, + With its bright round of titles graced, + And stamped on British coins, shall live, + To richest ores the value give, + Or, wrought within the curious mould, + Shape and adorn the running gold. + To bear this form, the genial sun + Has daily, since his course begun, +_30 + Rejoiced the metal to refine, + And ripened the Peruvian mine. + Thou, Kneller, long with noble pride, + The foremost of thy art, hast vied + With nature in a generous strife, + And touched the canvas into life. + Thy pencil has, by monarchs sought, + From reign to reign in ermine wrought, + And, in their robes of state arrayed, + The kings of half an age displayed. +_40 + Here swarthy Charles appears, and there + His brother with dejected air: + Triumphant Nassau here we find, + And with him bright Maria joined; + There Anna, great as when she sent + Her armies through the continent, + Ere yet her hero was disgraced: + Oh may famed Brunswick be the last, + (Though heaven should with my wish agree, + And long preserve thy art in thee,) +_50 + The last, the happiest British king, + Whom thou shalt paint, or I shall sing! + Wise Phidias, thus his skill to prove, + Through many a god advanced to Jove, + And taught the polished rocks to shine + With airs and lineaments divine; + Till Greece, amazed, and half afraid, + The assembled deities surveyed. + Great Pan, who wont to chase the fair, + And loved the spreading oak, was there; +_60 + Old Saturn too, with up-cast eyes, + Beheld his abdicated skies; + And mighty Mars, for war renowned, + In adamantine armour frowned; + By him the childless goddess rose, + Minerva, studious to compose + Her twisted threads; the web she strung, + And o'er a loom of marble hung: + Thetis, the troubled ocean's queen. + Matched with a mortal, next was seen, +_70 + Reclining on a funeral urn, + Her short-lived darling son to mourn. + The last was he, whose thunder slew + The Titan race, a rebel crew, + That, from a hundred hills allied + In impious leagues, their king defied. + This wonder of the sculptor's hand + Produced, his art was at a stand: + For who would hope new fame to raise, + Or risk his well-established praise, +_80 + That, his high genius to approve, + Had drawn a GEORGE, or carved a Jove! + + + +THE PLAY-HOUSE. + + Where gentle Thames through stately channels glides, + And England's proud metropolis divides; + A lofty fabric does the sight invade, + And stretches o'er the waves a pompous shade; + Whence sudden shouts the neighbourhood surprise, + And thundering claps and dreadful hissings rise. + Here thrifty R----[16] hires monarchs by the day, + And keeps his mercenary kings in pay; + With deep-mouth'd actors fills the vacant scenes, + And rakes the stews for goddesses and queens: +_10 + Here the lewd punk, with crowns and sceptres graced, + Teaches her eyes a more majestic cast; + And hungry monarchs with a numerous train + Of suppliant slaves, like Sancho, starve and reign. + But enter in, my Muse; the stage survey, + And all its pomp and pageantry display; + Trap-doors and pit-falls, form the unfaithful ground, + And magic walls encompass it around: + On either side maim'd temples fill our eyes, + And intermixed with brothel-houses rise; +_20 + Disjointed palaces in order stand, + And groves obedient to the mover's hand + O'ershade the stage, and flourish at command. + A stamp makes broken towns and trees entire: + So when Amphion struck the vocal lyre, + He saw the spacious circuit all around, + With crowding woods and rising cities crown'd. + But next the tiring-room survey, and see + False titles, and promiscuous quality, + Confus'dly swarm, from heroes and from queens, +_30 + To those that swing in clouds and fill machines. + Their various characters they choose with art, + The frowning bully fits the tyrant's part: + Swoln cheeks and swaggering belly make an host, + Pale, meagre looks and hollow voice a ghost; + From careful brows and heavy downcast eyes, + Dull cits and thick-skull'd aldermen arise: + The comic tone, inspir'd by Congreve, draws + At every word, loud laughter and applause: + The whining dame continues as before, +_40 + Her character unchanged, and acts a whore. + Above the rest, the prince with haughty stalks + Magnificent in purple buskins walks: + The royal robes his awful shoulders grace, + Profuse of spangles and of copper-lace: + Officious rascals to his mighty thigh, + Guiltless of blood, the unpointed weapon tie: + Then the gay glittering diadem put on, + Ponderous with brass, and starr'd with Bristol-stone. + His royal consort next consults her glass, +_50 + And out of twenty boxes culls a face; + The whitening first her ghastly looks besmears, + All pale and wan the unfinish'd form appears; + Till on her cheeks the blushing purple glows, + And a false virgin-modesty bestows. + Her ruddy lips the deep vermilion dyes; + Length to her brows the pencil's arts supplies, + And with black bending arches shades her eyes. + Well pleased at length the picture she beholds, + And spots it o'er with artificial molds; +_60 + Her countenance complete, the beaux she warms + With looks not hers: and, spite of nature, charms. + Thus artfully their persons they disguise, + Till the last flourish bids the curtain rise. + The prince then enters on the stage in state; + Behind, a guard of candle-snuffers wait: + There swoln with empire, terrible and fierce, + He shakes the dome, and tears his lungs with verse: + His subjects tremble; the submissive pit, + Wrapt up in silence and attention, sit; +_70 + Till, freed at length, he lays aside the weight + Of public business and affairs of state: + Forgets his pomp, dead to ambitious fires, + And to some peaceful brandy-shop retires; + Where in full gills his anxious thoughts he drowns, + And quaffs away the care that waits on crowns. + The princess next her painted charms displays, + Where every look the pencil's art betrays; + The callow squire at distance feeds his eyes, + And silently for paint and washes dies: +_80 + But if the youth behind the scenes retreat, + He sees the blended colours melt with heat, + And all the trickling beauty run in sweat. + The borrow'd visage he admires no more, + And nauseates every charm he loved before: + So the famed spear, for double force renown'd, + Applied the remedy that gave the wound. + In tedious lists 'twere endless to engage, + And draw at length the rabble of the stage, + Where one for twenty years has given alarms, +_90 + And call'd contending monarchs to their arms; + Another fills a more important post, + And rises every other night a ghost; + Through the cleft stage his mealy face he rears, + Then stalks along, groans thrice, and disappears; + Others, with swords and shields, the soldier's pride, + More than a thousand times have changed their side, + And in a thousand fatal battles died. + Thus several persons several parts perform; + Soft lovers whine, and blustering heroes storm. +_100 + The stern exasperated tyrants rage, + Till the kind bowl of poison clears the stage. + Then honours vanish, and distinctions cease; + Then, with reluctance, haughty queens undress. + Heroes no more their fading laurels boast, + And mighty kings in private men are lost. + He, whom such titles swell'd, such power made proud, + To whom whole realms and vanquish'd nations bow'd, + Throws off the gaudy plume, the purple train, + And in his own vile tatters stinks again. +_110 + + + +ON THE LADY MANCHESTER. + +WRITTEN ON THE TOASTING-GLASSES OF THE KIT-CAT CLUB. + + While haughty Gallia's dames, that spread + O'er their pale cheeks an artful red, + Beheld this beauteous stranger there, + In native charms divinely fair; + Confusion in their looks they show'd; + And with unborrow'd blushes glow'd. + + + +AN ODE. + + 1 + + The spacious firmament on high, + With all the blue ethereal sky, + And spangled Heavens, a shining frame, + Their great Original proclaim. + The unwearied Sun from day to day + Does his Creator's power display; + And publishes, to every land, + The work of an almighty hand. + + 2 + + Soon as the evening shades prevail, + The Moon takes up the wondrous tale; + And nightly, to the listening Earth, + Repeats the story of her birth: + Whilst all the stars that round her burn, + And all the planets, in their turn, + Confirm the tidings as they roll, + And spread the truth from pole to pole. + + 3 + + What though, in solemn silence, all + Move round the dark terrestrial ball; + What though no real voice, nor sound + Amidst their radiant orbs be found: + In reason's ear they all rejoice, + And utter forth a glorious voice; + For ever singing as they shine: + 'The hand that made us is divine.' + + + +AN HYMN. + + 1 + When all thy mercies, O my God, + My rising soul surveys; + Transported with the view, I'm lost + In wonder, love, and praise. + + 2 + O how shall words with equal warmth + The gratitude declare, + That glows within my ravish'd heart! + But thou canst read it there. + + 3 + Thy providence my life sustain'd, + And all my wants redress'd, + When in the silent womb I lay, + And hung upon the breast. + + 4 + To all my weak complaints and cries + Thy mercy lent an ear, + Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt + To form themselves in prayer. + + 5 + Unnumber'd comforts to my soul + Thy tender care bestow'd, + Before my infant heart conceiv'd + From whence these comforts flow'd. + + 6 + When in the slippery paths of youth + With heedless steps I ran, + Thine arm unseen convey'd me safe, + And led me up to man. + + 7 + Through hidden dangers, toils, and death, + It gently clear'd my way; + And through the pleasing snares of vice, + More to be fear'd than they. + + 8 + When worn with sickness, oft hast thou + With health renew'd my face; + And when in sins and sorrows sunk, + Reviv'd my soul with grace. + + 9 + Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss + Has made my cup run o'er, + And in a kind and faithful friend + Has doubled all my store. + + 10 + Ten thousand thousand precious gifts + My daily thanks employ; + Nor is the least a cheerful heart, + That tastes those gifts with joy. + + 11 + Through every period of my life, + Thy goodness I'll pursue; + And after death, in distant worlds, + The glorious theme renew.[17] + + 12 + When nature fails, and day and night + Divide thy works no more, + My ever-grateful heart, O Lord, + Thy mercy shall adore. + + 13 + Through all eternity, to thee + A joyful song I'll raise; + For, oh! eternity's too short + To utter all thy praise. + + + +AN ODE. + + 1 + How are thy servants blest, O Lord! + How sure is their defence! + Eternal wisdom is their guide, + Their help Omnipotence. + + 2 + In foreign realms, and lands remote, + Supported by thy care, + Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt, + And breath'd in tainted air. + + 3 + Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil, + Made every region please; + The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd, + And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas. + + 4 + Think, O my soul, devoutly think, + How, with affrighted eyes, + Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep + In all its horrors rise. + + 5 + Confusion dwelt in every face, + And fear in every heart; + When waves on waves, and gulphs on gulphs, + O'ercame the pilot's art. + + 6 + Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord, + Thy mercy set me free; + Whilst, in the confidence of prayer, + My soul took hold on thee. + + 7 + For though in dreadful whirls we hung + High on the broken wave, + I knew thou wert not slow to hear, + Nor impotent to save. + + 8 + The storm was laid, the winds retired, + Obedient to thy will; + The sea that roar'd at thy command, + At thy command was still. + + 9 + In midst of dangers, fears, and death, + Thy goodness I'll adore; + And praise thee for thy mercies past, + And humbly hope for more. + + 10 + My life, if thou preserv'st my life, + Thy sacrifice shall be; + And death, if death must be my doom, + Shall join my soul to thee. + + + +AN HYMN. + + 1 + When rising from the bed of death, + O'erwhelm'd with guilt and fear, + I see my Maker face to face; + O how shall I appear! + + 2 + If yet, while pardon may be found, + And mercy may be sought, + My heart with inward horror shrinks, + And trembles at the thought: + + 3 + When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos'd + In majesty severe, + And sit in judgment on my soul; + O how shall I appear! + + 4 + But thou hast told the troubled soul, + Who does her sins lament, + The timely tribute of her tears + Shall endless woe prevent. + + 5 + Then see the sorrows of my heart, + Ere yet it be too late; + And add my Saviour's dying groans, + To give those sorrows weight. + + 6 + For never shall my soul despair + Her pardon to procure, + Who knows thy only Son has died + To make that pardon sure. + + + +PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII. + + 1 + + The Lord my pasture shall prepare, + And feed me with a shepherd's care; + His presence shall my wants supply, + And guard me with a watchful eye: + My noon-day walks he shall attend, + And all my midnight hours defend. + + 2 + + When in the sultry glebe I faint, + Or on the thirsty mountain pant; + To fertile vales and dewy meads + My weary wandering steps he leads: + Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow, + Amid the verdant landscape flow. + + 3 + + Though in the paths of death I tread, + With gloomy horrors overspread, + My steadfast heart shall fear no ill, + For thou, O Lord, art with me still; + Thy friendly crook shall give me aid, + And guide me through the dreadful shade. + + 4 + + Though in a bare and rugged way, + Through devious lonely wilds I stray, + Thy bounty shall my wants beguile: + The barren wilderness shall smile, + With sudden greens and herbage crown'd, + And streams shall murmur all around. + + + +END OF ADDISON'S POEMS. + + +Footnotes: + +[Footnote 2: 'Majesty:' King William.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Seneffe:' lost by William to the French in 1674. +Claverhouse fought with him at this battle.] + +[Footnote 4: The four last lines of the second and third stanzas were +added by Mr Tate.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Eridanus:' the Po.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Such as of late.' See Macaulay's 'Essay on Addison,' and +the 'Life' in this volume, for an account of this extraordinary tempest.] + +[Footnote 7: 'Tallard,' or Tallart: an eminent French marshal, taken +prisoner at Blenheim; he remained in England for seven years.] + +[Footnote 8: A comedy written by Sir Richard Steel.] + +[Footnote 9: A dramatic poem written by the Lord Lansdown.] + +[Footnote 10: 'Smith:' Edmund, commonly called 'Rag;' see Johnson's +'Poets.'] + +[Footnote 11: 'Lyæus:' Bacchus.] + +[Footnote 12: 'Princess of Wales:' Willielinina Dorothea Carolina of +Brandenburg-Anspach--afterwards Caroline, Queen of George II.; she +figures in the 'Heart of Mid-Lothian.'] + +[Footnote 13: 'Gloriana:' Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I. See our +edition of Waller.] + +[Footnote 14: 'Sir Godfrey Kneller:' born at Lubeck in 1648; became a +painter of portraits; visited England; was knighted by William III.; died +in 1723; lies in Westminster Abbey.] + +[Footnote 15: This refers to a portrait of George I.] + +[Footnote 16: 'R----:' Rich.] + +[Footnote 17: Otherwise, + 'Thy goodness I'll proclaim;' + And, + 'Resume the glorious theme.' ] + + + + +THE LIFE OF JOHN GAY. + + + +This ingenious poet and child-like man was born, in 1688, at Barnstable, +in Devonshire. His family, who were of Norman origin, had long possessed +the manor of Goldworthy, or Holdworthy, which came into their hands +through Gilbert Le Gay. He obtained possession of this estate by +intermarrying with the family of Curtoyse, and gave his name, too, to a +place called Hampton Gay, in Northamptonshire. The author of the "Fables" +was brought up at the Free School of Barnstable--Pope says under one +William Rayner, who had been educated at Westminster School, and who was +the author of a volume of Latin and English verse, although Dr Johnson +and others maintain that his master's name was Luck. On leaving school, +Gay was bound apprentice to a mercer in London--a trade not the most +propitious to poetry, and which he did not long continue to prosecute. In +1712, he published his "Rural Sports," and dedicated it to Pope, who was +then rising toward the ascendant, having just published his brilliant +tissue of centos, the "Essay on Criticism." Pope was pleased with the +honour, and ever afterwards took a deep interest in Gay. In the same year +Gay had been appointed domestic secretary to the Duchess of Monmouth. +This lady was Anne Scott, the daughter and heiress of the Duke of +Buccleuch, and widow of the well-known and hapless Duke of Monmouth, who +had been beheaded in 1685. She plays a prominent part in the "Lay of the +Last Minstrel," and of her a far greater poet than her secretary thus +sings:-- + + "The Duchess mark'd his weary pace, + His timid mien, and reverend face, + And bade her page the menials tell + That they should tend the old man well: + + For she had known adversity, + Though born in such a high degree; + In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, + Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb." + +Dr Johnson says of her, rather sarcastically, that she was "remarkable +for her inflexible perseverance in her demand to be treated as a +princess." One biographer of Gay asserts--but on what authority we know +not--that this secretaryship was rewarded with a handsome salary. With +her, however, our poet did not long agree. She was scarcely so kind to +him as to the "Last Minstrel" who sung to her at Newark. By June 8th, +1714, (see a letter of Arbuthnot's of that date,) she had "turned Gay +off," having probably been provoked by his indolence of disposition and +improvidence of conduct. + +Ere this, however, he had been admitted to the intimacy of Pope, and was +hired or flattered by him to engage in the famous "Battle of the Wits," +springing from the publication of the "Pastorals" of Ambrose Philips. +This agreeable but nearly forgotten writer published some pastorals, +which Steele, with his usual rashness and fatal favouritism, commended in +the "Guardian" as superior to all productions of the class, (including +Pope's,) except those of Theocritus, Virgil, and Spenser. Pope retorted +in a style of inimitable irony, by a letter to the "Guardian," where he +professedly gives the preference to Philips, but damages his claim by +producing four specimens of his composition, and contrasting them with +the better portions of his own. Not contented with this, he prevailed on +Gay to satirise Philips in the "Shepherd's Week"--a poem which forms the +_reductio ad absurdum_ of that writer's plan, and exhibits rural life in +more than the vulgarity and grossness which the author of the "Pastorals" +had ascribed to it. + +Gay shortly after wrote his "Fan," and his "Trivia, or the Art of Walking +the Streets of London"--the former a mythological fiction, in three +books, now entirely and deservedly neglected; the second still worthy of +perusal on account of its fidelity to truth, in its pictures of the dirty +London of 1713--a fidelity reminding you of Crabbe and of Swift; indeed, +Gay is said to have been assisted in "Trivia" by the latter, who, we may +not uncharitably suppose, supplied the filth of allusion and image which +here and there taints the poem. In 1713, our author brought out on the +stage a comedy, entitled the "Wife of Bath," which met with no success, +and which, when reproduced seventeen years later, after the "Beggars' +Opera" had taken the town by storm, fell as flat as before. + +Gay had now fairly found his way into the centre of that brilliant circle +called the Wits of Queen Anne. That was certainly one of the most varied +in intellect and attainment which the world has ever seen. Highest far +among them--we refer to the Tory side--darkled the stern brow of the +author of "Gulliver's Travels," who had a mind cast by nature in a form +of naked force, like a gloomy crag without a particle of beauty or +any vegetation, save what will grow on the most horrid rocks, and the +condition of whose existence there, seems to be that it deepens +the desolation--a mind unredeemed by virtue save in the shape of +remorse--unvisited by weakness, until it came transmuted into the tiger +of madness--whose very sermons were satires on God and man--whose very +prayers had a twang of blasphemy--whose loves were more loathsome than +his hatreds, and yet over whose blasted might and most miserable and +withered heart men mourn, while they shudder, blend tears with anathemas, +and agree that the awful mystery of man itself is deepened by its +relation to the mystery of the wickedness, remorse, and wretchedness +of Jonathan Swift. Superior to him in outward show and splendour, but +inferior in real intellect, and, if possible, in moral calibre, shone, +although with lurid brilliance, the "fell genius" of St John or Henry +Bolingbroke. In a former paper we said that Edmund Burke reminded us less +of a man than of a tutelar Angel; and so we can sometimes think of the +"ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke," with his subtle intellect, his showy, +sophistical eloquence, his power of intrigue, his consummate falsehood, +his vice and his infidelity as a "superior fiend"--a kind of human +Belial-- + + "In act more graceful than humane: + A fairer person lost not heaven: he seem'd + + For dignity composed and high exploit; + But all was false and hollow, though his tongue + Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear + The better reason, to perplex and dash + Maturest counsels." + +These two were the giants of the Tory confederacy of wits. But little +inferior to them in brilliance, if vastly less in intellectual size, was +Pope, with his epigrammatic style, his compact sense--like stimulating +essence contained in small smelling bottles--his pungent personalities, +his elegant glitter, and his splendid simulation of moral indignation and +moral purpose. Less known, but more esteemed than any of them where he +was known, was Dr Arbuthnot--a physician of skill, as some extant medical +works prove--a man of science, and author of an "Essay on the Usefulness +of Mathematical Learning"--a scholar, as evinced by his examination of +Woodward's "Account of the Deluge," his treatise on "Ancient Coins and +Medals," and that on the "Altercation or Scolding of the Ancients"--a +wit, whose grave irony, keen perception of the ridiculous, and magical +power of turning the lead of learning into the most fine gold of humour, +exhibited in his "Martinus Scriblerus," his "Epitaph on the notorious +Colonel Chartres," and his "History of John Bull," still extract shouts, +screams, and tears of mirth from thousands who scarce know the author's +name--a politician without malice or self-seeking--and, best of all, +a man without guile, and a Christian without cant. He, although a +physician, was in effect the chaplain of the corps, and had enough to do +in keeping them within due bounds; nay, is said on his deathbed to have +called Pope to him, and given him serious advice in reference to the +direction of his talents, and the restraint of his muse. Prior, though +inferior to these, was no common man; and to learning, wit, and +tale-telling power, added skill and energy in the conduct of public +affairs. And last, (for Parnell, though beloved by this circle, could +hardly be said to belong to it,) there was Gay, whom the others agreed +to love and laugh at, who stood in much the same relation to the wits of +Anne as Goldsmith did to those of George III., being at once their fool +and their fondling; who, like Goldsmith, was + + "In wit a man--simplicity a child;" + +and who though he could not stab and sneer, and create new worlds more +laughable than even this, like Swift, nor declaim and sap faith, like +Bolingbroke, nor rhyme and glitter like Pope, nor discourse on medals and +write comical "Pilgrims' Progresses" like Arbuthnot, nor pour out floods +of learning like Prior in "Alma," could do things which they in their +turn never equalled, (even as in Emerson's poem, "The Mountain and the +Squirrel," the latter wisely remarks to the former-- + + "I cannot carry forests on my back, + But neither can you crack a nut,") + +could give a fabulous excellence to the construction and management of +the "Fable;" extract interest from street crossings and scavengers, and +let fly into the literary atmosphere an immortal Opera, the "Beggars'," +which, though feathered by the moultings of the very basest night-birds, +has pursued a career of triumph ever since. + +To recur to the life of our poet. Losing his situation under the Duchess +of Monmouth, he was patronised by the Earls of Oxford and Bolingbroke, +and through them was appointed secretary to the Earl of Clarendon, who +was going to Hanover as ambassador to that court. He was at this time so +poor that, in order to equip himself with necessaries, such as shoes, +stockings, and linen for the journey, he had to receive an advance of +£100 from the treasury at Hanover. The Electoral Princess, afterwards +Queen Caroline--wife of George II.--took some notice of Gay, and asked +for a volume of his "Poems," when, as Arbuthnot remarks, "like a true +poet," he was compelled to own that he had no copy in his possession. We +suspect few poets, whether true or pretended, in our age would in this +point resemble Gay. + +Lord Clarendon's embassy lasted precisely fifteen days--Queen Anne +having died in the meantime--and the Tory Government being consequently +dismissed in disgrace. Poor Gay, who had offended the Whigs by dedicating +his "Shepherd's Week" to Bolingbroke, came home in a worse plight than +before. He had left England in a state of poverty--he returned to it in a +state of proscription--although he perhaps felt comforted by an epistle +of welcome from Pope, which did not, it is likely, affect him as it does +us with the notion that its tricksy author was laughing in his sleeve. + +Arbuthnot, who was a wiser friend, advised Gay to write an "Epistle on +the Arrival of the Princess of Wales," which he did, and she and her lord +were so far conciliated as to attend a play he now produced, entitled +"What d'ye call it?"--a kind of hybrid between a farce and a +tragedy--which, by the well-managed equivoque of its purpose, hit the +house between wind and water; and not knowing "what" properly to "call +it," and whether it should be applauded or damned, they gave the benefit +of their doubts to the author. To its success, doubtless too, the +presence and praise of the Prince and the Princess contributed. Gay now +tried for a while the trade of a courtier--sooth to say, with little +success. He was for this at once too sanguine and too simple. Pope said, +with his usual civil sneer, in a letter to Swift, "the Doctor (Arbuthnot) +goes to cards--Gay to court; the one loses money, the other time." +It added to his chagrin, that having, in conjunction with Pope and +Arbuthnot, produced, in 1717, a comedy, entitled "Three Months after +Marriage," to satirise Dr Woodward, then famous as a fossilist; the +piece, being personal and indecent, was not only hissed but hooted off +the stage. The chief offence was taken at the introduction of a mummy and +a crocodile on the stage. To divert his grief, he, at the suggestion of +Lord Burlington, who paid his expenses, rambled into Devonshire, went +next with Pultney to Aix, in France, and when afterwards on a visit to +Lord Harcourt's seat, witnessed the incident of the two country lovers +killed by lightning in each other's arms, to which Pope alludes in one of +his letters, and Goldsmith in his "Vicar of Wakefield." + +In 1720 he published his "Poems" by subscription. The general kindness +felt for Gay, notwithstanding his faults and feebleness, now found a +vent. The Prince and Princess of Wales not only subscribed, but gave +him a liberal present, and some of the nobility, who regarded him as an +agreeable plaything and lapdog of genius, took a number of copies. The +result was that he gained a thousand pounds. He asked the advice of his +friends how to dispose of this sum, and, as usual, took his own. Lewis, +steward to Lord Oxford, advised him to entrust it to the funds, and live +on the interest; Arbuthnot, to live upon the principal; Pope and Swift, +to buy an annuity. Gay preferred to sink it in the South-Sea Bubble, then +in all its glory. At first he imagined himself master of £20,000, and +when advised to sell out and purchase as much as his wise friend Elijah +Fenton said would "procure him a clean shirt and a shoulder of mutton +every day," rejected the counsel, and in fine lost every farthing, and +nearly lost next, through vexation, either his life or his reason. + +Pope, who occasionally laughed at him, was now very kind, and partly +through his assiduous attention, Gay recovered his health, spirits, and +the use of his pen. He wrote a tragedy called the "Captives," and was +invited to read it before the Princess of Wales. The sight of her and +her assembled ladies frightened him, and in advancing he stumbled over a +stool and overthrew a heavy japan screen. How he fared afterwards in the +reading we are not informed; but as we are told that the Princess started +and her ladies screamed, we fear it had been poorly. On this story +Hawkesworth has founded an amusing story in the "Adventurer," and it was +also, we think, in the eye of the author of the humorous tale, entitled +"The Bashful Man." This unlucky play was afterwards acted seven nights, +the author's third night being under the special patronage of her Royal +Highness. + +At the request of the same illustrious lady, he, in 1726, undertook to +write a volume of "Fables" for the young Duke of Cumberland, afterwards +of Culloden notoriety, and when at last, in 1727, the Prince became +George II., and the Princess Queen Caroline, Gay's hopes of promotion +boiled as high as his hopes of gain had during the South-Sea scheme. +But here, too, he was deceived; and having only received the paltry +appointment (as he deemed it, though the salary was £200,) of +gentleman-usher to the Princess Louisa, a girl of two years old, he +thought himself insulted. He first sent a message to the Queen that he +was too old for the place,--an excuse which he made for himself, but +which, being only thirty-nine, he would not have borne any other to make +for him. He next condescended to court Mrs Howard, the mistress of George +II., and that "good Howard" commemorated in the "Heart of Mid-Lothian;" +but this too was in vain, and then he retired from the attempt, growling +out probably (if we can imagine him in fable, not as Queen Caroline +called him the "Hare," but a Bear) the words, "Put not your faith in +princes." He was the more excusable, as, two years before, Sir Robert +Walpole had, for his surmised Toryism, turned him out of the office of +"Commissioner of the Lottery," which had brought him in £150 a-year. + +But now for once Gay catches Fortune on the wheel. There is a lucky hour +in almost all lives, provided it be waited for with patience, and with +prudence improved. Swift had some years before observed to Gay, what an +odd pretty sort of thing a Newgate pastoral would make. On this hint Gay +acted, preferring, however, to expand it into a comedy. Hence came the +"Beggars' Opera," a hit in literature second to none that ever occurred +in that fluctuating region. It was first performed in 1728, although much +of it had been written before, and only a few satirical strokes, founded +on his disappointment at court, attested their recent origin. Swift and +Pope watched its progress with interest, but without hope. Congreve +pronounced that it would "either take greatly, or be damned +confoundedly." Gibber at Drury Lane refused it; it was accepted by his +rival Rich, and soon the _on dit_ ran that it had made Gay Rich, and Rich +Gay. On its first night there was a brilliant assemblage. What painter +shall give their heads and faces on that anxious evening--Swift's +lowering front--Pope's bright eyes contrasting with the blind orbs +of Congreve (if _he_ indeed were there)--Addison's quiet, thoughtful +physiognomy, as of one retired into some "Vision of Mirza"--the Duke of +Argyle, with his star and stately form and animated countenance--and +poor Gay himself perhaps, like some other play-wrights in the same +predicament, perspiring with trepidation, as if again about to recite the +"Captives!" At first uncertainty prevails among the patron-critics, and +strange looks are exchanged between Swift and Pope, till, by and by, the +latter hears Argyle exclaim, "It will do, it must do! I see it in the +eyes of 'em;" and then the critics breathe freely, and the applauses +become incontrollable, and the curtain closes at last amidst thunders of +applause; and Gay goes home triumphant, amidst a circle of friends, +who do not know whether more to wonder at his success or at their own +previous apprehensions. For sixty-three nights continuously the piece is +acted in London; then it spreads through England, Scotland, Wales, and +Ireland. Ladies sing its favourite songs, or carry them in their fans. +Miss Fenton, who acted Polly, becomes a universal favourite, nay, a +_furor_. Her pictures are engraved, her life written, and her sayings +and jests published, and in fine, the Italian Opera, which the piece was +intended to ridicule, is extinguished for a season. Notwithstanding this +unparalleled success of the "Beggars' Opera," Gay gained only £400 by +it, although by "Polly," the second part, (where Gay transports his +characters to the colonies,) which the Lord Chamberlain suppressed, on +account of its supposed immoral tendency, and which the author published +in self-defence, he cleared nearly £1200. + +Altogether now worth above £3000, having been admitted by the Duke of +Queensberry into his house, who generously undertook the care alike of +the helpless being's purse and person, and still in the prime of life, +Gay might have looked forward, humanly speaking, to long years of +comfort, social happiness, and increased fame. _Dîs aliter visum est_. He +had been delicate for some time, and on the 4th December 1732, at the age +of 44, and in the course of a three days' attack of inflammation of the +bowels, this irresolute but amiable and gifted person breathed his last, +and was buried in Westminster Abbey. The last work he was occupied on was +a second volume of "Fables," which was published after his death. He had +become very popular, not merely for his powers, but for his presumed +political principles, a "little Sacheverel," as Arbuthnot, his faithful +friend and kind physician, calls him, and yet his modesty and simplicity +of character remained entire, and he died while planning schemes of +self-reformation, economy, and steady literary work. It is curious that +Swift, when the letter arrived with the news of Gay's death, was so +impressed with a presentiment of some coming evil, that he allowed it to +lie five days unopened on his table. And when the Duke and Duchess of +Queensberry erected a monument to his memory, Pope supplied an epitaph, +familiar to most readers of poetry, and which is creditable to both. Two +widow sisters survived Gay, amongst whom the profits of a posthumous +opera, entitled "Achilles," as well as the small fortune which he left, +were divided. + +Gay's works lie in narrow compass, and hardly require minute criticism. +His "Beggars' Opera" has the charm of daring singularity of plan, of +great liveliness of song, and has some touches of light hurrying sarcasm, +worthy of any pen. Burke used to deny its merit, but he was probably +trying it b too lofty and ideal a standard. Hazlitt, on the other hand, +has praised it overmuch, and perhaps "monstered" some of its "nothings." +That it has power is proved by its effects on literature. It did not, we +believe, create many robbers, but it created a large robber school in +the drama and the novel; for instance, Schiller's "Robbers," Ainsworth's +"Rookwood," and "Jack Shepherd," and Bulwer's "Paul Clifford," and +"Eugene Aram," not to speak of the innumerable French tales and plays of +a similar kind. The intention of these generally is not, perhaps, after +all, to make an apology, far less an apotheosis of crime, but to teach us +how there is a "soul of goodness" in all things. And has not Shakspeare +long taught and been commended for teaching a similar lesson, although +we cannot say of Gay and his brethren that they have "bettered the +instruction?" Of "Trivia," we have spoken incidentally before; of "Rural +Sports," and the "Shepherd's Week," it is unnecessary to say more than +that the first is juvenile, and the second odd, graphic, and amusing. +None of them is equal to the "Fables," and therefore we have decided +on omitting them from our edition. In the "Fables," Gay is happy in +proportion to the innocence and simplicity of his nature. He understands +animals, because he has more than an ordinary share of the animal in +his own constitution. Æsop, so far as we know, though an astute, was an +uneducated and simple-minded man. Phædrus was a myth, and we cannot, +therefore, adduce him in point. But Fontaine was called the "Fable-tree," +and Gay is just the Fable-tree transplanted from France to England. In so +doing we do not question our poet's originality, but merely indicate +a certain resemblance in spirit between two originals. An original in +Fable-writing Gay certainly was. He has copied, neither in story, spirit, +nor moral, any previous writer. His "Fables" are always graceful in +literary execution, often interesting in story; their versification is +ever smooth and flowing; and sometimes, as in the "Court of Death," their +moral darkens into sublimity. On the whole, these "Fables," along with +the "Beggars' Opera," and the delectable songs of "'Twas when the Seas +were Roaring," and "Black-eyed Susan," shall long preserve the memory +of their author. We have appended these two songs because of their rare +excellence. + +John Gay had his faults as a man and as a poet, and it were easy finding +fault with him in both capacities. But + + "Poor were the triumph o'er the timid hare;" + +and he was, by his own shewing, as well as Queen Caroline's, "the Hare +with many friends." Let us, instead, drop a "tear over his fate," and pay +a tribute, short, but sincere, to his true, though limited genius. + + + +GAY'S FABLES. + + * * * * * + +INTRODUCTION. + + +PART I. + + +THE SHEPHERD AND THE PHILOSOPHER. + + Remote from cities lived a swain, + Unvexed with all the cares of gain; + His head was silvered o'er with age, + And long experience made him sage; + In summer's heat, and winter's cold, + He fed his flock and penned the fold; + His hours in cheerful labour flew, + Nor envy nor ambition knew: + His wisdom and his honest fame + Through all the country raised his name. +_10 + A deep philosopher (whose rules + Of moral life were drawn from schools) + The shepherd's homely cottage sought + And thus explored his reach of thought: + 'Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil + O'er books consumed the midnight oil? + Hast thou old Greece and Rome surveyed, + And the vast sense of Plato weighed? + Hath Socrates thy soul refined, + And hast thou fathomed Tully's mind? +_20 + Or like the wise Ulysses, thrown + By various fates, on realms unknown, + Hast thou through many cities strayed, + Their customs, laws, and manners weighed?' + The shepherd modestly replied, + 'I ne'er the paths of learning tried; + Nor have I roamed in foreign parts + To read mankind, their laws and arts; + For man is practised in disguise, + He cheats the most discerning eyes; +_30 + Who by that search shall wiser grow, + When we ourselves can never know? + The little knowledge I have gained, + Was all from simple nature drained; + Hence my life's maxims took their rise, + Hence grew my settled hate to vice. + The daily labours of the bee + Awake my soul to industry. + Who can observe the careful ant, + And not provide for future want? +_40 + My dog (the trustiest of his kind) + With gratitude inflames my mind. + I mark his true, his faithful way, + And in my service copy Tray. + In constancy and nuptial love, + I learn my duty from the dove. + The hen, who from the chilly air, + With pious wing protects her care; + And every fowl that flies at large, + Instructs me in a parent's charge. +_50 + From nature too I take my rule, + To shun contempt and ridicule. + I never, with important air, + In conversation overbear. + Can grave and formal pass for wise, + When men the solemn owl despise? + My tongue within my lips I rein; + For who talks much, must talk in vain. + We from the wordy torrent fly: + Who listens to the chattering pye? +_60 + Nor would I, with felonious flight, + By stealth invade my neighbour's right; + Rapacious animals we hate: + Kites, hawks, and wolves deserve their fate. + Do not we just abhorrence find + Against the toad and serpent kind? + But envy, calumny, and spite, + Bear stronger venom in their bite. + Thus every object of creation + Can furnish hints to contemplation; +_70 + And from the most minute and mean, + A virtuous mind can morals glean.' + 'Thy fame is just,' the sage replies; + 'Thy virtue proves thee truly wise. + Pride often guides the author's pen, + Books as affected are as men: + But he who studies nature's laws, + From certain truth his maxims draws; + And those, without our schools, suffice + To make men moral, good, and wise.' +_80 + + * * * * * + + +TO HIS HIGHNESS + +WILLIAM, DUXE OF CUMBERLAND.[1] + + +FABLE I. + +THE LION, THE TIGER, AND THE TRAVELLER. + + Accept, young Prince, the moral lay + And in these tales mankind survey; + With early virtues plant your breast, + The specious arts of vice detest. + Princes, like beauties, from their youth + Are strangers to the voice of truth; + Learn to contemn all praise betimes; + For flattery's the nurse of crimes; + Friendship by sweet reproof is shown, + (A virtue never near a throne); +_10 + In courts such freedom must offend, + There none presumes to be a friend. + To those of your exalted station + Each courtier is a dedication. + Must I too flatter like the rest, + And turn my morals to a jest? + The Muse disdains to steal from those + Who thrive in courts by fulsome prose. + But shall I hide your real praise, + Or tell you what a nation says? +_20 + They in your infant bosom trace + The virtues of your royal race; + In the fair dawning of your mind + Discern you generous, mild, and kind; + They see you grieve to hear distress, + And pant already to redress. + Go on, the height of good attain, + Nor let a nation hope in vain. + For hence we justly may presage + The virtues of a riper age. +_30 + True courage shall your bosom fire, + And future actions own you sire. + Cowards are cruel, but the brave + Love mercy, and delight to save. + A tiger roaming for his prey, + Sprung on a traveller in the way; + The prostrate game a lion spies, + And on the greedy tyrant flies; + With mingled roar resounds the wood, + Their teeth, their claws distil with blood; +_40 + Till vanquished by the lion's strength, + The spotted foe extends his length. + The man besought the shaggy lord, + And on his knees for life implored. + His life the generous hero gave, + Together walking to his cave, + The lion thus bespoke his guest: + 'What hardy beast shall dare contest + My matchless strength! you saw the fight, + And must attest my power and right. +_50 + Forced to forego their native home, + My starving slaves at distance roam. + Within these woods I reign alone, + The boundless forest is my own. + Bears, wolves, and all the savage brood, + Have dyed the regal den with blood. + These carcases on either hand, + Those bones that whiten all the land, + My former deeds and triumphs tell, + Beneath these jaws what numbers fell.' +_60 + 'True,' says the man, 'the strength I saw + Might well the brutal nation awe: + But shall a monarch, brave like you, + Place glory in so false a view? + Robbers invade their neighbours' right, + Be loved: let justice bound your might. + Mean are ambitious heroes' boasts + Of wasted lands and slaughtered hosts. + Pirates their power by murders gain, + Wise kings by love and mercy reign. +_70 + To me your clemency hath shown + The virtue worthy of a throne. + Heaven gives you power above the rest, + Like Heaven to succour the distress'd.' + 'The case is plain,' the monarch said; + 'False glory hath my youth misled; + For beasts of prey, a servile train, + Have been the flatterers of my reign. + You reason well: yet tell me, friend, + Did ever you in courts attend? +_80 + For all my fawning rogues agree, + That human heroes rule like me.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE II. + +THE SPANIEL AND THE CAMELEON. + + A spaniel, bred with all the care + That waits upon a favourite heir, + Ne'er felt correction's rigid hand; + Indulged to disobey command, + In pampered ease his hours were spent; + He never knew what learning meant. + Such forward airs, so pert, so smart, + Were sure to win his lady's heart; + Each little mischief gained him praise; + How pretty were his fawning ways! +_10 + The wind was south, the morning fair, + He ventured forth to take the air. + He ranges all the meadow round, + And rolls upon the softest ground: + When near him a cameleon seen, + Was scarce distinguished from the green. + 'Dear emblem of the flattering host, + What, live with clowns! a genius lost! + To cities and the court repair: + A fortune cannot fail thee there: +_20 + Preferment shall thy talents crown, + Believe me, friend; I know the town.' + 'Sir,' says the sycophant, 'like you, + Of old, politer life I knew: + Like you, a courtier born and bred; + Kings leaned an ear to what I said. + My whisper always met success; + The ladies praised me for address, + I knew to hit each courtier's passion, + And flattered every vice in fashion. +_30 + But Jove, who hates the liar's ways, + At once cut short my prosperous days; + And, sentenced to retain my nature, + Transformed me to this crawling creature. + Doomed to a life obscure and mean, + I wander in the sylvan scene. + For Jove the heart alone regards; + He punishes what man rewards. + How different is thy case and mine! + With men at least you sup and dine; +_40 + While I, condemned to thinnest fare, + Like those I flattered feed on air.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE III. + +THE MOTHER, THE NURSE, AND THE FAIRY. + + Give me a son! The blessing sent, + Were ever parents more content? + How partial are their doting eyes! + No child is half so fair and wise. + Waked to the morning's pleasing care, + The mother rose, and sought her heir. + She saw the nurse, like one possess'd, + With wringing hands, and sobbing breast. + 'Sure some disaster hath befell: + Speak, nurse; I hope the boy is well.' +_10 + 'Dear madam, think not me to blame; + Invisible the fairy came: + Your precious babe is hence conveyed, + And in the place a changeling laid. + Where are the father's mouth and nose, + The mother's eyes, as black as sloes? + See here a shocking awkward creature, + That speaks a fool in every feature.' + 'The woman's blind,' the mother cries; + 'I see wit sparkle in his eyes.' +_20 + 'Lord! madam, what a squinting leer; + No doubt the fairy hath been here.' + Just as she spoke, a pigmy sprite + Pops through the key-hole, swift as light; + Perched on the cradle's top he stands, + And thus her folly reprimands: + 'Whence sprung the vain conceited lie, + That we the world with fools supply? + What! give our sprightly race away, + For the dull helpless sons of clay! +_30 + Besides, by partial fondness shown, + Like you we doat upon our own. + Where yet was ever found a mother, + Who'd give her booby for another? + And should we change for human breed, + Well might we pass for fools indeed.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE IV. + +THE EAGLE, AND THE ASSEMBLY OF ANIMALS. + + As Jupiter's all-seeing eye + Surveyed the worlds beneath the sky, + From this small speck of earth were sent, + Murmurs and sounds of discontent; + For every thing alive complained, + That he the hardest life sustained. + Jove calls his eagle. At the word + Before him stands the royal bird. + The bird, obedient, from heaven's height, + Downward directs his rapid flight; +_10 + Then cited every living thing, + To hear the mandates of his king. + 'Ungrateful creatures, whence arise + These murmurs which offend the skies? + Why this disorder? say the cause: + For just are Jove's eternal laws. + Let each his discontent reveal; + To yon sour dog, I first appeal.' + 'Hard is my lot,' the hound replies, + 'On what fleet nerves the greyhound flies, +_20 + While I, with weary step and slow, + O'er plains and vales, and mountains go. + The morning sees my chase begun, + Nor ends it till the setting sun.' + 'When,' says the greyhound, 'I pursue, + My game is lost, or caught in view; + Beyond my sight the prey's secure: + The hound is slow, but always sure. + And had I his sagacious scent, + Jove ne'er had heard my discontent.' +_30 + The lion craved the fox's art; + The fox, the lion's force and heart: + The cock implored the pigeon's flight, + Whose wings were rapid, strong, and light: + The pigeon strength of wing despised, + And the cock's matchless valour prized: + The fishes wished to graze the plain; + The beasts to skim beneath the main. + Thus, envious of another's state, + Each blamed the partial hand of Fate. +_40 + The bird of heaven then cried aloud, + 'Jove bids disperse the murmuring crowd; + The god rejects your idle prayers. + Would ye, rebellious mutineers, + Entirely change your name and nature, + And be the very envied creature? + What, silent all, and none consent! + Be happy then, and learn content: + Nor imitate the restless mind, + And proud ambition, of mankind.' +_50 + + * * * * * + + +FABLE V. + +THE WILD BOAR AND THE RAM. + + Against an elm a sheep was tied, + The butcher's knife in blood was dyed: + The patient flock in silent fright, + From far beheld the horrid sight. + A savage boar, who near them stood, + Thus mocked to scorn the fleecy brood. + 'All cowards should be served like you. + See, see, your murderer is in view: + With purple hands and reeking knife, + He strips the skin yet warm with life; +_10 + Your quartered sires, your bleeding dams, + The dying bleat of harmless lambs, + Call for revenge. O stupid race! + The heart that wants revenge is base.' + 'I grant.' an ancient ram replies, + 'We bear no terror in our eyes; + Yet think us not of soul so tame, + Which no repeated wrongs inflame; + Insensible of every ill, + Because we want thy tusks to kill. +_20 + Know, those who violence pursue, + Give to themselves the vengeance due; + For in these massacres we find + The two chief plagues that waste mankind: + Our skin supplies the wrangling bar, + It wakes their slumbering sons to war; + And well revenge may rest contented, + Since drums and parchment were invented.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE VI. + +THE MISER AND PLUTUS. + + The wind was high, the window shakes, + With sudden start the miser wakes; + Along the silent room he stalks; + Looks back, and trembles as he walks! + Each lock and every bolt he tries, + In every creek and corner prys, + Then opes the chest with treasure stored, + And stands in rapture o'er his hoard; + But, now with sudden qualms possess'd, + He wrings his hands, he beats his breast. +_10 + By conscience stung, he wildly stares; + And thus his guilty soul declares: + 'Had the deep earth her stores confined, + This heart had known sweet peace of mind. + But virtue's sold. Good gods, what price + Can recompense the pangs of vice! + O bane of good! seducing cheat! + Can man, weak man, thy power defeat? + Gold banished honour from the mind, + And only left the name behind; +_20 + Gold sowed the world with every ill; + Gold taught the murderer's sword to kill: + 'Twas gold instructed coward hearts, + In treachery's more pernicious arts. + Who can recount the mischiefs o'er? + Virtue resides on earth no more!' + He spoke, and sighed. In angry mood, + Plutus, his god, before him stood. + The miser, trembling, locked his chest; + The vision frowned, and thus address'd: +_30 + 'Whence is this vile ungrateful rant? + Each sordid rascal's daily cant. + Did I, base wretch, corrupt mankind? + The fault's in thy rapacious mind. + Because my blessings are abused, + Must I be censured, cursed, accused? + Even virtue's self by knaves is made + A cloak to carry on the trade; + And power (when lodged in their possession) + Grows tyranny, and rank oppression. +_40 + Thus, when the villain crams his chest, + Gold is the canker of the breast; + 'Tis avarice, insolence, and pride, + And every shocking vice beside. + But when to virtuous hands 'tis given, + It blesses, like the dews of heaven: + Like Heaven, it hears the orphan's cries, + And wipes the tears from widows' eyes; + Their crimes on gold shall misers lay, + Who pawned their sordid souls for pay? +_50 + Let bravoes then (when blood is spilt) + Upbraid the passive sword with guilt.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE VII. + +THE LION, THE FOX, AND THE GEESE. + + A lion, tired with state affairs, + Quite sick of pomp, and worn with cares, + Resolved (remote from noise and strife) + In peace to pass his latter life. + It was proclaimed; the day was set; + Behold the general council met, + The fox was viceroy named. The crowd + To the new regent humbly bowed. + Wolves, bears, and mighty tigers bend, + And strive who most shall condescend. +_10 + He straight assumes a solemn grace, + Collects his wisdom in his face. + The crowd admire his wit, his sense: + Each word hath weight and consequence. + The flatterer all his art displays: + He who hath power, is sure of praise. + A fox stept forth before the rest, + And thus the servile throng address'd. + 'How vast his talents, born to rule, + And trained in virtue's honest school: +_20 + What clemency his temper sways! + How uncorrupt are all his ways! + Beneath his conduct and command, + Rapine shall cease to waste the land. + His brain hath stratagem and art; + Prudence and mercy rule his heart; + What blessings must attend the nation + Under this good administration!' + He said. A goose who distant stood, + Harangued apart the cackling brood: +_30 + 'W'hene'er I hear a knave commend, + He bids me shun his worthy friend. + What praise! what mighty commendation! + But 'twas a fox who spoke the oration. + Foxes this government may prize, + As gentle, plentiful, and wise; + If they enjoy the sweets, 'tis plain + We geese must feel a tyrant reign. + What havoc now shall thin our race, + When every petty clerk in place, +_40 + To prove his taste and seem polite, + Will feed on geese both noon and night!' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE VIII. + +THE LADY AND THE WASP. + + What whispers must the beauty bear! + What hourly nonsense haunts her ear! + Where'er her eyes dispense their charms, + Impertinence around her swarms. + Did not the tender nonsense strike, + Contempt and scorn might soon dislike. + Forbidding airs might thin the place, + The slightest flap a fly can chase. + But who can drive the numerous breed? + Chase one, another will succeed. +_10 + Who knows a fool, must know his brother; + One fop will recommend another: + And with this plague she's rightly curs'd, + Because she listened to the first. + As Doris, at her toilet's duty, + Sat meditating on her beauty, + She now was pensive, now was gay, + And lolled the sultry hours away. + As thus in indolence she lies, + A giddy wasp around her flies. +_20 + He now advances, now retires, + Now to her neck and cheek aspires. + Her fan in vain defends her charms; + Swift he returns, again alarms; + For by repulse he bolder grew, + Perched on her lip, and sipp'd the dew. + She frowns, she frets. 'Good God!' she cries, + 'Protect me from these teasing flies! + Of all the plagues that heaven hath sent, + A wasp is most impertinent.' +_30 + The hovering insect thus complained: + 'Am I then slighted, scorned, disdained? + Can such offence your anger wake? + 'Twas beauty caused the bold mistake. + Those cherry lips that breathe perfume, + That cheek so ripe with youthful bloom, + Made me with strong desire pursue + The fairest peach that ever grew.' + 'Strike him not, Jenny,' Doris cries, + 'Nor murder wasps like vulgar flies: +_40 + For though he's free (to do him right) + The creature's civil and polite.' + In ecstacies away he posts; + Where'er he came, the favour boasts; + Brags how her sweetest tea he sips, + And shows the sugar on his lips. + The hint alarmed the forward crew; + Sure of success, away they flew. + They share the dainties of the day, + Round her with airy music play; +_50 + And now they flutter, now they rest, + Now soar again, and skim her breast. + Nor were they banished, till she found + That wasps have stings, and felt the wound. + + * * * * * + + +FABLE IX. + +THE BULL AND THE MASTIFF. + + Seek you to train your fav'rite boy? + Each caution, every care employ: + And ere you venture to confide, + Let his preceptor's heart be tried: + Weigh well his manners, life, and scope; + On these depends thy future hope. + As on a time, in peaceful reign, + A bull enjoyed the flowery plain, + A mastiff passed; inflamed with ire, + His eye-balls shot indignant fire; +_10 + He foamed, he raged with thirst of blood + Spurning the ground the monarch stood, + And roared aloud, 'Suspend the fight; + In a whole skin go sleep to-night: + Or tell me, ere the battle rage, + What wrongs provoke thee to engage? + Is it ambition fires thy breast, + Or avarice that ne'er can rest? + From these alone unjustly springs + The world-destroying wrath of kings.' +_20 + The surly mastiff thus returns: + 'Within my bosom glory burns. + Like heroes of eternal name, + Whom poets sing, I fight for fame. + The butcher's spirit-stirring mind + To daily war my youth inclined; + He trained me to heroic deed; + Taught me to conquer, or to bleed.' + 'Cursed dog,' the bull replied, 'no more + I wonder at thy thirst of gore; +_30 + For thou, beneath a butcher trained, + Whose hands with cruelty are stained; + His daily murders in thy view, + Must, like thy tutor, blood pursue. + Take then thy fate.' With goring wound, + At once he lifts him from the ground; + Aloft the sprawling hero flies, + Mangled he falls, he howls, and dies. + + * * * * * + + +FABLE X. + +THE ELEPHANT AND THE BOOKSELLER. + + The man who, with undaunted toils, + Sails unknown seas to unknown soils, + With various wonders feasts his sight: + What stranger wonders does he write! + We read, and in description view + Creatures which Adam never knew: + For, when we risk no contradiction, + It prompts the tongue to deal in fiction. + Those things that startle me or you, + I grant are strange; yet may be true. +_10 + Who doubts that elephants are found + For science and for sense renowned? + Borri records their strength of parts, + Extent of thought, and skill in arts; + How they perform the law's decrees, + And save the state the hangman's fees; + And how by travel understand + The language of another land. + Let those, who question this report, + To Pliny's ancient page resort; +_20 + How learn'd was that sagacious breed! + Who now (like them) the Greek can read! + As one of these, in days of yore, + Rummaged a shop of learning o'er; + Not, like our modern dealers, minding + Only the margin's breadth and binding; + A book his curious eye detains, + Where, with exactest care and pains, + Were every beast and bird portrayed, + That e'er the search of man surveyed, +_30 + Their natures and their powers were writ, + With all the pride of human wit. + The page he with attention spread, + And thus remarked on what he read: + 'Man with strong reason is endowed; + A beast scarce instinct is allowed. + But let this author's worth be tried, + 'Tis plain that neither was his guide. + Can he discern the different natures, + And weigh the power of other creatures +_40 + Who by the partial work hath shown + He knows so little of his own? + How falsely is the spaniel drawn! + Did man from him first learn to fawn? + A dog proficient in the trade! + He the chief flatterer nature made! + Go, man, the ways of courts discern, + You'll find a spaniel still might learn. + How can the fox's theft and plunder + Provoke his censure or his wonder; +_50 + From courtiers' tricks, and lawyers' arts, + The fox might well improve his parts. + The lion, wolf, and tiger's brood, + He curses, for their thirst of blood: + But is not man to man a prey? + Beasts kill for hunger, men for pay.' + The bookseller, who heard him speak, + And saw him turn a page of Greek, + Thought, what a genius have I found! + Then thus addressed with bow profound: +_60 + 'Learn'd sir, if you'd employ your pen + Against the senseless sons of men, + Or write the history of Siam, [2] + No man is better pay than I am; + Or, since you're learn'd in Greek, let's see + Something against the Trinity.' + When wrinkling with a sneer his trunk, + 'Friend,' quoth the elephant, 'you're drunk; + E'en keep your money and be wise: + Leave man on man to criticise; +_70 + For that you ne'er can want a pen + Among the senseless sons of men. + They unprovoked will court the fray: + Envy's a sharper spur than pay. + No author ever spared a brother; + Wits are game-cocks to one another.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XI. + +THE PEACOCK, THE TURKEY, AND THE GOOSE. + + In beauty faults conspicuous grow; + The smallest speck is seen on snow. + As near a barn, by hunger led, + A peacock with the poultry fed; + All viewed him with an envious eye, + And mocked his gaudy pageantry. + He, conscious of superior merit, + Contemns their base reviling spirit; + His state and dignity assumes, + And to the sun displays his plumes; +_10 + Which, like the heaven's o'er-arching skies, + Are spangled with a thousand eyes. + The circling rays, and varied light, + At once confound their dazzled sight: + On every tongue detraction burns, + And malice prompts their spleen by turns. + 'Mark, with what insolence and pride + The creature takes his haughty stride!' + The turkey cries. 'Can spleen contain? + Sure never bird was half so vain! +_20 + But were intrinsic merit seen, + We turkeys have the whiter skin.' + From tongue to tongue they caught abuse; + And next was heard the hissing goose: + 'What hideous legs! what filthy claws! + I scorn to censure little flaws! + Then what a horrid squalling throat! + Even owls are frighted at the note.' + 'True; those are faults,' the peacock cries; + 'My scream, my shanks you may despise: +_30 + But such blind critics rail in vain: + What, overlook my radiant train! + Know, did my legs (your scorn and sport) + The turkey or the goose support, + And did ye scream with harsher sound, + Those faults in you had ne'er been found! + To all apparent beauties blind, + Each blemish strikes an envious mind.' + Thus in assemblies have I seen + A nymph of brightest charms and mien, +_40 + Wake envy in each ugly face; + And buzzing scandal fills the place. + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XII. + +CUPID, HYMEN, AND PLUTUS. + + As Cupid in Cythera's grove + Employed the lesser powers of love; + Some shape the bow, or fit the string; + Some give the taper shaft its wing, + Or turn the polished quiver's mould, + Or head the dart with tempered gold. + Amidst their toil and various care, + Thus Hymen, with assuming air, + Addressed the god: 'Thou purblind chit, + Of awkward and ill-judging wit, +_10 + If matches are not better made, + At once I must forswear my trade. + You send me such ill-coupled folks, + That 'tis a shame to sell them yokes. + They squabble for a pin, a feather, + And wonder how they came together. + The husband's sullen, dogged, shy; + The wife grows flippant in reply: + He loves command and due restriction, + And she as well likes contradiction: +_20 + She never slavishly submits; + She'll have her will, or have her fits. + He this way tugs, she t'other draws: + The man grows jealous, and with cause. + Nothing can save him but divorce; + And here the wife complies of course.' + 'When,' says the boy, 'had I to do + With either your affairs or you? + I never idly spent my darts; + You trade in mercenary hearts. +_30 + For settlements the lawyer's fee'd; + Is my hand witness to the deed? + If they like cat and dog agree, + Go, rail at Plutus, not at me.' + Plutus appeared, and said, ''Tis true, + In marriage gold is all their view: + They seek not beauty, wit, or sense; + And love is seldom the pretence. + All offer incense at my shrine, + And I alone the bargain sign. +_40 + How can Belinda blame her fate? + She only asked a great estate. + Doris was rich enough, 'tis true; + Her lord must give her title too: + And every man, or rich or poor, + A fortune asks, and asks no more.' + Av'rice, whatever shape it bears, + Must still be coupled with its cares. + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XIII. + +THE TAME STAG. + + As a young stag the thicket pass'd, + The branches held his antlers fast; + A clown, who saw the captive hung, + Across the horns his halter flung. + Now safely hampered in the cord, + He bore the present to his lord. + His lord was pleased; as was the clown, + When he was tipp'd with half-a-crown. + The stag was brought before his wife; + The tender lady begged his life. +_10 + 'How sleek's the skin! how speck'd like ermine! + Sure never creature was so charming!' + At first within the yard confined, + He flies and hides from all mankind; + Now bolder grown, with fixed amaze, + And distant awe, presumes to gaze; + Munches the linen on the lines, + And on a hood or apron dines: + He steals my little master's bread, + Follows the servants to be fed: +_20 + Nearer and nearer now he stands, + To feel the praise of patting hands; + Examines every fist for meat, + And though repulsed, disdains retreat: + Attacks again with levelled horns; + And man, that was his terror, scorns. + Such is the country maiden's fright, + When first a red-coat is in sight; + Behind the door she hides her face; + Next time at distance eyes the lace; +_30 + She now can all his terrors stand, + Nor from his squeeze withdraws her hand. + She plays familiar in his arms, + And every soldier hath his charms. + From tent to tent she spreads her flame; + For custom conquers fear and shame. + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XIV. + +THE MONKEY WHO HAD SEEN THE WORLD. + + A Monkey, to reform the times, + Resolved to visit foreign climes: + For men in distant regions roam + To bring politer manners home, + So forth he fares, all toil defies: + Misfortune serves to make us wise. + At length the treach'rous snare was laid; + Poor Pug was caught, to town conveyed, + There sold. How envied was his doom, + Made captive in a lady's room! +_10 + Proud as a lover of his chains, + He day by day her favour gains. + Whene'er the duty of the day + The toilet calls; with mimic play + He twirls her knot, he cracks her fan, + Like any other gentleman. + In visits too his parts and wit, + When jests grew dull, were sure to hit. + Proud with applause, he thought his mind + In every courtly art refined; +_20 + Like Orpheus burnt with public zeal, + To civilise the monkey weal: + So watched occasion, broke his chain, + And sought his native woods again. + The hairy sylvans round him press, + Astonished at his strut and dress. + Some praise his sleeve; and others gloat + Upon his rich embroidered coat; + His dapper periwig commending, + With the black tail behind depending; +_30 + His powdered back, above, below, + Like hoary frost, or fleecy snow; + But all with envy and desire, + His fluttering shoulder-knot admire. + 'Hear and improve,' he pertly cries; + 'I come to make a nation wise. + Weigh your own words; support your place, + The next in rank to human race. + In cities long I passed my days, + Conversed with men, and learnt their ways. +_40 + Their dress, their courtly manners see; + Reform your state and copy me. + Seek ye to thrive? in flattery deal; + Your scorn, your hate, with that conceal. + Seem only to regard your friends, + But use them for your private ends. + Stint not to truth the flow of wit; + Be prompt to lie whene'er 'tis fit. + Bend all your force to spatter merit; + Scandal is conversation's spirit. +_50 + Boldly to everything attend, + And men your talents shall commend. + I knew the great. Observe me right; + So shall you grow like man polite.' + He spoke and bowed. With muttering jaws + The wondering circle grinned applause. + Now, warm with malice, envy, spite, + Their most obliging friends they bite; + And fond to copy human ways, + Practise new mischiefs all their days. +_60 + Thus the dull lad, too tall for school, + With travel finishes the fool; + Studious of every coxcomb's airs, + He drinks, games, dresses, whores, and swears; + O'erlooks with scorn all virtuous arts, + For vice is fitted to his parts. + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XV. + +THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE PHEASANTS. + + The sage, awaked at early day, + Through the deep forest took his way; + Drawn by the music of the groves, + Along the winding gloom he roves: + From tree to tree, the warbling throats + Prolong the sweet alternate notes. + But where he pass'd, he terror threw, + The song broke short, the warblers flew; + The thrushes chattered with affright, + And nightingales abhorred his sight; +_10 + All animals before him ran, + To shun the hateful sight of man. + 'Whence is this dread of every creature? + Fly they our figure or our nature?' + As thus he walked in musing thought, + His ear imperfect accents caught; + With cautious step he nearer drew, + By the thick shade concealed from view. + High on the branch a pheasant stood, + Around her all her listening brood; +_20 + Proud of the blessings of her nest, + She thus a mother's care expressed: + 'No dangers here shall circumvent, + Within the woods enjoy content. + Sooner the hawk or vulture trust, + Than man; of animals the worst: + In him ingratitude you find, + A vice peculiar to the kind. + The sheep whose annual fleece is dyed, + To guard his health, and serve his pride, +_30 + Forced from his fold and native plain, + Is in the cruel shambles slain. + The swarms, who, with industrious skill, + His hives with wax and honey fill, + In vain whole summer days employed, + Their stores are sold, their race destroyed. + What tribute from the goose is paid! + Does not her wing all science aid! + Does it not lovers' hearts explain, + And drudge to raise the merchant's gain? +_40 + What now rewards this general use? + He takes the quills, and eats the goose. + Man then avoid, detest his ways; + So safety shall prolong your days. + When services are thus acquitted, + Be sure we pheasants must be spitted.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XVI. + +THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE. + + A pin, who long had served a beauty, + Proficient in the toilet's duty, + Had formed her sleeve, confined her hair, + Or given her knot a smarter air, + Now nearest to her heart was placed, + Now in her mantua's tail disgraced: + But could she partial fortune blame, + Who saw her lovers served the same? + At length from all her honours cast; + Through various turns of life she pass'd; +_10 + Now glittered on a tailor's arm; + Now kept a beggar's infant warm; + Now, ranged within a miser's coat, + Contributes to his yearly groat; + Now, raised again from low approach, + She visits in the doctor's coach; + Here, there, by various fortune toss'd, + At last in Gresham Hall[3] was lost. + Charmed with the wonders of the show, + On every side, above, below, +_20 + She now of this or that enquires, + What least was understood admires. + 'Tis plain, each thing so struck her mind. + Her head's of virtuoso kind. + 'And pray what's this, and this, dear sir?' + 'A needle,' says the interpreter. + She knew the name. And thus the fool + Addressed her as a tailor's tool: + 'A needle with that filthy stone, + Quite idle, all with rust o'ergrown! +_30 + You better might employ your parts, + And aid the sempstress in her arts. + But tell me how the friendship grew + Between that paltry flint and you?' + 'Friend,' says the needle, 'cease to blame; + I follow real worth and fame. + Know'st thou the loadstone's power and art, + That virtue virtues can impart? + Of all his talents I partake, + Who then can such a friend forsake? +_40 + 'Tis I directs the pilot's hand + To shun the rocks and treacherous sand: + By me the distant world is known, + And either India is our own. + Had I with milliners been bred, + What had I been? the guide of thread, + And drudged as vulgar needles do, + Of no more consequence than you.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XVII. + +THE SHEPHERD'S DOG AND THE WOLF. + + A wolf, with hunger fierce and bold, + Ravaged the plains, and thinned the fold: + Deep in the wood secure he lay, + The thefts of night regaled the day. + In vain the shepherd's wakeful care + Had spread the toils, and watched the snare: + In vain the dog pursued his pace, + The fleeter robber mocked the chase. + As Lightfoot ranged the forest round, + By chance his foe's retreat he found. +_10 + 'Let us awhile the war suspend, + And reason as from friend to friend.' + 'A truce?' replies the wolf. 'Tis done. + The dog the parley thus begun: + 'How can that strong intrepid mind + Attack a weak defenceless kind? + Those jaws should prey on nobler food, + And drink the boar's and lion's blood; + Great souls with generous pity melt, + Which coward tyrants never felt. +_20 + How harmless is our fleecy care! + Be brave, and let thy mercy spare.' + 'Friend,' says the wolf, 'the matter weigh; + Nature designed us beasts of prey; + As such when hunger finds a treat, + 'Tis necessary wolves should eat. + If mindful of the bleating weal, + Thy bosom burn with real zeal; + Hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech; + To him repeat the moving speech; +_30 + A wolf eats sheep but now and then, + Ten thousands are devoured by men. + An open foe may prove a curse, + But a pretended friend is worse.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XVIII. + +THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY AND EVERYBODY. + + Lest men suspect your tale untrue, + Keep probability in view. + The traveller leaping o'er those bounds, + The credit of his book confounds. + Who with his tongue hath armies routed, + Makes even his real courage doubted: + But flattery never seems absurd; + The flattered always take your word: + Impossibilities seem just; + They take the strongest praise on trust. +_10 + Hyperboles, though ne'er so great, + Will still come short of self-conceit. + So very like a painter drew, + That every eye the picture knew; + He hit complexion, feature, air, + So just, the life itself was there. + No flattery with his colours laid, + To bloom restored the faded maid; + He gave each muscle all its strength, + The mouth, the chin, the nose's length. +_20 + His honest pencil touched with truth, + And marked the date of age and youth. + He lost his friends, his practice failed; + Truth should not always be revealed; + In dusty piles his pictures lay, + For no one sent the second pay. + Two busts, fraught with every grace + A Venus' and Apollo's face, + He placed in view; resolved to please, + Whoever sat, he drew from these, +_30 + From these corrected every feature, + And spirited each awkward creature. + All things were set; the hour was come, + His pallet ready o'er his thumb, + My lord appeared; and seated right + In proper attitude and light, + The painter looked, he sketched the piece, + Then dipp'd his pencil, talked of Greece, + Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air; + 'Those eyes, my lord, the spirit there +_40 + Might well a Raphael's hand require, + To give them all the native fire; + The features fraught with sense and wit, + You'll grant are very hard to hit; + But yet with patience you shall view + As much as paint and art can do. + Observe the work.' My lord replied: + 'Till now I thought my mouth was wide; + Besides, my mouth is somewhat long; + Dear sir, for me, 'tis far too young.' +_50 + 'Oh! pardon me,' the artist cried, + 'In this, the painters must decide. + The piece even common eyes must strike, + I warrant it extremely like.' + My lord examined it anew; + No looking-glass seemed half so true. + A lady came, with borrowed grace + He from his Venus formed her face. + Her lover praised the painter's art; + So like the picture in his heart! +_60 + To every age some charm he lent; + Even beauties were almost content. + Through all the town his art they praised; + His custom grew, his price was raised. + Had he the real likeness shown, + Would any man the picture own? + But when thus happily he wrought, + Each found the likeness in his thought. + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XIX. + +THE LION AND THE CUB. + + How fond are men of rule and place, + Who court it from the mean and base! + These cannot bear an equal nigh, + But from superior merit fly. + They love the cellar's vulgar joke, + And lose their hours in ale and smoke. + There o'er some petty club preside; + So poor, so paltry is their pride! + Nay, even with fools whole nights will sit, + In hopes to be supreme in wit. +_10 + If these can read, to these I write, + To set their worth in truest light. + A lion-cub, of sordid mind, + Avoided all the lion kind; + Fond of applause, he sought the feasts + Of vulgar and ignoble beasts; + With asses all his time he spent, + Their club's perpetual president. + He caught their manners, looks, and airs; + An ass in every thing, but ears! +_20 + If e'er his highness meant a joke, + They grinned applause before he spoke; + But at each word what shouts of praise! + Good gods! how natural he brays! + Elate with flattery and conceit, + He seeks his royal sire's retreat; + Forward, and fond to show his parts, + His highness brays; the lion starts. + 'Puppy, that cursed vociferation + Betrays thy life and conversation: +_30 + + Coxcombs, an ever-noisy race, + Are trumpets of their own disgrace.' + 'Why so severe?' the cub replies; + 'Our senate always held me wise.' + 'How weak is pride!' returns the sire; + 'All fools are vain, when fools admire! + But know what stupid asses prize, + Lions and noble beasts despise.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XX. + +THE OLD HEN AND THE COCK. + + Restrain your child; you'll soon believe + The text which says, we sprung from Eve. + As an old hen led forth her train, + And seemed to peck to shew the grain; + She raked the chaff, she scratched the ground, + And gleaned the spacious yard around. + A giddy chick, to try her wings, + On the well's narrow margin springs, + And prone she drops. The mother's breast + All day with sorrow was possess'd. +_10 + A cock she met; her son she knew; + And in her heart affection grew. + 'My son,' says she, 'I grant your years + Have reached beyond a mother's cares; + I see you vig'rous, strong, and bold; + I hear with joy your triumphs told. + Tis not from cocks thy fate I dread; + But let thy ever-wary tread + Avoid yon well; that fatal place + Is sure perdition to our race. +_20 + Print this my counsel on thy breast; + To the just gods I leave the rest.' + He thanked her care; yet day by day + His bosom burned to disobey; + And every time the well he saw, + Scorned in his heart the foolish law: + Near and more near each day he drew, + And longed to try the dangerous view. + 'Why was this idle charge?' he cries; + 'Let courage female fears despise. +_30 + Or did she doubt my heart was brave, + And therefore this injunction gave? + Or does her harvest store the place, + A treasure for her younger race? + And would she thus my search prevent? + I stand resolved, and dare the event.' + Thus said. He mounts the margin's round, + And pries into the depth profound. + He stretched his neck; and from below + With stretching neck advanced a foe: +_40 + With wrath his ruffled plumes he rears, + The foe with ruffled plumes appears: + Threat answered threat, his fury grew, + Headlong to meet the war he flew, + But when the watery death he found, + He thus lamented as he drowned: + 'I ne'er had been in this condition, + But for my mother's prohibition.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXI. + +THE RAT-CATCHER AND CATS. + + The rats by night such mischief did, + Betty was every morning chid. + They undermined whole sides of bacon, + Her cheese was sapped, her tarts were taken. + Her pasties, fenced with thickest paste, + Were all demolished, and laid waste. + She cursed the cat for want of duty, + Who left her foes a constant booty. + An engineer, of noted skill, + Engaged to stop the growing ill. +_10 + From room to room he now surveys + Their haunts, their works, their secret ways; + Finds where they 'scape an ambuscade, + And whence the nightly sally's made. + An envious cat from place to place, + Unseen, attends his silent pace. + She saw, that if his trade went on, + The purring race must be undone; + So, secretly removes his baits, + And every stratagem defeats. +_20 + Again he sets the poisoned toils, + And puss again the labour foils. + 'What foe (to frustrate my designs) + My schemes thus nightly countermines?' + Incensed, he cries: 'this very hour + This wretch shall bleed beneath my power.' + So said. A pond'rous trap he brought, + And in the fact poor puss was caught. + 'Smuggler,' says he, 'thou shalt be made + A victim to our loss of trade.' +_30 + The captive cat, with piteous mews, + For pardon, life, and freedom sues: + 'A sister of the science spare; + One interest is our common care.' + 'What insolence!' the man replied; + 'Shall cats with us the game divide? + Were all your interloping band + Extinguished, of expelled the land, + We rat-catchers might raise our fees, + Sole guardians of a nation's cheese!' +_40 + A cat, who saw the lifted knife, + Thus spoke, and saved her sister's life: + 'In every age and clime we see, + Two of a trade can ne'er agree. + Each hates his neighbour for encroaching; + Squire stigmatises squire for poaching; + Beauties with beauties are in arms, + And scandal pelts each other's charms; + Kings too their neighbour kings dethrone, + In hope to make the world their own. +_50 + But let us limit our desires; + Nor war like beauties, kings, and squires! + For though we both one prey pursue, + There's game enough for us and you.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXII. + +THE GOAT WITHOUT A BEARD. + + 'Tis certain, that the modish passions + Descend among the crowd, like fashions. + Excuse me then, if pride, conceit, + (The manners of the fair and great) + I give to monkeys, asses, dogs, + Fleas, owls, goats, butterflies, and hogs. + I say that these are proud. What then? + I never said they equal men. + A goat (as vain as goat can be) + Affected singularity. +_10 + Whene'er a thymy bank he found, + He rolled upon the fragrant ground; + And then with fond attention stood, + Fixed o'er his image in the flood. + 'I hate my frowsy beard,' he cries; + 'My youth is lost in this disguise. + Did not the females know my vigour, + Well might they loathe this reverend figure.' + Resolved to smoothe his shaggy face, + He sought the barber of the place. +_20 + A flippant monkey, spruce and smart, + Hard by, professed the dapper art; + His pole with pewter basins hung, + Black rotten teeth in order strung, + Ranged cups that in the window stood, + Lined with red rags, to look like blood, + Did well his threefold trade explain, + Who shaved, drew teeth, and breathed a vein. + The goat he welcomes with an air, + And seats him in his wooden chair: +_30 + Mouth, nose, and cheek the lather hides: + Light, smooth, and swift the razor glides. + 'I hope your custom, sir,' says pug. + 'Sure never face was half so smug.' + The goat, impatient for applause, + Swift to the neighbouring hill withdraws: + The shaggy people grinned and stared. + 'Heyday! what's here? without a beard! + Say, brother, whence the dire disgrace? + What envious hand hath robbed your face?' +_40 + When thus the fop with smiles of scorn: + 'Are beards by civil nations worn? + Even Muscovites have mowed their chins. + Shall we, like formal Capuchins, + Stubborn in pride, retain the mode, + And bear about the hairy load? + Whene'er we through the village stray, + Are we not mocked along the way; + Insulted with loud shouts of scorn, + By boys our beards disgraced and torn?' +_50 + 'Were you no more with goats to dwell, + Brother, I grant you reason well,' + Replies a bearded chief. 'Beside, + If boys can mortify thy pride, + How wilt thou stand the ridicule + Of our whole flock? Affected fool! + Coxcombs, distinguished from the rest, + To all but coxcombs are a jest.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXIII. + +THE OLD WOMAN AND HER CATS. + + Who friendship with a knave hath made, + Is judged a partner in the trade. + The matron who conducts abroad + A willing nymph, is thought a bawd; + And if a modest girl is seen + With one who cures a lover's spleen, + We guess her not extremely nice, + And only wish to know her price. + 'Tis thus that on the choice of friends + Our good or evil name depends. +_10 + A wrinkled hag, of wicked fame, + Beside a little smoky flame + Sate hovering, pinched with age and frost; + Her shrivelled hands, with veins embossed, + Upon her knees her weight sustains, + While palsy shook her crazy brains: + She mumbles forth her backward prayers, + An untamed scold of fourscore years. + About her swarmed a numerous brood + Of cats, who, lank with hunger, mewed. +_20 + Teased with their cries, her choler grew, + And thus she sputtered: 'Hence, ye crew. + Fool that I was, to entertain + Such imps, such fiends, a hellish train! + Had ye been never housed and nursed, + I, for a witch had ne'er been cursed. + To you I owe, that crowds of boys + Worry me with eternal noise; + Straws laid across, my pace retard, + The horse-shoe's nailed (each threshold's guard), +_30 + The stunted broom the wenches hide, + For fear that I should up and ride; + They stick with pins my bleeding seat, + And bid me show my secret teat.' + 'To hear you prate would vex a saint; + Who hath most reason of complaint?' + Replies a cat. 'Let's come to proof. + Had we ne'er starved beneath your roof, + We had, like others of our race, + In credit lived as beasts of chase. +_40 + 'Tis infamy to serve a hag; + Cats are thought imps, her broom a nag; + And boys against our lives combine, + Because, 'tis said, you cats have nine.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXIV. + +THE BUTTERFLY AND THE SNAIL. + + All upstarts insolent in place, + Remind us of their vulgar race. + As, in the sunshine of the morn, + A butterfly (but newly born) + Sat proudly perking on a rose; + With pert conceit his bosom glows; + His wings (all-glorious to behold) + Bedropp'd with azure, jet, and gold, + Wide he displays; the spangled dew + Reflects his eyes, and various hue. +_10 + His now-forgotten friend, a snail, + Beneath his house, with slimy trail + Crawls o'er the grass; whom when he spies, + In wrath he to the gard'ner cries: + 'What means yon peasant's daily toil, + From choking weeds to rid the soil? + Why wake you to the morning's care, + Why with new arts correct the year, + Why glows the peach with crimson hue, + And why the plum's inviting blue; +_20 + Were they to feast his taste design'd, + That vermin of voracious kind? + Crush then the slow, the pilfering race; + So purge thy garden from disgrace.' + 'What arrogance!' the snail replied; + 'How insolent is upstart pride! + Hadst thou not thus with insult vain, + Provoked my patience to complain, + I had concealed thy meaner birth, + Nor traced thee to the scum of earth. +_30 + For scarce nine suns have waked the hours, + To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers, + Since I thy humbler life surveyed, + In base, in sordid guise arrayed; + A hideous insect, vile, unclean, + You dragged a slow and noisome train; + And from your spider-bowels drew + Foul film, and spun the dirty clew. + I own my humble life, good friend; + Snail was I born, and snail shall end. +_40 + And what's a butterfly? At best, + He's but a caterpillar, dress'd; + And all thy race (a numerous seed) + Shall prove of caterpillar breed.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXV. + +THE SCOLD AND THE PARROT. + + The husband thus reproved his wife: + 'Who deals in slander, lives in strife. + Art thou the herald of disgrace, + Denouncing war to all thy race? + Can nothing quell thy thunder's rage, + Which spares no friend, nor sex, nor age? + That vixen tongue of yours, my dear, + Alarms our neighbours far and near. + Good gods! 'tis like a rolling river, + That murmuring flows, and flows for ever! +_10 + Ne'er tired, perpetual discord sowing! + Like fame, it gathers strength by going.' + 'Heyday!' the flippant tongue replies, + How solemn is the fool, how wise! + Is nature's choicest gift debarred? + Nay, frown not; for I will be heard. + Women of late are finely ridden, + A parrot's privilege forbidden! + You praise his talk, his squalling song; + But wives are always in the wrong.' +_20 + Now reputations flew in pieces, + Of mothers, daughters, aunts, and nieces. + She ran the parrot's language o'er, + Bawd, hussy, drunkard, slattern, whore; + On all the sex she vents her fury, + Tries and condemns without a jury. + At once the torrent of her words + Alarmed cat, monkey, dogs, and birds: + All join their forces to confound her; + Puss spits, the monkey chatters round her; +_30 + The yelping cur her heels assaults; + The magpie blabs out all her faults; + Poll, in the uproar, from his cage, + With this rebuke out-screamed her rage: + 'A parrot is for talking prized, + But prattling women are despised. + She who attacks another's honour, + Draws every living thing upon her. + Think, madam, when you stretch your lungs, + That all your neighbours too have tongues. +_40 + One slander must ten thousand get, + The world with interest pays the debt.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXVI. + +THE CUR AND THE MASTIFF. + + A sneaking cur, the master's spy, + Rewarded for his daily lie, + With secret jealousies and fears + Set all together by the ears. + Poor puss to-day was in disgrace, + Another cat supplied her place; + The hound was beat, the mastiff chid, + The monkey was the room forbid; + Each to his dearest friend grew shy, + And none could tell the reason why. +_10 + A plan to rob the house was laid, + The thief with love seduced the maid; + Cajoled the cur, and stroked his head, + And bought his secrecy with bread. + He next the mastiff's honour tried, + Whose honest jaws the bribe defied. + He stretched his hand to proffer more; + The surly dog his fingers tore. + Swift ran the cur; with indignation + The master took his information. +_20 + 'Hang him, the villain's cursed,' he cries; + And round his neck the halter ties. + The dog his humble suit preferred, + And begged in justice to be heard. + The master sat. On either hand + The cited dogs confronting stand; + The cur the bloody tale relates, + And, like a lawyer, aggravates. + 'Judge not unheard,' the mastiff cried, + 'But weigh the cause on either side. +_30 + Think not that treachery can be just, + Take not informers' words on trust. + They ope their hand to every pay, + And you and me by turns betray.' + He spoke. And all the truth appeared, + The cur was hanged, the mastiff cleared. + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXVII. + +THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL. + + 'Is there no hope?' the sick man said. + The silent doctor shook his head, + And took his leave with signs of sorrow, + Despairing of his fee to-morrow. + When thus the man with gasping breath; + 'I feel the chilling wound of death: + Since I must bid the world adieu, + Let me my former life review. + I grant, my bargains well were made, + But all men over-reach in trade; +_10 + + 'Tis self-defence in each profession, + Sure self-defence is no transgression. + The little portion in my hands, + By good security on lands, + Is well increased. If unawares, + My justice to myself and heirs, + Hath let my debtor rot in jail, + For want of good sufficient bail; + If I by writ, or bond, or deed, + Reduced a family to need, +_20 + My will hath made the world amends; + My hope on charity depends. + When I am numbered with the dead, + And all my pious gifts are read, + By heaven and earth 'twill then be known + My charities were amply shown' + An angel came. 'Ah, friend!' he cried, + 'No more in flattering hope confide. + Can thy good deeds in former times + Outweigh the balance of thy crimes? +_30 + What widow or what orphan prays + To crown thy life with length of days? + A pious action's in thy power, + Embrace with joy the happy hour. + Now, while you draw the vital air, + Prove your intention is sincere. + This instant give a hundred pound; + Your neighbours want, and you abound.' + 'But why such haste?' the sick man whines; + 'Who knows as yet what Heaven designs? +_40 + Perhaps I may recover still; + That sum and more are in my will? + 'Fool,' says the vision, 'now 'tis plain, + Your life, your soul, your heaven was gain, + From every side, with all your might, + You scraped, and scraped beyond your right; + And after death would fain atone, + By giving what is not your own.' + 'While there is life, there's hope,' he cried; + 'Then why such haste?' so groaned and died. +_50 + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXVIII. + +THE PERSIAN, THE SUN, AND THE CLOUD. + + Is there a bard whom genius fires, + Whose every thought the god inspires? + When Envy reads the nervous lines, + She frets, she rails, she raves, she pines; + Her hissing snakes with venom swell; + She calls her venal train from hell: + The servile fiends her nod obey, + And all Curl's[4] authors are in pay, + Fame calls up calumny and spite. + Thus shadow owes its birth to light. +_10 + As prostrate to the god of day, + With heart devout, a Persian lay, + His invocation thus begun: + 'Parent of light, all-seeing Sun, + Prolific beam, whose rays dispense + The various gifts of providence, + Accept our praise, our daily prayer, + Smile on our fields, and bless the year.' + A cloud, who mocked his grateful tongue, + The day with sudden darkness hung; +_20 + With pride and envy swelled, aloud + A voice thus thundered from the cloud: + 'Weak is this gaudy god of thine, + Whom I at will forbid to shine. + Shall I nor vows, nor incense know? + Where praise is due, the praise bestow.' + With fervent zeal the Persian moved, + Thus the proud calumny reproved: + 'It was that god, who claims my prayer, + Who gave thee birth, and raised thee there; +_30 + When o'er his beams the veil is thrown, + Thy substance is but plainer shown. + A passing gale, a puff of wind + Dispels thy thickest troops combined.' + The gale arose; the vapour toss'd + (The sport of winds) in air was lost; + The glorious orb the day refines. + Thus envy breaks, thus merit shines. + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXIX. + +THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH. + + A fox, in life's extreme decay, + Weak, sick, and faint, expiring lay; + All appetite had left his maw, + And age disarmed his mumbling jaw. + His numerous race around him stand + To learn their dying sire's command: + He raised his head with whining moan, + And thus was heard the feeble tone: + 'Ah, sons! from evil ways depart: + My crimes lie heavy on my heart. +_10 + See, see, the murdered geese appear! + Why are those bleeding turkeys here? + Why all around this cackling train, + Who haunt my ears for chicken slain? + The hungry foxes round them stared, + And for the promised feast prepared. + 'Where, sir, is all this dainty cheer? + Nor turkey, goose, nor hen is here. + These are the phantoms of your brain, + And your sons lick their lips in vain.' +_20 + 'O gluttons!' says the drooping sire, + 'Restrain inordinate desire. + Your liqu'rish taste you shall deplore, + When peace of conscience is no more. + Does not the hound betray our pace, + And gins and guns destroy our race? + Thieves dread the searching eye of power, + And never feel the quiet hour. + Old age (which few of us shall know) + Now puts a period to my woe. +_30 + Would you true happiness attain, + Let honesty your passions rein; + So live in credit and esteem, + And the good name you lost, redeem.' + 'The counsel's good,' a fox replies, + 'Could we perform what you advise. + Think what our ancestors have done; + A line of thieves from son to son: + To us descends the long disgrace, + And infamy hath marked our race. +_40 + Though we, like harmless sheep, should feed, + Honest in thought, in word, and deed; + Whatever henroost is decreased, + We shall be thought to share the feast. + The change shall never be believed, + A lost good name is ne'er retrieved.' + 'Nay, then,' replies the feeble fox, + '(But hark! I hear a hen that clocks) + Go, but be moderate in your food; + A chicken too might do me good.' + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XXX. + + THE SETTING-DOG AND THE PARTRIDGE. + + The ranging dog the stubble tries, + And searches every breeze that flies; + The scent grows warm; with cautious fear + He creeps, and points the covey near; + The men, in silence, far behind, + Conscious of game, the net unbind. + A partridge, with experience wise, + The fraudful preparation spies: + She mocks their toils, alarms her brood; + The covey springs, and seeks the wood; +_10 + But ere her certain wing she tries, + Thus to the creeping spaniel cries: + 'Thou fawning slave to man's deceit, + Thou pimp of luxury, sneaking cheat, + Of thy whole species thou disgrace, + Dogs shall disown thee of their race! + For if I judge their native parts, + They're born with open, honest hearts; + And, ere they serve man's wicked ends, + Were generous foes, or real friends.' +_20 + When thus the dog, with scornful smile: + 'Secure of wing, thou dar'st revile. + Clowns are to polished manners blind, + How ignorant is the rustic mind! + My worth, sagacious courtiers see, + And to preferment rise, like me. + The thriving pimp, who beauty sets, + Hath oft enhanced a nation's debts: + Friend sets his friend, without regard; + And ministers his skill reward: +_30 + Thus trained by man, I learnt his ways, + And growing favour feasts my days.' + 'I might have guessed,' the partridge said, + 'The place where you were trained and fed; + Servants are apt, and in a trice + Ape to a hair their master's vice. + You came from court, you say. Adieu,' + She said, and to the covey flew. + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XXXI. + + THE UNIVERSAL APPARITION. + + A rake, by every passion ruled, + With every vice his youth had cooled; + Disease his tainted blood assails; + His spirits droop, his vigour fails; + With secret ills at home he pines, + And, like infirm old age, declines. + As, twinged with pain, he pensive sits, + And raves, and prays, and swears by fits, + A ghastly phantom, lean and wan, + Before him rose, and thus began: +_10 + 'My name, perhaps, hath reached your ear; + Attend, and be advised by Care. + Nor love, nor honour, wealth, nor power, + Can give the heart a cheerful hour, + When health is lost. Be timely wise: + With health all taste of pleasure flies.' + Thus said, the phantom disappears. + The wary counsel waked his fears: + He now from all excess abstains, + With physic purifies his veins; +_20 + And, to procure a sober life, + Resolves to venture on a wife. + But now again the sprite ascends, + Where'er he walks his ear attends; + Insinuates that beauty's frail, + That perseverance must prevail; + With jealousies his brain inflames, + And whispers all her lovers' names. + In other hours she represents + His household charge, his annual rents, +_30 + Increasing debts, perplexing duns, + And nothing for his younger sons. + Straight all his thought to gain he turns, + And with the thirst of lucre burns. + But when possessed of fortune's store, + The spectre haunts him more and more; + Sets want and misery in view, + Bold thieves, and all the murd'ring crew, + Alarms him with eternal frights, + Infests his dream, or wakes his nights. +_40 + How shall he chase this hideous guest? + Power may perhaps protect his rest. + To power he rose. Again the sprite + Besets him, morning, noon, and night! + Talks of ambition's tottering seat, + How envy persecutes the great, + Of rival hate, of treacherous friends, + And what disgrace his fall attends. + The Court he quits to fly from Care, + And seeks the peace of rural air: +_50 + His groves, his fields, amused his hours; + He pruned his trees, he raised his flowers. + But Care again his steps pursues; + Warns him of blasts, of blighting dews, + Of plund'ring insects, snails, and rains, + And droughts that starved the laboured plains. + Abroad, at home, the spectre's there: + In vain we seek to fly from Care. + At length he thus the ghost address'd: + 'Since thou must be my constant guest, +_60 + Be kind, and follow me no more; + For Care by right should go before.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXXII. + +THE TWO OWLS AND THE SPARROW. + + Two formal owls together sat, + Conferring thus in solemn chat: + 'How is the modern taste decayed! + Where's the respect to wisdom paid? + Our worth the Grecian sages knew; + They gave our sires the honour due; + They weighed the dignity of fowls, + And pried into the depth of owls. + Athens, the seat of learned fame, + With general voice revered our name; +_10 + On merit, title was conferred, + And all adored the Athenian bird.' + 'Brother, you reason well,' replies + The solemn mate, with half-shut eyes; + 'Right. Athens was the seat of learning, + And truly wisdom is discerning. + Besides, on Pallas' helm we sit, + The type and ornament of wit: + But now, alas! we're quite neglected, + And a pert sparrow's more respected.' +_20 + A sparrow, who was lodged beside, + O'erhears them soothe each other's pride, + And thus he nimbly vents his heat: + 'Who meets a fool must find conceit. + I grant, you were at Athens graced, + And on Minerva's helm were placed; + But every bird that wings the sky, + Except an owl, can tell you why. + From hence they taught their schools to know + How false we judge by outward show; +_30 + That we should never looks esteem, + Since fools as wise as you might seem. + Would ye contempt and scorn avoid, + Let your vain-glory be destroyed: + Humble your arrogance of thought, + Pursue the ways by Nature taught; + So shall you find delicious fare, + And grateful farmers praise your care: + So shall sleek mice your chase reward, + And no keen cat find more regard.' +_40 + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXXIII. + +THE COURTIER AND PROTEUS. + + Whene'er a courtier's out of place + The country shelters his disgrace; + Where, doomed to exercise and health, + His house and gardens own his wealth, + He builds new schemes in hopes to gain + The plunder of another reign; + Like Philip's son, would fain be doing, + And sighs for other realms to ruin. + As one of these (without his wand) + Pensive, along the winding strand +_10 + Employed the solitary hour, + In projects to regain his power; + The waves in spreading circles ran, + Proteus arose, and thus began: + 'Came you from Court? For in your mien + A self-important air is seen. + He frankly owned his friends had tricked him + And how he fell his party's victim. + 'Know,' says the god, 'by matchless skill + I change to every shape at will; +_20 + But yet I'm told, at Court you see + Those who presume to rival me.' + Thus said. A snake with hideous trail, + Proteus extends his scaly mail. + 'Know,' says the man, 'though proud in place, + All courtiers are of reptile race. + Like you, they take that dreadful form, + Bask in the sun, and fly the storm; + With malice hiss, with envy gloat, + And for convenience change their coat; +_30 + With new-got lustre rear their head, + Though on a dunghill born and bred.' + Sudden the god a lion stands; + He shakes his mane, he spurns the sands; + Now a fierce lynx, with fiery glare, + A wolf, an ass, a fox, a bear. + 'Had I ne'er lived at Court,' he cries, + 'Such transformation might surprise; + But there, in quest of daily game, + Each able courtier acts the same. +_40 + Wolves, lions, lynxes, while in place, + Their friends and fellows are their chase. + They play the bear's and fox's part; + Now rob by force, now steal with art. + They sometimes in the senate bray; + Or, changed again to beasts of prey, + Down from the lion to the ape, + Practise the frauds of every shape.' + So said, upon the god he flies, + In cords the struggling captive ties. +_50 + 'Now, Proteus, now, (to truth compelled) + Speak, and confess thy art excelled. + Use strength, surprise, or what you will, + The courtier finds evasions still: + Not to be bound by any ties, + And never forced to leave his lies.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXXIV. + +THE MASTIFFS. + + Those who in quarrels interpose, + Must often wipe a bloody nose. + A mastiff, of true English blood, + Loved fighting better than his food. + When dogs were snarling for a bone, + He longed to make the war his own, + And often found (when two contend) + To interpose obtained his end; + He gloried in his limping pace; + The scars of honour seamed his face; +_10 + In every limb a gash appears, + And frequent fights retrenched his ears. + As, on a time, he heard from far + Two dogs engaged in noisy war, + Away he scours and lays about him, + Resolved no fray should be without him. + Forth from his yard a tanner flies, + And to the bold intruder cries: + 'A cudgel shall correct your manners, + Whence sprung this cursed hate to tanners? +_20 + While on my dog you vent your spite, + Sirrah! 'tis me you dare not bite.' + To see the battle thus perplexed, + With equal rage a butcher vexed, + Hoarse-screaming from the circled crowd, + To the cursed mastiff cries aloud: + 'Both Hockley-hole and Mary-bone + The combats of my dog have known. + He ne'er, like bullies coward-hearted, + Attacks in public, to be parted. +_30 + Think not, rash fool, to share his fame: + Be his the honour, or the shame.' + Thus said, they swore, and raved like thunder; + Then dragged their fastened dogs asunder; + While clubs and kicks from every side + Rebounded from the mastiff's hide. + All reeking now with sweat and blood, + Awhile the parted warriors stood, + Then poured upon the meddling foe; + Who, worried, howled and sprawled below. +_40 + He rose; and limping from the fray, + By both sides mangled, sneaked away. + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XXXV. + +THE BARLEY-MOW AND THE DUNGHILL. + + How many saucy airs we meet + From Temple Bar to Aldgate Street! + Proud rogues, who shared the South-Sea prey, + And sprung like mushrooms in a day! + They think it mean, to condescend + To know a brother or a friend; + They blush to hear their mother's name, + And by their pride expose their shame. + As cross his yard, at early day, + A careful farmer took his way, +_10 + He stopped, and leaning on his fork, + Observed the flail's incessant work. + In thought he measured all his store, + His geese, his hogs, he numbered o'er; + In fancy weighed the fleeces shorn, + And multiplied the next year's corn. + A Barley-mow, which stood beside, + Thus to its musing master cried: + 'Say, good sir, is it fit or right + To treat me with neglect and slight? +_20 + Me, who contribute to your cheer, + And raise your mirth with ale and beer? + Why thus insulted, thus disgraced, + And that vile dunghill near me placed? + Are those poor sweepings of a groom, + That filthy sight, that nauseous fume, + Meet objects here? Command it hence: + A thing so mean must give offence' + The humble dunghill thus replied: + 'Thy master hears, and mocks thy pride: +_30 + Insult not thus the meek and low; + In me thy benefactor know; + My warm assistance gave thee birth, + Or thou hadst perished low in earth; + But upstarts, to support their station, + Cancel at once all obligation.' + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XXXVI. + + PYTHAGORAS AND THE COUNTRYMAN. + + Pythag'ras rose at early dawn, + By soaring meditation drawn, + To breathe the fragrance of the day, + Through flowery fields he took his way. + In musing contemplation warm, + His steps misled him to a farm, + Where, on the ladder's topmost round, + A peasant stood; the hammer's sound + Shook the weak barn. 'Say, friend, what care + Calls for thy honest labour there?' +_10 + The clown, with surly voice replies, + 'Vengeance aloud for justice cries. + This kite, by daily rapine fed, + My hens' annoy, my turkeys' dread, + At length his forfeit life has paid; + See on the wall his wings displayed, + Here nailed, a terror to his kind, + My fowls shall future safety find; + My yard the thriving poultry feed, + And my barn's refuse fat the breed.' +_20 + 'Friend,' says the sage, 'the doom is wise; + For public good the murderer dies. + But if these tyrants of the air + Demand a sentence so severe, + Think how the glutton man devours; + What bloody feasts regale his hours! + O impudence of power and might, + Thus to condemn a hawk or kite, + When thou, perhaps, carniv'rous sinner, + Hadst pullets yesterday for dinner!' +_30 + 'Hold,' cried the clown, with passion heated, + 'Shall kites and men alike be treated? + When Heaven the world with creatures stored, + Man was ordained their sovereign lord.' + 'Thus tyrants boast,' the sage replied, + 'Whose murders spring from power and pride. + Own then this man-like kite is slain + Thy greater luxury to sustain; + For "Petty rogues submit to fate, + That great ones may enjoy their state."'[5] +_40 + + + + +FABLE XXXVII. + +THE FARMER'S WIFE AND THE RAVEN. + + 'Why are those tears? why droops your head? + Is then your other husband dead? + Or does a worse disgrace betide? + Hath no one since his death applied?' + 'Alas! you know the cause too well: + The salt is spilt, to me it fell. + Then, to contribute to my loss, + My knife and fork were laid across; + On Friday too! the day I dread! + Would I were safe at home in bed! +_10 + Last night (I vow to heaven 'tis true) + Bounce from the fire a coffin flew. + Next post some fatal news shall tell, + God send my Cornish friends be well!' + 'Unhappy widow, cease thy tears, + Nor feel affliction in thy fears, + Let not thy stomach be suspended; + Eat now, and weep when dinner's ended; + And when the butler clears the table, + For thy desert, I'll read my fable.' +_20 + Betwixt her swagging panniers' load + A farmer's wife to market rode, + And, jogging on, with thoughtful care + Summed up the profits of her ware; + When, starting from her silver dream, + Thus far and wide was heard her scream: + 'That raven on yon left-hand oak + (Curse on his ill-betiding croak) + Bodes me no good.' No more she said, + When poor blind Ball, with stumbling tread, +_30 + Fell prone; o'erturned the pannier lay, + And her mashed eggs bestrewed the way. + She, sprawling in the yellow road, + Railed, swore and cursed: 'Thou croaking toad, + A murrain take thy whoreson throat! + I knew misfortune in the note.' + 'Dame,' quoth the raven, 'spare your oaths, + Unclench your fist, and wipe your clothes. + But why on me those curses thrown? + Goody, the fault was all your own; +_40 + For had you laid this brittle ware, + On Dun, the old sure-footed mare, + Though all the ravens of the hundred, + With croaking had your tongue out-thundered, + Sure-footed Dun had kept his legs, + And you, good woman, saved your eggs.' + + + + FABLE XXXVIII. + + THE TURKEY AND THE ANT. + + In other men we faults can spy, + And blame the mote that dims their eye, + Each little speck and blemish find, + To our own stronger errors blind. + A turkey, tired of common food, + Forsook the barn, and sought the wood; + Behind her ran her infant train, + Collecting here and there a grain. + 'Draw near, my birds,' the mother cries, + 'This hill delicious fare supplies; +_10 + Behold, the busy negro race, + See, millions blacken all the place! + Fear not. Like me with freedom eat; + An ant is most delightful meat. + How bless'd, how envied were our life, + Could we but 'scape the poulterer's knife! + But man, cursed man, on turkeys preys, + And Christmas shortens all our days: + Sometimes with oysters we combine, + Sometimes assist the savoury chine. +_20 + From the low peasant to the lord, + The turkey smokes on every board. + Sure men for gluttony are cursed, + Of the seven deadly sins the worst.' + An ant, who climbed beyond his reach, + Thus answered from the neighbouring beech: + 'Ere you remark another's sin, 27 + Bid thy own conscience look within; + Control thy more voracious bill, + Nor for a breakfast nations kill.' +_30 + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XXXIX. + + THE FATHER AND JUPITER. + + + The man to Jove his suit preferred; + He begged a wife. His prayer was heard, + Jove wondered at his bold addressing: + For how precarious is the blessing! + A wife he takes. And now for heirs + Again he worries heaven with prayers. + Jove nods assent. Two hopeful boys + And a fine girl reward his joys. + Now, more solicitous he grew, + And set their future lives in view; +_10 + He saw that all respect and duty + Were paid to wealth, to power, and beauty. + 'Once more,' he cries, 'accept my prayer; + Make my loved progeny thy care. + Let my first hope, my favourite boy, + All fortune's richest gifts enjoy. + My next with strong ambition fire: + May favour teach him to aspire; + Till he the step of power ascend, + And courtiers to their idol bend. +_20 + With every grace, with every charm, + My daughter's perfect features arm. + If heaven approve, a father's bless'd.' + Jove smiles, and grants his full request. + The first, a miser at the heart, + Studious of every griping art, + Heaps hoards on hoards with anxious pain; + And all his life devotes to gain. + He feels no joy, his cares increase, + He neither wakes nor sleeps in peace; +_30 + In fancied want (a wretch complete) + He starves, and yet he dares not eat. + The next to sudden honours grew: + The thriving art of Courts he knew: + He reached the height of power and place; + Then fell, the victim of disgrace. + Beauty with early bloom supplies + His daughter's cheek, and points her eyes. + The vain coquette each suit disdains, + And glories in her lover's pains. +_40 + With age she fades, each lover flies; + Contemned, forlorn, she pines and dies. + When Jove the father's grief surveyed, + And heard him Heaven and Fate upbraid, + Thus spoke the god: 'By outward show, + Men judge of happiness and woe: + Shall ignorance of good and ill + Dare to direct the eternal will? + Seek virtue; and, of that possess'd, + To Providence resign the rest' +_50 + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XL. + + THE TWO MONKEYS. + + The learned, full of inward pride, + The Fops of outward show deride: + The Fop, with learning at defiance, + Scoffs at the pedant, and the science: + The Don, a formal, solemn strutter, + Despises Monsieur's airs and flutter; + While Monsieur mocks the formal fool, + Who looks, and speaks, and walks by rule. + Britain, a medley of the twain, + As pert as France, as grave as Spain; +_10 + In fancy wiser than the rest, + Laughs at them both, of both the jest. + Is not the poet's chiming close + Censured by all the sons of prose? + While bards of quick imagination + Despise the sleepy prose narration. + Men laugh at apes, they men contemn; + For what are we, but apes to them? + Two monkeys went to Southwark fair, + No critics had a sourer air: +_20 + They forced their way through draggled folks, + Who gaped to catch jack-pudding's jokes; + Then took their tickets for the show, + And got by chance the foremost row. + To see their grave, observing face, + Provoked a laugh throughout the place. + 'Brother,' says Pug, and turned his head, + 'The rabble's monstrously ill bred.' + Now through the booth loud hisses ran; + Nor ended till the show began. +_30 + The tumbler whirls the flap-flap round, + With somersets he shakes the ground; + The cord beneath the dancer springs; + Aloft in air the vaulter swings; + Distorted now, now prone depends, + Now through his twisted arms ascends: + The crowd, in wonder and delight, + With clapping hands applaud the sight. + With smiles, quoth Pug, 'If pranks like these + The giant apes of reason please, +_40 + How would they wonder at our arts! + They must adore us for our parts. + High on the twig I've seen you cling; + Play, twist and turn in airy ring: + How can those clumsy things, like me, + Fly with a bound from tree to tree? + But yet, by this applause, we find + These emulators of our kind + Discern our worth, our parts regard, + Who our mean mimics thus reward.' +_50 + 'Brother,' the grinning mate replies, + 'In this I grant that man is wise. + While good example they pursue, + We must allow some praise is due; + But when they strain beyond their guide, + I laugh to scorn the mimic pride, + For how fantastic is the sight, + To meet men always bolt upright, + Because we sometimes walk on two! + I hate the imitating crew.' +_60 + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XLI. + + THE OWL AND THE FARMER. + + An owl of grave deport and mien, + Who (like the Turk) was seldom seen, + Within a barn had chose his station, + As fit for prey and contemplation. + Upon a beam aloft he sits, + And nods, and seems to think by fits. + So have I seen a man of news, + Or _Post-boy_, or _Gazette_ peruse; + Smoke, nod, and talk with voice profound, + And fix the fate of Europe round. +_10 + Sheaves piled on sheaves, hid all the floor; + At dawn of morn, to view his store + The farmer came. The hooting guest + His self-importance thus express'd: + 'Reason in man is mere pretence: + How weak, how shallow is his sense! + To treat with scorn the bird of night, + Declares his folly, or his spite. + Then too, how partial is his praise! + The lark's, the linnet's chirping lays +_20 + To his ill-judging ears are fine; + And nightingales are all divine. + But the more knowing feathered race + See wisdom stamped upon my face. + Whene'er to visit light I deign, + What flocks of fowl compose my train! + Like slaves they crowd my flight behind, + And own me of superior kind.' + The farmer laughed, and thus replied: + 'Thou dull important lump of pride, +_30 + Dar'st thou with that harsh grating tongue, + Depreciate birds of warbling song? + Indulge thy spleen. Know, men and fowl + Regard thee, as thou art an owl. + Besides, proud blockhead, be not vain, + Of what thou call'st thy slaves and train. + Few follow wisdom or her rules; + Fools in derision follow fools.' + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XLII. + +THE JUGGLERS. + + A juggler long through all the town + Had raised his fortune and renown; + You'd think (so far his art transcends) + The devil at his fingers' ends. + Vice heard his fame, she read his bill; + Convinced of his inferior skill, + She sought his booth, and from the crowd + Defied the man of art aloud: + 'Is this, then, he so famed for sleight? + Can this slow bungler cheat your sight! +_10 + Dares he with me dispute the prize? + I leave it to impartial eyes.' + Provoked, the juggler cried, ''tis done. + In science I submit to none.' + Thus said, the cups and balls he played; + By turns, this here, that there, conveyed. + The cards, obedient to his words, + Are by a fillip turned to birds. + His little boxes change the grain: + Trick after trick deludes the train. +_20 + He shakes his bag, he shows all fair; + His fingers spreads, and nothing there; + Then bids it rain with showers of gold, + And now his ivory eggs are told. + But when from thence the hen he draws, + Amazed spectators hum applause. + Vice now stept forth, and took the place + With all the forms of his grimace. + 'This magic looking-glass,' she cries, + (There, hand it round) 'will charm your eyes.' +_30 + Each eager eye the sight desired, + And every man himself admired. + Next to a senator addressing: + 'See this bank-note; observe the blessing, + Breathe on the bill.' Heigh, pass! 'Tis gone. + Upon his lips a padlock shone. + A second puff the magic broke, + The padlock vanished, and he spoke. + Twelve bottles ranged upon the board, + All full, with heady liquor stored, +_40 + By clean conveyance disappear, + And now two bloody swords are there. + A purse she to a thief exposed, + At once his ready fingers closed; + He opes his fist, the treasure's fled; + He sees a halter in its stead. + She bids ambition hold a wand; + He grasps a hatchet in his hand. + A box of charity she shows, + 'Blow here;' and a churchwarden blows, +_50 + 'Tis vanished with conveyance neat, + And on the table smokes a treat. + She shakes the dice, the boards she knocks, + And from all pockets fills her box. + She next a meagre rake address'd: + 'This picture see; her shape, her breast! + What youth, and what inviting eyes! + Hold her, and have her.' With surprise, + His hand exposed a box of pills, + And a loud laugh proclaimed his ills. +_60 + A counter, in a miser's hand, + Grew twenty guineas at command. + She bids his heir the sum retain, + And 'tis a counter now again. + A guinea with her touch you see + Take every shape, but charity; + And not one thing you saw, or drew, + But changed from what was first in view. + The juggler now in grief of heart, + With this submission owned her art: +_70 + 'Can I such matchless sleight withstand? + How practice hath improved your hand! + But now and then I cheat the throng; + You every day, and all day long.' + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XLIII. + + THE COUNCIL OF HORSES. + + Upon a time a neighing steed, + Who grazed among a numerous breed, + With mutiny had fired the train, + And spread dissension through the plain. + On matters that concerned the state + The council met in grand debate. + A colt, whose eye-balls flamed with ire, + Elate with strength and youthful fire, + In haste stept forth before the rest, + And thus the listening throng addressed: +_10 + 'Good gods! how abject is our race, + Condemned to slavery and disgrace! + Shall we our servitude retain, + Because our sires have borne the chain? + Consider, friends, your strength and might; + 'Tis conquest to assert your right. + How cumbrous is the gilded coach! + The pride of man is our reproach. + Were we designed for daily toil, + To drag the ploughshare through, the soil, +_20 + To sweat in harness through the road, + To groan beneath the carrier's load? + How feeble are the two-legged kind! + What force is in our nerves combined! + Shall then our nobler jaws submit + To foam and champ the galling bit? + Shall haughty man my back bestride? + Shall the sharp spur provoke my side? + Forbid it, heavens! Reject the rein; + Your shame, your infamy disdain. +_30 + Let him the lion first control, + And still the tiger's famished growl. + Let us, like them, our freedom claim, + And make him tremble at our name.' + A general nod approved the cause, + And all the circle neighed applause. + When, lo! with grave and solemn pace, + A steed advanced before the race, + With age and long experience wise; + Around he cast his thoughtful eyes, +_40 + And, to the murmurs of the train, + Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain: + 'When I had health and strength, like you, + The toils of servitude I knew; + Now grateful man rewards my pains, + And gives me all these wide domains. + At will I crop the year's increase + My latter life is rest and peace. + I grant, to man we lend our pains, + And aid him to correct the plains. +_50 + But doth not he divide the care, + Through all the labours of the year? + How many thousand structures rise, + To fence us from inclement skies! + For us he bears the sultry day, + And stores up all our winter's hay. + He sows, he reaps the harvest's gain; + We share the toil, and share the grain. + Since every creature was decreed + To aid each other's mutual need, +_60 + Appease your discontented mind, + And act the part by heaven assigned.' + The tumult ceased. The colt submitted, + And, like his ancestors, was bitted. + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XLIV. + + THE HOUND AND THE HUNTSMAN. + + Impertinence at first is borne + With heedless slight, or smiles of scorn; + Teased into wrath, what patience bears + The noisy fool who perseveres? + The morning wakes, the huntsman sounds, + At once rush forth the joyful hounds. + They seek the wood with eager pace, + Through bush, through brier, explore the chase. + Now scattered wide, they try the plain, + And snuff the dewy turf in vain. +_10 + What care, what industry, what pains! + What universal silence reigns. + Ringwood, a dog of little fame, + Young, pert, and ignorant of game, + At once displays his babbling throat; + The pack, regardless of the note, + Pursue the scent; with louder strain + He still persists to vex the train. + The huntsman to the clamour flies; + The smacking lash he smartly plies. +_20 + His ribs all welked, with howling tone + The puppy thus expressed his moan: + 'I know the music of my tongue + Long since the pack with envy stung. + What will not spite? These bitter smarts + I owe to my superior parts.' + 'When puppies prate,' the huntsman cried, + 'They show both ignorance and pride: + Fools may our scorn, not envy raise, + For envy is a kind of praise. +_30 + Had not thy forward noisy tongue + Proclaimed thee always in the wrong, + Thou might'st have mingled with the rest, + And ne'er thy foolish nose confess'd. + But fools, to talking ever prone, + Are sure to make their follies known.' + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XLV. + + THE POET AND THE ROSE. + + I hate the man who builds his name + On ruins of another's fame. + Thus prudes, by characters o'erthrown, + Imagine that they raise their own. + Thus scribblers, covetous of praise, + Think slander can transplant the bays. + Beauties and bards have equal pride, + With both all rivals are decried. + Who praises Lesbia's eyes and feature, + Must call her sister, awkward creature; +_10 + For the kind flattery's sure to charm, + When we some other nymph disarm. + As in the cool of early day + A poet sought the sweets of May, + The garden's fragrant breath ascends, + And every stalk with odour bends. + A rose he plucked, he gazed, admired, + Thus singing as the muse inspired: + 'Go, rose, my Chloe's bosom grace; + How happy should I prove, +_20 + Might I supply that envied place + With never fading love! + There, phoenix-like, beneath her eye, + Involved in fragrance, burn and die! + Know, hapless flower, that thou shalt find + More fragrant roses there; + I see thy withering head reclined + With envy and despair! + One common fate we both must prove; + You die with envy, I with love.' +_30 + 'Spare your comparisons,' replied + An angry rose, who grew beside. + 'Of all mankind, you should not flout us; + What can a poet do without us! + In every love-song roses bloom; + We lend you colour and perfume. + Does it to Chloe's charms conduce, + To found her praise on our abuse? + Must we, to flatter her, be made + To wither, envy, pine and fade?' +_40 + + * * * * * + + +FABLE XLVI. + +THE CUR, THE HORSE, AND THE SHEPHERD'S DOG. + + The lad of all-sufficient merit, + With modesty ne'er damps his spirit; + Presuming on his own deserts, + On all alike his tongue exerts; + His noisy jokes at random throws, + And pertly spatters friends and foes; + In wit and war the bully race + Contribute to their own disgrace. + Too late the forward youth shall find + That jokes are sometimes paid in kind; +_10 + Or if they canker in the breast, + He makes a foe who makes a jest. + A village-cur, of snappish race, + The pertest puppy of the place, + Imagined that his treble throat + Was blest with music's sweetest note: + In the mid road he basking lay, + The yelping nuisance of the way; + For not a creature passed along, + But had a sample of his song. +_20 + Soon as the trotting steed he hears, + He starts, he cocks his dapper ears; + Away he scours, assaults his hoof; + Now near him snarls, now barks aloof; + With shrill impertinence attends; + Nor leaves him till the village ends. + It chanced, upon his evil day, + A pad came pacing down the way: + The cur, with never-ceasing tongue, + Upon the passing traveller sprung. +_30 + The horse, from scorn provoked to ire, + Flung backward; rolling in the mire, + The puppy howled, and bleeding lay; + The pad in peace pursued the way. + A shepherd's dog, who saw the deed, + Detesting the vexatious breed, + Bespoke him thus: 'When coxcombs prate, + They kindle wrath, contempt, or hate; + Thy teasing tongue had judgment tied, + Thou hadst not, like a puppy, died.' +_40 + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XLVII. + + THE COURT OF DEATH. + + Death, on a solemn night of state, + In all his pomp of terror sate: + The attendants of his gloomy reign, + Diseases dire, a ghastly train! + Crowd the vast court. With hollow tone, + A voice thus thundered from the throne: + 'This night our minister we name, + Let every servant speak his claim; + Merit shall bear this ebon wand;' + All, at the word, stretch'd forth their hand. +_10 + Fever, with burning heat possess'd, + Advanced, and for the wand address'd: + 'I to the weekly bills appeal, + Let those express my fervent zeal; + On every slight occasion near, + With violence I persevere.' + Next Gout appears with limping pace, + Pleads how he shifts from place to place, + From head to foot how swift he flies, 19 + And every joint and sinew plies; +_20 + Still working when he seems suppress'd, + A most tenacious stubborn guest. + A haggard spectre from the crew + Crawls forth, and thus asserts his due: + 'Tis I who taint the sweetest joy, + And in the shape of love destroy: + My shanks, sunk eyes, and noseless face, + Prove my pretension to the place.' + Stone urged his ever-growing force. + And, next, Consumption's meagre corse, +_30 + With feeble voice, that scarce was heard, + Broke with short coughs, his suit preferred: + 'Let none object my ling'ring way, + I gain, like Fabius, by delay; + Fatigue and weaken every foe + By long attack, secure, though slow.' + Plague represents his rapid power, + Who thinned a nation in an hour. + All spoke their claim, and hoped the wand. + Now expectation hushed the band, +_40 + When thus the monarch from the throne: + 'Merit was ever modest known, + What, no physician speak his right! + None here! but fees their toils requite. + Let then Intemperance take the wand, + Who fills with gold their zealous hand. + You, Fever, Gout, and all the rest, + (Whom wary men, as foes, detest,) + Forego your claim; no more pretend: + Intemperance is esteemed a friend; +_50 + He shares their mirth, their social joys, + And, as a courted guest, destroys. + The charge on him must justly fall, + Who finds employment for you all.' + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XLVIII. + + THE GARDENER AND THE HOG. + + A gard'ner, of peculiar taste, + On a young hog his favour placed; + Who fed not with the common herd; + His tray was to the hall preferred. + He wallowed underneath the board, + Or in his master's chamber snored; + Who fondly stroked him every day, + And taught him all the puppy's play; + Where'er he went, the grunting friend + Ne'er failed his pleasure to attend. +_10 + As on a time, the loving pair + Walked forth to tend the garden's care, + The master thus address'd the swine: + 'My house, my garden, all is thine. + On turnips feast whene'er you please, + And riot in my beans and peas; + If the potato's taste delights, + Or the red carrot's sweet invites, + Indulge thy morn and evening hours, + But let due care regard my flowers: +_20 + My tulips are my garden's pride, + What vast expense those beds supplied!' + The hog by chance one morning roamed, + Where with new ale the vessels foamed. + He munches now the steaming grains, + Now with full swill the liquor drains. + Intoxicating fumes arise; 27 + He reels, he rolls his winking eyes; + Then stagg'ring through the garden scours, + And treads down painted ranks of flowers. +_30 + With delving snout he turns the soil, + And cools his palate with the spoil. + The master came, the ruin spied, + 'Villain, suspend thy rage,' he cried. + 'Hast thou, thou most ungrateful sot, + My charge, my only charge forgot? + What, all my flowers!' No more he said, + But gazed, and sighed, and hung his head. + The hog with stutt'ring speech returns: + 'Explain, sir, why your anger burns. +_40 + See there, untouched, your tulips strown, + For I devoured the roots alone.' + At this the gard'ner's passion grows; + From oaths and threats he fell to blows. + The stubborn brute the blow sustains; + Assaults his leg, and tears the veins. + Ah! foolish swain, too late you find + That sties were for such friends designed! + Homeward he limps with painful pace, + Reflecting thus on past disgrace: +_50 + Who cherishes a brutal mate + Shall mourn the folly soon or late. + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XLIX. + + THE MAN AND THE FLEA. + + + Whether on earth, in air, or main, + Sure everything alive is vain! + Does not the hawk all fowls survey, + As destined only for his prey? + And do not tyrants, prouder things, + Think men were born for slaves to kings? + When the crab views the pearly strands, + Or Tagus, bright with golden sands; + Or crawls beside the coral grove, + And hears the ocean roll above; +_10 + 'Nature is too profuse,' says he, + 'Who gave all these to pleasure me!' + When bordering pinks and roses bloom, + And every garden breathes perfume; + When peaches glow with sunny dyes, + Like Laura's cheek, when blushes rise; + When with huge figs the branches bend, + When clusters from the vine depend; + The snail looks round on flower and tree, + And cries, 'All these were made for me!' +_20 + 'What dignity's in human nature!' + Says man, the most conceited creature, + As from a cliff he cast his eye, + And viewed the sea and arched sky; + The sun was sunk beneath the main, + The moon and all the starry train + Hung the vast vault of heaven. The man + His contemplation thus began: + 'When I behold this glorious show, + And the wide watery world below, +_30 + The scaly people of the main, + The beasts that range the wood or plain, + The winged inhabitants of air, + The day, the night, the various year, + And know all these by heaven design'd + As gifts to pleasure human kind; + I cannot raise my worth too high; + Of what vast consequence am I!' + 'Not of the importance you suppose,' + Replies a flea upon his nose. +_40 + 'Be humble, learn thyself to scan; + Know, pride was never made for man. + 'Tis vanity that swells thy mind. + What, heaven and earth for thee designed! + For thee, made only for our need, + That more important fleas might feed.' + + * * * * * + + + FABLE L. + + THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. + + Friendship, like love, is but a name, + Unless to one you stint the flame. + The child, whom many fathers share, + Hath seldom known a father's care. + Tis thus in friendships; who depend + On many, rarely find a friend. + A hare, who in a civil way, + Complied with everything, like Gay, + Was known by all the bestial train + Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain. +_10 + Her care was never to offend, + And every creature was her friend. + As forth she went at early dawn, + To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, + Behind she hears the hunter's cries, + And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies. + She starts, she stops, she pants for breath; + She hears the near advance of death; + She doubles to mislead the hound, + And measures back her mazy round; +_20 + Till fainting in the public way, + Half-dead with fear, she gasping lay. + What transport in her bosom grew, + When first the horse appeared in view! + 'Let me,' says she, 'your back ascend, + And owe my safety to a friend. + You know my feet betray my flight; + To friendship every burden's light.' + The horse replied--'Poor honest puss, + It grieves my heart to see thee thus; +_30 + Be comforted, relief is near; + For all your friends are in the rear.' + She next the stately bull implored; + And thus replied the mighty lord-- + 'Since every beast alive can tell + That I sincerely wish you well, + I may, without offence, pretend + To take the freedom of a friend. + Love calls me hence; a favourite cow + Expects me near yon barley mow: +_40 + And when a lady's in the case, + You know all other things give place. + To leave you thus might seem unkind; + But see, the goat is just behind.' + The goat remarked her pulse was high, + Her languid head, her heavy eye; + 'My back,' says she, 'may do you harm; + The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm.' + The sheep was feeble, and complained + His sides a load of wool sustained: +_50 + Said he was slow, confessed his fears; + For hounds cat sheep, as well as hares. + She now the trotting calf addressed, + To save from death a friend distressed. + 'Shall I,' says he, 'of tender age, + In this important care engage? + Older and abler passed you by; + How strong are those! how weak am I! + Should I presume to bear you hence, + Those friends of mine may take offence. +_60 + Excuse me then. You know my heart, + But dearest friends, alas! must part. + How shall we all lament! Adieu! + For see the hounds are just in view.' + + * * * * * + + +PART II. + +PUBLISHED AFTER GAY'S DEATH, BY THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY. + + +FABLE I. + +THE DOG AND THE FOX. + +TO A LAWYER. + + I know you lawyers can with ease + Twist words and meanings as you please; + That language, by your skill made pliant, + Will bend to favour every client; + That 'tis the fee directs the sense, + To make out either side's pretence. + When you peruse the clearest case, + You see it with a double face: + For scepticism's your profession; + You hold there's doubt in all expression. +_10 + Hence is the bar with fees supplied, + Hence eloquence takes either side. + Your hand would have but paltry gleaning + Could every man express his meaning. + Who dares presume to pen a deed. + Unless you previously are fee'd? + 'Tis drawn; and, to augment the cost, + In dull prolixity engrossed. + And now we're well secured by law, + Till the next brother find a flaw. +_20 + Read o'er a will. Was't ever known, + But you could make the will your own; + For when you read,'tis with intent + To find out meanings never meant. + Since things are thus, _se defendendo_, + I bar fallacious innuendo. + Sagacious Porta's[6] skill could trace + Some beast or bird in every face. + The head, the eye, the nose's shape, + Proved this an owl, and that an ape. +_30 + When, in the sketches thus designed, + Resemblance brings some friend to mind, + You show the piece, and give the hint, + And find each feature in the print: + So monstrous like the portrait's found, + All know it, and the laugh goes round. + Like him I draw from general nature; + Is't I or you then fix the satire? + So, sir, I beg you spare your pains + In making comments on my strains. +_40 + All private slander I detest, + I judge not of my neighbour's breast: + Party and prejudice I hate, + And write no libels on the state. + Shall not my fable censure vice, + Because a knave is over-nice? + And, lest the guilty hear and dread, + Shall not the decalogue be read? + If I lash vice in general fiction, + Is't I apply, or self-conviction? +_50 + Brutes are my theme. Am I to blame, + If men in morals are the same? + I no man call an ape or ass: + Tis his own conscience holds the glass; + Thus void of all offence I write; + Who claims the fable, knows his right. + A shepherd's dog unskilled in sports, + Picked up acquaintance of all sorts: + Among the rest, a fox he knew; + By frequent chat their friendship grew. +_60 + Says Reynard--' 'Tis a cruel case, + That man should stigmatise our race, + No doubt, among us rogues you find, + As among dogs, and human kind; + And yet (unknown to me and you) + There may be honest men and true. + Thus slander tries, whate'er it can, + To put us on the foot with man, + Let my own actions recommend; + No prejudice can blind a friend: +_70 + You know me free from all disguise; + My honour as my life I prize.' + By talk like this, from all mistrust + The dog was cured, and thought him just. + As on a time the fox held forth + On conscience, honesty, and worth, + Sudden he stopp'd; he cocked his ear; + And dropp'd his brushy tail with fear. + 'Bless us! the hunters are abroad-- + What's all that clatter on the road?' +_80 + 'Hold,' says the dog, 'we're safe from harm; + 'Twas nothing but a false alarm. + At yonder town, 'tis market day; + Some farmer's wife is on the way; + 'Tis so, (I know her pyebald mare) + Dame Dobbins, with her poultry ware.' + Reynard grew huff. Says he, 'This sneer + From you I little thought to hear. + Your meaning in your looks I see; + Pray, what's Dame Dobbins, friend, to me? +_90 + Did I e'er make her poultry thinner? + Prove that I owe the Dame a dinner.' + 'Friend,' quoth the cur, 'I meant no harm; + Then, why so captious? why so warm? + My words in common acceptation, + Could never give this provocation. + No lamb (for ought I ever knew) + May be more innocent than you.' + At this, galled Reynard winced and swore + Such language ne'er was given before: +_100 + 'What's lamb to me? the saucy hint-- + Show me, base knave, which way you squint, + If t'other night your master lost + Three lambs, am I to pay the cost? + Your vile reflections would imply + That I'm the thief. You dog, you lie.' + 'Thou knave, thou fool,' the dog replied, + 'The name is just, take either side; + Thy guilt these applications speak; + Sirrah,'tis conscience makes you squeak.' +_110 + So saying, on the fox he flies, + The self-convicted felon dies. + + + * * * * * + + +FABLE II. + +THE VULTURE, THE SPARROW, AND OTHER BIRDS. + + TO A FRIEND IN THE COUNTRY. + + Ere I begin, I must premise + Our ministers are good and wise; + So, though malicious tongues apply, + Pray what care they, or what care I? + If I am free with courts; be't known, + I ne'er presume to mean our own. + If general morals seem to joke + On ministers, and such like folk, + A captious fool may take offence; + What then? he knows his own pretence. +_10 + I meddle with no state affairs, + But spare my jest to save my ears. + Our present schemes are too profound, + For Machiavel himself to sound: + To censure them I've no pretension; + I own they're past my comprehension. + You say your brother wants a place, + ('Tis many a younger brother's case,) + And that he very soon intends + To ply the Court, and tease his friends. +_20 + If there his merits chance to find + A patriot of an open mind, + Whose constant actions prove him just + To both a king's and people's trust; + May he with gratitude attend, + And owe his rise to such a friend. + You praise his parts, for business fit, + His learning, probity, and wit; + But those alone will never do, + Unless his patron have them too. +_30 + I've heard of times (pray God defend us, + We're not so good but He can mend us) + When wicked ministers have trod + On kings and people, law and God; + With arrogance they girt the throne, + And knew no interest but their own. + Then virtue, from preferment barr'd, + Gets nothing but its own reward. + A gang of petty knaves attend 'em, + With proper parts to recommend 'em. +_40 + Then if their patron burn with lust, + The first in favour's pimp the first. + His doors are never closed to spies, + Who cheer his heart with double lies; + They flatter him, his foes defame, + So lull the pangs of guilt and shame. + If schemes of lucre haunt his brain, + Projectors swell his greedy train; + Vile brokers ply his private ear + With jobs of plunder for the year; +_50 + All consciences must bend and ply; + You must vote on, and not know why: + Through thick and thin you must go on; + One scruple, and your place is gone. + Since plagues like these have cursed a land, + And favourites cannot always stand; + Good courtiers should for change be ready, + And not have principles too steady: + For should a knave engross the power, + (God shield the realm, from that sad hour,) +_60 + He must have rogues, or slavish fools: + For what's a knave without his tools? + Wherever those a people drain, + And strut with infamy and gain, + I envy not their guilt and state, + And scorn to share the public hate. + Let their own servile creatures rise + By screening fraud, and venting lies; + Give me, kind heaven, a private station,[7] + A mind serene for contemplation: +_70 + Title and profit I resign; + The post of honour shall be mine. + My fable read, their merits view, + Then herd who will with such a crew. + In days of yore (my cautious rhymes + Always except the present times) + A greedy vulture skilled in game, + Inured to guilt, unawed by shame, + Approached the throne in evil hour, + And step by step intrudes to power; +_80 + When at the royal eagle's ear, + He longs to ease the monarch's care. + The monarch grants. With pride elate, + Behold him minister of state! + Around him throng the feathered rout; + Friends must be served, and some must out, + Each thinks his own the best pretension; + This asks a place, and that a pension. + The nightingale was set aside, + A forward daw his room supplied. +_90 + 'This bird,' says he, 'for business fit, + Hath both sagacity and wit. + With all his turns, and shifts, and tricks, + He's docile, and at nothing sticks. + Then, with his neighbours one so free, + At all times will connive at me.' + The hawk had due distinction shown, + For parts and talents like his own. + Thousands of hireling cocks attends him, + As blustering bullies, to defend him. +_100 + At once the ravens were discarded, + And magpies with their posts rewarded. + 'Those fowls of omen I detest, + That pry into another's nest, + State-lies must lose all good intent; + For they foresee and croak the event. + My friends ne'er think, but talk by rote, + Speak what they're taught, and so to vote.' + 'When rogues like these,' a sparrow cries, + 'To honours and employments rise, +_110 + I court no favour, ask no place; + For such preferment is disgrace. + Within my thatched retreat I find + (What these ne'er feel) true peace of mind.' + + * * * * * + + + FABLE III. + + THE BABOON AND THE POULTRY. + + TO A LEVEE-HUNTER. + + We frequently misplace esteem, + By judging men by what they seem, + To birth, wealth, power, we should allow + Precedence, and our lowest bow. + In that is due distinction shown, + Esteem is virtue's right alone. + With partial eye we're apt to see + The man of noble pedigree. + We're prepossess'd my lord inherits + In some degree his grandsire's merits; +_10 + For those we find upon record: + But find him nothing but my lord. + When we with superficial view, + Gaze on the rich, we're dazzled too. + We know that wealth well understood, + Hath frequent power of doing good: + Then fancy that the thing is done, + As if the power and will were one. + Thus oft the cheated crowd adore + The thriving knaves that keep them poor. +_20 + The cringing train of power survey: + What creatures are so low as they! + With what obsequiousness they bend! + To what vile actions condescend! + Their rise is on their meanness built, + And flattery is their smallest guilt. + What homage, rev'rence, adoration, + In every age, in every nation, + Have sycophants to power addressed! + No matter who the power possessed. +_30 + Let ministers be what they will, + You find their levees always fill. + Even those who have perplexed a state, + Whose actions claim contempt and hate, + Had wretches to applaud their schemes, + Though more absurd than madmen's dreams. + When barbarous Moloch was invoked, + The blood of infants only smoked! + But here (unless all history lies) + Whole realms have been a sacrifice. +_40 + Look through all Courts--'Tis power we find, + The general idol of mankind, + There worshipped under every shape; + Alike the lion, fox, and ape + Are followed by time-serving slaves, + Rich prostitutes, and needy knaves. + Who, then, shall glory in his post? + How frail his pride, how vain his boast! + The followers of his prosperous hour + Are as unstable as his power. +_50 + Power by the breath of flattery nursed, + The more it swells, is nearer burst. + The bubble breaks, the gewgaw ends, + And in a dirty tear descends. + Once on a time, an ancient maid, + By wishes and by time decayed, + To cure the pangs of restless thought, + In birds and beasts amusement sought: + Dogs, parrots, apes, her hours employed; + With these alone she talked and toyed. +_60 + A huge baboon her fancy took, + (Almost a man in size and look,) + He fingered everything he found, + And mimicked all the servants round. + Then, too, his parts and ready wit + Showed him for every business fit. + With all these talents, 'twas but just + That pug should hold a place of trust: + So to her fav'rite was assigned + The charge of all her feathered kind. +_70 + 'Twas his to tend 'em eve and morn, + And portion out their daily corn. + Behold him now with haughty stride, + Assume a ministerial pride. + The morning rose. In hope of picking, + Swans, turkeys, peacocks, ducks and chicken, + Fowls of all ranks surround his hut, + To worship his important strut. + The minister appears. The crowd + Now here, now there, obsequious bowed. +_80 + This praised his parts, and that his face, + T'other his dignity in place. + From bill to bill the flattery ran: + He hears and bears it like a man: + For, when we flatter self-conceit, + We but his sentiments repeat. + If we're too scrupulously just, + What profit's in a place of trust? + The common practice of the great, + Is to secure a snug retreat. +_90 + So pug began to turn his brain + (Like other folks in place) on gain. + An apple-woman's stall was near, + Well stocked with fruits through all the year; + Here every day he crammed his guts, + Hence were his hoards of pears and nuts; + For 'twas agreed (in way of trade) + His payments should in corn be made. + The stock of grain was quickly spent, + And no account which way it went. +_100 + Then, too, the poultry's starved condition + Caused speculations of suspicion. + The facts were proved beyond dispute; + Pug must refund his hoards of fruit: + And, though then minister in chief, + Was branded as a public thief. + Disgraced, despised, confined to chains, + He nothing but his pride retains. + A goose passed by; he knew the face, + Seen every levee while in place. +_110 + 'What, no respect! no reverence shown? + How saucy are these creatures grown! + Not two days since,' says he, 'you bowed + The lowest of my fawning crowd.' + 'Proud fool,' replies the goose,''tis true, + Thy corn a fluttering levee drew! + For that I joined the hungry train, + And sold thee flattery for thy grain. + But then, as now, conceited ape, + We saw thee in thy proper shape.' +_120 + + * * * * * + + + FABLE IV. + + THE ANT IN OFFICE. + + TO A FRIEND. + + You tell me, that you apprehend + My verse may touchy folks offend. + In prudence too you think my rhymes + Should never squint at courtiers' crimes: + For though nor this, nor that is meant, + Can we another's thoughts prevent? + You ask me if I ever knew + Court chaplains thus the lawn pursue. + I meddle not with gown or lawn; + Poets, I grant, to rise must fawn. +_10 + They know great ears are over-nice, + And never shock their patron's vice. + But I this hackney path despise; + 'Tis my ambition not to rise. + If I must prostitute the Muse, + The base conditions I refuse. + I neither flatter nor defame, + Yet own I would bring guilt to shame. + If I corruption's hand expose, + I make corrupted men my foes. +_20 + What then? I hate the paltry tribe; + Be virtue mine; be theirs the bribe. + I no man's property invade; + Corruption's yet no lawful trade. + Nor would it mighty ills produce, + Could I shame bribery out of use, + I know 'twould cramp most politicians, + Were they tied down to these conditions. + 'Twould stint their power, their riches bound, + And make their parts seem less profound. +_30 + Were they denied their proper tools, + How could they lead their knaves and fools? + Were this the case, let's take a view, + What dreadful mischiefs would ensue; + Though it might aggrandise the state, + Could private luxury dine on plate? + Kings might indeed their friends reward, + But ministers find less regard. + Informers, sycophants, and spies, + Would not augment the year's supplies. +_40 + Perhaps, too, take away this prop, + An annual job or two might drop. + Besides, if pensions were denied, + Could avarice support its pride? + It might even ministers confound, + And yet the state be safe and sound. + I care not though 'tis understood + I only mean my country's good: + And (let who will my freedom blame) + I wish all courtiers did the same. +_50 + Nay, though some folks the less might get, + I wish the nation out of debt. + I put no private man's ambition + With public good in competition: + Rather than have our law defaced, + I'd vote a minister disgraced. + I strike at vice, be't where it will; + And what if great folks take it ill? + I hope corruption, bribery, pension, + One may with detestation mention: +_60 + Think you the law (let who will take it) + Can _scandalum magnatum_ make it? + I vent no slander, owe no grudge, + Nor of another's conscience judge: + At him, or him, I take no aim, + Yet dare against all vice declaim. + Shall I not censure breach of trust, + Because knaves know themselves unjust? + That steward, whose account is clear, + Demands his honour may appear: +_70 + His actions never shun the light, + He is, and would be proved upright. + But then you think my fable bears + Allusion, too, to state affairs. + I grant it does: and who's so great, + That has the privilege to cheat? + If, then, in any future reign + (For ministers may thirst for gain;) + Corrupted hands defraud the nation, + I bar no reader's application. +_80 + An ant there was, whose forward prate + Controlled all matters in debate; + Whether he knew the thing or no, + His tongue eternally would go. + For he had impudence at will, + And boasted universal skill. + Ambition was his point in view; + Thus, by degrees, to power he grew. + Behold him now his drift attain: + He's made chief treasurer of the grain. +_90 + But as their ancient laws are just, + And punish breach of public trust, + 'Tis ordered (lest wrong application + Should starve that wise industrious nation) + That all accounts be stated clear, + Their stock, and what defrayed the year: + That auditors should these inspect, 97 + And public rapine thus be checked. + For this the solemn day was set, + The auditors in council met. +_100 + The granary-keeper must explain, + And balance his account of grain. + He brought (since he could not refuse 'em) + Some scraps of paper to amuse 'em. + An honest pismire, warm with zeal, + In justice to the public weal, + Thus spoke: 'The nation's hoard is low, + From whence doth this profusion flow? + I know our annual funds' amount. + Why such expense, and where's the account?' +_110 + With wonted arrogance and pride, + The ant in office thus replied: + 'Consider, sirs, were secrets told, + How could the best-schemed projects hold? + Should we state-mysteries disclose, + 'Twould lay us open to our foes. + My duty and my well-known zeal + Bid me our present schemes conceal. + But on my honour, all the expense + (Though vast) was for the swarm's defence. +_120 + They passed the account as fair and just, + And voted him implicit trust. + Next year again the granary drained, + He thus his innocence maintained: + 'Think how our present matters stand, + What dangers threat from every hand; + What hosts of turkeys stroll for food, + No farmer's wife but hath her brood. + Consider, when invasion's near, + Intelligence must cost us dear; +_130 + And, in this ticklish situation, + A secret told betrays the nation. + But, on my honour, all the expense + (Though vast) was for the swarm's defence.' + Again, without examination, + They thanked his sage administration. + The year revolves. The treasure spent, + Again in secret service went. + His honour too again was pledged, + To satisfy the charge alleged. +_140 + When thus, with panic shame possessed, + An auditor his friends addressed: + 'What are we? Ministerial tools. + We little knaves are greater fools. + At last this secret is explored; + 'Tis our corruption thins the hoard. + For every grain we touched, at least + A thousand his own heaps increased. + Then for his kin, and favourite spies, + A hundred hardly could suffice. +_150 + Thus, for a paltry sneaking bribe, + We cheat ourselves, and all the tribe; + For all the magazine contains, + Grows from our annual toil and pains.' + They vote the account shall be inspected; + The cunning plunderer is detected; + The fraud is sentenced; and his hoard, + As due, to public use restored. + + * * * * * + + + FABLE V. + + THE BEAR IN A BOAT. + + TO A COXCOMB. + + That man must daily wiser grow, + Whose search is bent himself to know; + Impartially he weighs his scope, + And on firm reason founds his hope; + He tries his strength before the race, + And never seeks his own disgrace; + He knows the compass, sail, and oar, + Or never launches from the shore; + Before he builds, computes the cost; + And in no proud pursuit is lost: +_10 + He learns the bounds of human sense, + And safely walks within the fence. + Thus, conscious of his own defect, + Are pride and self-importance check'd. + If then, self-knowledge to pursue, + Direct our life in every view, + Of all the fools that pride can boast, + A coxcomb claims distinction most. + Coxcombs are of all ranks and kind: + They're not to sex or age confined, +_20 + Or rich, or poor, or great, or small; + And vanity besets them all. + By ignorance is pride increased: + Those most assume who know the least; + Their own false balance gives them weight, + But every other finds them light. + Not that all coxcombs' follies strike, + And draw our ridicule alike; + To different merits each pretends. + This in love-vanity transcends; +_30 + That smitten with his face and shape, + By dress distinguishes the ape; + T'other with learning crams his shelf, + Knows books, and all things but himself. + All these are fools of low condition, + Compared with coxcombs of ambition. + For those, puffed up with flattery, dare + Assume a nation's various care. + They ne'er the grossest praise mistrust, + Their sycophants seem hardly just; +_40 + For these, in part alone, attest + The flattery their own thoughts suggest. + In this wide sphere a coxcomb's shown + In other realms beside his own: + The self-deemed Machiavel at large + By turns controls in every charge. + Does commerce suffer in her rights? + 'Tis he directs the naval flights. + What sailor dares dispute his skill? + He'll be an admiral when he will. +_50 + Now meddling in the soldier's trade, + Troops must be hired, and levies made. + He gives ambassadors their cue, + His cobbled treaties to renew; + And annual taxes must suffice + The current blunders to disguise + When his crude schemes in air are lost, + And millions scarce defray the cost, + His arrogance (nought undismayed) + Trusting in self-sufficient aid, +_60 + On other rocks misguides the realm, + And thinks a pilot at the helm. + He ne'er suspects his want of skill, + But blunders on from ill to ill; + And, when he fails of all intent, + Blames only unforeseen event. + Lest you mistake the application, + The fable calls me to relation. + A bear of shag and manners rough, + At climbing trees expert enough; +_70 + For dextrously, and safe from harm, + Year after year he robbed the swarm. + Thus thriving on industrious toil, + He gloried in his pilfered spoil. + This trick so swelled him with conceit, + He thought no enterprise too great. + Alike in sciences and arts, + He boasted universal parts; + Pragmatic, busy, bustling, bold, + His arrogance was uncontrolled: +_80 + And thus he made his party good, + And grew dictator of the wood. + The beasts with admiration stare, + And think him a prodigious bear. + Were any common booty got, + 'Twas his each portion to allot: + For why, he found there might be picking, + Even in the carving of a chicken. + Intruding thus, he by degrees + Claimed too the butcher's larger fees. +_90 + And now his over-weening pride + In every province will preside. + No talk too difficult was found: + His blundering nose misleads the hound. + In stratagem and subtle arts, + He overrules the fox's parts. + It chanced, as, on a certain day, + Along the bank he took his way, + A boat, with rudder, sail, and oar, + At anchor floated near the shore. +_100 + He stopp'd, and turning to his train, + Thus pertly vents his vaunting strain: + 'What blundering puppies are mankind, + In every science always blind! + I mock the pedantry of schools. + What are their compasses and rules? + From me that helm shall conduct learn. + And man his ignorance discern.' + So saying, with audacious pride, + He gains the boat, and climbs the side. +_110 + The beasts astonished, lined the strand, + The anchor's weighed, he drives from land: + The slack sail shifts from side to side; + The boat untrimmed admits the tide, + Borne down, adrift, at random toss'd, + His oar breaks short, the rudder's lost. + The bear, presuming in his skill, + Is here and there officious still; + Till striking on the dangerous sands, + Aground the shattered vessel stands. +_120 + To see the bungler thus distress'd, + The very fishes sneer and jest. + Even gudgeons join in ridicule, + To mortify the meddling fool. + The clamorous watermen appear; + Threats, curses, oaths, insult his ear: + Seized, thrashed, and chained, he's dragged to land; + Derision shouts along the strand. + + * * * * * + + + FABLE VI. + + THE SQUIRE AND HIS CUR. + + TO A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. + + The man of pure and simple heart + Through life disdains a double part. + He never needs the screen of lies + His inward bosom to disguise. + In vain malicious tongues assail; + Let envy snarl, let slander rail, + From virtue's shield (secure from wound) + Their blunted, venomed shafts rebound. + So shines his light before mankind, + His actions prove his honest mind. +_10 + If in his country's cause he rise, + Debating senates to advise, + Unbribed, unawed, he dares impart + The honest dictates of his heart. + No ministerial frown he fears, + But in his virtue perseveres. + But would you play the politician, + Whose heart's averse to intuition, + Your lips at all times, nay, your reason + Must be controlled by place and season. +_20 + What statesman could his power support + Were lying tongues forbid the court? + Did princely ears to truth attend, + What minister could gain his end? + How could he raise his tools to place, + And how his honest foes disgrace? + That politician tops his part, + Who readily can lie with art: + The man's proficient in his trade; + His power is strong, his fortune's made. +_30 + By that the interest of the throne + Is made subservient to his own: + By that have kings of old, deluded, + All their own friends for his excluded. + By that, his selfish schemes pursuing, + He thrives upon the public ruin. + Antiochus,[8] with hardy pace, + Provoked the dangers of the chase; + And, lost from all his menial train, + Traversed the wood and pathless plain. +_40 + A cottage lodged the royal guest! + The Parthian clown brought forth his best. + The king, unknown, his feast enjoyed, + And various chat the hours employed. + From wine what sudden friendship springs! + Frankly they talked of courts and kings. + 'We country-folks,' the clown replies, + 'Could ope our gracious monarch's eyes. + The king, (as all our neighbours say,) + Might he (God bless him) have his way, +_50 + Is sound at heart, and means our good, + And he would do it, if he could. + If truth in courts were not forbid, + Nor kings nor subjects would be rid. + Were he in power, we need not doubt him: + But that transferred to those about him, + On them he throws the regal cares: + And what mind they? Their own affairs. + If such rapacious hands he trust, + The best of men may seem unjust. +_60 + From kings to cobblers 'tis the same: + Bad servants wound their master's fame. + In this our neighbours all agree: + Would the king knew as much as we.' + Here he stopp'd short. Repose they sought, + The peasant slept, the monarch thought. + The courtiers learned, at early dawn, + Where their lost sovereign was withdrawn. + The guards' approach our host alarms, + With gaudy coats the cottage swarms. +_70 + The crown and purple robes they bring, + And prostrate fall before the king. + The clown was called, the royal guest + By due reward his thanks express'd. + The king then, turning to the crowd, + Who fawningly before him bow'd, + Thus spoke: 'Since, bent on private gain, + Your counsels first misled my reign, + Taught and informed by you alone, + No truth the royal ear hath known, +_80 + Till here conversing. Hence, ye crew, + For now I know myself and you.' + Whene'er the royal ear's engross'd, + State-lies but little genius cost. + The favourite then securely robs, + And gleans a nation by his jobs. + Franker and bolder grown in ill, + He daily poisons dares instil; + And, as his present views suggest, + Inflames or soothes the royal breast. +_90 + Thus wicked ministers oppress, + When oft the monarch means redress. + Would kings their private subjects hear, + A minister must talk with fear. + If honesty opposed his views, + He dared not innocence excuse. + 'Twould keep him in such narrow bound, + He could not right and wrong confound. + Happy were kings, could they disclose + Their real friends and real foes! +_100 + Were both themselves and subjects known, + A monarch's will might be his own. + Had he the use of ears and eyes, + Knaves would no more be counted wise. + But then a minister might lose + (Hard case!) his own ambitious views. + When such as these have vexed a state, + Pursued by universal hate, + Their false support at once hath failed, + And persevering truth prevailed. +_110 + Exposed their train of fraud is seen; + Truth will at last remove the screen. + A country squire, by whim directed, + The true stanch dogs of chase neglected. + Beneath his board no hound was fed, + His hand ne'er stroked the spaniel's head. + A snappish cur, alone caress'd, + By lies had banished all the rest. + Yap had his ear; and defamation + Gave him full scope of conversation. +_120 + His sycophants must be preferr'd, + Room must be made for all his herd: + Wherefore, to bring his schemes about, + Old faithful servants all must out. + The cur on every creature flew, + (As other great men's puppies do,) + Unless due court to him were shown, + And both their face and business known, + No honest tongue an audience found: + He worried all the tenants round; +_130 + For why, he lived in constant fear, + Lest truth, by chance, should interfere. + If any stranger dare intrude, + The noisy cur his heels pursued. + Now fierce with rage, now struck with dread, + At once he snarled, bit, and fled. + Aloof he bays, with bristling hair, + And thus in secret growls his fear: + 'Who knows but truth, in this disguise, + May frustrate my best-guarded lies? +_140 + Should she (thus masked) admittance find, + That very hour my ruin's signed.' + Now, in his howl's continued sound, + Their words were lost, their voice was drown'd. + Ever in awe of honest tongues, + Thus every day he strained his lungs. + It happened, in ill-omened hour, + That Yap, unmindful of his power, + Forsook his post, to love inclined; + A favourite bitch was in the wind. +_150 + By her seduced, in amorous play, + They frisked the joyous hours away. + Thus, by untimely love pursuing, + Like Antony, he sought his ruin. + For now the squire, unvexed with noise, + An honest neighbour's chat enjoys. + 'Be free,' says he, 'your mind impart; + I love a friendly open heart. + Methinks my tenants shun my gate; + Why such a stranger grown of late? +_160 + Pray tell me what offence they find: + 'Tis plain they're not so well inclined.' + 'Turn off your cur,' the farmer cries, + 'Who feeds your ear with daily lies. + His snarling insolence offends; 165 + 'Tis he that keeps you from your friends. + Were but that saucy puppy check'd, + You'd find again the same respect. + Hear only him, he'll swear it too, + That all our hatred is to you. +_170 + But learn from us your true estate; + 'Tis that cursed cur alone we hate.' + The squire heard truth. Now Yap rushed in; + The wide hall echoes with his din: + Yet truth prevailed; and with disgrace, + The dog was cudgelled out of place. + + * * * * * + + + FABLE VII. + + THE COUNTRYMAN AND JUPITER. + + TO MYSELF. + + Have you a friend (look round and spy) + So fond, so prepossessed as I? + Your faults, so obvious to mankind, + My partial eyes could never find. + When by the breath of fortune blown, + Your airy castles were o'erthrown; + Have I been over-prone to blame, + Or mortified your hours with shame? + Was I e'er known to damp your spirit, + Or twit you with the want of merit? +_10 + 'Tis not so strange, that Fortune's frown + Still perseveres to keep you down. + Look round, and see what others do. + Would you be rich and honest too? + Have you (like those she raised to place) + Been opportunely mean and base? + Have you (as times required) resigned + Truth, honour, virtue, peace of mind? + If these are scruples, give her o'er; + Write, practise morals, and be poor. +_20 + The gifts of fortune truly rate; + Then tell me what would mend your state. + If happiness on wealth were built, + Rich rogues might comfort find in guilt; + As grows the miser's hoarded store, + His fears, his wants, increase the more. + Think, Gay, (what ne'er may be the case,) + Should fortune take you into grace, + Would that your happiness augment? + What can she give beyond content? +_30 + Suppose yourself a wealthy heir, + With a vast annual income clear! + In all the affluence you possess, + You might not feel one care the less. + Might you not then (like others) find + With change of fortune, change of mind? + Perhaps, profuse beyond all rule, + You might start out a glaring fool; + Your luxury might break all bounds; + Plate, table, horses, stewards, hounds, +_40 + Might swell your debts: then, lust of play + No regal income can defray. + Sunk is all credit, writs assail, + And doom your future life to jail. + Or were you dignified with power, + Would that avert one pensive hour? + You might give avarice its swing, + Defraud a nation, blind a king: + Then, from the hirelings in your cause, + Though daily fed with false applause, +_50 + Could it a real joy impart? + Great guilt knew never joy at heart. + Is happiness your point in view? + (I mean the intrinsic and the true) + She nor in camps or courts resides, + Nor in the humble cottage hides; + Yet found alike in every sphere; + Who finds content, will find her there. + O'erspent with toil, beneath the shade, + A peasant rested on his spade. +_60 + 'Good gods!' he cries, ''tis hard to bear + This load of life from year to year. + Soon as the morning streaks the skies, + Industrious labour bids me rise; + With sweat I earn my homely fare, + And every day renews my care.' + Jove heard the discontented strain, + And thus rebuked the murmuring swain: + 'Speak out your wants then, honest friend: + Unjust complaints the gods offend. +_70 + If you repine at partial fate, + Instruct me what could mend your state. + Mankind in every station see. + What wish you? Tell me what you'd be.' + So said, upborne upon a cloud, + The clown surveyed the anxious crowd. + 'Yon face of care,' says Jove, 'behold, + His bulky bags are filled with gold. + See with what joy he counts it o'er! + That sum to-day hath swelled his store.' +_80 + 'Were I that man,' the peasant cried, + 'What blessing could I ask beside?' + 'Hold,' says the god; 'first learn to know + True happiness from outward show. + This optic glass of intuition---- + Here, take it, view his true condition.' + He looked, and saw the miser's breast, + A troubled ocean, ne'er at rest; + Want ever stares him in the face, + And fear anticipates disgrace: +_90 + With conscious guilt he saw him start; + Extortion gnaws his throbbing heart; + And never, or in thought or dream, + His breast admits one happy gleam. + 'May Jove,' he cries, 'reject my prayer, + And guard my life from guilt and care. + My soul abhors that wretch's fate. + O keep me in my humble state! + But see, amidst a gaudy crowd, + Yon minister, so gay and proud, +_100 + On him what happiness attends, + Who thus rewards his grateful friends!' + 'First take the glass,' the god replies: + 'Man views the world with partial eyes.' + 'Good gods!' exclaims the startled wight, + 'Defend me from this hideous sight! + Corruption, with corrosive smart, + Lies cankering on his guilty heart: + I see him, with polluted hand, + Spread the contagion o'er the land, +_110 + Now avarice with insatiate jaws, + Now rapine with her harpy claws + His bosom tears. His conscious breast + Groans, with a load of crimes oppress'd. + See him, mad and drunk with power, + Stand tottering on ambition's tower. + Sometimes, in speeches vain and proud, + His boasts insult the nether crowd; + Now, seized with giddiness and fear, + He trembles lest his fall is near. +_120 + 'Was ever wretch like this?' he cries; + 'Such misery in such disguise! + The change, O Jove, I disavow; + Still be my lot the spade and plough.' + He next, confirmed by speculation, + Rejects the lawyer's occupation; + For he the statesman seemed in part, + And bore similitude of heart. + Nor did the soldier's trade inflame + His hopes with thirst of spoil and fame, +_130 + The miseries of war he mourned; + Whole nations into deserts turned. + By these have laws and rights been braved; + By these were free-born men enslaved: + When battles and invasion cease, + Why swarm they in a land of peace? + 'Such change,' says he, 'may I decline; + The scythe and civil arms be mine!' + Thus, weighing life in each condition, + The clown withdrew his rash petition. +_140 + When thus the god: 'How mortals err! + If you true happiness prefer, + 'Tis to no rank of life confined, + But dwells in every honest mind. + Be justice then your sole pursuit: + Plant virtue, and content's the fruit.' + So Jove, to gratify the clown, + Where first he found him set him down. + + * * * * * + + + FABLE VIII. + + THE MAN, THE CAT, THE DOG, AND THE FLY. + + TO MY NATIVE COUNTRY. + + Hail, happy land, whose fertile grounds + The liquid fence of Neptune bounds; + By bounteous Nature set apart, + The seat of industry and art! + O Britain! chosen port of trade, + May luxury ne'er thy sons invade; + May never minister (intent + His private treasures to augment) + Corrupt thy state. If jealous foes + Thy rights of commerce dare oppose, +_10 + Shall not thy fleets their rapine awe? + Who is't prescribes the ocean law? + Whenever neighbouring states contend, + 'Tis thine to be the general friend. + What is't, who rules in other lands? + On trade alone thy glory stands. + That benefit is unconfined, + Diffusing good among mankind: + That first gave lustre to thy reigns, + And scattered plenty o'er thy plains: +_20 + 'Tis that alone thy wealth supplies, + And draws all Europe's envious eyes. + Be commerce then thy sole design; + Keep that, and all the world is thine. + When naval traffic ploughs the main, + Who shares not in the merchant's gain? + 'Tis that supports the regal state, + And makes the farmer's heart elate: + The numerous flocks, that clothe the land, + Can scarce supply the loom's demand; +_30 + Prolific culture glads the fields, + And the bare heath a harvest yields. + Nature expects mankind should share + The duties of the public care. + Who's born for sloth?[9] To some we find + The ploughshare's annual toil assign'd. + Some at the sounding anvil glow; + Some the swift-sliding shuttle throw; + Some, studious of the wind and tide, + From pole to pole our commerce guide: +_40 + Some (taught by industry) impart + With hands and feet the works of art; + While some, of genius more refined, + With head and tongue assist mankind: + Each, aiming at one common end, + Proves to the whole a needful friend. + Thus, born each other's useful aid, + By turns are obligations paid. + The monarch, when his table's spread, + Is to the clown obliged for bread; +_50 + And when in all his glory dress'd, + Owes to the loom his royal vest. + Do not the mason's toil and care + Protect him from the inclement air? + Does not the cutler's art supply + The ornament that guards his thigh? + All these, in duty to the throne, + Their common obligations own. + 'Tis he (his own and people's cause) + Protects their properties and laws. +_60 + Thus they their honest toil employ, + And with content their fruits enjoy. + In every rank, or great or small, + 'Tis industry supports us all. + The animals by want oppressed, + To man their services addressed; + While each pursued their selfish good, + They hungered for precarious food. + Their hours with anxious cares were vex'd; + One day they fed, and starved the next. +_70 + They saw that plenty, sure and rife, + Was found alone in social life; + That mutual industry professed, + The various wants of man redressed. + The cat, half-famished, lean and weak, + Demands the privilege to speak. + 'Well, puss,' says man, 'and what can you + To benefit the public do?' + The cat replies: 'These teeth, these claws, + With vigilance shall serve the cause. +_80 + The mouse destroyed by my pursuit, + No longer shall your feasts pollute; + Nor rats, from nightly ambuscade, + With wasteful teeth your stores invade.' + 'I grant,' says man, 'to general use + Your parts and talents may conduce; + For rats and mice purloin our grain, + And threshers whirl the flail in vain: + Thus shall the cat, a foe to spoil, + Protect the farmer's honest toil,' +_90 + Then, turning to the dog, he cried, + 'Well, sir; be next your merits tried.' + 'Sir,' says the dog, 'by self-applause + We seem to own a friendless cause. + Ask those who know me, if distrust + E'er found me treacherous or unjust? + Did I e'er faith or friendship break? + Ask all those creatures; let them speak. + My vigilance and trusty zeal + Perhaps might serve the public weal. +_100 + Might not your flocks in safety feed, + Were I to guard the fleecy breed? + Did I the nightly watches keep, + Could thieves invade you while you sleep?' + The man replies: ''Tis just and right; + Rewards such service should requite. + So rare, in property, we find + Trust uncorrupt among mankind, + That, taken, in a public view, + The first distinction is your due. +_110 + Such merits all reward transcend: + Be then my comrade and my friend.' + Addressing now the fly: 'From you + What public service can accrue?' + 'From me!' the flutt'ring insect said; + 'I thought you knew me better bred. + Sir, I'm a gentleman. Is't fit + That I to industry submit? + Let mean mechanics, to be fed + By business earn ignoble bread. +_120 + Lost in excess of daily joys, + No thought, no care my life annoys, + At noon (the lady's matin hour) + I sip the tea's delicious flower. + On cakes luxuriously I dine, + And drink the fragrance of the vine. + Studious of elegance and ease, + Myself alone I seek to please.' + The man his pert conceit derides, + And thus the useless coxcomb chides: +_130 + 'Hence, from that peach, that downy seat, + No idle fool deserves to eat. + Could you have sapped the blushing rind, + And on that pulp ambrosial dined, + Had not some hand with skill and toil, + To raise the tree, prepared the soil? + Consider, sot, what would ensue, + Were all such worthless things as you. + You'd soon be forced (by hunger stung) + To make your dirty meals on dung; +_140 + On which such despicable need, + Unpitied, is reduced to feed; + Besides, vain selfish insect, learn + (If you can right and wrong discern) + That he who, with industrious zeal, + Contributes to the public weal, + By adding to the common good, + His own hath rightly understood.' + So saying, with a sudden blow, + He laid the noxious vagrant low. +_150 + Crushed in his luxury and pride, + The spunger on the public died. + + * * * * * + + + FABLE IX. + + THE JACKALL, LEOPARD, AND OTHER BEASTS + + TO A MODERN POLITICIAN. + + I grant corruption sways mankind; + That interest too perverts the mind; + That bribes have blinded common sense, + Foiled reason, truth, and eloquence: + I grant you too, our present crimes + Can equal those of former times. + Against plain facts shall I engage, + To vindicate our righteous age? + I know, that in a modern fist, + Bribes in full energy subsist. +_10 + Since then these arguments prevail, + And itching palms are still so frail, + Hence politicians, you suggest, + Should drive the nail that goes the best; + That it shows parts and penetration, + To ply men with the right temptation. + To this I humbly must dissent; + Premising no reflection's meant. + Does justice or the client's sense + Teach lawyers either side's defence? +_20 + The fee gives eloquence its spirit; + That only is the client's merit. + Does art, wit, wisdom, or address, + Obtain the prostitute's caress? + The guinea (as in other trades) + From every hand alike persuades. + Man, Scripture says, is prone to evil, + But does that vindicate the devil? + Besides, the more mankind are prone, + The less the devil's parts are shown. +_30 + Corruption's not of modern date; + It hath been tried in every state. + Great knaves of old their power have fenced, + By places, pensions, bribes, dispensed; + By these they gloried in success, + And impudently dared oppress; + By these despoticly they swayed, + And slaves extolled the hand that paid; + Nor parts, nor genius were employed, + By these alone were realms destroyed. +_40 + Now see these wretches in disgrace, + Stripp'd of their treasures, power, and place; + View them abandoned and forlorn, + Exposed to just reproach and scorn. + What now is all your pride, your boast? + Where are your slaves, your flattering host? + What tongues now feed you with applause? + Where are the champions of your cause? + Now even that very fawning train + Which shared the gleanings of your gain, +_50 + Press foremost who shall first accuse + Your selfish jobs, your paltry views, + Your narrow schemes, your breach of trust, + And want of talents to be just. + What fools were these amidst their power! + How thoughtless of their adverse hour! + What friends were made? A hireling herd, + For temporary votes preferr'd. + Was it, these sycophants to get, + Your bounty swelled a nation's debt? +_60 + You're bit. For these, like Swiss attend; + No longer pay, no longer friend. + The lion is, beyond dispute, + Allowed the most majestic brute; + His valour and his generous mind + Prove him superior of his kind. + Yet to jackals (as 'tis averred) + Some lions have their power transferred; + As if the parts of pimps and spies + To govern forests could suffice. +_70 + Once, studious of his private good, + A proud jackal oppressed the wood; + To cram his own insatiate jaws, 73 + Invaded property and laws; + The forest groans with discontent, + Fresh wrongs the general hate foment, + The spreading murmurs reached his ear; + His secret hours were vexed with fear. + Night after night he weighs the case, + And feels the terrors of disgrace. +_80 + 'By friends,' says he, 'I'll guard my seat, + By those malicious tongues defeat: + I'll strengthen power by new allies, + And all my clamorous foes despise.' + To make the generous beasts his friends, + He cringes, fawns, and condescends; + But those repulsed his abject court, + And scorned oppression to support. + Friends must be had. He can't subsist. + Bribes shall new proselytes inlist. +_90 + But these nought weighed in honest paws; + For bribes confess a wicked cause: + Yet think not every paw withstands + What had prevailed in human hands. + A tempting turnip's silver skin + Drew a base hog through thick and thin: + Bought with a stag's delicious haunch, + The mercenary wolf was stanch: + The convert fox grew warm and hearty, + A pullet gained him to the party; +_100 + The golden pippin in his fist, + A chattering monkey joined the list. + But soon exposed to public hate, + The favourite's fall redressed the state. + The leopard, vindicating right, + Had brought his secret frauds to light, + As rats, before the mansion falls, + Desert late hospitable walls, + In shoals the servile creatures run, + To bow before the rising sun. +_110 + The hog with warmth expressed his zeal, + And was for hanging those that steal; + But hoped, though low, the public hoard + Might half a turnip still afford. + Since saving measures were profess'd, + A lamb's head was the wolf's request. + The fox submitted if to touch + A gosling would be deemed too much. + The monkey thought his grin and chatter, + Might ask a nut or some such matter. +_120 + 'Ye hirelings, hence,' the leopard cries; + 'Your venal conscience I despise. + He who the public good intends, + By bribes needs never purchase friends. + Who acts this just, this open part, + Is propp'd by every honest heart. + Corruption now too late hath showed, + That bribes are always ill-bestowed, + By you your bubbled master's taught, + Time-serving tools, not friends, are bought.' +_130 + + * * * * * + + + FABLE X. + + THE DEGENERATE BEES. + + TO THE REVEREND DR SWIFT, DEAN OF ST PATRICK'S. + + Though Courts the practice disallow, + A friend at all times I'll avow. + In politics I know 'tis wrong: + A friendship may be kept too long; + And what they call the prudent part, + Is to wear interest next the heart, + As the times take a different face, + Old friendships should to new give place. + I know too you have many foes, + That owning you is sharing those, +_10 + That every knave in every station, + Of high and low denomination, + For what you speak, and what you write, + Dread you at once, and bear you spite. + Such freedoms in your works are shown + They can't enjoy what's not their own; + All dunces too, in church and state, + In frothy nonsense show their hate; + With all the petty scribbling crew, + (And those pert sots are not a few,) +_20 + 'Gainst you and Pope their envy spurt, + The booksellers alone are hurt. + Good gods! by what a powerful race + (For blockheads may have power and place) + Are scandals raised and libels writ! + To prove your honesty and wit! + Think with yourself: Those worthy men, + You know, have suffered by your pen. + From them you've nothing but your due. + From thence, 'tis plain, your friends are few. +_30 + Except myself, I know of none, + Besides the wise and good alone. + To set the case in fairer light, + My fable shall the rest recite; + Which (though unlike our present state) + I for the moral's sake relate. + A bee of cunning, not of parts, + Luxurious, negligent of arts, + Rapacious, arrogant, and vain, + Greedy of power, but more of gain, +_40 + Corruption sowed throughout the hive, + By petty rogues the great ones thrive. + As power and wealth his views supplied, + 'Twas seen in over-bearing pride. + With him loud impudence had merit; + The bee of conscience wanted spirit; + And those who followed honour's rules, + Were laughed to scorn for squeamish fools, + Wealth claimed distinction, favour, grace; + And poverty alone was base. +_50 + He treated industry with slight, + Unless he found his profit by't. + Eights, laws, and liberties gave way, + To bring his selfish schemes in play. + The swarm forgot the common toil, + To share the gleanings of his spoil. + 'While vulgar souls of narrow parts, + Waste life in low mechanic arts, + Let us,' says he, 'to genius born, + The drudgery of our fathers scorn. +_60 + The wasp and drone, you must agree, + Live with more elegance than we. + Like gentlemen they sport and play; + No business interrupts the day; + Their hours to luxury they give, + And nobly on their neighbours live.' + A stubborn bee, among the swarm, + With honest indignation warm, + Thus from his cell with zeal replied: + 'I slight thy frowns, and hate thy pride. +_70 + The laws our native rights protect; + Offending thee, I those respect. + Shall luxury corrupt the hive, + And none against the torrent strive? + Exert the honour of your race; + He builds his rise on your disgrace. + 'Tis industry our state maintains: + 'Twas honest toils and honest gains + That raised our sires to power and fame. + Be virtuous; save yourselves from shame. +_80 + Know, that in selfish ends pursuing, + You scramble for the public ruin.' + He spoke; and from his cell dismissed, + Was insolently scoffed and hissed. + With him a friend or two resigned, + Disdaining the degenerate kind. + 'These drones,' says he, 'these insects vile, + (I treat them in their proper style,) + May for a time oppress the state, + They own our virtue by their hate; +_90 + By that our merits they reveal, + And recommend our public zeal; + Disgraced by this corrupted crew, + We're honoured by the virtuous few.' + + * * * * * + + + + FABLE XI. + + THE PACK-HORSE AND THE CARRIER. + + TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN. + + Begin, my lord, in early youth, + To suffer, nay, encourage truth: + And blame me not for disrespect, + If I the flatterer's style reject; + With that, by menial tongues supplied, + You're daily cocker'd up in pride. + The tree's distinguished by the fruit, + Be virtue then your sole pursuit; + Set your great ancestors in view, + Like them deserve the title too; +_10 + Like them ignoble actions scorn: + Let virtue prove you greatly born. + Though with less plate their sideboard shone, + Their conscience always was their own; + They ne'er at levees meanly fawned, + Nor was their honour yearly pawned; + Their hands, by no corruption stained, + The ministerial bribe disdained; + They served the crown with loyal zeal; + Yet, jealous of the public weal, +_20 + They stood the bulwark of our laws, + And wore at heart their country's cause; + By neither place or pension bought, + They spoke and voted as they thought. + Thus did your sires adorn their seat; + And such alone are truly great. + If you the paths of learning slight, + You're but a dunce in stronger light; + In foremost rank the coward placed, + Is more conspicuously disgraced. +_30 + If you to serve a paltry end, + To knavish jobs can condescend, + We pay you the contempt that's due; + In that you have precedence too. + Whence had you this illustrious name? + From virtue and unblemished fame. + By birth the name alone descends; + Your honour on yourself depends: + Think not your coronet can hide + Assuming ignorance and pride. +_40 + Learning by study must be won, + 'Twas ne'er entailed from son to son. + Superior worth your rank requires; + For that mankind reveres your sires; + If you degenerate from your race, + Their merits heighten your disgrace. + A carrier, every night and morn, + Would see his horses eat their corn: + This sunk the hostler's vails, 'tis true; + But then his horses had their due. +_50 + Were we so cautious in all cases, + Small gain would rise from greater places. + The manger now had all its measure; + He heard the grinding teeth with pleasure; + When all at once confusion rung; + They snorted, jostled, bit, and flung: + A pack-horse turned his head aside, + Foaming, his eye-balls swelled with pride. + 'Good gods!' says he, 'how hard's my lot! + Is then my high descent forgot? +_60 + Reduced to drudgery and disgrace, + (A life unworthy of my race,) + Must I too bear the vile attacks + Of rugged scrubs, and vulgar hacks? + See scurvy Roan, that brute ill-bred, + Dares from the manger thrust my head! + Shall I, who boast a noble line, + On offals of these creatures dine? + Kicked by old Ball! so mean a foe! + My honour suffers by the blow. +_70 + Newmarket speaks my grandsire's fame, + All jockies still revere his name: + There yearly are his triumphs told, + There all his massy plates enrolled. + Whene'er led forth upon the plain, + You saw him with a livery train; + Returning too with laurels crowned, + You heard the drums and trumpets sound. + Let it then, sir, be understood, + Respect's my due; for I have blood.' +_80 + 'Vain-glorious fool!' the carrier cried, + 'Respect was never paid to pride. + Know, 'twas thy giddy wilful heart + Reduced thee to this slavish part. + Did not thy headstrong youth disdain + To learn the conduct of the rein? + Thus coxcombs, blind to real merit, + In vicious frolics fancy spirit. + What is't to me by whom begot? + Thou restive, pert, conceited sot. +_90 + Your sires I reverence; 'tis their due: + But, worthless fool, what's that to you? + Ask all the carriers on the road, + They'll say thy keeping's ill bestowed. + Then vaunt no more thy noble race, + That neither mends thy strength or pace. + What profits me thy boast of blood? + An ass hath more intrinsic good. + By outward show let's not be cheated; + An ass should like an ass be treated.' +_100 + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XII. + + PAN AND FORTUNE. + + TO A YOUNG HEIR. + + Soon as your father's death was known, + (As if the estate had been their own) + The gamesters outwardly express'd + The decent joy within your breast. + So lavish in your praise they grew, + As spoke their certain hopes in you. + One counts your income of the year, + How much in ready money clear. + 'No house,' says he, 'is more complete; + The garden's elegant and great. +_10 + How fine the park around it lies! + The timber's of a noble size! + Then count his jewels and his plate. + Besides, 'tis no entailed estate. + If cash run low, his lands in fee + Are, or for sale, or mortgage free.' + Thus they, before you threw the main, + Seem to anticipate their gain. + Would you, when thieves were known abroad, + Bring forth your treasures in the road? +_20 + Would not the fool abet the stealth, + Who rashly thus exposed his wealth? + Yet this you do, whene'er you play + Among the gentlemen of prey. + Could fools to keep their own contrive, + On what, on whom could gamesters thrive? + Is it in charity you game, + To save your worthy gang from shame? + Unless you furnished daily bread, + Which way could idleness be fed? +_30 + Could these professors of deceit + Within the law no longer cheat, + They must run bolder risks for prey, + And strip the traveller on the way. + Thus in your annual rents they share, + And 'scape the noose from year to year. + Consider, ere you make the bet, + That sum might cross your tailor's debt. + When you the pilfering rattle shake, + Is not your honour too at stake? +_40 + Must you not by mean lies evade + To-morrow's duns from every trade? + By promises so often paid, + Is yet your tailor's bill defrayed? + Must you not pitifully fawn, + To have your butcher's writ withdrawn? + This must be done. In debts of play + Your honour suffers no delay: + And not this year's and next year's rent + The sons of rapine can content. +_50 + Look round. The wrecks of play behold, + Estates dismembered, mortgaged, sold! + Their owners, not to jails confined, + Show equal poverty of mind. + Some, who the spoil of knaves were made, + Too late attempt to learn their trade. + Some, for the folly of one hour, + Become the dirty tools of power, + And, with the mercenary list, + Upon court-charity subsist. +_60 + You'll find at last this maxim true, + Fools are the game which knaves pursue. + The forest (a whole century's shade) + Must be one wasteful ruin made. + No mercy's shewn to age or kind; + The general massacre is signed. + The park too shares the dreadful fate, + For duns grow louder at the gate, + Stern clowns, obedient to the squire, + (What will not barbarous hands for hire?) +_70 + With brawny arms repeat the stroke. + Fallen are the elm and reverend oak. + Through the long wood loud axes sound, + And echo groans with every wound. + To see the desolation spread, + Pan drops a tear, and hangs his head: + His bosom now with fury burns: + Beneath his hoof the dice he spurns. + Cards, too, in peevish passion torn, + The sport of whirling winds are borne. +_80 + 'To snails inveterate hate I bear, + Who spoil the verdure of the year; + The caterpillar I detest, + The blooming spring's voracious pest; + The locust too, whose ravenous band + Spreads sudden famine o'er the land. + But what are these? The dice's throw + At once hath laid a forest low. + The cards are dealt, the bet is made, + And the wide park hath lost its shade. +_90 + Thus is my kingdom's pride defaced, + And all its ancient glories waste. + All this,' he cries, 'is Fortune's doing: + 'Tis thus she meditates my ruin. + By Fortune, that false, fickle jade, + More havoc in one hour is made, + Than all the hungry insect race, + Combined, can in an age deface.' + Fortune, by chance, who near him pass'd, + O'erheard the vile aspersion cast. +_100 + 'Why, Pan,' says she, 'what's all this rant? + 'Tis every country-bubble's cant; + Am I the patroness of vice? + Is't I who cog or palm the dice? + Did I the shuffling art reveal, 105 + To mark the cards, or range the deal? + In all the employments men pursue, + I mind the least what gamesters do. + There may (if computation's just) + One now and then my conduct trust: +_110 + I blame the fool, for what can I, + When ninety-nine my power defy? + These trust alone their fingers' ends, + And not one stake on me depends. + Whene'er the gaming board is set, + Two classes of mankind are met: + But if we count the greedy race, + The knaves fill up the greater space. + 'Tis a gross error, held in schools, + That Fortune always favours fools. +_120 + In play it never bears dispute; + That doctrine these felled oaks confute. + Then why to me such rancour show? + 'Tis folly, Pan, that is thy foe. + By me his late estate he won, + But he by folly was undone.' + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XIII. + + PLUTUS, CUPID, AND TIME. + + Of all the burdens man must bear, + Time seems most galling and severe: + Beneath this grievous load oppressed, + We daily meet some friend distressed. + 'What can one do? I rose at nine. + 'Tis full six hours before we dine: + Six hours! no earthly thing to do! + Would I had dozed in bed till two.' + A pamphlet is before him spread, + And almost half a page is read; +_10 + Tired with the study of the day, + The fluttering sheets are tossed away. + He opes his snuff-box, hums an air, + Then yawns, and stretches in his chair. + 'Not twenty, by the minute hand! + Good gods:' says he, 'my watch must stand! + How muddling 'tis on books to pore! + I thought I'd read an hour or more, + The morning, of all hours, I hate. + One can't contrive to rise too late.' +_20 + To make the minutes faster run, + Then too his tiresome self to shun, + To the next coffee-house he speeds, + Takes up the news, some scraps he reads. + Sauntering, from chair to chair he trails; + Now drinks his tea, now bites his nails. + He spies a partner of his woe; + By chat afflictions lighter grow; + Each other's grievances they share, + And thus their dreadful hours compare. +_30 + Says Tom, 'Since all men must confess, + That time lies heavy more or less; + Why should it be so hard to get + Till two, a party at piquet? + Play might relieve the lagging morn: + By cards long wintry nights are borne: + Does not quadrille amuse the fair, + Night after night, throughout the year? + Vapours and spleen forgot, at play + They cheat uncounted hours away.' +_40 + 'My case,' says Will, 'then must be hard + By want of skill from play debarred. + Courtiers kill time by various ways; + Dependence wears out half their days. + How happy these, whose time ne'er stands! + Attendance takes it off their hands. + Were it not for this cursed shower + The park had whiled away an hour. + At Court, without or place or view, + I daily lose an hour or two; +_50 + It fully answers my design, + When I have picked up friends to dine, + The tavern makes our burden light; + Wine puts our time and care to flight. + At six (hard case!) they call to pay. + Where can one go? I hate the play. + From six till ten! Unless in sleep, + One cannot spend the hours so cheap. + The comedy's no sooner done, + But some assembly is begun; +_60 + Loit'ring from room to room I stray; + Converse, but nothing hear or say: + Quite tired, from fair to fair I roam. + So soon: I dread the thoughts of home. + From thence, to quicken slow-paced night, + Again my tavern-friends invite: + Here too our early mornings pass, + Till drowsy sleep retards the glass.' + Thus they their wretched life bemoan, + And make each other's case their own. +_70 + Consider, friends, no hour rolls on, + But something of your grief is gone. + Were you to schemes of business bred, + Did you the paths of learning tread. + Your hours, your days, would fly too fast; + You'd then regret the minute past, + Time's fugitive and light as wind! + 'Tis indolence that clogs your mind! + That load from off your spirits shake; + You'll own and grieve for your mistake; +_80 + A while your thoughtless spleen suspend, + Then read, and (if you can) attend. + As Plutus, to divert his care, + Walked forth one morn to take the air, + Cupid o'ertook his strutting pace, + Each stared upon the stranger's face, + Till recollection set them right; + For each knew t'other but by sight. + After some complimental talk, + Time met them, bowed, and joined their walk. +_90 + Their chat on various subjects ran, + But most, what each had done for man. + Plutus assumes a haughty air, + Just like our purse-proud fellows here. + 'Let kings,' says he, 'let cobblers tell, + Whose gifts among mankind excel. + Consider Courts: what draws their train? + Think you 'tis loyalty or gain? + That statesman hath the strongest hold, + Whose tool of politics is gold. +_100 + By that, in former reigns, 'tis said, + The knave in power hath senates led. + By that alone he swayed debates, + Enriched himself and beggared states. + Forego your boast. You must conclude, + That's most esteemed that's most pursued. + Think too, in what a woful plight + That wretch must live whose pocket's light. + Are not his hours by want depress'd? + Penurious care corrodes his breast. +_110 + Without respect, or love, or friends, + His solitary day descends.' + 'You might,' says Cupid, 'doubt my parts, + My knowledge too in human hearts, + Should I the power of gold dispute, + Which great examples might confute. + I know, when nothing else prevails, + Persuasive money seldom fails; + That beauty too (like other wares) + Its price, as well as conscience, bears. +_120 + Then marriage (as of late profess'd) + Is but a money-job at best. + Consent, compliance may be sold: + But love's beyond the price of gold. + Smugglers there are, who by retail, + Expose what they call love, to sale, + Such bargains are an arrant cheat: + You purchase flattery and deceit. + Those who true love have ever tried, + (The common cares of life supplied,) +_130 + No wants endure, no wishes make, + But every real joy partake, + All comfort on themselves depends; + They want nor power, nor wealth, nor friends. + Love then hath every bliss in store: + 'Tis friendship, and 'tis something more. + Each other every wish they give, + Not to know love, is not to live.' + 'Or love, or money,' Time replied, + 'Were men the question to decide, +_140 + Would bear the prize: on both intent, + My boon's neglected or misspent. + 'Tis I who measure vital space, + And deal out years to human race. + Though little prized, and seldom sought, + Without me love and gold are nought. + How does the miser time employ? + Did I e'er see him life enjoy? + By me forsook, the hoards he won, + Are scattered by his lavish son. +_150 + By me all useful arts are gained; + Wealth, learning, wisdom is attained. + Who then would think (since such, my power) + That e'er I knew an idle hour? + So subtle and so swift I fly, + Love's not more fugitive than I. + Who hath not heard coquettes complain + Of days, months, years, misspent in vain? + For time misused they pine and waste, + And love's sweet pleasures never taste. +_160 + Those who direct their time aright, + If love or wealth their hopes excite, + In each pursuit fit hours employed, + And both by Time have been enjoyed. + How heedless then are mortals grown! + How little is their interest known? + In every view they ought to mind me; + For when once lost they never find me.' + He spoke. The gods no more contest, + And his superior gift confess'd; +_170 + That time when (truly understood) + Is the most precious earthly good. + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XIV. + + THE OWL, THE SWAN, THE COCK, THE SPIDER, THE + ASS, AND THE FARMER. + + TO A MOTHER. + + Conversing with your sprightly boys, + Your eyes have spoke the mother's joys. + With what delight I've heard you quote + Their sayings in imperfect note! + I grant, in body and in mind, + Nature appears profusely kind. + Trust not to that. Act you your part; + Imprint just morals on their heart, + Impartially their talents scan: + Just education forms the man. +_10 + Perhaps (their genius yet unknown) + Each lot of life's already thrown; + That this shall plead, the next shall fight, + The last assert the church's right. + I censure not the fond intent; + But how precarious is the event! + By talents misapplied and cross'd, + Consider, all your sons are lost. + One day (the tale's by Martial penned) + A father thus addressed his friend: +_20 + 'To train my boy, and call forth sense, + You know I've stuck at no expense; + I've tried him in the several arts, + (The lad no doubt hath latent parts,) + Yet trying all, he nothing knows; + But, crab-like, rather backward goes. + Teach me what yet remains undone; + 'Tis your advice shall fix my son.' + 'Sir,' says the friend, 'I've weighed the matter; + Excuse me, for I scorn to flatter: +_30 + Make him (nor think his genius checked) + A herald or an architect.' + Perhaps (as commonly 'tis known) + He heard the advice, and took his own. + The boy wants wit; he's sent to school, + Where learning but improves the fool: + The college next must give him parts, + And cram him with the liberal arts. + Whether he blunders at the bar, + Or owes his infamy to war; +_40 + Or if by licence or degree + The sexton shares the doctor's fee: + Or from the pulpit by the hour + He weekly floods of nonsense pour; + We find (the intent of nature foiled) + A tailor or a butcher spoiled. + Thus ministers have royal boons + Conferred on blockheads and buffoons: + In spite of nature, merit, wit, + Their friends for every post were fit. +_50 + But now let every Muse confess + That merit finds its due success. + The examples of our days regard; + Where's virtue seen without reward? + Distinguished and in place you find + Desert and worth of every kind. + Survey the reverend bench, and see, + Religion, learning, piety: + The patron, ere he recommends, + Sees his own image in his friends. +_60 + Is honesty disgraced and poor? + What is't to us what was before? + We all of times corrupt have heard, + When paltry minions were preferred; + When all great offices by dozens, + Were filled by brothers, sons, and cousins. + What matter ignorance and pride? + The man was happily allied. + Provided that his clerk was good, + What though he nothing understood? +_70 + In church and state, the sorry race + Grew more conspicuous fools in place. + Such heads, as then a treaty made, + Had bungled in the cobbler's trade. + Consider, patrons, that such elves, + Expose your folly with themselves. + 'Tis yours, as 'tis the parent's care, + To fix each genius in its sphere. + Your partial hand can wealth dispense, + But never give a blockhead sense. +_80 + An owl of magisterial air, + Of solemn voice, of brow austere, + Assumed the pride of human race, + And bore his wisdom in his face; + Not to depreciate learned eyes, + I've seen a pedant look as wise. + Within a barn, from noise retired, + He scorned the world, himself admired; + And, like an ancient sage, concealed + The follies public life revealed. +_90 + Philosophers of old, he read, + Their country's youth to science bred, + Their manners formed for every station, + And destined each his occupation. + When Xenophon, by numbers braved, + Retreated, and a people saved, + That laurel was not all his own; + The plant by Socrates was sown; + To Aristotle's greater name + The Macedonian[10] owed his fame. +_100 + The Athenian bird, with pride replete, + Their talents equalled in conceit; + And, copying the Socratic rule, + Set up for master of a school. + Dogmatic jargon learnt by heart, + Trite sentences, hard terms of art, + To vulgar ears seemed so profound, + They fancied learning in the sound. + The school had fame: the crowded place + With pupils swarmed of every race. +_110 + With these the swan's maternal care + Had sent her scarce-fledged cygnet heir: + The hen (though fond and loath to part) + Here lodged the darling of her heart: + The spider, of mechanic kind, + Aspired to science more refined: + The ass learnt metaphors and tropes, + But most on music fixed his hopes. + The pupils now advanced in age, + Were called to tread life's busy stage. +_120 + And to the master 'twas submitted, + That each might to his part be fitted. + 'The swan,' says he, 'in arms shall shine: + The soldier's glorious toil be thine. + The cock shall mighty wealth attain: + Go, seek it on the stormy main. + The Court shall be the spider's sphere: + Power, fortune, shall reward him there. + In music's art the ass's fame + Shall emulate Corelli's[1] name. +_130 + Each took the part that he advised, + And all were equally despised; + A farmer, at his folly moved, + The dull preceptor thus reproved: + 'Blockhead,' says he, 'by what you've done, + One would have thought 'em each your son: + For parents, to their offspring blind, + Consult, nor parts, nor turn of mind; + But even in infancy decree + What this, what t'other son should be. +_140 + Had you with judgment weighed the case, + Their genius thus had fixed their place: + The swan had learnt the sailor's art; + The cock had played the soldier's part; + The spider in the weaver's trade + With credit had a fortune made; + But for the fool, in every class + The blockhead had appeared an ass.' + + * * * * * + + + FABLE XV. + + THE COOK-MAID, THE TURNSPIT, AND THE OX. + + TO A POOR MAN. + + Consider man in every sphere, + Then tell me is your lot severe? + 'Tis murmur, discontent, distrust, + That makes you wretched. God is just. + I grant, that hunger must be fed, + That toil too earns thy daily bread. + What then? Thy wants are seen and known, + But every mortal feels his own. + We're born a restless, needy crew: + Show me the happier man than you. +_10 + Adam, though blest above his kind, + For want of social woman pined, + Eve's wants the subtle serpent saw, + Her fickle taste transgressed the law: + Thus fell our sires; and their disgrace + The curse entailed on human race. + When Philip's son, by glory led, + Had o'er the globe his empire spread; + When altars to his name were dressed, + That he was man, his tears confessed. +_20 + The hopes of avarice are check'd: + The proud man always wants respect. + What various wants on power attend! + Ambition never gains its end. + Who hath not heard the rich complain + Of surfeits and corporeal pain? + He, barred from every use of wealth, + Envies the ploughman's strength and health. + Another in a beauteous wife + Finds all the miseries of life: +_30 + Domestic jars and jealous fear + Embitter all his days with care. + This wants an heir, the line is lost: + Why was that vain entail engross'd? + Canst thou discern another's mind? + Why is't you envy? Envy's blind. + Tell Envy, when she would annoy, + That thousands want what you enjoy. + 'The dinner must be dished at one. + Where's this vexatious turnspit gone? +_40 + Unless the skulking cur is caught, + The sirloin's spoiled, and I'm in fault.' + Thus said: (for sure you'll think it fit + That I the cook-maid's oaths omit) + With all the fury of a cook, + Her cooler kitchen Nan forsook. + The broomstick o'er her head she waves; + She sweats, she stamps, she puffs, she raves. + The sneaking cur before her flies: + She whistles, calls; fair speech she tries. +_50 + These nought avail. Her choler burns; + The fist and cudgel threat by turns; + With hasty stride she presses near; + He slinks aloof, and howls with fear. + 'Was ever cur so cursed!' he cried, + 'What star did at my birth preside? + Am I for life by compact bound + To tread the wheel's eternal round? + Inglorious task! Of all our race + No slave is half so mean and base. +_60 + Had fate a kinder lot assigned, + And formed me of the lap-dog kind, + I then, in higher life employed, + Had indolence and ease enjoyed; + And, like a gentleman, caress'd, + Had been the lady's favourite guest. + Or were I sprung from spaniel line, + Was his sagacious nostril mine, + By me, their never-erring guide, + From wood and plain their feasts supplied +_70 + Knights, squires, attendant on my pace, + Had shared the pleasures of the chase. + Endued with native strength and fire, + Why called I not the lion sire? + A lion! such mean views I scorn. + Why was I not of woman born? + Who dares with reason's power contend? + On man we brutal slaves depend: + To him all creatures tribute pays, + And luxury employs his days.' +_80 + An ox by chance o'erheard his moan, + And thus rebuked the lazy drone: + 'Dare you at partial fate repine? + How kind's your lot compared with mine! + Decreed to toil, the barbarous knife + Hath severed me from social life; + Urged by the stimulating goad, + I drag the cumbrous waggon's load: + 'Tis mine to tame the stubborn plain, + Break the stiff soil, and house the grain; +_90 + Yet I without a murmur bear + The various labours of the year. + But then consider, that one day, + (Perhaps the hour's not far away,) + You, by the duties of your post, + Shall turn the spit when I'm the roast: + And for reward shall share the feast; + I mean, shall pick my bones at least.' + ''Till now,' the astonished cur replies, + 'I looked on all with envious eyes. +_100 + How false we judge by what appears! + All creatures feel their several cares. + If thus yon mighty beast complains, + Perhaps man knows superior pains. + Let envy then no more torment: + Think on the ox, and learn content.' + Thus said: close following at her heel, + With cheerful heart he mounts the wheel. + + + + + FABLE XVI. + + THE RAVENS, THE SEXTON, AND THE EARTH-WORM. + + TO LAURA. + + Laura, methinks you're over nice. + True, flattery is a shocking vice; + Yet sure, whene'er the praise is just, + One may commend without disgust. + Am I a privilege denied, + Indulged by every tongue beside? + How singular are all your ways! + A woman, and averse to praise! + If 'tis offence such truths to tell, + Why do your merits thus excel? +_10 + Since then I dare not speak my mind, + A truth conspicuous to mankind; + Though in full lustre every grace + Distinguish your celestial face: + Though beauties of inferior ray + (Like stars before the orb of day) + Turn pale and fade: I check my lays, + Admiring what I dare not praise. + If you the tribute due disdain, + The Muse's mortifying strain +_20 + Shall like a woman in mere spite, + Set beauty in a moral light. + Though such revenge might shock the ear + Of many a celebrated fair; + I mean that superficial race + Whose thoughts ne'er reach beyond their face; + What's that to you? I but displease + Such ever-girlish ears as these. + Virtue can brook the thoughts of age, + That lasts the same through every stage. +_30 + Though you by time must suffer more + Than ever woman lost before; + To age is such indifference shown, + As if your face were not your own. + Were you by Antoninus[1] taught? + Or is it native strength of thought, + That thus, without concern or fright, + You view yourself by reason's light? + Those eyes of so divine a ray, + What are they? Mouldering, mortal clay. +_40 + Those features, cast in heavenly mould, + Shall, like my coarser earth, grow old; + Like common grass, the fairest flower + Must feel the hoary season's power. + How weak, how vain is human pride! + Dares man upon himself confide? + The wretch who glories in his gain, + Amasses heaps on heaps in vain. + Why lose we life in anxious cares, + To lay in hoards for future years? +_50 + Can those (when tortured by disease) + Cheer our sick heart, or purchase ease? + Can those prolong one gasp of breath, + Or calm the troubled hour of death? + What's beauty? Call ye that your own? + A flower that fades as soon as blown. + What's man in all his boast of sway? + Perhaps the tyrant of a day. + Alike the laws of life take place + Through every branch of human race, +_60 + The monarch of long regal line + Was raised from dust as frail as mine. + Can he pour health into his veins, + Or cool the fever's restless pains? + Can he (worn down in Nature's course) + New-brace his feeble nerves with force? + Can he (how vain is mortal power!) + Stretch life beyond the destined hour? + Consider, man; weigh well thy frame; + The king, the beggar is the same. +_70 + Dust forms us all. Each breathes his day, + Then sinks into his native clay. + Beneath a venerable yew, + That in the lonely church-yard grew, + Two ravens sat. In solemn croak + Thus one his hungry friend bespoke: + 'Methinks I scent some rich repast; + The savour strengthens with the blast; + Snuff then, the promised feast inhale; + I taste the carcase in the gale; +_80 + Near yonder trees, the farmer's steed, + From toil and daily drudgery freed, + Hath groaned his last. A dainty treat! + To birds of taste delicious meat.' + A sexton, busy at his trade, + To hear their chat suspends his spade. + Death struck him with no further thought, + Than merely as the fees he brought. + 'Was ever two such blundering fowls, + In brains and manners less than owls! +_90 + Blockheads,' says he, 'learn more respect; + Know ye on whom ye thus reflect? + In this same grave (who does me right, + Must own the work is strong and tight) + The squire that yon fair hall possessed, + Tonight shall lay his bones at rest. + Whence could the gross mistake proceed? + The squire was somewhat fat indeed. + What then? The meanest bird of prey + Such want of sense could ne'er betray; +_100 + For sure some difference must be found + (Suppose the smelling organ sound) + In carcases (say what we can) + Or where's the dignity of man?' + With due respect to human race, + The ravens undertook the case. + In such similitude of scent, + Man ne'er eould think reflections meant. + As epicures extol a treat, + And seem their savoury words to eat, +_110 + They praised dead horse, luxurious food, + The venison of the prescient brood. + The sexton's indignation moved, + The mean comparison reproved; + The undiscerning palate blamed, + Which two-legged carrion thus defamed. + Reproachful speech from either side + The want of argument supplied: + They rail, revile: as often ends + The contest of disputing friends. +_120 + 'Hold,' says the fowl; 'since human pride + With confutation ne'er complied, + Let's state the case, and then refer + The knotty point: for taste may err.' + As thus he spoke, from out the mould + An earth-worm, huge of size, unrolled + His monstrous length. They straight agree + To choose him as their referee. + So to the experience of his jaws, + Each states the merits of his cause. +_130 + He paused, and with a solemn tone, + Thus made his sage opinion known: + 'On carcases of every kind + This maw hath elegantly dined; + Provoked by luxury or need, + On beast, on fowl, on man, I feed; + Such small distinctions in the savour, + By turns I choose the fancied flavour, + Yet I must own (that human beast) + A glutton is the rankest feast. +_140 + Man, cease this boast; for human pride + Hath various tracts to range beside. + The prince who kept the world in awe, + The judge whose dictate fixed the law, + The rich, the poor, the great, the small, + Are levelled. Death confounds them all. + Then think not that we reptiles share + Such cates, such elegance of fair: + The only true and real good + Of man was never vermin's food. +_150 + 'Tis seated in the immortal mind; + Virtue distinguishes mankind, + And that (as yet ne'er harboured here) + Mounts with his soul we know not where. + So, good man sexton, since the case + Appears with such a dubious face, + To neither I the cause determine, + For different tastes please different vermin.' + + END OF GAY'S FABLES. + + + + SONGS. + + + + SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EYED SUSAN. + + 1 + + All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, + The streamers waving in the wind, + When black-eye'd Susan came aboard. + Oh! where shall I my true-love find? + Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, + If my sweet William sails among the crew. + + 2 + + William, who high upon the yard + Rock'd with the billow to and fro, + Soon as her well-known voice he heard, + He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below; + The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, + And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands. + + 3 + + So the sweet lark, high poised in air, + Shuts close his pinions to his breast, + (If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,) + And drops at once into her nest. + The noblest captain in the British fleet + Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. + + 4 + + O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, + My vows shall ever true remain; + Let me kiss off that falling tear; + We only part to meet again. + Change, as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be + The faithful compass that still points to thee. + + 5 + + Believe not what the landmen say, + Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind. + They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, + In every port a mistress find: + Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, + For thou art present wheresoe'er I go. + + 6 + + If to fair India's coast we sail, + Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, + Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, + Thy skin is ivory so white. + Thus every beauteous object that I view, + Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. + + 7 + + Though battle call me from thy arms, + Let not my pretty Susan mourn; + Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms, + William shall to his dear return. + Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, + Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye. + + 8 + + The boatswain gave the dreadful word, + The sails their swelling bosom spread; + No longer must she stay aboard: + They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. + Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land: + Adieu! she cries; and waved her lily hand. + + * * * * * + + + A BALLAD, + + FROM THE WHAT-D'YE-CALL-IT. + + 1 + + 'Twas when the seas were roaring + With hollow blasts of wind; + A damsel lay deploring, + All on a rock reclined. + Wide o'er the foaming billows + She casts a wistful look; + Her head was crown'd with willows, + That trembled o'er the brook. + + 2 + + Twelve months are gone and over, + And nine long tedious days. + Why didst thou, venturous lover, + Why didst thou trust the seas? + Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean, + And let my lover rest: + Ah! what's thy troubled motion + To that within my breast? + + 3 + + The merchant, robb'd of pleasure, + Sees tempests in despair: + But what's the loss of treasure, + To losing of my dear? + Should you some coast be laid on, + Where gold and diamonds grow, + You'd find a richer maiden, + But none that loves you so. + + 4 + + How can they say that nature + Has nothing made in vain; + Why then beneath the water + Should hideous rocks remain? + No eyes the rocks discover, + That lurk beneath the deep, + To wreck the wandering lover, + And leave the maid to weep. + + 5 + + All melancholy lying, + Thus wail'd she for her dear; + Repaid each blast with sighing, + Each billow with a tear; + When o'er the white wave stooping, + His floating corpse she spied; + Then, like a lily drooping, + She bow'd her head, and died. + + END OF GAY'S SONGS. + + +Footnotes: + + +[Footnote 1: Second son of George II.; born in 1721; he was five years +old at the date of the publication of the 'Fables,' which were written +for his instruction. He is 'Culloden' Cumberland.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Siam,' a country famous for elephants.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Gresham Hall,' originally the house of Sir Thomas Gresham +in Winchester. It was converted by his will into a college, no remains of +which now exist.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Curl,' a famous publisher to Grub Street.] + +[Footnote 5: Garth's Dispensary.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Porta:' a native of Naples, famous for skill in the occult +sciences. He wrote a book on Physiognomy, seeking to trace in the human +face resemblances to animals, and to infer similar correspondences in +mind.] + +[Footnote 7: '----When impious men bear sway, + The post of honour is a private station.'-ADDISON.] + +[Footnote 8: 'Antiochus': See Plutarch.] + +[Footnote 9: Barrow.] + +[Footnote 10: 'The Macedonian:' Alexander the Great.] + + +[Footnote 11: 'Corelli:' Arcangelo, the greatest fiddler, till Paganini, +that has appeared. He was born in the territory of Bologna, in 1653, and +died in 1713.] + +[Footnote 12: 'Antoninus:' Marcus, one of the few emperors who have been +also philosophers.] + + + + + +THE + +LIFE OF WILLIAM SOMERVILLE. + + * * * * * + +There is a chapter in an old history of Iceland which has often moved +merriment. The title of it is, "Concerning Snakes in Iceland," and the +contents are, "Snakes in Iceland there are none." We suspect, when our +"Life of William Somerville" is ended, not a few will find in it a +parallel for that comprehensive chapter, although we strenuously maintain +that the fault of an insipid and uninteresting life is not always to be +charged on the biographer. + +In "Sartor Resartus" our readers remember an epitaph, somewhat coarse, +although disguised in good dog-Latin, upon a country squire, and his +sayings and doings in this world. We have not a copy of that work at +hand, and cannot quote the epitaph, nor would we, though we could, since +even the dog-Latin is too plain and perspicuous for many readers. We +recommend those, however, who choose to turn it up; and they will find in +it (with the exception of the writing of "the Chase") the full history of +William Somerville, of whom we know little, but that he was born, that he +hunted, ate, drank, and died. + +He was born in 1682; but in what month, or on what day, we are not +informed. His estate was in Warwickshire, its name Edston, and he had +inherited it from a long line of ancestors. His family prided itself upon +being the first family in the county. He himself boasts of having been +born on the banks of Avon, which has thus at least produced two poets, of +somewhat different calibre indeed--the one a deer-stealer, and the other +a fox-hunter--Shakspeare and Somerville. Somerville was educated at +Winchester School, and was afterwards elected fellow of New College. From +his studies--of his success in which we know nothing--he returned to his +native county, and there, says Johnson, "was distinguished as a poet, a +gentleman, and a skilful and useful justice of the peace;"--we may add, +as a jovial companion and a daring fox-hunter. His estate brought him +in about £1500 a-year, but his extravagance brought him into pecuniary +distresses, which weighed upon his mind, plunged him into intemperate +habits, and hurried him away in his 60th year. Shenstone, who knew him +well, thus mourns aver his departure in one of his letters:--"Our old +friend Somerville is dead; I did not imagine I could have been so sorry +as I find myself on this occasion. _Sublatum quoerimus_, I can now excuse +all his foibles; impute them to age and to distressed circumstances. The +last of these considerations wrings my very soul to think on; for a +man of high spirit, conscious of having (at least in one production) +generally pleased the world, to be plagued and threatened by wretches +that are low in every sense; to be forced to drink himself into pains of +the body in order to get rid of the pains of the mind, is a misery." + +Somerville died July 19, 1742, and was buried at Wotton, near +Henley-on-Arden. His estate went to Lord Somerville in Scotland, but his +mother, who lived to a great age, had a jointure of £600. He describes +himself, in verses addressed to Allan Ramsay, as + + "A squire, well-born and six feet high." + +He seems, from the affection and sympathy discovered for him by +Shenstone, to have possessed the virtues as well as the vices of the +squirearchy of that age; their frankness, sociality, and heart, as well +as their improvidence and tendency to excess; and may altogether be +called a sublimated Squire Western. + +As to his poetry, much of it is beneath criticism. His "Fables," "Tales," +"Hobbinol, or Rural Games," &c., have all in them poetical lines, but +cannot, as a whole, be called poetry. He wrote some verses, entitled +"Address to Addison," on the latter purchasing an estate in Warwickshire +(he gave his Countess £4000 in exchange for it). In this there are two +lines which Dr Johnson highly commends, saying "They are written with +the most exquisite delicacy of praise; they exhibit one of those happy +strokes that are seldom attained."--Here is this bepraised couplet:-- + + "When panting virtue her last efforts made, + You brought your Clio to the virgin's aid." + +Clio, of course, refers to Addison's signatures in the "Spectator," +consisting of the four letters composing the name of the Muse of History, +used in alternation. We cannot coincide in Johnson's encomium. The +allusion is, we think, at once indecent and obscure; and what, after all, +does it say, but that Addison's papers aided the struggling cause of +virtue? + +In the same verses we find a fulsome and ridiculous preference of Addison +to Shakspeare! + + "In heaven he sings, on earth your Muse supplies + The important loss, and heals our weeping eyes; + Correctly great, she melts each flinty heart, + With EQUAL GENIUS, but SUPERIOR ART." + +Surely the force of falsehood and flattery can go no further. + +It is a pleasure to turn from these small and shallow things to the +"Chase," which, if not a great poem, is founded on a most poetical +subject, and which, here and there, sparkles into fine fancy. Dr Johnson +truly remarks, that Somerville "set a good example to men of his own +class, by devoting a part of his time to elegant knowledge, and has +shewn, by the subjects which his poetry has adorned, that it is +practicable to be at once a skilful sportsman and a man of letters." But +besides this purpose to be the poet--and hitherto he has been almost +the sole poet of the squirearchy, as considered apart from the +aristocracy--Somerville has the merit of being inspired by a genuine love +for the subject. He writes directly from the testimony of his own eyes, +and the impulses of his own heart. He has obviously had the mould of his +poem suggested by Thomson's "Seasons," but it is the mould only; the +thoughts and feelings which are poured into it are his own. He loves +the giddy ride over stock and stone, hedge and petty precipice; the +invigoration which the keen breath of autumn or winter, like that of a +sturdy veteran, gives the animal spirits; the animated aspect of the +"assembled jockeyship of half a province;" the wild music of hounds, and +horns, and hollas, vieing with each other in mirth and loudness; the +breathless interest of the start; the emulous pant of the coursers; the +excitement of the moment when the fox appears; the sweeping tumult of the +pursuit; the dreamlike rapidity with which five-barred gates are cleared, +the yellow or naked woods are passed, and the stubble-ridges "swallowed +up in the fierceness and rage" of the rushing steeds; the indifference of +those engaged in the headlong sport to the danger or even the death of +their companions; the lengthening and deepening howl of the hounds as +they near their prey; the fierce silence of the dying victim; and the +fiercer shout of victory which announces to the echoes that the brush +is won, and the glorious (or inglorious) day's work is over;--all this +Somerville loves, and has painted with considerable power. In the course +of the poem, he sings also of the mysteries of the dog-kennel--pursues +the blood-hound on his track of death--describes a stag-hunt in Windsor +Forest--paints the fearful phenomena of canine madness--hunts the hare in +a joyous spirit--and goes down after the otter into its watery recesses, +and watches its divings and devious motions as with the eyes of a +sea-eagle. And, besides, (here also imitating Thomson,) he is led away +from the comparatively tame "Chase" of England to the more dangerous +and more inspiring sports of other lands, where "the huntsmen are up in +Arabia," in pursuit of the wolf, where the bear is bayed amidst forests +dark as itself, where the leopard is snared by its own image in a mirror, +where the lion falls roaring into the prepared pit, and where the "Chase" +is pursued on a large scale by assembled princes amidst the jungles of +India. + +We doubt not, however, that, were a genuine poet of this age taking up +the "Chase" as a subject for song, and availing himself of the accounts +of recent travellers, themselves often true poets, such as Lloyd, +Livingstone, Cumming Bruce, and Charles Boner, (see the admirable +"Chamois Hunting in Bavaria" of the latter,) he would produce a strain +incomparably higher than Somerville's. Wilson, at least, as we know from +his "Christopher in his Sporting Jacket," and many other articles in +_Maga_, was qualified, in part by nature and in part by extensive +experience, to have written such a poem. Indeed, one sentence of his +is superior to anything in the "Chase." Speaking of the charge of the +cruelty of chasing such an insignificant animal as a fox, he says, "What +though it be but a smallish, reddish-brown, sharp-nosed animal, with +pricked-up ears, and passionately fond of poultry, that they pursue? +After the first tallyho, reynard is rarely seen till he is run in +upon--once, perhaps, in the whole run, skirting a wood, or crossing a +common. It is an _idea that is pursued_ on a whirlwind of horses, to a +storm of canine music, worthy both of the largest lion that ever leaped +among a band of Moors sleeping at midnight by an extinguished fire on the +African sands." We do not answer for the humanity of this description, +but it certainly seems to us to exhaust the subject of the chase, alike +in its philosophy and its poetry.[1] + + +SOMERVILLE'S CHASE. + + * * * * * + + BOOK I. + + THE ARGUMENT. + + The subject proposed.--Address to his Royal Highness the Prince.--The + origin of hunting.--The rude and unpolished manner of the first + hunters.--Beasts at first hunted for food and sacrifice.--The grant + made by God to man of the beasts, &c.--The regular manner of hunting + first brought into this island by the Normans.--The best hounds + and best horses bred here.--The advantage of this exercise to us, as + islanders.--Address to gentlemen of estates.--Situation of the kennel + and its several courts.--The diversion and employment of hounds in + the kennel.--The different sorts of hounds for each different chase.-- + Description of a perfect hound.--Of sizing and sorting of hounds.--The + middle-sized hound recommended.--Of the large, deep-mouthed hound + for hunting the stag and otter.--Of the lime-hound; their use on the + borders of England and Scotland.--A physical account of scents.--Of + good and bad scenting days.--A short admonition to my brethren of + the couples. + + The Chase I sing, hounds, and their various breed, + And no less various use. O thou Great Prince![2] + Whom Cambria's towering hills proclaim their lord, + Deign thou to hear my bold, instructive song. + While grateful citizens with pompous show, + Rear the triumphal arch, rich with the exploits + Of thy illustrious house; while virgins pave + Thy way with flowers, and, as the royal youth + Passing they view, admire, and sigh in vain; + While crowded theatres, too fondly proud +_10 + Of their exotic minstrels, and shrill pipes, + The price of manhood, hail thee with a song, + And airs soft-warbling; my hoarse-sounding horn + Invites thee to the Chase, the sport of kings; + Image of war, without its guilt. The Muse + Aloft on wing shall soar, conduct with care + Thy foaming courser o'er the steepy rock, + Or on the river bank receive thee safe, + Light-bounding o'er the wave, from shore to shore. + Be thou our great protector, gracious youth! +_20 + And if in future times, some envious prince, + Careless of right and guileful, should invade + Thy Britain's commerce, or should strive in vain + To wrest the balance from thy equal hand; + Thy hunter-train, in cheerful green arrayed, + (A band undaunted, and inured to toils,) + Shall compass thee around, die at thy feet, + Or hew thy passage through the embattled foe, + And clear thy way to fame; inspired by thee + The nobler chase of glory shall pursue +_30 + Through fire, and smoke, and blood, and fields of death. + Nature, in her productions slow, aspires + By just degrees to reach perfection's height: + So mimic Art works leisurely, till Time + Improve the piece, or wise Experience give + The proper finishing. When Nimrod bold, + That mighty hunter, first made war on beasts, + And stained the woodland green with purple dye, + New and unpolished was the huntsman's art; + No stated rule, his wanton will his guide. +_40 + With clubs and stones, rude implements of war, + He armed his savage bands, a multitude + Untrained; of twining osiers formed, they pitch + Their artless toils, then range the desert hills, + And scour the plains below; the trembling herd + Start at the unusual sound, and clamorous shout + Unheard before; surprised alas! to find + Man now their foe, whom erst they deemed their lord, + But mild and gentle, and by whom as yet + Secure they grazed. Death stretches o'er the plain +_50 + Wide-wasting, and grim slaughter red with blood: + Urged on by hunger keen, they wound, they kill, + Their rage licentious knows no bound; at last + Incumbered with their spoils, joyful they bear + Upon their shoulders broad, the bleeding prey. + Part on their altars smokes a sacrifice + To that all-gracious Power, whose bounteous hand + Supports his wide creation; what remains + On living coals they broil, inelegant + Of taste, nor skilled as yet in nicer arts +_60 + Of pampered luxury. Devotion pure, + And strong necessity, thus first began + The chase of beasts: though bloody was the deed, + Yet without guilt. For the green herb alone + Unequal to sustain man's labouring race, + Now every moving thing that lived on earth + Was granted him for food. So just is Heaven, + To give us in proportion to our wants. + Or chance or industry in after-times + Some few improvements made, but short as yet +_70 + Of due perfection. In this isle remote + Our painted ancestors were slow to learn, + To arms devote, of the politer arts + Nor skilled nor studious; till from Neustria's[3] coasts + Victorious William, to more decent rules + Subdued our Saxon fathers, taught to speak + The proper dialect, with horn and voice + To cheer the busy hound, whose well-known cry + His listening peers approve with joint acclaim. + From him successive huntsmen learned to join +_80 + In bloody social leagues, the multitude + Dispersed, to size, to sort their various tribes, + To rear, feed, hunt, and discipline the pack. + Hail, happy Britain! highly-favoured isle, + And Heaven's peculiar care! To thee 'tis given + To train the sprightly steed, more fleet than those + Begot by winds, or the celestial breed + That bore the great Pelides through the press + Of heroes armed, and broke their crowded ranks; + Which proudly neighing, with the sun begins +_90 + Cheerful his course; and ere his beams decline, + Has measured half thy surface unfatigued. + In thee alone, fair land of liberty! + Is bred the perfect hound, in scent and speed + As yet unrivalled, while in other climes + Their virtue fails, a weak degenerate race. + In vain malignant steams, and winter fogs + Load the dull air, and hover round our coasts, + The huntsman ever gay, robust, and bold, + Defies the noxious vapour, and confides +_100 + In this delightful exercise, to raise + His drooping head and cheer his heart with joy. + Ye vigorous youths, by smiling Fortune blest + With large demesnes, hereditary wealth, + Heaped copious by your wise forefathers' care, + Hear and attend! while I the means reveal + To enjoy those pleasures, for the weak too strong, + Too costly for the poor: to rein the steed + Swift-stretching o'er the plain, to cheer the pack + Opening in concerts of harmonious joy, +_110 + But breathing death. What though the gripe severe + Of brazen-fisted Time, and slow disease + Creeping through every vein, and nerve unstrung, + Afflict my shattered frame, undaunted still, + Fixed as a mountain ash, that braves the bolts + Of angry Jove; though blasted, yet unfallen; + Still can my soul in Fancy's mirror view + Deeds glorious once, recal the joyous scene + In all its splendours decked, o'er the full bowl + Recount my triumphs past, urge others on +_120 + With hand and voice, and point the winding way: + Pleased with that social sweet garrulity, + The poor disbanded veteran's sole delight. + First let the Kennel be the huntsman's care, + Upon some little eminence erect, + And fronting to the ruddy dawn; its courts + On either hand wide opening to receive + The sun's all-cheering beams, when mild he shines, + And gilds the mountain tops. For much the pack + (Roused from their dark alcoves) delight to stretch, +_130 + And bask in his invigorating ray: + Warned by the streaming light and merry lark, + Forth rush the jolly clan; with tuneful throats + They carol loud, and in grand chorus joined + Salute the new-born day. For not alone + The vegetable world, but men and brutes + Own his reviving influence, and joy + At his approach. Fountain of light! if chance[4] + Some envious cloud veil thy refulgent brow, + In vain the Muses aid; untouched, unstrung, +_140 + Lies my mute harp, and thy desponding bard + Sits darkly musing o'er the unfinished lay. + Let no Corinthian pillars prop the dome, + A vain expense, on charitable deeds + Better disposed, to clothe the tattered wretch, + Who shrinks beneath the blast, to feed the poor + Pinched with afflictive want. For use, not state, + Gracefully plain, let each apartment rise. + O'er all let cleanliness preside, no scraps + Bestrew the pavement, and no half-picked bones, +_150 + To kindle fierce debate, or to disgust + That nicer sense, on which the sportsman's hope, + And all his future triumphs must depend. + Soon as the growling pack with eager joy + Have lapped their smoking viands, morn or eve, + From the full cistern lead the ductile streams, + To wash thy court well-paved, nor spare thy pains, + For much to health will cleanliness avail. + Seek'st thou for hounds to climb the rocky steep, + And brush the entangled covert, whose nice scent +_160 + O'er greasy fallows, and frequented roads + Can pick the dubious way? Banish far off + Each noisome stench, let no offensive smell + Invade thy wide inclosure, but admit + The nitrous air, and purifying breeze. + Water and shade no less demand thy care: + In a large square the adjacent field inclose, + There plant in equal ranks the spreading elm, + Or fragrant lime; most happy thy design, + If at the bottom of thy spacious court, +_170 + A large canal fed by the crystal brook, + From its transparent bosom shall reflect + Downward thy structure and inverted grove. + Here when the sun's too potent gleams annoy + The crowded kennel, and the drooping pack, + Restless and faint, loll their unmoistened tongues, + And drop their feeble tails; to cooler shades + Lead forth the panting tribe; soon shalt thou find + The cordial breeze their fainting hearts revive: + Tumultuous soon they plunge into the stream, +_180 + There lave their reeking sides, with greedy joy + Gulp down the flying wave; this way and that + From shore to shore they swim, while clamour loud + And wild uproar torments the troubled flood: + Then on the sunny bank they roll and stretch + Their dripping limbs, or else in wanton rings + Coursing around, pursuing and pursued, + The merry multitude disporting play. + But here with watchful and observant eye + Attend their frolics, which too often end +_190 + In bloody broils and death. High o'er thy head + Wave thy resounding whip, and with a voice + Fierce-menacing o'errule the stern debate, + And quench their kindling rage; for oft in sport + Begun, combat ensues, growling they snarl, + Then on their haunches reared, rampant they seize + Each other's throats, with teeth and claws in gore + Besmeared, they wound, they tear, till on the ground, + Panting, half dead the conquered champion lies: + Then sudden all the base ignoble crowd +_200 + Loud-clamouring seize the helpless worried wretch, + And thirsting for his blood, drag different ways + His mangled carcase on the ensanguined plain. + O breasts of pity void! to oppress the weak, + To point your vengeance at the friendless head, + And with one mutual cry insult the fallen! + Emblem too just of man's degenerate race. + Others apart by native instinct led, + Knowing instructor! 'mong the ranker grass + Cull each salubrious plant, with bitter juice +_210 + Concoctive stored, and potent to allay + Each vicious ferment. Thus the hand divine + Of Providence, beneficent and kind + To all His creatures, for the brutes prescribes + A ready remedy, and is Himself + Their great physician. Now grown stiff with age, + And many a painful chase, the wise old hound + Regardless of the frolic pack, attends + His master's side, or slumbers at his ease + Beneath the bending shade; there many a ring +_220 + Runs o'er in dreams; now on the doubtful foil + Puzzles perplexed, or doubles intricate + Cautious unfolds, then winged with all his speed, + Bounds o'er the lawn to seize his panting prey: + And in imperfect whimperings speaks his joy. + A different hound for every different chase + Select with judgment; nor the timorous hare + O'ermatched destroy, but leave that vile offence + To the mean, murderous, coursing crew; intent + On blood and spoil. O blast their hopes, just Heaven! +_230 + And all their painful drudgeries repay + With disappointment and severe remorse. + But husband thou thy pleasures, and give scope + To all her subtle play: by nature led + A thousand shifts she tries; to unravel these + The industrious beagle twists his waving tail, + Through all her labyrinths pursues, and rings + Her doleful knell. See there with countenance blithe, + And with a courtly grin, the fawning hound + Salutes thee cowering, his wide-opening nose +_240 + Upward he curls, and his large sloe-black eyes + Melt in soft blandishments, and humble joy; + His glossy skin, or yellow-pied, or blue, + In lights or shades by Nature's pencil drawn, + Reflects the various tints; his ears and legs + Flecked here and there, in gay enamelled pride + Rival the speckled pard; his rush-grown tail + O'er his broad back bends in an ample arch; + On shoulders clean, upright and firm he stands, + His round cat foot, straight hams, and wide-spread thighs, +_250 + And his low-dropping chest, confess his speed, + His strength, his wind, or on the steepy hill, + Or far-extended plain; in every part + So well proportioned, that the nicer skill + Of Phidias himself can't blame thy choice. + Of such compose thy pack. But here a mean + Observe, nor the large hound prefer, of size + Gigantic; he in the thick-woven covert + Painfully tugs, or in the thorny brake + Torn and embarrassed bleeds: but if too small, +_260 + The pigmy brood in every furrow swims; + Moiled in the clogging clay, panting they lag + Behind inglorious; or else shivering creep + Benumbed and faint beneath the sheltering thorn. + For hounds of middle size, active and strong, + Will better answer all thy various ends, + And crown thy pleasing labours with success. + As some brave captain, curious and exact, + By his fixed standard forms in equal ranks + His gay battalion, as one man they move +_270 + Step after step, their size the same, their arms + Far gleaming, dart the same united blaze: + Reviewing generals his merit own; + How regular! how just! and all his cares + Are well repaid, if mighty George approve. + So model thou thy pack, if honour touch + Thy generous soul, and the world's just applause. + But above all take heed, nor mix thy hounds + Of different kinds; discordant sounds shall grate + Thy ears offended, and a lagging line +_280 + Of babbling curs disgrace thy broken pack. + But if the amphibious otter be thy chase, + Or stately stag, that o'er the woodland reigns; + Or if the harmonious thunder of the field + Delight thy ravished ears; the deep-flewed hound + Breed up with care, strong, heavy, slow, but sure, + Whose ears down-hanging from his thick round head + Shall sweep the morning dew, whose clanging voice + Awake the mountain echo in her cell, + And shake the forests: the bold talbot[6] kind +_290 + Of these the prime, as white as Alpine snows; + And great their use of old. Upon the banks + Of Tweed, slow winding through the vale, the seat + Of war and rapine once, ere Britons knew + The sweets of peace, or Anna's dread commands + To lasting leagues the haughty rivals awed, + There dwelt a pilfering race; well-trained and skilled + In all the mysteries of theft, the spoil + + Their only substance, feuds and war their sport: + Not more expert in every fraudful art +_300 + The arch felon was of old, who by the tail + Drew back his lowing prize: in vain his wiles, + In vain the shelter of the covering rock, + In vain the sooty cloud, and ruddy flames + That issued from his mouth; for soon he paid + His forfeit life: a debt how justly due + To wronged Alcides, and avenging Heaven! + Veiled in the shades of night they ford the stream, + + Then prowling far and near, whate'er they seize + Becomes their prey; nor flocks nor herds are safe, +_310 + Nor stalls protect the steer, nor strong barred doors + Secure the favourite horse. Soon as the morn + Reveals his wrongs, with ghastly visage wan + The plundered owner stands, and from his lips + A thousand thronging curses burst their way: + He calls his stout allies, and in a line + His faithful hound he leads, then with a voice + That utters loud his rage, attentive cheers: + Soon the sagacious brute, his curling tail + + Flourished in air, low-bending plies around +_320 + His busy nose, the steaming vapour snuff + Inquisitive, nor leaves one turf untried, + Till conscious of the recent stains, his heart + Beats quick; his snuffling nose, his active tail + Attest his joy; then with deep opening mouth + That makes the welkin tremble, he proclaims + The audacious felon; foot by foot he marks + His winding way, while all the listening crowd + Applaud his reasonings. O'er the watery ford, + Dry sandy heaths, and stony barren hill, +_330 + O'er beaten paths, with men and beasts distained, + Unerring he pursues; till at the cot + Arrived, and seizing by his guilty throat + The caitiff' vile, redeems the captive prey: + So exquisitely delicate his sense! + Should some more curious sportsman here inquire, + Whence this sagacity, this wondrous power + Of tracing step by step, or man or brute? + + What guide invisible points out their way, + O'er the dank marsh, bleak hill, and sandy plain? +_340 + The courteous Muse shall the dark cause reveal. + The blood that from the heart incessant rolls + In many a crimson tide, then here and there + In smaller rills disparted, as it flows + Propelled, the serous particles evade + Through the open pores, and with the ambient air + Entangling mix. As fuming vapours rise, + And hang upon the gently purling brook, + There by the incumbent atmosphere compressed, + The panting chase grows warmer as he flies, +_350 + And through the net-work of the skin perspires; + Leaves a long-streaming trail behind, which by + The cooler air condensed, remains, unless + By some rude storm dispersed, or rarefied + By the meridian sun's intenser heat. + To every shrub the warm effluvia cling, + Hang on the grass, impregnate earth and skies. + With nostrils opening wide, o'er hill, o'er dale, + The vigorous hounds pursue, with every breath + Inhale the grateful steam, quick pleasures sting +_360 + Their tingling nerves, while they their thanks repay, + And in triumphant melody confess + The titillating joy. Thus on the air + Depend the hunter's hopes. When ruddy streaks + At eve forebode a blustering stormy day, + Or lowering clouds blacken the mountain's brow, + When nipping frosts, and the keen biting blasts + Of the dry parching east, menace the trees + With tender blossoms teeming, kindly spare + Thy sleeping pack, in their warm beds of straw +_370 + Low-sinking at their ease; listless they shrink + Into some dark recess, nor hear thy voice + Though oft invoked; or haply if thy call + Rouse up the slumbering tribe, with heavy eyes + Glazed, lifeless, dull, downward they drop their tails + Inverted; high on their bent backs erect + Their pointed bristles stare, or 'mong the tufts + Of ranker weeds, each stomach-healing plant + Curious they crop, sick, spiritless, forlorn. + These inauspicious days, on other cares +_380 + Employ thy precious hours; the improving friend + With open arms embrace, and from his lips + Glean science, seasoned with good-natured wit. + But if the inclement skies and angry Jove + Forbid the pleasing intercourse, thy books + Invite thy ready hand, each sacred page + Rich with the wise remarks of heroes old. + Converse familiar with the illustrious dead; + With great examples of old Greece or Rome + Enlarge thy free-born heart, and bless kind Heaven, +_390 + That Britain yet enjoys dear Liberty, + That balm of life, that sweetest blessing, cheap + Though purchased with our blood. Well-bred, polite, + Credit thy calling. See! how mean, how low, + The bookless sauntering youth, proud of the scut + That dignifies his cap, his flourished belt, + And rusty couples jingling by his side. + Be thou of other mould; and know that such + Transporting pleasures were by Heaven ordained + Wisdom's relief, and Virtue's great reward. +_400 + + * * * * * + + +BOOK II. + +THE ARGUMENT. + +Of the power of instinct in brutes.--Two remarkable instances in the +hunting of the roebuck, and in the hare going to seat in the morning.--Of +the variety of seats or forms of the hare, according to the change of the +season, weather, or wind.--Description of the hare-hunting in all its +parts, interspersed with rules to be observed by those who follow that +chase.--Transition to the Asiatic way of hunting, particularly the +magnificent manner of the Great Mogul, and other Tartarian princes, taken +from Monsieur Bernier, and the history of Gengiskan the Great.--Concludes +with a short reproof of tyrants and oppressors of mankind. + + Nor will it less delight the attentive sage + To observe that instinct, which unerring guides + The brutal race, which mimics reason's lore + And oft transcends: heaven-taught, the roe-buck swift + Loiters at ease before the driving pack + And mocks their vain pursuit, nor far he flies + But checks his ardour, till the steaming scent + That freshens on the blade, provokes their rage. + Urged to their speed, his weak deluded foes + + Soon flag fatigued; strained to excess each nerve, +_10 + Each slackened sinew fails; they pant, they foam; + Then o'er the lawn he bounds, o'er the high hills + Stretches secure, and leaves the scattered crowd + To puzzle in the distant vale below. + 'Tis instinct that directs the jealous hare + To choose her soft abode: with step reversed + She forms the doubling maze; then, ere the morn + Peeps through the clouds, leaps to her close recess. + As wand'ring shepherds on the Arabian plains + + No settled residence observe, but shift +_20 + Their moving camp, now, on some cooler hill + With cedars crowned, court the refreshing breeze; + And then, below, where trickling streams distil + From some penurious source, their thirst allay, + And feed their fainting flocks: so the wise hares + Oft quit their seats, lest some more curious eye + Should mark their haunts, and by dark treacherous wiles + Plot their destruction; or perchance in hopes + + Of plenteous forage, near the ranker mead, + Or matted blade, wary, and close they sit. +_30 + When spring shines forth, season of love and joy, + In the moist marsh, 'mong beds of rushes hid, + They cool their boiling blood: when Summer suns + Bake the cleft earth, to thick wide-waving fields + Of corn full-grown, they lead their helpless young: + But when autumnal torrents, and fierce rains + Deluge the vale, in the dry crumbling bank + Their forms they delve, and cautiously avoid + + The dripping covert: yet when Winter's cold + Their limbs benumbs, thither with speed returned +_40 + In the long grass they skulk, or shrinking creep + Among the withered leaves, thus changing still, + As fancy prompts them, or as food invites. + But every season carefully observed, + The inconstant winds, the fickle element, + The wise experienced huntsman soon may find + His subtle, various game, nor waste in vain + His tedious hours, till his impatient hounds + With disappointment vexed, each springing lark + Babbling pursue, far scattered o'er the fields. +_50 + Now golden Autumn from her open lap + Her fragrant bounties showers; the fields are shorn; + Inwardly smiling, the proud farmer views + The rising pyramids that grace his yard, + And counts his large increase; his barns are stored, + And groaning staddles bend beneath their load. + All now is free as air, and the gay pack + In the rough bristly stubbles range unblamed; + No widow's tears o'erflow, no secret curse + Swells in the farmer's breast, which his pale lips +_60 + Trembling conceal, by his fierce landlord awed: + But courteous now he levels every fence, + Joins in the common cry, and halloos loud, + Charmed with the rattling thunder of the field. + Oh bear me, some kind Power invisible! + To that extended lawn, where the gay court + View the swift racers, stretching to the goal; + Games more renowned, and a far nobler train, + Than proud Elean fields could boast of old. + Oh! were a Theban lyre not wanting here, +_70 + And Pindar's voice, to do their merit right! + Or to those spacious plains, where the strained eye + In the wide prospect lost, beholds at last + Sarum's proud spire, that o'er the hills ascends, + And pierces through the clouds. Or to thy downs, + Fair Cotswold, where the well-breathed beagle climbs, + With matchless speed, thy green aspiring brow, + + And leaves the lagging multitude behind. + Hail, gentle Dawn! mild blushing goddess, hail! + Rejoiced I see thy purple mantle spread +_80 + O'er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant way, + And orient pearls from every shrub depend. + Farewell, Cleora; here deep sunk in down + Slumber secure, with happy dreams amused, + Till grateful steams shall tempt thee to receive + Thy early meal, or thy officious maids, + The toilet placed, shall urge thee to perform + The important work. Me other joys invite, + The horn sonorous calls, the pack awaked + Their matins chant, nor brook my long delay. +_90 + My courser hears their voice; see there with ears + And tail erect, neighing he paws the ground; + Fierce rapture kindles in his reddening eyes, + And boils in every vein. As captive boys + Cowed by the ruling rod, and haughty frowns + Of pedagogues severe, from their hard tasks, + If once dismissed, no limits can contain + The tumult raised within their little breasts, + But give a loose to all their frolic play: + + So from their kennel rush the joyous pack; +_100 + A thousand wanton gaieties express + Their inward ecstasy, their pleasing sport + Once more indulged, and liberty restored. + The rising sun that o'er the horizon peeps, + As many colours from their glossy skins + Beaming reflects, as paint the various bow + When April showers descend. Delightful scene! + Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs, + And in each smiling countenance appears + Fresh-blooming health, and universal joy. +_110 + Huntsman, lead on! behind the clustering pack + Submiss attend, hear with respect thy whip + Loud-clanging, and thy harsher voice obey: + + Spare not the straggling cur, that wildly roves; + But let thy brisk assistant on his back + Imprint thy just resentments; let each lash + Bite to the quick, till howling he return + And whining creep amid the trembling crowd. + Here on this verdant spot, where nature kind, + With double blessings crowns the farmer's hopes; +_120 + Where flowers autumnal spring, and the rank mead + Affords the wandering hares a rich repast, + Throw off thy ready pack. See, where they spread + And range around, and dash the glittering dew. + If some stanch hound, with his authentic voice, + Avow the recent trail, the jostling tribe + Attend his call, then with one mutual cry + The welcome news confirm, and echoing hills + Repeat the pleasing tale. See how they thread + + The brakes, and up yon furrow drive along! +_130 + But quick they back recoil, and wisely check + Their eager haste; then o'er the fallowed ground + How leisurely they work, and many a pause + The harmonious concert breaks; till more assured + With joy redoubled the low valleys ring. + What artful labyrinths perplex their way! + Ah! there she lies; how close! she pants, she doubts + If now she lives; she trembles as she sits, + With horror seized. The withered grass that clings + Around her head, of the same russet hue +_140 + Almost deceived my sight, had not her eyes + With life full-beaming her vain wiles betrayed. + At distance draw thy pack, let all be hushed, + No clamour loud, no frantic joy be heard, + Lest the wild hound run gadding o'er the plain + Untractable, nor hear thy chiding voice. + Now gently put her off; see how direct + To her known mews she flies! Here, huntsman, bring + (But without hurry) all thy jolly hounds, + + And calmly lay them in. How low they stoop, +_150 + And seem to plough the ground! then all at once + With greedy nostrils snuff the fuming steam + That glads their fluttering hearts. As winds let loose + From the dark caverns of the blustering god, + They burst away, and sweep the dewy lawn. + Hope gives them wings while she's spurred on by fear. + The welkin rings; men, dogs, hills, rocks, and woods + In the full concert join. Now, my brave youths, + Stripped for the chase, give all your souls to joy! + + See how their coursers, than the mountain roe +_160 + More fleet, the verdant carpet skim, thick clouds + Snorting they breathe, their shining hoofs scarce print + The grass unbruised; with emulation fired + They strain to lead the field, top the barred gate, + O'er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush + The thorny-twining hedge: the riders bend + O'er their arched necks; with steady hands, by turns + Indulge their speed, or moderate their rage. + + Where are their sorrows, disappointments, wrongs, + Vexations, sickness, cares? All, all are gone, +_170 + And with the panting winds lag far behind. + Huntsman! her gait observe, if in wide rings + She wheel her mazy way, in the same round + Persisting still, she'll foil the beaten track. + But if she fly, and with the favouring wind + Urge her bold course; less intricate thy task: + Push on thy pack. Like some poor exiled wretch + The frighted chase leaves her late dear abodes, + O'er plains remote she stretches far away, + Ah! never to return! for greedy Death +_180 + Hovering exults, secure to seize his prey. + Hark! from yon covert, where those towering oaks + Above the humble copse aspiring rise, + What glorious triumphs burst in every gale + Upon our ravished ears! The hunters shout, + The clanging horns swell their sweet-winding notes, + The pack wide-opening load the trembling air + With various melody; from tree to tree + + The propagated cry redoubling bounds, + And winged zephyrs waft the floating joy +_190 + Through all the regions near: afflictive birch + No more the school-boy dreads, his prison broke, + Scampering he flies, nor heeds his master's call; + The weary traveller forgets his road, + And climbs the adjacent hill; the ploughman leaves + The unfinished furrow; nor his bleating flocks + Are now the shepherd's joy; men, boys, and girls + Desert the unpeopled village; and wild crowds + Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet frenzy seized. + Look, how she pants! and o'er yon opening glade +_200 + Slips glancing by; while, at the further end, + The puzzling pack unravel wile by wile, + Maze within maze. The covert's utmost bound + Slily she skirts; behind them cautious creeps, + And in that very track, so lately stained + By all the steaming crowd, seems to pursue + The foe she flies. Let cavillers deny + That brutes have reason; sure 'tis something more, + 'Tis Heaven directs, and stratagems inspires, + Beyond the short extent of human thought. +_210 + But hold--I see her from the covert break; + Sad on yon little eminence she sits; + Intent she listens with one ear erect, + Pond'ring, and doubtful what new course to take, + And how to escape the fierce blood-thirsty crew, + That still urge on, and still in vollies loud, + Insult her woes, and mock her sore distress. + As now in louder peals, the loaded winds + Bring on the gathering storm, her fears prevail; + And o'er the plain, and o'er the mountain's ridge, +_220 + Away she flies; nor ships with wind and tide, + And all their canvas wings, scud half so fast. + Once more, ye jovial train, your courage try, + And each clean courser's speed. We scour along, + In pleasing hurry and confusion tossed; + Oblivion to be wished. The patient pack + Hang on the scent unwearied, up they climb, + And ardent we pursue; our labouring steeds + We press, we gore; till once the summit gained, + Painfully panting, there we breathe a while; +_230 + Then like a foaming torrent, pouring down + Precipitant, we smoke along the vale. + Happy the man, who with unrivalled speed + Can pass his fellows, and with pleasure view + The struggling pack; how in the rapid course + Alternate they preside, and jostling push + To guide the dubious scent; how giddy youth + Oft babbling errs, by wiser age reproved; + How, niggard of his strength, the wise old hound + Hangs in the rear, till some important point +_240 + Rouse all his diligence, or till the chase + Sinking he finds; then to the head he springs, + With thirst of glory fired, and wins the prize. + Huntsman, take heed; they stop in full career. + Yon crowding flocks, that at a distance graze, + Have haply soiled the turf. See! that old hound, + How busily he works, but dares not trust + His doubtful sense; draw yet a wider ring. + Hark! now again the chorus fills; as bells + Silenced a while at once their peal renew, +_250 + And high in air the tuneful thunder rolls. + See, how they toss, with animated rage + Recovering all they lost!--That eager haste + Some doubling wile foreshews.--Ah! yet once more + They're checked--hold back with speed--on either hand + They nourish round--even yet persist--'Tis right, + Away they spring; the rustling stubbles bend + Beneath the driving storm. Now the poor chase + Begins to flag, to her last shifts reduced. + From brake to brake she flies, and visits all +_260 + Her well-known haunts, where once she ranged secure, + With love and plenty bless'd. See! there she goes, + She reels along, and by her gait betrays + Her inward weakness. See, how black she looks! + The sweat that clogs the obstructed pores, scarce leaves + A languid scent. And now in open view + See, see, she flies! each eager hound exerts + His utmost speed, and stretches every nerve. + How quick she turns! their gaping jaws eludes, + And yet a moment lives; till round inclosed +_270 + By all the greedy pack, with infant screams + She yields her breath, and there reluctant dies. + So when the furious Bacchanals assailed + Thracian Orpheus, poor ill-fated bard! + Loud was the cry; hills, woods, and Hebrus' banks, + Returned their clamorous rage; distressed he flies, + Shifting from place to place, but flies in vain; + For eager they pursue, till panting, faint, + By noisy multitudes o'erpowered, he sinks, + To the relentless crowd a bleeding prey. +_280 + The huntsman now, a deep incision made, + Shakes out with hands impure, and dashes down + Her reeking entrails, and yet quivering heart. + These claim the pack, the bloody perquisite + For all their toils. Stretched on the ground she lies, + A mangled corse; in her dim glaring eyes + Cold death exults, and stiffens every limb. + Awed by the threatening whip, the furious hounds + Around her bay; or at their master's foot, + Each happy favourite courts his kind applause, +_290 + With humble adulation cowering low. + All now is joy. With cheeks full-blown they wind + Her solemn dirge, while the loud-opening pack + The concert swell, and hills and dales return + The sadly-pleasing sounds. Thus the poor hare, + A puny, dastard animal, but versed + In subtle wiles, diverts the youthful train. + But if thy proud, aspiring soul disdains + So mean a prey, delighted with the pomp, + Magnificence and grandeur of the chase; +_300 + Hear what the Muse from faithful records sings. + Why on the banks of Gemna, Indian stream, + Line within line, rise the pavilions proud, + Their silken streamers waving in the wind? + Why neighs the warrior horse? from tent to tent, + Why press in crowds the buzzing multitude? + Why shines the polished helm, and pointed lance, + This way and that far-beaming o'er the plain? + Nor Visapour nor Golconda rebel; + Nor the great Sophy, with his numerous host +_310 + Lays waste the provinces; nor glory fires + To rob, and to destroy, beneath the name + And specious guise of war. A nobler cause + Calls Aurengzebe[7] to arms. No cities sacked, + No mother's tears, no helpless orphan's cries, + No violated leagues, with sharp remorse + Shall sting the conscious victor: but mankind + Shall hail him good and just. For 'tis on beasts + He draws his vengeful sword; on beasts of prey + Full-fed with human gore. See, see, he comes! +_320 + Imperial Delhi opening wide her gates, + Pours out her thronging legions, bright in arms, + And all the pomp of war. Before them sound + Clarions and trumpets, breathing martial airs, + And bold defiance. High upon his throne, + Borne on the back of his proud elephant, + Sits the great chief of Tamur's glorious race: + Sublime he sits, amid the radiant blaze + Of gems and gold. Omrahs about him crowd, + And rein the Arabian steed, and watch his nod: +_330 + And potent Rajahs, who themselves preside + O'er realms of wide extent; but here submiss + Their homage pay, alternate kings and slaves. + Next these, with prying eunuchs girt around, + The fair sultanas of his court; a troop + Of chosen beauties, but with care concealed + From each intrusive eye; one look is death. + A cruel Eastern law! (had kings a power + But equal to their wild tyrannic will) + To rob us of the sun's all-cheering ray, +_340 + Were less severe. The vulgar close the march, + Slaves and artificers; and Delhi mourns + Her empty and depopulated streets. + Now at the camp arrived, with stern review, + Through groves of spears, from file to file he darts + His sharp experienced eye; their order marks, + Each in his station ranged, exact and firm, + Till in the boundless line his sight is lost. + Not greater multitudes in arms appeared, + On these extended plains, when Ammon's[8] son +_350 + With mighty Porus in dread battle joined, + The vassal world the prize. Nor was that host + More numerous of old, which the great king + Poured out on Greece from all the unpeopled East; + That bridged the Hellespont from shore to shore, + And drank the rivers dry. Meanwhile in troops + The busy hunter-train mark out the ground, + A wide circumference; full many a league + In compass round; woods, rivers, hills, and plains, + Large provinces; enough to gratify +_360 + Ambition's highest aim, could reason bound + Man's erring will. Now sit in close divan + The mighty chiefs of this prodigious host. + He from the throne high-eminent presides, + Gives out his mandates proud, laws of the chase, + From ancient records drawn. With reverence low, + And prostrate at his feet, the chiefs receive + His irreversible decrees, from which + To vary is to die. Then his brave bands + Each to his station leads; encamping round, +_370 + Till the wide circle is completely formed; + Where decent order reigns, what these command, + Those execute with speed, and punctual care; + In all the strictest discipline of war: + As if some watchful foe, with bold insult + Hung lowering o'er their camp. The high resolve, + That flies on wings, through all the encircling line, + Each motion steers, and animates the whole. + So by the sun's attractive power controlled, + The planets in their spheres roll round his orb, +_380 + On all he shines, and rules the great machine. + Ere yet the morn dispels the fleeting mists, + The signal given by the loud trumpet's voice, + Now high in air the imperial standard waves, + Emblazoned rich with gold, and glittering gems; + And like a sheet of fire, through the dun gloom + Streaming meteorous. The soldiers' shouts, + And all the brazen instuments of war, + With mutual clamor, and united din, + Fill the large concave. While from camp to camp, +_390 + They catch the varied sounds, floating in air, + Round all the wide circumference, tigers fell + Shrink at the noise; deep in his gloomy den + The lion starts, and morsels yet unchewed + Drop from his trembling jaws. Now all at once + Onward they march embattled, to the sound + Of martial harmony; fifes, cornets, drums, + That rouse the sleepy soul to arms, and bold + Heroic deeds. In parties here and there + Detached o'er hill and dale, the hunters range +_400 + Inquisitive; strong dogs that match in fight + The boldest brute, around their masters wait, + A faithful guard. No haunt unsearched, they drive + From every covert, and from every den, + The lurking savages. Incessant shouts + Re-echo through the woods, and kindling fires + Gleam from the mountain tops; the forest seems + One mingling blaze: like flocks of sheep they fly + Before the flaming brand: fierce lions, pards, + Boars, tigers, bears, and wolves; a dreadful crew +_410 + Of grim blood-thirsty foes: growling along, + They stalk indignant; but fierce vengeance still + Hangs pealing on their rear, and pointed spears + Present immediate death. Soon as the night + Wrapt in her sable veil forbids the chase, + They pitch their tents, in even ranks around + The circling camp. The guards are placed, and fires + At proper distances ascending rise, + And paint the horizon with their ruddy light. + So round some island's shore of large extent, +_420 + Amid the gloomy horrors of the night, + The billows breaking on the pointed rocks, + Seem all one flame, and the bright circuit wide + Appears a bulwark of surrounding fire. + What dreadful bowlings, and what hideous roar, + Disturb those peaceful shades where erst the bird + That glads the night, had cheered the listening groves + With sweet complainings! Through the silent gloom + Oft they the guards assail; as oft repelled + They fly reluctant, with hot-boiling rage +_430 + Stung to the quick, and mad with wild despair. + Thus day by day, they still the chase renew; + At night encamp; till now in straiter bounds + The circle lessens, and the beasts perceive + The wall that hems them in on every side. + And now their fury bursts, and knows no mean; + From man they turn, and point their ill-judged rage + Against their fellow brutes. With teeth and claws + The civil war begins; grappling they tear. + Lions on tigers prey, and bears on wolves: +_440 + Horrible discord! till the crowd behind + Shouting pursue, and part the bloody fray. + At once their wrath subsides; tame as the lamb + The lion hangs his head, the furious pard, + Cowed and subdued, flies from the face of man, + Nor bears one glance of his commanding eye. + So abject is a tyrant in distress! + At last within the narrow plain confined, + A listed field, marked out for bloody deeds, + An amphitheatre more glorious far +_450 + Than ancient Rome could boast, they crowd in heaps, + Dismayed, and quite appalled. In meet array + Sheathed in refulgent arms, a noble band + Advance; great lords of high imperial blood, + Early resolved to assert their royal race, + And prove by glorious deeds their valour's growth + Mature, ere yet the callow down has spread + Its curling shade. On bold Arabian steeds + With decent pride they sit, that fearless hear + The lion's dreadful roar; and down the rock +_460 + Swift-shooting plunge, or o'er the mountain's ridge + Stretching along, the greedy tiger leave + Panting behind. On foot their faithful slaves + With javelins armed attend; each watchful eye + Fixed on his youthful care, for him alone + He fears, and to redeem his life, unmoved + Would lose his own. The mighty Aurengzebe, + From his high-elevated throne, beholds + His blooming race; revolving in his mind + What once he was, in his gay spring of life, +_470 + When vigour strung his nerves. Parental joy + Melts in his eyes, and flushes in his cheeks. + Now the loud trumpet sounds a charge. The shouts + Of eager hosts, through all the circling line, + And the wild bowlings of the beasts within + Rend wide the welkin, flights of arrows, winged + With death, and javelins launched from every arm, + Gall sore the brutal bands, with many a wound + Gored through and through. Despair at last prevails, + When fainting nature shrinks, and rouses all +_480 + Their drooping courage. Swelled with furious rage, + Their eyes dart fire; and on the youthful band + They rush implacable. They their broad shields + Quick interpose; on each devoted head + Their flaming falchions, as the bolts of Jove, + Descend unerring. Prostrate on the ground + The grinning monsters lie, and their foul gore + Defiles the verdant plain. Nor idle stand + The trusty slaves; with pointed spears they pierce + Through their tough hides; or at their gaping mouths +_490 + An easier passage find. The king of brutes + In broken roarings breathes his last; the bear + Grumbles in death; nor can his spotted skin, + Though sleek it shine, with varied beauties gay, + Save the proud pard from unrelenting fate. + The battle bleeds, grim Slaughter strides along, + Glutting her greedy jaws, grins o'er her prey. + Men, horses, dogs, fierce beasts of every kind, + A strange promiscuous carnage, drenched in blood, + And heaps on heaps amassed. What yet remain +_500 + Alive, with vain assault contend to break + The impenetrable line. Others, whom fear + Inspires with self-preserving wiles, beneath + The bodies of the slain for shelter creep. + Aghast they fly, or hide their heads dispersed. + And now perchance (had Heaven but pleased) the work + Of death had been complete; and Aurengzebe + By one dread frown extinguished half their race. + When lo! the bright sultanas of his court + Appear, and to his ravished eyes display +_510 + Those charms, but rarely to the day revealed. + Lowly they bend, and humbly sue, to save + The vanquished host. What mortal can deny + When suppliant beauty begs? At his command + Opening to right and left, the well-trained troops + Leave a large void for their retreating foes. + Away they fly, on wings of fear upborne, + To seek on distant hills their late abodes. + Ye proud oppressors, whose vain hearts exult + In wantonness of power, 'gainst the brute race, +_520 + Fierce robbers like yourselves, a guiltless war + Wage uncontrolled: here quench your thirst of blood: + But learn from Aurengzebe to spare mankind. + + +BOOK III. + +THE ARGUMENT. + +Of King Edgar and his imposing a tribute of wolves' heads upon the kings +of Wales: from hence a transition to fox-hunting, which is described in +all its parts.--Censure of an over-numerous pack.--Of the several engines +to destroy foxes, and other wild beasts.--The steel-trap described, and +the manner of using it.--Description of the pitfall for the lion; and +another for the elephant.--The ancient way of hunting the tiger with a +mirror.--The Arabian manner of hunting the wild boar.--Description of the +royal stag-chase at Windsor Forest.--Concludes with an address to his +Majesty, and an eulogy upon mercy. + + In Albion's isle when glorious Edgar reigned, + He wisely provident, from her white cliffs + Launched half her forests, and with numerous fleets + Covered his wide domain: there proudly rode + Lord of the deep, the great prerogative + Of British monarchs. Each invader bold, + Dane and Norwegian, at a distance gazed, + And disappointed, gnashed his teeth in vain. + He scoured the seas, and to remotest shores + With swelling sails the trembling corsair fled. +_10 + Rich commerce flourished; and with busy oars + Dashed the resounding surge. Nor less at land + His royal cares; wise, potent, gracious prince! + His subjects from their cruel foes he saved, + And from rapacious savages their flocks. + Cambria's proud kings (though with reluctance) paid + Their tributary wolves; head after head, + In full account, till the woods yield no more, + And all the ravenous race extinct is lost. + In fertile pastures, more securely grazed +_20 + The social troops; and soon their large increase + With curling fleeces whitened all the plains. + But yet, alas! the wily fox remained, + A subtle, pilfering foe, prowling around 24 + In midnight shades, and wakeful to destroy. + In the full fold, the poor defenceless lamb, + Seized by his guileful arts, with sweet warm blood + Supplies a rich repast. The mournful ewe, + Her dearest treasure lost, through the dun night + Wanders perplexed, and darkling bleats in vain: +_30 + While in the adjacent bush, poor Philomel, + (Herself a parent once, till wanton churls + Despoiled her nest) joins in her loud laments, + With sweeter notes, and more melodious woe. + For these nocturnal thieves, huntsman, prepare + Thy sharpest vengeance. Oh! how glorious 'tis + To right the oppressed, and bring the felon vile + To just disgrace! Ere yet the morning peep, + Or stars retire from the first blush of day, + With thy far-echoing voice alarm thy pack, +_40 + And rouse thy bold compeers. Then to the copse, + Thick with entangling grass, or prickly furze, + With silence lead thy many-coloured hounds, + In all their beauty's pride. See! how they range + Dispersed, how busily this way and that, + They cross, examining with curious nose + Each likely haunt. Hark! on the drag I hear + Their doubtful notes, preluding to a cry + More nobly full, and swelled with every mouth. + As straggling armies at the trumpet's voice, +_50 + Press to their standard; hither all repair, + And hurry through the woods; with hasty step + Bustling, and full of hope; now driven on heaps + They push, they strive; while from his kennel sneaks + The conscious villain. See! he skulks along, + Sleek at the shepherd's cost, and plump with meals + Purloined. So thrive the wicked here below. + Though high his brush he bear, though tipped with white + It gaily shine; yet ere the sun declined + Recall the shades of night, the pampered rogue +_60 + Shall rue his fate reversed; and at his heels + Behold the just avenger, swift to seize + His forfeit head, and thirsting for his blood. + Heavens! what melodious strains! how beat our hearts + Big with tumultuous joy! the loaded gales + Breathe harmony; and as the tempest drives + From wood to wood, through every dark recess + The forest thunders, and the mountains shake. + The chorus swells; less various, and less sweet + The trilling notes, when in those very groves, +_70 + The feathered choristers salute the spring, + And every bush in concert joins; or when + The master's hand, in modulated air, + Bids the loud organ breathe, and all the powers + Of music in one instrument combine, + An universal minstrelsy. And now + In vain each earth he tries, the doors are barred + Impregnable, nor is the covert safe; + He pants for purer air. Hark! what loud shouts + Re-echo through the groves! he breaks away, +_80 + Shrill horns proclaim his flight. Each straggling hound + Strains o'er the lawn to reach the distant pack. + 'Tis triumph all and joy. Now, my brave youths, + Now give a loose to the clean generous steed; + Flourish the whip, nor spare the galling spur; + But in the madness of delight, forget + Your fears. Far o'er the rocky hills we range, + And dangerous our course; but in the brave + True courage never fails. In vain the stream + In foaming eddies whirls; in vain the ditch +_90 + Wide-gaping threatens death. The craggy steep + Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care, + And clings to every twig, gives us no pain; + But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold + To pounce his prey. Then up the opponent hill, + By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft: + So ships in winter-seas now sliding sink + Adown the steepy wave, then tossed on high + Ride on the billows, and defy the storm. + What lengths we pass! where will the wandering chase +_100 + Lead us bewildered! smooth as the swallows skim + The new-shorn mead, and far more swift we fly. + See my brave pack! how to the head they press, + Jostling in close array; then more diffuse + Obliquely wheel, while from their opening mouths + The vollied thunder breaks. So when the cranes + Their annual voyage steer, with wanton wing + Their figure oft they change, and their loud clang + From cloud to cloud rebounds. How far behind + The hunter-crew, wide straggling o'er the plain! +_110 + The panting courser now with trembling nerves + Begins to reel; urged by the goring spur, + Makes many a faint effort: he snorts, he foams, + The big round drops run trickling down his sides, + With sweat and blood distained. Look back and view + The strange confusion of the vale below, + Where sour vexation reigns; see yon poor jade, + In vain the impatient rider frets and swears, + With galling spurs harrows his mangled sides; + He can no more: his stiff unpliant limbs +_120 + Rooted in earth, unmoved and fixed he stands, + For every cruel curse returns a groan, + And sobs, and faints, and dies. Who without grief + Can view that pampered steed, his master's joy, + His minion, and his daily care, well clothed, + Well fed with every nicer cate; no cost, + No labour spared; who, when the flying chase + Broke from the copse, without a rival led + The numerous train: now a sad spectacle + Of pride brought low, and humbled insolence, +_130 + Drove like a panniered ass, and scourged along. + While these with loosened reins, and dangling heels, + Hang on their reeling palfreys, that scarce bear + Their weights; another in the treacherous bog + Lies floundering half engulfed. What biting thoughts + Torment the abandoned crew! Old age laments + His vigour spent: the tall, plump, brawny youth + Curses his cumbrous bulk; and envies now + The short Pygmean race, he whilom kenn'd + With proud insulting leer. A chosen few +_140 + Alone the sport enjoy, nor droop beneath + Their pleasing toils. Here, huntsman, from this height + Observe yon birds of prey; if I can judge, + 'Tis there the villain lurks; they hover round + And claim him as their own. Was I not right? + See! there he creeps along; his brush he drags, + And sweeps the mire impure; from his wide jaws + His tongue unmoistened hangs; symptoms too sure + Of sudden death. Ha! yet he flies, nor yields + To black despair. But one loose more, and all +_150 + His wiles are vain. Hark! through yon village now + The rattling clamour rings. The barns, the cots + And leafless elms return the joyous sounds. + Through every homestall, and through every yard, + His midnight walks, panting, forlorn, he flies; + Through every hole he sneaks, through every jakes + Plunging he wades besmeared, and fondly hopes + In a superior stench to lose his own: + But faithful to the track, the unerring hounds + With peals of echoing vengeance close pursue. +_160 + And now distressed, no sheltering covert near, + Into the hen-roost creeps, whose walls with gore + Distained attest his guilt. There, villain, there + Expect thy fate deserved. And soon from thence + The pack inquisitive, with clamour loud, + Drag out their trembling prize; and on his blood + With greedy transport feast. In bolder notes + Each sounding horn proclaims the felon dead: + And all the assembled village shouts for joy. + The farmer who beholds his mortal foe +_170 + Stretched at his feet, applauds the glorious deed, + And grateful calls us to a short repast! + In the full glass the liquid amber smiles, + Our native product. And his good old mate + With choicest viands heaps the liberal board, + To crown our triumphs, and reward our toils. + Here must the instructive Muse (but with respect) + Censure that numerous pack, that crowd of state, + With which the vain profusion of the great + Covers the lawn, and shakes the trembling copse. +_180 + Pompous incumbrance! A magnificence + Useless, vexatious! For the wily fox, + Safe in the increasing number of his foes, + Kens well the great advantage: slinks behind + And slily creeps through the same beaten track, + And hunts them step by step; then views escaped + With inward ecstasy, the panting throng + In their own footsteps puzzled, foiled and lost. + So when proud Eastern kings summon to arms + Their gaudy legions, from far distant climes +_190 + They flock in crowds, unpeopling half a world: + But when the day of battle calls them forth + To charge the well-trained foe, a band compact + Of chosen veterans; they press blindly on, + In heaps confused, by their own weapons fall, + A smoking carnage scattered o'er the plain. + Nor hounds alone this noxious brood destroy: + The plundered warrener full many a wile + Devises to entrap his greedy foe, + Fat with nocturnal spoils. At close of day, +_200 + With silence drags his trail; then from the ground + Pares thin the close-grazed turf, there with nice hand + Covers the latent death, with curious springs + Prepared to fly at once, whene'er the tread + Of man or beast unwarily shall press + The yielding surface. By the indented steel + With gripe tenacious held, the felon grins, + And struggles, but in vain: yet oft 'tis known, + When every art has failed, the captive fox + Has shared the wounded joint, and with a limb +_210 + Compounded for his life. But if perchance + In the deep pitfall plunged, there's no escape; + But unreprieved he dies, and bleached in air + The jest of clowns, his reeking carcase hangs. + Of these are various kinds; not even the king + Of brutes evades this deep devouring grave: + But by the wily African betrayed, + Heedless of fate, within its gaping jaws + Expires indignant. When the orient beam + With blushes paints the dawn; and all the race +_220 + Carnivorous, with blood full-gorged, retire + Into their darksome cells, there satiate snore + O'er dripping offals, and the mangled limbs + Of men and beasts; the painful forester 224 + Climbs the high hills, whose proud aspiring tops, + With the tall cedar crowned, and taper fir, + Assail the clouds. There 'mong the craggy rocks, + And thickets intricate, trembling he views + His footsteps in the sand; the dismal road + And avenue to death. Hither he calls +_230 + His watchful bands; and low into the ground + A pit they sink, full many a fathom deep. + Then in the midst a column high is reared, + The butt of some fair tree; upon whose top + A lamb is placed, just ravished from his dam. + And next a wall they build, with stones and earth + Encircling round, and hiding from all view + The dreadful precipice. Now when the shades + Of night hang lowering o'er the mountain's brow; + And hunger keen, and pungent thirst of blood, +_240 + Rouse up the slothful beast, he shakes his sides, + Slow-rising from his lair, and stretches wide + His ravenous jaws, with recent gore distained. + The forests tremble, as he roars aloud, + Impatient to destroy. O'erjoyed he hears + The bleating innocent, that claims in vain + The shepherd's care, and seeks with piteous moan + The foodful teat; himself, alas! designed + Another's meal. For now the greedy brute + Winds him from far; and leaping o'er the mound +_250 + To seize his trembling prey, headlong is plunged + Into the deep abyss. Prostrate he lies + Astunned and impotent. Ah! what avail + Thine eye-balls flashing fire, thy length of tail, + That lashes thy broad sides, thy jaws besmeared + With blood and offals crude, thy shaggy mane + The terror of the woods, thy stately port, + And bulk enormous, since by stratagem + Thy strength is foiled? Unequal is the strife, + When sovereign reason combats brutal rage. +_260 + On distant Ethiopia's sun-burnt coasts, + The black inhabitants a pitfall frame, + But of a different kind, and different use. + With slender poles the wide capacious mouth, + And hurdles slight, they close; o'er these is spread + A floor of verdant turf, with all its flowers + Smiling delusive, and from strictest search + Concealing the deep grave that yawns below. + Then boughs of trees they cut, with tempting fruit + Of various kinds surcharged; the downy peach, +_270 + The clustering vine, and of bright golden rind + The fragrant orange. Soon as evening gray + Advances slow, besprinkling all around + With kind refreshing dews the thirsty glebe, + The stately elephant from the close shade + With step majestic strides, eager to taste + The cooler breeze, that from the sea-beat shore + Delightful breathes, or in the limpid stream + To lave his panting sides; joyous he scents + The rich repast, unweeting of the death +_280 + That lurks within. And soon he sporting breaks + The brittle boughs, and greedily devours + The fruit delicious. Ah! too dearly bought; + The price is life. For now the treacherous turf + Trembling gives way; and the unwieldy beast + Self-sinking, drops into the dark profound. + So when dilated vapours, struggling heave + The incumbent earth; if chance the caverned ground + Shrinking subside, and the thin surface yield, + Down sinks at once the ponderous dome, engulfed +_290 + With all its towers. Subtle, delusive man! + How various are thy wiles! artful to kill + Thy savage foes, a dull unthinking race! + Fierce from his lair, springs forth the speckled pard, + Thirsting for blood, and eager to destroy; + The huntsman flies, but to his flight alone + Confides not: at convenient distance fixed, + A polished mirror stops in full career + The furious brute: he there his image views; + Spots against spots with rage improving glow; +_300 + Another pard his bristly whiskers curls, + Grins as he grins, fierce-menacing, and wide + Distends his opening jaws; himself against + Himself opposed, and with dread vengeance armed. + The huntsman now secure, with fatal aim + Directs the pointed spear, by which transfixed + He dies, and with him dies the rival shade. + Thus man innumerous engines forms, to assail + The savage kind: but most the docile horse, + Swift and confederate with man, annoys +_310 + His brethren of the plains; without whose aid + The hunter's arts are vain, unskilled to wage + With the more active brutes an equal war. + But borne by him, without the well-trained pack, + Man dares his foe, on wings of wind secure. + Him the fierce Arab mounts, and with his troop + Of bold compeers, ranges the deserts wild, + Where by the magnet's aid, the traveller + Steers his untrodden course; yet oft on land + Is wrecked, in the high-rolling waves of sand +_320 + Immersed and lost; while these intrepid bands, + Safe in their horses' speed, out-fly the storm, + And scouring round, make men and beasts their prey. + The grisly boar is singled from his herd + As large as that in Erimanthian woods. + A match for Hercules. Round him they fly + In circles wide; and each in passing sends + His feathered death into his brawny sides. + But perilous the attempt. For if the steed + Haply too near approach; or the loose earth +_330 + His footing fail; the watchful angry beast + The advantage spies; and at one sidelong glance + Rips up his groin. Wounded, he rears aloft, + And plunging, from his back the rider hurls + Precipitant; then bleeding spurns the ground, + And drags his reeking entrails o'er the plain. + Meanwhile the surly monster trots along, + But with unequal speed; for still they wound, + Swift-wheeling in the spacious ring. A wood + Of darts upon his back he bears; adown +_340 + His tortured sides, the crimson torrents roll + From many a gaping font. And now at last + Staggering he falls, in blood and foam expires. + But whither roves my devious Muse, intent + On antique tales, while yet the royal stag + Unsung remains? Tread with respectful awe + Windsor's green glades; where Denham, tuneful bard, + Charmed once the listening dryads, with his song + Sublimely sweet. Oh! grant me, sacred shade, + To glean submiss what thy full sickle leaves. +_350 + The morning sun that gilds with trembling rays + Windsor's high towers, beholds the courtly train + Mount for the chase, nor views in all his course + A scene so gay: heroic, noble youths, + In arts and arms renowned, and lovely nymphs + The fairest of this isle, where Beauty dwells + Delighted, and deserts her Paphian grove + For our more favoured shades: in proud parade + These shine magnificent, and press around + The royal happy pair. Great in themselves, +_360 + They smile superior; of external show + Regardless, while their inbred virtues give + A lustre to their power, and grace their court + With real splendours, far above the pomp + Of eastern kings, in all their tinsel pride. + Like troops of Amazons, the female band + Prance round their cars, not in refulgent arms + As those of old; unskilled to wield the sword, + Or bend the bow, these kill with surer aim. + The royal offspring, fairest of the fair, +_370 + Lead on the splendid train. Anna, more bright + Than summer suns, or as the lightning keen, + With irresistible effulgence armed, + Fires every heart. He must be more than man, + Who unconcerned can bear the piercing ray. + Amelia, milder than the blushing dawn, + With sweet engaging air, but equal power, + Insensibly subdues, and in soft chains + Her willing captives leads. Illustrious maids, + Ever triumphant! whose victorious charms, +_380 + Without the needless aid of high descent, + Had awed mankind, and taught the world's great lords + To bow and sue for grace. But who is he + Fresh as a rose-bud newly blown, and fair + As opening lilies; on whom every eye + With joy and admiration dwells? See, see, + He reins his docile barb with manly grace. + Is it Adonis for the chase arrayed? + Or Britain's second hope? Hail, blooming youth![9] + May all your virtues with your years improve, +_390 + Till in consumate worth, you shine the pride + Of these our days, and to succeeding times + A bright example. As his guard of mutes + On the great sultan wait, with eyes deject + And fixed on earth, no voice, no sound is heard + Within the wide serail, but all is hushed, + And awful silence reigns; thus stand the pack + Mute and unmoved, and cowering low to earth, + While pass the glittering court, and royal pair: + So disciplined those hounds, and so reserved, +_400 + Whose honour 'tis to glad the hearts of kings. + But soon the winding horn, and huntsman's voice, + Let loose the general chorus; far around + Joy spreads its wings, and the gay morning smiles. + Unharboured now the royal stag forsakes + His wonted lair; he shakes his dappled sides, + And tosses high his beamy head, the copse + Beneath his antlers bends. What doubling shifts + He tries! not more the wily hare; in these + Would still persist, did not the full-mouthed pack +_410 + With dreadful concert thunder in his rear. + The woods reply, the hunter's cheering shouts + Float through the glades, and the wide forest rings. + How merrily they chant! their nostrils deep + Inhale the grateful steam. Such is the cry, + And such the harmonious din, the soldier deems + The battle kindling, and the statesman grave + Forgets his weighty cares; each age, each sex + In the wild transport joins; luxuriant joy, + And pleasure in excess, sparkling exult +_420 + On every brow, and revel unrestrained. + How happy art thou, man, when thou 'rt no more + Thyself! when all the pangs that grind thy soul, + In rapture and in sweet oblivion lost, + Yield a short interval, and ease from pain! + See the swift courser strains, his shining hoofs + Securely beat the solid ground. Who now + The dangerous pitfall fears, with tangling heath + High-overgrown? Or who the quivering bog + Soft yielding to the step? All now is plain, +_430 + Plain as the strand sea-laved, that stretches far + Beneath the rocky shore. Glades crossing glades + The forest opens to our wondering view: + Such was the king's command. Let tyrants fierce + Lay waste the world; his the more glorious part + To check their pride; and when the brazen voice + Of war is hushed (as erst victorious Rome) + To employ his stationed legions in the works + Of peace; to smoothe the rugged wilderness, + To drain the stagnate fen, to raise the slope +_440 + Depending road, and to make gay the face + Of nature, with the embellishments of art. + How melts my beating heart! as I behold + Each lovely nymph our island's boast and pride, + Push on the generous steed, that strokes along + O'er rough, o'er smooth, nor heeds the steepy hill, + Nor falters in the extended vale below: + Their garments loosely waving in the wind, + And all the flush of beauty in their cheeks! + While at their sides their pensive lovers wait, +_450 + Direct their dubious course; now chilled with fear + Solicitous, and now with love inflamed. + Oh! grant, indulgent Heaven, no rising storm + May darken with black wings, this glorious scene! + Should some malignant power thus damp our joys, + Vain were the gloomy cave, such as of old + Betrayed to lawless love the Tyrian queen. + For Britain's virtuous nymphs are chaste as fair, + Spotless, unblamed, with equal triumph reign + In the dun gloom, as in the blaze of day. +_460 + Now the blown stag, through woods, bogs, roads, and streams + Has measured half the forest; but alas! + He flies in vain, he flies not from his fears. + Though far he cast the lingering pack behind, + His haggard fancy still with horror views + The fell destroyer; still the fatal cry + Insults his ears, and wounds his trembling heart. + So the poor fury-haunted wretch (his hands + In guiltless blood distained) still seems to hear + + The dying shrieks; and the pale threatening ghost +_470 + Moves as he moves, and as he flies pursues. + See here his slot; up yon green hill he climbs, + Pants on its brow a while, sadly looks back + On his pursuers, covering all the plain; + But wrung with anguish, bears not long the sight, + Shoots down the steep, and sweats along the vale: + There mingles with the herd, where once he reigned + Proud monarch of the groves, whose clashing beam + + His rivals awed, and whose exalted power + Was still rewarded with successful love. +_480 + But the base herd have learned the ways of men, + Averse they fly, or with rebellious aim + Chase him from thence: needless their impious deed, + The huntsman knows him by a thousand marks, + Black, and embossed; nor are his hounds deceived; + Too well distinguish these, and never leave + Their once devoted foe; familiar grows + His scent, and strong their appetite to kill. + Again he flies, and with redoubled speed + Skims o'er the lawn; still the tenacious crew +_490 + Hang on the track, aloud demand their prey, + And push him many a league. If haply then + Too far escaped, and the gay courtly train + Behind are cast, the huntsman's clanging whip + Stops full their bold career; passive they stand, + Unmoved, an humble, an obsequious crowd, + As if by stern Medusa gazed to stones. + So at their general's voice whole armies halt + In full pursuit, and check their thirst of blood. + Soon at the king's command, like hasty streams +_500 + Dammed up a while, they foam, and pour along + With fresh-recruited might. The stag, who hoped + His foes were lost, now once more hears astunned + The dreadful din; he shivers every limb, + He starts, he bounds; each bush presents a foe. + Pressed by the fresh relay, no pause allowed, + Breathless, and faint, he falters in his pace, + And lifts his weary limbs with pain, that scarce + Sustain their load! he pants, he sobs appalled; + Drops down his heavy head to earth, beneath +_510 + His cumbrous beams oppressed. But if perchance + Some prying eye surprise him; soon he rears + Erect his towering front, bounds o'er the lawn + With ill-dissembled vigour, to amuse + The knowing forester; who inly smiles + + At his weak shifts, and unavailing frauds. + So midnight tapers waste their last remains, + Shine forth a while, and as they blaze expire. + From wood to wood redoubling thunders roll, + And bellow through the vales; the moving storm +_520 + Thickens amain, and loud triumphant shouts, + And horns shrill-warbling in each glade, prelude + To his approaching fate. And now in view + With hobbling gait, and high, exerts amazed + What strength is left: to the last dregs of life + Reduced, his spirits fail, on every side + Hemmed in, besieged; not the least opening left + To gleaming hope, the unhappy's last reserve. + Where shall he turn? or whither fly? Despair + Gives courage to the weak. Resolved to die, +_530 + He fears no more, but rushes on his foes, + And deals his deaths around; beneath his feet + These grovelling lie, those by his antlers gored + Defile the ensanguined plain. Ah! see distressed + He stands at bay against yon knotty trunk, + That covers well his rear, his front presents + An host of foes. Oh! shun, ye noble train, + The rude encounter, and believe your lives + Your country's due alone. As now aloof + They wing around, he finds his soul upraised +_540 + To dare some great exploit; he charges home + Upon the broken pack, that on each side + Fly diverse; then as o'er the turf he strains, + He vents the cooling stream, and up the breeze + Urges his course with eager violence: + Then takes the soil, and plunges in the flood + Precipitant; down the mid-stream he wafts + Along, till (like a ship distressed, that runs + Into some winding creek) close to the verge + Of a small island, for his weary feet +_550 + Sure anchorage he finds, there skulks immersed. + His nose alone above the wave draws in + The vital air; all else beneath the flood + Concealed, and lost, deceives each prying eye + Of man or brute. In vain the crowding pack + Draw on the margin of the stream, or cut + The liquid wave with oary feet, that move + In equal time. The gliding waters leave + No trace behind, and his contracted pores + But sparingly perspire: the huntsman strains +_560 + His labouring lungs, and puffs his cheeks in vain; + At length a blood-hound bold, studious to kill, + And exquisite of sense, winds him from far; + Headlong he leaps into the flood, his mouth + Loud opening spends amain, and his wide throat + Swells every note with joy; then fearless dives + Beneath the wave, hangs on his haunch, and wounds + The unhappy brute, that flounders in the stream, + Sorely distressed, and struggling strives to mount + The steepy shore. Haply once more escaped, +_570 + Again he stands at bay, amid the groves + Of willows, bending low their downy heads. + Outrageous transport fires the greedy pack; + These swim the deep, and those crawl up with pain + The slippery bank, while others on firm land + Engage; the stag repels each bold assault, + Maintains his post, and wounds for wounds returns. + As when some wily corsair boards a ship + Full-freighted, or from Afric's golden coasts, + Or India's wealthy strand, his bloody crew +_580 + Upon her deck he slings; these in the deep + Drop short, and swim to reach her steepy sides, + And clinging, climb aloft; while those on board + Urge on the work of fate; the master bold, + Pressed to his last retreat, bravely resolves + To sink his wealth beneath the whelming wave, + His wealth, his foes, nor unrevenged to die. + So fares it with the stag: so he resolves + To plunge at once into the flood below, + Himself, his foes in one deep gulf immersed. +_590 + Ere yet he executes this dire intent, + In wild disorder once more views the light; + Beneath a weight of woe, he groans distressed: + The tears run trickling down his hairy cheeks; + He weeps, nor weeps in vain. The king beholds + His wretched plight, and tenderness innate + Moves his great soul. Soon at his high command + Rebuked, the disappointed, hungry pack + Retire submiss, and grumbling quit their prey. + Great Prince! from thee, what may thy subjects hope; +_600 + So kind, and so beneficent to brutes? + O mercy, heavenly born! Sweet attribute! + Thou great, thou best prerogative of power! + Justice may guard the throne, but joined with thee, + On rocks of adamant it stands secure, + And braves the storm beneath; soon as thy smiles + Gild the rough deep, the foaming waves subside, + And all the noisy tumult sinks in peace. + + + + +BOOK IV. + +THE ARGUMENT. + + +Of the necessity of destroying some beasts, and preserving others for the +use of man.--Of breeding of hounds; the season for this business.--The +choice of the dog, of great moment.--Of the litter of whelps.--Number to +be reared.--Of setting them out to their several walks.--Care to be taken +to prevent their hunting too soon.--Of entering the whelps.--Of breaking +them from running at sheep.-Of the diseases of hounds.-Of their age.--Of +madness; two sorts of it described, the dumb, and outrageous madness: its +dreadful effects.--Burning of the wound recommended as preventing all ill +consequences.--The infectious hounds to be separated, and fed apart.--The +vanity of trusting to the many infallible cures for this malady.--The +dismal effects of the biting of a mad dog, upon man, described. +--Description of the otter hunting.--The conclusion. + + Whate'er of earth is formed, to earth returns + Dissolved: the various objects we behold, + Plants, animals, this whole material mass, + Are ever changing, ever new. The soul + Of man alone, that particle divine, + Escapes the wreck of worlds, when all things fail. + Hence great the distance 'twixt the beasts that perish, + And God's bright image, man's immortal race. + The brute creation are his property, + Subservient to his will, and for him made. +_10 + As hurtful these he kills, as useful those + Preserves; their sole and arbitrary king. + Should he not kill, as erst the Samian sage + Taught unadvised, and Indian Brahmins now + As vainly preach; the teeming ravenous brutes + Might fill the scanty space of this terrene, + Encumbering all the globe: should not his care + Improve his growing stock, their kinds might fail, + Man might once more on roots, and acorns, feed, + And through the deserts range, shivering, forlorn, +_20 + Quite destitute of every solace dear, + And every smiling gaiety of life. + The prudent huntsman, therefore, will supply, + With annual large recruits, his broken pack, + And propagate their kind. As from the root + Fresh scions still spring forth, and daily yield + New blooming honours to the parent-tree; + Far shall his pack be famed, far sought his breed, + And princes at their tables feast those hounds + His hand presents, an acceptable boon. +_30 + Ere yet the Sun through the bright Ram has urged + His steepy course, or mother Earth unbound + Her frozen bosom to the western gale; + When feathered troops, their social leagues dissolved, + Select their mates, and on the leafless elm + The noisy rook builds high her wicker nest; + Mark well the wanton females of thy pack, + That curl their taper tails, and frisking court + Their pyebald mates enamoured; their red eyes + Flash fires impure; nor rest, nor food they take, +_40 + Goaded by furious love. In separate cells + Confine them now, lest bloody civil wars + Annoy thy peaceful state. If left at large, + The growling rivals in dread battle join, + And rude encounter. On Scamander's streams + Heroes of old with far less fury fought, + For the bright Spartan dame, their valour's prize. + Mangled and torn thy favourite hounds shall lie, + Stretched on the ground; thy kennel shall appear + A field of blood: like some unhappy town +_50 + In civil broils confused, while Discord shakes + Her bloody scourge aloft, fierce parties rage, + Staining their impious hands in mutual death. + And still the best beloved, and bravest fall: + Such are the dire effects of lawless love. + Huntsman! these ills by timely prudent care + Prevent: for every longing dame select + Some happy paramour; to him alone + In leagues connubial join. Consider well + His lineage; what his fathers did of old, +_60 + Chiefs of the pack, and first to climb the rock, + Or plunge into the deep, or thread the brake + With thorns sharp-pointed, plashed, and briers inwoven. + Observe with care his shape, sort, colour, size. + Nor will sagacious huntsmen less regard + His inward habits: the vain babbler shun, + Ever loquacious, ever in the wrong. + His foolish offspring shall offend thy ears + With false alarms, and loud impertinence. + Nor less the shifting cur avoid, that breaks +_70 + Illusive from the pack; to the next hedge + Devious he strays, there every mews he tries: + If haply then he cross the steaming scent, + Away he flies vain-glorious; and exults + As of the pack supreme, and in his speed + And strength unrivalled. Lo! cast far behind + His vexed associates pant, and labouring strain + To climb the steep ascent. Soon as they reach + The insulting boaster, his false courage fails, + Behind he lags, doomed to the fatal noose, +_80 + His master's hate, and scorn of all the field. + What can from such be hoped, but a base brood + Of coward curs, a frantic, vagrant race? + When now the third revolving moon appears, + With sharpened horns, above the horizon's brink; + Without Lucina's aid, expect thy hopes + Are amply crowned; short pangs produce to light + The smoking litter; crawling, helpless, blind, + Nature their guide, they seek the pouting teat + That plenteous streams. Soon as the tender dam +_90 + Has formed them with her tongue, with pleasure view + The marks of their renowned progenitors, + Sure pledge of triumphs yet to come. All these + Select with joy; but to the merciless flood + Expose the dwindling refuse, nor o'erload + The indulgent mother. If thy heart relent, + Unwilling to destroy, a nurse provide, + And to the foster-parent give the care + Of thy superfluous brood; she'll cherish kind + The alien offspring; pleased thou shalt behold +_100 + Her tenderness, and hospitable love. + If frolic now, and playful they desert + Their gloomy cell, and on the verdant turf + With nerves improved, pursue the mimic chase, + Coursing around; unto thy choicest friends + Commit thy valued prize: the rustic dames + Shall at thy kennel wait, and in their laps + Receive thy growing hopes, with many a kiss + Caress, and dignify their little charge + With some great title, and resounding name +_110 + Of high import. But cautious here observe + To check their youthful ardour, nor permit + The unexperienced younker, immature, + Alone to range the woods, or haunt the brakes + Where dodging conies sport: his nerves unstrung, + And strength unequal; the laborious chase + Shall stint his growth, and his rash forward youth + Contract such vicious habits, as thy care + And late correction never shall reclaim. + When to full strength arrived, mature and bold, +_120 + Conduct them to the field; not all at once + But as thy cooler prudence shall direct, + Select a few, and form them by degrees + To stricter discipline. With these consort + The stanch and steady sages of thy pack, + By long experience versed in all the wiles, + And subtle doublings of the various chase. + Easy the lesson of the youthful train, + When instinct prompts, and when example guides. + If the too forward younker at the head +_130 + Press boldly on, in wanton sportive mood, + Correct his haste, and let him feel abashed + The ruling whip. But if he stoop behind + In wary modest guise, to his own nose + Confiding sure; give him full scope to work + His winding way, and with thy voice applaud + His patience, and his care; soon shalt thou view + The hopeful pupil leader of his tribe, + And all the listening pack attend his call. + Oft lead them forth where wanton lambkins play, +_140 + And bleating dams with jealous eyes observe + Their tender care. If at the crowding flock + He bay presumptuous, or with eager haste + Pursue them scattered o'er the verdant plain; + In the foul fact attached, to the strong ram + Tie fast the rash offender. See! at first + His horned companion, fearful, and amazed, + Shall drag him trembling o'er the rugged ground; + Then with his load fatigued, shall turn a-head, + And with his curled hard front incessant peal +_150 + The panting wretch; till breathless and astunned, + Stretched on the turf he lie. Then spare not thou + The twining whip, but ply his bleeding sides + Lash after lash, and with thy threatening voice, + Harsh-echoing from the hills, inculcate loud + His vile offence. Sooner shall trembling doves + Escaped the hawk's sharp talons, in mid air, + Assail their dangerous foe, than he once more + Disturb the peaceful flocks. In tender age + Thus youth is trained; as curious artists bend +_160 + The taper, pliant twig; or potters form + Their soft and ductile clay to various shapes. + Nor is't enough to breed; but to preserve + Must be the huntsman's care. The stanch old hounds + Guides of thy pack, though but in number few, + Are yet of great account; shall oft untie + The Gordian knot, when reason at a stand + Puzzling is lost, and all thy art is vain. + O'er clogging fallows, o'er dry plastered roads, + O'er floated meads, o'er plains with flocks distained +_170 + Rank-scenting, these must lead the dubious way. + As party-chiefs in senates who preside, + With pleaded reason and with well turned speech + Conduct the staring multitude; so these + Direct the pack, who with joint cry approve, + And loudly boast discoveries not their own. + Unnumbered accidents, and various ills, + Attend thy pack, hang hovering o'er their heads, + And point the way that leads to Death's dark cave. + Short is their span; few at the date arrive + Of ancient Argus in old Homer's song +_180 + So highly honoured: kind, sagacious brute! + Not even Minerva's wisdom could conceal + Thy much-loved master from thy nicer sense. + Dying, his lord he owned, viewed him all o'er + With eager eyes, then closed those eyes, well pleased. + Of lesser ills the Muse declines to sing, + Nor stoops so low; of these each groom can tell + The proper remedy. But oh! what care! + What prudence can prevent madness, the worst + Of maladies? Terrific pest! that blasts +_190 + The huntsman's hopes, and desolation spreads + Through all the unpeopled kennel unrestrained. + More fatal than the envenomed viper's bite; + Or that Apulian[10] spider's poisonous sting, + Healed by the pleasing antidote of sounds. + When Sirius reigns, and the sun's parching beams + Bake the dry gaping surface, visit thou + Each even and morn, with quick observant eye, + Thy panting pack. If in dark sullen mood, + The gloating hound refuse his wonted meal, +_200 + Retiring to some close, obscure retreat, + Gloomy, disconsolate: with speed remove + The poor infectious wretch, and in strong chains + Bind him suspected. Thus that dire disease + Which art can't cure, wise caution may prevent. + But this neglected, soon expect a change, + A dismal change, confusion, frenzy, death. + Or in some dark recess the senseless brute + Sits sadly pining: deep melancholy, + And black despair, upon his clouded brow +_210 + Hang lowering; from his half-opening jaws + The clammy venom, and infectious froth, + Distilling fall; and from his lungs inflamed, + Malignant vapours taint the ambient air, + Breathing perdition: his dim eyes are glazed, + He droops his pensive head, his trembling limbs + No more support his weight; abject he lies, + Dumb, spiritless, benumbed; till death at last + Gracious attends, and kindly brings relief. + Or if outrageous grown, behold alas! +_220 + A yet more dreadful scene; his glaring eye + Redden with fury, like some angry boar + Churning he foams; and on his back erect + His pointed bristles rise; his tail incurved + He drops, and with harsh broken bowlings rends + The poison-tainted air, with rough hoarse voice + Incessant bays; and snuff's the infectious breeze; + This way and that he stares aghast, and starts + At his own shade; jealous, as if he deemed + The world his foes. If haply toward the stream +_230 + He cast his roving eye, cold horror chills + His soul; averse he flies, trembling, appalled. + Now frantic to the kennel's utmost verge + Raving he runs, and deals destruction round. + The pack fly diverse; for whate'er he meets + Vengeful he bites, and every bite is death. + If now perchance through the weak fence escaped, + Far up the wind he roves, with open mouth + Inhales the cooling breeze, nor man, nor beast + He spares, implacable. The hunter-horse, +_240 + Once kind associate of his sylvan toils, + (Who haply now without the kennel's mound + Crops the rank mead, and listening hears with joy + The cheering cry, that morn and eve salutes + His raptured sense) a wretched victim falls. + Unhappy quadruped! no more, alas! + Shall thy fond master with his voice applaud + Thy gentleness, thy speed; or with his hand + Stroke thy soft dappled sides, as he each day + Visits thy stall, well pleased; no more shalt thou +_250 + With sprightly neighings, to the winding horn + And the loud opening pack in concert joined, + Glad his proud heart. For oh! the secret wound + Rankling inflames, he bites the ground and dies. + Hence to the village with pernicious haste + Baleful he bends his course: the village flies + Alarmed; the tender mother in her arms + Hugs close the trembling babe; the doors are barred, + And flying curs, by native instinct taught, + Shun the contagious bane; the rustic bands +_260 + Hurry to arms, the rude militia seize + Whate'er at hand they find; clubs, forks, or guns + From every quarter charge the furious foe, + In wild disorder, and uncouth array: + Till now with wounds on wounds oppressed and gored, + At one short poisonous gasp he breathes his last. + Hence to the kennel, Muse, return, and view + With heavy heart that hospital of woe: + Where Horror stalks at large; insatiate Death + Sits growling o'er his prey: each hour presents +_270 + A different scene of ruin and distress. + How busy art thou, Fate! and how severe + Thy pointed wrath! the dying and the dead + Promiscuous lie; o'er these the living fight + In one eternal broil; not conscious why, + Nor yet with whom. So drunkards in their cups, + Spare not their friends, while senseless squabble reigns. + Huntsman! it much behoves thee to avoid + The perilous debate! Ah! rouse up all + Thy vigilance, and tread the treacherous ground +_280 + With careful step. Thy fires unquenched preserve, + As erst the vestal flame; the pointed steel + In the hot embers hide; and if surprised + Thou feel'st the deadly bite, quick urge it home + Into the recent sore, and cauterise + The wound; spare not thy flesh, nor dread the event: + Vulcan shall save when Aesculapius fails. + Here, should the knowing Muse recount the means + To stop this growing plague. And here, alas! + Each hand presents a sovereign cure, and boasts +_290 + Infallibility, but boasts in vain. + On this depend, each to his separate seat + Confine, in fetters bound; give each his mess + Apart, his range in open air; and then + If deadly symptoms to thy grief appear, + Devote the wretch, and let him greatly fall, + A generous victim for the public weal. + Sing, philosophic Muse, the dire effects + Of this contagious bite on hapless man. + The rustic swains, by long tradition taught +_300 + Of leeches old, as soon as they perceive + The bite impressed, to the sea-coasts repair. + Plunged in the briny flood, the unhappy youth + Now journeys home secure; but soon shall wish + The seas as yet had covered him beneath + The foaming surge, full many a fathom deep. + A fate more dismal, and superior ills + Hang o'er his head devoted. When the moon, + Closing her monthly round, returns again + To glad the night; or when full orbed she shines +_310 + High in the vault of heaven; the lurking pest + Begins the dire assault. The poisonous foam, + Through the deep wound instilled with hostile rage, + And all its fiery particles saline, + Invades the arterial fluid; whose red waves + Tempestuous heave, and their cohesion broke, + Fermenting boil; intestine war ensues, + And order to confusion turns embroiled. + Now the distended vessels scarce contain + The wild uproar, but press each weaker part, +_320 + Unable to resist: the tender brain + And stomach suffer most; convulsions shake + His trembling nerves, and wandering pungent pains + Pinch sore the sleepless wretch; his fluttering pulse + Oft intermits; pensive, and sad, he mourns + His cruel fate, and to his weeping friends + Laments in vain; to hasty anger prone, + Resents each slight offence, walks with quick step, + And wildly stares; at last with boundless sway + The tyrant frenzy reigns. For as the dog +_330 + (Whose fatal bite conveyed the infectious bane) + Raving he foams, and howls, and barks, and bites. + Like agitations in his boiling blood + Present like species to his troubled mind; + His nature, and his actions all canine. + So as (old Homer sung) the associates wild + Of wandering Ithacus, by Circe's charms + To swine transformed, ran grunting through the groves. + Dreadful example to a wicked world! + See there distressed he lies! parched up with thirst, +_340 + But dares not drink. Till now at last his soul + Trembling escapes, her noisome dungeon leaves, + And to some purer region wings away. + One labour yet remains, celestial Maid! + Another element demands thy song. + No more o'er craggy steeps, through coverts thick + With pointed thorn, and briers intricate, + Urge on with horn and voice the painful pack + But skim with wanton wing the irriguous vale, + Where winding streams amid the flowery meads +_350 + Perpetual glide along; and undermine + The caverned banks, by the tenacious roots + Of hoary willows arched; gloomy retreat + Of the bright scaly kind; where they at will, + On the green watery reed their pasture graze, + Suck the moist soil, or slumber at their ease, + Rocked by the restless brook, that draws aslope + Its humid train, and laves their dark abodes. + Where rages not oppression? Where, alas! + Is innocence secure? Rapine and spoil +_360 + Haunt even the lowest deeps; seas have their sharks, + Rivers and ponds inclose the ravenous pike; + He in his turn becomes a prey; on him + The amphibious otter feasts. Just is his fate + Deserved; but tyrants know no bounds; nor spears + That bristle on his back, defend the perch + From his wide greedy jaws; nor burnished mail + The yellow carp; nor all his arts can save + The insinuating eel, that hides his head + Beneath the slimy mud; nor yet escapes +_370 + The crimson-spotted trout, the river's pride, + And beauty of the stream. Without remorse, + This midnight pillager ranging around, + Insatiate swallows all. The owner mourns + The unpeopled rivulet, and gladly hears + The huntsman's early call, and sees with joy + The jovial crew, that march upon its banks + In gay parade, with bearded lances armed. + This subtle spoiler of the beaver kind, + Far off, perhaps, where ancient alders shade + The deep still pool; within some hollow trunk +_380 + Contrives his wicker couch: whence he surveys + His long purlieu, lord of the stream, and all + The finny shoals his own. But you, brave youths, + Dispute the felon's claim; try every root, + And every reedy bank; encourage all + The busy-spreading pack, that fearless plunge + Into the flood, and cross the rapid stream. + Bid rocks and caves, and each resounding shore, + Proclaim your bold defiance; loudly raise +_390 + Each cheering voice, till distant hills repeat + The triumphs of the vale. On the soft sand + See there his seal impressed! and on that bank + Behold the glittering spoils, half-eaten fish, + Scales, fins, and bones, the leavings of his feast. + Ah! on that yielding sag-bed, see, once more + His seal I view. O'er yon dank rushy marsh + The sly goose-footed prowler bends his course, + And seeks the distant shallows. Huntsman, bring + Thy eager pack; and trail him to his couch. +_400 + Hark! the loud peal begins, the clamorous joy, + The gallant chiding, loads the trembling air. + Ye Naiads fair, who o'er these floods preside, + Raise up your dripping heads above the wave, + And hear our melody. The harmonious notes + Float with the stream; and every winding creek + And hollow rock, that o'er the dimpling flood + Nods pendant; still improve from shore to shore + Our sweet reiterated joys. What shouts! + What clamour loud! What gay heart-cheering sounds +_410 + Urge through, the breathing brass their mazy way! + Nor choirs of Tritons glad with sprightlier strains + The dancing billows, when proud Neptune rides + In triumph o'er the deep. How greedily + They snuff the fishy steam, that to each blade + Rank-scenting clings! See! how the morning dews + They sweep, that from their feet besprinkling drop + Dispersed, and leave a track oblique behind. + Now on firm land they range; then in the flood + They plunge tumultuous; or through reedy pools +_420 + Rustling they work their way: no holt escapes + Their curious search. With quick sensation now + The fuming vapour stings; flutter their hearts, + And joy redoubled bursts from every mouth + In louder symphonies. Yon hollow trunk, + That with its hoary head incurved, salutes + The passing wave, must be the tyrant's fort, + And dread abode. How these impatient climb, + While others at the root incessant bay: + They put him down. See, there he dives along! +_430 + The ascending bubbles mark his gloomy way. + Quick fix the nets, and cut off his retreat + Into the sheltering deeps. Ah, there he vents! + The pack lunge headlong, and protended spears + Menace destruction: while the troubled surge + Indignant foams, and all the scaly kind + Affrighted, hide their heads. Wild tumult reigns, + And loud uproar. Ah, there once more he vents! + See, that bold hound has seized him; down they sink, + Together lost: but soon shall he repent +_440 + His rash assault. See there escaped, he flies + Half-drowned, and clambers up the slippery bank + With ouze and blood distained. Of all the brutes, + Whether by Nature formed, or by long use, + This artful diver best can bear the want + Of vital air. Unequal is the fight, + Beneath the whelming element. Yet there + He lives not long; but respiration needs + At proper intervals. Again he vents; + Again the crowd attack. That spear has pierced +_450 + His neck; the crimson waves confess the wound. + Fixed is the bearded lance, unwelcome guest, + Where'er he flies; with him it sinks beneath, + With him it mounts; sure guide to every foe. + Inly he groans; nor can his tender wound + Bear the cold stream. Lo! to yon sedgy bank + He creeps disconsolate; his numerous foes + Surround him, hounds and men. Pierced through and through, + On pointed spears they lift him high in air; + Wriggling he hangs, and grins, and bites in vain: +_460 + Bid the loud horns, in gaily warbling strains, + Proclaim the felon's fate; he dies, he dies. + Rejoice, ye scaly tribes, and leaping dance + Above the wave, in sign of liberty + Restored; the cruel tyrant is no more. + Rejoice, secure and blessed; did not as yet + Remain, some of your own rapacious kind; + And man, fierce man, with all his various wiles. + O happy, if ye knew your happy state, + Ye rangers of the fields! whom Nature boon +_470 + Cheers with her smiles, and every element + Conspires to bless. What, if no heroes frown + From marble pedestals; nor Raphael's works, + Nor Titian's lively tints, adorn our walls? + Yet these the meanest of us may behold; + And at another's cost may feast at will + Our wondering eyes; what can the owner more? + But vain, alas! is wealth, not graced with power. + The flowery landscape, and the gilded dome, + And vistas opening to the wearied eye, +_480 + Through all his wide domain; the planted grove, + The shrubby wilderness with its gay choir + Of warbling birds, can't lull to soft repose + The ambitious wretch, whose discontented soul + Is harrowed day and night; he mourns, he pines, + Until his prince's favour makes him great. + See, there he comes, the exalted idol comes! + The circle's formed, and all his fawning slaves + Devoutly bow to earth; from every mouth + The nauseous flattery flows, which he returns +_490 + With promises, that die as soon as born. + Vile intercourse! where virtue has no place. + Frown but the monarch; all his glories fade; + He mingles with the throng, outcast, undone, + The pageant of a day; without one friend + To soothe his tortured mind; all, all are fled. + For though they basked in his meridian ray, + The insects vanish, as his beams decline. + Not such our friends; for here no dark design, + No wicked interest bribes the venal heart; +_500 + But inclination to our bosom leads, + And weds them there for life; our social cups + Smile, as we smile; open, and unreserved. + We speak our inmost souls; good humour, mirth, + Soft complaisance, and wit from malice free, + Smoothe every brow, and glow on every cheek. + O happiness sincere! what wretch would groan + Beneath the galling load of power, or walk + Upon the slippery pavements of the great, + Who thus could reign, unenvied and secure? +_510 + Ye guardian powers who make mankind your care, + Give me to know wise Nature's hidden depths, + Trace each mysterious cause, with judgment read + The expanded volume, and submiss adore + That great creative Will, who at a word + Spoke forth the wondrous scene. But if my soul + To this gross clay confined, flutters on earth + With less ambitious wing; unskilled to range + From orb to orb, where Newton leads the way; + And view with piercing eyes, the grand machine, +_520 + Worlds above worlds; subservient to his voice, + Who veiled in clouded majesty, alone + Gives light to all; bids the great system move, + And changeful seasons in their turns advance, + Unmoved, unchanged himself; yet this at least + Grant me propitious, an inglorious life, + Calm and serene, nor lost in false pursuits + Of wealth or honours; but enough to raise + My drooping friends, preventing modest want + That dares not ask. And if to crown my joys, +_530 + Ye grant me health, that, ruddy in my cheeks, + Blooms in my life's decline; fields, woods, and streams, + Each towering hill, each humble vale below, + Shall hear my cheering voice, my hounds shall wake + The lazy morn, and glad the horizon round. + +END OF SOMERVILLE'S CHASE. + + + +[Footnote 1: In republishing only the "Chase" of Somerville and "the +Fables" of Gay, we have acted on the principle of selecting the best, and +the most characteristic, in our age, perhaps the only readable specimen +of either poet.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Great Prince:' Prince Frederick. Our readers will remember +the humorous epitaph on him, in edifying contrast to Somerville's +praise:-- + + 'Here lies Fred, + Who was alive, and is dead: + If it had been his father, + I'd much rather; + Had it been his mother, + Better than another; + Were it his sister, + Nobody would have miss'd her; + Were it the whole generation, + The better for the nation. + But since it's only Fred, + There's no more to be said, + But that he was alive, and is dead.' + +We quote this from recollection of Thackeray's recitation, but think it +pretty accurate.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Neustria:' Normandy.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Fountain of light,' &c. Scott as well as Somerville loved +to write in brilliant sunshine.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Talbot kind:' Derived, we think, from the famous John +Talbot, the first Earl of Shrewsbury, who employed this species of hound +against the Irish rebels.] + +[Footnote 7: 'Aurengzebe:' in 1659, seized the throne of India, after +murdering his relatives, but became a good, wise, and brave emperor.] + +[Footnote 8: 'Ammon's son:' Alexander the Great.] + +[Footnote 9: 'Blooming youth:' Fred again.] + +[Footnote 10: 'Apulia:' now Puglia, the south-eastern part of Italy.] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's +Fables; and Somerville's Chase, by Joseph Addison, John Gay, William Sommerville + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF ADDISON *** + +***** This file should be named 10587-8.txt or 10587-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/8/10587/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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